#victim is kicking and screaming the whole way to the eye doctor's and comes out incredibly pissed off

[i3utterflyeffect]

I like to imagine in the human sticks au Alan might notice that tim squints most of the time and starts thinking that they might also have bad vision

But when asked they probably ignore Alan or something

oh absolutely. most of the hollowheads have terrible vision (except dark because i have decided it's funny). chosen doesn't wear glasses because they have laser powers and would melt the glass (also it's hard to get prescription glasses as a famous criminal) while SC straight-up isn't aware her vision isn't normal lmao

Alan notices it with SC first because they spend the most time around him, but slowly realizes all the hollowheads have the same vision issues as him! chosen gets prescription sunglasses as well since they have red eyes :]

victim proceeds to crush his glasses when he offers them to them to see if they had the same prescription so now (after he removes the glass from their hands, come on victim you're smarter than this) they are both walking to the clinic because he is NOT driving there without his glasses. both of them are extremely unhappy the entire time ut Victim knows this is their fault so they're just silently simmering with rage the whole time

[letarasstuff]

Normal People don't know their IQ

(A/N): Inspired by me, who recently discovered normal people don’t know their IQ, while I was tested two or three times already...

Summary: A certain someone is the only way to get the UnSub. But there’s also something different that makes her special.

Warnings: Angst (fluffy end, I swear), language, mentions of rape and torture, mention of dead people, the usual CM stuff I guess Wordcount: 2.0k

✨Masterlist✨ _________________________________________

“Garcia, I need you to look into high school teachers, who are suspended or fired for inappropriate behavior towards students and live in the area of the kidnappings”, Hotch orders in a stern voice. But you can’t blame him, after all there are currently six dead teenage girls and one missing. One can only hope and work as fast as possible to get her back to her parents alive.

The team is working a case in Sacramento, California. Teenage girls get abducted on their way home from school, are held for exactly a week and are killed by a simple cut to their throat. The torture they have to endure beforehand isn’t as simple. The last two also show signs of rape.

The dumbing sites are different parks all over the city. The placing happens overnight only to have the girls found the next morning by a clueless jogger or stroller.

“Let’s go over the profile again, I feel like we are missing something”, Rossi commands. His gut feeling tells him only that much, he just has to find out what it is.

“It’s a white male in his mid thirties to late forties. He blends in, so he has to be or has been a teacher. Someone who looks like they belong into a school isn’t suspicious”, Spencer counts the facts.

“The victims all look similar, probably resembling an ex-wife or girlfriend”, Morgan adds. Before he can get into the depth of the torture a phone rings.

“My lovely crime fighters, I got an address. Charles Collins. philosophy and history. Got suspended for suggestive talk towards his female students. He is also said to stare at them and certain body parts for way too long and way too obvious. Gross. Annnd that- wait”

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asks after a moment of silence, which is unusual for the ever bubbly tech analyst.

“You got your profile wrong. Collins doesn’t take these girls because of an ex flame.”

The team looks at each other in confusion. Garcia always stresses how she isn’t a profiler and can’t judge over people, because she only wants to see the good in them. How is she able to tell that the profile is off?

“Shoot baby girl, we don’t have much time left”, Derek urges her. He wants nothing more than to have this SOB finally behind bars. The whole team wants that.

“He has a daughter. Technically it’s not his daughter, it’s someone else’s, but he is her foster father. Go and please save both girls!”

Penelope doesn’t have to say it twice. After a brief thank you and goodbye the team is on their way to the given address. As soons as they get there, everyone notices the absence of a car in the driveway. Hotch sends Spencer, Emily and Derek through the back door, the rest goes in from the front.

“FBI! OPEN UP!”

It’s needless to say that nobody opens up. There is no other way than kicking the doors down.

After entering the house and clearing the first floor, Rossi points towards the stairs that leads to the first story. There are only two rooms. A bathroom right hand and a closed door left hand.

Morgan counts quietly down before also kicking this door down and screaming “FBI!” But he seemingly talks with air, because there is no one to be found. Once again the team swarms out to look for evidence or clues.

As Spencer looks through the room they cleared last, he sees various things that make him smile. Several bookshelves are flooded with all kinds of genres, authors and covers. At first he can’t make out in which way they are sorted. But a closer look makes him realize that they are sorted by the author’s birth year. The doctor is kind of impressed, because that means the person knows when they are born in order to find a certain book. He likes the idea, it is a nice little challenge.

While he investigates further a sound makes him stop. He sends a text to Emily and waits for her. When she enters the room Spencer gestures to her to keep it quiet. Then he points to the bed.

They lower themselves down to the floor at the same time on each side of it. A girl, no older than 14 years, lays there shivering in angst. With big doe eyes she looks at Spencer and whispers:

“Please don’t hurt me.”

A while later the team is back at the station with the girl sitting in one of the interrogation rooms. The temperature is already set down, though Hotch feels really bad for it. Still there is another girl out there waiting to be safed.

“Baby girl, what can you give us on her?” Morgan sets his phone in the middle of the table and switches the speaker on.

“Our little girl’s name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), fourteen years old. Parents were deemed to be unable to look after her since they are both heavy drug addicts and didn’t even register her crying for two hours straight. Since the age of six months she bounces through the system with nobody wanting to keep her longer than two years. They claim she is too smart for them and want somebody to look after her, who can challenge her intellectually.

“Collins took her in one and a half years ago. He got her signed up in several activities after school, like chess and academic decathlon. As of right now she is a junior with an opportunity to graduate next year. Her teachers describe her as incredibly bright with a complicated way of thinking.”

“Complicated way of thinking? Her intelligence was neglected for years, so she gave herself her own challenges. I found her books sorted by the birth year of the authors. She found ways of making things more difficult for herself, that’s why she fabricated strange ways of thinking. This is often found in children with high intelligence, who are not boosted enough by their environment”, Spencer explains, getting more and more furious.

His colleagues feel that this is a sensitive subject for their resident genius. JJ comfortably puts a hand on his shoulder, making the tense go away.

“Emily and Dave, I want both of you to interrogate her. We need to know where he hides the girls. JJ, try to hold the press off for a bit longer. Morgan, Reid, I want you to watch and look for tells or anything else”, Aaron orders.

Everyone works on their given task immediately.

You don’t need to be a profiler to see that (Y/N) is scared out of her mind. She has her feet on her chair and her head lies on her knees. When the two agents enter, she tries to at least fake some kind of composer. But she fails miserably at it.

“Hello (Y/N), may I call you that?” Emily begins in a soft voice. The teenager nods shyly. “Good, (Y/N). My name is Emily Prentiss and this is David Rossi. We are agents from the Behavior Analysis Unit from the FBI. Do you know why you are here?” The teenager shakes her head.

“Ok, let’s cut the chase”, David's voice booms through the small room. “You know exactly why you are here. From what we saw in your room you are an incredibly smart girl. How high is your IQ? 130? 135?”

“147 a-actually”, she nervously corrects the agent, never meeting his eye. The team notices this fairly quickly.

“Even better, normal people don’t know their IQ. So you know what your forster father does. You saw the news, you read the papers, you heard your classmates talk. In addition to that, the girls look alarmingly similar to you. And all of the sudden Charles is more often out than usual. So do us a favor and come clear.” Then he pulls out a picture from a manila folder on the table. Emily tries to intervene.

“Rossi, don’t. She is not the UnSub. (Y/N) is just unfortunate to be at the wrong place.” “She might as well be another UnSub if she doesn’t do anything to help us. Do you know how long you are going to jail for helping hi-”

“I don’t know anything. I- of course I saw what is h-happening. A-and I connected the dots a long time a-ago. You know, Charles lost his job and that’s a stressor. T-then Child Service was investigating him, because of the suspension’s reasons. I-I couldn’t do anything. I had no evidence, the police wouldn’t believe me. I asked him once wh-what he thinks about, you know, what’s happening. He slapped me and told me to not talk about it again. I’m so sorry, I wanna help. The only thing that comes into my mind is an old cabin he once mentioned when I first arrived at his. B-but I don’t know if it helps you. P-please, I don’t want to go to jail or juvenile, I-” Then (Y/N) breaks down into tears.

Emily is in an instant by her side trying to calm her down, while Hotch gives the information to Garcia. As soon as she finds the location, JJ takes a seat next to (Y/N) and the rest of the team flies out.

“You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, Sweetheart. My colleagues will find him and he will be tried and convicted. He will never be a threat to you again”, the blonde tries to comfort her.

“Whenever I leave an abusive home, there will be another one that’s exactly the same. The only difference with Charles was that he seemed to understand me. He helped me. There’s nobody who is willing to do what he did for me”, she admits sadly.

It breaks JJ’s heart, because her words are true. Even though he is a killer, Collins did help her. But she is also determined to show the young girl that he isn’t the only one who can do that. That there are more people out there, who are kind and as helpful if not more.

Not long after this the team brings the man into the station, Morgan guiding him with a deadbolt-like grip.

Rossi spots (Y/N) in a break room with a hot drink in her hands. While making his way over there, Spencer follows him. He wants to talk with her as well.

“(Y/N) I’m sincerely sorry if I hurt you earlier. I didn’t intend to scare you, we just had to act quickly and you were the only source of information available. I also wanted to tell you, that your achievements are astonishing and I guarantee you a bright future, maybe even at the FBI”, he winks at the end of his last sentence.

“I understand, Agent Rossi. But doesn’t everybody know their IQ? I assumed everybody gets at least tested once in their life in some way”, she asks with surprise in her voice.

At that the older man is speechless. Of all things she could accuse him of legitimately, (Y/N) goes with the most innocent question.

“Actually, not everybody gets tested. A reliable test has to be done by a psychologist and most people don’t go to one. Furthermore there has to be a valid reason to do one, that’s why a great part of the population doesn’t know their IQ”, intervenes Spencer. He has to infodump, since the last time was over half an hour ago.

“But you also have to differentiate between the several kinds of intelligence, because intelligence is way more than being good at math. There…”

Rossi stopped listening to the excited interaction between the two geniuses. Instead he watches their body languages and facial expressions. He hasn’t seen both of them more at calm than they are now.

After all there might be a way for (Y/N) to get a little Happy End.

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 12

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: kidnapping, violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“They couldn’t take that from me. They could never take you.”

“I never want to bring you pain or worry, okay? That shouldn’t be what… we do.”

Bucky’s words rang in your head as you sat in the lonesome cell, fighting for release any way you thought to try. But naturally, these attempts of wrangling yourself out of this had fallen flat and you weren’t trying anymore, that’s for certain. It only made the restraints dig into your wrists more. Not to mention you were beyond tired hitting a point of exhaustion that you didn't know was possible. You weren’t given a chance to relax as you sat on edge, waiting. Waiting for what - or really who - you didn’t quite know. 

Sure, you had an Avenger for a soulmate (at least, that was what you considered Bucky, despite his humbleness) but you weren’t exactly up to date on their enemies. From your understanding, between the looks of the facility and your soulmate’s history, this was seeming like the work of Hydra. But they had been abolished...right? Apparently, you didn’t know anymore and doubts rang in your head as you feared you weren’t some random victim.

The first signs of daylight were just beginning to peek into your cell from a very tiny, thin window located near the top of the wall beside you.

Suddenly, a grumbling voice called from outside the cell. “She’s up.” You whipped your head towards the sound, just barely able to make out a figure illuminated by the early morning glow. There was probably some comment to make to whoever this was about how you hadn’t really slept but you couldn’t find your voice at the moment.

“Excellent.” A deeper, possibly older, voice called from down the hall. The man sounded way too excited for your liking. Your stomach threatened to empty its contents as heavy footsteps began making their way towards your cell.

When the steps stopped, you tried squinting through the minimal light but still couldn’t make out much of either man. If you had to guess, they looked like some doctors of sorts in long lab coats with notebooks in hand. One thing you definitely could tell was that they didn’t hesitate to stare back. You could feel their eyes taking you in over and over again making your heart pound in a weirdly familiar way.

“Does she speak?” The first man asked with a humorless scoff. You twisted in your wrist restraints wishing for some courage to get up and maybe put space between you. 

Mustering a scrap of energy, you turned away from the men, hoping maybe your matted hair falling in your face could block them out forever. Because really, couldn’t this be forever? How would anyone know what happened? Your best bet was your coworker noticing your absence but then you thought of Bucky… He was away for now and by the time he caught wind who knows what would be of you. Tears began welling in your eyes at the thought of this being it for you -- whatever this was. You still weren’t sure what about you compelled these men to kidnap you in the middle of the night.

“Hey,” the same voice called out to you this time, pulling you from your troubling thoughts. Slowly, you turned back to him, taking in more of the doctor (fake, you guessed) persona now. “I asked if you speak.”

“No,” you grumbled. You didn’t know where this smart response came from but it made you feel a bit better like you were coming back to yourself. Really, though, you were in no position to start getting smart with anyone.

He let out a joyous laugh that sent far more fear through you. “The Soldier’s soulmate has an attitude, huh?”

Soldier? Bucky. Your heart panged at another thought of him. If that’s who they were referring to, this was to be about Bucky, you realized. These men knew him and whatever connection was festered there, it hadn't fizzled and you were caught in the crossfire. This actually couldn’t be them… But it looked like it.

Suddenly, the cell door opened with a loud screech, and the two men walked into the full glory of the morning sunrise. There, on their white coats, you saw an emblem of what appeared to be some tentacle-bearing creature. Your suspicions were regrettably confirmed. 

They walked towards you, their eyes looking over you as if you were an experiment and they were memorizing you. With fear racing through you, you slowly began scooting backward trying to get as far away as you could. Your back eventually hit a wall and they just kept coming. 

“Quite the squeamish one for being chained to The Soldier,” the second man observed, writing something down in his notebook. You could see now that he was much older, having that wiser look in his older years. You guessed he was a leader of sorts (at least, that was how you were going to file him in your head) and the other man, the one who was so kind to comment on your attitude, was some kind of assistant. You couldn’t take your eyes off the logo on their coats as it was practically screaming in your face. It all felt impossible and yet here you were, in the belly of the beast.

“W-What am I doing here?” You asked, your voice scratchy and nervous. Honestly, you were just glad you had the guts to make any noise. The assistant looked a bit humored at your question.

“Wow, she speaks full sentences,” he commented with an unsettling smirk. 

The “leader” of the pair shot him a look before turning back to speak to you. “We have some observing to do, my dear,” he briefly explained.

The vagueness of it all was certainly not helping you - like anything realistically could in this moment. Still, you pursued it. “Observing?”

He hummed in response, turning back for a moment to write a few more lines in the notebook. Truthfully, you wanted to just kick it out of his fucking hand. Your eyes flicked quickly to the assistant but he wasn’t handing out any hints, just looking at you like you were something to be conquered. Oh, how you wanted to vomit on their shiny dress shoes.

“I will explain our intentions to ease your mind,” he snapped his notebook shut, “but first, you are to be moved.”

And just like, as if his words were keys, a hoard of men entered the cell and hoisted you to your feet. You tried kicking and screaming but they were strong. Maybe too strong. A strength you possibly could only recall in two other men you knew. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it as they corralled you easily and forced you down the hall. 

Everything was dark again. There was no light from the windows in the hall, just some musty glows of lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. You didn’t know where to look so you just stared downward, taking in the metal flooring that made you chilled.

After turning a few corners, you were brought to a much larger cell. This one at least had a chair, but you didn’t think it was exactly a nice grand gesture as your eyes landed on the restraints attached to it. The second thing you noticed was some sort of computer-like machine and rolling tables which lined the side. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought this was just another medical office. 

You yelped as one of the large men threw you on the chair, not giving you a second to even adjust before your hands were unbound only to be rebound by the chair’s restraints.  You tugged a bit at them out of reflex, finding them as sturdy as expected. Your legs were free, though, maybe offering some tactic but exhaustion and fear overtook you.

Once they deemed you settled in, the army of men left, walking in line as commandingly as they had entered. The leader and his assistant stayed, waiting for you three to finally be alone once more. The door shut with a disturbing bang, really sealing your fate. The assistant stayed off to the side, leaning against a wall adjacent to the chair. The leader walked over to you, taking a seat on some rolling stool. Wow, these guys really thought they were serious professionals or something.

“I hope the trip here was okay,” the leader said with a chuckle. “Comfortable?” He motioned towards your lounging state. You blinked. “I see we are losing that attitude. What a shame, really. I’m sure your soulmate loves a firecracker.” Your body visibly tensed at the mention of Bucky. The elderly man didn’t miss it. In fact, it seemed like you unintentionally gave him the perfect segue into his whole evil spiel.

“Ah, yes, your soulmate.” The leader nodded as if he had just forgotten all about it. “Well, you see, the fact he even has one was news to us,” he shrugged and glanced at his assistant who nodded in confirmation. “We were sure when we wiped him we were wiping everything, so imagine our surprise when we find out he’s out and about dancing - with you on his arm.” 

Your throat tightened as the memories of you and Bucky at the dance hall flooded your mind. It had been so busy that night you never would’ve thought you’d have to worry about someone… It sounded so ludicrous to you. You almost wish he hadn’t said it as the thoughts of that night were suddenly a bit darker. The carelessness you two had held seemed foolish now. 

The leader watched you carefully. When you didn’t say anything in response, just blinked away more tears, he continued, “At first, we were quite angry we had missed something so big. We could’ve sworn we broke every attachment time after time but, as I said, you just swept The Soldier right off his feet. So, naturally, our sights were set on eliminating you.” He let out a ridiculous hearty laugh. “But then my assistant here,” the man in the corner waved in response, “realized that that would be a waste. There could be potential here for you. For you and your soulmate. Potential rooted in a team. Two unbreakable soldiers, both in bond and skills. What more could Hydra want?” 

You gasped, your eyes growing wide, at the explanation. You didn’t know what to do now, your body had a mind of its own as it began shaking your head furiously as your wrists tugged and tugged at the restraints. This wasn’t realistic. They were absolutely mad. What kind of foolishness was this? They couldn’t possibly -

“Now, now,” the leader chuckled and turned to his notebook. He began checking referencing stuff from the monitor to the paper. “Don’t get too excited. We’re still brainstorming the whole concept and while it’s not near execution, it is on the promising side. There is, though, a vital component we seem to be lacking: your soulmate.”

Bucky… Your heart felt like it was going to rip itself out of your chest. Was he walking into a trap? Assuming he was walking in at all? Who was to say he had any idea of what was going on with you? How long could this all be for… You let out a surprising sob.

The leader responded to your outburst with an annoyed scoff. “There’s no reason to cry, dear. He’s sure to be here soon thanks to that little bond you have. If he hasn’t already recognized your distress by now, well, he’s not as smart as we thought.” He shrugged and began typing away on the monitor’s keyboard. “The whole attachment may all work out in our favor after all. Eventually, you two will be reunited, and won’t that be just lovely?”

Truthfully, you didn’t know anymore. You had no doubt in Bucky’s fighting abilities but these guys were… Well, they were pretty much responsible for him and everything you had seen him be put through. Who knows what they could do if (and when) he walked through those doors. You were lucky you hadn’t passed out yet from this anxiety alone.

“Besides, as I said, it’s all later down the line anyway,” the leader said. It had suddenly occurred to you at that moment that you were very glad he hadn’t given out his name. You couldn’t imagine humanizing these monsters. “For now, though, we are interested in learning more about you. I’ll be honest, on paper you are quite boring. Barely finished high school, left college for a coffee shop job… The pairing is almost comical. We just can’t figure out what you offer him and while, really, who are we to question Fate? But I still think in time we can figure out...well, whatever it is about you.”

You shook your head slowly, your eyes barely even able to focus on him anymore. Everything in you felt so heavy. “I’m not special.” 

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the leader chuckled. “He makes you special.”

As if on cue, a chorus of screams erupted from the hallway. You all jumped and turned towards the door. There was a little window on it but all you three could see were the bodies of the army of men from earlier flying about. 

“Sooner than we expected,” the leader mumbled and began furiously typing something into the computer.

You didn’t know what to do besides sit there and wait for whatever was coming. Deep in you, you knew it was Bucky, you could feel it. You could feel him. But there was also a part of you that could also sense… rage. A very familiar, unsettling rage burned within him. It made you wonder if you actually wanted to see him in such a state. Some sick piece of you wished they had just knocked you out. 

There wasn’t much more time to consider what you were going to do as the door to the cell was ripped off. Literally, fully, ripped away at the hinges to reveal a very determined, very angry, Bucky. He had an expression you didn’t recall seeing before, even in the nightmares. He looked ready to murder everything in its path but there was no calculated strategy to the madness. It seemed to be just him and his pure desire to eliminate anything and everything. His eyes were locked deadly on the older man, seemingly opting to ignore you. The assistant had begun shifting further away into the corner of the space.

“So nice of you to join us,” the leader said with an unsettling laugh. “I’ll admit, we weren’t expecting you so soon. I barely got a chance to get to know your little darling here.” He motioned towards you. 

“I’m only going to ask this once,” Bucky finally spoke, his voice strained, “let her go.”

The leader smiled, “I’m not sure you’ll be asking for anything in a moment, anyways.” He motioned towards the computer. You and Bucky followed his motion with matching bewildered expressions. “In fact, I think you’ll be the one doing what I ask.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “No-,” 

But it was already set in motion. With a simple press of a button, the room filled with an electronic voice repeating a series of words in a foreign language. You looked around, unsure of where this could even be coming from and what the hell was being said, Your eyes eventually settled on Bucky who looked completely… lost. You gripped the sides of the chair, begging for this to just be over, as you watched that was so familiar. You could feel the memories rising from the depths of your brain. Hidden away, nearly suppressed... You gasped. The nightmares. That’s what all this was. They had pulled the trigger. 

As much as you loved and trusted Bucky, you couldn’t say the same for the other guy. If in that state, could he even recognize you? Like, fully understand your role? You didn’t want to find out, truly. The panic that was settling in now was unlike anything you had experienced that day. Not even the idea of Hydra goons kidnapping you had sparked this much within. 

You were preparing yourself for the worst as you watched Bucky try to shake it off. The leader wore a proud expression while the assistant kept his lonely distance, watching everything unfold. Suddenly, Bucky began mumbling to himself as his hands made hard fists. You thought the blow was finally coming and he was going to be gone. Just like that.

But then Bucky lunged. In one swift move, he pounced on the leader, taking everyone in the room off-guard, especially the target of the aggression. The older man hadn’t even had a chance to put his arms up before your soulmate was punching him relentlessly. Bucky’s yelling in the process was of pure, expressive anger, completely drowning out the screams of pain from the leader. You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to look away so badly but you were also hypnotized. Bucky was so determined and unwavering in whatever goal was planted in his head. A bit thankful someone would go to such lengths for you, you had had enough of such danger in your sleep - you didn’t want it in your reality. 

Bucky switched suddenly to strangling the man and that seemed to be the final straw for the leader’s life. The older man was soon just a lifeless, limp body on the floor. Bucky was still knelt above him, watching the soul drain from his victim. Your jaw went slack. You couldn’t turn this off.

The assistant didn’t help it as he made some foolish break for the exit but Bucky was just as fast. In a couple of determined strides, Bucky yanked the younger man back by the neck and threw him into the wall creating an artistic indentation. The assistant fell to the floor with a chilling thud. 

There was no one left for his sights to land on except for you. Slowly, Bucky turned around. A shiver ran up your spine when your eyes finally met. You didn’t know who was standing before you. Whatever or whoever this was quickly began stomping their way towards you. You shut your eyes and flinched away, waiting for a painful, finishing blow from the Soldier. 

But it never came. 

Instead, all Bucky did was lean over to turn off the speakers and then began untying your wrists. Hesitantly, you turned to look at him but found he wouldn’t look at you, just was intensely concentrated on the restraints. 

“B-Bucky?” Your voice was scratchy as you fumbled over his name. 

“It’s me, doll,” Bucky responded with an exhausted sigh. He sounded normal to you, his demeanor not even looking close to what you remembered from the nightmares. He… He was okay. Bucky still wasn’t looking at you as he finished one restraint then went on the next.

“You’re not…”

Bucky shook his head. “Everything’s okay,” he mumbled. “We’re getting you out of here.”

“We?”

“The team is outside handling the other men.”

“You all came for me?”

Bucky finally looked up at you. For the first time, you could see just how tired he looked. A man nearly on the brink of defeat and enduring the fight. Your heart ached as all you wanted to do was crawl into his arms and take the longest naps of your lives. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bucky nodded. Gently, after the last restraint was undone, he picked you up bridal style. You threw your arms around his neck and buried your face in his shoulder, letting yourself relax and the tears flow. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled but Bucky didn’t respond as he carried you out of the facility

***

You must’ve fallen asleep because a few hours later you awoke at some sort of compound. You were lying in what appeared to be a hospital bed but nothing about this place looked like a typical hospital. The technology was too advanced and everything just seemed too quiet. You looked around, letting your eyes adjust to the bright light of the sun shining in from the large room windows. In the corner, you were greeted by the sight of Bucky sleeping awkwardly in a chair.

You twisted in the bed, trying to get more comfortable under the blanket. The super-soldier hearing must’ve kicked in because one ruffle of the blanket made Bucky’s eyes shoot open. He looked at you, panic shifting to relief when he saw you were awake. Quickly, in a few steps, he was out of the chair and at your bedside. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly. His hand went to touch your cheek but he must've thought better of it and instead lowered it. Your heart broke a bit wondering what self-deprecating thoughts were running through his brain after everything he had to do. 

“I’m okay. Just a bit sore,” you shrugged but boy was it the hard truth. You hadn't been in a comfortable position in hours and endured being thrown around like some rag doll. 

“Do you need any medicine?” Bucky asked, his voice suddenly having an air of panic to it. “I can call for help if you need it. Are you hungry? Do you need water? Or -  Or just anything to drink? I can get you-,”

“Bucky…” You placed your hand on his to calm down. He flinched at your touch. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

He shook his head. “Nothing is fine, sweetheart. You were taken from me-,” Bucky cut himself off as his eyes began welling with tears. He looked wrecked as he stared down at you, taking in your current state. You felt the pain, wanting nothing more than to make all these torturing thoughts vanish. “You… You saw things that I just… I never wanted you to deal with-,”

“It’s over.” You took a deep breath. “I’m here, I’m safe, and you’re with me.”

Bucky closed his eyes as if preparing for something. “After what happened back there, do you even want me around anymore?”

Your jaw went slack at his question. Sure, there was absolutely no denying that the events of today scared you, most likely more than you realized. You had only seen Bucky that determined and violent in your nightmares so to see it just steps away was jarring. But you also knew nothing changed within him. He wasn’t a robot or anything. He wasn’t someone just taking commands. He had remorse. You certainly couldn’t say the same for who greeted you in your sleep. It may take you some time to adjust, sure, but you weren’t turning away. At least, you were going to try not to. Healing was just beginning.

“Of course, I do,” you said, raising your other hand to Bucky’s cheek. At first, he flinched but slowly he leaned into the touch, sighing like he was letting go of something. “Bucky, what happened back there… You had no choice. I don’t have to tell you that those were some very, very bad people. They had it coming and the fact you went to those lengths to save me is unbelievable.”

“I’d go to the ends of the Earth for my girl,” Bucky admitted. 

You let out a weak giggle. “Thank you.” A pause. “May I ask how you figured out I was in trouble?”

Bucky smirked. “I had a nightmare.”

You raised your brows in surprise. “A nightmare?”

He nodded, “I started to feel weird after leaving for the mission like there was something I was missing. A little later on, I was taking a nap and you of course appeared but it was unlike any other dream I had ever had about you. It was… You were scared, deathly afraid of something, and then I saw what was going on. I practically watched it all play out from your apartment and on. It didn’t take too long to put everything together.”

You hmm’d. “Thank God for nightmares.”

Bucky chuckled and placed a light kiss on your forehead. “Thank God for nightmares,” he repeated in agreement.

[we-dragons]

I'm from a different dimension actually Chapter 8 Damian x reader

The school is shut down for a week ironically because of an attack by The Joker and Two-Face, that Robin and his team took down. The teachers sent out a notice with homework attached and told us to stay inside. Nightmare came back somewhere in the morning I couldn't tell the time because I apparently fell asleep along with Boy Wonder before the end of season 1 of The Highlander. I gently placed him down on the couch, gotten dressed, and made some breakfast, I only had eggs so I made some scrambled and put them on a plate for him and me. Nightmare got the last of the bacon. I put a plate over Robins while I ate mine sitting at the small table in the kitchen going over my homework. Sadly I finished my homework before my eggs and they have gone cold. I silently morn my eggs eating the cold carcass. "You stare any harder at that screen and you might break it." I jump, my head shoots upwards and I sigh, but then my eyes drop on my cat. My jaw drops the furball is purring in the arms of a masked stranger who is petting his head. Robin was petting my cat holding him like a baby and the demon is purring. Robin still had his eyes, and limbs not even a bite mark was seen on his skin.

"You traitor, you barely know him." I playful scold the feline, he meows nuzzling his face in Robin's chest.

"Your monster seems friendly."

"Nightmare looks like he's been introduced to catnip."

"Just a few scratches here and there." He smirks taking a seat next to me."Thank you for breakfast."

"Mhm." I turn back to the screen, "Will you be going back today Robin?"

"I might."

"Hmm." I finish the last problem for today closing the device, "Well I have to go to work, your welcome to stay if you want." I smooth out my clothes tossing one last look at the melting ball of fur. I quirk an eyebrow but move out to the door. I stop Halfway through the doorway and look back putting on my meanest face. "If you break a single window in my home I will find where ever you are and break you. Bye Nightmare, love you, I'll be back in a few hours."

_____________________________________________________________

"Nightmare! I'm back!" my keys skitter across the floor but no black fur is seen. He's still in the arms of Robin though it's not Robin, Green eyes. My stomach sinks and my mouth goes dry. "Damian?" His is just as much shock as me, he puts down Nightmare and rushes to me the door slams behind me. And I'm being dragged then forced to sit, his hands grip my shoulders. "Your early, why did you arrive early, you not supposed to be back for another half hour." I hardly heard him, I scold myself now realizing the obvious. Why else would Nightmare feel comfortable around him he had been here before multiple times noticed how I treated Damian and that's why he was a purring mess in his arms. I said be nice to him when he was over not Robin, but of course, they smell the same Nightmare associated with both people. I should have spotted it sooner, the voice, the height, the tone of his speech. Dear God, I can mom telling how oblivious, like she did when she won Clue. It was right there, he asked the right question and baited me for answers. I don't know why this is a shock to me. Now that I think of it I have to stop myself from laughing

"What the hell," my voice quivers. "Damian, Damian Wayne. You help Gotham." I start snickering, pulling my hand over my face. I throw my head back laughing then fall over to the side. "Nightmare you knew didn't you! Haha, that's why you were you were melting like butter."

"Your laughing!"

"Did you assume I wouldn't!" I wheeze, my breath nearly coming out to form words. "I can imagine you fighting, but saving people that's something else entirely."

"Do you think so little of me?" He sounds disappointed.

"I don't mean it to offend you but what else can I say. I didn't expect this." I sit up, clearing my throat and looking him dead in the eye. "Can I just call you Damian now, or do I still have to you different names."

"Why aren't you more surprised?"I Smile sadly.

"I thought you would have read up on me, do you know who killed my parents that day at home." He stiffens, he opens his mouth but continues. "My Father's sister, my aunt, killed them both during dinner. All because my mother wouldn't let her see those journals you asked about. After that it many people took off their masks."

"That's all it took?"

"What should it take, she killed her own brother because she didn't get confidential knowledge. To be honest, I don't really care anymore."

"You need professional help." I shrug.

"Probably, but getting sessions is expensive and I don't enjoy answering "and how are you feeling?" questions. I had enough of that already from everyone else."

"Where's your brother, Emil?" I feel myself frown.

"He's with someone I trust, I can't tell you who, sorry."

"The file says you died, you also made a miraculous recovery, recovery from what?"

"I prefer not to answer that question, It's rather personal." I don't want to explain that either, I know the doctor was shocked to see me come back. They had to call the professor to have him take me and my brother. After that this entire fiasco.

"You know I'll find out either way."

"Listen, I don't know how I made it, I was tortured by my she who will not be named and left for dead. I prayed for anyone and everyone who would hear me, someone did, the police found me and I was rushed to the hospital. I decided to take a nap, and I woke up to the sound of Emil crying. He cried, even more, when I woke up, screaming even, the good doctor nearly fainted. I was plugged into wires of all sorts, and my uncle was holding a plug, I assume he pulled, tackled me. My body lit up in pain and felt like I was run over, the next I am separated from my family and rushed into a place where they check on me every three months. At least I got to choose the place, they pay for the school, and I cover everything else." I give in, it feels nice to tell someone, something even if it's not the whole truth. But it seems to shut him up. "Please don't go looking for Emil, they haven't caught my aunt yet. I don't know if she's looking for them next, I would prefer not to stand over another grave knowing she got them too." I stare at him gauging his reaction, his face is still stone, unmoving in the uncomfortable silence. I pick up Nightmare, who has been rubbing against my leg for a bit, and scratch his head as he wants.

"Fine, I won't push further but I have terms."

"Really?" What would he need terms for?

"1, you don't reveal my identity to anyone. 2, you will not acknowledge that you know my family’s identities. 3, I come whenever I like as Robin or as Damian. 4, I add terms whenever I please."

"Why would I agree to any of that? I'm the one who has your identity." He smiles.

"Because I will tell Batman this information, and he doesn't talk as kindly to people hiding something. You obviously still are, but for now, I'll let it slide I'm sure by now you've decided to watch the news, so you know what he does." I gulp, I did see his more recent victim and he looked traumatized.

"Alright fine, but I binge so if you fall asleep tough luck, I'm not going back."

"Fine," he reaches back and pulls out his mask which he puts back on, walking out to the kitchen. "I back in a bit, pull out your couch bed while I'm gone. I will be staying here a while." I get up after him.

"Hey, that offer is for when I thought you were some homeless bums who fights crime, gets money from villain's wallets. You have a perfectly good bed at home!" He turns back one foot on the railing and a grappling hook in hand. "Term 6, I will stay as long as I like." he jumps off like before, not giving me a chance to speak.

"Bastard! I need my alone time!" He's gone I don't even know if he heard me. I grumble pulling out the spare sheets and blankets to set up the bed. "He better be paying rent, smug rich kid."

"Meow." Nightmare looks over at the window Robin left of.

"Yes, he's coming back."

"Meow"

"No, I'm not going tell him, not until I have to."

"Merrow"

"Shut up." I kick the side of the couch holding the two large cushions that lay on it, the bed springs out and makes a satisfying thud on the floor. "Go and see if the data has finished downloading, then put it back in the box I'll make you something in a how you feel about tuna our downstairs grandparents gave me a can."

_____________________________________________________________

The sheets are made, the cat is fed and now I am going over how I was going to cover for another person. How much would he eat, can he survive on pastries, ramen, and eggs. How long was he staying, would his family come asking about him seeing as he was here before. At both times, when he broke my window, and when they came for coffee.

"Hey, open the door." The voice is cold but still recognizable. I get up slowly taking my time getting there along with opening the door. He hurries in, dressed in some normal-ish clothes that still look expensive, but he still dressed like he came out of a photo shoot. He not only has a suitcase but some grocery bags, I frown at those. He seems to notice because he forgets his suitcase and charges into the kitchen. "Hey!"

"Y/N I am not eating ramen and eggs for god knows how long. I will cook a decent meal and you will have something healthy."

"How did you know I only had eggs and ramen?"

"I went through your fridge," He places a bag of tomatoes in the bottom drawer where I see green onions and various other veggies.

"I make stir-fry once a month, you have bought enough greens and reds to make that for two weeks. I don't even have rice."

"You don't like it when people spend money on you, do you?"

"I don't need other people's money," He opens his mouth, but I stop him raising a finger cutting him off. "And before you mention Molly, she remains the exception. Not that me telling her not to stops her."

"And why is that." He stops putting the food in the fridge.

"Because I've been friends with her longer," I look back at his bags and frown. "How long do you plan on staying again."

"For as long as I please."

"Won't they come looking for you? Your family I mean, the Detective stops by almost every day."

"Grayson won't be a problem, I left them a trail that leads to several other places." He stuffs the last of the food in the fridge, getting up and looking out the balcony window. "Should take a long while." I can hear the smugness in his voice.

"Your happy you tricked your brothers aren't you." He turns around forcing himself to frown but the corners of his lips twitch.

"Ho, you're a bastard Wayne."

"You're really gonna curse me?"

"You didn't tell me I couldn't Damian." I grab my computer and open Hulu putting on Star Trek; Next-generation where I left off. "Hope you enjoy space adventure, because I'm not starting this over its seven seasons and 4 movies. I'm halfway through season 3, if you want context just ask." I glance up signaling that I am waiting for a response, he leans on the wall in front of my kitchen. I can't read his face, but his face of neutral displeasure wasn't much better. "So, your done feeling good about yourself, or is there something else you need."

"It's been something I've been wondering for a while now, those iridescent pieces you fed me."

"Part of my mother's work." Not a complete lie,

"Was that what those missing journals about?"

"No." More of a lie but not wrong. He groans anyway, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Man, you really like to cut in deep and waste time. Just come here and watch some Star Trek with me I need someone else to groan in pain about Counselor Troy's and Will Riker's on and off slow burn romance." Begrudgingly he walks over plopping down next to me.

"Your tastes in tv are odd."

"You have no idea, my tastes in something go everywhere, after this and Highlander I have several old cartoons next. First, I might have to gather what you know about the Quack pack, Goof troop, Ducktales, and all that pizazz. Though I have a feeling that you would like Darkwing Duck more, or it could possibly be too relatable." He gives me a look.

"How could I relate to a duck?"

"We are a long way from that now, at the moment we must bear witness to Captain Picard and his adventures commanding the USS Enterprise."

"Has anyone told you how unbelievably weird you are?"

"Sir, you have entered my life for what looks to be the long run. You will experience the kind of weirdness only Molly has ever seen. But now that you are basically my roommate you might see more." I pat his shoulder. "So, buckle up, because this is now you've got a seat on this roller-coaster, and you can't get off till the car reaches a complete stop. Now can we please get back to the show I want to see some cosmic action?"

_____________________________________________________________

"Was that a statement or a question?"

"He can achieve the perception of feeling with a chip that goes into his hyper-advanced brain, lets his brother take it but can't make his own."

"I lent you my computer to catch up to where I left off for one night and that's what you're hung upon."

"Yes," his eyes look serious while he shoves some oatmeal in his mouth. "You are the one who can't stand the slow burn."

"Touche."

Before we got to the last season, Damian had asked he could see the rest of the show before the finally. I didn't expect that he would binge because it was a weekend, he even made extensive notes on character weakness. He still went out on patrol every night but came back with no one tailing him. That's what he says at least. He looks tired, with bags under his eyes and just lacking energy altogether.

"While I'm at work please go to sleep, you look like you fought an energy vampire and lost."

"I wouldn’t have lost to a vampire, they’re not that hard to kill.”

“But they drink blood they need to get close; energy vampires are more psychic they don’t even have to be a real monster.” He stops eating/

“How so?”

“They could be emotionally, physically, and mentally draining people. You know like Deity Skimmer, the girl in our science class. You can’t kill the energy-sucking vibes she gives off, can you.” He snorts behind his hand.” I mean it, even creatures of the night need sleep.” I drop my dishes off in the sink. I walk off to the door putting on my boots, I hear the chair slide and I feel his judging eyes digging holes in the back of my skull.

“Once again your conditions said nothing about teasing you, suck it up.” He scoffs. “I’ll be back around 5, don’t break any more windows while I’m gone.” I close the door before I hear any remarks once more about the incident. Though I laugh to myself, I straighten out my outfit and head down to the wonderful smells of the coffee shop. I walk slowly down the stairs looking out to the crowd that had been seated in the lounge. My managers were out by the couches talking to one of the regulars. Pull me behind the counter and relieve my coworker Meg, she looks exhausted and excuses herself. She takes what I assume is her coffee and puts away her apron and rushes out the door. I finish out what she didn’t clean and wait for anyone to come up to the counter. *Ring* though it is loud I hear the bell for the door ring.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment, I need to clean the nozzle here.”

“That’s fine, I can wait.” I flinch but catch myself, so it looks like I flicked something. I turn around with the best smile I can pull off. The sleep-deprived brother of Damian, peers at me from under his hair a frown tugging on his face.

“Oh hey! You came here with detective Grayson last time. Is there anything you would like?”

“Coffee.”

“Any particular kind?”

“Anything that will keep me from sleeping on this counter.” He knocks on the surface twice.

“I Can recommend our D&D potion bottle, it’s a personal favorite of the owners.”

“Why not, how much?” He fumbles around for his pockets, I stop him.

“How about, I make get it for you, and then you pay.” He brings his hands back on the counter and nods.

“I will only be a few minutes, please make yourself comfortable.” I pull out the ingredients for our powerful concoction, the pho fried ice cream, a large potion bottle with a straw, and 20-sided dice. I place the potion bottle in front of him and the ice cream but hand him the dice. He stares at the shiny plastic unmoving.

“I would roll that.” He does what I say and lands on a nine. “Well, sir after this one you can either have another potion or chose two desserts of any kind from our display or menu.” He takes a sip from the straw rather slow; his eyes perk up a bit.

“How Much did you say this was?”

“Oh! That will be $9.23?” He pulls out the exact amount, and I put it away in the register, placing it in the compartment marked D&D.

“And I would like another one of these to go.”

“Sure, would you like it now or before you go?”

“Well now should be nice, I’m leaving in just a bit.” I pull out a cup that is relatively the same size as the potion bottle. I go to give him his cup and notice that he finished the bottle and ice cream. Confusion hits me, but I don’t stare too long to turn to clean the mess. “Have you seen Damian at all?” And there it was.

“No, not since the Gala? Did something happen?”

“There was a…disagreement so he ran out, but if you see him,” He handed me a piece of paper with a string of numbers and an email. “Tell me. That is my number and email.” He does not say anymore and walks out the door, the bell signaling his departure.

_____________________________________________________________

When I got back, I told Damian what happened, he isn’t pleased and is currently pacing the floor.

“My guess is that he knows.” I sigh over my tea and stare sadly at the replaced window.

“No doubt.”

“You know I was rather hoping not to be having another visit from the Batman. What will happen when they find out that I know about the caped crusader thing.”

“He’ll either force into secrecy, turn you into a child crusader, or confine you to the manor.”

“So in other words no privacy.”

“None.”

“As lovely as that would be you told me this was temporary, so why can’t you go back?”

“At the Gala I was supposed to keep you entertained at the table so that we could trap you into to talking about those journals.” I knew it.

“So, you lied to me.” I look at him, faking shock and betrayal.

“It was for the sake of the investigation; I didn’t think that I would end up-.” He examines my expression and face palms. “What’s wrong with you.”

“I like to call it “I laugh in the face of danger” Syndrome, in a moment of despair I crave comedy.”

“You're worse than Grayson.”

“I like him, so I’ll let this one slide.” I sip the warm liquid feeling soothed at the pumpkin spice. “What are you going to do now?” Nightmare jumps on the table noticing my concern and waiting for his answer from me. He walks to the corner where he put his bag then went to the closet pulling out my suitcase. He then grabs his outfit Robin outfit from the coat rack and his other materials. “Get packed, we’re leaving. I’ll grab Nightmare’s things gab whatever you need. And I mean need, don’t pick it up unless it’s necessary.”

“What? I can’t just leave, what about my job? School?!” He Pulls out my backpack and puts some food in it. “Damian!”

“Just trust me, I’ll take care of it! I don’t want you tangled up in my family’s nonsense.” He looks at me something odd swirling in his eyes. “Please.”

“Fine,” I grab my suitcase and pack my box and my compiece which hasn’t gotten back to me on its progress. I throw a few sets of clothes. I open the box to make sure the journals, the scales, and everything else, then I hide it under the clothing and my laptop in the front pocket. I thank myself for making sure to get a suitcase that has a double use as a backpack. In the living room, Damian is all packed the bag is strapped across his chest and he’s holding Nightmare.

“Let’s go.” He hands me Nightmare and pulls me to the balcony. He pulls out and belts with a ring pultruded out on one side swiftly put it around me connecting the loop to his belt. “Hold on tight, and don’t let go till I tell you.” I Sling an arm around him and grip on to Nightmare, he doesn’t hesitate and shoots across the balcony with his grappling gun. I screw my eyes shut. And wait to stop, my heart beats wildly in my chest Nightmare begins purring maybe in hopes to soothe me. I feel something wrong, but it would mean I was away from the Crows. I’m running again, even if it’s not me who chose this it still feels wrong. Because in the direction he’s going it seems that we were leaving Gotham. And for some reason, I feel like it would be a while before I returned.

[amarantine-amirite]

Friday The 13th

Most people hate Mondays. I hate Fridays. I’ve learned that Fridays are to be feared.

Growing up, my parents would come home from work upset more often on Friday than any other day of the week. In particular, my mother would be so upset to the point of tears. I quickly learned that nothing good could ever happen on a Friday.

It wasn’t until eighth grade that I learned the rest of the world loved Fridays. My fear of Friday was unusual. The first step to reconciling my fear of Fridays begins with a girl with pink hair wearing a sweatshirt with the logo for TGI Fridays. “Who’s TGI Friday?” I asked.

The girl in the sweatshirt replied, “It’s a restaurant.”

I tipped my head over to one side. “That’s a funny name for a restaurant.”

“The name comes from the expression Thank God It’s Friday.”

Then it hit me; that powerful sense of dread that came from Fridays. “Why would you feel good about a Friday? I’ve never felt good about Fridays.”

Sweatshirt girl's jaw dropped. She laughed, “There’s no reason to feel bad about Fridays. Fridays are good! Fridays are awesome!”

“Not at our house,” I said. I shook my head and sat down. “At our house, Fridays are for coming home from work angry, exhausted, and frustrated. Not something to be thankful for.”

“Poor thing! Well, that stops today,” she said with that perky expression that gave me the sense that she was either on the cheerleading squad or a party animal. Either way, she overacted it.

I spent the second half of eighth grade learning to love Fridays like the rest of the world. And I did love Fridays. They were my favorite day of the week.

That is, of course, until 11th grade.

Why 11th grade? Because something happened that year that made me wonder if I had perhaps been on to something. Maybe Fridays were scary after all.

I couldn’t be left in the house by myself, so my parents insisted that I sign up for as many school clubs as possible. Unfortunately, a lot of these extracurriculars had performance quotas and the leaders insisted that we treat them as full-time jobs. Underperforming meant getting kicked out. Getting kicked out meant angry parents.

Staying in anywhere was tricky, but the act of getting in was harder because I was overweight. I had to take medications that caused me to gain weight like crazy. Because of my size, I didn't exactly have teachers begging to have me in their classrooms. None of the other kids lined up to be my friend.

Having people reject you for being fat goes beyond school. Doctors reject you, organizations reject you, and summer programs outside of school reject you. If they can reject people, they will reject me. Getting in anywhere usually happens because somewhere along the line, somebody thought I was someone else.

In 11th grade, I finally found an extracurricular that I could do: Model United Nations. I could sleep during Model UN and no one would notice. Mrs. Markland, the teacher in charge, had only one performance quota: sit still. It’s like being asked to take a nap.

Usually, when I signed up for an extracurricular, they kicked me out within the week. I’ve been in Model UN for three months. How can a fat person that does nothing but sleep survive in Model UN for as long as I did? What must have happened is that the teacher in charge accidentally mixed up the people who applied to be part of the Model United Nations on the go and no-go lists. Since nobody on the outside wanted to double-check, she had no choice but to let me in.

This happened on Friday the 13th, the day they had finally caught on in my little act of sleeping through Model UN meetings.

It started very simply. I started talking in my sleep. Someone had taken something that I had said as an insult and got the teacher involved. Depending on who you ask, either what happened next was my colossal mistake or the sleep talking was the colossal mistake and this just compounded it. I shouted, "Danger! Danger!" when Mrs. Markland woke me up. Worse, I put up dukes. Within two minutes, I found myself suspended. "All right Sarah, get your things and get in the car."

I packed everything up and got in. We drove off down the road. Mrs. Markland took every effort to stay on the side streets. I assumed she was going to drive me home.

I spent most of the drive staring out the window. A heavy fog loomed over the road. Periodically, the fog would lift and reveal that what you guessed would be in the fog, you guessed wrong. Trees lined the streets; they took the place of the houses. At first glance, you would think that it was the humble abode part of town. The minute you noticed the lack of houses, you knew that you were on the other side of the last chance to go to the bathroom. This was somewhere where you needed to pay close attention to your surroundings. Maybe Mrs. Markland took the long way home due to road construction, I thought. "Did we make a wrong turn somewhere?" I asked, "because my house is the other way."

"I'm not driving you home," said Mrs. Markland as we drove over the bridge into the city. "I'm late to my other job, and you're coming with me because I'm not leaving you out of my sight."

Nothing looked familiar. Everywhere I looked, I only saw either skyscrapers or cranes plus a dense, low-lying blanket of fog. The only reason I think Mrs. Markland found where she was supposed to go was because of this unearthly red glow coming from the windows on the third floor from the top. "Come with me," she ordered.

We took the elevator up to the third floor from the top. She went into her cubicle. "Sit there, don't touch anything," she barked at me as she pointed to the hard plastic chair outside the cubicle bay.

I don't like to be told no. Within 10 minutes of Mrs. Markland starting her work at her other job, I got up and helped myself to a little adventure. I walked over to the outdoor access and wandered over to the other end of the building. I saw two people in the window arguing. From what I gather, something broke. The first guy tried to blame the second guy, but the second guy insisted that it wasn’t his fault.

I had no idea what the specifics were, but it sounded like the first guy was a landlord, and the second guy was a tenant about to be evicted. That whole incident illustrated that in the city, everyone can hear you scream. And then they complain to the landlord. And then you get evicted.

There’s no sympathy for the guy that was evicted for making too much noise. The only eviction victims to get sympathy are either those who’ve lost their jobs and can’t pay the rent anymore or those who got kicked out because the landlord decided to renovate everything so they can turn around and sell it again at a premium. If you get evicted because of the commotion you caused, you only get sympathy if your baby or toddler created the excessive noise. Anybody else, you’re an idiot. No sympathy for you.

When the two of them left, I went into the room to see what happened. Something flipped the mattress upside down, pulled the curtains apart, and karate sliced the end table in half. Also, the ceiling fan melted.

It soon became clear who did the damage. The closet door opened up. A poltergeist hovered in the closet, emanating a cherry red glow.

The poltergeist looked like someone in a slap-dash narwhal costume. It easily towered over me and had long limbs, and hands tipped with long bony fingers. Its skin is a pale grey, darkening towards the ends of its clawed fingers and feet.

As it exited the closet, it flattened out and bent its neck in ways that no human could achieve. One look at its lush, ruby lips, giant ears, and lack of eyes or nose sent a hefty message: I was in deep shit.

I booked it out of there. It wasn’t enough. It puckered up its lips and encased me in shiny, lime green slime. An appendage rapidly emerged from its neck. It fired off a spark.

ZAP!

I could smell my skin cooking like it was the hairiest bacon ever made, yet I felt no pain. The searing heat from the emerald green and heliotrope purple flames had killed my nerve endings. I could feel only the vibration of the vast electrical current as it coursed through my body. Seconds before I lost consciousness, the poltergeist disappeared in a sparkling cloud of zeroes and ones.

I spent the next month in a coma. Upon awakening, I had to relearn all those basic functions such as walking, sitting up without falling over, and using my hands. I would never be the same. I now had a newfound respect for the fact that Fridays are scary for reasons far worse than stressed parents coming home from work.

@wonderful-prompts

[onechicagorpf]

Two Can Play This Game

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader (Chicago Med ED doctor)

Summary: Y/N and Jay have a very undefined relationship, which causes problems when Jay decides to meet with Ally, his ex, for drinks. Y/N’s not one to take things lightly, so when Jay dismisses her jealousy she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine...

Warnings: Loud yelling-at-each-other arguments, which can be triggering, so please watch out! Swearing + dubious medical content, as per usual lol

A/N: I just needed a break before I got started on Not A Stranger Part 4, so this happened! Enjoy! As per usual, please leave comments if you really liked it - they mean a lot!

The sun is bearing down on you hard, and you feel a trickle of sweat go down the back of your neck.

“Need a drink?” It’s Ethan, tossing a cool bottle of water at you. Grinning, you catch it and quickly begin to empty it into your mouth.

Ethan’s frowning, looking up into the sky. “Some days, I just don’t get Chicago. It’s either freezing because it’s the polar vortex, or it’s boiling hot because - well. Whatever. I hate this.” Crushing the plastic bottle, you toss it into a nearby trashcan. “We’ve cleared everyone?” You ask, gesturing to the relatively less frantic movement of firefighters, cops, and doctors on the road. Ethan nods.

A gas explosion had gone off in an apartment, and it was bad enough that CFD paged ED doctors to come down and treat some patients on the scene. Natalie, Connor, Lanik and the student doctors opted to stay behind and hold down the fort, so you were dispatched out with Will and Ethan. For the last hour and a half, you’d been busy running triage and treating whatever burns, smoke inhalations, and other trauma injuries came your way. Luckily, the fire had been contained to just one floor, so there were only a few really awful burns. But of course, this is Chicago so there’s only so much luck going around.

The building was an old one, and that coupled with several structural defects meant that the south face of the building had partially collapsed. So in essence, for every burn victim CFD pulled out, there were about three penetrating or blunt traumas from falling concrete.

“Yeah, but I’d rather treat trauma from a falling object than burns any day,” Ethan comments and you raise your eyebrows. “See, if you’d told me that at the start I would’ve just taken all the burn vics and tossed the rest to you.” Ethan throws his hands up, as you start laughing. “Okay hold on, I didn’t say I wanted to take them all – ” “You guys good?” Cruz swings by, soot and sweat on his face. He takes off his helmet with a sigh, and his shoulders sag like he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Should be asking you that. Are you guys done with search and rescue?” You ask, kicking a nearby plastic chair towards him. Cruz thanks you and starts taking off his equipment. “Yeah, we’ve cleared building. CPD’s in there now.” You nod, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of the police - well specifically at the thought of one detective who you know is on scene…

Except you’re supposed to be mad at him now, so stop thinking about him!

“So they think this is arson? And that it’s related to some case Intelligence is working?” Ethan asks, and Cruz nods, “Seems that way, yeah.”

There’s a moment of silence, and your eyes scan the area, watching patrol officers lift up police tape for the last few victims being wheeled into ambulances. You get up, ready to check with Will if he’s ready to go back when Cruz kicks at your feet, a cheeky smile on his face.

“So what’s this I hear about you and the younger Halstead being on the outs?” His eyes light up, and you groan, swearing. Ethan laughs, and you shoot him a glare, to which he simply shrugs like as if he’s got nothing to do with this.

You turn back to Cruz, narrowing your eyes at him. “Who told you and what do you know?”

“All I know is that you and Jay were both at Molly’s last night and you didn’t even look at each other.” Cruz pouts, acting all sad. “What happened to my favourite detective-doctor duo, huh? Why the trouble in paradise?”

You roll your eyes. “We’re fine. We just…were hanging out with different groups of people last night.” Shrugging your shoulders, you lean against the nearby table of supplies, trying to look all nonchalant. Ethan raises his eyebrows, “So you’re definitely not pissed about the blonde chick Jay had drinks with 2 nights ago?”

“Okay, fuck you - ” You exclaim, unable to hide your rage at that memory. Which Ethan and Cruz find hilarious, apparently, because they’re throwing their heads back and laughing.

“You guys suck,” You punch Cruz in the arm as you walk away; the two men calling you back while still laughing. You flip your middle finger at them, which elicits an outraged “Hey!” Shaking your head, you chuckle as well.

The Med ED/Firehouse 51/Intelligence circle is a tight one and you love it - love having friends who are more or less in the same line of work, friends you can lean on, friends who don’t get pissed when you have to cancel on them last minute. But the flip side of that is the fact that nothing stays secret. Gossip is most the valuable currency in that social circle, so if Cruz and Ethan know, then it’s not a bad guess to think everyone knows.

“Dude, c’mon. You’re an adult. Just take the damn injection!” Severide’s voice catches your attention, and you turn. He’s standing at the back of an ambulance, with Will and Jay by his side (your heart, again, skips a beat, which only pisses you off because ugh, you’re so bad at being angry at him!). The three of them are crowded around a fairly attractive, topless blonde man sitting in the back of the ambulance, shaking his head vehemently. You start making your way towards them, listening in.

“Hell nah – I’m not letting you stab me with that shit – ” The guy’s eyes are wide, and he’s leaning back from Will.

“It’s just a tetanus shot,” Will explains, exasperated. He points to the guy’s side, where a bandaged piece of gauze has been stuck to his skin. “The rusty stairwell scratched you, so you need to get a tetanus shot.”

“I said, I’m not fucking doing needles!” Hot blond guy yells and Jay runs his hand down his face. “Okay dude seriously, I can’t question you about the fire unless you get treated first, so please just take the damn shot so we can all move on with our lives – ”

“What’s going on?” You interject, hands on your hips. All four men turn, and you’re very careful to not make eye contact with Jay. Will and Kelly both immediately shoot furtive glances at Jay once they see you, so obviously they also know that you and Jay are having an argument. Great!

I mean, it has to have been Jay’s fault, because you didn’t tell anyone…well except for Natalie…who might have told Maggie…who might have told April…who might have told Kelly - shit. Well, it doesn’t matter. The whole thing is only happening because of Jay. Technically the two of you weren’t really dating – it was just a couple of hookups, but then you also started hanging out a lot together, and it got to the point where everyone knew that the two of you were basically kinda sorta an item.

You liked that you guys never had to sit down and talk about what exactly the two of you were – all that meant was that you guys were strong and confident and that you didn’t need to have a discussion about where you stood!

Or at least that’s what it meant to you. Jay apparently thought it meant it was completely okay to go have drinks with an on and off ex from high school, who he’d admitted to you he’d hooked up with on multiple occasions in the past. When you (rightfully!) got pissed at him, he just frowned and said “What’s the problem? We’re not together.”

To which you responded very maturely.

So maturely!

In a very, very responsible way…

Okay, fine, maybe you screamed “FUCK YOU!” at the top of your lungs and left his apartment, slamming his front door loud enough to wake up all the neighbours.

You get that you’re maybe being a little over-dramatic, and maybe it is on you because you just assumed you didn’t have to have that conversation with Jay. But it hurt you immensely how he thought it was okay to go have drinks with an ex (an ex!) without thinking about you at all.

“Blake here tripped on his way down the fire escape and got scraped by a rusty stairwell, but he’s refusing his tetanus shot.” Will explains, snapping you out of your reverie.

You turn to the guy just in time to catch him giving you a very slow once over, smirking.

Okay…

“How come a big strong guy like you is scared of needles, hmm?” You tilt your head, putting on your best flirty voice. It’s just a thing that tends to work with unruly male patients, you’ve learned over the years.

And yeah, maybe it can be a side benefit that Jay’s going to be an audience to you flirting with someone else…serves him right!

“I’m uh, I’m not actually scared of needles. Just didn’t trust that guy – ” He nods towards Will, who throws his hands in the air, “ – to do a good job you know? Take a delicate hand for these things. Speaking of which…you look like you’re pretty good with your hands,” Blake licks his lips, flirting with you blatantly. You have to press your lips against each other to not burst out laughing.

“Dude…” Jay threatens in a deep, dark voice, but stops when you turn around and grab the tetanus shot pack out of Will’s hands. You step towards Blake, who’s looking up at you with lust in his eyes as he shifts for you. Wiping his shoulder down with an alcohol swab, you find a good spot.

“I’m pretty good with my hands too, by the way,” Blake supplies, winking and you nod. “I’ll bet,” You reply, as someone behind you scoffs. From the corner of your eye, you can see Kelly turn away, trying not to laugh.

You’re much closer to Blake than you really need to be, not that he minds – in fact you’re pretty sure he’s having a great time checking you out up close. He curses under his breath when you inject him, but quickly recovers. You rub on the jab site once done, and trash the used pack. “Good to go,” You shoot Blake a smile. “Oh, one more thing!”

You turn, looking at a very frowny, jaws tight, arms-crossed-over-his-chest Jay Halstead. “Let me borrow that,” You reach forward and take his notepad and pen from him, before scribbling down your number on the top most sheet. Ripping it off, you press it against Blake’s chest, winking. Blake’s hands come up to take the piece of paper, grinning, briefly brushing your fingers as you pull away. Jay’s jaw is on the floor when you return his notepad and pen to him, and you can see Will just shake his head at you, amusement all over his face.

“Alright, let’s go!” You say to Will, and the two of you plus Kelly leave Jay behind with Blake.

“Jay’s going to murder that guy, you know right?” Kelly asks, once you’re out out earshot from Jay. “Like, he’s going down for a homicide. You just got an innocent man killed.” You chuckle and Will lets out a low whistle.

“I’m not gonna say he didn’t have that coming, but damn that was harsh.” The older Halstead says, still laughing.

Shrugging your shoulders, you act innocent. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about – I was just making friends!”

Will and Kelly both look at each other before looking back at you.

“Oh, yeah, of course – ”

“Obviously, what else could that have been – ”

You punch them both in the shoulder at their faux-agreement, the three of you laughing. Ethan comes over, saying there’s an ambulance ready to take them back to Med. You and Will say your goodbyes to Kelly, and take your leave.

***

It’s almost midnight when you finally get home. Hip-checking your door close behind you, you start undoing your scarf and carelessly toss it onto your coffee table, before collapsing onto your couch. Your hand roams the crevices of your couch, finding the plastic remote and turning on your TV. Rubbing your eyes while yawning, your TV comes alive to the news of the day. As if on cue, the screen is filled with videos of the building from earlier this morning.

“…while the gas explosion was first assumed to be an accident, it was later proven by CPD Intelligence that it was started by Derrick Henderson, a 35 year-old construction worker from Englewood, who…”

There’s a knock on your door, three loud raps. You blink, confused, and there’s another three. Frowning, you sit up, and you hear: “Y/N, I know you’re in there, c’mon just…just let me in, please,” Jay’s voice is muffled from the other side of your front door, but you know it’s him. Groaning, you get up and make your way over, unlatching your door.

“What do you want.” You intone, seeing him standing there in your threshold. He grabs the door with his hand, like as if he’s afraid you’re gonna shut the door in his face.

“I think I owe you an apology,” Jay starts and you hum, agreeing. “And then I think you owe me an apology,” He finishes, and your mouth falls open.

“What the fuck did I do!” You yell, shoving against his chest. Unfortunately for you, he doesn’t even budge - which is kinda hot, actually, wait, dammit - focus!

Jay’s eyes go wide, like he can’t believe you’re claiming innocence. “Are you kiddi – that whole thing! With – with Blake, the fucking moron, who was basically stripping you with his eyes! That was so unnecessary – ”

“You literally went on a date with your ex and you’re telling ME what’s unnecessary?! You – ”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Your neighbour from down the hall yells, and both you and Jay shut up. “NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR PROBLEMS YOU FUCKING MORONS!”

Jay scoffs, and turns to step down your hallway to your neighbour’s apartment when you reach out, grab him by his tee and unceremoniously drag him into your apartment. Slamming the door behind you, you turn to give him a piece of your mind.

“You’re the asshole who told me that we weren’t really together so it didn’t matter if you went out with your ex-girlfriend! So why the fuck is it a problem if I give my number out, huh?!”

Jay throws his hands in the air. “I’m sorry, okay! I didn’t fucking – I wasn’t thinking when I did what I did and I can see know that it probably really hurt you, but I swear I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t want to hurt you; I just fucked up. But you – you went out of your WAY to piss me off – ”

“ALL I DID WAS GIVE OUT MY NUMBER – ”

“IN FRONT OF ME! TO SOME OTHER GUY! WHEN I – ”

The two of you jump when there’s loud banging on your door. “I’M CALLING THE FUCKING POLICE ON YOU TWO!”

Jay wrenches your door open and you see your pissed off neighbour on the other side. “I’M HER BOYFRIEND AND I’M THE FUCKING POLICE, SO YOU’D JUST BE CALLING ME!” He slams the door shut and turns, running his hands over his face.

“Okay, okay, we gotta stop yelling. Anyway, my point is – what?” Jay asks, as you stand unmoving, mouth slightly open.

When you eventually find your voice, all you can say is - “You’re my boyfriend?”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you – ” Jay smiles, reaching for you but you just step back.

“That you just decided you’re my boyfriend? Because this relationship is an autocracy?” You glare at him, getting angry again. The nerve of this guy!

Not that your heart didn’t practically soar when he called himself your boyfriend, but…

“No, no, we’re very democratic, and we should talk about this more, once we’re done with all the yelling.” Jay announces, and then he smiles. “I’m just saying I love you.”

“See, no, this is exactly the kind of issue with you - you just make decisions and act like you’re right and you can do whatever you want and you can go out with your ex if you want and that’s all supposed to be fine but the moment I – as a joke – hand out my number to some guy to give you a taste of your medicine, I’m the one who crossed a line and – wait, what?” You cut yourself off, confused if you’re hearing things.

“There we go,” Jay laughs, a fond smile etched on his face, as you finally process what he said.

“Did you just…did you just say you love me?” You ask, your voice soft as you step up to him.

“Yeah,” Jay’s grinning now, right in front of you. “I’m sorry it took me a while to realise it, but…I love you.”

You just blink at him for a couple of seconds, eyes starting to tear up. And then you punch him in the chest as hard as you can.

“Ow! What the fuck?!” Jay asks, eyes wide as he frowns, wholly confused.

“You fucking – fuck!” You whisper angrily, not wanting to piss off your neighbour again. “You had to fucking go out on a date with your ex-girlfriend and piss me the fuck off and make me make you jealous before you realised that you love me?!”

“I’ve been hit in the head multiple times…?” Jay shrugs apologetically.

“You’re an idiot.” You say, before cupping the back of his neck with your hand and pulling him down to press your lips together.

You can feel Jay smile through the kiss, bringing his hands up to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, parting your lips. You’ve kissed each other many times before, in many ways – good morning pecks, in-the-middle-of-sex makeouts, teasing neck kisses – but something about this kiss is entirely new. It’s just…warm, and loving, and delicate and beautiful and just – just perfect.

When you pull apart, the two of you rest your foreheads against each other, smiling like dumb idiots.

“Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Spencer Reid x reader

Request: You’re being interviewed about a potential unsub by two handsome FBI agents, but the tall, baby faced, tie and sweater wearing man has caught your attention. 

// Anon request:  Hey I saw your requests were open! I really like your series about Reid and I thought a series or one shot about baby season one Reid and Morgan going to a bar to interview women about an unsub and the woman they ask is super pretty and kinda has everyone’s attention but just like shamelessly flirts with Reid and ignores everyone else lol. //

A/N: baby season 1 Reid is just precious. I can see him getting super flustered and embarrassed about the attention from such a pretty woman then Morgan teasing him about it. Ugh so cute. Thank you for your request!! xx 

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

I am currently taking requests for:

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Elijah Mikaelson

Damon Salvatore

Criminal Minds:

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Supernatural: (I’m only up to season 2 at the moment, so please don’t give requests with spoilers)***

Sam Winchester 

Dean Winchester 

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNER 

You grabbed the beer bottles off the bar and threw them in the trash, then began wiping the bar top off. Only a few more hours and your shift would be over and you could go home. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted two men take a seat at the bar, “I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

You threw your rag in the trash and washed your hands then approached the men, “What can I get you boys?” You set two cocktail napkins in front of them and got a good look at the two men. Both were handsome but the one with the baby face, who pushed his glasses up on his nose was the one who caught your attention. This was not his scene and he stuck out like a sore thumb. His hair was slicked back and parted. He wore a sweater over a button up top and a tie tucked in the sweater. 

The dark skinned man pulled something out of his pocket and flashed his badge, “FBI. I’m Agent Derek Morgan and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Can we ask you a few questions?”

Doctor? He looked a little young to be a doctor. You leaned against the bar, raking your eyes over Spencer and then smirking, “Aren’t you a little young to be a doctor?” 

Spencer’s face immediately turned red and stammering out a response, “I-I’m not that kind of doctor. I have three Ph.D.s in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics.”  

You nodded, impressed, “That’s impressive, Dr. Reid.” 

“Thank you.. I can also read 20,000 words per minute and I have an I.Q of 187.” He flashed a smile and you laughed a little. He was just precious. 

Morgan looked between the two of you and smirked a little at Reid, “Anyways.” Derek spoke, “Can we have a minute of your time to ask questions?” 

“Sure. Anything for the handsome doctor.” You smiled at Spencer, who blushed and pushed his glasses on his face, running his hand over his hair. 

Derek began asking about if you’d seen a man who kept to himself and would get embarrassed by talking to women, but would come in here often and sit for hours. Never meeting anyone and kept his eyes on the women around the bar. 

You knew exactly who he was talking about, “Yeah, there is one guy who comes in all the time. But I don’t know his name.” You glanced at the end of the bar, “He always sits at the end of the bar.” 

“Yeah, that’s the perfect spot for him to view the whole bar.” Spencer says, looking around at the bar. “When does he come in?” 

You turned around and looked at the clock behind you before turning back to the men, “Usually around 6.” 

Derek turns to Spencer and gives a small smirk, “That’s only in a few hours. How about you stay here and wait for the unsub and I’ll head back to the precinct to help the team?” 

Spencer’s eyes go wide, “What? Why?” The thought of Spencer having to stay at the bar alone with the most beautiful woman, terrified him. 

Derek’s eyes glance at you and then back at Spencer, “Well, to see if the unsub comes here, of course.” He chuckles, patting Spencer on the back, “Call if he shows up.” Then he walks out of the bar leaving you and Spencer alone. 

“You know I won’t bite.” You say, laughing, grabbing him a beer and sliding it over to him. 

“I didn’t..I didn’t order one.” He says, looking at the beer and back at you. 

“I know, but you’re in a bar. And you need to look the part.” You make your way around the bar to him at the stool. “Face me.” 

He turns in the stool, facing you, “What are you doing?” He asks as your hands go to his sweater. Usually, he hated people to touch him, but for you, he’d let you do anything to him.

“Look, you stick out like sore thumb here. If that guy walks in and sees you like this, he’ll know something is up.” You begin unbuttoning his sweater, smirking as you see him gulp. You were making him nervous and you loved the hell out of it. 

He slips the sweater off, “What about now? Do I still stick out?”  

You step back to get a good look at him and tilt your head, “Take off the tie and unbutton your shirt a couple buttons.” 

He glances down at his tie before looking at you, which you nod, “Go ahead.” His hands fiddle with the top button of his shirt, having issues. 

You step closer to him, “Let me help.” 

His eyes look everywhere but yours as you unbutton the buttons for him. You laugh softly, “Never had a girl undress you before?” 

He gulps a little, “Not one as beautiful as you.” He breaths out, finally looking at you. You blush and pat the shirt, “There. Now you fit in.” Taking his things, you return back behind the bar and put his stuff with yours. 

~ 

You spend the next few hours working behind the bar, doing your job, but anytime you were free, you spoke with Spencer. Finally, the man you were talking about comes in. You make your way to Spencer, who is still sipping on the first beer you gave him, “That’s the guy I was talking about.” You motion behind Spencer who turns and spots the guy walking through the crowd and taking a seat at the bar. 

“Okay, let me call Morgan.” He pulls out his phone and steps off the stool, making his way to the exit. 

You walk over to the guy to take his order then serve a few other people before your shift is up. You grab your things from under the counter, “Hey, Mary, if that guy that was sitting here comes back, tell him his things are under the counter.”  Mary nods, “Ok, y/n, have a good night!” 

You smile, “you two!” You walk out the back, digging through your bag for your keys, “Where the hell are my keys?” You mumble, stopping to continue looking through your bag. Multitasking was not your strong suit. 

~

When Spencer arrives back at the bar, he sees your gone. He can’t help but feel a bit disappointed. He enjoyed your company and he was going to ask you out on a date if he could gather the courage. He sadly sighed before his eyes wandered to the end of the bar. The man who was seated there has vacated.  Oh no. He quickly rushes up the bartender who took your place, “The woman who worked here, y/n, where did she go?” He couldn’t take the chance, he had to make sure you were safe. 

“You just missed her.” Mary says motioning to the exit. 

Spencer quickly rushes out of the exit, glances around the alley. You’re no where in sight. Your purse and belongings are tossed around the alley. Then he hears it, a faint scream. He quickly dials Morgan, “Morgan, we’re around back, he’s got another victim.” He runs towards the scream and finds the man dragging you by your hair, a gun against your back. 

You scream and thrash against the mans grasp, “Let go of me!” The man stops and back hands you, “Shut the hell up!” The slap is enough to send you to the pavement. 

“FBI, freeze!” Spencer yells, his gun pointed directly at the man. 

If you weren’t in a hostage situation you would have been swooning over Dr. Reid and how sexy he looked. 

The man grabs you and uses you as a shield, the gun going against your temple. You whimper and grip onto the mans arm as it wraps tighter around your neck. 

“Let her go and drop you weapon!” Spencer takes a step closer, his gun still raised. He knows he can’t get a clean shot, not without hitting you. 

“Drop your gun or I-I’ll shoot her!”  The man says, digging the gun against your temple. 

You look at Spencer, eyes filled with tears. He gulps a little, “we know what you’ve done. With all those women. It’s over for you.” He takes another step, seeing the rest of his team sneaking up from behind the man. Morgan nods at Spencer, signally he has a clear shot. 

You scream as a shot goes off. The man’s hold on you releases as he drops against the concrete, a gunshot wound to his shoulder. 

Spencer rushes to you, kicking the gun away from him. He pulls you in his arms and backs away from him, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He whispers softly against your hair. 

You whimper against Spencer’s chest, “He jumped me in the alley. I was looking through my purse for my keys.” You can feel his heart beating fast through his chest

His hand goes to your back, rubbing in circles, “it’s okay. It’s over.” He pulls back a little to get a good look at you. Your lip is busted and there’s a small cut on your forehead. He gently touches your cheek. “Let’s go get that checked out.” 

You nod as he leads you to the ambulance. He leaves you with the EMT and heads back inside to grab his things, then goes back to his team. After they finish cleaning you up, you walk over to him and the team standing at the SUV, “Hey Dr. Reid.” 

He turns and looks down at you, fixing his hair,“Yeah?” 

“I think I owe you a drink. You know, for saving my life.” Spencer doesn’t say anything, he’s not sure what to say. 

“I’m asking you on a date. It’s a yes or no question.” You laugh softly. 

“Say yes, kid!” Morgan yells from the SUV. 

Spencer turns to the SUV, giving Morgan a look, his face beat red and turns back to you. “Sorry, yes, I would love that.” 

You smile softly before leaning up and pressing a soft kiss on his cheek, “I left my number in your sweater pocket, call me?” You step back from him and he nods, watching you walk away. 

“Pretty boy got him a date with the hot bartender!” Morgan teases as Spencer opens the door to the SUV.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, getting in the back, his things laying in the seat. He grabs his sweater and sure enough, in his pocket is your number. 

*****************************************************************************************************

Hope you enjoyed it! xx 

[river-bottom-nightmare]

OXYCONTIN OXYCODONE (HCI CONTROLLED RELEASE TABLETS)

—tim grabbed the bottle from the stash of medicines in his apartment, shakily pressing down on the lid to open the locking mechanism. 

OT00367K 300514-0H WARNING: OxyContin is an opioid agonist and a Schedule II controlled substance with an abuse liability similar to morphine.

—because thank god alfred somehow managed to keep the batcave infirmary stocked with many different drugs and painkillers. tim remembered the money making people blink, the professional suppliers delivering to an unknown location, leslie turning a blind eye, going so far as to help them sometimes. it gave tim access to whatever he needed to take for his own apartment.

Oxcodone can be abused in a manner similar to other opioid agonists, legal or illicit. This should be considered when prescribing or dispensing OxyContin in situations where the physician or pharmacist is concerned about an increased risk of misuse, abuse, or diversion.

—leslie had glanced at him strange, so tim took her into the medbay and pulled up his sweatpants. the swollen, bruised colour of his ankle was striking against his pale skin. to her credit, leslie didn’t even wince, just used firm hands and warm fingers to examine the wound. tim had asked her not to tell anyone, and the injury was minimal enough for her to purse her lips and nod. she demanded a checkup in a week. with some negotiating, tim moved it up to a week and a half. “be careful with those,” leslie said, gesturing towards the painkillers. “of course,” tim responded easily.

OxyContin Tablets are a controlled-release oral formulation of oxycodone hydrochloride indicated for the management of moderate to severe pain when a continuous, around the clock analgesic is needed for an extended period of time.

—tim leaned against the wall of his bathroom, finally gripping the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it off. a myriad of colours greeted him, everything from mottled yellow to angry violet to the dark red of the blood flecked around the wound on his side. it was stupid, so stupid. damian had come out of that encounter fine, just a couple bruises to the forearms. tim, on the other hand, had to suffer a slice to the side with a knife, all because he’d hurt his ankle and ribs a day ago and hadn’t been able to flip out of the way in time. the pain had been unnoticeable yesterday, but today, it went past his entire body being on fire and instead felt like he’d been dipped in ice. tim was ready to claw his skin off his torso and fix his ribs himself, but he settled for tipping a couple pills into his palm.

OxyContin Tablets are NOT intended for use as a prn analgesic

—tim allowed himself a couple seconds, taking a few deep breaths, the way dick had taught him to push through the pain. then, pushing off the wall, tim stumbled into his bedroom. forgoing dinner, he shrugged his sweatshirt back on and collapsed onto the bed, letting out a hiss of pain when he landed on a bruise. he shuffled over to his favourite side, staying on top of the covers, moving his injured ankle into a somewhat comfortable position, and waited for the pills to kick in as he drifted off to sleep.

OxyContin 80 mg and 160 mg Tablets ARE FOR USE IN OPIOID-TOLERANT PATIENTS ONLY. These tablet strengths may cause fatal respiratory depression when administered to patients not previously exposed to opioids. 

—when tim woke up the next day, it was hard to breathe. hypoventilation was nothing new with stronger painkillers, though, so tim groggily stood up and made his way into the bathroom. the bruises had darkened, and the wound was gaping. turned out tim’s initial assessment was wrong: he needed stitches after all. on the bright side, the pain wasn’t as bad today as it was yesterday. tim popped a couple more pills and took out his medkit.

OxyContin Tablets ARE TO BE SWALLOWED WHOLE AND ARE NOT TO BE BROKEN, CHEWED, OR CRUSHED. TAKING BROKEN, CHEWED, OR CRUSHED OxyConton Tablets LEADS TO RAPID RELEASE AND ABSORPTION OF A POTENTIALLY FATAL DOSE OF OXYCODONE.

—bruce needed his help with a black mask case, and he’d called jason in as well, because no one knew the villain like the former crime lord. but jason was also working a human trafficking case with dick, and while things were getting better, dick was still one of the people that routinely defied bruce’s authority, quieter than jason but much more intense. but damian had asked him personally to come (well, he’d said he wanted to show him how to groom alfred the cat, which was practically the same thing), and cass was visiting from hong kong. so, for probably a couple rare hours, everyone was going to be in the manor, and if alfred and cass had anything to say about it, peacefully. tim gathered the information he’d layed out, and made his way towards the manor.

Possible Side Effects of OxyContin include: Drowsiness and/or weakness,

—tim stopped in one of the sitting rooms in the manor, dropping onto the couch after feeling the ground sway underneath him. he probably needed to eat something. knowing what his family would say if anyone found him in this state, he used trembling hands to take his computer out of his backpack, and pull up some mindless case under the pretense of work. he forced his eyes open, letting the blue screen cut through his vision. he had a good night’s rest, so the last thing he needed was to sleep right now. besides, look at dick! the man could stay awake for days on end, or keep going for weeks on minimal sleep, never get slow or sloppy in the field with exhaustion, and kept a warm and welcoming smile on his face the entire time. the least tim could do was put his injury to the side and stay awake for the first few hours of the night, before everything delved into screaming matches and arguments.

dizziness that may be accompanied by a headache,

—tim could feel everybody staring at him. they were analyzing him, taking stock of his weaknesses, he just knew it. and he couldn’t blame them. he could barely keep his head propped up, sitting in front of the screen. he flinched every time a particularly sudden or loud sound cut through the air, making his brain scream and his face wince in pain. tim’s fingers were rubbing his temples, but the effect was laughable against the pounding in his ears, the pounding of his head. “tim,” bruce’s voice caught his attention, deep but not quite gentle. “why don’t you get some water, hm?” tim nodded, then went to stand up stumbling slightly and grabbing the chair for balance. bruce moved to steady him, but tim held a hand out to stop him. he was fine. the floor was moving, the walls were spinning, but he was fine. “just a little tired,” he waved off to bruce. “don’t worry. i’ll grab an energy drink or something later.”

nausea,

—jason’s brow was furrowed as tim forced another bite to his mouth. across the table, dick’s head tilted in question and he asked “i thought alfredo was your favourite?” tim’s smile didn’t feel all that forced when he brought it up, and he forced another bite past his lips. “i’m just not that hungry. i had a snack in the afternoon.” his stomach was rolling, clenching, sizing up and- “if you would like something light, master timothy, i’m sure we have some crackers and soup. you can eat the alfredo another time.” alfred really was too kind. tim’s hands were clenched around the fork, and it took everything he hand not to curl up on his stomach, to heave as he opened his mouth to say “no thanks alfie. i’m good.” 

and vomiting, 

—tim couldn’t take it anymore. he pushed his chair back and left the table, far more rudely than he’d ever been before, barring an argument at the dinner table, and raced upward, willing his uncooperative feet and busted ankle to cooperate no matter the dizziness. he could hear the confused cries of his family behind him, but ignored them. tim threw open the door to the bathroom, having the mind to close and lock it, before falling over the toilet, heaving up the little pasta he’d managed to force down. and when that was done, there came the fire. the pain in his stomach as he tried to throw up what wasn’t even in his stomach anymore and oh was that blood? that wasn’t a good sign.

among other side effects. For a complete list of all possible side affects, ask your doctor or pharmacist.

—there was pounding on the door, and tim heard dick’s voice calling out his name. “fuckin’ pick the lock!” jason’s voice was angry. of course it was angry, the one time his family hadn’t come to blows and tim had ruined it. couldn’t he have held it together for just a few more hours? suddenly, there was a loud crack. cass had kicked the door in. she leaped into the bathroom, immediately over to him, with dick hot at her heels. jason was leaning against the doorway, keeping damian or bruce from coming in.

Previous medical conditions, such as lung problems, head injury, liver or kindey problems, adrenal gland problems, convulsions or seizures, alcoholism, hallucinations or other severe mental problems, and past or present substance abuse or addiction may heighten the negative effects of the oxycodone. 

—voices filtered into tim’s mind, but everything sounded like he was underwater. muffled, quiet. the quiet was nice. if only his headache could get with the program. there were hands on his shoulders, cupping his face. they were warm, and felt strong. he was safe. there was a part of him screaming, though. get up, open your eyes, stop being weak! stop being pathetic! the others could do so much more than you, so just stop acting like a victim and be useful for once! the voice was demanding, and tim tried to do just that, the dizziness had come back with a vengeance and the room was spinning. or maybe his vision was whiting out, because everything flared a bright, brilliant white before tim was plunged into darkness.

Pharmacist: dispense the attached Medication Guide to any patient taking OxyContin Tablets.

OT00367K 300514-0H

i don’t actually know how OxyContin works so all of this may be horribly wrong. this is just what the warning label said on a bottle i found in the medicine cabinet.

tag list:  @comicsandhoney @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @astroherogirl @yesboopityboop @dangerduckjpeg

[azure-bliss]

shinran oneshot

Fandom: DC

Pairing: Shinran

Excerpt: 

“Shinichi,” she whispered, warm blue orbs losing focus as she looked at him, though her smile remained. She rose her hand to caress his cheek (she’s so, so cold). “You found us.”

Her chapped lips met his, and then, “Arigato.”

A/N: I swear that this was supposed to be fluffy but brain said nope, angst-infused it is. Also, I’m no expert in medicine nor the Japanese police system, even criminology for that matter. Spare me. Enjoy!

Day 9

“I should write a book.”

Shinichi’s first instinct was to snort, as he was reminded of Kogoro-ojisan’s—who he should really be calling otousan nowadays—intention of becoming a mystery novelist, much like his actual father. Kudo Yusaku had made millions writing his thrillers, and today, years after the older Kudo patriarch decided to publish his final novel, he was still adding money to the Kudo fortune.

Perhaps his mother playing the titular character in one of Night Baron’s spinoff adaptations, Lady Baron, played a huge factor too. His parents were weird that way, almost like a tag-team, because the moment Kudo Yusaku announced his writing retirement, Kudo Yukiko came out of hers.

It was as if they thought that the world could not handle more than three (he was pretty sure his popularity was on par with his parents, despite his lack of big screen appearances) famous Kudos at a time.

“Finally jumping on the full Kudo experience?” he teased, adjusting himself on the hospital bed where his wife sat, left arm wrapped around her whole frame, right palm covering hers.

Eyes focused on the little bundle in her arms, she hummed before answering, “A best-seller for sure.”

As if on cue, their newborn squirmed before revealing twin orbs that matched his mother’s, unfocused eyes looking up to the woman who went through hell and back prior to his birth.

“Anata,” she called, her tired voice laced with a hint of excitement. “He’s beautiful.”

 Day 1

He stood in an abandoned room of an equally abandoned motel located just 50 km on the outskirts of Tokyo, the very location that had him and nearly the whole Tokyo Metropolitan Police Taskforce wrecking their brains and exhausting their resources to find. The identified suspect was one Seisaku Miyazaki, a serial rapist and killer with a tendency for flairs. The 27 crime scenes he left always had distinct blood splatter to them, resulting from either gunshot wounds straight to the temple, or intraoral ones.

Shinichi had never seen a crime scene so gruesome in his life.

As soon as Shinichi stepped into the room, the first thing he should have registered was the blood-spattered left wall and Seisaku’s limp and lifeless body on a chair in the same left corner, his riffle trapped in between his legs.

Instead, Shinichi’s frantic eyes zeroed on the figure on the bed in the middle of the room, merely 10 feet away from Seisaku’s body. The woman had her back against the headboard with an ungodly amount of blood running down her bottom half, arms cocooning a small bundle wrapped with a violet-colored cardigan—the same one she was last saw wearing before her disappearance.

She had her eyes on her baby, as if the newborn was the only person who mattered, seemingly unbothered by the chaos unfolding before her. It took the lead detective a full five seconds to notice that the newborn—oh God, their newborn—was not crying.

He was beside her in her flash, holding her tighter than he should. His wife was again, unbothered, but he noticed that she closed their baby more to her semi-naked chest. The cuts and bruises on her face and torso did not go unnoticed by him. All of Seisaku’s victims had the same markings, but unlike those women who bled from their heads, she was bleeding from bottom down.

Kudo Shinichi screamed for the medic.

It was only then did he hear a soft cry, and he released a breath he did not know he was holding.

“Anata,” she called, finally removing her gaze from their son to look at him “He’s beautiful.”

Her face was pale and hollow, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her eyes and the gentleness of her smile.

His heart both bloomed and broke for her.

“Ran,” he choked out the name he’d been desperately calling for the past few hours. “You’re going to be okay.”

When the medic team finally appeared, his wife first handed the closest medic the baby, “Take care of him, onegai,” she requested, sounding too much like a plea. “He’s a good boy.”

Releasing her son’s warmth, the brunette fell back onto her husband, who caught her naked shoulders, throwing her full weight onto his.

“Shinichi,” she whispered, warm blue orbs losing focus as she looked at him, though her smile remained. She rose her hand to caress his cheek (she’s so, so cold). “You found us.”

Her chapped lips meet his, and then, “Arigato.”

With a sigh of relief, she shut her eyes, and rolled limp further into her husband’s embrace.

Shinichi’s world stood still, the only things registering in his mind were his wife’s cold body, and their newborn’s loud cries in the distant.

 Day 8

She was in pure fight mode, forcing her body to function and conscious to stay awake. Once she knew that her child was safe, all the injuries and agony finally caught up to her, and she welcomed the numbing darkness.

The last thing Ran remembered was Shinichi’s rapid heartbeat drumming her ears.

The new mother woke up a week later, on an unfamiliar bed, to the familiar but tormented eyes of her husband.

“Baby,” she mustered breathily, and her husband’s eyes all but softened.

She knew that they were safe.

   Day 10

It was another two whole days before she was deemed fit enough to hold her newborn.

“Anata,” she beams, “He’s beautiful.”

“He is,” the Heisei-Reiwa Holmes agreed. “The brat gave the doctors and nurses a fright with his fever, would not stop crying too.”

If his wife was worried, she did not show it. “Is that true?” she cooed, “But you’re okay now, aren’t you sweetheart? Your Papa found us after all.”

Day 0

Kudo Ran did not fit Seisaku Miyazaki’s victim profiles by the slightest. The females he preyed on were usually late teens to early twenties, lived alone, physically petite, and had questionable practices in their private lives.

Or, in the words of Seisaku himself, whores.

Catching the serial killer had been the detective’s top priority, with the death count at 27 and the most recent killings at the heart of Tokyo, it was one of the most challenging cases for him to date.

With half of the murders in Tokyo and the other half in Osaka, it was a no brainer for both Detective of the East and West to join hands, special taskforces from Tokyo and Osaka rallying under their (unofficial) command. The investigation had been ongoing for more than four months before special unit finally made a definite progress, being able to identify a potential victim, shadowing her day and night, coming in to save her just in time from being abducted, and arresting Seisaku’s paid minion.

Genzo Okubo was no Seisaku, the two detectives figured. The latter was confident, methodical, a true psychopathic mastermind, yet the man they caught fumbled with his words, sweated profusely, and most importantly, had little loyalty as he quickly confessed to everything.

The unit rejoiced, but Shinichi and Heiji knew that it was too simple, as if Seisaku wanted Gento to be caught.

By the time they were finished with the guy, it was already 2 a.m.

The lack of miscalls from him wife caught him off guard.

He tried not to panic, reasoning to himself that Ran was probably at her parents’, fell asleep, and his in-laws forgot to inform him. After all, it would not be the first time this had happened. If anything, the Mouris had not stopped fussing over their daughter, and with this case constantly on his mind, Shinichi had not really been the doting husband and father-to-be that he ought to be. Their six-year-old twins were away with his parents somewhere in New York, the elder Kudo couple wanting to give the once-again new parents space to get ready for the youngest Kudo’s arrival.

Halfway through dialing Eri’s number (because his mother-in-law was a light sleeper), Heiji burst into the break room with a suspicious package in his hands.

“Kudo,” the dark-skinned detective panted, as if he just ran up flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator, “that bastard’s got Nee-chan.”

Inside the package were two things: a picture of a very pregnant Kudo Ran, blindfolded and gagged, and a lone platinum wedding band.

  Day 10

“He panicked.”

“Hmm?”

“Seisaku-san, he panicked.” His wife stated, the name of her kidnapper rolling of her tongue like she was mentioning a student of hers. “I started having contractions, started bleeding too. He mumbled something about ‘not following his plan’.”

Shinichi rose his brows, puzzled by Ran’s statement, but he let her continue.

“I think,” she paused, readjusting her hold on their son when they boy started to writhe, “that he was halfway out when Seisaku-san decided to shoot himself.”

Her voice was cool, too indifferent, and deep down, Shinichi knew that his wife may be scarred for life.

“Three sounds,” she gulped then snickered. “Me screaming during the final push, the baby’s cries, and the riffle going off.”

Shinichi held her tighter.

“His blood was everywhere, Shinichi. On the walls, the carpet, the bed, my face,” There are now cracks in her voice, the memories flooding her overwhelmed mind as she remembers it all again, “On our baby boy.”

“Ran…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say. His wife and son were alive, but the trauma she went through was something he wished on no one, not even Seisaku himself.

“I didn’t want him to get cold, so I wrapped him with my cardigan. Not the most hygienic, I know, but I didn’t exactly have many choices,” a chuckle. “He locked the door, so I couldn’t escape, and I couldn’t exactly kick the door open, my energy was spent on giving birth. So, I started breastfeeding the baby, burping him…making sure he was alive long enough for you to find us.”

Something in him shattered even more.

Ran averted her eyes away from their son to look at her husband, their faces only a few centimeters apart.  There were no tears in their eyes, the pain and regret that remained in their hearts too crushing to be expressed by mere crying. “I’m safe, our boy is safe, because you found us. None of this is your fault, so please, Anata,” she kisses him before continuing, “don’t blame yourself.”

Shinichi could not imagine what life would be without her. She was his wife, partner, lover, best friend, soulmate, the mother of his children, his world, his everything.

“Okay,” he promised simply, capturing her lips for a second time before kissing her forehead. “I love you.”

He felt her smiling into his neck, and at that moment, nothing was wrong; they were whole.

They stayed like that for a few more moments, savoring the peaceful yet short time they had with their baby boy before one of the nurses took him away for the night.

    Day 11

 “Your book,” Shinichi remembered far into the night. “What are you going to write about?”

A mischievous look twinkled in Ran’s eyes, and the man knows that his wife will heal just fine. “Kidnapped 101.”

- end

A/N: Nope, not their firstborn. And I also imagine that Ran has had her fair share of getting kidnapped so might as well write a book on it lmao. 

[anightflower]

Come and Find Me

Chapter Two: Paint It Black

Hello Loves! Just to let everyone know, my chapters go from flashbacks to present day! Thank you all for sticking with me and I am sorry this chapter is posted a bit late! 

Spencer Reid x Reader 

Warnings: Mentions of Gore, violence, swearing

Read Chapter One Here 

He had spent several hours outside your window, trying to figure out the next phase of his plan. But once the Doctor had arrived and swept you into his arms, he had decided to go home. Not back to his apartment, that was the place he resided. His home was a place nobody could know about. 

It was a place for only him and his mentor Drew. 

He walked into the kitchen to find Drew cleaning up his knives. “Hey little brother, out with your girl again?” Drew asked with a mischievous smile. 

Little brother was Drew’s nickname for the boy, they weren’t blood-related, but being 7 years younger than Drew, he had taken the boy under his wing.

“Yeah, until her stupid fucking doctor came.” the boy replied. 

“Don’t worry about the Doctor, your time will come.” Drew reassured. “Come, sit, I just finished up making dinner.” 

The boy sat down, pushing aside Drew’s papers so he had space to eat.

“Ah, ah,ah, you’re going to want to look at those. Those papers contain all the fun things you need to know. I’m not teaching you all of this for nothing huh?” Drew smiles, placing the papers back in front of the boy, alongside a bowl of stew.

“Do you really think this will work?” The boy asked, glancing over Drew’s explicitly written notes.

“Don’t worry little brother, this whole thing is trial and error.” Drew reassured. “Don’t be intimidated I’ve had this whole thing planned for a while and she won’t be the first, she can be our finale-” Drew was interrupted by a scream. He rolled his eyes. “Goddamnit, this bitch just never shuts up. I wanted to surprise you with her, but now she spoiled it.” 

The boy gave Drew a curious look. Drew chuckled. “Come on little brother I will show you.” Drew led the boy down to their basement. “After she’s gone, I’ll soundproof the basement better. I just needed an idea of how loud these whores will scream.”

The color drained from the boy’s face as his gaze fell on the woman. She was tied to Drew’s metal table, she looked like one of the frogs that the Boy had to set up for dissection for Professor Irving’s class, except she was very much alive, and slightly bloodied. 

“Meet trial number one little brother, she looks quite like your girl huh? I think all of em’ should just so you can be prepared for your finale with her.” Drew turned to the Boy. “Surprise.”

“How long has she been missing?” the Boy asked, panicked. How could Drew not warn him? “Relax, like I said she’s trial one. Just a corner whore, no one will even notice she is gone. The next one will be the real challenge, I want to find one exactly like your girl and I already found her, this one we will just pump and dump. Did you get those chemicals from your professor like I asked?” 

The Boy nodded “It all in my backpack.” The Boy couldn’t drag his eyes away from the girl on the table. Yes she had your hair and eye color, but she was a hideous thing compared to you. A mere whore could never compare to you. “If she’s a whore I don’t want to touch her. I’ll try the next one.”

Drew huffed. “Fine, you only have to watch this time virgin boy. But next time, I expect you to be hands on. I’m not doing all this work for nothing.”

The Boy’s face was emotionless the whole time he watched Drew, even when the blood spurted, even when the girl looked at him, pleading for help. Even when she stopped breathing and the chemicals he brought were used to melt her flesh. 

The Boy felt nothing.

________________________________________________________________

There was an extra flounce to your step as you made your way to your favorite cafe. Maybe it was because you had successfully hired a few new employees to help your company flourish, maybe it was because one of them had already settled a new deal in Ohio, or maybe it was because you knew Spencer was coming back from a case today. 

Hell, you had just had a fantastic day and you needed to update Ava and grab your favorite mocha latte to top it off. And maybe it was your 4th coffee of the day, but so what?

Your face lit up even more when you saw Ava. “Hello my darling best friend.” You said causing Ava to grin. 

“Hey there babe, what’s got you so preppy today?” Ava asked. 

“Well, let’s see; I hired 3 new employees who already are fantastic, one of which already booked us a design job in Ohio. Oh and my superhero hot boyfriend is coming home from a case tonight.” You grinned.

Ava rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe you told him I call him that. I wanted to dissolve into the floor and simultaneously kick your ass.” She laughed. “As for the new employees, are any of them hot? Single? Oh and Ohio is good I guess.” 

You giggled. “Well Thomas is incredibly handsome, but I am afraid his soon to be husband might want to have a word with you if you try anything. As for the other two, Aiyla and May, I think you’ll find them stunning and single.” 

Ava wiggled her eyebrows. “Don’t tempt me girl, you know I swing both ways. Anyway, grab a seat, I’ll grab your coffee and bring it out to you. I get off early today so we can actually talk to each other rather than me hopping back and forth between the counter. James gets to hold down the fort with Emma and the newbie Jane today.”

“Well, maybe Jane will help him get out of his shell.” You hoped. Ava shrugged. 

“Maybe, anyway, Ohio?” Ava questioned.

 “Oh! Yes. My new minions are sketching our designs as we speak. The company is called Ohio technological, a very original name yes-” You said as Ava snorted. “But they’re trying to create an office space like Google, however I am going to one up that and add my own spin to it. Also your girl has a fantastic budget from this company and I am being paid bank!” You squealed.

Ava squealed with you, grabbing your hands and squeezing them tight. “(Y/N) that’s fantastic! I am so proud of you girl, you’ve been working so hard on this and I am so glad it’s all working out.” 

“There is one downside though.” You said with a sigh. “I have to get my plans to them by next week and once they approve of them, I have to head to Ohio for three weeks. After that I will just have Thomas overlook the project and tie up any loose ends. Either him or I will have to fly down and check in on the progress every couple weeks until then.”

 “Could be worse though.” Ava shrugged.

“That’s true, but Spencer and I have been dating for almost 3 months and half the time we can’t see each other. I’m worried that the distance will ruin us.” You confessed.

 Ava's face went completely serious and she grabbed your arm gently. “(Y/N, I have never seen a boy more in love with you. You have never seemed happier in your life. You two will make it work I promise. You’re both so in love it makes me sick.” You snorted out a laugh and Ava smirked.

 “Like I said, if he has a brother-” 

“AVA.” You groaned.

 _______________________________________________________________

The boy burst through the door, startling Drew. 

“Yo, what the fuck man?” Drew hissed. 

“She’s leaving. Fuck, fuck, fuck Drew. She’s leaving.” The Boy slammed the door shut, he leaned against it and slid down, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey little bro, take a breath, what happened?” Drew came over and pushed the boy’s hands away from his face.

“She’s leaving me Drew. For three weeks! She’s going to Ohio for THREE WEEKS. 21 days, almost a month! I won’t see her and when I do she will probably be with that goddamn doctor! What do I do?” The boy cried. 

“That fucking whore, it’s like she knows she’s making you suffer. She’s probably reveling in it. Don’t worry. While she’s gone, we will perfect our craft and get you ready. Then when she comes back you’ll strike.” 

Drew reassured the Boy, pulling him in for a hug.The Boy pulled away, dragging an arm across his tearful eyes. 

“You promise?” 

“I swear it.” Drew growled. 

________________________________________________________________

Present Day

“Garcia what did you find?” Reid asked, pleading that it would be a reliable lead. 

“Something that you won’t really like Reid.” Garcia said seriously, her usually bouncy personality was flat. “Something about your gift irked me, I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but then I remembered; the Curtis case.” 

Spencer’s heart fell into his stomach. The Curtis case had happened a few months after Spencer had started dating you. It had happened right here in Quantico, which terrified Spencer, especially since you fell perfectly under the unsubs victimology; 20-30 year old females with (Y/C/H) and (Y/E/C), successful middle class women who lived alone for one reason or another. You had luckily been out of town for a business trip at the time, working on an office design for a company in Ohio. 

Spencer remembered a phone call he had with you one night during the case. He had called you after finding yet another dead victim, raped and torn to pieces, whore scribbled all over their wall in their blood. It had made him sick, because all he could picture was you in their place.

It was late when he called you, but he had just needed to hear your voice and know you were okay. “Hi baby, are you alright?” Your voice was sleepy, but concerned, you had kept up with the news and had heard about the horrible murders going on while you were gone.

 “Not really, but I just needed to hear your voice. There’s a sick selfish part of me that is so glad that you aren’t here (Y/N). All of these girls look so much like you-” Spencer paused, you could hear the tears in his voice. “I just am so glad you are safe, I don’t think I could focus as well on this case if I knew you could possibly be in danger.”

 “Aw Spencer, I am so sorry baby. You aren’t sick or selfish for wanting me to be safe, everyone focuses on the safety of those they love, it’s only human. I know you are going to catch this guy, you are the most brilliant man and agent I have ever met. Just don’t tell your team I said that, I don’t want a bad reputation before they even meet me.” You teased, trying to lighten his dark mood.

 It had worked slightly as you heard him let out a small laugh followed by a sniffle. “Listen Spence, I can stay here a bit longer if it will help you focus, but when I come home I am taking self-defense classes and such. I want you to have a sane mind knowing that your girlfriend actually can handle herself. I honestly think it will help me keep sane too, after hearing everything about this case.” 

Spencer paused and thought for a second, part of him wanted you as far away as possible, while the other part just wanted you in his arms. “I appreciate you considering me, but I want the ultimate decision to be made by you Princess, I trust your judgement and I don’t want you living your life based on my fear.” 

You breath caught in your throat at the sentiment. “I love you Spencer Reid.” 

“I love you more (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” A true smile beamed across his face, you guys had never said that to one another before and it meant just as much over the phone as it would in person.

Spencer flashed back to the present. “Andrew Curtis is in jail right now with three life sentences, how could this have anything to do with his case?”

 Garcia cringed a bit, “His calling card.” The words hit Spencer like a ton of bricks, how could he have not seen it before?

The gift box, the red bow, the eyes scratched out of the picture, that was exactly what Curtis had sent to his victims before they were attacked by him. Most of the women had thought it was a prank, a way to scare them into submission, they were incredibly wrong.

“So what could it be, a copycat?” Emily asked.

 “That is a possibility, they are using the exact same delivery company Andrew Curtis used, I found this on the security footage.” Garcia pulled up an image of a man wearing a uniform; it was a hideous orange color with the words “Swiftly Delivered” on it, khaki shorts, and white tennis shoes. 

“You think the company would have shut down or at least redesigned their hideous uniform after all the association with Curtis.” Emily mumbled.

“Well, I think in this case it’s lucky they didn’t, that way we could easily find the connection.” JJ said.

 “How could something like that have gotten cleared by security?” Rossi wondered aloud. “You think someone would have possibly recognized it, the case is still pretty fresh.” 

“Well, the box had no threat, no weapons, they must have just scanned it and sent it through. Alyssa was the one who brought it up with the rest of the mail. She said nothing seemed off about it when she brought it up, she just thought it was someone who was sweet on our pretty boy.” Morgan explained.

“Everyone is just so invested in my love life that we miss obvious clues.” Spencer growled frustrated.

“Well, at least we have a lead.” Hotch interrupted. “JJ, Morgan, I need you guys to head over to Swiftly Delivered. Ask them about their past customers and see if they can remember our unsub. Emily, you and Reid head over to (Y/N)’s apartment and see if you can find anything. Rossi and I are going over to talk to Curtis.”

“Hotch, I need to talk to Curtis.” Reid protested. “If he knows anything about (Y/N)-”

“No Reid. You know (Y/N)’s apartment better than anyone. You will notice if anything is wrong.” Hotch explained sternly.

“Hotch-” Reid argued. 

“No. I don’t trust Curtis, he seemed too interested during his original case. If he knows something, I can’t have him getting under your skin. Reid’s head fell in defeat. “But-” Reid’s head shot back up. “If you guys finish before us. Meet us at the prison.” Hotch ordered. 

Hope filled Reid’s eyes.

TAGLIST

@andiebeaword @haylaansmi @parkastoria @possessedjoker @amronsparty @generaltheoristexpert @sierraraeck @coniumalces @tamedbyafox @anotherr-fine-mess @adoregin @rainsong01 @canyonnmoonn  @mggshoe @boxofsparklingmuses @richardpapensmuse @deanlenaz​ @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @annesauriol @itsametaphorbriansblog @secretpickleprofessordean @shameleswhorehourstm @stepsofthefbi​ @iifloweringnightsii

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Lost Their Voice From Screaming: Chris

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt “Lost Their Voice From Screaming” (requested for Chris by Anon) - here you go! Timeline is during Chris time training at the WRU Facility. 

CW: Dehumanization, degrading language/victim blaming, noncon touch, referenced noncon, forced drugging, ableism (may be tough for those who underwent ABA therapy), internalized ableism, institutionalized pet whump, captivity, restrainted, shock collar, whump of a minor (character is 17)

---

Handler Petrus is already in the training room when the boy is escorted there, going over some paperwork at a desk in the corner. He glances up at the trainee, gives him a perfectly normal smile, and beckons him inside with a quick, absent-minded gesture. “Come on, ‘499.”

His friendliness is a trap, and the boy knows it, but there is no way to avoid any traps here. The boy must step into them, again and again, until he learns to love the way it feels as they close around him.

Even if he had a way to escape, he’d never think of it fast enough. His thoughts drift slowly, drugged into a foggy numbness. He feels fear, but only around the edges. In the center of his mind, it’s all just… smoke. 

He glances over his shoulder at the two handlers who escorted him, who give him blank, uncaring faces in return. Once he’s fully inside, they close the door, and the boy swallows at the sickening familiarity of the ssshhhh-click of the lock. 

Alone, now, with his primary handler. Alone, and the only way out of the room is Handler Petrus’s keycard, the ID he wears on a bit of blue stretchy nylon clipped to his belt, right next to his black baton.

“Good morning, ‘499,” Handler Petrus speaks warmly, affectionately.

The boy takes a breath, keeping his expression carefully blank, hands hanging at his sides. He’s wearing the weights again, heavy hexagonal pendants that swing from short chains off the cuffs they put around his wrists. When he moves, they clink together, and he has to work harder. He can’t hide it, if he tries to tap on himself or the walls. 

He managed to get one around to where he could hold it pressed into his palm, fingers curled, and he can settle himself just a little by letting his fingertips just brush along its textured edges. It’s something, to settle the nerves that crackle inside him no matter how much they drug him, how chalky they make his meals taste. The fog can’t quite steal all of him away, but he is not allowed to move.

He must be still.

He must-

Handler Petrus clears his throat and the boy jumps, his heart racing in a sudden panic as he realizes he’s been silent too long. It’s hard to understand, when he has to be quiet and when they want him to speak. He can’t read their faces very well, only the punishments that follow his failures. “Trainee-”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m, I’m sorry, H-Handler Petrus, I, I, I was only, I was-”

“223499.” Petrus’s voice goes cold, and so do his eyes, and the boy’s weights click together as his hands jerk in an aborted attempt to tap on himself to calm down. There is no calming. He has to learn how to calm without touch, without taps, without the things he needs but they tell him he isn’t allowed. “I will give you one more chance. Good morning.”

Silence is better than stammering.

The boy’s breath comes shaky and he hears a faint whine at the edge of his own exhale that makes his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He whines more now, whimpers, makes animal noises because it’s safer than using words. They like those sounds. They hate his words because he uses his words all wrong.

He speaks with careful, plodding slowness. “Good morning… Handler Petrus.”

“Better. Do you know why you’re here, when this was meant to be a rest day?” Handler Petrus sits back in his chair, tapping his pen on his desk idly. The boy’s eyes drift there with a twist of ravenous envy. 

Why does his handler get to tap when he doesn’t? How is Handler Petrus chewing the ends off all his pens different than the boy tapping on the walls? How in his foot tapping, like it is right now, his work boot hitting the cold tile floor that freezes the boy’s bare feet, any different than the boy bouncing on his feet?

He doesn’t understand how one kind is okay and another isn’t. He doesn’t know why he has to be a statue now. He doesn’t know, and no one can explain it, and no one ever even tries.

“Yes… yes, Handler Petrus.” He wants to rock. He wants to rock, and tap, and move his hands. The heavy weights make his shoulders ache just carrying his hands around all day. But they… they help, he tells himself. They keep his hands still.

He has to be still.

Stillness is better than what I do.

“Tell me.” Petrus’s pen stops tapping, the boy’s eyes frozen on it. The end is all chewed to bits. The boys swallows as he feels a rush of saliva in his own mouth. Deep inside, he remembers he used to chew on the ties to his hoods on coats and sweatshirts-

A sharp stab of pain cuts the memory off before it gets any further, and he closes his eyes against it, the overwhelming pain and the weight of the fluorescent lights on his skin. He feels the buzz, tangible and obvious, a pressure he can’t run from. 

“Tell y-you…” He’s trying to buy time, to get his mind back, but his foggy drugged-up brain struggles to lurch in this direction at all. The weights click, clack, together, and he remembers. “Because… b-because H-Handler… Handler Everly… caught me. In my room.”

Petrus starts tapping his pen again. The sound is deafening in the silent room. “Caught you doing what?”

“T-... tapping. With my… my fingers. On… the wall.” It’s so hard to speak like this, and he doesn’t know how other people can do it. He has to let words drop like stones and somehow hold them one at a time when they want to fall out all at once. Somehow, he manages. It’ll only get worse if he can’t use his words right.

“Good. The first step to fixing the problem,” Handler Petrus says easily, amiably, “is acknowledging it exists. I thought we broke you of that nonsense, ‘499.”

“I’m… sorry, sir.” 

Petrus finally stands, dropping the pen on top of a stack of papers. The boy’s eyes drift over there, and there’s a word he almost remembers written across the top in thick black block letters, it starts with D, he remembers the letter D-

More pain. He winces, this time, whines at the stab of it right behind his eyes. He has to close them tightly against the tears that instinctively well. By the time he opens them again, Handler Petrus had closed the gap between them. When the handler’s rough thumb rubs across his lower lip, the boy goes perfectly still.

Statue boy - don’t blink don’t move don’t tap don’t breathe.

He waits.

Handler Petrus drops his hand, with a slight smile on his face. “You really do try to be good for me, don’t you, trainee?”

“Yes… yes, sir.” He feels sick with the handler so close to him, knowing what usually comes with the proximity. His clothes, the thin white t-shirt that’s too big and hangs on him like it belongs to someone else, the shirt black shorts… they feel suddenly too constricting. He wants them off, but not because he wants this. He just wants something more. He wants to be coated in clothing, covered in layers of it, until no one can touch him anymore.

“But you failed today. You waited until you were alone and you broke rules. Do you know what happens when you break the rules, trainee?”

He had a name once.

Didn’t he?

Did he ever have a name?

The boy’s breath hiccups with a sob he wants so badly to let out, and he nods shakily, lowering his eyes down to the floor, to those heavy black boots all the handlers wear. Steel-toed, snapping ribs with a kick at just the right angle. He’s seen it happen to a trainee who threw a punch. He’s seen worse, too.

Everyone sees worse and worse and worse and when they think it’s as bad as it gets, the handlers find something new, something that cuts deeper than they knew a cut could go and still be survived.

“That’s right. Discipline.” Petrus’s smile is thick in his voice. “Discipline in a humane and necessary method of ensuring continued good behavior in a pet, right, trainee?”

The boy only nods again, his heart rabbit-fast inside his chest. He doesn’t look up when Petrus’s hand brushes against his face again, his knuckles just touching the boy’s cheekbone, trailing down to his jaw. 

He feels the collar around his neck shift, the slightest warning before the shock follows a half-second later on its heels, and his head jerks up, tears bubbling too quickly for him to blink them back. “H-Handler-!”

The pain rips through him, races along nerve endings from toes to top of his head, catches air in his lungs and refuses to allow them to exhale it.

“Eyes on mine,” Handler Petrus reminds him softly, taking his thumb off the button to the remote that controls the shock collar of any trainee within his radius. The pain fades, the boy’s muscles trembling as he forces them to lock, meeting the handler’s eyes with difficulty. He hates looking them in the eyes. The handlers all look cold to him, he hates it, he hates it.

“Y-Yes, sir, yes, so… so sorry, I’m, I’m, I’m-I’m-”

“Sssshhhh. Silence-”

“-is better than, than stammering, sir,” The boy finishes quickly, shaking, and he is rewarded with a smile from Handler Petrus, and finally… finally… he can breathe out.

“Discipline is essential,” Petrus reminds him, voice low. “Get on the table.”

Every training room has one. A padded table - like an exam table in a doctor’s office, the boy thinks, before the pain wipes that memory away, too - with restraints that line the sides, the top and bottom. He knows this table too well, has spent whole days strapped down here. The boy shudders in disgust and his body’s memory of worse things, darker things, pulled from him against his will.

But, no, it’s not. 

He signed up for this. They tell him all the time. He wants this, to be strapped down, to be visited when he is trying to sleep, to have handlers tell him things and touch him and worse. They promise him he asked for it, specifically to be this. They tell him he was made for this, or he wouldn’t have signed the contract.

It’s not against his will.

Somehow, all this horror and agony and disgust and the way he never, ever feels clean… somehow, this is what he wants.

They tell him, anyway. They tell him he wants this.

“S-sir? What am, am I… learning today?” He is already moving, following the command obediently. The padding for the table is slightly warm when he climbs up onto it, looking over to Petrus for guidance on how he is meant to position himself. 

“Not to think you have an ounce of fucking privacy, and not to tap on the fucking walls ever again. Now, we’ve been kind.” Handler Petrus moves to him, gently pressing a palm into the center of his chest, until the boy shifts onto his back, swallowing against the nausea that threatens to bring up the chocolate shake he was given for breakfast. 

How can he have wanted to be this, when it always makes him feel so sick, and scared? How can this be what he signed up for, when he is always holding back a scream behind gritted teeth while it happens?

Handler Petrus hums as he takes the weighted cuffs off the boy’s wrists, letting them drop to the floor with a careless clatter. He takes a thin wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb along the veins on the inside of the boy’s wrist, and looks up at him.

The boy stares right back, right into his eyes. They look like empty cold marbles in the handler’s face, skin like putty twisted into a smirk. 

He hates looking them in the eyes.

Each wrist is shifted fully above his head, buckled into the straps there to hold them fast. Shoulders that have carried pounds of weight at his wrists for days now ache as they are forced into a whole new position, and the boy’s top teeth come down on his lower lip until he feels pain that overwhelms the pain in his arms, if only for a second.

Then the handler moves to his ankles, securing them to the sides of the table. This isn’t… this isn’t a position the boy knows. It’s not a number, but it’s also not a position good for… for…

“S-sir?” His voice trembles.

“Sssshhhh. Just be still.” Handler Petrus pats his stomach, and the boy realizes he’s still clothed. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved - his training usually involves no clothing at all - or even more terrified of the horrible unknown of what could be done that keeps his clothing on. “You broke the rules. Now you receive your discipline.”

He steps away, and the boy’s head twists, trying desperately to follow his movements across the room, but he can’t quite see him. He hears the sound of a drawer being pulled open, then pushed shut again. A click - something opening, maybe? The boy flinches with every noise, because he doesn’t know what they are, and not knowing is worse than whatever it could possibly be.

Or so he thinks.

Until Handler Petrus comes back into his vision with a small square alcohol wipe and a syringe filled with a pale yellow liquid.

The trainee has never received this one before, but he knows what it is. They all know, soon enough. There’s a whimpering sound he only belatedly realizes is his own voice, and yanks hard against the restraints.

Of course they don’t give. He’s exhausted from never sleeping, weak from wearing weights on his wrists, weak from the lack of real food, weak from the drugs. They cheat, he thinks with a sudden wild defiance, as Handler Petrus grips his left arm at the elbow and wipes quickly along the crease. They cheat to break the trainees down, because maybe they couldn’t win without it.

Win what? He signed up to be this, whatever they want him to be. He’s a natural slut, a whore, they told him so, they told him over and over and over again, natural-born slut, made for it, you like this, you want this, you want it you want it you want it-

He cries out as the needle breaks the skin, slides in, finds his vein. It’s an awful feeling, like the drip at the beginning that he can barely recall beyond the eternal press of the needle, the sight of the IV bag slowly emptying and being refilled where the boy hung helpless against the wall. 

The handler’s thumb presses lightly into the boy’s arm as he depresses the plunger on the syringe. “After this, I think you won’t break the rules again, even alone.” Handler Petrus smiles at him, but his eyes are still so, so cold. 

Just like the liquid that moves into his bloodstream. He gasps at the ice of it, and he can’t begin to thrash, only be held still, forced to take it, just like he is forced to take everything here. Because he wants to be forced.

They tell him he wants to be forced.

He can’t remember, but… but he must have, because how else did he get here?

All pets are of legal and consenting age and sign contracts of their own free will fully informed as to the consequences of their decisions-

The cold dissipates, mixes in with his blood, his heart pumping the new drug through his body all too quickly thanks to his rapid, panicked heartbeat. 

“Please, please, I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry-sorry, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean, didn’t, I just, my body, my body has to, to to to-to-to move, Handler, s-sorry-”

“Your body does what we tell it to do,” Handler Petrus says, pulling the syringe back empty, giving the boy one more smile. “And nothing more. You will understand that now.”

He walks away, leaving the boy to breathe, in the awful anticipation of what he has never experienced before but knows is coming.

He listens to Petrus drop the used syringe in the biohazard disposal box along the wall. He has the symbol memorized, the bright orange lid with black writing he can’t read. He could turn and look and see that if he wanted. But the boy only stares at the ceiling, gasping in breaths.

It starts as heat.

His veins start to burn, like fire pulses through him and not blood. It’s not the warming heat of the purple drug, the one that leaves him panting and desperate, the one that makes them all laugh at him even as they offer to give you what you need. This heat is sharper, stronger. It moves straight from a sense of warming to pain, and the boy catches his breath.

The pain begins in his arm, where the needle went in, but it spreads with each beat of his traitor heart until every inch of him is burning.

At first he whines, and whimpers. He pleads. Apologies tumble from his mouth, catch on his tongue, as Handler Petrus walks back over to his desk and turns his chair around so he can watch. The boy manages to turn to look at him just long enough to realize he is drinking out of a travel mug with a cat on one side. The sharp pain that comes with trying to read is less than the agony in his bones and so he clearly sees the words NO TALK ME ANGY WITHOUT COFFEE written on the side, and lets out a gasping, breathless sound that might be hysterical laughter as he realizes that he’s reading it.

The laughter breaks into sobs as the pain doesn’t stop building. His back arches off the table, wrists and ankles yanking at the straps that restrain them, twisting until they are rubbed raw, until they bleed, until he cannot imagine hurting any worse than he hurts now and still the pain keeps building. 

He can’t hurt worse than this and then somehow he does.

At some point, the sobbing tears turn into screams.

Handler Petrus keeps watching, sipping his coffee from his mug, as the boy screams in helpless perfect agony. 

The sound of his pain bounces off the ceiling and the walls, contained within the heavily soundproofed room. Only Handler Petrus - and whoever might be checking the security cameras right now - gets to enjoy this show. 

The boy is aware of nothing, now - his vision has narrowed to a horrible pinpoint. Everything is white around the edges, the pure cold clear white of the tiny room he sleeps in. The only thing he feels is pain.

Pain, and pain, and pain - because he couldn’t be still, couldn’t be a statue, couldn’t be good when no one was watching just as much as he is when their hands are on him. He wishes their hands were on him now, anything would be better than this, anything-

He is begging, he thinks, but the begging isn’t words, just shrieking screams. 

At some point the screaming stops.

Oh, his throat is still tensed with it, mouth open in a perfect rictus O, his eyes wide and bulging and running endless tears that collect and pool in the shells of his ears before they drip to the waterproof padding on the table beneath him. His breath still exhales with a force that keeps all the muscles of his body tense and shaking.

But the screaming stops, because at some point he has no voice left to scream with.

When that happens, the Handler has finished his coffee and started back on his paperwork. He glances up, briefly, and gives the boy a pleased smile. Then he looks back at his desk.

How long it lasts, the boy will never know.

The pain fades in increments, so carefully and slowly he doesn’t realize it a first. Eventually, though… eventually he understands that it’s less than it was, and then less again. He goes limp against the table, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling again. He can feel the trickle of blood along his wrists, his ankles. He can feel the sharp glass-shard pain of his throat when he swallows, hear the whistling exhale of his breath.

Eventually, he can even feel the clothes laid over his skin again.

Handler Petrus’s hand in his hair is gentle and soothing, and the boy pushes into it desperately, trying to please him so it won’t happen again. So he won’t be hurt again. 

Handler Petrus chuckles, his voice low and deep, and traces his fingers over the boy’s face, down his neck, rubs a circle just behind one ear. The boy whimpers, but no sound comes out. 

“Will you break the rules in your room again?” Handler Petrus asks.

The boy tries to say no, sir, but no sound escapes from him except a hoarse whistle. His eyes widen in panic as he tries, again and again, and he can’t make a sound. 

“Perfect,” Handler Petrus murmurs, and undoes the straps at his wrists, moves down to free his ankles. He takes the boy’s hands and helps him up to sitting, smiling at his pale face, the pinch of pain when he swallows. “Silence is better than stammering, 223499. And you can’t stammer if you can’t speak, can you?”

The boy’s eyes are wide and, in the nearly colorless room, terribly green. He nods, slowly. His mouth automatically forms the words, yes, handler, although he can’t say them.

“Good. And you won’t break the rules now, will you?”

A shake of the boy’s strawberry-blond hair, soaked with sweat now, sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. No, sir.

“Good. Let’s get you back to your room. No more training today.”

The boy can barely stand as he is helped off the table, leaning heavily against his handler. Petrus’s hand around his back supports him, keeps him moving, and the boy is grateful for the gentleness.

The handler could have chosen to have him train, today. Instead he is taken back through the maze of hallways to the room he stays in, shaky and weak, and deposited on the cold floor. Shivering, the boy drops to his knees.

When the handler’s fingertips press against the underside of his chin, he raises red-rimmed eyes. He hates looking them in the eyes so, so much.

But he’ll do anything not to feel the pain again.

“We see everything you do,” Handler Petrus says, almost gently. “Everything. Do you understand me, trainee?”

The boy swallows, licks at dry lips, and nods. 

“If I catch you tapping again, I’ll give you the full dose next time.” 

That wasn’t the full dose? It can get worse than that?

The boy whimpers, hoarse and barely-there, and then winces at the pain that comes from making any sound at all. He shakes his head, I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you, I’ll be so good, mouthing the words he can no longer speak.

“Damn straight,” The handler replies. He presses his thumb against the boy’s lower lip, and he opens his mouth obediently to let the handler push it inside, press down against his tongue. His thumb tastes like salt and skin and the boy knows that taste as well as he knows the taste of the chocolate shakes. 

He is silent. 

Still.

“That’s it. That’s a good boy.” Handler Petrus pulls his hand back, ruffles the boy’s hair. “That’s my statue boy. Don’t break rules again.”

He leaves, the door sliding shut behind him, and the boy is alone in the white room.

The need builds and builds inside of him, but he doesn’t try to tap on the floor, on the wall, on himself. He curls into a ball on the floor, arms over his head to try and create enough darkness to sleep, and pushes down the need he has to tap, to rock, to do something with his body into a twisted little ball of fear and pain deep inside himself.

He is good. Just like they want him to be.

Just like he wanted.

They tell him he wanted this, to be fixed of his wrong words and his wrong hands. They tell him over and over again, and so it must be true.

In the white room, the boy weeps.

His tears are silent, and his body is still.

Just like they wanted.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp​, @finder-of-rings​, @endless-whump​, @whumpfigure​, @slaintetowhump​, @astrobly​, @newandfiguringitout​, @doveotions​, @pretty-face-breaker​, @boxboysandotherwhump​, @oops-its-whump​

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Nearly Gone. PAIRING: Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader REQUEST: anon asked: “Hi! Can you please make an arthur/reader where the reader gets taken by the nite folk? She’s nearly dead when he finds her and he’s just v worried? Previously established relationship if you can“ WARNINGS: Some heavy stuff: torture, gore, kidnapping, murder, mentions of death. It’s mostly angst.  NOTE: This got...really long. I got really into it and it took off on me. It’s not a light read but things are looking up by the end at least. Anyway, I’m happy with how this turned out so I hope you all enjoy, much as I really leaned into the dramatics of it all here. 

...He was really hoping that wasn’t another body. 

Currently riding around in the swamps, the evening heat soaking into his skin, he knew he was pushing into territory that belonged to some rather terrifying folk. He’d heard the stories, seen a few of them. That weeping woman in the swamps, his concern met with knives and silence. The odd body he found tied to or hanging from trees, final letters confirming the horror the stories suggested. He’d even helped that man out in the swamps reclaim his house back from the bastards.

Regardless of his previous encounters, finding one of their victims was a disconcerting sight every time. 

Arthur spurred his horse into a quicker trot, approaching the tree with the strange shape that seemed to be growing out of the bark. However, the closer he got, the more he knew it was what he’d been hoping it wasn’t. It took him a moment to notice the details, the blood soaked ropes--and his stomach dropped. Along with knowing it was a body, he noticed the familiar clothing, blood soaked and torn, and the saddlebag that had been dropped at the base of the tree. 

He knew that saddlebag, it was the one he got you. 

He was looking at you. 

Words seemed to die in his throat, Arthur locking up a moment before he slowed his horse, getting out of the saddle and stepping down into the wet earth under his boots. Much as a part of him was saying he was cutting down your corpse--he could barely see your face, head tilted downward, your skin caked in grime. Yet, he still moved with great speed, pulling his knife out to cut away at the ropes around your chest. You weren’t dead, he wasn’t the one who found your corpse. 

As it would turn out, you weren’t dead but damn near close. 

As the ropes that were constricted around your torso were cut, you let out a sputtering wheeze, a bit of blood escaping your mouth with a quick, wet, cough. Arthur reached out as you sagged forward, quickly wrapping his arms around you as your legs made no attempt to keep you upright. He lowered you somewhat against the front of the tree next to your saddlebag, your breathing still a painful wheeze in his ears, but you were breathing. 

“I got you, darlin’, I--”

There was a sudden animal cry, one that sounded off yet familiar all the same. Arthur stood to his full height, keeping you sitting behind him as he removed his revolver. Sure enough, some people came running in out of the swamps, Arthur recognizing them as the Night Folk. Silent as ever, the only sound around him was the swamp and the crack of his gunshots as he took them out as quickly as he could manage. Much as it was better that you had nobody alive to trail after you, Arthur knew that his opportunity to keep you alive was rapidly closing with each shot he took. 

When the final body in the ambush dropped to the ground, Arthur wasted no time in letting out a shrill whistle to call his horse over. Again, more time being wasted, but when he scooped you up from the ground, you were still thankfully alive, letting out another rattling sound that might have been a noise of pain. Once his horse was close enough, Arthur lifted you up into the saddle, pulling himself up behind you before spurring his horse forward toward the Saint Denis doctor. Much as he didn’t want to show his face too much around the city currently, you would not survive the night back at camp. 

With the way you made no way to keep yourself upright in the saddle, your head lulled back against his chest and your body jostling with each beat of his horse’s hooves against the ground, he saw that clear as day. 

                                                           ***

Your legs were burning, feeling like you were losing control of your movements as you continued to try to sprint through the mud and water of the swamps. They were coming, you knew they were. You had heard a woman screaming, crying. Much as you had just wanted to get to Saint Denis, you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore it. Though, with the startle of your horse darting off into the trees and the woman rising up with murderous intent once you had gotten close enough, your mind had panicked and you took off sprinting. 

There was still the weight of your revolver around your hip, your run slowing after a good scramble to keep yourself going. To open the distance between you and these people, yet you couldn’t. With your mind racing, you stopped completely, pulling the weapon out of its holster and aimed it toward the people charging toward you. 

You fired off a couple shots, dropping a few as they came out of the trees. In the back of your mind, you knew you were already low on ammo. Some part of you just shrugged at the idea of heading up to Arthur’s room to get the ammo you needed. You figured you would just get more at the general store while you were in the city, and yet--

You pulled the trigger and it hit an empty chamber as more people moved out of the trees toward you. The whole time, outside of the sobbing from the woman earlier, there was no shouting, taunting. No gunshots, no horses being used to overtake you. If you had been more prepared, if you had known better, you might have had a chance to fight back against them. 

Yet, you made enough mistakes to make that an impossible situation in the moment. You ran from your horse and you were out of ammo. 

In a last ditch effort, you turned and flung your revolver toward the person nearest to you. It connected, you heard it, but you had turned around before you could really see in order to run. However, you were greeted with a solid body, your immediate reaction was to start swinging. Your fist connected with their gut, yet as you moved to side step around them, something solid came down hard across the back of your head. 

Immediately, there was a ringing in your ears, your exhausted legs giving out under the harshness of the blow. 

                                                         ***

Thankfully, the streets of Saint Denis were pretty bare at night. 

Arthur knew he could not afford to slow down for anything or anybody, his horse’s hooves against cobblestone echoing in his ears as he tried to keep you upright in the saddle with a steady arm wrapped around your torso. There had been no response to his words, his assurances. It seemed like you had no idea you were even alive still, just a mess of blood and mud stained clothes and dangling limbs. You couldn’t have been tied to that tree for long, they were hanging about to wait until he was distracted enough to attack and you were still alive. 

He was kicking himself--he should have known something like this was going to happen. With how everything had been headed for the gang, he figured this might as well have been something to expect. You had left to see what you could stir up in the city, had seemed somewhat excited about it. Remarked how you hadn’t been in one in years but knew how to work them for your benefit. You had placed your hand on his shoulder, commenting on the tightness of his expression before you pressed a kiss to his lips. 

“I’ll be fine, you just have to trust me on this.” 

Now it seemed like you were going to die in his arms. 

He steered his horse around another corner, charging down the street as it became more familiar. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, two figures standing just outside of the practice as it seemed to be getting dark. The doctor and one of the nurses who had been working glanced up at his approach, Arthur pulling back on the reins of his horse as the doctor started to walk toward him. 

“What happened?” the doctor demanded, Arthur slowing his horse to a stop next to him. 

“Found her out in the swamps, strung up like a...I dunno. She’s in a bad way.” 

“We had just shut the doors to the practice but--”

“She’s--” he paused, slipping off the saddle while trying to keep you from falling off with him before he could gather you into his arms. “She’s very dear to me. She ain’t gonna make it through the night if she can’t get any help…” 

“Alright. Alright, come on,” the doctor said, turning quickly as he gestured toward the woman standing a few steps behind him, meeting Arthur’s gaze with a bit of a wide-eyed stare. “Miss, we need to get the surgery ready. Please light the lanterns, I am going to need to examine her wounds.” 

Arthur followed behind the two of them into the somewhat dark building toward one of the rooms, the doctor opening the door before pointing toward one of the tables inside. 

“Put her down there,” he directed, Arthur slipping past him to do so as the room eventually grew brighter from the lanterns. You tensed and shook somewhat in his arms as he did so, another sign that you were still with them. Arthur placed you down on the table, your body still not doing anything to move on its own outside of the odd jerk or noise that would escape your mouth. 

Arthur stepped aside as the doctor moved in to look you over, examining the parts that were still bleeding and opening one of your eyes. 

“She’s not all that responsive, her head’s very warm…” he commented, shaking his own head, “I’ve seen these wounds before, too, on…” 

He didn’t finish his sentence, Arthur didn’t really need him to. You were probably in the minority who were alive enough to be taken to him for help after an attack from who you had run into. 

“I’m going to try to treat her wounds, stop the bleeding,” the doctor said, glancing toward Arthur, “You’ve done enough for tonight, you should try to get some sleep. There’s that saloon in town where you can get a room if you--” 

“I ain’t leavin’ until I know she’s not gonna be dead by the time I’m awake.” 

“...Suit yourself,” the doctor said after a beat, “There are chairs out in the hallway. You don’t have to leave but there’s no use in you standing behind me while I do this.” 

                                                         ***

You were jerked awake by sudden movement, someone pulling you up from the dirty floor of the cabin you had been kept in. You could still taste the rag that had been shoved in your mouth, any protest you let out at being moved being muffled. Your body ached from being dragged around, cuts and wounds starting to heal over, some burning with freshness. You had tried to escape many times, usually met with some resistance and recently the sharp edge of a blade shoved into your side. 

That wound was bad, making it hard for you to stand upright. 

Nobody talked, not to you and not really to each other. You knew they had some sort of system, mimicking certain animal noises that got certain responses from the people around you. Still, you had no idea what was going on. 

However, there was commotion, people moving about quickly in defense of whatever or whoever was outside. You were pulled harshly toward the back of the cabin and outside, your body protesting with sharp flares of pain as you tried to resist what was happening. The sounds of gunshots startled you, causing you and the person trying to sneak you out to flinch. You had never seen them use guns, not when attacking and they hadn’t used them when they had chased you down the few times you got further than a couple steps. 

With that knowledge, you started to thrash about in the grip of your captor--someone else was there. This could be your chance. 

You were dragged along, your screams and pleas for help were held behind the rag you couldn’t get out of your mouth and the force of being pulled along. 

With another breath through your nose, you managed to turn yourself around toward the cabin again where the fight was happening. You could see the people of the group keeping you dropping like flies, your eyes scanning for the flash of a gun. Eventually, your eyes found the source, the person moving along quickly toward the cabin. You took in another quick breath, your eyes widening. 

You knew that hat, that shirt. You knew that face. 

He didn’t see you, too busy shooting at the people coming out of the cabin. Still, you screamed, feeling the vibration of it behind the rag. With the gunshots and distance, it was no use but you tried. You screamed, tried to call for help. His name. All the while you were pulled around, your legs giving out in desperation as you started to sob as your struggle and desperation went unnoticed. You were pulled upright and over a shoulder, your eyes still on the cabin as they stung with tears.

Arthur, please…

                                                            ***

All he could really do was wait. 

The doctor left the room a while ago, wiping the blood from his hands as he directed the nurse there with him to help him move you into one of the beds in the other room. Arthur could feel the exhaustion from the stress and anxiety, the lack of sleep weighing heavily along with the guilt. He knew these people were out there when you had left--perhaps not to the full extent, he hadn’t really until he had got that cabin back for that man in the swamp. You had been missing that whole time and he had no damn idea. 

He should have warned you, went with you or--shit, he didn’t even know. Maybe that guilt was misplaced, some reasonable part of him arguing that he couldn’t have known this would have happened, and yet he couldn’t even bring himself to look at you when you were moved by the doctor and the nurse into another room. 

He should have said more to you. That he valued your presence, that you stayed with him even during points where he was angry, stressed, and a pain to even be around. Through the arguments. He loved you, he knew that long before this happened. He felt terrible that this was what pushed all of it further to the surface, but it was true. 

“You should try to get some sleep.” 

He was getting tired of hearing that. 

Arthur glanced up to see the soft eyes of the nurse that had been with them for the night, the streets outside getting somewhat lighter but still very much dark. He let out a small sigh through his nose, rubbing tiredly against the side of his jaw. 

“The doctor’s closed her wounds and stopped the bleeding, the most we can do now is let her rest and wait to see if she wakes up enough to drink and eat something. She’s very weak but until then...there’s nothing else any of us can do,” she explained, lowering her gaze somewhat, “I’ll stay tonight until another nurse comes in the morning. The doctor doesn’t like to give beds to non-patients with how things are in this city, otherwise I would offer you to stay with her, but…” 

“I understand,” Arthur said, somewhat clipped but not as stern as he had been a couple hours ago--he could feel how useless he was in this situation. They didn’t need to tell him that. 

“If you stay in the Bastille, I can send someone to your room as soon as she’s woken up,” she offered, Arthur letting out a small sigh through his nose. 

He really didn’t want to leave the building with them still not being able to give him assurance and you weren’t going to pass away while he was asleep, but…

“..Fine,” he said with a sigh, “Thank you. I’m gonna need to hold ya to that.” 

“Of course,” the nurse said with a small nod, Arthur returning it lightly as he stood from the chair. His limbs felt heavy, the energy his anxiety had given him had ebbed out and he knew exhaustion very well. 

There was nothing he could do right now. Still, he cast a glance toward the room they put you in before he relented and headed toward the door. 

                                                          ***

It didn’t feel real anymore, but you knew you were running again. Running with reckless abandon, tripping and fumbling over exposed roots and mud that threatened to pull the boots right off your feet. 

Still, you needed to keep moving. They couldn’t find you again, they were going to kill you. 

Why they had kept you alive for so long, you had no idea. You were exhausted, being dragged from place to place, days blurred together. Yet, you saw your chance when the person watching you had succumbed to his own exhaustion, causing you to move toward the water and followed that along until you were far enough away to start running toward the road. 

Any damn road, anybody with people on it. 

You stumbled, the rope keeping your arms binded seeming to slip away through your struggling. Finally. You paused a moment to rip the cloth in your mouth away with a gag and stuttered cry of relief. Though, you knew that would be short lived if you didn’t keep moving. Working up a small amount of willpower, you started to run again, much as your legs felt like dead weight at that point. 

The swamp seemed to stretch on forever--just mud, water, and trees. 

Still, you continued to move, pushing forward as fast as your legs could carry you. Eventually, things seemed to even out, the ground becoming more solid. You slowed for a moment, looking around you while breathing and wheezing heavily. It was a road, one you had been hoping to find, yet it didn’t feel right. Everything felt still, like it was waiting. You were waiting. Why did you stop? You breathed out heavily, shifting before turning and started to run again down the road. You needed to keep going, needed to find your way to town or back to camp or--

The thoughts were cut short by a whizzing sound, your body suddenly hit the ground with the impact long before you felt the pain of it. Looking down, you could feel the sharp pain starting to shoot up your leg as a makeshift arrow stuck out of your leg. 

Shit, no. No, no no! 

You tried to get up, yet any movement had you sobbing out in pain as the arrow did its job. It wasn’t long until you heard footfalls coming toward you. Yet, that unreal feeling seemed to settle around you, the sound of a struggle coming from behind you before more people’s legs appeared in your line of vision. They were pulling someone along, hearing an all to familiar voice in your ears. 

Suddenly, you knew that person they were holding, the outfit, the satchel, the boots. You struggled to find your voice, couldn’t look up to see him but you heard him struggle, squirm, before there was a sickening sound, a gurgling that had your gut twisting and robbed the air from your strained lungs as you saw him stop moving, legs going limp before he was dropped. 

He landed in a heap on the ground in front of you, his neck stained with blood as Arthur stared lifeless into the space above your head. You seemed to find your air first, taking in a deep breath as you felt someone grip your arms and hauled you to your feet. 

In the doctor’s practice in Saint Denis, one of the nurses jolted and dropped a glass onto the floor when you, despite your injuries, managed to shoot upright in bed and screamed bloody murder. 

                                                           ***

It took a few moments for him to stir. 

Getting that damn hotel room felt terrible. Everything was too rich, too luxurious for what he had just been through. Still, a bed was a bed. It took some tossing and turning before Arthur managed to find some sleep--dreamless, despite everything. Still, he wasn’t too sure what that sound was until it happened again. Sounded like someone banging against something, until reality sunk in and he realized it was his door. 

Arthur sat up quickly, blinking heavily and stumbling slightly as sleep lingered, but managed to pull it open to see that nurse from before standing outside. She looked exhausted, somber. For a few moments, he felt his stomach tighten as a part of him waited for the words. 

We acted too late, she--

“She’s awake,” she stated around a somewhat tired exhale, “A tad hysterical with her fever, but awake. If you wish to see her, now is the time.” 

The relief he felt was instant, Arthur shutting his eyes a moment as he let out a breath before he nodded, stating he’d follow behind in a minute. He managed to pull himself together from the lingering effects from sleep, gathering his things before heading down toward his horse to make his way back to the doctor. He wasn’t too sure what would be greeting him when he got there, but if you were awake, that was a good sign. 

He walked into the building and down toward the room they had put you in, seeing the doctor from before in there as he was talking to you while you were nursing something from a tin cup. 

“You have to rest, straining your sutures like that again won’t be good,” he explained, your gaze on the blanket over your lap as you nodded lightly. 

You looked terrible. They had cleaned you a bit while you were resting, at least in the face and arms, but he could see the days of little sleep in your face. However, he didn’t get to linger on the thought long as you raised your gaze to meet his own. The expression that crossed your face was...strange. Your eyes widened, stare unwavering as if you were looking a ghost in the face. The doctor shifted, glancing over his shoulder toward him as well before raising to his feet, turning toward you. 

“I’ll give you two a moment, but you really need to rest.” 

Your gaze flickered between Arthur’s and the doctors, as if you were disbelieving that he was even standing there. Arthur finally moved forward as the doctor moved toward his surgery, all of which was watched by you in complete silence. He moved toward the bed, pausing a moment as he tried to find what to say. However, you raised your arms toward him, Arthur moving toward you at the invitation. 

He had been expecting you to pull him into an embrace, yet your hands found his face, cupping his cheeks as you seemed to take him in. Arthur let out a somewhat confused huff when he felt you tilt his head up as if to look under his chin for something. 

“Head’s still attached, far as I’m aware,” he commented, tilting his head back down as you pressed your hands against his cheeks again. 

“I thought you were dead,” you said, your voice rough and shaking somewhat. 

“What?”

“I-I-I saw you die!” you exclaimed, tears gathering in your eyes, “I saw...I saw your neck get…”

“I weren’t the one strung up in a tree,” he replied, bringing his own hands up to remove your hands from his face as he felt your fingers digging in a bit as if feeling the bone under his skin would be enough to confirm he was there. “I weren’t just thinkin’ you was, either. You came very close to dyin’.” 

“...They got me,” you muttered, closing your eyes tightly for a moment. 

“They don’t no more,” Arthur stated, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed as he held your hands in his own. Your hands were clammy and shaking, but he would take that over the lifeless body he had carried in the night before. 

“I ain’t lettin’ nobody take you again, I promise,” he continued, letting you pull your hands from under his own. 

Instead of pulling them toward yourself or shying away from his words, you reached out toward him again. Arthur shifted forward, wrapping his arms gently around your back as you held tightly to his shoulders, letting out a few shuttering breaths as you buried your face in his neck. He brought his hand up to the back of your head, holding you to him as you tightened your hold. 

“I’m scared I’m going to sleep and wake up...in the swamps or you’ll be gone and…” 

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Arthur stated, “We don’t have to go anywhere, either. Got a room in that saloon for a couple days, if the doctor’s got you out by then. I’ll explain what happened if anybody comes lookin’.”

You nodded lightly against him, Arthur feeling you relax in his hold somewhat. He shifted back as you did, but you didn’t pull away completely as your hands found his face again, looking deeply into his eyes for a moment before you nodded, seeming to accept that he really was there. 

Arthur leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before pressing his forehead there. 

“Almost lost you,” he muttered, watching as you leaned your head against his own, screwing your eyes shut. “I love you, darlin’. Not sure what I would’ve done if I did.” 

“I love you, too,” you whispered, cupping your hand against the stubble on his cheek, “I’m not going anywhere, either.” 

Arthur nodded lightly against the side of your head, holding the gesture for a few more moments before he pulled away to let you rest back against the pillow. 

“You look exhausted,” you commented, making Arthur chuckle. 

“Yeah, but not as much as you. Should get some rest, let them do what they need and you’ll be fine.” 

You nodded lightly, holding onto his hand as you allowed yourself to nod off. Arthur squeezed your hand in return as you did so, glancing away toward the doorway somewhat. His chest still tightened uncomfortably at the thought of what you had been through, and his memories of the night before, but with your breathing evening out and your hand resting in his own, he finally felt himself relax. 

He still held your hand for some time after, keeping that moment. 

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 131 Thoughts

Eren what the fuck.

Like.

What in the actual fuck, my dude.

There are parts of this that make sense.

Then there are the parts that absolutely do not, and it’s all wrapped up in this chapter where, as previous chapter posts predicted, people are screaming and dying.

Since that’s pretty much the majority of the content, I guess we have the luxury of a short post that almost entirely focuses on Eren.

With added Annie and Armin. They can go at the start, I guess. They exist, they are cute if you’re into that, they’re also dumb and mopey if you’re into that, Paths make for a great radio, and just generally

WHAT THE FUCK, EREN.

Did I already talk about Rebellion? Is that a thing I did in these past few months? -checks- Damn it. Not that the well can’t be visited again, since it’s very obviously appropriate, but twice in two months starts to look like the laziness that is indeed threatening to take me.

-spins the wheel-

Okay then, let’s talk about Anakin Skywalker.

Cool dude. Rad kid. Born into slavery. Freed from slavery by a dude with magical plot magic who immediately dies. Inherits dude’s desire for him to follow the leanings of the religious sect responsible for plot magic. Has hormones and has a meltdown over having hormones, and also feelings, and proceeds to protect everything he loves so hard that it burns to the ground while someone he eventually throws into a pit laughs maniacally in the background.

It’s mainly that last part that is arguably relevant to today.

Anakin is terrified of losing his wife in childbirth. Instead of contacting a doctor, he decides that it’s best to rely on himself. Plus shady mentor. His fear turns into a longing for a power to destroy that fear, and the combination drives him to the Dark Side. When he starts demolishing the very things he wanted to protect, he digs in deeper. For twenty years, he kills, and kills, and kills, because he can’t admit he was wrong.

(Clone Wars is a good show, if anyone is interested. It fleshes the emotional weight of the script out, and makes the horror and tragedy stab you in the heart.)

I can’t say that I entirely hate this for Eren. I don’t particularly like how it’s been presented, but that might just be the part of me that looks at the “GENOCIDE IS THE ONLY OPTION” button lit up on his forehead and finds it so fundamentally disagreeable that I haven’t been looking at it even when the plot tells me that’s what it is.

Here’s the thing: Genocide is presented as a feasible course of action all throughout this series. From Zeke, from Marley, from Paradis; whoever’s pitch you want to listen to, a conclusion everyone always comes to is that it would be easier if all of these people causing problems would just die.

They can make that happen. They have the technology.

Marley is a cesspit. The moral cost means nothing to them.

Zeke is abused, traumatized, and molded into thinking death is a mercy.

Floch survives, and teaches himself that the evil he lives through needs to be repaid in full.

Kill, kill, kill. If something stands in your way, murder it.

This is a concept of horror to the characters who are establishing the moral center of the tale. They’ve killed people. They’ve fought to the death against people who would gladly see them die. The titans are their victimized kin, and all they can do for the greater good is put them down.

They’re tiny humans trapped in a cage, and they’re just trying to get out. Whenever they try, their jailers try to eat them. That is forever what Paradis is attempting, and whenever they do try to lessen the amount of violence in their tactics, they get fucked over by the plot. As much as the story can, it’s thrown the main Paradis cast into the light of being innocent victims who are just trying to defend themselves.

The whole series is a study in the damage genocide has caused.

Nothing excuses it.

There is no motive that justifies this scale of premeditated violence.

There is the fear that one day the people who belong to you will be victims, and the only way to stop them from being victims is to make victims of everyone else. Kill or be killed.

In self-defense.

Defending from an attack that might never come.

Genocide is not an option that has ever deserved a seat at the table.

Why don’t we just kill everyone off?

Why not erase everyone’s memories of it?

Why not continue to use this power to herd everyone into our vision of what the world should be like?

Why not say that we deserve life so much more than any other living creature on the planet?

The entire story tells us why.

From the very first chapter, we’re exposed to the violence and terror of an uncaring world devouring anyone unfortunate enough to be on the outskirts of what supposedly greater people have decided is most important. Eren’s entire home is destroyed because some children kick down a wall. The people in the core of those same walls are disturbed, but send out their lesser to be fed to the monsters so that they can continue living.

Karl Fritz locks everyone away on an island and tells them the world has ended.

Anyone who is too curious, or too interested in beginning a new world, is killed. They’re robbed of their memories or their life. The remaining Ackermans are alive because they were too far away from the true history of the world to actually know anything.

Marley, the whipping boy of the Eldian Empire, finds its escape through Karl’s mercy, and immediately mimics the way of life that has caused them so much pain. Titans continue to run rampant in the world, simply with different reins. They redefine what’s acceptable based on who’s pulling the trigger.

Every single major plot point comes back to the ruin that perpetrating genocide has conceived.

Nothing is fixed by saving Marley from Eldia. Marley chooses to renew the evil.

Nothing is fixed by Karl walking away from the world. He just picks on smaller targets.

Nothing is fixed by pretending this is a solution.

The series’ history is a cycle of people grabbing power and tormenting their enemies with it. It shows no sign of stopping. It takes Paradis a hundred years, but they go from a blank slate of a starting point to producing someone ready to destroy the world.

Nothing suggests that another hundred years won’t do the same.

We have seen this all before. The only difference is that Eren is trying to commit to a large enough scale that no one alive will have the kind of grudges that will produce this fuckery.

It is vile.

This is not a defensible course of action. Some things are simply wrong, and even without morality coming into play, we’ve spent years reading an object lesson in the consequences of this behavior.

This horror is where Eren comes from.

Eren is not special.

He is a normal human born into this world.

His actions are ones that any other person could duplicate.

Not easily, and not without a great deal of coincidence, but nothing about Eren makes this a choice that only he can make. His power is borrowed, and no matter how he dies, that death means there will be a next person in line.

He isn’t ending a fucking thing. He’s become a cog in the machine that broke him.

So that’s the starting point. Even if killing younglings did have a logical undercurrent, no. No, no, a million times no. Eren chooses this. Eren causes this. Eren picks genocide without anyone putting a gun to his head. Eren picks genocide when he has access to a power that could easily discourage anyone from attacking his home for years.

He chooses to murder people.

Because he’s afraid, and because he can.

Then we get to what I find infinitely more interesting:

Eren doesn’t want this.

In the present day, we have an Eren who no longer has a body, and what amounts to a hallucination of his younger self, dreaming of a world hidden away in a book. His physical self has its eyes closed, and his younger self looks more alive than Eren has in ages. He isn’t looking at the damage he causes, just the open sky.

In the past, we have Eren bawling apologies to a boy he meets once. We have an Eren who realizes that this world is one that has let him down, and that, completely outside protecting his home, is what makes him want it gone.

This doesn’t just happen.

Eren wants it to happen.

Eren looks at this world that wants him and everyone like him dead, and he wants it to be like the book. No mention of other people -- other people aren’t in the outside world anymore. Just beautiful scenery, and the freedom to enjoy it.

He can’t have that, and it hurts. He’s been through Annie, Reiner, and Bertolt. He’s lost friends and seen even more people die protecting him. He’s lost limbs and sleep and sanity to see a world beyond the walls.

It’s a world that wants nothing to do with him.

And Eren, who has rejected that line of thinking since he was a child, rejects the entire world.

He can’t dress it up.

Deep down, he doesn’t like the world he’s going to destroy.

He’s known for four years that he’s going to end countless lives.

He walks off Paradis’ ship knowing that.

But when he sees this world, he does want it gone.

Knowing what he’s going to do is one thing; seeing the beginning of a reason for it is what drives him to his knees. It isn’t some strange inevitability of the future. He’s the one who does this, and behind every bit of love for his friends and Paradis, there’s the knowledge that this world, where so many people live lives just like his, is one he’d liked better in a dream where none of them existed.

And that is where the plot thread loses me.

Not because any of this is something that I find particularly outlandish. There’s a plain, hysterical logic to it, and a small fraction of identifying with that logic has Eren in tears.

Eren does this.

There is no evidence of him wanting it.

He sees the shadow of want in himself, and he freaks out.

Eren of the present is dissociating so hard I don’t view his childhood hallucinations as a stable mind choosing something.

Eren of the past is continually horrified that this is going to happen.

If I had a tablet, this is where there would be a bad drawing of present Eren and past Eren, linked by an unstable line of red question marks.

I don’t have a tablet.

I do have Paint.

In the immortal words of an angry fictional nine-year-old, “If you don’t fight, we can’t win.”

In the immortal words of a very sad fictional nineteen-year-old, “I don’t know when in the future it will happen... But I... am going to kill every one of these people...”

Eren going full villain is a choice, I guess. It’s not a very interesting one. As previously stated, we know what happens in this world when people do a genocide. We also know what happens when the walls go marching. We are now watching a genocide as the walls go marching. There are no revelations here. There’s death and gloom.

I mean this as sincerely as I can: This, on its face, is boring.

Eren is just the latest person killing people for Reasons.

There is very little reason to be invested in that as a plot. As a character drama, there are tears to be shed and hearts to be torn asunder, but as a basic plot??? This has nothing in it.

I don’t personally believe we’ve come this far for nothing, so I apply my magnifying glass where I choose, and where I choose is the part where I believe this all slips:

Eren takes his visions as an inevitability.

He has the conversation with himself, counting out the lives. Paradis versus the world. In a simple game of numbers, the world should win, and he knows that.

Presenting our problem.

Eren can’t accept a future where Paradis, and Eldians, are sacrificed for the world. Paradis is his home, and he’s spent his life fighting for Eldians to be free, even if he doesn’t know them by that name for most of it. In the case of Paradis v World, Paradis wins out. It’s wrong and it’s terrible, and Zeke’s plan means less dead bodies, but he can’t let go of Paradis.

A binary is presented. Paradis can live, or the rest of the world can. Pick one.

Except that’s stupid.

Following this, Eren leans so far into that choice that he does what he can to manufacture an impossibility of any other results. He makes Paradis a priority. He makes Paradis an international concern, not simply a Marley one. He has the power to knock back any assault on the island they can make, but he still goes on offense.

Paradis dies

World dies

That is not the choice. It is the choice Eren locks himself into, but frankly, he doesn’t even try before he jumps at the genocide route.

As a story thing, whatever. Valid, I guess. Let the protagonist’s own misconceptions break him.

As an Eren thing, it falls short of working.

He’s clearly being torn apart by what he’s going to do.

He’s a protagonist who enters the story yelling about people never winning if they don’t enter the ring.

Eren sees a vision of him destroying the world, thinks on it, and effectively goes, “seems legit,” and cries himself to sleep feeling sad about it.

Eren.

You can have your characters fail. You can have them drop their principles one by one until there’s nothing left. You can have their character development be entirely negative. You do not have to have your hero be a Hero.

Eren is appalled by his own feelings, and walking around the world like a zombie. He sees himself ending the world, and plays it back over and over again, never questioning that this is exactly what he’s going to do.

But when he finally starts, there’s not even a trace of this conflict. His eyes light up at the amazing sight he believes is waiting for him. He spits his defiance at Zeke for even suggesting the sterilization plan. He’s still a zombie in every human interaction that happens with his flesh body, but he goes about his plan with an unconcerned ruthlessness that is disconnected from the humanity Eren has spent the whole story personifying.

Arguably, Sasha dying is the tipping point, and that’s where he fully commits, and blah blah blah stuff.

Only defiance, and not bending to anyone else’s will, is the key trait of the Attack Titan. It’s the key trait of Eren. To keep fighting well beyond sense.

This plan’s inception comes from Eren yielding to the inevitable.

He’s going to kill these people.

There is no choice to it, it’s simply what’s going to happen.

Eren has always had a choice. He might not like the options, or know what’s right, but he has always, always known that the decisions he makes are his.

The story is making the case that Eren buys into inevitability so completely that he denies himself freedom.

That isn’t uninteresting, but we don’t see that. We don’t see what convinces Eren that it’s no use fighting. He chooses to save a boy, and his memories of the boy don’t change. Big deal. That’s one kid in four years of choices. As a proof of concept, it’s weak, and it’s weaker still because Eren makes the choice to save him.

None of this was inevitable, but we approach Eren’s actions from the perspective of there being no way out. Maybe if we had even more flashbacks to him trying to change things, and a play-by-play of him slowly realizing that nothing he does changes what he sees --

But even then, if Eren doesn’t want to kill people, he’s allowed not to. He’s allowed to continue working with his friends. He could have told any of them, at any point, that this was an upcoming problem. He’s always trusted Armin’s mind.

Eren hides himself away with his problems and tells himself he can’t fight this.

Bullshit.

I’ve made this argument before, about Historia and Ymir:

If you’re going to have a character renege on a core of their personal identity so completely, you need to put in the legwork of showing how it happens. Otherwise there’s no reason to trust anything the story tells you, and the grand illusion falls to pieces.

The character work in this series has always been solid, even when everything down to the art hasn’t.

This doesn’t quite work.

There’s a compelling case. There’s a viewable logic that pretends to be believable.

The internal consistency is still off. Something’s wrong here, and if it turns out to be the character ball being dropped in the final inning... really, that’s just such a waste. Personal preference colors all of this, obviously, but if this is the whole truth of the matter, it’s boring.

“I still want to believe... that there’s still a world we don’t know about yet out there... past the walls.”

C’mon, Armin. Earn your fandom hatred. Be right one more time.

We’re not done yet.

[rmtndew]

All I’ve Ever Known ~ Chapter 2

Summary: Fiona’s life is a shattered fraction of what it used to be. She’s trying to navigate her new normal when she meets Detective Marshall, who gives her something more to look forward to.

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This was intended as a short drabble but it got out of hand and became a multi-chapter story instead. It’s my first Marshall fic and the first fan fic that I’ve written in over a decade. The title comes from the song ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ from Hadestown: ‘I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely. Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold. Turned my collar to the wind, this is how it’s always been. All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you, too.’

Tag list - @hollydaisy23​, @readings-of-a-cavill-lover​, @onlyhenrys​, @omgkatinka​, @speakerforthedead0-blog​, @gearhead66​

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know! 

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Two weeks later, I was back at the police station with my delivery. Nick had gone on and on the week before about how much he’d loved covering for me and that two of the detectives had given him tips. He didn’t say how much they were, but emphasized that they were generous. I’d never been tipped before but I wasn’t jealous that Nick had been. He was good at small talk and being outgoing. That got noticed. And there was no ten or twenty dollar tip that was enticing enough for me to put myself through painfully awkward social interactions that I wasn’t good at. I wanted to do my job and do it well and Darcy didn’t hire me for my conversation skills. That was made quite clear when Officer Bates asked about Nick by name while still calling me Waverly. 

Upstairs in the break room, most of the detectives were waiting for me when I arrived. They moved around me, grabbing their boxes as I placed them on the table. When I was done packing up the dolly, only a single box was left. Out of every person who had claimed their order, only a couple had acknowledged me with a thank you. 

As I was leaving, I caught the wheel of my cart on the door frame. It yanked right out of my hands, falling over. I sighed and bent to pick it up. Before I could, a set of hands beat me to it. I swallowed thickly as my eyes followed the hands (with no wedding band) to their source: Detective Marshall. My mouth felt dry when I tried to speak and I had to clear my throat. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, setting it up straight with one hand like it weighed nothing. He looked at me, his brow raised slightly. “You weren’t here last week.” 

I blinked at him. “I’m sorry?” 

“Someone else delivered for you last week.” 

“Um, yeah. I had to take my mom to a doctor’s appointment. My co-worker Nick covered for me.” 

He nodded. “He talks a lot.”

I laughed. “Yes, he does,” I agreed. “It’s a talent that I don’t possess.” 

He gave me a half smile and my stomach flipped at the sight of it. “Me, either,” he said. “Is your mother okay?” 

“Yeah. It was just a check up with her oncologist. She has to go every few weeks.” 

“Does that mean she’s in remission?” 

“It does, yeah. She’s been clear for a few months now.”

“And you care for her?”

“I do. As much as she’ll let me, anyway. My dad died a couple of years back so she asked me to move in with her. She couldn’t bear to sell the house but she couldn’t handle being alone, either,” I said, then smiled. “She had a friend who offered to move in and pay rent but Mom said she was too noisy. Apparently I make a good housemate because I’m not overly talkative.” 

“My daughter thinks I’m a bad housemate because I’m not talkative enough,” he joked. 

I laughed. “How old is she?”

“Thirteen.” 

“You’re just on the cusp, then. My parents were amazing and they still couldn’t do anything right when I was a teenager. But if your daughter’s biggest complaint is that you’re not talkative enough, that’s pretty good.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and raised his eyebrows. “It’s not her biggest complaint, just one of several.” 

“Well, as long as she feels comfortable enough to voice her problems to you, it’s fixable. It’s when they shut down that’s the problem,” I said, then suddenly felt silly for sharing so much with him. The poor man was just being polite and I was keeping him hostage. He’d come for his lunch - not for my life story. “Um, anyway, I should get back to work. Thank you again for helping me.” 

“No problem.”

“Have a good week.”

“You, too.” 

That Saturday, despite every fiber of my being screaming for me to be somewhere else, I found myself at an overpriced bar with my friends Lena and Demi. Demi had gotten a promotion at her job and wanted us to go out to celebrate. I wanted to back out but they wouldn’t let me, so I tagged along knowing full well that it would be the same as always: I wouldn’t drink, I wouldn’t dance, they would get annoyed at me for being a ‘wet blanket’, then they’d meet some guys and ignore me for the rest of the night, except when they’d tell me how much fun I was missing out on. I knew what I was in for, and yet I still hated it when it happened. 

That particular evening, Lena and Demi zeroed in on two guys while we were still at the bar ordering. They introduced themselves and invited them to sit with us. While the four of them chatted, I sat, listening and watching the clock, counting the minutes until I felt I could call it a night without offending Demi. But despite being the third (fifth?) wheel, I was comfortable being on my own. Unfortunately that comfort was kicked square in the teeth when a friend joined the two guys Demi and Lena were talking to. He was a squirrely looking guy with a severely receding hairline and he was several inches shorter than me. But there was an unspoken rule that if your two friends were talking to someone else’s two friends, you were now obligated to talk to each other. I knew that rule well because I’d spent a good portion of my adult life as the quiet third friend to two far more outgoing women.The only time I’d been excused from the rule was when I’d been dating my ex-boyfriend Ezra.  So while they were chatting up guys they were genuinely interested in, I was usually left taking one for the team. I wondered how often they thought about talking to me in the same terms. 

A lot of the times I was lucky and the guy would carry the whole conversation, talking about himself, and I didn’t have to do much more than nod and pretend to be interested. Every once in a while I’d get a guy who was a bit pushy at the end of the night, practically demanding my phone number, or, on rare occasions, something a little more intimate. I was pretty good at turning them down in a way that didn’t escalate the situation, but there were still those few that slipped through that didn’t know that no meant no. That night, unfortunately, was one of those nights. The guy I’d gotten stuck talking to, Adam, had started out self absorbed but otherwise okay, but I guess he took my quiet nodding and occasional ‘Yeahs’ and ‘Wows’ as extreme interest and as time ticked on, he became more bold. His conversation took on a more...personal tone. That’s when I decided to try to wrap it up. I wasn’t spending time with Demi, she and Lena were both dancing, and I wasn’t going to let some guy make me uncomfortable. But when I tried to end the conversation, he wouldn’t let me. 

“Come on, we’re having fun,” he said. “You don’t have to leave yet.”

“I do, actually. I have to work tomorrow,” I lied.

“You could stay for another hour.”

I shook my head. “No, sorry.” 

I moved to stand up and he put his hand on my leg, holding me still. “I think you can.”

“But I’m not, so move your hand.”

Instead of letting go, he squeezed tighter. “You don’t have to play hard to get, you know? It’s not attractive.”

“And neither are you. Now move your hand.”

He swore, calling me a name, but kept gripping me. I was sure he’d leave a bruise. “You’re not pretty enough to be this difficult.” 

I felt a sudden surge of warmth behind me and could feel the presence of someone standing there.

“She told you to let go, I suggest you listen.”

My head snapped up at the sound of the voice. Detective Marshall was standing behind me. His pretty blue eyes were dark like an angry ocean as he glared at Adam, giving his already stern face a menacing look. 

“Who are you?” Adam asked, too stupid to give up.

“Someone who will gladly break your hand if you don’t move it like she asked.” 

Detective Marshall took a few steps forward, putting himself tight to my side. Adam was going to say something, he had his mouth open ready to do so, but Detective Marshall crossed his arms over his chest and Adam’s eyes went to his belt. His sweater had risen to show off his badge and gun clipped at his waist. The sight was enough to shut Adam up. He didn’t say another word. He let go of my leg and left. 

“Are you alright?” Detective Marshall asked.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

He looked at me, his face softened. “This doesn’t really look like your scene.” 

I shook my head. “It’s not. I’m here with my friends,” I said. His eyes glanced at the empty chairs around me. I nodded to the dance floor. “They’re over there.”

He looked to where Adam was talking to the two friends he’d come with. They were still with Lena and Demi, and were all staring at me. I was sure that Adam was telling them I was a frigid tease, and they were almost definitely confused by Detective Marshall standing next to me like a bodyguard. 

“What about you?” I asked. “You don’t really look like this is your scene, either.”

He looked down at me. “It’s not. I’m working a case. I was asking the manager about the victim.” He looked at my friends again before letting out a breath. “Are you staying here or would you like me to walk you to your car?”

“No, I’m not staying,” I said. “But I didn’t drive. I rode with them. I was going to get an Uber.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to get into a car with a stranger by yourself at night?”

I nodded as I stood. I liked that I had to look up at him slightly. “It’s usually what happens when I let myself get talked into these stupid nights.”

I watched his face. It was like he had a million thoughts running through his mind at once and his eyes shifted, like he was actively trying to sort through them. After a moment he said, “Would you let me drive you instead?”

“You don’t have to do that. I can usually get an Uber here in about ten minutes.” I gave a faint smile. “You could talk to them before I get in, if you want?”

He shook his head and rubbed his neck. “I’d feel a lot better if I knew you got home safely.” 

So much of me wanted to say no. I had a difficult time accepting help from people, even when I clearly needed it, because I hated the thought of being a burden on someone. But if he was there asking about a victim, there was a chance that they’d been at that bar, maybe even disappeared from there, maybe after taking a ride from someone they thought was legit and was later found dead. Maybe he didn’t want another case, especially with a familiar person, and that’s why he was offering me the ride. That’s what I told myself anyway. That was my excuse for wanting to accept his offer. It wasn’t that I was weirdly attracted to how protected he made me feel. 

“Okay,” I relented. 

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Let me tell my friends I’m leaving.” 

I started walking towards Lena and Demi. They’d been watching me ever since Adam had drawn their attention to me. But before I could reach them, they came to me, meeting me halfway. 

“What is going on, Fiona?” Demi demanded. “That guy you were talking to said you were having a good time and then you just started freaking out and making a scene. He said some guy heard you and threatened him if he didn’t leave you alone.” 

I shook my head. “That’s not how it happened. He was making me uncomfortable so I said I was going to leave. He put his hands on me and I told him to let me go. He wouldn’t and yes, someone did step in, but he wouldn’t have if that perv had just let me go.”

“Why do you do this?” Lena asked. “Anytime a guy shows interest in you, you find some reason to run away.”

“That’s not true. And even if it was, that’s not what happened here,” I said. 

“It is true. And I honestly don’t know why we invite you out anymore. You always make things awkward because you don’t know how to function like an adult woman. You’re like some little girl who’s afraid to even let a boy kiss her,” Demi said. “You need to grow up.”

I bit my tongue. I knew that she’d had a few drinks and that she always got catty right before she tipped over to drunk, but just because she was rude didn’t mean that I had to be, too. The evening had taken all the energy from me and I didn’t have the strength to try to be diplomatic. I chose to ignore her completely instead.

“I’m going home,” I finally said. 

“I’m not taking you,” Lena said. “Not right now.” 

“I don’t need you. Someone else is taking me”

Demi rolled her eyes. “Who?”

I looked at Detective Marshall. He was still standing by our table, waiting. “You guys think I need to get out of my comfort zone, so I am.”

“You’re going home with a man you just met? Do you know how dangerous that is?” Lena asked.

“First of all, you two do it all the time,” I said. “And secondly, I’m not going home with him, he’s taking me home.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Demi said.

“I don’t need you to believe me. I just need you to know that I’m leaving. Whoever I go with, or however I get home, doesn’t matter.”

I walked off, feeling angry heat licking my neck and ears. My hands kept clenching tightly, pushing my fingernails into the palms of my hands. Detective Marshall could obviously tell that something was wrong because he tilted his head at me, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Is everything alright?” he asked. 

“I have horrible friends, but other than that, everything’s peachy,” I said dryly. 

He didn’t ask any follow up questions but I think he’d observed enough of the situation to not need to. He just nodded and waved for me to follow him.

The air outside was surprisingly cold and made my angrily flushed skin sting from the contrast. But the feeling worked like a grounding sensation, clearing my mind. I let out a breath and followed Detective Marshall to his truck. He went to the passenger’s side and unlocked it, then opened it for me. 

“Thank you,” I said, climbing in. 

He gave me a smile that somehow read more in his eyes than his mouth before closing the door. 

I took my crossbody purse off, holding it in my lap, before pulling on my seatbelt. I watched as he walked around the front of the truck, unlocking his own door and sliding in beside me. He started his truck with one hand while reaching for his seatbelt with the other. As the truck came to life, the radio came on. A ZZ Top song was playing. 

“Sorry,” he said, turning the volume down but leaving the radio itself on.

I noticed the station and smiled. “This is the same station I listen to in my car.” 

He looked over at me, giving me another one of his eye smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Shouting along to eighties rock music is a pretty good stress reliever.” 

“It doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure.” 

He asked where I lived and even though I was terrible at explaining directions, I finally gave him enough clues for him to piece it together. He said that his ex-wife had lived in the neighborhood just past mine when they were dating and he remembered seeing the sign for it. Once we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, I took my phone from my purse.

“Do you mind if I make a quick phone call?”

He shook his head. “No, go on.” 

I called Mom but she didn’t answer. I wasn’t worried. She was more than likely watching TV and had her phone in her room again. I decided to leave a message. “Hey Mom, it’s Fi. I was just letting you know that I’m on my way home. You don’t have to call me back when you get this, I’ll just see you when I get there. Love you. Bye.”

I hung up and put the phone away. A few moments passed before Detective Marshall asked, “Is Fi short for something?”

“Yeah. Fiona. When I was a kid my dad used to call me Fi-Fi Bird, then he shortened to Fi when I was a teenager.” 

“When did you lose him?”

“Two years ago. He was hit by a drunk driver.”

“Was your mum ill at the time?”

“No. I mean, she may have had her cancer then but we didn’t know anything about it. They found it at the beginning of the year.” I looked at him. “I’m a little surprised that you remember me telling you about them, to be honest.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve barely spoken and I assume your job is mentaly exhausting, so the fact that you remembered it… I don’t know, I’m just surprised.”

“It is mentally exhausting. But peanut butter cookies help.” He looked at me briefly, giving me a smile that showed his teeth. “And you bring those.”

I laughed and felt my cheeks heat back up, but it wasn’t from anger that time. “And that makes me memorable?” 

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

A few minutes passed quietly, but not uncomfortably, before I stole a glance at him. He really was gorgeous. I had no issues with Demi and Lena thinking that I was leaving with him for reasons other than an innocent ride home. They’d been more than snide about my lack of interest in men since my last boyfriend had broken up with me, never pausing to think that how he’d broken up with me - and more importantly when - had done a lot of damage. 

“I really do appreciate you giving me a ride home,” I said. “I, uh, I don’t have anyone else to call. An Uber would have been my only option.”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem,” he said. “But next time maybe think about driving your own car. I’m not just against Uber; I’m against any rides that require you to get into a car with a stranger. Particularly women. And particularly at that bar.” He pushed his hair back from his face and let out a frustrated breath. “Their security cameras have been down since May.” He swore under his breath. “Sort of defeats the purpose of security cameras.” 

“Does that stall your investigation?”

“Not necessarily. Other businesses in the area may have footage. It just delays things, at least for tonight.” 

“Can I ask how long you’ve been working on it?” 

“It’ll be two weeks tomorrow.”

“Is that long for a murder investigation?”

He didn’t say anything for a while and I thought I’d gone too far. Just as I was about to apologize he said, “They don’t really have typical timelines. It just depends on the case. Some are like a ripple effect and you just have to start in the center and work your way out.” He paused for a moment, licking his lips. “Others are like a pile of rope tangled up. You have to work your way through, trying to untangle it, but sometimes you’re working on a piece that’s a dead end, then you have to start all over again. Those take a bit longer.”

“And this case, it’s one of the tangled ones?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He glanced at me again quickly, a small smile at the corner of his mouth. “That’s the job.”

Another wave of silence filled the cab of his truck. I liked that he didn’t talk for the sake of it. He seemed to be at ease in the quiet and his ease spilled over to me. That was the only explanation for me being so calm sitting that close to a man as attractive as him and not having a total meltdown. And we were close enough that the body heat radiating off of him kept me from requesting that the actual heater be turned on, despite the chilly night. He was like a human space heater, but I was far from complaining. And I think the fact that he had been so protective of me fed that feeling of comfort. That night, he had stood up for me more than Ezra ever had in three and a half years. 

“I can’t remember if I thanked you earlier at the bar or not when you helped me with that guy, but  thank you for that, too,” I said. “I’m not usually such a damsel in distress, I promise.” 

“It doesn’t make you a damsel just because I stepped in.” We stopped at a red light and he looked at me. “But if it ever happens again, all you have to do is ask them to move their hand once and if they don’t, take one of their fingers and shove it back towards their wrist. Make sure to break it.” 

I smiled slightly. “Detective Marshall, are you giving me permission to assault someone?”

“It’s not assault if you’re protecting yourself, but yes, I’m giving you permission. Men have a hard time convincing police that their advances were wanted when it results in a broken finger,” he said. “And you don’t have to call me Detective, you can just call me Marshall.”

I smiled wider at that. “Well, Marshall,” I said, trying out the more personal feeling name, “I’ll keep that in mind. Although I think I’m done with nights like tonight. I’m too old to keep putting myself in situations that make me uncomfortable. But maybe I needed this to know that my friends and I really have grown apart. And maybe for the better.”

The light turned green and he looked back to the road again. “I take it you had a falling out over you leaving them?” he asked as we started moving. 

“Not really over me leaving. More like why I was leaving.” I sighed. “Their idea of fun is drinking and dancing and flirting, and at one point, I saw the appeal in that, even though I’ve never been as outgoing as them. But when I lost my dad…” I shook my head. “I’m sure you see people in grief all the time with your job. You see how it changes people. How it can create a division. They never understood that. They thought that there should be a grieving period and then I should get over it and go back to being the same old Fiona. But that’s never going to happen.”

“Grief does change people. It’s natural. And sometimes, it never goes away. You have to adapt to deal with it, but it always follows you,” he said. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I guess when you’ve never experienced it, it’s hard to really understand. I didn’t really understand it until my dad passed. And then when Mom got sick…” I trailed off. “Sorry, I told you that I wasn’t a big talker and I just keep going on about myself.” 

“You’re fine. I promise,” he said softly. 

I smiled at him. “Those peanut butter cookies really do buy me a lot of forgiveness, don’t they?”

He laughed. It was a low, beautiful sound. “They are very good.” 

The rest of the ride home was spent in slow, quiet conversation. I tried not to unload anymore of my personal issues on him, even if he said it was okay. I was a little sad when he pulled onto my street, but I directed him to my house and he stopped in front of the driveway, unable to pull in because of mine and my mom’s cars.

He put the truck in park and turned to me. “I’ll watch you in.”

“Okay.” I unbuckled and grabbed my purse from my lap, slipping it back on. I reached for the door handle but before opening it, I looked at him. “I really do appreciate all of this. You have no idea,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to thank you?”

He twisted his mouth to the side, his eyes doing the thing they’d done earlier where it looked like he was actively sorting through his thoughts. After a moment, he nodded, then gave me a smile that made my heart flutter. “There is, actually,” he said. “Next time you deliver lunch, if I’m not there to get mine before you leave, could you bring it to my office again?”

I smiled back. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I could do that,” I said. “If you’re not there, do you want me to leave it on your desk?”

“Please.”

“Okay.” I opened the door and stepped out into the cold air. I already missed the heat of being close to him. “Goodnight Det- Goodnight Marshall.”

“Goodnight Fiona.” 

Never in my life had someone saying my name given me instant butterflies until right then. I gave him a small wave and closed the door. I took my house keys from my purse as I walked to the front door, trying not to think about him watching me. After unlocking the door, I fought not to look back at Marshall one last time and slipped inside, closing and locking the door behind me. As I put the chain lock in place, I let my forehead fall against the door and let out a happy sigh. When I was able to gather myself, I went to find Mom. Just as I expected, she was in the living room watching some sort of Hallmark movie. 

“Hey Mom, I’m home,” I said. 

She turned her head to look at me. “Hey, sweetie. How was it? Did you have fun?”

“Not quite.” I joined her, sitting on the arm of the recliner. “I think things are done between Demi, Lena and me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Some things happened and some things were said and I don’t think there’s any going back.”

She patted my knee. “I’m sorry. I hate that for you.” 

“There was a bright side to the whole night, though,” I said, smiling. 

“And what was that?”

“You know the detective that I told you about, Detective Marshall?” I asked. She nodded. “He was there asking the manager about a case he’s working on and noticed that a guy was bothering me so he stepped in to help me. Then he gave me a ride home.”

She looked at me with big eyes. “You got into a car with someone you don’t know?”

“No, I got into a truck with a cop, who I’d met before,” I said. “Look, Lena refused to take me home. I would have had to call for a ride.”

I could tell she disapproved but didn’t say anything else about it. Instead she asked, “What’s this detective like?”

“He’s a little quiet, gentlemanly, has good taste in music, and extremely not married.”

She finally broke down and smiled. “Well, maybe this is the start of something, then. You deserve to be happy.”

“Maybe but I don’t think he’s interested. He offered me a ride to make sure I got home safely; he wasn’t flirting. I just feel less guilty about being attracted to him now that I know he’s single.”

“Your father and I started off as friends first, too, you know?”

“I wouldn’t say that Marshall and I are friends, Mom,” I said, standing up. “But I’m appreciative of him and his handsome face all the same.”

“Oh, so you call him Marshall now? No ‘Detective’?” she teased. “That seems pretty friendly to me.”

I laughed. “If I ever get on a first name basis with him, I might agree. Until then, he’s just an acquaintance. That’s all.”

“One who doesn’t mind you dropping a very earned title.”

“Well, he found out that you call me Fi-Fi, so he probably thought it was fair to let me call him something a little less formal, too.”

“How did he find that out?”

“Because I called and left you a voicemail letting you know that I was on my way home and he asked what Fi was short for. I told him that Dad used to call me Fi-Fi Bird.”

She tilted her head at me like she finally had her answer. “If you’re talking to him about your father, he’s far more than an acquaintance. You barely talk about him to anyone other than me.”

“He’s...it’s…” I sputtered, trying to find the right explanation. I sighed. “Death isn’t a topic that makes him uncomfortable, like other people. He’s a homicide detective. That’s sort of his business. Bringing Dad up didn’t feel weird.”

She held up her hands, almost defensively. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. I think it’s great. I just hope I get to see this handsome Marshall at some point.”

“I’ll talk to Darcy about a Bring Your Mom to Work Day and see if I can’t get you to the station to check him out. And hey, he might not have been flirting with me but you’re a single lady now, maybe you can lock him down. I always wanted a sister and he has a daughter, so it would be kind of perfect.”

She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Love you, Mom,” I said, walking away.

“Love you, too!”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Not Stupid

Summary: After a hunt goes wrong, the reader and Sam are injured and it only gets worse from there...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Episode Re-write (11x17)

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, life threatening injury, possible death, referenced drug overdose, 11x17 spoilers

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo​​

____

“Y/N!” said Dean as you felt a bullet rip through your side. You gasped and dropped to your knees besides Sam who was already pressing his palms to his stomach and sporting a gunshot of his own. Dean left the victims from the attempted werewolf feasting and ran over. You waved him off to Sam as you lifted up your shirt and coat.

“Fuck, this was my favorite jacket too,” you said, feeling the hole through the back.

“You’re a through and through, sweetheart,” said Dean. You hummed and took off your jacket and flannel, wadding the shirt up as you watched Dean shakily tear open a few of the padding packs from the first aid kit in the duffel.

“Dean, put it in the wound, baby. It’ll work better,” you said. “Sam, it’s gonna hurt.”

“Already...fuck!” shouted Sam, his whole body tensing up as Dean winced. 

“You’re okay,” said Dean, tossing a pad in your direction.

“Sam needs-”

“Y/N. Take. It,” said Dean. You grumbled and opened the pad, shoving it against your abdomen on the front side. You tied your flannel tight around it, the back hopefully wadded up enough to soak up the blood there.

You turned back to Sam who Dean was helping get to his feet.

“Y/N. You okay?” asked Dean, half carrying Sam towards the door.

“Yeah,” you said. “Flesh wound. Come on you guys.”

You waved over the man and woman sitting on the step, the woman looking a little worse for wear.

“There’s more werewolves out there,” said Corbin.

“We’ll get out of here. Stick close.”

“He’s slowing us down,” mumbled the man about fifteen minutes later.

“Shut up,” you and Dean snapped back at him. He stared at you and kept walking with his wife. You went to Sam’s side and gave him a smile.

“Doing okay big guy?” you asked.

“Awesome,” he hissed. “You?”

“I’m okay. Just a bad graze,” you said. You caught his arm when he stumbled a bit.

“Come on,” said Dean, nodding to a ranger’s station up ahead. “We’ll stop and rest for a minute.”

Corbin grunted as he helped Michelle inside. They settled into a chair in the corner for a moment as you leaned against the counter in the front.

“How’s it going, Sammy?” asked Dean, walking around the cabin and finding a towel, handing it to Sam. Sam grunted but nodded. “We’re gonna get you fixed up just like that. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“You guys gotta go,” said Sam, wincing. “I can’t move fast and if he’s right and there’s more out there-”

“I will carry you out of here if I have to,” said Dean.

“I second that,” you said with a smile.

“How about you?” asked Dean.

“I’ve had periods worse,” you joked, glad that it seemed like you’d stopped bleeding at least. You hoped. “It’s okay.” 

“Guys, she needs a doctor,” said Corbin, Michelle resting in the chair.

“Take a number,” said Dean. “Sammy, stay here and rest a minute. We’ll be right back.”

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“To build him a stretcher,” said Dean, grabbing your bloody hand. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“What the fuck happened?” you said, Dean kneeling down over Sam’s body when you ran back not five minutes later after spotting more werewolves.

“He just fell over,” said Corbin. You closed your eyes, Dean standing up slowly. “We need to go, those things-“

“Let ‘em come. I’ll gut them,” said Dean. “You ready for a fight?”

You leaned back against the counter, Dean tilting his head back.

“No, you’re not,” he said. He kicked the counter and squeezed his eyes shut. “Let’s go.”

“Dean-“

“You need a hospital,” he said as he grabbed his bag. “I will take you three out and then I will come back here and I will fix him, understand?”

“I’m-“

“I am not losing both of you on the same goddamn night,” said Dean. You nodded, wanting nothing more than to wrap him up in a hug and tell him it was okay, to pretend to yourself that it was okay. You looked back at Sam, Dean grabbing your hand. “The quicker we go, the quicker we can get him back.”

“Do not sell your soul or I swear I’ll kick your ass, Winchester,” you mumbled. He grabbed your hand and started to head for the door.

“Let’s move it. Now.”

“Almost out,” said Dean as you saw the bushes start to clear ahead. You hummed and had your head resting on his shoulder as you walked. “You lost more blood than you said.”

“I’m tired. I’ll live. You can’t do something stupid, Dean. There’s got to be a better way,” you said.

“I’m going back for him. I’ll get him to Baby and we’ll deal with it then,” he said. 

“No stupid,” you mumbled, tripping a little.

“Fine. No stupid,” he said as he caught you. You had your eyes shut when Dean all of a sudden left your side. You flew them open, Dean waving down a cop car from the looks of it. You watched him talk to the officer before he was heading back towards the woods, the officer grabbing him. You hummed and shut your eyes again, hearing a taser go off before you hit the ground.

“‘Sup,” said Billie when you flew open your eyes. You groaned as you realized you were in a hospital hallway. 

“Y/N? What…” said Dean. 

“I said no stupid!” you said, storming over and ready to give him a piece of your mind. “You…”

You realized there was no reason he should have been able to see Billie at the same time as you, no reason he should have been able to see you unless…

There was some kind of commotion to your right. Turning your head you saw Dean on the floor, a doctor, a cop and Michelle leaned over him.

“What did you do,” you said, glaring at him, whacking his shoulder as your eyes teared up. “What did you do!”

“You and Sammy,” said Dean, swallowing hard. “You’re dying. You’re dying and Sam’s dead and-”

“Actually, he’s not. Trust me, I’d know,” said Billie. Dean shook his head and Billie shrugged. “You two on the other hand are headed there. One of you is going to the empty. So. Who’s it gonna be?”

“You can go straight to-”

Dean suddenly coughed and sucked in a breath, rolling over on the floor, glancing over to where you were standing.

“Looks like it’s gonna be you,” said Billie, looking you up and down.

“Sam’s not dead?” you asked. 

“I’m not lying, Winchester,” she said. She held out a hand. “It’s time. Come with me or when they’re both done for real, I’ll toss them into nothing too.”

“I have no way of knowing you won’t do that anyways,” you said. You took a step back, Billie narrowing her eyes.

“No. You don’t,” she said. You opened your mouth to speak when you heard a loud noise behind you, Dean rushing past you on his phone. There was a scream a short while later and you took the opportunity to follow Dean. “Fine. Stay stuck here. Don’t bother calling when you get sick of it.”

“Leave us alone, Billie,” you said. You ran down a hallway and saw the dead officer, Dean shooting at a very werewolf looking Corbin. He knocked the gun away though and Dean fell back, Corbin ready to lunge. “Back. Off.”

You flew Corbin back towards the other end of the hall, Dean looking around before he went for his gun.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said as he got his hands on it again. Corbin rushed again but new shots rang out, Sam panting as he appeared. Corbin hit the deck and you sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Sammy?”

“I could use with a doctor right about now.”

“Is she gonna be okay?” asked Dean after they’d helped clean up everything. 

“She lost a lot of blood and I can guarantee moving her right now will kill her,” said the doctor. You sat on the edge of your bed, your body pale looking. “I know you two need to get out of here but she can’t come with you.”

“Jane Doe. List her as a Jane Doe, not related to this crap with the missing hiker’s at all,” said Dean. “Keep her alive a few hours. I’ll be back.”

“I can’t promise anything,” said the doctor.

“I said no stupid, Dean,” you said, looking over at him. Dean nodded and took off with Sam. You shut your eyes. “No stupid, Dean. You promised.”

“What the hell is this?” asked the doctor when Dean held out a syringe a few hours later.

“Give it to her,” said Dean.

“I’m not giving-”

Dean rolled his eyes and stabbed it into your IV line, the doctor throwing up her hands. You watched from the other side of the bed, your vitals still low on the monitor. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” mumbled Dean. 

All of a sudden you were back in your body, shooting up like a bullet and gasping.

“How the-” said the doctor, pushing Dean out of the way. You lifted up your shirt, your wound gone. “What?”

“I’m interested in knowing what happened as well,” you said. Dean nodded but set a duffel on the end of the bed.

“Change first. I’ll explain on the way home.”

“Dean, what exactly was that?” you asked not ten minutes later. Dean rested his head in his hand as he drove. “I swear-”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I know that.”

“You love me too and you were so fucking...when we met on that hunt back in the fall, I hated you. You saved my life and I hated you,” he said.

“Dean?” you asked.

“I always had this weird feeling. I don’t fall in love with someone like that. Love at first sight isn’t real. It’s not, not even a glimmer of it. But you wormed your fucking way in just like that,” he said. You stared at him as he drove, Dean quiet for a few minutes. “The cure I gave you, I had no idea if it would work or not. I had a suspicion but no idea. Now that it did, I know for sure.”

“Know what?”

“The reason I fell so hard and so fast was because you’re my soulmate,” he said. You blinked and he laughed. “I’m sorry you got the short end of it but it’s true. The cure needed blood from your soulmate and well, it worked so there’s your-”

“I didn’t get the short end of anything,” you said, reaching over and taking his hand. “I promise.”

“Yeah you did.”

“Well suck it up, Winchester cause I’m not changing my mind on this one,” you said. He didn’t speak. He held onto your hand in silence though, stroking his thumb over the back of it. “Sam okay?”

“Yeah. Resting at home,” he said. “He doesn’t know about the whole...overdosing thing.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you said. 

“Thanks,” he said. “The story is we just went to get the hikers and you out and I was coming back for him.”

“Alright. One condition though,” you said.

“I know. No more stupid. One day I’ll listen, sweetheart.”

_______

[loominggaia]

Fanfiction: New York (part 9)

This is a good long chapter, so get a snack and strap in!

Anonymous asked:

Trigger warning about this chapter. It contains Alaine and lukus beating up a sexual predator and Zeffer murdering a drug dealer. You have been warned.

Evan sat in his hospital bed pondering what nurse kimi told him. On one hand he was happy to know who was here to rescue him. He already knew Elska was here due to the news stories and was told Alaine, Lukus, Jeimos and Issac where here. He had a hunch Zeffer was here too, based on a news story he saw this morning of an local robber/murderer being killed in an unusual way. Found drained of blood with strange wounds on his neck. He wondered who else was here that just haven’t been confirmed.

On the other hand he had no way of contacting them and the rescue crew his location. Evan sighed, he’d have to get out here one way or another. His plan to act sane and be discharged seemed to be working, his doctors and therapist seemed happy at his ‘recovery’ but where not yet fully convinced. While progress was being made to get out on his own it was still slower then he wanted it to be. He needed to get out and stretch his legs, he was feeling rather weak staying in one room all day.

Alaine and Lukus took to the streets, ready to start their little hog hunting trip. Lukus was hesitant to do a hog hunt here but Alaine managed to convince him, it be a fast way of getting some cash and take out some frustration and some degenerates. They started their hunt in an allyway, Alaine leaving her armor back at base and picking up a discarded bottle, putting on her best giddy drunk girl act. Lukus followed close behind, staying hidden behind some trash cans to spring their trap.

It took awhile to get anything interesting, the few peoplethey encountered either completely ignored her or trying to help her. Thinking they wouldn’t get anything Alaine suddenly heard a male voice behind her. “Excuse me miss” Alaine turned around readying herself to see… Evan and Conner!? Alaine jumped at the sight, was that really him! Had she finally found him! And what was Conner doing here? Her moment of shock wore down quickly realizing ,no, It wasn’t them.

While these men may not have actually been Evan and Conner it was unsettling to Alaine how much a look alike’s they where. The Atlas look alike’s in blue uniforms introduced themselves, the Evan twin introduced himself as Officer Mattews and the Conner twin as Officer Conway. Officer Mattews told her they where here because they got some complaints of a drunk girl wandering around and where here to check in on her. “Shit” Alaine thought to herself.

They just had some questions for her like who she was,? Why she was here? If they could escort her home? The longer she spoke to them the more like Evan and Conner they seemed, Officer Mattews being calm and gentle sounding when speaking whereas Officer Conway just eyes her up suspiciously and was abit more rude with his questioning. Officer Mattews apologized on his behalf, saying he’s new to the force and not to kind him, they just wanted to make sure she was safe and sound.

Alaine was being friendly with the officers no matter how unsettled she was by them, keeping up her drunk girl act the whole time. She just wanted to go, clearly their hunt wasn’t gonna have any success here and she really didn’t want to get involved with this worlds police. She lied to them saying she had an apartment close by and was fine by her own, Officer Mattews was insistent on walking her back with clear worry while Officer Conway just looked indifferent and more judgemental.

Just as Alaine almost had them off her back Officer Conway saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned around, pulling out his taser and shouted at the trash cans “ I saw that, get up and hands where I can see them!”. Lukus had been watching everything from behind his post, also being shocked at how unsettlingly close to the real Evan & Conner these two police men where. His cover had been blown, guy must of seen him out of the corner of his eye. “Dammit” Lukus thought.

Lukus emerged from his hiding spot at the officers request, hands in the air and a look of bitter spite on his face. Conway kept his taser pointed at him with Mattews pulling his out and aimed his way. Officer Conway aggressively asked who he thinks he is, why he was hiding behind the trash and why’s he’s dressed like some wanna be Robin Hood? Lukus dodged the questions and shot some jabs back at him, only pissing the officer off. Mattews just asked him more calmly and walking closer to him.

Lukus was once again unhelpful to the officers request. Alaine was freaking out, they need Lukus here and he’s no use to Evans rescue behind bars. Needing some way of salvaging this and getting the officers off their backs Alaine made a quick move. “Lukieeee”!!! Alaine shouted in a high pitched, giddy tone, running up to Lukus and clinging to him. She kissed him on the cheek and was babbling about how he came to check on her. The officers lowered their tasers in confusion, Alaines plan working.

She introduced Lukus as her boyfriend to the officers, saying he’s alright and not to worry. Lukus was just as confused as they where but went along with the lie, saying he was just worried about her and making sure no one harmed her. The officers didn’t look entirely convinced but afew more kisses on Lukus’s cheeks by Alaine got them to back off, wishing the couple well. As soon as they where gone Alaine got off him and gagged, wiping off her lips much to Lukus’s amusement.

He tried to shoot an insult her way but just got a slap to the face. Alaine grabbing his shirt collar and with rage in her eyes said nobody is to ever know about this and she’ll beat his ass if he ever tells anyone! The pair moved on, clearly this was not that great a hunting spot and they needed somewhere alittle seedier. They contemplated giving up but the rumbling of their stomachs and the knowledge that they needed earth money pushed them onward.

Finding a new spot they set a different trap this time, Lukus fake tied Alaine to a gutter and simply waited behind a dumpster. The pair waited awhile for anyone to show up, wondering if anyone will? After what felt like hour of waiting their first customer arrived. A man in a business suit talking on the phone was coming down their way, the perfect prey. With their target in sight Alaine readied herself, letting out a panicked scream and pleaded for help!

The man got off his phone at the sounds of a women’s scream. He came running down the path to see a panicked women tied to a gutter, desperately trying to free herself. Alaine in her best hysterical crying was thanking him, begging for help. He asked her what happened and with fake tears streaming down her face and panic in her voice, she cried that some guy came out of nowhere, robbed her and tied her up and was asking him to free her and call the police!

The guy seemed to be buying Alaines sob story, Alaine amplified herself to full blown ugly crying and was saying she just wanted to go home, that she willing to do anything to be freed. At this their was a change in the man, “Anything”? He repeated. A wide, hungry smile spreading across his face. “Jack pot” Alaine thought. She shook her head, keeping up her act. The man eyes looked down lustfully at her and said he’s free her, if she’s willing to do something for him first?

Alaine in her best shaky voice asked what he wanted. His eyes traveled all up and doen her body as he told her that if she wants to be free, she has to let him have his way with her. If she said yes he’ll call the cops and get her untied and home safely. If she refuses he’ll simply leave her their to rot. He also told her to not even bother telling anyone about this arrangement, cause he’s got some rather very, very good lawyers that will sue her into the ground if she dare makes a peep.

Alaine knew she was gonna have some fun with this pig! She’d seen sick bastards like him before, knew his type all to well and was just to deliver swift justice onto this creep. She played up the act, asking in panic if their was any other way to which he simply told her it’s let him screw her or leave her their. She hesitantly agreed to his condition, his perverted smile spreading ear to ear and his bulge rising in his pants. Today was his lucky day he thought to himself.

Lukus watched this gross bastard from behind the dumpster, readying for his attack picking up a rusty pipe. The man was unzipping his pants and leaning over the helpless women, ready to claim his prize. As he reached over to grope her breast suddenly he felt a foot slam straight into his jaw. He nursed his jaw and saw that his soon to victim had kicked him, a smug smile on her face. This enraged him, he fumed and yelled, calling her a little bitch and raised his fist to hit her.

He never got his chance as just as he was raising his fist he felt a something hard hit the back of his head. He fell to the ground, his head spinning and bison blurred from the impact, he saw a hooded figure standing over him, a rusty pipe in hand. The women congratulated the assailant and pulled herself free and loomed over him. He tried to say something but a swift kick to the face shit him up, the women leaned over him with a sinister smile and for the first time in awhile, he felt pure fear

To say Alaine and Lukus made of mess of this pervert is an understatement. Having beat him every shade of black and blue to unconsciousness and robbed him blind, ending their torture by cutting off little manhood and tounge. Counting their prize money of nearly a thousand dollars they fled the scene of the crime, leaving their not so innocent victim behind to rot. The whole morning up till the afternoon they spent on this little hog hunt and saw some major success.

While as usual most people either ignored Alaine or tried to help her they managed to bag three more degenerate swine that day. A man and women who attempted to rob Alaine while she pretended to be either drunk or tied up and the third being another wanna be rapist, giving all three a good thrashing, robbed them blind and leaving each with a permanent reminder of their misdeeds. While Alaine was having fun she did have to admit, hog hunting just didn’t feel the same without Glenvar their.

She missed him, she missed him dearly. She wondered how Glenvar was doing back in Gaia? Probably trying to drink himself under the table again as usual? Alaine couldn’t wait to see him again and tell him all about this trip to another world, but to do that they need to get the captain back first. The two had a really good cash haul for today, their other three pigs hadn’t been nearly as rewarding as the first but it still seemed like a decent amount. They’d round the day off with one last hunt.

Alaine was in a back ally, luring in swine number 5 with her cutsey drunk girl act. This obvious creeper had been following her all the way down the allyway as she fake stumbled around, staring directly at her butt with an excited look on his creepy face. Alaine was leading him straight to Lukus’s hiding place, readying for another attack. Once the guy followed her into the spot and got greedy, moving faster and trying to reach out and grab her, only to get knocked to the ground in one swift hit

The pair wasted no time tag team beating the creeper to the ground, the pair kicking and hitting the dude as he cried out for help. The pair tried to silence him, delivering a quick kick to his face but he only screamed louder. “What’s going on back that their”? a familiar sounding voice called out. Two police men suddenly showed up, Officer Mattews and Conway arriving on the scene, seeing a familiar pair of faces beating a seemingly helpless man.

Lukus and Alaine felt an overwhelming sense of shame wash over them, Evans look alike making it seem as if they had been caught by their captain. Mattews looked over them with a stern gaze while Conway already had his hands on the taser, asking them what they think their doing? The creep crawled his way out from under them, thanking the officers for coming to his rescue and shamelessly trying to blame the attack on them. That their crazy and he didn’t do anything wrong.

The pair told the officers it was self defense, Alaine saying the man tried to grab her. The perv had an over expressive shock adamantly denying her claim and saying she’s a psycho, that they need to lock those two up. Conway just eyes the three in distain and told Mattews why don’t they just arrest all three of them and get it done and over with? Mattews shot him down, they where not gonna arrest anyone yet but where gonna bring all three down to the station for questioning and sort this out.

Alaine and Lukus where panicking, they couldn’t afford to be sitting in a jail cell while the real Evan was still out their! They looked to one another as the officers approached and in a unanimous decision, bolted! Alaine took of one direction and Lukus the other direction. The officers shouted and took off after them, Officer Mattews Pursuing Alaine and Officer Conway towards Lukus. With the cops gone and no threat of a further beating the creeper fled as well.

Alaine ever thought she’d have to run away from Evan, much less his clone to avoid being arrested but here she is now. Alaine sprinted at full speed with Officer Mattews keeping a close pace yelling at her to stop. She made her way to the Main Street, opening up to massive crowds of people and asked no time slipping into the faceless hordes of people. Mattews still hot on her tail frantically searching around the crowd trying to follow her but losing her in the crowd.

Lukus never thought he’d have to run away from Connor of all people, much less his extra dimensional twin brother. Lukus bobbed and weaved around the alleyways, tossing trash cans and hoping fences to block the officers path with little luck. Officer Conway keeping a steady pass with Lukus through out the path, aggressively pursuing him. Lukus was gonna need a diversion of some sort to get this prick of his trail.

This diversion would come from a far nearly running into them on a side street. Slowing Officer Conway down enough to give Lukus enough time run and find some hiding spot. He spotted another dumpster in the allyway, hopping right into it to hopefully hide from Connors doppelgänger. Thankfully this worked as Conway ran right past it, cursing and trying to catch up to Lukus. Lukus waited inside the dumpster for alittle while after the footfalls stopped, exiting once the coast was clear.

Hours later the two managed to return to base individually. They took afew extra twist and turns as to make sure they where not being followed by the cops as they returned. Everyone was back at base already, settling down for dinner that night, this time being three big boxes of pizza. The two found out what the others where up to that day, Jeimos and Issac where out finding scrap metal to sell and Elska just did the same she did yesterday in searching the woods.

The pair dodged questions about what their day was like, just telling them about the Evan and Connor look alike’s they ran into and they got money. They ate their pizza in peace, Alaine, Lukus, Jeimos and Issac eating half the pizza and Elska eating the other half before heading off for bed. Zeffer was awake by now and got ready for his nightly patrol.

Zeffer searches the whole night once again, fortunately not running into those weirdos he had the night before but didn’t find Evan either. It was getting late and his vampiric hunger was calling to him once again, he needed a meal before going back to base. Stalking the allyways he came across a potential victim, seeing a pale man in wifebeater and jeans, smuge grin on his face talking to two junkies. Handing them so packages before telling them to get out his sight. He would do nicely.

Zeffer approached the dealer, keeping his face hidden. The dealer saw him and smiled, saying he hadn’t seen him around here before? Asking if he needed a little pick me up and what he’d like, opening the truck of his car showing a variety of drugs, everything from needles, bags of rocks, powder and plants Zeffer didn’t have the names for. The dealer stared at the stranger, thinking he could make one last sale for tonight and go home. He never would as Zeffer attacked, sinking his fangs into him.

The dealer screamed and shoved Zeffer off, grabbing his wounded neck as blood leaked out. Only then did he see his attackers face, the ghostly pale skin, sunken burning eyes and fangs dripping in his blood. The dealer screamed in pure terror, reaching for his glock but was intercepted, the vampire grabbing him and finishing him off. He kicked and screamed but his efforts where futile, his body falling lifeless to the ground after Zeffer was done.

Having finished his evening meal Zeffer took a look at his victims belongings. Pilfering his cash and leaving the drug filled car behind, he had quite abit of money on him and defintion wouldn’t be needing it anymore. Zeffer headed back to base for tonight with his bounty in tow. After he left some druggies made their way through the allyway, all eager for their next hit with cash at the ready. Instead of seeing their usual dealer they saw the grizzly sight before them, looking on in horror.

The also noticed his trunk was open and all his stash exposed. Stepping around their former dealers body they took everything they could grab and booked it. Eager to enjoy this big hit and didn’t want to stick around to see if whoever killed their dealer was still around.

 *

I love this story. Anon, everyone is so in-character and it’s great! Every chapter just leaves me wanting more. TO BE CONTINUED...?