#which is like. unthinkable to me in texas

[weatheredcopper]

this sounds so dumb and cliche and sooo gay but going from texas suburbia to urban minneapolis really truly feels like being dorothy in the wizard of oz. sweetpea we're not in kansas anymore

[hunybody]

and the thing about eddie not going to texas to get chris (yet. YET) is the agency thing. eddie never has any agency in his life and taking it from his son is unthinkable to him because eddie knows that pain. he knows it over and over and over and so of course he isn't going (YET!! TIM MINEAR DO YOU HEAR ME?? YET!!!!) which is terrible for chris. because obviously chris does not have those same hangups. what chris needs is for eddie to pull up that fighting almost-killed-a-guy that one time in a cage match SPIRIT and eddie needs to go crawl out of his parents' television like the ring. i lost the plot of this post slightly here at the end but my point stands i think

[therealslimshakespeare]

Job Wanted: Bullshit Detector

Circa: April, 1944

Summary: In the wake of Ida’s miscarriage and the consequences of it, Gale Cleven is on a mission to catch the Allied serviceman who allegedly turned them all in. To do so he must spare time from his other duties, one of which he is loath to delegate. Until he recalls the perfect candidate.

Cast of Characters include: Gale Cleven, Lt. Kendeigh, Lt. Sanchez, Lt. Lu Smith, Ida Brady (discussed)

Warnings: 18+ with universe typical warnings applying. mild chapter for this universe with only referenced past torture, referenced past assault and referenced past miscarriage. 🙃 some hinted racism along with some general stalag angst and characters misinterpretations of each other, etc.

Author’s Note: this was partly inspired by learning the real Gale Cleven was sorta self appointed spy catcher in the stalag, which is very badass of him and very important

The only thing cutting through the anger for Gale was the immediate need for action. If he could not find the turncoat fucker this instant, he had to insure that he would soon. And to do so, he must spare some time from his other obligations, make up for lost evaluations, coordinate with Bucky, and even let other duties lapse. They had others who could fill in the gaps.

There was truly only one duty that chafed him in the aspect of delegating.

He chewed his cheek raw in contemplation of it, the needing of someone to fill his spot in vetting the new prisoners. While baiting out one spy, it would be unthinkable to let in a passel more. And in his time away, as punishment for Ida’s pregnancy, there had been little done in regard to vetting incoming prisoners.

The fact stood, though, Gale did not trust anyone else to be cantankerous enough, to object without arguing, poke holes without being provocative. To sniff out a fake with pure, cold blooded, bone weary cynicism for humanity.

Until he remembered her.

He tried not to remember her, as a general rule, and when they passed in the hall of the combine or when he would find her in her bunk above Smith’s or working out a detail with Kendeigh, they gave each other only the most professional of nods. An effective show of respect to appease the curiosity of those around them, watching always, and yet, he was sure they had not exchanged a single word.

But now he thought of her.

They are sat out in the mildest blizzard of the early spring, Gale and Maureen, when he chose to finally bring her up. The woman who cut him. “The fighter pilot.” he begins.

Maureen perks in the near death-like stillness around them, it’s late afternoon and miserable and so they are alone. Her Major never makes conversation for the sake of it anymore, never did much to begin with, but if he ever were to, he’d not start off with a name or a person. He’d start off talking about landscapes; all his relayed memories started that way. The color of the river, how much snow on the mountain, cedar pollen in Texas. “Sansheaz? San-, yes?” she supplies in answer to his query.

“Sanchez.”

“Yes, yes that’s right. Sanchez. Pretty name, rolls it off her tongue so fast it’s a skill in itself. Pretty woman. Lieutenant, too. What about her?” he does not make conversation so Maureen makes up for the lack with things she knows, things they both know. He counts on her chatter. They both know that, too.

“She settling in?” he ventures. It’s been months.

“Seems to be. She’s in with Smith.”

“Ah.” he knew that, she knew he knew that.

“They seem to be getting along well enough when I’ve dropped in, to look after the bite.”

“Good.” he hopes she will go on, the swipe of his thumb along her knuckle wills it so.

Maureen does. “Keeps to herself, never offered me her name. Smith and I’ve been calling her ‘Lieutenant’. But she has been helpful with roll call. Other duties. She’s an excellent officer when she bothers.”

“Good.”

“Smith likes her.”

“Lu likes everyone.”

“Not everyone.” Maureen corrects, a sudden and harsh sobriety.

“Most everyone.”

“Most. And that doesn’t make her dumb.”

“No.” Gale concedes, “No it doesn’t. But Lu does like everyone.”

“She’s got good sense about people. I’ve always trusted her on that. Except when it came to me.” Maureen, maybe growing weary of this doleful banter begins to grow wry, sardonic, morose, “No earthly reason for her to like me and it shows a complete lapse of judgment. But most other times, she’s onto something. Sanchez seems alright.”

Gale remains frowning. “Lu knows you’d die for her. Don’t know what other likability is needed around here.”

“Projecting much?” She teased, heartsick over his unwarranted loyalty.

“Maybe.” Gale is dogged, “But I know she feels that way. About you. Why wouldn’t she.”

Maureen’s thumb plays a duel with his over her knuckles, they swipe back and forth, he allows her to crush his briefly before she draws a trembling breath, lets out an anecdote he could almost feel her holding in check, “Lu saved me from a bullet in Ravensburg.”

Gale's thumb begs her to go on. He doesn’t dare meet her eyes, throw her off track. He stares at her playful thumb instead. Slightly flattened and a little off color even now the bruises have gone. The nailbed is a sickening dip of flesh where once there was smooth pink. It took months of swelling to leave before he realized they’d torn them out. Seemed he was always learning something worse.

“They were about to-to shoot Ida.” Maureen told her tale, husky voice gone soft, “ After everything they’d done to her and the scalping and- then they were going to just put her down. I didn’t know I was rushing to stop them till Smith stopped me instead. I just couldn’t imagine it -all this. Without her. Without Ida. Couldn’t just stand there. But it was stupid. Smith knew that.”

“Apparently Lu couldn’t imagine this without you.” He pointed out after a bit.

“It would’ve been awful. Wouldn’t it? All this without her.”

“Ida?”

“The colonel, yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“I know she’s not, she’s not much right now but I-i couldn’t imagine it.”

Gale chewed his lip, knowing what she meant by much, knowing it was true in a terrible sort of way and it ate at Ida worse than any of them. The baby. Then the loss of the baby. All that followed. “You told her that?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“You told her that?”

“Told her what?”

“What you just told me. That this wouldn’t be bearable without her.”

Maureen blinked away the grit in her eyes, squinting at the hazy white horizon with discomfort. She had said something close to it, then delivered her dead child into the world days later like an act of gory penance. “Must I?” she sounded hoarse, and it was proof of what this place had done to her, stripped her down to, taught her harshly, that she got his buried meaning on the first try. However little she liked his suggestion, she understood it.

“Might be good to say.” he observed. “Don’t think plenty of things need sayin’ in this world that get said. Still, most things folks regret, are the unsaid.”

Ida could die. They all could die. Anyone of them could just bite it and the last inane quibble over socks or the last joke over soup would be the last sentiments ever expressed.

Or there could be a decade of this endless nothingness stretching before them consisting of nothing more notable or significant than said quibbles and jokes.

It made Maureen’s chest ache, and not from the cold. She didn’t know why that grieved her, the thought of all this being so meaningless, it grieved her as much as the thought of Ida dying, both feelings startling in their pain.

“It ain’t the end of the world to admit to someone you like that you -well, that you like them.” Gale was grinning at her, soft and compassionate, a little wicked in acknowledgement of their criminal admissions of the same to each other.

“She did so enjoy cutting me down to size.” Maureen muttured, thick and bitter and confused as flight school memories came up tangy and fresh like the blood in her bitten cheek.

“Because you were full of hot air.”

“She didn’t have to enjoy it so much.”

“Just cuttin’ ya down to somethin’ she could promote to a lieutenant.” Gale retorted, and his logic held a terrible persuasion to it.

“That was -flattering.” Maureen admitted. As confused now at Ida’s vote of confidence as she had been back then. It had first felt like a bribe, then a challenge, maybe even a commendation there near the end before -all this.

“First compliment you ever got that wasn’t given by someone kissin’ your ass, huh?” Gale leaned back against the step, pale throat bare and as white as the snow, “Still haven’t recovered, have ya?” He was snickering, or as close to it as prim and proper Gale Winston Cleven ever got, and if she wasn’t so sure he liked her, Maureen might have been terribly hurt by it. Instead she feared he was right and that was aggravating, but not new. Gale was always right. It’s why she stuck by him closer than ever these days, a harbor light in the soup of not knowing anymore.

“What are you thinking?” she changes the subject, not like how she used to with saucy annoyance or a pawing hand on his thigh. She asks because she knows he does not make small talk about people in this place. “In regards to the Lieutenant.”

“I’m thinking she’d fill in a job for me.” Gale replies, contemplative and still forcing himself to recall some of that night. Or rather, to spin the wheel of memory film from that day until it is no longer dark and burning and cruel but far enough back to when it was drizzling and bumpy and noon day with a fresh batch of prisoners and one scowling at him, casting accusations of him being a spy.

“Which one?” Maureen asks, she was asking about the jobs, not which memory. Gale snipps the tape right there on the memory of that day, just like he always did, right before it got dark and comes back to her and the front step and the blizzard that is dusting green shoots of grass by the steps.

Somewhere along the way Maureen has started to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck, icy fingers twirling a comforting dance there. “Gingerale?” she calls him further to the present. Gale wonders how long he’d been gone in his mind, he’s got to be careful with that. It’s one thing for her to notice, but if he starts with her, he might start lapsing with others, and he cannot. He simply cannot. So he gathers himself, lets the nickname ricochet around his skull until its sweet tease knocks out the ghastly replay of grunts and laughs, thinks about her fingers and the way she still loves to play with his hair while she plays with his heart, the way she encourages him to breathe when she touches him, nothing like the way the others nearly strangled him.

Then he thinks about catching the fucking rat that had the craven gall to turn them all in. That had Bucky beaten like that, had Ida kept to bleed out in the fucking cooler after miscarrying, that had Gale upping his concessions to the doctor, concessions that always somehow cost Captain John Brady more than him. He thinks about finding that rat, asking if the extra smoke or blanket or empty promise of an exchange was worth betraying his friends. He thinks about that, he thinks about snapping the fucker’s neck.

“Spy Master.” he grins back at Maureen in the here and now, genuinely happy to have thought of it for Sanchez, and there is after a moment, a look of such stunned concurrence on her face, he knows she knows it is wise. And he knows she knows why.

It is evening time when he acts, and he’d have rather done this in daylight but the evening chores keep everyone occupied, away from the combine even during the snowstorm.

It offers his only opportunity for real privacy. He intended to find Sanchez in the hall or on one such chore and ask for a moment. But he doesn’t see her, instead he stalls Lu on the steps as she heads for the kitchen, “Where’s Sanchez at?” he asks her as if he commonly inquires after the fighter pilot.

“In bed.” The furrow of Lu’s brows ask all sorts of questions her rank and regulation rule book constrain her from voicing.

“She sick?”

“Happens -cyclically.” Smith provides, and if he were unable to guess at the intended meaning, the blanch in Lu’s cheek’s at the mention of the ailment tells Gale Cleven that Lieutenant Sanchez is abed menstruating.

“Right. Save me a turnip.” he teases as he continues past her, swimming upstream of the men in the hallway leaving for dinner, and working his way towards her room.

She is sat alone at its table, bent over her work which seems to be the hem of a trouser leg, spread out on the table top and being subjected to row upon row of rhythmic stitches. There is a bean sack propped behind her back, he can see it through the slats. He would think it a pillow for support if he couldn’t smell the nauseating aroma of burnt dried lentils. He imagines the damn thing is heated and feels a wave of wistful admiration for the design.

It must not be his footsteps in the quieting combine so much as his looming presence after a moments observance that has her suddenly snapping her head up in appraisal of his company. Her eyes are as hard as he remembers and her scrutiny off putting, he is glad that memory is not warped. It will serve his purpose, it will aid in her new job. He is never sure what about her he remembers or invented or blended into Smith. Not even having Lu present can undo the tangle, he has been too cautious of looking Sanchez in the face to compare the difference.

He looks now. Because she does not move, nod, or rise as befits his rank, all the motions she goes through when others are around. She seems aware of the empty combine as keenly as him and her full concentration is on staring him down. He is glad he didn’t try this sooner, to swing by and exchange urbane pleasantries with someone who must find his very existence a burr in the memory. Just as she is to him. There is nothing to account for, no friendship to patch up, no harm to be forgiven. It is senseless to reconnect as there was no true connection. Even if he feels something heated and horrid thrumming between them even now.

“Spare a minute?” he asks her, and Major Cleven’s voice comes easily to his disposal, and he is glad of it.

He does not wait for her invite, as a major he does not need it. He walks past the threshold like it’s any other day and he’s here to inquire about Lu or make sure the poor drowned girl hasn’t passed. She is still in her bunk but there is no life there despite the heartbeat. They are alone. In Gale’s mind, they are alone.

“Sir.” Sanchez gives it to him right as he pulls out a chair and helps himself to it. Near her, but not too near. Not even he could stomach that. The sight of her hands make his gut twist oddly and he panics at the thought he might shake apart from some unwarranted recollection.

Tilled earth heaping against his face. Furrows cut from her nails.

“Smith said I might find ya here.” he informs, easy, normal. “Not hungry?”

“No.” she looks like she expects something awful. Her eyes are unblinking and still harsh, even this near. Perhaps Maureen is right and she is beautiful but he wants to shudder all the same. He can spot the difference now, between Lu’s eyes and her’s.

“Good work.” he comments on the pant leg, gesturing to it.

It makes her drop her gaze for the first time, a quick glance at the needle under her thumb, the ratty row of hem she is repairing. She looks back up, incredulous almost, he thinks, and at least that guarded expression has finally shifted. He watches some resignation come over her, filtered through annoyance when her full lips tightly peel back from her teeth and she responds as if forced with a: “Cannot let your young captain do all of it.”

Brady, he realizes she means Brady. Lu and Brady, that’s all he’s seen this woman really converse with. And Maureen. As lieutenants. “No we can’t.” he agrees. “Appreciate the help.” he wonders if her time of the month makes her more volatile or just miserable, he wants to laugh at choosing his timing so poorly, not only going into the Lion’s den but doing so when they’re hungry. She does not acknowledge that Gale thanked her, she just dares him to finish this.

He does, and again, Major Cleven finds a small smile to present with his offer, “I’ve got a job for you.”

Whatever she expected, it wasn’t that, apparently. Surprise looks awfully thunderous on her but it is surprise all the same, a chink in the armor. “Sir?”

“I have a particular case of business to attend to.” he entrusts her with this, “It will take me away from other duties. I have excellent deputies, they will fill them with ease.” He lets that hang there, baiting a reply.

“Your lieutenants are perfectly able women.” it is as if she is defending them to him, he wants to smile at the slip of loyalty. She only mentions the women, she must think he is here because she is a surplus female.

“I’ve got a job that doesn't require anything but a bullshit detector.” he replies, puts it out there as if tangibly on the table between them, “Something plenty of lieutenants, male and female, haven’t got for shit.”

“Sir.” it’s the least interested question ever, she is tired of him, unimpressed and unflattered and he doesn’t even think the question would deserve a question mark if in written form. He has never been more soothed at his choice.

“Need you to vet incoming prisoners.” he spells it out, “Spycatcher.” he abbreviates. He told Maureen the whole of his ambition for her skills, but here and now he’ll ease it out to her.

Even so, it cracks the facade, if only briefly, intrigue and perhaps a flicker of want flashes in dark eyes before they squint at him in suspicion. “Have you even taken that precaution before?”

“Yes.” he defends.

“Poor job of it.”

That stings but she’s not wrong. “Yeah. Apparently.”

“So you’re passing the responsibility to someone else?”

“You would be my representative, my deputy, given my authority in the matter.” Gale watches closely and gets little in the way of feedback, “We can’t stop prisoners from coming in, obviously, but we can isolate the ones we know or suspect. Trust the others. What happened with you. We know you’re trustworthy now. And I’m offerin’ you this as it suits your talents.”

A crushing suspicion of humanity’s worst intentions was an odd talent but he considered it such. He hoped she’d not think him facetious.

“You don’t think I’m the rat?”

Gale frowned, surprise creasing his face, “No. Not for a minute. The child is out, it’s dead, it-“ so much has changed, first the miscarriage and now the punishments, it’s a whole new landscape and it’s tedious and awful and if the SS do come and take over as threatened, it will be made horrific. “-the reasons to exclude you are over. I need good men, I need good officers. I need someone to take this job. Someone else takes it and it’s you at stake, too. You want a spy bunking above you?”

Sanchez looks angry again, but it is a passive, sour sort. He braces when her lips begin to move, “If you want someone duplicitous enough to drag information from unwilling individuals -you should offer the post to your lady colonel.”

That's not the post. The post is that of prime bulshit sniffer. But this anger poses another issue and his mind flits over it anxiously. “What’ve you got against Colonel Brady?” he sighs.

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Don’t play at insubordination, Lieutenant.”

“She-“ Sanchez began with venom before suddenly reeling back her voice, her expression, everything, it was eerie in a way, “-I would never have told her.” she began again, “But she made me think she knew, and then she pulled her fucking rank, and I told her. And if you are here to learn the full of it -there. I told her about you. Because she deceived me. Offer this job to her.”

Gale stared at the pants hem, regaining his thoughts. Ida knew. He knew she did but, she’d heard it from the source and he knew she did but— “She’s a colonel. She’s my colonel. She’s got a right to know. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

“Of course I did not. She tricked me.”

“You’d have lied to her?”

“About that? Yes. None of her fucking business.”

“She’s our colonel-“

“Not mine!”

“She is our superior.” that went uncontested and Gale went on having gained that victory, measured and speaking to himself as if he could somehow conduct his reasoning over to Sanchez, “She had a right to know. And no one fuckin’ blames you. Not if you told the truth. Did you? You tell her why you cut me? That you thought I was gonna join in? Was gonna dishonor you?”

Sanchez was at war with herself, and in that terrible conflict she seemed half in want of an ally in Gale, and yet- “You think she believes me? If I were to tell her I thought you were capable of that? You? Who she knows and loves and praises? Jesus Christ in a fucking flight suit? You think she’d take a strangers’ excuse over her knowledge of your character? She wanted a reason to distrust me and she found it.”

Gale thought he saw guilt, well masked by fury but there all the same. Sanchez, he surmised, was sorry now she knew him. Sorry like she hadn’t been when they were being ground into the dirt, sorry like she wasn’t when he was lying on Benny’s thigh in the truck bed after, sorry like she wasn’t when he handed her the penicillin.

“Ida wasn’t mad at you for cuttin’ me.” he knew it, like he knew his own thoughts on it, he was so sure of Ida, “She was mad you didn’t say you knew me. That you knew of me before this place.”

“It’s not her’s to know.” Her voice had gone soft, defensive but burnt out.

“She’s a colonel.” Gale disagreed even as his own pride smarted horribly at the thought of being so known by someone so -Ida. He knew Ida also blamed him for not saying. “And she’s a good one to have on your side.”

Something else seemed to be on her mind, her eyes left his face to contemplate the bunk opposite. “You think your men will like having a brown woman vet them?”

“I don’t give a shit. I’m givin’ the job to the most capable…man…I can find.”

“They’ll hate it.”

Gale’s lips twitched. “You tellin’ me you’d mind that? Gonna ruin some social scene ya got goin’ here?”

Her breath came out harsh and he suspected if she were like Ida or Kendeigh, that would have been a laugh. It seemed to take her by surprise as much as him. “You’d -you would back me.” she pinned him with her gaze, hesitancy only in her words.

“Always. You’d be my deputy, Lieutenant.” she actually nodded when he said that, like she was considering, accepting maybe, he wasn’t sure. He knew she’d like the job. She had to be going nuts in here with only pant legs to hem. “It’s a critical job. And you could sit down for it.” he added right as he decided to stand up; her face looked briefly stunned.

Seemed like a good place to end this, on a high note, even if the high was a tiny ant hill: all in comparison to the morass they were in when he first entered this room.

“Yeah?” He asked her to accept.

“Sir.” she nodded.

“Thank you, for taking the job, Lieutenant.” Gale thumped the table once in adieu, she was still staring him down.

He’d made it back to the door when he heard her, “I really thought you -were.” the last word held such meaning in her tone he knew exactly what she meant, she was remembering too, she was recalling how she’ had sliced him open, furious as a wild cat. She had really thought he was capable of the worst. “Why would you think I’m a good judge.”

Gale stalled, hand grasping the wooden doorframe and looked back at her over his shoulder, Major Cleven managed to give the troops a grin, “Didn't say I needed a good one, just a suspicious one.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[beecauseevan]

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December 2024

That night, they sit on Eddie's couch together, no beer in sight but a big bowl of popcorn between them. They catch up on everything they missed on Hotshots—which is a lot—and then Buck turns the TV off and turns to Eddie and demands Eddie catch him up on everything he missed at the real firehouse they really work at, which, unsurprisingly, is almost as much. 

"I think Bobby was too hard on Brad and the crew, about the realism," Buck smirks, long legs folded up under Eddie's warmest blanket, after Eddie gets done telling him about a call the 118 had two days ago, where a guy in a Christmas elf costume was chased up a tree by a tiny dog dressed like Santa. 

Eddie opens his mouth to argue, then thinks better of it. He had an emotional affair with a supernaturally uncanny doppelganger of his late wife just seven months ago, and Buck got cursed (not really) by a dead cowboy. There was a beenado, just a couple of months ago. Athena landed a plane on the 110. Buck might have a point. 

What a year it's been. A cruise ship wreck involving pirates, Kim, Christopher. Buck's sexual awakening. 

Eddie looked Buck in the eye and told him that it wouldn't change anything between them. He looks Buck in the eye now and can't decide if that was a lie. Something feels different, but that doesn't necessarily mean that something has changed. Maybe something has been discovered, something that has been there all along. Maybe that's all it is. 

"About Christmas," Buck asks him later. Eddie is still looking at him, still pondering the warmth in his chest. "Are you going to—do you have plans?" 

"I asked Chris if he wants me to come to Texas," Eddie says. 

Buck must be able to read Chris' answer in Eddie's expression, because his hand finds Eddie's arm, a comforting weight. 

"Soon," he says. Eddie doesn't think he's imagining the pain in his eyes when he says that. It makes sense, because it hurts Eddie too. "Maddie wants me to invite you. So if you want to come..."

"I would love to," Eddie says earnestly, and does the unthinkable. He covers that hand with his own. 

Written for the @911countdowntochristmas - this was supposed to be 24 drabbles but the Buddie NDE speculation going around pre 8x08 inspired me and now it’s a 24-mini-chaptered fic instead. And definitely more hurt/comfort than fluff. Oops.

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[moontyger]

Something about the news that a fourth Texas county passed an anti-abortion travel ban put me over the edge. It was the straw that broke this feminist’s back. (And I mean that literally: my shoulders live somewhere near my ears these days.)

In truth, it wasn’t the news of the travel ban itself—after all, I’ve been writing about those for months. What did me in was the absolute mundanity with which that news was reported. Just another article in just another paper. It didn’t even warrant front-page coverage!

As if women being prevented from leaving their state is just another story. As if this was a normal occurrence. 

The problem, of course, is that it is. What was once unthinkable is now commonplace—the Overton Window shattered in thousands of pieces beneath the feet of Republicans and anti-abortion activists. 

It wasn’t so long ago that feminists were called ‘hysterical’ by political experts and pundits for warning that Roe could be overturned. Now we’re watching as doctors are forced to deny dying women care and city councils casually make it illegal to help a woman leave her state.

Just as incredible: As raped children are forced into childbirth and women are literally being torn apart—losing uteruses and fallopian tubes—we’re still being told that we’re overreacting. 

As city after city passes these once-inconceivable ordinances, anti-abortion activists and politicians are downright contemptuous of those calling them travel bans. They claim that because the laws don’t criminalize women themselves—instead allowing citizens to sue anyone who helps women leave—that it’s not actually a restriction on travel.

Women can leave the state whenever they want, they say. We just have to be willing to ruin the lives of any friends or family members who might give us a ride. (Or gas money, or even a text with the url for an out-state-clinic.)

Republicans are systematically chipping away at pregnant people’s ability to leave their states, and then have the audacity to insist that they are not, in any way, trapping them there. 

Anyone who believes this stops with women’s friends and families is not paying nearly enough attention. 

There’s a reason, for example, that anti-abortion activists are calling these ordinances ‘anti-trafficking’ laws. In part, it’s the same paternalistic rhetoric of protection central to many Republican abortion policies. Just as ultrasound mandates became “Women’s Right to Know” laws, ‘anti-trafficking’ is meant to make travel bans seem like a protection for those coerced into ending their pregnancies. 

But the law applies to anyone traveling out-of-state. So who is being ‘trafficked’ when a woman simply wants to leave Texas to get an abortion? According to Mark Lee Dickson, the anti-abortion activist behind the ordinances, the answer is simple: “The unborn child is always taken against their will.” 

And there it is. 

If a fetus is a person and abortion is murder, of course Republicans are going to criminally outlaw women from ‘trafficking’ their pregnancies out-of-state to end them! Last month, Alabama Attorney General Steve Marshall laid the groundwork to do just that—arguing in a legal filing that the state has a right to forbid women from traveling for abortion in the same way they can prevent sex offenders from leaving the state.

Can you imagine the outcry if a law restricted men’s ability to leave their state? If their leaders compared healthcare that 1 in 4 of them received to rape?

Insult after insult, one unimaginable revocation of rights after another. It took less than two years for Republicans to sprint from the end of Roe to publicly planning how to trap women in states where they’re not seen as full human beings. Less than two years.

[vulnerasti-cor-meum]

longgggg vent post. I'm sorry. Im just feeling maddened lately. at best I probably sound like a petulant teenager.

my mom's making a huge fuss abt my bday weekend. she was proposing we go out to eat for next few days. That's absurd. it's absurd and unthinkable bc I have actively been skipping sit-down dinners with her, because I am on a self-campaign to minimize time with her. I hate dinner. I have nothing to say. she stares at me when we're eating.I am hungry every evening. And I have no appetite in the morning. and I have nightmares about her. about screaming at her and about her being my enemy. and my poor progenitress is at home all the live-long day (listening to YT preachers all day) because Im the one using the car for work, so who knows what that does to her. she hardly eats, herself, and even less now that there's no excuse for dining with me. I said that we can eat out ONCE, at texas roadhouse, which In my brain I consider to be too tacky because Im trying to develop good taste, but in my heart, who tf am I kidding. last therapist told me that if I want my mom to respect me as a man and not a child, I need to show her Im a man and not a child, but my resentment is such that I dont want to show her any part of myself at all, All Ive ever felt is rejection from her. on every axis and dimension. and now she's divorced and jobless and isolated from broader culture and Im her early retirement fund until some day in the long and unhappy future.

and now I have a lover whom Ive been seeing for seven months, we've been intimate, we go on dates, he buys me tix to the cinema and we hold hands for two hours and he's told me he adores me and is crazy about me, and I dont think I believed him even though I think he may have been wooing me (how seriously though?). Even though I said IDK if I could see us being anything more than occasional lovers, he still continued to see me afterward. And now I'm crazed for him my body ails for him my stomach is in knots and my brain is abuzz. I canceled a date two weeks ago with him because I was sick. He said he'd wait for me. When I texted him five days later that I was better (four days of silence), turns out he had left on a postponed roadtrip. (he didnt tell me. was he still waiting for me? why didnt he tell me? was I entitled to know? Of course not.) He leaves back for town today: He said he'd keep me posted (more specifically on some property he was contemplating buying at the trip-destination). I told him Id like to see him again soon. he heart-reacted. There's no reason to expect I wont see him again unless it's due to the inherent unstable bond between uncommitted chemical bodies. I dont know how long to wait till I ask him to see me again. I dont want to be a creep. I dont want to seem creepily desperate but I need him to know I want him so badly (or even at all! even if just for an evening!) and that yes I do want to work out something even one degree of magnitude "more" than what we are.I want to give of myself more generously. I want to be his possession.He doesnt reject me in that he's told me Im perfect even if my rship with my mom keeps me from giving myself more to him. I dont know if his kissyface emotes mean anything. I keep analyzing seven months' of texts like a statistician or a conspiracy theorist.

I want a new job but Ive only been here a year and can barely handle the work for which Ive been employed and which even is the only kind of work that accords with my resume. Clients depress me and get me down (senior citizens; fixed incomes; living in slums. I always fear that Im looking into a mirror of my own future). my colleagues are the sweetest persons in the world and my hours are so forgiving, so I know I should be grateful, but it's so hard so so hard.

I've been telling myself lately that God has meted out a long and unhappy life for me and that I know this in my heart, but who knows how much this is truth and how much this is slanderous against God

[martinsharmony]

it's funny because my ex boyfriend and I used to argue about this. It's partly the reason we broke up. He was kind of a WWII buff which was weird because at the time he was in his early 30's and I dunno I figure it's usually only old guys who are into WWII.

Anyway, I went on a trip to Germany to go to a concert and visit family. When I came back I told him how my relative so graciously showed me around and we went to the holocaust memorial etc. It's been like 12 years so I don't remember much but he was basically saying that the Germans themselves were "to blame" for Hitler's rise, and that they had no right to escape via tunnels etc because they voted for him. They put him into power. They supported him. I mean yes technically I knew this but it's so much more complicated than that. He tends to think in black and white.

I was like but what about those who did not vote for him? They get blamed too? He basically said yes because they did not move away to another country or ferociously resist. I thought this was entirely unworkable. people have families. lives. jobs. responsibilities. They love their home land. etc. I mean yeah sure some probably did that but many were probably not able to.

Right now, said ex boyfriend married a trans-male. He and spouse are ferociously anti-Trump. They are considering moving to Massachusetts because guess what? Spouse has a son and an ex husband they share custody with that they can't just pick up and go to another country. They can't even move to Mass now because of the child. And we live in Texas.

We are good friends after the break up, but I really wonder if he ever thinks about our argument that day.

Unthinkable that 12 years later, we would be experiencing that same exact thing here in the US.

Yo, correct me if I am wrong please, but didn't Hitler rise to power because he promised to fix the German economy and people really liked that so they looked past everything else he was doing??? Like exactly what's happening in America right now???

So many people said they voted for Trump, put a truly evil person in power, because he said he'd fix the economy, and a little voice in my head is going, "Isn't that what happened with fucking Hitler??"

But I've seen no one point that out so maybe I'm miss remembering???????

[paperstorm]

anyone who watched the newly released tv adaptation of <The last of us> got reminded of lone star while watching? The whole time watching the zombie outbreak in Austin Texas I was like “I won’t be surprised if I suddenly see carlos or the 126 in the background helping out..” 😂

Darn now I really need lone star to do a fever dream episode. With no explanation the episode starts off 911 what’s ur emergency “zombies!” and then showing us the zombie outbreak in Texas.

126 & Austin pd/Tarlos would be on their jobs helping out civilians first before sh*t got too chaotic and everyone got separated and basically just having to survive on their own. Somehow I think Tarlos would do really well in this kind of situations considering their jobs lols.

Tarlos being separated for a lil while doing their own things saving ppl before having an emotional reunion, cue teary hug and poor carlos with his Deja vu “thought I will never see you again”. They then form a great team rescuing people & protecting each other..but then one of them got bitten or injured 😨 cue the frantic “stay with me stay with me” and then the angst ness when *the unthinkable happened* *cue rafa/ronen delivering the f out of this* (and then viewers shocked like did LS really just k worded one of their fan fav characters???

And before people starts writing letters to FOX the episode ends with someone waking up from their fever dream lmao (somehow it fits that Mateo would be the one who is dreaming it but it would be epic too if Carlos or TK is the one dreaming it and Carlos/TK wake up frantically searching for the other person before pulling the other person into a tight hug while panicking and the other person making breakfast is confused like “what’s going on? hey hey it’s ok I m here I m here”)

Speaking of which it would be really cool if lone star can do those special episode TV thing, fever dreams would be good since they can do a crazy plot like zombie apocalypse which would never happen in the real show (and quite unique as it would be from first responders POV as compared to other media)

I have not watched the last of us but I know I have some mutuals who do so this is for them. Maybe there will be some crossover fics!

[kaninchenzero]

i don't think hope is as useful as many think it is

at least, i don't think using one's media platform to chastize so-called doomers for being pessimistic about the future, especially here in the united states, does anything useful

millions of americans spent the summer of 2020 protesting police brutality and we lost

cops are out there shooting Black people in the back of the fucking head, nothing has changed for the better and we have states making it illegal for cities to defund the police who are useless when people are being shot but are really good at evicting people from their homes, assaulting non violent protesters with chemical and kinetic less-lethal weapons, robbing vulnerable people under cover of civil forfeiture law, raping people in their custody including children, enslaving people for using drugs, making life even more miserable for homeless folks, and, of course, inflicting constant low level terror and trauma interspersed with moments of pure fear on vulnerable people

from what little i know the police in uvalde, texas did actually try to stop the murderer from shooting elementary school children to death but failed, which i can't fault them for

video and witness statements do not support this narrative

gun fights you see in visual media are scripted, choreographed, and rehearsed by professionals who know they're almost certainly not going to be actually shot and killed

actual gun fights are awful, confusing, and terrifying and it is very hard to use a pistol to kill an armed, armored, determined person

it is not hard to use a pistol to kill an unarmed, unresisting person at close range

which says something about the circumstances of most police shootings, don't you think?

anyway, these specific cops in this specific incident failed in the specific task of stopping a murderer which will have devastating effects on them personally but these specific cops did not fail in their moral duty as human beings

they tried and failed and the outcome was horrible but i have no blame for these specific individuals in this specific event

the information i had at the time i initially posted this said that three uvalde city cops had engaged the shooter before he got inside the school

and i was trying to be fair and take that at face value and not say "well if that is actually true because cops famously lie a lot"

dang

still, the institution of policing is incapable of actually keeping people safe from those who would do them harm, which is the stated justification for their existence despite all the obvious harm they do to people much more often

(they do just fine at their actual purpose of enforcing the will of the powerful on the powerless)

so

we failed

we tried, and we failed at our task of trying to even reduce police brutality in the united states and we failed to prevent a minority of americans from owning most of the privately owned firearms in the world (unfortunately, horrifyingly true)

the moral failures belong to those who benefit from our powerlessness

it's horrible

it's going to get worse because all the power structures in the united states reward the people making things worse

not permanently

even global warming (another struggle lost there) and large scale nuclear war aren't likely to be extinction events for humans as a species

but there still will be unthinkable amounts of suffering, bloodshed, and death in the near to medium future

so, while i admire and respect the people who still want to organize and protest and do non violent political action, i have no blame for anyone on our side who doesn't have the energy to be hopeful and doesn't have the taste for violent revolution

i don't have either of those

all i have left is trying to have as pleasant a life as i can with my wife and whatever cats share our home

if i had actual power i'd do something different, if a huge pile of money fell on me i'd feel shitty about fleeing texas and not using that money to help my community here, much though i would very like to get the fuck out of texas, it's awful here

i'll remain angry and bitter and hopeless, but the targets of my impotent rage will remain the people harming us

not myself and not anyone else who's just fuckin tired and wants to live whatever life they can scrape together

they're fine, morally

we're fine, morally

just like those uvalde cops mentioned above

lol nope i was wrong about them fuck the police

and just like them we'll have to feel how we feel about it

in the meantime, for me, there's weed, cloves, violent video games, and metalworking videos

(and i have Opinions about those, like how anybody working with super dangerous machines should be the only people who decide what a safe production rate is, but even my strongest Opinions have little impact on the world)

[brightbeautifulthings]

Full Flight by Ashley Schumacher

"The pain is in the absence, I think. Not in the love."

Year Read: 2021

Rating: 2/5

About: Anna is one of few people in the small town of Enfield, Texas to join the school band as a freshman, which leaves her constantly scrambling to catch up with everyone else. When she's given a duet with Weston Ryan, the boy who's trouble and may or may not have murdered the school tree, she's worried she'll never be able to get it right. But Weston turns out to be an excellent tutor, and the more she gets to know him, the more she realizes how much the town has misjudged him. If her parents find out they're dating, she'll be in a world of trouble, but Weston is the one person who makes Anna feel like it's okay to be completely herself. When the unthinkable happens, Anna has to find a way to move forward without a partner to answer her call. I received an invitation to read a free e-ARC through NetGalley from the publishers at St. Martin’s Press. Trigger warnings: character death, car accidents, divorce, bullying, vomiting, grief.

Thoughts: I enjoyed Amelia Unabridged despite its sadness, so I thought I was prepared for the sadness of this book. I was wrong. I finished it in the morning, and the gloom of it hung over me for the rest of the day and my face hurt from crying so much. Little known fact about me: sometimes crying makes me mad (and the reverse is also true: make me mad enough and I'll probably cry, which makes me more mad, etc. it's not a fun cycle), so all the feelings walking away from this book were Smad. There are a handful of books I feel are worth crying over (Looking for Alaska, The Song of Achilles), but this isn't one of them. It's just grief with no silver lining. Tragic shit happens and there's no message or meaning in it. While I find that useful as a life strategy--sometimes things just hurt, and there is no why--it's not that satisfying in fiction.

Further, knowing that the Big Tragic Thing was coming limited my enjoyment of the rest of the book. It's hard to get invested in characters when I know something bad is coming for them (the main reason I have never read They Both Die at the End-- it's right there in the title!), so I struggled to get invested in Anna and Weston's relationship. I like them well enough as characters, and I like the character development that their relationship brings about. I like Anna's relationship with her family and Weston's with Ratio. All are well done. But I read a lot of YA romances (weirdly? somehow? how did this happen? I'm supposed to be the horror girl.), and some work well for both adults and YA while some feel very YA, and Full Flight is the latter. That's not in any way a bad thing; it's actually perfect for its audience, but as an adult, I found it hard to connect with some very teenage problems.

One thing I've noticed about both of Schumacher's books is how deeply entrenched they are in a certain topic. Amelia Unabridged is a love letter to books and fandom, and as a book lover it was like sinking into a cozy bath. Readers are my people. Full Flight is organized around the school band, and I emphatically do not relate. I can see band kids really loving it, but I quickly got tired of reading about marching and band practice and uniforms and Gilligans. But that's the problem with books that are so immersive. The very thing I didn't enjoy about it is probably going to be the thing that makes it someone else's favorite book. I don't have any reservations about recommending Full Flight to someone who finds the premise interesting. It does what it sets out to do, and it does it fairly well. But in terms of things I enjoy (and my ratings reflect enjoyment at least as much as anything else), I found it needlessly sad.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 1, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

For those of you exhausted by this week’s news, you can take a break tonight. Lots of moving pieces are in play, but nothing that would hold a historian to her desk a hundred years from now, so skip this letter with a clean conscience.

For those of you who do want some reflections, I am struck today by the media’s breathless recounting of how the ongoing negotiations over the two infrastructure bills shows that the Democrats are in disarray and President Joe Biden’s agenda is crashing and burning. The New York Times called a delay in the vote on the measures “a humiliating blow to Mr. Biden and Democrats” and wondered if “Biden’s economic agenda could be revived.”

Exactly a year ago, the news reported that Trump adviser Hope Hicks had coronavirus and that she had recently traveled with White House personnel on Air Force One. The stock market dropped 400 points on the news. The previous day had been the infamous presidential debate when Trump yelled and snarled at Biden, while his entourage, including Hicks, refused to wear masks despite a mandate that they must do so. We did not know who else might be infected.

Hours later, we learned that the president and First Lady were both sick, and within hours the president would be hospitalized.

The rest of the news provided a snapshot of the Trump presidency:

•A study of more than 38 million English-language articles about the pandemic between January 1 and May 26 showed that Trump was “likely the largest driver of…Covid-19 misinformation.”

•Trump’s former national security adviser, retired Lt. General H.R. McMaster, told MSNBC that Trump was “aiding and abetting Putin’s efforts” to disrupt the November election.

•We learned that Amy Coney Barrett, Trump’s nominee for the Supreme Court, had not disclosed that in 2006, she signed an anti-abortion ad in the South Bend Tribune. It appeared near another ad from the same organization that called for putting “an end to the barbaric legacy of Roe v. Wade and restore laws that protect the lives of unborn children.”

•A tape leaked of Melania Trump complaining about having to decorate the White House for Christmas—“I’m working… my a** off on the Christmas stuff, that you know, who gives a f*** about the Christmas stuff and decorations?”—and then said of criticism that she was not involved with the children separated from their parents at the southern border: “Give me a f****** break.”

•News broke that Donald Trump, Jr.’s girlfriend, Kimberly Guilfoyle, had left the Fox News Channel after an employee complained of sexual harassment, saying she required the employee to work at her apartment, where she would sometimes be naked, and where she would share inappropriate photos of men and discuss her sexual activities with them. She denied any misconduct, but FNC settled the case against her for $4 million.

•The House of Representatives, controlled by Democrats, passed a $2.2 trillion coronavirus relief measure. No Republicans voted for it.

•Right-wing conspiracy theorists Jacob Wohl and Jack Burkman were charged with four felonies in Michigan for intimidating voters, conspiring to violate election laws, and using a computer to commit a crime.

•Claiming he wanted to prevent “voter fraud,” Republican governor Greg Abbott of Texas limited the number of locations for dropping off mail-in ballots to one site per county. While Republican counties tended to have just one location already, Democratic Harris County, the third largest county in the country, with a population of more than 4.7 million and an area larger than the state of Rhode Island, had previously used 12. Democratic Travis County, which includes Austin, previously had four.

That was one single day in the Trump presidency.

In contrast, today, the Democrats are trying to pass an extremely complicated package, consisting of two major infrastructure bills, backed by different constituencies, that will alter the direction of our country by investing in ordinary Americans and revising the tax code to claw back some of the 2017 tax cuts the Republican Congress gave to corporations and the very wealthy. Although there is no guarantee they will pass, the bills are currently still on track, and all the relevant parties are still at work discussing them, exactly as one would expect.

What is the unusual piece in this process is that the other major American political party—the Republicans—is refusing to participate in the crafting of a major bill that is extremely popular.

This infrastructure package is huge, but it is hardly the only item in Biden’s agenda. In March 2021, the Democrats passed the American Rescue Plan, a $1.9 trillion economic rescue package that has helped the administration produce more jobs in its first six months than any other administration in American history.

Not a single Republican voted for that bill; it passed while they were focusing on the ungendered Potato Head kin and the decision of the Dr. Seuss estate to stop the publication of some of Theodor Geisel’s less popular books.

The economy has recovered in large part because of the Biden administration’s enormous success at distributing the coronavirus vaccines to every American who wanted one.

Republican lawmakers have worked against this process, and today we crossed the unthinkable line of 700,000 officially counted deaths from Covid-19.

Now, the administration has begun to put vaccine mandates into effect, and they are working. Those who insisted they would never get vaccines changed their minds when employers and public venues required them. Today, California governor Gavin Newsom announced that the state will require coronavirus vaccines for school children, along with the ten others it already requires, as soon as the Food and Drug Administration fully approves them for use in children.

Meanwhile, Republican-dominated state legislatures are following through on the voter suppression noted a year ago, passing measures to cut down Democratic voting and install Republican operatives in key election posts before the 2022 election.

As political scientist and foreign relations expert David Rothkopf tweeted: “Are the Dems the ones in disarray when they are crafting specific programs while the GOP offers up only cynical Tweets & obstruction? The only GOP agenda items are voter suppression, defending the worst president in history & when they have power, pushing tax cuts for the rich.”

For my part, I’m not sure what is driving the stories that seem to paint Biden’s work as a lost cause: The recent position that Democrats are hapless? That it’s safer to be negative than positive? That our news cycle demands drama?

Whatever it is, I continue to maintain that the issue right now is not Democrats’ negotiations over the infrastructure bills—regardless of how they turn out—but that Republican lawmakers are actively working to undermine our democracy.

—

Notes:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2021/06/24/nightmare-scenario-book-excerpt/

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/01/us/amy-coney-barrett-abortion.html

https://www.cnn.com/2021/10/01/us/california-students-covid-vaccine-requirement/index.html

https://www.newsweek.com/texas-ag-says-trump-wouldve-lost-state-if-it-hadnt-blocked-mail-ballots-applications-being-1597909

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/09/30/us/politics/infrastructure-democrats-pelosi.html

David Rothkopf @djrothkopfThe NYT does it again: "House Delays Vote on Infrastructure Bill as Democrats Feud." On the homepage they call it a "Big Setback for the Biden Agenda." Really? Really? A day? A couple of days? The media is getting this story 100% wrong.

House Delays Vote on Infrastructure Bill as Democrats FeudA liberal revolt left Democrats short of votes, but leaders insisted they would bring up the measure again on Friday, giving them more time to reach a deal on a separate climate and safety net bill.nytimes.com

2,463 Retweets9,500 Likes

October 1st 2021

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Forty-Two) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of kidnapping. Mentions of death, torture, sexual assault, panic attack, PTSD-- everything Criminal Minds. Talk of sex, BDSM, Dom/sub relationship, etc.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 12469

Timeline: Season 6 Episode 09. A month after part forty-one.

A/N: Hi, my loves. I might be taking a very short break. School is..... it's a lot right now. I think that between school and the way my friends have been getting into my head about Criminal Minsd/Hotch/Thomas, I've just kind of fallen out of love temporarily. I'm finishing up Sense8 rn, and then I'm going to start watching Tales of the City to help revamp my love for Thomas, and in turn Hotch and Criminal Minds. Chapter 43 is going to be a long one, so I just need ya'll to bear with me for a bit as I get to writing it. I love you guys! <3

A week stuck in the house after getting back from Hawai’i was a week too long. All I wanted to do was get back to work and act like nothing happened, because, really, nothing did happen. Yeah, something happened, but it could have been way worse. I handled the situation before it could get bad, and the team found me. As for the only surviving Unsub who took me, Morgan and Emily went to question him after he got out of surgery. They asked him about this website that Foyet had supposedly set up for his fans, but by the time they got the name of it, it was gone, and Garcia couldn’t find anything about it. She searched far and wide, even trying to recover the site itself, but whoever really set it up was good, and they knew how to cover their tracks.

All we knew was how the site operated. According to the Unsub, there were levels of the “membership”. Those who wanted to join Foyet’s little minion club, or whatever the fuck it was, had to start at level one with a misdemeanor. The higher up they wanted to move through the levels, the more intense the crimes got. The third to last level, the one the Unsub and his friends were on, was killing me. Throughout the whole ordeal— from the moment they bid on the task in the level, up until I managed to shoot two of them, they were in contact with the person in charge. He told them where to find me, when to take me, how to do it, where to take me, what to do about the call, but they came to a screeching halt when they were told that they needed to send a piece of me, one at a time, to Hotch and Jack. For a group of criminals who worked through the levels of robbery, rape, child abductions, and animal murder, it was surprising to me that they wouldn’t even try to follow their orders. I mean, they could have at least— Maybe that wasn’t anything to ponder on.

When asked what the last two levels were, however, the Unsub told us that he didn’t know because the bids were hidden from anyone on the lower levels. They had been the first group to make it to the “my” level, no one knew what the last two were. If I had to guess, though, based on what I knew about Foyet and his mission to ruin Hotch’s life, I was going to take a wild guess that the second one was likely hurting Jack— which was already unthinkable— and the first… the first was Hotch.

Foyet liked torturing Hotch. From the stabbings to killing Haley, Foyet enjoyed making Hotch’s life a living hell. Even from the grave, Foyet was doing his best to break down Hotch. He wanted Hotch’s life to fall apart around him, to have him lose everything before he would finally be targeted, too. From what we knew, the only task the Unsubs had with me was sending me off in pieces. That was it. The consideration to do more, the conversations I had overheard, was of their own volition; but it also happened to be their downfall. With Hotch, the task was probably to make it as painful as possible. Honestly, I didn’t want to consider the options after knowing what Foyet had already done.

After the Unsub was out of the hospital, our questioning completed, he was processed, and it was finally out of our hands. When we got home, I practically collapsed in the doorway, catching Jack in my arms as he ran to me for a Superman hug. I had never been more relieved to see him in my life since Foyet took him. I held him in my arms for as long as I could, even when he tried to protest that I was hugging him too tight. I never wanted to let him go. Even when he started asking questions about what happened on our vacation, because something was clearly wrong, I just stayed as still and quiet as possible because I just wanted to hold my son in my arms.

Hotch made me stay home for the week following that while he practically catered to my ever want and need. In a way, I suppose, I was under house arrest. All I was missing was the ankle monitor; and, honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised me if I would have woken up with one on. Hotch was being a little too protective since it happened. While I tried to not blame him because he was obviously still trying to get over the fact that he could have lost me, I just wanted to get back out there and live my life. I wanted to get back into the field; I wanted to see our friends; I wanted to mess around with Morgan and Emily all the time. I didn’t want to feel like a wounded, little lamb.

What happened to me wasn’t even that bad, as I said. All I had were a few cuts and bruises, yet Hotch was acting like my entire body was broken and he needed to do everything for me. He didn’t go to work, he hardly even let me out of my sight. It was like the days following Haley’s death where I watched Hotch and Jack like a hawk because I was afraid that if I let them out of my sight for even a moment, I would never see them again. Hotch probably felt the same way about me this time around… But I really just needed him to take a step back and let me breathe.

When I did get back to work about a month after Hawai’i, it wasn’t an easy transition. All the way to the office, Hotch tried to convince me into reconsidering going back. If it were up to him, I would have been at home for the next nine months or so. But I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be locked up for months on end, sitting around, worrying about Hotch and the rest of the team as they went out to work on hundreds of cases without me. That wasn’t going to happen. I had a life to get back to. I could deal with my trauma outside of work— just like Hotch, who was still going to therapy because of what happened with Foyet while still going to work, too. And if he was just worried about me being pregnant, which I was sure was a factor, then he had to understand that it wasn’t a big deal yet. It was a miracle, of course, but it wasn’t impeding my ability to work just yet.

I just had to keep reminding Hotch that I had been to hell and back a thousand times, and this was just one more thing to add to the shit list. If I could get through all of that, I could get through this. But if Hotch started blowing this all out of proportion and made a big deal out of it, we were going to have problems. I compared it to when he found out the truth about those photos the Fisher King had taken out of my jewelry box, and he promised that he wouldn’t treat me any differently knowing what he knew now. I needed that understanding back. He always told me that he trusted my judgement—if he didn’t, he would have never let me go near that train Elle was being held hostage on in Texas a few years back—so I just needed him to trust me now. I was going to be fine. I was fine.

On Tuesday, after driving into work and getting some reports done, the team gathered in the roundtable room to discuss potential cases. Only, JJ already had a case in mind. Daniel Lanham, a ten year old boy, was reported missing on a camping trip by his father last November… Over a year ago… He was never found. In fact, the case had run so cold, that the police were initially grasping at straws by trying to pin the whole disappearance on the father. However, with no forensic evidence tying him to a crime, they couldn’t arrest him; but now that Daniel’s body had just appeared on the Appalachian Trail, questions were starting to stir and fingers were being pointed again.

I stared at the photo of that boy’s decayed body. He was only ten. How could someone do this to a child—How could someone do this to their own child, if that were really the case. I mean, there were signs of care and remorse with the body that indicated personal attachment that a father could potentially have. Daniel’s body had been wrapped in a plastic bag that was buried underground and covered by elements, all in the name of preserving and protecting the body from weather, animals, natural accelerated decay, etc. But this was an opportunistic crime. Our Unsub, if he was hunting for a victim on the Appalachian Trail, had to sit and wait for the perfect boy to come along. Or if Daniel’s father was responsible, he had to wait until his son was alone with him. Either way, it was an opportunity that arose, not a sophisticated, targeted attack. That was… unless…

“JJ, are there any more missing persons or mysterious deaths on the trail that could be connected to this?” I asked.

���The Rangers contacted me with this case, and they claimed that they’ve never seen anything like it. So, I’m going to assume not. But I’ll check with them when we get on the jet, just in case.”

“It says here that Daniel’s father went back to the trail every month in search for his son?” Hotch questioned, looking through the file. “And then he stopped in March.” He stopped in his tracks as a realization hit him. “Which is about the same time the M.E. estimates Daniel was killed.” He closed his case file. “Y/N, we’ll talk to Mr. Lanham when we arrive at the Park Ranger’s office. JJ, can you have them organize that while we’re on the jet and you’re contacting them about similar cases?”

“Sure,” she answered.

“Prentiss and Morgan, when we get to the trail, you guys should head out to where Daniel Lanham’s body was found in order to get an understanding of this Unsub’s level of mental stability.”

By that, he was alluding to the fact that we weren’t sure if our Unsub was Mr. Lanham or not. If this presented as organized or disorganized, it would help us conclude on way or another, and if there was anything else important out there that they Rangers missed, it might help us build our profile. So, it truly made sense that we would send someone out there. But I wished that it were me. Hotch usually teamed me up with Morgan—or, at times, Morgan and Emily. I wanted to go on the trail with them so bad. But Hotch wanted me to stay back in the Ranger’s office with him in order to question Mr. Lanham, even though that was a small enough task for one of us to do alone.

----

The Park Ranger’s office was more like a large cabin. Actually, that was exactly what it was—and it was similar to Gideon’s cabin, but perhaps twice that size. There was one main office where all of the Rangers had been waiting for our arrival, then there was the lead Ranger’s office to the left, and, lastly, set ahead was a boardroom where we could meet privately if need be. As we walked in, we were immediately told that Mr. Lanham was waiting for us in said boardroom.

While Emily and Morgan turned on their heels to head straight out to the trail as Hotch ordered, Rossi, Reid, and JJ moved to the table in the middle of the room that had a large map taped down to it for us to get our bearings. Reid immediately started building the geographical profile. So, while he was busy with that, and JJ and Rossi were getting caught up with the Ranger’s investigation, Hotch and I headed into the boardroom.

Hotch held the door open for me. I silently thanked him as I headed inside to see Mr. Lanham sitting at a desk, never looking up to acknowledge us. We carefully approached.

“Mr. Lanham, I’m Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Greenaway, and we’re with the Behavior Analysis Unit at the FBI. We’ve been called in to investigate your son’s death.” Hotch pulled a chair out for me. “We need to ask you some questions.” After I sat down, Hotch moved to take a seat in the chair next to me.

Mr. Lanham shrugged, keeping his eyes lowered, his hands in his lap, his leg shaking nervously under the table. All signs that he had issues with authority. Some of them were signs of guilt, but they could also be attributed to his frustration with the FBI questioning him when he thought that everyone had forgotten him as a suspect. I understood why he felt that way. However, it was necessary to ask him these questions in order to confirm or deny if he had any involvement in his son’s death. So far, it was inconclusive.

“You went almost twice a month out to the site where your son disappeared from November to March. And then you stopped going.”

He nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Why? Why stop at the same time he died? Because that looks awfully suspicious to us, Mr. Lanham.”

“I don’t know. Alright? I just—” He let out a heavy sigh as his body slumped in his seat. A sign of defeat rather than guilt. “I had this… feeling that he was gone. And it was taking too much out of me to keep searching. You probably don’t know what that feels like.”

I glanced over at Hotch. When Foyet took Haley and Jack, I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something terrible was going to happen, and no one was going to be able to stop it. And then Haley died. My suspicions had been confirmed, my heart shattered in my chest, and yet… the anxiety dialed back. I could remember still being hysterical and worried out of my mind because I wasn’t sure if Hotch and Jack were dead; but… Now that we were sitting there and Mr. Lanham had brought up this “feeling” he had, I realized that some part of me that day knew that they were still alive. I still had a sliver of hope that Jack was just hiding, safe and sound in his secret spot, and I had a feeling that Hotch was alright. And I was correct. Hotch was beaten and broken, of course, but he was alive. And my little man was alive. So, I understood that “feeling” Mr. Lanham had referred to.

Hotch moved on. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you used to take Daniel camping every weekend.”

“Yes. His mother had full custody, but she allowed me to see him on the weekends.”

Hotch and I knew that feeling all too well. Haley practically had full custody, but she allowed us to see Jack whenever we were in town; but it was still hard. Co-parenting was hard. I couldn’t imagine how Hotch did it alone all those years.

“So, the night he disappeared, what happened?” I asked. Mr. Lanham didn’t respond because he seemed at a loss for words. Even though he had recited his story a thousand times for local police, state police, Park Rangers, and so on, he couldn’t find the right words anymore. I really couldn’t blame him.

“You set up camp…” Hotch began egging him on once he noticed Mr. Lanham’s hesitancy. “You fell asleep… And then… A man came into your tent?”

“No. No one came into the tent. Daniel got up because he had to use the bathroom. He didn’t wake me up because he was in that phase where he was convinced that he didn’t need his dad protecting him all the time…” He sniffled. “So, I rolled over and I went back to sleep. I should’ve—” His voice cracked behind a sob. “I should’ve gone after him. But I didn’t.”

“Mr—” I began, but he interrupted me.

“I was his hero, and I failed,” Mr. Lanham cried before hiding his face in his hands out of shame.

I recognized the look on his face as he had said it, though. It was the same look Hotch wore for months after Haley died. He was ashamed that he couldn’t have done more to save her, and he failed at being Jack’s superhero when he needed it most.

“I don’t care that you all think I’m guilty. Because I am! I am guilty! I didn’t protect my son when he needed me most.” He looked up at us. “If I could go to prison for that, I would.”

Without a doubt, I knew that there was no way Mr. Lanham hurt his son. That kind of thinking—that sort of regret couldn’t be replicated by any kind of sociopath. No. Only a true grieving father who had been through hell could possibly feel that way. And since I had seen Hotch go through the exact same motions after Haley’s death, I knew that Mr. Lanham was innocent, and that he wasn’t putting any kind of show on for us. He genuinely regretted that night.

But I just couldn’t sit there and keep listening to his distraught cries. The way he was sobbing while blaming himself for something he had no control over only took me back to over a year ago where Hotch practically collapsed in my arms after Haley’s wake, and he pleaded with me about moving houses because he couldn’t stand being in that house anymore. The cries were eerily similar. And the worst part was, that parental regret that Mr. Lanham was starting to rub off on me when it came to Jack, and now the regret was turning into panic with our baby. Fuck.

I stood and saw myself out of the boardroom. Hotch was hot on my heels, likely because he didn’t want to listen to it any longer, either. The superhero thing hit too hard. We were Jack’s superheroes—we always had been—and the day that Foyet killed Haley, we failed him. We couldn’t protect him and his mom practically the one time it mattered most. Before, I used to regret that deeply, of course, but now that there were… other factors involved… I felt all of that ten times harder now, and it made me reflect on what the hell Hotch and I were actually going to do to prevent something like that from happening ever again. I didn’t want it to be Jack or our baby that we would lose next time—No. There would be no next time… This was exactly why I had to get away from Mr. Lanham while he was like that.

Apparently, Emily and Morgan had gotten back from the trail while we were talking to Daniel’s dad. They were standing around the map table in the middle of the office, a marker in Emily’s hand as they told Rossi and Reid everything they found out there. More bodies. And by more, I mean a lot more. Where they went to find Daniel’s burial ground, they ended up finding at least a dozen other bodies that Rangers were working to dig up currently so that they could be identified. So, this just turned serial.

“His name is Tyler Dale. He was the same age as Daniel when he went missing, and he was on a family trip when it happened,” Morgan explained, catching me and Hotch up to date with what everyone else knew.

Reid immediately scurried off with this new information to work on something that was churning in his mind, something that he couldn’t explain to us quite yet or it would ruin his thought process. We all turned to watch him silently work. We knew that whatever it was, it was likely important, and likely to help us. Honestly, if I were to guess, now that I was watching him scan through both Daniel and Tyler’s files a mile a minute, he was probably working on victimology. If he wasn’t, I was going to start. He was the fast reader, but I was the quick spotter. I almost wanted to challenge him one day into seeing who could solve a cold or closed case first—like the Foothpath Killer. Considering I solved that one the fastest, and Gideon was incredibly impressed, I was sure I could win against Spencer Reid.

And then he jumped to his feet with a thought. Okay… So, maybe he would put up a good fight. But I liked a challenge. I kept considering it as Reid set the files out on the map table and started dialing Garcia’s number on the conference phone. I cocked a brow at him. What was it that he found? Or, actually, what was it that he thought he had found?

“Garcia—” Reid began.

“Oh, it’s the boy wonder!” she cheered. “You never call me. It’s so isolating…”

Reid smiled lightly in response. “Sorry. We’ve been a bit busy.”

“I forgive you. I guess.”

Those of us who were standing around chuckled somewhat. Reid immediately turned back to his work when he shook it off, though, so that he could get back to what it was he called her for. “Can you look up the missing persons reports on the trail, specifically young boys between the ages of nine to thirteen.”

“I’m gonna need more than that.”

“The Unsub’s probably in his late thirties to forties, so disregard any cases older than twenty years.”

“What are you doing?” Rossi asked, utterly confused.

Reid hardly acknowledged Rossi when he answered with, “Speeding up the process of identifying those kids.” He grabbed a pen. “Garcia, narrow it down to boys with dark hair only. How many do we have now?”

“Twelve.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “They’ve only found ten bodies so far.”

Reid stood tall. “Yeah, but they’re still looking. It’s entirely possible those other two boys are out there. Garcia, which of those is the oldest case?”

“Um… Victor Dane disappeared when he was ten… and that was…” Garcia paused and gulped. “Oh. Fifteen years ago. They never found out what happened to him, but Rangers at the time suspected that he just happened to get lost.” That was usually their excuse when people went missing out there.

“What time of year was that?”

“October 20th.”

Reid was scribbling notes down on a piece of paper in one of the kids’ files. “What about the other boys? Did they all disappear around that time?”

“Yeah… How did you…”

“Thanks, Garcia.” Reid hung up on her without any consideration, and he stood to face all of us.

As we all huddled around, Reid began explaining how the cogs turning in his head had just come up with a dozen different answers to the problems we were facing. For our profile of the Unsub, we were missing any kind of link between how, when, and why the victims were taken. But Reid figured it out. Now that we had the identity of another kid, he was able to connect some of the dots, but what Garcia told him explained it all clearly to him. Our Unsub was crossing stateliness, which was why no one connected the dots—and he was spending months doing so. To hike the entire trail would take about six months. He was taking his victims in the fall, and we knew from Tyler and Daniel, he was killing the boys in the winter…

He was torturing them for months on end… He got away with it because no one knew that he existed.

I cringed and took a step back and away from the group. I felt Hotch’s eyes following me, so I didn’t let any emotion show that would give away the panic building in my chest. What if Hotch had thought that I just wandered off in Hawai’i? What if he had really been convinced that I left to go back to the Mainland—that I had left him… No one knew that those men who took me existed. No one knew that there were people out there who were so loyal to The Reaper. No one knew that I was a target. I could have died if Hotch didn’t know me so well. I could have died if the team didn’t have enough trust in him and I to know that something was wrong. I could have ended up like those boys that were being dug up in the forest.

I swallowed all of my pain.

----

That night, Hotch forced me to go back to the hotel with him while the team stayed at the Ranger’s office to have a long night of working. I think this move of his had more to do with Hawai’i than anything else. He was worried that I wasn’t better. He thought that I was suppressing any memories or PTSD in order to trick him into thinking that I was alright. And maybe I was. Maybe I wasn’t at all okay because every time I closed my eyes, I was terrified that someone else who had seen “Foyet’s website” would come to kill me, Jack, or Hotch. I was dreading a call from home while we were gone on this case that would tell us that someone took our little man from us. Foyet was always cruel. There was no doubt about it. But I never thought that it would get this far after death, after Hotch had bashed his face in to the point he was unrecognizable.

I needed rest desperately. For once, I wasn’t going to argue with Hotch about something related to dictating my life. Because I clearly needed to sleep, but Hotch didn’t, he decided to set up shop at the desk while I rolled into bed, which meant that I could afford to at least close my eyes because someone was keeping watch. Usually, Hotch fell asleep without struggle. If I were wrapped in his arms, it would take only a few minutes before he would completely crash and start snoring in my ear—but I could never fell asleep. If I did, there was a chance someone could take him from me. Something like Hawai’i could happen to him if I weren’t careful. So, I stayed up nearly every night just to ensure no one would come in and take him—or even to make sure that no one was lurking in the house to hurt Jack. But Hotch was staying up now. He was sitting at the desk, looking over the case, facing the door and the window, which was a reassurance to me that meant that no one could sneak up on him now.

So, I relaxed.

After a few minutes, I heard Hotch get up to grab his pajamas and toiletries from his go-bag and head into the bathroom. My eyes followed him until he closed the door.

I curled up on the bed, bringing my knees up ever so slightly towards my chest, and I laid my hands over my stomach. It was so odd… Everything felt normal, but it clearly wasn’t. Between the fact that Hotch was being overprotective and that I was subconsciously protecting my stomach more, it was obvious that I was pregnant; but I wasn’t showing yet, and I technically couldn’t even feel anything yet. It was just knowledge and an unconscious drive to protect something we couldn’t even see or feel. But the strangest part of it all was that I couldn’t wait to have more than that. I couldn’t wait to hold our baby, to see if they got mine or Hotch’s eyes, or what color hair they would end up with. Every second that we wasted just knowing and not seeing was torture. I was just excited to skip the next few months and finally have them in my arms.

Hotch came out of the bathroom, his face washed, teeth brushed, hair combed out of his face, and his suit switched out for his pajamas. When he saw my curled on the bed, he smiled. I smiled back at him. Despite how tense I had been about his protective behavior, I could find myself relaxing and falling in love with him over and over again every time he looked at me like that. It was this sparkle in his eyes that spoke volumes about how much he eternally loved me. And that smile… It was this slight curl at the corner of his lips that ever so slowly turned into a wide, toothy grin the longer he stared at me. It was pure joy. And it was absolutely contagious. I found that every time I spotted that smile growing on his face, I’d start smiling ear to ear, laughing at how cute and silly he was.

Aaron Hotchner… Cute and silly… It was strange to think about that sometimes—how I knew him in that capacity when no one else even got a hint of that side of him. In fact, most people didn’t know that he was capable of smiling. But he was. He was capable of so much, and he was deserving of every happiness in the world. After everything he had been through, I could confidently say he earned eternal bliss.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. He always whispered when he was afraid of disturbing me because he was taken by the way I was just… existing. I wasn’t doing anything special, yet he didn’t want me to move. I could tell that he wanted to remember me like that for a little longer.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?” He moved to sit down at the end of the bed, bringing my feet onto his lap so that he could massage them lightly. I relaxed immediately. When he started rubbing his thumb into the arch of my foot, I rotated somewhat so that I was laying on my back and looking at him.

“What Mr. Lanham said about his son,” I answered. “I’m terrified that something is going to happen to our kid, Aaron. Terrified. We know what’s out there—We know who’s out there. How can we possibly protect them from all the evils out there?”

“We just try our best.”

“Mr. Lanham tried his best. You tried your best. What if I can’t try my best?”

Hotch moved his thumbs to the pads of my feet. “It’s hard, Y/N. I’m not going to lie. All that pain and panic you feel on behalf of Jack is going to be ten times worse now with your own flesh and blood. That doesn’t mean that you love Jack any less—please don’t take it that way. But it is different when they’re your own. So, this anxiety you’re feeling now is entirely valid. Trust me. But it’s a day by day thing. You do your best one day, and then you try even harder the next. That’s all you can do. There’s no point in dwelling on what you could have done better or what horribly thing can potentially happen.”

“And if we fail?”

“We won’t.”

“How do—”

“We won’t,” he said more sternly.

I reached out to squeeze his bicep, since that was all I could reach and reaffirm. Maybe I did understand why he wanted to protect me. Maybe he was just doing his best with me, and he felt that his day to day best wasn’t enough. But it was. Actually, it was more than enough.

“I love you.”

He kissed his way up from my ankle to my hip, slowly moving around until he was hovering over me and I was giggling at the way his kisses tickled to me. I punched at his pecks lightly in a playful attempt to make him stop. But he didn’t. He only smirked and moved to kiss my stomach. I ran my fingers through his hair, encouraging him to stay there because I loved how it felt. I loved thinking to myself that we knew something was there, though we couldn’t see it, yet he had an instinct to still show me every bit of love. Especially there.

“I love you,” he whispered against my stomach.

----

In the morning. Hotch and I woke to a call from the Park Rangers that two kids had just been reported missing on the trail. A boy and a girl. Robert and Ana Copeland. That didn’t match our Unsub’s M.O. at all, but we simply couldn’t take the chance. Knowing that the body count out in the forest was only increasing with every knew hole Rangers were digging out there, it was entirely possible that the Unsub was spiraling. It wasn’t worth ignoring. If it meant potentially saving those kids, we were going to at least look into it. If it turned out that it had nothing to do with our case, it would be passed on to the Rangers and local PD, who could hopefully help the parents seek closure.

Until then, we had to try our best. So, we hurried out of bed and raced to the Ranger’s office. When we got there, JJ was already setting up a search party with the Rangers and local volunteers who found out that the kids went missing and wanted to help. Hotch pulled me to the side before we stepped in.

“You should stay here with Reid, give us some outside geographical help,” he offered.

I cocked a brow at him, scoffed, then walked away. There was no fucking way I was doing that. Fucking ridiculous. “JJ,” I said, tapping her shoulder. She turned to face me. “I’ll take the far East quadrant.” I pointed to her map, signaling to the area of the forest that I was referring to. It happened to be the smallest with the least amount of volunteers to oversee, so I figured that Hotch would at least compromise on that. “And I’ll check out the—"

Hotch suddenly grabbed my bicep a little harder than expected and started pulling me to the board room to talk to me privately. He let go of my arm as I stumbled inside, catching my balance quickly before turning to face him. He was frowning like he was angry with me. My eyes followed him as he locked the door then proceeded to turn all of the blinds up so that they were closed, making it so that no one could see into the room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked me, crossing his arms over his chest once the room was made private and dark.

I shrugged. “I’m going to go help those kids.”

He shook his head. “I’m benching you.”

“Hotch—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

He was oddly calm. Usually, if I gave him push back like this, he’d try to be a little more demanding— whether it be with his boss or Sir tone. Either would have worked on me, but he was still holding back. Asshole. Just fucking crack. Please. Give me something in response to my pushback. Recognize that I’m fucking with you because I want you back, and just do something! Please!

“You can’t bench me—”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed. “I’m pulling you from the field. You shouldn’t have come back this early. And I don’t want you to get hurt, especially since there are new factors involved.”

I chuckled. So that was what this was about. I wasn’t even showing, and he was already losing his shit. This was exactly why I was scared to tell him I was pregnant in the first place. I knew that this would fucking happen. “That’s bullshit,” I snapped. I just wanted him to fight with me. Was that too much to ask? “You didn’t pull JJ out of the field until she was too pregnant to even walk.”

“That was different.”

“It really fucking isn’t, Aaron! I’m going to go out there and I’m going to help find those kids and our Unsub, and there’s really nothing you can do to stop me right now. If you want to pull me out of the field, then you’re going to have to wait until we get back to the office and tell Strauss exactly why.” I started making my way towards the door. “Until then, I’m going—"

Hotch stepped in my way, making me crash into him slightly, but he didn’t waver. “Sit down and shut up,” Hotch demanded gruffly.

I gulped and instinctively took an obedient seat on the couch. There was the Hotch I knew. I found him in there somehow, which meant that I was right about him holding back on my behalf. He still wanted to be rough with me, I could see it in his eyes; but he was doing everything in his power to not do it because he thought I was fragile. I wasn’t fragile. He knew better than anyone that I wasn’t fragile. Hopefully, all it would take was this one snap and we’d be back in business.

Hotch paced the room for a moment before stopping just in front of me. He roughly pinched my face with one hand to make me look up at him. “You want things to be normal? Fine. Stop being a brat and listen to my orders. You’re staying here with Reid, and that’s the end of it.” He let go of my face.

“Yes, Sir.” I nodded.

His chest fell as he let out a relieved sigh, “Good girl.” He ran his fingers through his hair as he caught his breath, trying to come to terms with what he had just done, and how he thought it was entirely out of line. “Sorry,” he whispered under his breath, ashamed.

I shook my head while standing. “I love you.” I took his face in my hands and kissed him gingerly. “I’m sorry for pushing your buttons.”

He kissed me back. “It’s okay.” He let go of me, and I let go of him, then, within an instant, Hotch was storming off towards the door. “Call me if you and Reid find anything.”

I hesitantly agreed, watching him leave the board room and head out with the team, the Rangers, and all of the volunteers. It was just me and Reid in the Park Ranger’s office now. He glanced over at me, confusion written all over his face, but I just shrugged it off. I didn’t need him asking questions when I was still coming to terms with it myself.

I shook my head, unfolded my arms, and headed to the map table to search it with my eyes and fingers to find anywhere that stood out to me as a good place to hide out for the winter and to keep hostages. Reid was hovering over it with a pen in hand in order to help him pinpoint certain areas. When he saw something, he circled it. The only time I spotted something, I asked him to circle it, too.

Yet, all I could think about was Hotch while I should have been thinking about those kids that were out there, scared out of their wits as a monster did who knew what with them. I should have been focused. We weren’t supposed to let our emotions get in the way, which was a main concern Hotch and I had when we initially started dating. We couldn’t forget our work. We couldn’t let our relationship get in the way of saving lives. And I was trying to remind myself of that while staring at that map, attempting to force my eyes to focus in on something, but I just couldn’t. My mind was elsewhere.

“He’s probably hiding them in a cave,” he continued. I hummed a thoughtless agreement. “Somewhere near water so that he can live off the land.” I agreed again. “And then aliens came down and took them.” I hummed again. “What’s wrong with you?” Reid asked, circling a waterfall on the map. I cocked a brow, knowing that he could sense my confusion without having to look up. “I mean… I don’t want to pry, but something’s off.”

“It’s nothing,” I insisted. I knew that he was referring to how Hotch and I were practically dancing around each other, which wasn’t like us at all— especially since we just went through something which should have only brought us closer.

Reid looked up at me through his eyelashes for a brief moment to get a profile on me. He looked back down. “It makes sense, you know,” he commented while still scribbling on the map. I raised a brow, and he sensed my confusion again, so he continued, “Hotch has lost a lot. More than anyone should have to lose. It’s no surprise that he’s being more careful with you than he ever was with anyone else. He’s had to learn and evolve based on his experiences, and that evolution has brought him to being— for a lack of a better term— a helicopter parent. I don't think he’s necessarily trying to suffocate you, like you think he is. In his mind, he’s reminding himself of everything he could have done differently with Haley that could have saved their relationship and her life, and he’s testing out these new behaviors with you.

They say that a mother’s bond with her child is the strongest connection any two humans can have; but we’re still primal creatures, and the fathers have a tendency to become overbearingly protective once they are aware that their mates are carrying their child. Think of it like a wolf marking its territory. The wolf becomes hostile towards anything or anyone that tries to come near its territory because it’s their safe space and they have an instinct to protect it with their life. Fathers of most species are the same way with the mothers of their children, and humans happen to be the worst about it because we’re more advanced creatures—”

“Reid,” I spoke up, catching his attention, “you’re rambling.”

He chuckled self-consciously. “Sorry… I’m just trying to say that… things aren’t going to go back to normal— for a while, at least. He’s trying to make up for his past mistakes. And after what happened in Hawai’i, you can understand why he’s a little uneasy and a little more protective than you’d like. It might help if both of you, I don’t know… set some rules and boundaries.”

I smirked. “Is that the doctor’s advice?”

He shook his head and looked back down at the map. “It’s your friend’s advice.”

“Thank you, Spencer.” I put a hand on his shoulder.

Suddenly, the walkie talkie on the table started buzzing with static. Mine and Reid’s attention to turn to it just before we heard Morgan’s voice echo through the room with an update from the trail, a really good update, actually. They found the daughter. She was safe with him and Emily, and they were sending her back to the office with a Ranger so that I could question her because they couldn’t find her brother anywhere yet. I picked up the walkie to acknowledge his report.

We waited about thirty minutes after the call from Morgan to see the Copelands come in with JJ from the trail while looking around for their daughter who hadn’t arrived yet. JJ showed them to the boardroom so that they could wait there. When they were sitting down and holding each other anxiously, JJ came over to me and Reid and asked if we would be fine with waiting with the Copelands while she headed back out to the trail to work with the other volunteers who had a million questions for her. I shrugged and insisted that she go. I could handle this while Reid kept looking at the map.

On her way out, JJ ran into Ana and the Ranger that had brought her back. Ana was covered in dirt, her jacket torn up, her hair knotted, her eyes sunken out of exhaustion. I didn’t see any bruises on her, though. In fact, from where I was standing, I didn’t see any sign of any kind of abuse—sexual or otherwise. It made sense. Unfortunately, our Unsub’s type was kids, but he preferred boys. Whatever happened out there in the woods, there was probably a reason that Ana was with us and not Robert. Hopefully, she could give us some answers.

After sitting around for a few minutes, watching as the Copelands held their daughter close and let her cry against them, I decided to go in. Sitting there and watching them was just breaking my heart. All it did was remind me of all the times after Haley’s death when Jack would cling to me for dear life, crying into my shoulder until my shirt was soaked and I needed to change. I had never heard anyone sob in pain like that until that dreadful day when Hotch broke down, and then Jack started having nightmares. The two of them were in pain… They just couldn’t stop sobbing and whimpering. Ana was the same way.

I couldn’t cry like that when they found me in Hawai’i. Part of me knew that if I broke down and sobbed like that, then Hotch would have been in even worse shape than he already was. Besides, I had happy news that offset how I was really feeling. We had this little miracle in our lives now, and all of my focus was being drilled into that instead of remembering the panic I felt when I saw Gene standing just behind Hotch on the beach. I had to remember that in just a few months, there would be another little Hotchner running around—just as we had always joked about—and it distracted me from waking up with nightmares of sitting in that cabin, anticipating the moment they would finally decide to get rid of me.

I couldn’t keep thinking about it. I was sick of sitting around and waiting for something to happen. So, I carefully pushed into the room that the Copelands were sitting in, and I entered with a welcoming, kind smile that would help the scared little girl warm up to me. A thought occurred to me. I was never going to let my children be that terrified. Ever. I dreaded being an overbearing parent, but I knew what was out there, and I knew what I needed to do in order to protect my family. I was going to do whatever it would take. Neither of my kids would ever have to be in Ana or Robert’s shoes. No matter what.

“Hi, Ana.” I held my hand out for her to shake, just a simple way of me building rapport with her while also making her feel more adult and brave than she really was. “My name’s Y/N Greenaway, and I’m with the FBI. I’ve been looking for you and your brother, Robert.” She shook my hand warily. As she let go, I sat down in the seat across from her and crossed my ankles over each other. “Are you up for a few questions?”

Ana nodded shyly, tucking under her mother’s arm as much as possible.

“Cool.” I smiled at her. “What do you remember?”

“I shouldn’t’ve left Robert, but he told me to run. He made me promise to go when he distracted the man.”

“You did the right thing, Ana,” I reassured her, playing along with the dodge of my original question.

“But he still has my brother.”

“You being here because you listened to your brother is going to help us, though. I promise. I need you to tell me about the man who took you if we’re going to find Robert. Can you do that?”

She nodded. “We were in a cave…” she began slowly, pondering her words carefully as she tried to push through the nightmares running through her. I knew what that felt like. “He kept us in a cage with toys. Lots and lots of toys. There were no lights, and he stole Robert’s flashlight to make sure we couldn’t see anything.”

“What about the man, Ana?”

It was great that she was already being so open and talkative, but we knew all of this because Morgan and Emily were already searching for a cave, and the Unsub was probably long gone by now if he knew that Ana had escaped. We needed to know about him specifically in order to build the profile and find him.

“He was dirty,” she answered, “and scary. He was tall and fat. He walked funny and didn’t like to talk—”

“What do you mean by ‘he walked funny’?”

“Like, with a limp…”

“So, he was hurt?”

“I think so. That was why he couldn’t catch me, but he could catch Robert. He always took Robert. Never me. He took Robert at one point, and when he came back, he was crying and shaking, and that was when he told me that I needed to run the next time the man came for him. So, Robert pretended like he had to use the bathroom, and the man left the cage unlocked… Robert pushed him over long enough for me to run.” She started to sob. “I shouldn’t have left him!” She hid her face against her mother’s chest. “I shouldn’t’ve left him!”

I rubbed my hand over her back soothingly. “You did really good, Ana. Thank you.”

There was a knock at the door from Reid, a signal that he needed to talk to me privately. I nodded to him. I had gotten everything I could get out of Ana—at least for right now—and it was probably best just to let her relax and be with her family. I knew that after Hawai’i, all I wanted was to be with our family. I wanted Hotch, Jack, Morgan, Emily, Rossi, Reid, and JJ. I needed their support. I needed to know that they were okay, because if they were, then it gave me every reason—or excuse, depending on how you looked at it—to be okay, too. Ana probably needed that right now, too.

So, I silently stepped out of the room, letting the door fall shut quietly. I crossed my arms over my chest as I looked at Reid. He lifted his phone and turned the screen to face me, at which point I saw an image of a flower I was not at all familiar with, and I really had zero clue as to why he was showing it to me. I shrugged.

Reid looked at the photo again. “Emily and Morgan found his cave.”

“Robert?”

“They’re both gone. But Emily sent me this picture.”

“What is it?”

“It’s called Devil’s Claw.”

“Which is…”

“It helps heal swollen joints. Without it, our Unsub will be in a lot of pain.”

I glanced over my shoulder back into the room where Ana was hugging her parents as tight as she could—the same way Jack would always hug me and Hotch whenever he was upset. A superman hug. I looked back at Reid. “She told me that our Unsub walks with a limp. It’s probably connected.”

“If it’s really that bad that he still walks with a limp while taking this, it means he’s going to need more of it. And fast.”

“Where can you get it?”

“I mean, the flower version, like this, is all over the forest out there. But you can get it in pill or powder form on the black market, if you know where to look.”

“He’s going to head into town with Robert,” I realized. “And if he’s spending all of his time out on the trail, not working… That means he doesn’t have any money.”

“He’s going to sell Robert for drugs.”

I hesitated. “He wouldn’t give Robert away entirely. It goes against his M.O. You’re right, he’s going to sell Robert; but not the way you would think.” I hurried over to the walkie talkie sitting on the table and lifted it towards my mouth, pressing the TALK button as fast as I could. “Hotch.” I let go of the button and waited.

“I’m here,” he answered momentarily.

“Everyone needs to come back. Our Unsub isn’t out there anymore. He’s heading into town.”

And they did come back. It took a bit, but the entire team raced to get back to the Ranger’s office, at which point, we started discussing where the Unsub could have possibly gone, using our extremely loose profile we had. It really wasn’t enough to present to the Rangers or PD, but it was barely enough for us to use to our advantage. Knowing that he would have to get his medicine as fast as possible, we knew that he was going to turn to the black market—but in order to know who was possibly selling anything similar to Devil’s Claw, he had to already have connections in that world. Since we had previously deduced that he had been operating on the trail for at least fifteen years, that meant that he probably hadn’t met many criminals since then, so it had to be beforehand. But how did this pattern not appear sooner? Why hadn’t he started kidnapping children or abusing them sooner?

The simple answer was prison. It would explain why he was stagnant for a while, and why he was so fond of hiding in isolation. Not to mention, he probably met other pedophiles in there. And drug dealers. If he was desperate, he was going to meet with someone he knew and could trust to understand his medical condition, and also someone who would be willing to take time with a child as payment.

So, we called Garcia. We asked her to look for a man with a sexual assault history who was released from prison about sixteen years ago, then missed parole meetings fifteen years ago by going entirely off the grid. One would be shocked by how many men matched that description. So, we asked her to look for someone who had originally been housed near other registered sex offenders before going missing. That did the trick.

His name was Shane Wyland, and he had a long medical history when he was in prison. I mean, sex offenders were top targets inside, but he went to the infirmary more than the average pedophile. When I asked if it had to do with swollen joints, she agreed. She told us that Shane had a condition that made it increasingly difficult to keep moving around, even with the medication he was getting. But, in prison, they didn’t have what he needed. So, he had to get it from his bunk mate, another pedophile who was released around the same time as Shane.

“We need an address for his bunk mate,” Hotch insisted.

“That’s the thing,” Garcia began while still typing in order to get the address to us ASAP, “there are a handful of registered sex offenders who all share the same address.”

“What?” I questioned.

“It’s a cluster,” Emily said. When we all cocked a brow at her, she continued, “Since sex offenders can’t be near parks or school zones, their housing options are limited. Usually, they’ll reach out to their buddies from prison and ask if they know anywhere that will house them. That’s how they all end up with each other.”

Hotch shook his head. He hissed, “Garcia, the address, please.”

“Right. Sorry, sir.” She pressed the ENTER key of her computer as hard as she could, and we all felt our phones buzz.

As they all looked at their phones to take note of the building number and street name, I watched Hotch to see if there was any way he would let me go. They had a whole building to clear. I could be an asset. My time was better spent clearing the building with them than sitting around in the Park Ranger’s office, counting the minutes until the team would return. I really fucking hated feeling useless.

The team started collecting their gear, throwing on vests as fast as they could and putting comms in their ears. I waited for Hotch to tell me one way or the other. But, when I didn’t do anything, he didn’t seem to argue. I figured that if I were to move towards them and start gearing up, too, that was when things would have spiraled. All I could do was shake my head in disappointment and move to take a seat at the table with Reid. He was staying behind in case that lead didn’t pan out, which wasn’t very likely, but it was still a good idea to have back up. But he didn’t need me there. That was a one person job, and we all fucking knew it.

“Hey—” JJ called out, hurrying over to me. She slowed as I turned to face her. “Are you and Hotch alright?”

I peered over her shoulder to see Hotch talking to Morgan about how they were going to narrow down where the Unsub was and how we were going to get to him without letting the kid get hurt or die. I looked back at her. “Hotch is trying to pull me out of the field after this case, and we had a fight about it.”

“Oh…” She looked at her feet, almost like she regretted asking in the first place.

Ever since the bombing case in New York, I stopped opening up to JJ about my relationship with Hotch. She had insisted that she thought that Hotch and I were taking things to fast, and she almost seemed to doubt us. It really wasn’t until our wedding that I saw that she had changed her mind. But that was a little too late. By that point, I didn’t necessarily care about any opinion she had on my relationship. I valued her as a friend and a team member, of course; but… this… I just…

“Well,” she began hesitantly, “I know that you’ll figure it out. The two of you always get through it. I hardly hear about you guys fighting, so I wouldn’t stress over it too much.”

I nodded and shrugged. I mean, she was right, actually—kind of throwing what I just thought back in my face. But still. Hotch and I had always been honest and open with each other, which was why we were so successful. If I just listened to Spence, used my words and tried to level with Hotch, then we could sort all of this out and come to a better conclusion than pulling me out of the field entirely.

When they left without a word to me or Reid, I sat down across from Reid. We sat in silence for nearly thirty minutes as we waited around uselessly. The team let us know when they arrived in the city; and they let us know how they were splitting up. Rossi and Hotch were going to stay outside while Emily and Morgan were going to head inside, and JJ was going to coordinate with the local PD that had just appeared on site. A few minutes later, the comms started buzzing with back-and-forths.

“Hey, Hotch,” Emily said into the comms. “It looks like Robert was in the apartment, and there was a struggle. There’s a chance he could have escaped, which means that Shane and his bunk mate are probably chasing him around right now.”

Hotch responded, “Alright. You and Morgan continue to search the building, I’ll start a perimeter set up out here.”

“Got it.”

The comms went quiet again. I pouted and slumped forward, resting my elbows on my knees. Reid watched me through his lashes like he was trying not to stare at me. I glanced back at him. When our eyes met, he cleared his throat and shuffled around in his seat to make it look like he was keeping busy with the files in front of him. I rolled my eyes.

“You remember when you were shot in the leg and Hotch made you stay at the office during cases?” I asked quietly, moving to pick at the wood table in an attempt to cure my boredom. Reid hummed an agreement. “How did you not go crazy?”

Perhaps that wasn’t the right wording I should have used around him… He was always nervous about his dilaudid problem and the fear that his mother’s schizophrenia could be passed onto him. “Crazy” wasn’t exactly the right term for Spencer Reid. He was our resident genius, and that put a lot of pressure on him, and I wished that he knew that he wasn’t crazy, but I could tell that he thought he was. So, I almost felt bad for the slip up. But Reid genuinely didn’t seem to notice, which was a relief.

Reid crossed his legs, getting himself comfortable, and he looked back up at me with a little more confidence this time around. “I’m not gonna lie, Y/N, it wasn’t fun. None of us are used to sitting at Quantico all day like Garcia is. When Hotch officially benched me after Hankle and getting shot, there were times when I thought I was going crazy. I was extremely anxious while just sitting around all day. And I was killing myself with worry that one of you—or maybe all of you—wouldn’t come home one day… But I had to suck it up and just go with it until I got better because I knew that, ultimately, Hotch was just trying to protect me. Now, he’s just trying to protect you, too. He’d do it for any one of us for any number of reasons. My advice is the same as before. Talk to him, Y/N. And, if that doesn’t work, then just… suck it up and get through the next few months, because no matter how often you argue with him, you’re not going to win. Trust me. I tried.”

“I hate arguing with him, Spencer…”

He nodded. “I know. That’s why it might just be best to let him win this one.”

I lowered my head and leaned back again to focus on kicking the carpet. “Yeah.” Maybe he was right. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t have been taking advice from Spencer Reid, the guy who never had a girlfriend in his life… but his advice was surprisingly nice and welcoming.

“Hotch, we’ve got Robert, but Shane’s gone. We think he might be in the immediate vicinity,” Emily said over the comm again.

I smiled. They got him. They found Ana, and now they had found Robert. Knowing how many cops were crawling around that neighborhood now that Hotch had created that a perimeter, Shane Wyland was probably long gone. There was no way in hell he stuck around long enough to see if he could get Robert back. He likely knew as well as I did that if he managed to escape, he could keep taking other boys like Robert, and he could keep getting away with it. Even now that we knew who we were looking for, the trail was too long for us to track him. He was a ghost in the wind. But none of that necessarily mattered right now. This was technically a win for us. We saved two kids from a monster, and we discovered who that monster was. At least we could keep an eye out for Wyland in the future.

I stood and walked to the boardroom to tell the Courtlands the news. When I told them that their son was alive and well, they jumped to their feet while letting out breaths of relieve, and demanded to see him immediately. I told them that a Ranger would be driving them to the hospital in the city. Within an instant, they were pushing past me, racing to go seek out a Ranger that could take them as soon as possible. I didn’t take offense to that, though. I knew that they were overwhelmed by their joy of knowing that their son was alive, and all they wanted now was to hold him in their arms. It reminded me of Hotch when he found me in Hawai’i.

Hotch…

I sat down on the couch in silence and reflected on what just happened, and what I was inevitably going to say to him. I loved him. I would protect him to every end. In fact, we said as much to each other in our wedding vows a month ago. Maybe Reid was right about not trying to fight all of this, and instead just let Hotch win this time around because it was easier than making a big deal out of it. Inevitably, I was going to get back to work. Probably in about a year or so. And as shitty as that seemed, at least it meant I got to go back. Hotch could have totally insisted that I quit the FBI—though I knew he would never ask me to do that; so, at least he was giving me the chance to still work out of the field. I could live with that for the time being. However, what I needed to discuss with Hotch more than anything was his behavior and how he was going about protecting me, because I really didn’t need him to stifle me through all of this. After being trapped in that cabin in Hawai’i, I never wanted to be trapped anywhere ever again.

When I saw him turn the corner into the office a few hours later after they gave up on looking for Shane Wyland, I nodded sideways towards the doorway I was standing in, letting him know that I needed him to join me. He silently noticed. As the team patted each other on the back and celebrated getting the kid back safe and sound, Hotch quietly and politely excused himself from everyone. They didn’t seem to stop him. Reid saw what was going on, though, and he sent me a supportive smile that let me know I was doing the right thing.

Hotch walked past me into the room, and I closed the door behind him. “Aaron, we need to talk.” I sat down on the couch, but he leaned back against the table with his arms crossed over his chest. He was listening. “I understand that you’re just trying to do what you think is best for me. I know that you think that keeping me locked up in the tower will keep me safe. And I appreciate all of that. I really do. In fact, I love that you want to protect me and take care of me, but you need to realize that at some point, you need to take a step back. That I can’t be babied, Aaron. It’s not in my nature, and we both know that. I can’t have you hovering over my shoulder every second of every day while telling me that I can and can’t do my job. I can do this. It wasn’t unreasonable for me to go out and look for those kids, but it was unreasonable for me to ask to go looking for the Unsub in the city—I know that. I know myself and I know my limits. I’m not going to suddenly break just because I’m pregnant. I’m okay right now.

“When I need to take a step back from the field, I will do so without hesitation or argument; but until then, you need to keep letting me do my job the way I’m supposed to. I just need you to believe in me—"

“If I didn’t believe in you, we wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

“If you believe in me, then just… act like it! Why is it that I always have to go above and beyond to support you and your dreams, but I’m stifled because you’re scared? You believe in me, but you don’t—”

“You have always been able to do what you wanted, Y/N! I have done everything I can to restrain myself from being controlling in every aspect of our lives, despite the fact that it’s all I know. I grew up in a household where my father was controlling, manipulative, and abusive. That was how I learned to become a man, and I always thought that would work because I was young and naïve; but Haley left, and you came along— and you…” He took in a deep breath. “You have always been this wild and free spirit that I knew I couldn’t control, so I wanted to step back and let you thrive because I know you’re capable of so much, Y/N. Do you remember that I wouldn’t even fucking look at you when you joined the team because I was so fucking in love with you that I didn’t know how to stop myself from letting my feelings trump your dreams? But you came waltzing into my office, demanding answers, and the next thing I knew, you were meeting Jack and telling me that you love me. I have had to fight an inner battle every single day since meeting you between screaming from the top of my lungs how much I love you and want to hide you away from the cruelness of this world, and letting you spread your wings and flourish as an agent. You deserve every bit of happiness, and I know that a lot of that comes from your work, so I never want to step on your toes. But you’re my wife, Y/N. I made a vow to you that I would protect you, no matter what. And, you’re right… maybe I’m being more protective with you than I have with anyone in the past, but can you blame me? Dammit, with everything I’ve been through, can you blame me for not wanting to lose you, too?”

His eyes wandered to my stomach as he sat back down. “We’re having a baby, Y/N. I’m not just protecting you anymore, and you’re not just taking care of yourself anymore. What happens if you get shot, hmm? What happens if you get stabbed like Foyet did to me? What happens if you get taken again like in Hawai’i? What happens if I lose you like I lost Kate and Haley? Am I just supposed to pretend like I wouldn’t die without you here? Am I supposed to forget about you and the best few years of my life? Why do I have to pretend like I don’t care just to make you feel better about yourself? Since meeting you, I could never bear the thought of losing you, but now I can’t bear the thought of losing either of you,” he pressed a palm to my stomach. “Aren’t my feelings valid, too? Don’t I get a say in the safety of our child?” He cupped my face with his other hand. “Please don’t make me lose you, too. I won’t live if I lose you.” He sniffled as a tear slid down his cheek. I reached up and carefully wiped it away with my thumb. “I believe in you, Y/N, more than I even believe in myself…” He screwed his eyes shut as the tears started to fall faster. “But I don’t want to lose you because you’re too damn stubborn to just sit out of the field for a few months.” He sniffled again. “Why is it so hard for you to just understand that I love you so much that it hurts to even think about being away from you? Can’t you just accept that I want what’s best for you— I always have— and right now that means keeping you safe from any harm.”

I rested my forehead against his. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Y/N. I just need you to understand that I love you. More than anything.”

I kissed away a tear running down his cheek. “I know, baby.”

“If I didn’t believe in you… I couldn’t have stood before all of our friends and family a month ago, and said, ‘This is the person I can’t bear to lose. This is the one thing in my life I can’t lose.’ That’s what I thought we agreed on…”

He reached out and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in for a hug so that he could hide his face in the crook of my neck. I tangled my fingers in his hair. I hadn’t meant to upset him, but I just needed him to know how I was feeling—but I had never stopped to ask myself how he was feeling, which was incredibly selfish of me.

“How about this,” I began offering carefully, waiting to see if he would stop me, but he didn’t, “when I start to show, I’ll stay back at the office with Garcia.” It wasn’t what I wanted, but if it made him feel better, I was willing to make that compromise.

He sniffled and sat up. We held each other’s faces, searching each other’s eyes, trying to find a reason that we shouldn’t agree to that. But there was no reason not to. If it were up to him, I would be sitting at home for the next few months, but that wasn’t reasonable for me; and if it were up to me, I would be in the field up until the day I was giving birth, but Hotch would never let that happen in a million years. At least, being at Quantico meant that I could still help with the cases and the profiles.

“The office or the house at any given moment,” he negotiated.

I shrugged and nodded.

“Okay.” He leaned in to kiss me before hugging me again, our chins tucked over each other’s shoulders. “I love you.”

I grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt on his back, feeling the way his broad shoulders tensed, and his breathing had slowed. I smiled lightly against him. We were going to be okay. “I love you, too.”

---------

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @desperately-bisexual @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc​ @Braty-angel

[chelsfic]

You’ll never break the chain - Donald Pierce x Tracker!Reader - Logan Fanfic

Boyd Holbrook Masterlist

Warnings: Unhealthy! Relationship! Dynamic! (This is fiction, please!), Power dynamic (captor/captive relationship), Stockholm Syndrome, Dark, What have I done?, Mentions smut, Angst!

Summary: Donnie returns to work after his medical leave and needs to do some damage control--which involves ignoring our tracker and making her feel bad--damnit!

A/N: I owe so much of everything I write to my engaged readers. You guys inspire me so much. @lackofhonor particularly inspired the scene where Donnie confronts Riley... And I *know* someone suggested the teleporting mutant to me and I can’t recall who it was!! Please let me know so I can give you credit!!

---

Donald leans back in the Land Rover’s passenger seat, watching the scene behind the windshield play out with seemingly bored, heavy-lidded eyes. He keeps his expression carefully schooled as Riley--your new handler--unlocks the back of the tactical van and pulls you out of the cage. The guy manhandles you, shoving you roughly and getting up in your face with his orders. He’s clearly chosen intimidation as his handling style and, well, Donnie can’t exactly fault him. Sure is a hell of a lot less complicated than the mess he’s made of things.

He feels DeWitt’s eyes on him from the driver’s seat, watchful...observant. Wondering if the boss is still soft for the mutant. Fuck. It’s been a month. A month since the injury. A month since you made your little scene on the roadside, clinging to his prone form as the Reavers tried to drag him back to the vehicles, raving and lashing out at anyone who tried to pull you away. They knew he was fucking you. They knew the boss had a soft spot for the little tracker. But none of the men knew the precise extent of things until that day. Hence the medical leave...the new handler...the distance. This is damage control.

He keeps his face inscrutable from behind tinted sunglasses, and he sees the moment your eyes land on him. He sees the recognition, the affection...the hope in your eyes. And he watches as it falters and wilts. Riley grabs your jaw, forcing you to face him as he spits words into your face. You’re trembling. How the fuck have they been managing to get anything out of you the last few weeks with these tactics?

Donnie isn’t perfect. He isn’t even a good man. But he tries more since meeting you...since keeping you. Riley, his...replacement, is another thing altogether. Donnie clenches his fists as he watches the man grab you by the arms and shake you when you don’t produce immediate results. How different are we, really, though? His mind drifts back to memories that send a sinking wave of shame to his heart.

---

You’re sitting cross-legged in the dust, head in your hands, straining against your exhausted powers in desperation. You can feel Donnie’s aggravation like a tangible thing, a suffocating weight on your chest, but it’s been hours of pursuit and you just can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry, Donnie.”

He growls in frustration, aiming a heavy-booted kick into the dirt at your feet that sends you scrambling backwards.

“Get up,” he hisses, his mouth twisting into an ugly grimace. You stand up, dusting the dirt from your pants and walking warily over to him. Without warning he grabs you by your ponytail, digging the fingers of his robotic hand into your hair and twisting painfully. 

He lowers his face to yours and you hear all the intensity of the contempt he feels for your kind dripping from his words, “This piece of shit injured one of my men. You been sendin’ us on a wild goddamn goose chase all day. What is this, mutie? You turnin’ on me?”

His hand twists harder in your hair and tears are streaming from your eyes as you shake your head, denying his words.

“Then. Do. Your fuckin’. Job.”

He releases you and watches you shake like a leaf. And inside, he feels nothing...nothing but rage.

In the end you successfully track the teleporting mutant clear across Texas to an abandoned cabin in the heart of a Louisiana swampland. Donnie and his men apprehend their exhausted quarry while you lay on your side in the back of the van, holding your aching head in your hands and keening with the pain. When Donnie sees the state you’re in he slides into the cage and gathers you into his lap. Now that the fury of the chase has passed he feels guilt creep in like a punch to the cut.

“Shhh, baby. You’re alright now. I got you. Donnie’s got you.”

---

When the asshole shoves you to the ground Donnie has finally had enough. He swings open the door to the Landrover and jumps out, stalking toward Riley with a feral grace that belies his still-healing ribs and the headache pulsing behind his eyes.

“Gimme your sidearm,” he snarls with an edge to his voice that brooks no argument.

Riley’s eyes widen but he reaches for the pistol on his hip, wordlessly handing over the gun. Donnie’s no fool. He knows that Riley’s been sneering behind his back and egging the other reavers on in their disrespect of him. It ends now. He takes the gun in his hands, pointedly refusing to turn his gaze in your direction. He can just see you in the corner of his eye, still lying in the dirt where Riley pushed you. Instead he trains his focus on the weapon in his hands, quickly and efficiently taking it apart and putting it back together as he speaks.

“As Riley, here, is well aware: mutants... are... our enemy,” he lets the words out in a slow drawl, locking eyes with every man around him in turn. “The enemy is powerful. Deadly. Not to be underestimated. If we falter--just once, just for a second--it could mean death. Now, I know some of you think I’ve gone soft on this little mutie--” 

He bends down and hauls you up to your feet, holding you with your back to his chest and pressing the gun’s muzzle to your temple. He feels your body instinctively leaning into his despite the danger and a splinter of some unthinkable emotion pierces his chest. He ignores it. He ignores the way your little hands wrap around his forearm; he ignores the way you try to pull your head away from the gun. He ignores you. Entirely.

“--What you fail to understand is that our little tracker is a tool just like this gun. If we keep it in working order, if we take care of it, if we understand how it works...it will operate effectively. If we neglect and abuse our tools they will fail.”

He lowers the gun from your head, gives you a reassuring squeeze with the arm wrapped around you, and then fires into the ground at Riley’s feet.

“Do you understand?” he asks with his voice pitched dangerously low.

“Yes, sir,” Riley responds automatically, but his eyes linger impudently on Donnie’s, his face set in fury. 

“Good,” Donald replies, dropping his grip from you like you’re some vile thing. He pushes you towards Riley and turns back to the Land Rover without a second glance, “Let’s find this fucker.”

---

Why did you think things would get better?

The question rattles through your brain as Riley frogmarches you through the underground parking garage. The sounds of car doors slamming echo off the concrete walls as the other reavers unload. You can’t help but crane your neck trying to catch another glimpse of Donnie. And there he is, running a hand through his perfect blond hair and studiously ignoring you. He looks good--healthy, rested. You ache to pull away from this brute and run into his arms. 

How many times have you imagined your reunion? He would come to your cell and make slow, deliberate love to you, his massive body dwarfing yours as he grinds you into the tiny mattress. Or he’d take you out on a mission and drag you behind the van while the others chase down your quarry. He’d push you to your knees and you’d be panting, salivating for it as he slowly presses his cock past your lips and down your throat. He’d run his fingers through your hair and call you a good girl as he fucks your mouth. Or he’d take you from behind up against the wall of the supply closet...or he’d use his hand to torture your cunt, edging you for an eternity before finally dipping his sweet lips between your legs and sending you over the top...or he’d simply kiss you with all of the love and passion he’s kept hidden from you all this time… 

Somehow you’d thought that after hearing him say the words, finally admitting his love, that things would change for the better. All this time you’ve been patiently awaiting the end of his medical leave--enduring the numbing boredom of your cell and Riley’s angry cruelty--believing that Donnie would come back and finally tell you that he wants to be with you. Really with you. That he’s come up with a plan to get you away somewhere. Somewhere safe. Somewhere without experiments and locking cell doors and punishments. Somewhere you can be together…But the cold indifference you saw in Donnie’s eyes today killed your last hope. He’ll never let you go. He’ll never change.

Riley drags you out of the garage, watching your eyes stay glued to Donnie’s form as he pulls you along.

Once he has you in the elevator he turns on you with a sneer, “Looks like you’re not daddy’s golden girl anymore, huh, mutie?”

Mutie. He says it like the vile slur that it is. But you recall all the times you’ve heard that same word fall from Donnie’s lips as something close to an endearment. My mutie. Little mutie. Good mutie. You feel a hollow ache in your stomach recalling how quickly he’d shoved you away before, like he couldn’t stand to touch you. He has to be faking this indifference. Because if he’s truly lost to you then what else is there?

Your feelings must show on your face because Riley laughs cruelly and uses his short, bulky frame to crowd you into the wall, his meaty hand groping your breasts as his breath rasps against your ear, “Don’t look so sad. I can be your new daddy.”

Note: I really agonized and struggled to write this one and, in the end, I’m just meh about it. I hope you liked it!!

Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47 @lackofhonor @sabinemorans 

I feel like I’m probably forgetting some people that asked to be tagged...

[piccolina-mina]

The Misadventures of Mischief & Mayhem

Show: Roswell, New Mexico

Characters: Michael Guerin, Maria DeLuca

Pairing: Miluca/Marichael 

A/N: A previously unpublished story from the archives. One-shot. Random rambles. Takes place somewhere in s1 after Songs About Texas. It’s … whatever. Enjoy, or not. To each their own. 

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 "I hope you can dance, Deluca,“ he shouted over his shoulder, not wanting to risk taking his eyes off of the mob of cousin-f*cking, backwoods rednecks and wannabe cowboys advancing on them.

"I can get down if I have to.” Maria’s voice was like steel to anyone in the vicinity, but he heard the trepidation, and it killed him.

He knew she was likely outnumbered on her end as well when he felt her back press alongside his – her body taut and ready to fight. He could partially smell the adrenaline.

She was so close to him he could feel her exhale as she readied herself for whatever was about to go down. Their bodies melded together – backs slick with sweat as they shifted and moved in sync.

His default was anger; anger was better than the sadness and pain, and maybe he gained a reputation as the volatile one, but it fueled him when necessary.

He hated this. He hated being stuck in a position where he couldn’t protect Maria. He knew DeLuca didn’t need saving, but he protected his people, and the dread he felt at the mere thought of not getting her out of that bar without a scratch was unlike anything he felt in some time.

His anger was burning hot and searing. He could barely hear anything beyond the buzzing in his ears. The chides and jeering faded away.

“When I’m done wiping the floor with you, I’m going to make your colored bitch put that mouth to better use,” the instigator, some muscled, sweaty brute’s lips curled in a sadistic smile, and it was all Michael needed to see red.

His anger rolled off of him in waves, his jaw clenched from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat; his eyes burned a hole through the drunkard front and center leading the charge.

“Guerin … ” his surname on her lips was a question, a statement, a prayer, and a battle cry all in one. He felt her muscles contract as she took a swing, and his fists clenched as he did the same.

The only sound he didn’t tune out was the unmistakable smack of his fist connecting with the douchebag’s face.

He was a brawler, and his objectives were simple: never lose track of Maria, and get them the hell out of there by any means necessary.

Those were his final thoughts as his world descended into violent chaos.

Several Hours before

“You’re going to really make me get on my knees, DeLuca?”

If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t be caught dead scooting around the Wild Pony on his knees, hat in hand, but he had long since accepted Maria made him do unthinkable things.

“Guerin, I’m busy.” Maria signed off on another shipment and flashed a stunning smile at the delivery man. He promptly ignored the twinge of jealousy over someone else being on the receiving end.

“DeLuuuuca,” he practically whined, as she crossed the room ignoring him as best as she could.

DeLuca,“ he called out again, raising an impressed brow at her commitment. "De–”.

She attempted to flounce past him, but this time he grabbed her hips, stilling her. The heat of her skin burned his fingertips, and he peeked up at her through his lashes.

Maria raised her brow, but the corner of her mouth pulled up in a bemused grin.

“I kind of like you down there; it looks good on you,” she jutted her hip out, placing her hands on her hips above where his rested, but at least she gave him her undivided attention.

“Yeah, I remember,” he teased.

He should have been prepared for the knee to the chest, but he wasn’t and found himself falling back on his haunches.

“C'mon, ‘Luc. I just need you to drive me there to pick up a part. It’s the last part I need to restore this vintage baby out back, and the going price is,” he whistled.

Maria was a survivor like him. She was often hard up and respected the hustle.

“I’m not one to knock a person for securing their bag, but what do I get out of this?”

He exhaled. Once they reached a point of negotiation, he always knew he had her. His heart ached a little when he thought about how behind she was in her payments to the facility she placed Mimi in.

He caught a glimpse of the letter the last time she was poring over her finances; ironically, it was while he was swiping a bottle of booze from behind the bar like a total cad.

He found a way to make it up to her, but he still felt guilty about that.

“Ten percent of the profits,” he offered.

“Twenty,” she countered. “And gas money. I’m being generous.”

“Fifteen, and I’ll tune-up your baby free of charge for the next year.”

She snorted. “You already do that, remember?”

He frowned. She was right. He regularly did whatever mechanical work on her truck on his own dime and time, but it was the least he could do for not paying her for all the booze.

“Fine. Eighteen, and I’ll fix the freezer and the eye on the stove.”

“You already fixed both two weeks ago.” She didn’t bother to hide her smirk that time, and it came equipped with her head canted to the side as she peered down on him only slightly smug.

“Shit.” How the hell did he always end up doing so much for her? The worst part is he never minded, and still didn’t, but it put him in a sticky spot whenever they bartered. “You’re hell on my rep.”

“See a sucker lick it,” she replied sweetly.

He stared at her momentarily dazed his tongue peeking out.

“You promise,” escaped from his lips before he could bite it back. He cleared his throat after an awkward beat and pivoted the conversation. “I know a spot.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize how graceless and suggestive it came out until her eyes got a faraway look before she schooled her expression.

He didn’t miss that though.

“A scrap metal spot. Eighteen percent and a side hustle.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, or so he thought, he could never tell with her.

“Deal.”

She stuck her hand out to shake it, and he squeezed tight using her as leverage to hoist himself off the sticky floor.

“Do I need to ask?” She waited for him to read her mind so to speak, and lucky him, he knew where she was headed.

“Trust me, DeLuca. No people or puppies will be hurt by the stripping of this copper. No one will miss it. Certainly no one decent.”

She studied him for a long moment. “I would’ve settled for 12 percent, you know.” It came out smug at first, but then she softened. “I know how hard you worked on that car.”

It was one of the things he liked about her. She was somehow ruthless and soft-hearted at the same time. She needed the money, but she didn’t want to infringe on his profits either.

Haggling was part of their spiel, so they came prepared, but it was her way of making sure she didn’t take too much.

Maria had no idea how much he would sacrifice for her. Even he didn’t understand their thing, but she was his people – somehow, at some point, it just happened, and he didn’t fight it.

Love them or loathe them, he was a self-absorbed bastard, but he always looked out for his people.

“If you plan to get sentimental on me, I will exploit it,” he teased. She rolled her eyes and stormed towards the door to lock up knowing good and well he would be at the heels of her feet.

He always liked driving with DeLuca. It was the main reason he called in a favor in the first place.

Cruising with Maria was pure escapism. It was also when he saw her the most carefree. She laughed and sang, and she drove like she was running away from her problems, and there was no way in hell they’d catch up to her.

She escaped into the open road and wherever it led her, and he escaped into her. It was something simple about that.

Half the time, she forgot he was there at all until he jumped in with the chorus of a song he barely knew the words to, and she laughed uncontrollably at his terrible voice and crappy lyrics.

Some days, he felt like he was drowning, but Maria was like catching a breath.

And there was something refreshing about her never asking him questions.

She didn’t ask much of him, which made him want to share more, so when he directed her to the archeology department of a college campus and had her stay idle in the truck because campus police are a bitch, she only left him with a cryptic, “play nice.”

And when he bolted out a side door with his hat pulled down obscuring his face, an impossibly large box in hand, and a fire alarm blaring loudly, she shot him a puzzled expression but swung the door open.

He jumped inside with the grace of a gazelle, and she sped off before his foot left the pavement – the door swung shut during their hasty escape.

She slowed down as she hit the highway but looked back in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was behind them.

Max or Isobel would have given him hell, and Alex disapproved of his less than lawful pursuits.

“I liked it better when you were speeding,” he broke the silence.

She let out a soft snort. “When you have a body in the trunk, you drive the speed limit.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” and just like that, he eased them back into their banter. Nope, only Maria would put up with that from him.

“Not yet,” she eyed him and then the box with curiosity. “Day’s still young, though.”

Her smile momentarily dazzled him, and he forgot how to breathe. He admired her restraint; she still hadn’t asked him about the mysterious box that definitely wasn’t a car part he liberated from an establishment with her help.

No one steals car parts from the archaeological wing of a university, but covert space ship pieces? Definitely.

He almost wished she would ask. He knew she suspected something was off – she sensed things, but she never called him out on it. She just gave him the benefit of the doubt in a way no one else did.

If she asked, even once, he would probably take one look at those deep brown eyes and spill it all. It scared the shit out of him.

“Careful, Guerin,” she snuck a look at him before her eyes returned to the road. “You’re going to hurt yourself with all that thinking.”

“You and I both know I don’t do much of that,” he said. He didn’t realize how self-deprecating it sounded until she responded.

“If you were fishing for a compliment, you caught me on a good day because you’re one of the smartest people I know.”

The lump that formed in his throat was unexpected, and the silence that befell them even more so.

“I need a drink,” he said after a while. He googled the nearest watering hole and directed her to it.

She said nothing the whole time, but he couldn’t decipher the inscrutable expression on her face.

They parked some ways away, and he hopped out of the truck to escape the silence – the intensity of it. The intensity of his convoluted feelings for her.

He found the confined space stifling like someone was squeezing the little air left in his lungs, or so he thought, but what did it say about him that he didn’t find his breath again until she was beside him?

Even though it was dusk, the place had a following. They followed the dirt road to the dilapidated shack of an establishment, and he tipped his hat at her while he held open the grimy door.

It smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, a scent he was all too familiar with, and he rolled his eyes and swore under his breath at the rebel flag proudly taking up an entire wall over the bar.

Maria merely shrugged. “It’s Texas,” she sighed with a weariness he never thought about.

She shimmied her way to the bartender, and he appreciated the view.

“Two whiskeys neat, please,” she said coolly. Her fake smile was frozen in place when long moments later she still hadn’t gotten them.

His confusion morphed into disbelief, then doubt, but she merely raised a brow and motioned for him to order.

The barkeep gave him the drinks lightning quick, and Maria only snorted when the flirty bartender ran her fingers across his hand and smiled at him.

He slid a glass towards Maria, but it didn’t stop his new friend from engaging in small talk that roughly translated that she was down to screw.

“Always drowning in ass, aren’t you, Mikey?” She slid the glass back toward him, reached across the counter, and grabbed the bottle, pouring the two whiskeys she intended for herself.

She ignored the dirty look and exclamation from the bartender, tossed a wad of cash on the counter and disappeared into the crowd.

He tossed his own money down, grabbed his drinks and followed after extricating his hand from that of the overly friendly blond.

He figured Maria was in search of a jukebox, but instead, he found her at the pool table, stick in hand.

A group of guys was looking on, some with the type of interest that made him snarl and others with a disdain that made him worry.

Sure enough, a scruffy looking redhead made his way to the table and had his hand on Maria’s ass before Michael could reach her.

His jaw clenched at the sight, along with his fists, and he reminded himself not to cause a scene of the inhuman variety.

Before he could blink again Maria had kneed small Red to the groin and bent back his finger to the amusement and annoyance of some of his crew.

“Next time it won’t be my knee,” she hissed before releasing him.

Maria DeLuca’s her own damn hero. She could save herself, but he didn’t give a damn.

“Everything OK, babe?” He said, placing his hand to the small of her back while eying the room.

The only sign she gave acknowledging his little display of territorial machismo was a snort.

“Everything is about to be,” she responded, sensing a challenge.

He followed her line of sight and watched as a muscled guy emerged from the huddle of men and grabbed a pool stick of his own.

Michael recognized him as one of the men whose leering was more disdainful than lust.

She tossed him another stick, and they had a loaded conversation in just one look. Maria was a mystery to him, and despite her psychic claims he knew he was to her, but there were certain things of which they spoke the same language.

Their kinship was in what they did to get by – how they survived. No judgment, just mutual respect and understanding.

It’s why they worked so well together. It’s the reason they barely needed to exchange a word with one another in the hours they spent at that pool table.

He felt the tension in the room, and it made him uneasy. However, the money stacked up.

Maria’s way of fighting back against a world of people that saw her as nothing more than scum was to channel her energy into bleeding them dry. She told him it was more productive than wallowing.

He respected the hell out of it and her, but she made too much of a show of it during her last round. He could tell.

Around the time she crowed a “thanks for your business, gentlemen. Now run me my money,” he knew tempers were on the cusp of flaring.

She won, of course. Or rather, they won. The funny thing was the clowns surrounding them probably thought they hustled them when in reality, he and Maria were just that good.

It wasn’t either of their first times at a table. Maria was a shark in more ways than one, and he relied on some betting to feed himself often growing up.

“Bitch!” Their opponent wasn’t taking the loss well, and he hurled the pool stick in a fit of anger as he advanced on Maria.

He stepped in front of her without a second thought. It wasn’t the first time he stepped between a beatdown and made himself the target. But if he didn’t learn anything from those years of bouncing in and out of shitty foster homes, he learned how to fight and how to take a beating.

“Michael …” he felt her warm breath on the back of his neck as she exhaled. He didn’t have the time to unpack the use of his first name or what she was trying to say.

He swiped the stack of cash off the table and palmed it in his hand, not breaking eye contact with the group of men as he walked backward shuffling Maria along with him.

“You stole our money, and if you think we’re letting you leave here with it, you got another thing coming.”

“Oh, now that’s not true and you know it. Don’t be a sore loser, champ,” Michael responded with a smug grin that earned him a pinch from Maria. “Like the lady said, 'thanks for doing business.”

He tilted his hat and turned to leave with Maria’s hand in his. He knew they were in for hell when he heard a whistle.

“God damn assholes,” Maria muttered under her breath. “They’re really doing this.”

Her irritation was unmistakable, and she picked up her step only slowed long enough to twist the arm of some random drunk who grabbed at her.

They made it as far as the bar before Michael stalled as a mob consisting of most of the patrons at the shithole advanced on him.

The bar grew louder by the second as half the members of some biker gang headed in his direction. He swore profusely. There was no way in hell they were getting out there without a fight.

He shouted as much over his shoulder to Maria, and she was resigned to it as well. He mentally filed away her response curious as to how often and in what capacity did she find herself in a brawl.

They shared a look, then a nod before turning back to back and throwing their punches simultaneously. He heard the guy DeLuca hit howl in pain.

He landed another punch with the drunken prick in front of him and grinned when the guy’s nose gushed with blood; he broke it.

Maria groaned, and his smile turned to a grimace. He still felt her at his back, pressed against him, which was a good sign.

“Maria!” He called behind him.

Someone landed a punch to his gut that knocked the wind out of him, and he doubled over for a moment.

“I’m –” she was winded as she ducked a fist and landed a one-two number that sent some guy to his knees and impressed the hell out of him. “I’m fine, just …”

She was poetry in motion, graceful as hell, and he realized she may very well have some experience with this. He made a note to ask her about it later as her foot met the groin of one creep as her fist connected with the chin of another.

He eyed a guy out of his peripheral rushing toward Maria with a clenched fist. He swung his arm out making the guy land hard on his back and pushed him down harder with his boot.

“You were really about to sucker-punch a woman?” Michael growled.

“I haven’t seen a woman yet,” the guy coughed.

Michael didn’t get to respond. The punch to his eye had him seeing stars, and he blindly swung, landing as many punches as he could.

A sickening smack and a grunt that was all Maria had him seeing red again. He stole a glance over his shoulder and was stunned by how many guys she warded off, but he heard her labored breathing.

He growled loud and animalistic as he drove the heel of his palm into someone’s solar plexus, and he sent the guy sprawling out across the floor.

Fuck it; he couldn’t limit his powers if they ever hoped of getting out.

His heart seized in his chest when Maria disappeared from behind him. He reached around, groping at bodies but not finding her.

The distraction was all anyone needed to get the better of him, and he went down hard. Only then did he find Maria on the floor, but damn that woman, she was still fighting like hell.

It was enough. He tapped into his powers and sent multiple guys looming over them sailing across the room – hitting the walls and sliding down.

“DeLuca,” he croaked. He grabbed her hand and hauled her up. “We gotta book it, babe.”

He slung his arm around her waist, ignoring the sharp inhale of breath she took, and they took advantage of the break in the mob and hobbled out the door.

“Guerin!” Maria yanked on his hand to get his attention. “Looks like those cowards called in the calvary.”

He blinked, his left eye made everything blurry. “A new group of people was trudging down the trail laser-focused on them.

"We’ll go around,” she whispered. She pulled him around the back, her hand sweaty and her gait off. They spotted their truck in the distance, but a linked gate stood in their way.

“Make yourself useful, Guerin,” she barked. Her voice was strained without the fire and heat.

He didn’t need to see her to know what she meant. Her foot was in his cupped hands within seconds. Her soft hands burned his skin as she used him to hoist herself up.

His hands were on her ass, pushing her over the gate until she was comfortably straddling it, and she reached out to help him over too.

They dropped to the dirt and gravel around the same time, but he flanked her as they made a run for the truck. Based on the way she ran, he was betting she sprained her ankle.

They ignored the shooting and hollering from behind the gate as some of the mob celebrated running them off, but a few stragglers attempted to climb the gate as they had done.

Maria wasn’t looking, she was too busy clamoring into the truck and swearing when she realized she had climbed in on the passenger side.

He contorted and twisted the gate sending those on it flying toward the dirt.

“Screw it, DeLuca, I got this,” he slid into the driver’s seat and sped down the dirt road still running on adrenaline.

“Easy there, Clyde,” Maria murmured breathlessly.

He smirked at the reference, then winced at the shooting pain in his jaw.

He slowed down, the adrenaline fading and the pain starting to sink in. It hit him that he and Maria barely escaped a full-blown brawl with some rednecks and not like anything at the WP either. This time he was actually scared for …

He jerked the truck over to the side of the road before Maria could so much as protest and flicked the overhead lights so he could see her better.

“Shit, Maria.’ He studied her intently his hand reaching out not knowing where to touch her but needing to. "Are you OK?”

The light was dim, but he saw she had a busted lip. Her tank top was torn and bloody. His expression and his fist clenched around the steering wheel must have given away his inner turmoil.

“It’s not mine,” she said pulling at the tank top that was nothing more than tattered pieces. Her skin was exposed and her bra, but after a tug, she gave up trying to cover herself knowing it was futile, and she was shameless anyhow.

She had a cut on her forehead that fortunately didn’t look too deep, but he couldn’t fully assess the damage.

He unbuttoned his shirt and wiggled out of it handing it to her so she could cover-up.

“Thanks,” she said with a hiss as she struggled to drape it over herself. She pressed against her ribs and grimaced some more. “Yup, those are definitely bruised.”

He could barely contain his rage.

“Cool it, cowboy.” She smiled past her pain, her pearly whites tinged pink from the bloody lip. “You didn’t exactly get away unscathed.”

She pressed against his swollen eye and cringed sympathetically when he winced.

“I’m fine,” she laughed a caustic noise. “I’ll heal.”

“Good to know. Now, what were you thinking?” He heard the severe tone, but he couldn’t be bothered to soften it. He was too keyed up.

“Wha-”

“You were goading them, DeLuca. Those … those–”

“Racist, misogynistic assholes?” She supplied. He squirmed under the weight of her intense stare. “You didn’t know.”

He started the car back up and headed for the gas station further down the highway.

“I mean the rebel flag is usually a dead giveaway for what kind of establishment we were probably dealing with, but you didn’t know. It’s not on you, and I sure as hell won’t take a lecture about instigating anyone from you, Guerin.”

Just like that, she sliced through his guilt and fear like a hot knife through butter.

“I’m not used to you being the one to start trouble,” he muttered, as they pulled into the parking lot.

“I’m off the clock,” she quipped wryly. “I can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?”

She grabbed his hat and placed it on her head, pulling the brim down until it covered her eyes and all he could see was that smirk of hers.

Maria gave him whiplash in the best possible way. She always managed to surprise him.

He ducked his head, swallowing back a chuckle, the adrenaline that was coursing through him waning.

“Hell of a scuffle to get into over $300, but you kept me on my toes,” he hopped out of the truck and shut the door. “I’ll go in,” his eyes shot to her tattered t-shirt, lingering a second too long on her breasts for it to be innocent. “You’ll draw more attention then I will.”

She barely heard his last words, too busy snickering and wincing over his error. “Oh, babe,” she emphasized the term of endearment mockingly, clearly recalling his usage earlier. “Three hundred? No, it was $3000.”

She pulled a wad from her bra and peeled off a few bills, handing them to him. “For the supplies,” she ignored his surprised expression, the gravity of what they endured finally hitting her as she laid back against the seat.

It turned out the gas attendant wouldn’t have noticed Maria. The kid barely paid him attention.

Maria was dozing when he got back to the car, and he opted to drive a bit more and pull off the side of the highway into the desert.

He hopped out and opened the truck bed, scattering the bags of first aid kits, snacks, and booze.

“Ah, the essentials,” she said at his side. Of course, he felt her before he even registered that she was really there.

He said nothing as he picked her up without warning and sat her on the bed. He tore the rest of her shirt off of her and shoved the remnants in his back pocket.

Maria had popped the cap off of the bottle of Jack Daniel’s he bought and took a swig. But she shot him a look.

“What?” He sighed gingerly prodding at her ribcage. He didn’t see any visible bruising, but he noted how she winced at his touch, so the area was at the very least tender.

“You’re the reason I can’t find my underwear from that day, aren’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at him assessing.

He activated a couple of cold packs, placing them against her and wrapping an ace bandage carefully around her. She hissed but took another sip, brow raised awaiting a response.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his hands were resting on her hips, and he practically dared her to challenge him.

Doing that song and dance with Maria was almost as effective as a salve and booze.

“I had no need for your …” he slid his hands down her legs, stopping at her calves as he eased her foot out of her boot. “Black lacy underwear with the purple detailing. Not at all.”

He knelt down and ghosted his fingers across her ankle, noting every movement and verbal response. He proceeded to wrap that up too.

“Perv,” she hissed, flinching and squirming beneath his grip.

“I had to commemorate your poor decision making somehow.”

Her finger pushing a curl out of his face was unexpected, and his eyes met hers with a slight frown.

“You’re really good at this,” she said suddenly, seriously, her voice dropping to a whisper like she was trying to keep this observation a secret between them.

As if the desert wasn’t a keeper of secrets.

“I had a lot of practice,” he slipped. He knew he did. He always did with her. And it scared him shitless.

She let it go, reluctantly he could tell, and he almost wished she didn’t. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he could tell her mind was racing with a dozen things she wasn’t saying.

“You gonna tell me where you learned to fight like that?” He studied her intently.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she responded, looking as closed off as ever.

“I would, that’s why I asked the question.” The snark jumped out, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“You were impressed,” she mused. “Noted. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

She handed him the bottle whiskey and hopped off the truck bed landing on her uninjured foot.

“Your turn,” she ignored his protest and grumbles, and he hopped on the bed in her stead.

The desert air was cool, and he watched the open shirt he loaned her rustle with the wind. He saw barely visible goosebumps across her skin. His nimble fingers buttoned her up while she cleaned up his lip and eye.

He flinched and whined at every turn, and she called him a baby, but he loved it. He loved the way her face scrunched up in concentration, the warmth of her breath against his face, the way she looked up at him, and her eyes were soft and caring beneath the brim of his hat.

His hand reflexively halted her movements after she dabbed alcohol on the cut along his forehead, and she shook her head, leaning further into the slot between his legs to blow on it.

When her eyes met his again, she gave him an arresting smile that made him inexplicably emotional. He turned his away to shake it off, but her soft hand was under his chin, compelling him to meet her eyes again.

“You good?”

The truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time someone cared for him like that, tended to him. Hell, he couldn’t recall the last time he let someone try.

“Good is not an adjective anyone would ever use to describe me, DeLuca,” he winked at her.

“You know you don’t always have to–”

“Snacks? He shoved a cellophane-wrapped package of cupcakes in her hand. "You should eat something. I got sweet, salty, and spicy.”

He bit into a spicy piece of beef jerky and took another swig of whiskey.

Her lips formed a tight line, but she let it go for the moment. He knew she would file it away for later, though.

She used him as leverage as she climbed into the truck bed. She scooted to the back and stretched out looking up at the stars.

He followed suit, unfolding the blanket in the back and throwing it over both of them.

They fell into a comfortable silence outside of the munching and swallowing, as they looked at the stars.

“I didn’t mean to get us into this,” he broke the silence.

“Driving to another state to steal something that definitely isn’t a car part and getting run out of town by an Aryan motorcycle gang after hustling three grand from them? What’s life without a little excitement and adventure?” Her tone was so nonchalant he wanted to laugh.

“I don’t get away from the Wild Pony much. It’s been a thrill,” she continued

“The last time you were out, it was pretty thrilling,” he teased, grabbing the bottle from her for another swig.

The lip of the bottle left her mouth with a pop, and she frowned at the loss and cursed him under her breath.

“Was it, though,” she posed.

“You certainly weren’t complaining. In fact, as I recall you were begging me to do that–”

She shoved a mini doughnut in his mouth, and his eyes lit up with mirth as he chewed and swallowed.

She shivered, removed his hat from her head and placed it beside her.

When she snuggled up to him, wincing along the way, he only pulled her in closer, his chin resting against the top of her head.

The last time they were like that, they were buzzed, and she told him he ran hot like a furnace.

“Desert, dirt, and truck beds, next time we should opt for a hotel room,” she grumbled.

“Oh, there’s gonna be a next time?” His tongue peeked out, as he bit back a genuine smile.

“You owe me copper. On that alone, it damn well better be one, but bless your heart for getting your hopes up, Guerin.”

He snorted. “I’d be okay. I can hold my breath well, but you know that already.”

He felt her face burning red hot against his skin. Mission accomplished. He waited for a snappy retort, but she fell silent again.

“So you knew there wasn’t a car part, but you didn’t say anything?” His voice was low and husky, hushed. “Why didn’t you ask?”

“Did you want to tell me?” She whispered.

The long silence was answer enough. She didn’t know how much he grappled with telling her so many things.

“I figured if you really wanted to tell me, you would if you were ready. It’s important enough. Does it affect me?”

She sounded tired. And he tensed because maybe it did and maybe it didn’t.

“If it was important to you, and it didn’t affect me, it’s all I needed to know.”

His eyes stung with emotions he preferred to keep at bay. He sniffled, and she chose to ignore it. He was grateful for that.

He slid the whiskey from her fingers and put the top back on it. He used his foot to bunch the part of the blanket at their feet up as best as he could to make sure her ankle was elevated and pulled the rest snug around her.

He could sense a shift in her mood, but all he could do was ride the wave or wait it out.

“You always take care of me.” Her voice was small, hoarse, nothing above a whisper as if it cost her something to say it – like she trusted him with it but was afraid of how he would respond.

It was wonderous, like the mere thought– the concept was so foreign to her she couldn’t process it.

He recognized it as the thank you that it was.

“You always let me,” he whispered back.

This time when she shuddered, he knew it had nothing to do with the cool desert air.

She yawned, then hissed when the action caused her to ache, a litany of curses spilling from her lips to his utter amusement.

“Next time only call me if you’re robbing a bank,” she grumbled.

He scoffed softly but pressed his lips to her hair so lightly he doubted she could feel it. “Will do, Bonnie.”

“Go to sleep, Clyde,” she mumbled. Her soft snores following.

He didn’t, but she never needed to know that.

[geekygee01]

Paralyse Me

Summary: You are one of Thanos’ daughters, an omega fugitive trying to survive on earth after the snap. Three years later you past catches up to you, Clint wants to make you pay for your hand in the disappearance of his family. But when he smells your impending heat, plans change...

Pairings: Ronin/Alpha!Clint x Omega!Reader

Overall warnings: Mentions of abuse, mentions of torture, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of rape, claiming, breeding, coercion, dubious consent (the reader is in heat and not in her right mind to consent, no matter how much she begs)

A/N: Just a little side note, my main sources of inspiration are; @sherrybaby14 @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @youngmoneymilla So if you want some insanely good pics to read I suggest checking them out.

The rain pelts down as you rush along a deserted sidewalk, occasionally glancing over your shoulder and glancing at any corners or dark spots. Just a little further and you'll be back at the abandoned apartment you've been calling home the past week. You never remain in one place too long and you try to stick to busy cities, lose yourself in the anonymity. Not that many cities are 'busy' these days. Ever since your father succeeded in decimating half of the universe. The process killing four of your siblings and almost costing you Nebula too. Though she may as well have died, you haven't seen her in almost three years. And once he had won, once he had completed his lifelong mission he went and disappeared. Abandoning you in Wakanda, abandoning you to be captured or killed. Fortunately, in all the pain and confusion of the eradication, you were able to slip away undetected, and from there you ran. You ran until you couldn't breathe and then you ran some more. You found yourself in Kenya, and then Johannesburg, Mexico, Texas, Arizona, Washington, Alberta, Ontario, and who knows where else. Five years later finds you in Shanghai, China. It used to be the most populated place before the snap, and even now it is still busy enough for you to feel semi-secure. But you never let your guard down, you have to keep your head down, stay in your lane and keep moving if you want the slightest chance of surviving. This planet has become chaotic and lawless since the snap. With politicians, soldiers and police force disappearing the remaining population turned on each other. Many turned to crime to survive or for the fun of it, it wasn't like there was anyone to catch them. Petty theft, brawls and the unwanted claiming of omegas weren't anyone's priorities anymore, which puts you at yet another disadvantage. You were a child of Thanos; you helped in the decimation of many people's friends and families, and you were an unclaimed omega ripe for the taking. In this new world there were only a few outcomes for you; dead, forcefully claimed or trafficked. Always moving, wearing second-hand clothes from alphas and betas, stolen suppressant and heat blockers were the only ways you could keep yourself safe. And even that was getting harder and harder. Border security was getting tighter, and the medicine you needed was getting scarce. Three years without any more being made, you were surprised there were any left at all. But that's likely due to most omegas being claimed or trafficked, you were probably one of the only ones still around, still using them. Your hand reaches down and holds the package in your jacket pocket. The suppressants you had risked your life for. Travelling around so close to your heat, stealing from a drug cartel, but you had no other choice. You had skipped town, only taking the clothes on your back, you hadn't the time to grab any of your things, including your medicines. You had been thrift shopping in Osaka, but your gut told you someone was watching you, someone dangerous, so you hitched a ride as soon as you could. Swapping cars and directions every so often, trying to ensure you lost whoever may have been following you. You didn't even get everything you needed tonight, but you had heard fighting and gunshots across the road and left as fast as possible. You'd try again somewhere else tomorrow, but for now, the suppressant will do just fine. You'll layer up on alpha clothes and stick to more populated stores. You finally make it to your building and push on the heavy old door. You amble up seven flights of stairs and enter the apartment you've been borrowing. Whoever lived there before was long gone, most likely dusted, but you still slept on their couch. You only ever slept on couches or floors. Sleeping in their beds felt wrong like you had killed them and then violated their personal space and belongings. You flick the lock, attach the chain and slide the deadbolt, placing one of the dining room chairs under the doorknob just in case. "Wasted effort, seeing as I'm already here," a deep voice rumbles. You freeze in place, your hands shaking as they let go of the chair. You start to turn, but hands are already on your arms, spinning you around and forcing you against the wall by the door. You look up into hate-filled, cold blue eyes on an otherwise handsome face. "Who are you?" you ask softly. The stranger grins down at you, but it holds no warmth. "I'm a guy whose family you killed." "That wasn't me," you try to wriggle out of his hold, but he slams you back into the wall, harder than before. "You may not have been the one to snap your fingers, but you helped the monster who did. He's already dead so I can't get my revenger on him, you're the next best thing." "My father's dead?" that's impossible, he was almost invincible. But that explains why he left you behind, he had no choice, he was dead "that's why he left me," you whisper to yourself. The man keeping you captive chuckles "he was killed months after the snap, he left you and then he was killed." You try to blink back your tears, shaking your head "no, you're lying." "I'm no liar sweetheart." "Just a killer." "Big talk coming from the daughter of Thanos," he glares down at you. "I had no choice! He killed my family and kidnapped me as a child. Forced me to fight my sisters and tortured me when I refused. Or tortured me if I lost or tortured me if my technique was flawed. And when that stopped working, he'd hurt my sisters when I did something wrong. He turned them against me so that all I had was him and his will." You start struggling against him again, managing to shove him away. You turn to the door and pull at the chair and reach for the deadbolt before a heavy weight knocks you to the floor. You kick and flail, manages to kick his stomach and hit his mouth, he spits blood on you before growling. "I was just going to kill you because you killed my family. But now I'm going to make it hurt," he grins down at you before slamming his forehead into your face. The last thing you see is his malicious, blood-stained smile. X X X You slowly open your eyes, blinking away the darkness. You're in the lounge room, tied to a dining room chair. You can't even shift in place. You try looking around. It seems as if the room is empty, but you can't see into any of the other rooms, or behind you. He could be doing anything, could be anywhere.

You feel the ever-familiar prickling under your skin, a warmth spreading throughout your body. The slight burn on your throat where a mating mark would go, the desperate clenching of your heart, trying to fill a void. Your heat is starting. You have to get out, get away from this crazy alpha before he picks up on it.

You start struggling in earnest, desperate to free yourself before the unthinkable can happen. "Finally joining the party," you startle at the sound of his voice, your heart leaping to your throat. You swallow thickly as he comes around the chair and faces you. Your mouth tastes metallic. He points to the cut on his mouth "we match now." "You're sick," his lips quirk into a half-smile. "No, I'm desperate." "Desperate?" you question. "Desperate for vengeance, desperate for revenge, desperate for my family back. Guess where you fall?" his hand strokes down your clammy cheek, and you flinch away, though the omega in you is desperate to lean in to his touch. "Do your worst," you spit blood onto his shoe and bare your teeth. "Feisty," he laughs before turning serious once more "you won't be for long." "I've survived daily torture at the hands of the mad titan Thanos, you think you, a tiny mortal man, could do any worse?" "Guess we'll find out."

X X X

You try to blink away the fuzziness in your vision, you need a clear head if you’re going to think up an escape in this short reprieve of torture. Though you have endured worse at the hands of your ‘father’ it never quite felt like this. All those times being tortured by Thanos your omega nature was supressed. Now, so close to your heat, being tortured by an alpha, it’s somehow nowhere near on Thanos’ level and yet so much worse.

“This would end faster if you were to beg,” the alpha come closer to you.

“What?” you rasp.

“Beg for forgiveness, beg for mercy, and I will end this.” He stares into your eyes, so close and yet worlds away.

You look back at him and let out a deep breath “I’m sorry,” you start “I’m sorry that you’re such a pathetic excuse of an alpha that you need to beat omegas to make yourself feel strong.”

He sneers down at you before aiming a punch to your head. You feel the pain radiate on your temple but it’s slightly muted. It’s nothing more than an unpleasant tingle in comparison to the crushing pain in your lower abdomen. Courtesy of your heat, not his pathetic attempts at torture.

He raises his fist as if to hit you again but freezes, his nose twitches and he glances around the room before his gaze zeroes in on you. He breathes in deeply and a wicked grin takes over his face.

“Omega.”

Your heart stops, ice cold panic fills your veins “stay away from me,” you try to sound tough, but it comes out as more of a whine.

He laughs as he unties you from the chair. You try to fight him, to free yourself from his grasp now that you are free of the chair, but your heat and his beating has taken a toll on your body. You feel so weak, and your limbs are lethargic, they refuse to cooperate. He drags you into the bedroom and throws you down on the bed and ties your wrists to the headboard.

“So, what, now you’re going to rape me before killing me?”

“I’m not going to kill you omega. I have plans for you.”

Your eyes widen in fear. He’s going to traffic you, or breed you, or both. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Well you took my family from me omega, I think it’s only fair you make that even, don’t you?”

“I would bring back your family if I could, but I don’t have that kind of power,” you feel tears running down your bruised cheeks.

“I know you don’t. I don’t expect you to bring my family back, no, I expect you to give me a new family. It is what you were born to do after all.”

“NO!” “I won’t do it.”

“I think you’ll find that you don’t have much of a choice,” he strokes your face as you try to squirm away from him.

“Were you always a sick rapist or is this your desperation talking again?”

He laughs at you again “I’m not going to rape you omega. In short time you’ll be begging me, and then, only then, will I give you what you need.” He then turns and leaves the room. Leaves you to stew in your ever-worsening heat.

[twentytwojuiceboxes]

Beyond A Promise Playlist

Listen to it here

Ok so I wasn’t really intending to make a playlist but i kept finding the perfect songs for this story and for these two. Each song I had either sonic or shadow or both in mind and I’ll explain each song choice below. @moralitas I hope these songs help capture the feel of the fic for you and for the rest of your readers!

1. i want war (BUT I NEED PEACE) - Kali Uchis

“My mind and my soul is the weapon, and every failure was a lesson, its time to stop blocking these blessings, see i just wanna grow into my greatness, I wish i had the time that you takin”

This song is supposed to be Shadows pov, specifically for these lyrics. I feel like he’s so used to bad things happening in his life that any possibility of anything good happening (having a place to call home, having someone to call a friend) he would just not let it happen. In beyond a promise, you start to see him grow out of that.

2. This Isn't You - Kyle Dixon

........

No lyrics for this one. I wanted a song for Sonic and Shadows late night runs. They never really spoke during their runs, so I deliberately chose a song with no words.

3. Rose Colored Boy - Paramore

“I want you to stop insisting that I’m not a lost cause, ‘cause i been through a lot, really all I’ve got is just to stay pissed off, if it’s all right by you”

This one is more of a fun one from Shadows pov. Kind of self explanatory, pessimistic protagonist with a optimistic love interest. I like to imagine this song over a montage of Sonic doing things that unintentionally make shadow smile against his will lol

4. Unthinkable (I'm Ready) - Alicia Keys

"You give me a feeling that I never felt before, And I deserve it I think I deserve it, It's becoming something that's impossible to ignore, And I can't take it, I was wondering maybe, Could I make you my baby?, If we do the unthinkable would it make us look crazy, If you ask me I'm ready"

So this song. This song was the one that made me want to make a playlist in the first place. I was listening to it for the first time in years and the emotion and the lyrics of this song are peak sonadow and i just.....hoo buddy just listen.

5. Blue Dream - Jhene Aiko

"We were coastin' on the coast when you opened my eyes, Made me notice where the ocean was holding the sky right, I was blinded, your smile shining behind those green eyes, The horizon so enticing please say you'll be mine"

This is just a sweet song from Shadows pov. More about the feel of it than anything.

6. Enter Galactic - Kid Cudi

"Reaching out to outer space dancing to awesome sounds, This all new to you?, Reaching out to hold your close so I don't slip away, Explore a new approach, A whole new free I say"

Both Sonic and Shadow haven't ever experienced romantic feelings before, so I like this song as them experiencing something new together. (Also space hogs lmao)

7. Overstimulated - Jhene Aiko

"Who's gonna hold my hand when I'm crashing?, Took you without looking now I'm looking up the side effects, Feel like there a fire set, That I should be dying next, my regrets, Oh my regrets"

After having been alone for so long I feel like being in new relationships, whether it be a friendship or a romantic one, can get overwhelming at times for Shadow. This is that. (***Scream Warning starting at 5:00*** the singer does scream at the end of the song I didn't want to catch anyone off guard with that)

8. Je Cherche Un Homme - Eartha Kitt

“Doesn't have to be prince or movie star, A Texas oil man or a french marquis, Doesn't have to be handsome as a picture, An ordinary guy's all right with me”

Obligatory slow dance scene. Picture this: Sonic and Shadow on a warm summer day, surrounded by Shadows plants. They’re swaying side to side, having a silly conversation, just enjoying each others company. (This isn’t in the fic but I couldn’t help myself with this song lol.) Plus, I always pictured Shadow as a Eartha Kitt fan, idk why but I do.

9. Sit Next To Me - Foster The People

“Come over here sit next to me, We can see where things go naturally, Just say the word and I'll part the sea, Just come over here and sit next to me, And I'll take you high, high”

This one is from Sonics pov. He, ironically enough, seems like the kind of person to would want to take things slow in a relationship, to enjoy the process and see where things go.

10. Amor De Siempre - CUCO

“Unos cambios tomaron lugar en mi vida, Amorcito sonriente entraste sin advertirme, Pero no importa ya, tenemos nuevas historias que contar, Amanecimos bien contentos y ahora vamos a dormirnos sin dudar”

Sonic can not only speak Spanish but speaks it fluently. This is A Fact and I have made it true lol. I wanted to reflect that with this song, but also when you listen it you’ll hear in some parts the artist sings some words kinda funny and I’m not saying that this is sonic playfully serenading Shadow but also.....👀 im just sayin lol

11. See You Again - Tyler the Creator

“20/20, 20/20 vision, Cupid hit me cupid hit me with precision, I wonder if you look both ways, When you cross my mind, . . . Can I get a kiss?, And can you make it last forever?, I said I'm 'bout to go to war, I don't know if I'ma see you again”

I love this song for Sonic because it has a lot of cheesy pick up lines which alludes to his playful side but also the main chorus just...oof. Both Sonic and Shadow do a lot of dangerous adventures/missions and at the end of the day, no matter how small, there’s always gonna be that worry if they’re going to see each other again.

12. Make Me Feel - Janelle Monáe

“Baby, don't make me spell it out for you, All of the feelings that I've got for you, Can't be explained but I can try for you, Yeah baby don't make me spell it out for you”

This one is Sonic all the way. It’s fun and playful but also serious in the sense of the artist really trying to convey all these feelings for another person. I absolutely adore the video as well, the colors are just *chefs kiss* delicious darling; can you imagine sonic going crazy to this song bc I certainly can.

That’s it for now, but I’m like 1000% sure I’m gonna update this playlist as the fic updates!!! I hope ya’ll enjoy!!!!