#any possible memory issues are no problem for them i suppose | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bigskyandthecoldgun · 8 months

Text

based off this post i made a couple days ago lmao

words: 2.1k

Generally speaking, Steve Harrington is a pretty good boyfriend.

He takes Eddie out, never lets him pay for stuff if he can help it—hell, he’s even bought Eddie flowers before. And Eddie’s not complaining, because it’s hard enough to find another queer man in Hawkins, let alone one willing to date him. So Steve is his first boyfriend, and Eddie hasn’t had much (read: any) experience with dating.

But he’s pretty damn sure by the time they hit the three-month mark that Steve’s staunch refusal to hold his hand is unusual.

It’s not like Steve isn’t affectionate. More often than not, Steve’s arm will be around his shoulders or his waist, and there are no shortages of kisses anywhere and everywhere. But Steve won’t hold his hand. And he hasn’t let Eddie give him a handjob. Which—the latter isn’t as much of an issue, because maybe Steve’s just not a fan of handjobs, and that’s fine, Eddie’s not an asshole, Steve’s more than entitled to say no to stuff like that.

Though, Steve’s got no problem putting his hands to work, so what is it about the idea of holding hands or Eddie touching him in the same way that makes Steve so weirdly uncomfortable?

Eddie’s first thought had been that Steve might just not like holding hands. That the clamminess of another palm in his gives him the same kind of sensory ick that Eddie gets from getting adhesive residue on his hands. But Steve holds hands with Robin all the time with no problem, so it can’t be that.

His second thought is that Steve might be so used to being the ‘man in the relationship,’ so to speak, that he doesn’t think Eddie would want to be as handsy. But, again—doesn’t explain the hand holding thing. Because Steve had definitely held hands with girls he’d dated in the past, if Eddie’s high school memories aren’t failing him.

So what the hell is it?

What’s so unthinkable about being touched by Eddie?

And Eddie tries not to read too much into it, because he’s more than aware that both he and Steve have some internalized stuff about being queer, and maybe Steve’s just working through that. He tries not to read too much into it because Steve is a good boyfriend, save for this one weird thing, and maybe they’ll get to a point where Steve will tell him why he doesn’t want to hold hands or have Eddie’s hands on his bare skin for more than a minute or two.

They’re making out on Steve’s couch one night, Eddie’s hands on Steve’s waist and Steve’s hands already halfway through undoing the button on Eddie’s jeans. Eddie starts to tug at Steve’s shirt to get it untucked from his jeans. “C’mere, wait, lemme touch you,” Eddie breathes, and Steve grins against his mouth before backing away. Eddie blinks, utterly confused. “What? What is it?”

Steve just laughs, shakes his head, and dives back in for another kiss. “You’re funny,” he murmurs against Eddie’s lips, and Eddie feels a weird tug in his gut, because something’s wrong, and Steve’s acting weird again about Eddie touching him.

He thinks it’s funny.

Thinks it’s funny that Eddie wants to touch him.

Well, firstly, ouch. Secondly, that’s a real jerk move, but he’s torn between telling Steve off and getting off. He ends up going with the better option, because Steve might be acting like a jerk, but he’s a jerk that’s jerking Eddie off, so…better than nothing, Eddie supposes.

He doesn’t bring it up again for another three months, resigning himself to have his hands redirected from Steve’s bare skin and remaining steadfastly un-handheld. And, sure, y’know, he might be able to attribute it to the fact that they spend a lot of time with people who don’t know they’re together yet, but that possibility is quickly eradicated when Steve suggests that they tell the rest of the Party about them.

“You sure you wanna do that?” Eddie asks, brows raised skeptically, because for a guy who won’t hold Eddie’s hand, Steve’s pretty gung-ho about airing their business to the rest of the group.

Steve just tilts his head, a cute little look of confusion on his face. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, like the idea of him not wanting people to know about him and Eddie is crazy. Steve blinks, the confusion turning to concern. “I mean, unless you’re not ready. I don’t want to pressure you—”

“You can tell them,” Eddie cuts in, fidgeting with his rings. “I’m—yeah. Yeah, you can tell them.”

Maybe this will finally give Steve the push he needs to get over himself and hold Eddie’s goddamn hand before Eddie goes crazy and gets shipped off to Pennhurst.

Or…maybe not.

Because Steve still won’t hold his hand. Or let Eddie touch him.

The one time Eddie had managed to get his hands on Steve’s bare skin, he’d spotted Steve itching at the spots Eddie had touched in the bathroom later that night, the door only open a crack. Which is pretty dramatic, even for Eddie’s taste. Is the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him really so awful? Christ, Eddie’s getting sick and tired of this shit.

Eventually, nine months into their relationship, Steve blatantly moves a hand away from Eddie’s during a movie night when Eddie tries to take hold of it. In front of their friends. Eddie sucks up his wounded pride and corners Nancy in the kitchen later, after the first movie is over and they’ve been sent to get snacks while Steve and Robin argue over what movie to play next, wondering if he should even be asking her.

“Something on your mind?” she asks, because he hasn’t come up with anything to start with yet, and Eddie sighs.

“Is—okay, did Steve ever—when you guys were dating, did he ever, like, not hold your hand?” he asks, and Nancy tilts her head.

“I mean, sometimes…? It was only because I was wearing rings, though,” she says, like that makes perfect sense, like Steve just has some ring-phobia or something, and Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. Nancy gives him a little smile. “You wear yours all the time, so I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

Okay, so, weird ring-phobia it is.

That’s the new working theory, and when he and Steve bunk in Steve’s room for the night, Eddie makes a show of carefully pulling his rings off and setting them on the bedside table. There’s a couple of green marks on his fingers where the clear nail polish he’d coated the interiors in has chipped away, and he rubs at his bare fingers absentmindedly as he climbs under the covers. He takes a deep breath and laces his fingers with Steve’s, ready to have Steve pull his hand away for the umpteenth time.

Instead, he’s met with a surprised, pleased little hum. “You took your rings off,” Steve notes, relief clear in his voice, and Eddie nods, trying not to let the feeling of triumph show on his face too much. Steve grins at him and presses a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “That’s a nice surprise.”

“What, you don’t like my rings?” Eddie teases, keeping the genuine curiosity in his voice to a minimum, and Steve’s brows furrow.

“What? No, no, I love your rings, Eds,” Steve tells him. He lowers his voice. “I think they’re pretty hot, actually.”

Okay. Okay, so a wrench has been thrown into the ring-phobia theory.

“What, are they too cheap for his majesty’s royal fingers?” Eddie jokes, putting on a goofy, poorly-done British accent, and Steve’s nose wrinkles slightly.

“I mean, they are costume jewelry,” Steve says. “Nickel-plated, right?”

Ah.

So…it’s that Eddie looks, or even feels, too cheap.

Jesus. He hadn’t thought Steve would be that shallow.

Eddie swallows. “Uh, yeah, they—they are. I can stop wearing them, if you…” he trails off, not really sure what to do with this new information. Cheap to the touch, apparently enough to make Steve wrinkle his nose at the thought of Eddie touching him with his rings on.

“What? No, no, you don’t have to. I’m good, I can deal with it,” Steve says, like it’s supposed to be reassuring, like it’s such a big sacrifice for him to deal with how inexpensive Eddie’s taste in jewelry is, like their relationship isn’t serious enough for Steve to get over himself.

It’s just his rich boy upbringing, Eddie reminds himself. Even Wheeler’s upper-middle-class jewelry wasn’t enough to beat that expensive taste.

Evidently, the conversation had stuck in his boyfriend’s brain, because on the morning of their first anniversary, Eddie is given a long, velvety black box with four Sterling silver rings. They’re exact replicas, design-wise, of their nickel-plated counterparts, and Steve looks so proud of himself, so pleased with his gift idea, and Eddie barely stops himself from frowning.

“Oh,” Eddie says, a little hollow, “um, thank you.”

“You like ’em?” Steve asks, and there’s such a hopeful look on his face that it just pisses Eddie off more. “I just figure—y’know, because, I mean, I can’t hold your hand if you’re wearing costume jewelry, so—”

“Yeah, no, I, uh—I got that,” Eddie says with a strained smile. “Thanks, Steve.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “I feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, and he says it with humor, but there’s genuine worry behind it. “Did I screw up your present that bad? Were you dropping hints and hoping for something else?”

Eddie’s jaw clenches. “It’s…the present is fine, Steve,” he says.

“You don’t like them,” Steve mumbles, gnawing on his bottom lip. “I mean, it might take me a lot longer to save up, but is—would you, like, prefer titanium or steel or something? I didn’t really think you were a gold kind of guy, but it’s fine if you are, I just didn’t know—”

“Why do I have to prefer anything?” Eddie snaps. Steve blinks at him. The look of pure confusion on his face is a little infuriating, like he can’t even fathom why Eddie might be upset, and Eddie’s eye twitches. “Look, just because you’re all high and mighty about what jewelry is worthy of being seen near you—”

“Woah, woah, what are you talking about?” Steve asks, alarmed.

Letting out a frustrated groan, Eddie slams the box down on the coffee table and stands up to stomp around the living room, pacing back and forth. “You won’t let me hold your hand o-or even touch you, like you’re so above cheap shit that you can’t bear to let it touch you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve offended the sensibilities of his highness with my ‘costume jewelry,’ but Jesus, Steve, you can’t even get over yourself on our anniversary? I’ve seen you act like me touching you with my rings on gives you hives or some shit, like it’s just so terrible that it makes your skin crawl—”

“It does,” Steve says, a little subdued, eyes wide with shock, lips parted, “I’m allergic to nickel.”

Eddie pauses mid-stomp.

“You’re what?” he squeaks.

Steve blinks, and a long silence stretches between them. “I’m allergic to nickel, Eds, everybody knows I am,” he says. “I can’t hold your hand if you’re wearing nickel-plated stuff, but you really like your rings, they’re important to your look, so I wasn’t gonna be a dick and tell you to take them off just so I could.”

Recontextualizing every interaction of his year-long relationship he’d tried not to read too hard into is…a lot to experience in a little under thirty seconds.

“Oh, dear God, I’ve been an asshole,” Eddie mutters. “I thought you wouldn’t let me touch you because—but it was just—”

“Yeah, an itchy dick is not a good feeling,” Steve says, a nervous little laugh bubbling out of him. His face falls a little. “I—did you think—?”

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie blurts, horrified. “I am so sorry, Steve, oh my God—”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t—I must’ve seemed like a total jerk, Eddie, I should’ve told you outright, but I guess I figured you already knew,” Steve says, shrugging helplessly. “But, no, it’s nothing like what you said, I promise, I’m just—I’m allergic.”

Eddie immediately yanks the rings from his fingers and fumbles to get the box open, swapping them out for the silver ones, which he jams onto his fingers as fast as humanly possible. “If I got my head out of my ass sooner, I swear I would’ve found replacements the second I knew,” he says, and Steve laughs.

“I know you would’ve,” he says, all fond and soft, “you’re good like that.”

“Let me make it up to you? I can touch you all I want now,” Eddie says, waggling his silver-covered fingers in front of Steve’s face.

Steve interlocks their hands and leans in to kiss him, slow and sweet. “Looking forward to it, Eds.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #my fic #also my prompt #i guess it's a prompt?#it was more like. a passing idea #but still

4K notes · View notes

comradekatara · 3 months

Note

Any fun Aang facts/ headcanons/ thoughts?

i don’t know if this is exactly fun but i think a lot about aang coping the first couple years after the end of the war. like i think on a spectrum of “the war is over and im so happy!!” to “suddenly thrust into a leadership position that is uniquely isolating and horrible,” aang perhaps isn’t struggling as much as the new firelord, but it’s a close thing.

i think katara would be the one who is happiest out of all of the gaang, since the war being over relieves this huge weight off her shoulders and she also gets to do the fulfilling work of rebuilding her tribe and finally being able to live up the potential she’s always imagined for herself, being able to preserve and pass on her heritage to a hopeful new generation. (that isn’t to say that she isn’t traveling the world with aang, trying to mitigate the damage caused by the war, but she would go back home as soon as possible. she needs to see gran gran!!!) there’s a sense of pride and satisfaction and joy to her role in this world that cannot be denied.

suki is in a similar position, where as the leader of the kyoshi warriors, her reunion with her sisters and their return to kyoshi island would be triumphant and joyous, and she gets to participate in the process of teaching a new generation of warriors, passing on her traditions and using her skillset to help people elsewhere. but then there’s also the lingering, nagging memory of being alone in a maximum security prison, and that trauma isn’t something one just gets over…

i see toph, more than anyone, spending the most time with zuko in the fire nation. she understands what it’s like to be alone, and she’d rather be with her family than her biological parents. i think she does visit them, but it doesn’t go well. toph may be incredibly sharp and mature for her age, but she is still just a kid, and the fact that her father will continue to reject her his entire life is a great wound, as much as she could flippantly deny it. but zuko understands what that’s like more than anyone, so being able to help him helps her through her own pain. even if zuko is a dick about it (although i think she stubbornly forces him to acknowledge her pain at some point instead of just outright dismissing her like he did on ember island), it’s a symbiotic relationship in its own way. i mean, he could definitely use a human lie detector.

sokka is like all over the place. i don’t know man he’s too complicated to sum up in one little paragraph. but yeah let’s just say the war ending doesn’t automatically Heal him and Solve his copious Issues. because it does solve some things but it also causes other problems. new problems even. but i already sort of talk about that here so let’s just move that for now.

and then of course zuko being crowned boy king of racist nation is like… not great. it works for thematic/symbolic/narrative reasons, of course, but realistically. it's a struggle! so, like i said, i think toph would stick by his side, and i think aang spends a lot of time in fire nation as well, and sokka as much as possible (NOT because he loves zuko, but because he thinks zuko is very stupid and he’s the world’s biggest control freak so if he doesn’t micromanage everything he’ll feel like it’s his fault if anything goes wrong). but iroh is…. not there. his best friend katara (i said what i said) is in the south pole or traveling the world or anywhere but Here. azula is. broken?? the world?? is broken?? and he (famously a fuck-up) is supposed to fix it???? poor kid.

anyway. this is all preamble to contextualize what can only be described as The Worst Puberty Anyone’s Ever Had. okay here’s a bonus fun headcanon: aang is born in october! i say this because he’s the most libra to ever do it (i don’t know shit about astrology but i do know that). so for the entire run of the show (from winter to summer) he is twelve years old. i don’t know if you’ve been around any twelve year old boys recently (not to brag, but i have), but they are Going Through It. and that’s the average twelve year old, not even including the shocking temporal displacement and being the sole survivor of a genocide and shouldering the burden of the whole fucking world and knowing that an entire country full of people want you dead.

the fact that aang maintains his childlike wonder and sweetness for the most part means that it’s going to hit him like a truck once the war ends and he finally has a chance to focus on himself. we see the early stages of puberty affecting him in terms of how he behaves around katara, the change between his book one kiddie crush and his book three confusion and intensity. but it’s more than just burgeoning sexuality. he wakes up, is informed that he’s been stuck in an iceberg for a century, that everyone he ever knew with the exception of appa and bumi are dead due to a genocide, and that it’s his responsibility to end the war. and the rest of the show is him trying to step into that duty and finally becoming the kind of person the world needs him to be. and now… it’s over.

on one hand, there’s that overwhelming sense of relief. he did it. he successfully prevented yet another genocide, stopped the war, and did it all without compromising his values. his new friends (his new family) are all alive and safe and now can rebuild the world together. they can rest and have fun and be kids. and that’s what aang is celebrating in the finale when he looks at all of them and smiles, when he hugs katara in acknowledgement of how far they’ve come. aang is incredibly strong and resilient, and it’s a strength that comes from a place of genuine love and understanding. he was taught good values as a kid, values that have guided him through the most unimaginable of tragedies. but he’s not perfect. no one is.

no one can prevent the oncoming swirl of hormones and trauma and second-guessing that is about to hit aang once it finally occurs to him that the purpose he has been fighting for ever since his entire life changed is now over, basically, and he has to figure out what it means to be alive outside of one sole, defining goal. as anne carson said in red doc>, “to live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.” as jp sartre said in la nausée, “i outlive myself” (specifically, anny says it to roquentin). what is aang doing if not ouliving himself? had he lived a normal lifespan that hadn’t been disrupted by a spiritually imposed stasis, he probably would’ve been dead by now (long dead, if we can assume that his death in lok is by natural causes). and his myth, his grand destiny of stopping the war and once more carving out a space for his people in this brave new world? well, he did it. accomplished it with flying colors. now it’s over. now he is a perilous thing.

as i alluded to before, i think the only person who can really truly empathize with aang’s situation is sokka. sokka, too, has survived beyond any point he imagined. he has built his entire identity around being a shield, and now that the war is over, his ability to protect others from immediate threats and sacrifice himself for a cause has been ripped away from him. he now has to forge an identity beyond reducing himself to a soldier, in a fundamentally unfamiliar world. sokka was shaped by war, and yet he lived past it, past the end of his myth. aang’s world is now also unfamiliar, not solely because the war is over, but because the war is over and yet he is still alone. he did it, he saved the day, and yet what is his reward? he saved a lot of people, but none of his people. he can never go home again.

aang and sokka’s role as foils is something i want to write about more because i do find it truly fascinating, but in these terms i think we can also read their psychological states postwar as a sort of reciprocal dynamic. i’ve spoken in the past about how in a postwar reconstruction landscape, sokka would do a lot of the administrative work that aang cannot. not only because aang is literally twelve, but because aang cannot focus all his attention on this world when he is also its only real tether to the past. so sokka would make room for aang to focus on being the last airbender by sort of taking on the mantle of pseudo-avatar. solely in the most bureaucratic sense of the title, of course, but that would be the role that sustains and (somewhat) fulfills him after the war. and i think aang would be grateful for that, but he’d also be somewhat resentful?? not of sokka (aang is too emotionally mature for that, plus he respects sokka too much), but he’d definitely resent himself. think about how guilty and shameful he feels whenever he feels like he’s let the world down due to factors beyond his control. and so the fact that sokka is doing so much of what aang himself should be doing because he’s too busy being defined by his status as a genocide survivor… well, it might make him angry. he might lash out. and we’ve seen him frustrated, volatile, and emotionally confused. it’s not pretty.

i know that we all only want the best for aang and want him to be happy and thriving after the war because he’s such a perfect kid who deserves the world, but realistically, i do think there would be a period where he’s kind of hard to be around. not only because that’s just something that happens to all adorable baby boys once they turn thirteen (i, for one, learned this lesson extremely painfully), but because he’s dealing with a lot and the only person who even remotely understands what he’s going through is also the most emotionally repressed guy he knows.

throughout atla, he never allows himself a moment to just stop and feel, because the depth of his grief is actually scary and incredibly difficult to confront. but i think if he did ever allow himself to feel, he might never stop. he might, in fact, spend a month or so curled up in blankets in bed eating nothing but bean curd puffs and shutting out everyone but momo. i actually think that’s more realistic than him immediately entering a perfect relationship with katara and being highschool sweethearts and popping out three kids. and frankly, i think going through that kind of depression now that he no longer has any pressing responsibilities also happens to be something he’s earned. he’s been pushing down his grief, ignoring it, distracting himself from it, this whole time. it’s time he finally lets himself feel.

on a happier note, i like thinking about aang and suki getting closer after the war (or even being close offscreen during the show, like on ember island). i like to think that suki can act as a sort of cool big sister figure to aang, who has suffered just enough that she can empathize with his pain, but isn’t too close to the situation (like fellow genocide survivors katara and sokka, or genocide perperators’ direct descendants, like zuko) that she can still discuss it with him without bringing her own baggage into the fore. she’s very good at giving direct, no-bullshit advice in a nonetheless kind and compassionate way, and she’s also very good at joking around and knowing how to let loose and have fun in a way aang appreciates. she also really admires and highly values the role of the avatar in the world, and she also admires and cherishes aang as a person, so i think she could give him that kind of measured encouragement that aang really needs to hear.

obviously katara has done this for aang a lot in the past, and i’m not saying she wouldn’t also continue to be a shoulder for aang to lean on, because no matter how much he may try to push her away, she will always be there for him, but i think suki also sort of provides a necessary detachment where he isn’t bogged down by any romantic feelings for her and she isn’t bogged down by her own all too similar trauma the way katara is. suki has people to help her work through her own trauma (sokka, her sisters, etc.) so aang doesn’t need to reciprocate. she’s just happy to be there for her surrogate baby bro who needs her. she’ll serve the avatar in any way she can, whether by becoming a kyoshi warrior, by sacrificing herself to free his bison, or by just chilling with him in bed while he rants about his impossible situation and cries on her shoulder.

100 notes · View notes

dduane · 10 months

Note

After knowingly being a fan of your Star Trek work since the 90s, and having pushed Young Wizards on as many folks as I can for the last (how long have I been on here?) dozen years or so, and having bought the full download pack just before UK sales went on hiatus due to taxes, I have finally, finally started reading SYWTBAW. I'm instantly in love. The character introductions are perfect. The system explanations are natural, fitting with what the characters know themselves. I'm so happy! But that's an aside, a happy bonus...

I have been a fan of the X-Com/UFO game series since I first discovered it, which was when they brought the game to the Playstation in '95? Wow, that game was wild. I would go visit my friend and play with him, working on tactics for missions for hours on end, then come home and boot up my own system and run more missions on my own. I had multiple memory cards so I could save while engaging the enemy and also keep a save safely back at base if things went pearshaped. When I finally entered the PC-owners market in 97, it was one of the first games I installed there and I still have a copy on every computer I've owned since, and play regularly. I have the official strategy guide, and (the point of this message) I have the tie-in novel that you wrote! Finding that was a lucky thing, I've never seen or heard of another copy. I love what you did with the story, how it ties in well to the mechanics and spirit of the game without remaining constrained to the specifics of the game engine's limitations due to programming requirements.

When it came to writing about games, and writing for games such as Wing Commander, did you (do you still) play (m)any of them to learn more about the systems and lore?

Firstly: thanks for the nice words about my work. :) Much appreciated.

In answer to the question you wound up with: I'm not gaming actively at the moment... there's too much other stuff going on locally that requires my attention. But when I've been asked to participate in a game-based project, I absolutely spend as much time playing it as possible before I get down to work. I'll never be able to spend as much time on it as any given game's major enthusiasts would. But I do my homework, and make sure I have the data I need to handle the story issues and to drive a decent plot.

When I was working on Privateer 2: The Darkening, this wasn't so much of a problem, because I came in as cold as anyone else: nobody outside EA had played the game before. :) That said, I hadn't been hired for my expertise as a gamer, but as a screenwriter. I did spend a lot of time with the game designers and engineers, watching how gameplay was supposed to go and working out how I could best reinforce that rhythm in the way the scenes I was writing played out. It was a really enjoyable collaboration, as the engineers were as fascinated with what I was doing as I was with what they were up to. If there was a downside to the experience, it was having to be more or less a prisoner in Slough for six weeks while the writing and rewriting happened. But this kind of thing is an occupational hazard, best taken as gracefully as possible. (Though that wasn't hard in retrospect, especially considering the cast who wound up speaking the lines I'd written. Clive Owen, Brian Blessed, Mary Tamm, David Warner, John Hurt, Mathilda May, David McCallum, Jürgen Prochnow,... my God, what a lineup.)

X-Com: UFO Defense, though, I'd known for a long time and had played quite a bit: so when asked to pitch, I more or less came in hot with a bunch of issues that I felt needed more attention than they'd had in the actual game. I was delighted to get more or less carte blanche to handle them, and to create a bunch of edgily professional characters to run around destroying the bad guys. It was also, frankly, a ton of fun to use the narrative to blow up or drop alien spacecraft on things that (in real life) were annoying me in that timeframe. For example, in the culmination of one battle I dropped a big alien ship through the beautiful Renaissance Revival roof of the main rail station in Zurich because I was cranky about some slippery floor tile they'd installed downstairs in a refurbishment of the ShopVille shopping center. (I mean, seriously, people track huge amounts of snow and slush in down there when they come off the escalators from street level: why would you not put nonslip tile on that floor? It's deeply irresponsible. So they had it coming.) :)

...Anyway, it was really enjoyable having a chance to play around with what I imagined Earth's geopolitics to be doing under gameplay conditions, while also enacting a more than usually complex game scenario in prose. I don't know if or when I'll be doing that kind of work next, but writing the X-Com: UFO Defense novel definitely left a good taste in my mouth.

Thanks for asking!

(ETA: and here are those tiles. ...The cubical affair in front is an art installation: an illuminated "fountain". It was originally made of wires or strands of plastic cable, down which drops of glycerine, or something like it, slowly slid. But they seem to have swapped that out for water. And, oh look, there's video!)

#X-Com: UFO Defense #Privateer 2: The Darkening

80 notes · View notes

tip-top-cloud-surfer · 9 months

Text

One Captain's Daughter (Part 3) - Rooster

Pairing: Rooster / OC (Amara Blackwood-Mitchell)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Light Angst, Daddy Issues, Arguing, Complicated Family and Relationship Dynamics, References to Pregnancy Scares; Female OC from Third Person POV

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Chapter Summary: Rooster contemplates recent events. The other Daggers make a discovery.

Part 1 Part 2

Master List

Rooster wasn’t expecting to run into both Mitchells in the span of ten minutes in the same aircraft hangar, surrounded by his fellow aviators, while they prepared to train for what appeared to be, at a first glance, a suicide mission. Nor was he emotionally prepared for it. Any of it.

Seeing Amara was the bigger surprise of the two, even though their paths had crossed only two years ago instead of nearly two decades. In the back of his mind, Rooster was always wary of missions outside of his usual squadron because of the inevitable possibility of running into Maverick. Amara was usually easier to predict and account for. If you didn’t want to see her, stay out of the DC area.

But perhaps the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Amara was always two things, especially in professional settings: by the book and firmly rooted to the ground. The exact opposite of her father, and that wasn’t a coincidence. Not by a longshot. No, Amara Blackwood-Mitchell, or just Amara Blackwood in professional settings, had spent just about her entire life wanting to be the exact opposite of her father.

Looking back on it, Rooster guessed that her staunch anti-flying phase began after Maverick and Charlie split for the final time. Maverick was sent on a deployment not long after, which probably had something to do with Ice, that was supposed to last six months but ended up lasting nearly ten.

But after that point, Amara was never afraid to loudly declare that she would never be a pilot. Never. Under no circumstances. She had no interest in flying. It wasn’t that she was afraid of it—because she wasn’t—but it was more that she detested its existence.

And well, Rooster never understood her perspective until he got burned by Maverick himself.

Amara hated flying because she thought that naval aviators ran away from their problems with flying. Like Maverick did when life got hard at home. Amara hated flying because she thought that pilots didn’t want to be tethered to the ground, and so no one or nothing would be able to keep them on the ground. Not even their own child.

Amara Blackwood-Mitchell hated flying because she’d been replaced by flying one too many times in her life. And well, maybe Rooster had contributed to that tally sheet himself. And by ‘maybe’, he knew that he had. Unfortunately.

“Honda will be here for the duration of our training exercises and will be reporting back to the Pentagon on such matters. So, I would be on your best behavior in front of her for your own sakes,” Warlock stated, knocking Rooster out of his memories.

Mentally, it almost felt like he had been ejected from whatever memory land and fantasy realm he’d unwillingly fallen into, but Rooster shook it off. He tried to focus on Cyclone and Warlock, he really did, but he quickly found his eyes wandering again.

And after a moment of delay, Amara turned her head to meet his gaze once more.

~~~~~

Rooster was the last one into the locker room.

He took a quick shower, scrubbing the residual smell of the jet off of his skin haphazardly. His mind was clearly not in the locker room, or even the present. And Rooster knew that Hangman probably wasn’t going to leave for the day without getting in one last jab.

Rooster walked over to the lockers with a towel wrapped around his waist. Fanboy and Payback were sitting on one of the benches, discussing what had gone wrong in their runs. Bob was quickly changing at the locker beside Rooster’s own, and he nodded politely when Rooster approached. Coyote and Fritz were talking about carpooling to the Hard Deck.

And then came Hangman swinging in, sauntering over with a wide smirk on his lips.

“You’re not going to believe what I found out about our little observer,” Hangman announced, drawing the attention of the rest of the locker room. Though his jaw clenched, Rooster made no other indication that he heard Hangman.

“About Honda? The Pentagon rep?”

“Yeah. Turns out her last name is Mitchell.”

“Mitchell?” Coyote repeated back, looking surprised. “Like ‘Maverick’ Mitchell?”

“It’s not exactly a unique surname,” Payback pointed out from behind Coyote. “Don’t get ahead of yourself again, Hangman.”

“I’m glad that you said that Payback, because a quick Google search pulls up this picture."

That had Rooster turning around, a barely-contained fire raging behind his eyes. Hangman held up a picture on his phone of Amara smiling at a graduation ceremony. Charlie stood to her left, wearing the same smile as her daughter, while the one and only Pete “Maverick” Mitchell stood on Amara’s right. There was no mistaking it.

“Shit, that is Mav!”

“Wait, she's his daughter?”

“Her callsign is Honda though.”

“Still, Mav’s her dad?”

“So what?” Rooster cut in, causing the others to turn to him. “Doesn’t change anything. And it’s not any of our business.”

“No need to look all butt hurt,” Hangman replied, snatching the phone back from Fanboy’s hand. “It’s not like I was insulting your little girlfriend or anything, Rooster.”

“What are you? Thirteen?” Rooster scoffed, turning back to his locker.

“You were certainly staring at her like you were,” Hangman shot back at Rooster. “Like you’d never seen a woman in heels and a pencil skirt before.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this. Any of this,” Bob interjected with more force than some of them thought he was capable of. “Regardless of whose daughter she is, she still deserves our respect. On and off base. Not to mention the fact that she’s writing the report on all of us. Pissing her off isn’t exactly a good idea.”

“Oh, calm down, Baby on Board.”

“Back off, Hangman,” Rooster warned him.

“Some of you guys need a cold shower,” Payback sighed, standing up. “And besides, Rooster and Bob are right—this information doesn’t change anything. Unless one of you wants to test Maverick’s protective tendencies?”

Murmurs of ‘hell no’ echoed around the locker room, which seemed to settle the matter. But the look in Hangman’s eyes warned Rooster that the matter wasn’t entirely settled.

Rooster turned back around to get dressed to leave while the other aviators started to filter out of the locker room. Luckily for Rooster, Hangman left with Coyote and Fritz, already talking about getting a nice cold one at the Hard Deck. He wasn’t in the mood for Hangman’s usual shenanigans today. Bob closed his locker before turning to Rooster.

“Don’t let Hangman get to you,” the WSO encouraged quietly. “He just knows that you’re his biggest competition and he’s trying to push your buttons.”

“I know. Thanks, Bob.”

“Of course. See you later, Rooster.”

“Bye, Bob.”

Rooster bid goodbye to Payback and Fanboy, who left the locker room shortly after Bob. And then he was alone with just his thoughts, which Rooster knew from personal experience was a bad thing. Because then his mind wandered into topics that he wasn’t ready to address. Topics that were apparently going to come up regardless of if he was ready for them or not.

Like his complicated relationship with Amara “Honda” Blackwood-Mitchell.

~~~~~

Two Years Ago

“What do you want me to say, Amara?” Rooster sighed, tugging at the curled strands of his hair. He picked his head up, staring across the room at Amara. She stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest, her lips pursed, and her eyes narrowed at him. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“I want you to stop running away from your problems!” Amara snapped, taking a step forward. “I want you to stop running away when things get difficult!”

“I didn’t run away!”

“Well, you certainly weren’t present either!”

“What the fuck do you want from me, Amara!?” Rooster got to his feet, more than annoyed now. “I was freaked out, okay? I’m not allowed to be freaked out!?”

“Of course, you’re allowed to freak out!” Amara argued back. “But you have to come back down after you freak out. You can’t just freak out, up and leave, and come back when it’s convenient for you again! That’s not okay, Bradley!”

“I never said that it was!”

“Then why did you do it!?”

“Why are we even arguing about this?” Rooster sighed, stepping out from behind the coffee table. “We freaked out over nothing, Amara. The situation’s resolved! Actually, there wasn’t even a situation in the first place.”

“Because what happens down the line when it wasn’t just a freak out over nothing?” Amara asked, starting to pace.

“Then we’ll deal with it then.”

“Will we?” Amara demanded of him. “We will handle it? Both of us?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Bradley, every time someone tries to have a hard conversation with you, you run away! You run away from all of it! You just tuck your emotions into your pocket and put on a smile and run off like some cocky flyboy to avoid your problems!”

“I’m here, aren’t I, Amara? What else do you want from me?” Rooster ran a hand through his hair, angrily tugging on the strands. “Jesus Christ, Amara, you weren’t even pregnant! So, what’s the problem!?”

“And what if it wasn’t!?”

“But it was!”

“You’re not listening to me,” Amara growled out. “What if it wasn’t? What if down the line we go through the same thing again and this time it’s actual positive? Then what?”

“I’m not dealing with hypotheticals. You aren’t pregnant, and you never were pregnant. Problem solved. Why can’t we just move on?”

“Because I’m not confident that you’ll be there like I need you to be,” Amara replied quietly. She stared up at Rooster with a softened gaze that had a semblance of tears forming on her eyelid. “And I can't live like this."

“Amara, you . . . I . . . this situation is completely different.”

“Is it?” Amara snapped, taking a step forward. “So, you’d be happy to call up my parents and tell them that we’re together?”

“Amara,” Rooster warned her, but Amara had her answer.

“And that’s why I can’t do this anymore,” Amara whispered out. She turned on her heel and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

“Amara, wait,” Rooster sighed, trailing after her. “You know that I can’t do that.”

“As you’ve told me,” Amara stated simply as she gathered her things.

“Amara, come on. Amara, wait.”

“No,” Amara snapped, facing him once more. “I can’t do this anymore, Bradley. I can’t. I won’t.”

“What? Not telling your parents? That’s what you’re mad about?”

“The whole fucking thing!” Amara yelled, waving her arm around. “I can’t live a lie, Bradley. Okay? I can’t. I’ve tried, I tried because I wanted to be with you but honestly, I can’t. I can’t do it anymore.”

“I never asked you to live a lie!”

“Then let’s call up my parents right now and tell them everything,” Amara replied, holding up her phone. When Rooster stuttered out an incomprehensible excuse not to, Amara turned to leave again. “I can’t keep doing this, Bradley. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that this,” Amara gestured between them, “is not meant to be a long-term situation.”

“What do you mean? We’ve been together now for years!”

“Exactly! We’ve been together for years and I can’t even tell my parents who I’m going to see when I fly out to every corner of the fucking country and planet to see you! Like I’m some sixteen-year-old high schooler sneaking out of her bedroom window!”

“You know that there’s a reason for that.”

“I thought that at some point, you would want to move on with your life, Bradley. Move on from the past. Or at the very least, you’d stop the past from getting in the way of your future! But you’re right, there is a reason for that.”

“Amara, wait,” Rooster called, still following after her.

“Bradley, I’ve waited years! I’ve waited four fucking years of my life for you, and I can’t wait any more otherwise I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

“I just need more time,” Rooster pleaded with her.

“And I can’t give you more time,” Amara replied softly. “You’re not ready. And you might never be ready. And that’s fine. But maybe then you should be with someone who is okay living with that. And maybe I need to find someone with a less complicated history with my parents.”

“Amara—”

“—Bradley, I’m sorry, but this is too . . . it’s too complicated. It’s too raw, it’s too much. And I can’t do it anymore.”

“Amara, don’t leave. Come on, we can talk about this,” Rooster begged her, but Amara had made up her mind already.

“I don’t think that any amount of talking is going to help us right now,” she replied softly, taking a step back from him. “You have your boundaries, and I have mine. And they’re not compatible, Bradley. I don’t think that they’ve ever been. Not really.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You want to never speak to my dad again. Well, I want a future where the person I love can interact with my parents the few times a year that I’ll probably see them. And with what happened this last week . . . if down the line we were to have kids, would you be okay with them seeing my dad? Would you? Because I wouldn’t be okay with them not seeing him.”

“Why is everything about your dad?” Rooster demanded from her. “Why can’t we just be happy together?”

“Because that’s not the way the world works. I’m not willing to cut my dad completely out of my life forever for you!” Amara finally snapped. “And you’re not willing to let him back into your life for me for just a little bit.” She straightened up with her eyes shining with tears. “And that’s that. Isn’t it?”

And it was. Until now, that is.

Tags: @xoxabs88xox @hangmanscoming

85 notes · View notes

phantom-of-the-501st · 5 months

Text

Fix the System vs Ditch the System

I just want to applaud Neil Gaiman here for how perfectly these two scenes parallel each other because I had noticed it before, just not how well. 👏 We were all shocked by the season 2 finale but really we should have seen it coming because that scene had already played out before in Episode 1.

"I think my your exactly and my exactly are different exactlys..."

Upon discovering that Gabriel has forgotten everything and has turned up at the bookshop, Crowley and Aziraphale have a shared goal: to resolve the Amnesiac Archangel Problem. Aziraphale wants to fix the issue, he wants to help. Crowley, on the other hand, wants to ditch it. Quite literally. He wants to take Gabriel to Dartmoor and leave him there, getting him and Aziraphale far away from the problem.

The thing is, while they both have a common goal, they both assume that the other will agree with their methods, despite having two completely different ideas about what to do.

Sounds very familiar, right?

"We can make a difference."

When you look at the season finale, it plays out in a very similar way. Crowley and Aziraphale have a common goal: protect each other. However, they both have different solutions but have assumed that the other has the same idea.

Much like in Episode 1, Aziraphale wants to fix the problem. He knows that Heaven is corrupt and he believes that he can restore the system to what it is supposed to be. But Crowley wants to get as far away from Heaven and Hell as possible.

And it isn't just the situation itself that parallels. The same character flaws are responsible for both issues.

"A group of the two of us."

Crowley and Aziraphale have existed alongside each other for a long time and understand each other more than most. However, their closeness has led to a lot of misunderstandings as they assume that the other will think the same way as them when it comes to certain situations and their expectations of one another can be entirely unfair.

While it makes sense for Aziraphale to want to fix both situations, it isn't right for him to assume that Crowley will be okay with facing his trauma like that. He knows what Crowley went through as a result of Heaven's behaviour and he can't expected him to want to face his past like that. Assuming that Crowley would want to help someone who has caused him huge amounts of grief is unfair in the same way that expecting Crowley to go back to a place that punished him for doing no wrong is.

Likewise, it is very reasonable for Crowley to want to ditch the system and yet he can't expect Aziraphale to make the same decisions when Crowley himself hasn't provided him with the same context that he has. Crowley was there when Gabriel told "Aziraphale" to shut his stupid mouth and die. Aziraphale wasn't. And Crowley never told him. Similarly, Crowley knows exactly how and why Gabriel lost his memory but he never explained it to Aziraphale. He has context that the other doesn't so he can't expect the same decisions to be made.

It's the same mistakes made over and over again.

So the new question is...

Will there be a change?

I think it is safe to assume that the answer is yes because otherwise there wouldn't be any character development and that would be weird. So I guess we need to assess the current situation. And the best way to do that? Look at the parallel scene in Episode 1!

In both situations Crowley walks out. They both realise that they aren't on the same page and rather than talking it through they go their separate ways. Crowley only comes back when he discovers that Aziraphale is in more danger but while he apologises, he never explains his reasoning, so Aziraphale just assumes that Crowley realised he was wrong and came back.

And because of that, nothing changes. Nothing was ever talked through, none of their reasoning explained. This is why the same thing happened again later in the season.

Looking at the current situation, this is where I think we are finally going to see a difference. I think that Crowley is going to go back when he realises that Aziraphale is in more danger than initially thought, but rather than going through a repeat of what happened before, I think there will be a change. Not necessarily straight away, but I think that this will be the time when they finally talk things out. It'll be the last time that this repeat problem happens and the first time when they realise that they need to stop assuming that they both want to go about things the same way.

Aziraphale wants to fix the system. Crowley wants to ditch it.

And the resolution will come when they both finally understand why.

#why do I always get the urge to write these when I have somewhere to be #but here we go!#my first analysis post in a while #but still about good omens #because the ineffable husbands have not yet left my brain #good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #aziracrow

44 notes · View notes

breakingbranchesbella · 6 days

Text

Self-Indulgence; A Criminal Minds Multi-Fandom Fic

Also found on Wattpad, Quotev, and Ao3 under the name BreakingBranches.

CHAPTER 1 - Loose End

Season 1. Episode 15. Unfinished Business.

IT'S NO SECRET that the younger you are, the longer time seems to go. Once you reach your fourties' a decade feels like a fever dream. Cassandra was still a little far from that mark. She was still only twenty-six. Twenty-six and she had wasted eight years of her developmental life personally deteriorating her own psyche. Only to be spat out by the big green machine. Now, eight years wasn't a decade, but it was certainly a long time to spend running towards no light at the end of the tunnel.

The tunnel had ended. The light still wasn't there.

Cassandra wasn't suffering, not really. She wasn't stuck in an endless torture of her own mind. She had passed her evaluation. She had been cleared for the field. Twice now, given she was sitting in the stuffiest office possible with the worst fluorescence known to man. Maybe the second worst, and she would only know this from the memories that this little scene brought back. Except in these recounts, she was on the other side of the desk.

"Miss Lorayne, we ask that you answer these next few questions to the best of your ability. Do you understand what I mean by that?"

"I do."

————————————

There was an incessant buzzing in Cassie's pocket. At first, ignoring it had been her go-to solution. That hadn't worked. It still rang on. Over and over. And over again. Nothing but a frighteningly stimulating reminder of why she was here. Sometimes another person's kindness only serves to make you feel more helpless. Cassie had gone from a problem solver to a statistic in just twenty-five seconds. A few months later she was back to her protector role. The only difference was that this role didn't require her to move around every few months. Currently she was stationed in Quantico, Virginia. Sure, she had been given the warning that her days of freedom were seldom with this job. That traveling was still very much a constant, so much so they needed a personal jet. Having a house was just a new sort of feeling. Not a good one. Not a bad one either.

From police to FBI, oh how the mighty had fallen. Everyone had their opinion of each other in that part of the world. CIA, FBI, homeland security, the military, and all the way down to beat cops just trying to fill a quota. They all had their specific issues with one another. Sometimes it reached a point where the individual only cared because it was mob mentality. Cassie had her reservations, but she also had to have a job. Work till' you die, the American dream.

Physically, she was beyond qualified. Mentally, she met the requirements. Socially? That was going to be a fickle bridge to cross. One she was about to meet much sooner than she would have liked.

Today wasn't supposed to be her first day on the job, the role of a profiler and investigative specialist for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Much to her chagrin, it was going to be beyond easy. They had been assigned a case early in the morning, a Sunday. She wasn't given the full details, former serial killer, something about resurfacing. Something about an old vendetta. Something about a former agent who had spent the later half of his life obsessing over a lost case. Something, something, it was always something. Initially, Cassie was to be formally introduced to the team in a timely manner, in which it was supposed to negate any sour feelings or potential problems. Though since the jet was about to take off, she was unceremoniously given a pat on the shoulder, and a general gist of what she was up against.

However there wasn't enough time to prepare her for the mixed bag of people she was about to meet. Not entirely in a negative perspective, it all trailed back to her own social issues. She was easier to describe than them, and that was more often than not five simple words.

'Hard to get along with'

The muscled figure stepped onto the plane, inching her way through the first enclosed space. Once she was on the other side of the thin door she was met with six faces. Only one was vaguely familiar, the other five were total strangers. It wasn't hard to place vague description to the silent confused figures before her. Nerdy, jock, kind, snappy, old. That's about the most she processed. There was obviously a lot more that had been described to her, but looking at them now she decided to just boil it down to the bare minimum.

"Lorayne."

"Hotchner." Cassie stuck a hand out to shake his own. A firm grip meeting an even harder. Calloused fingers met better kept ones. He still had a wedding band on his finger, that was probably the only reason his skincare routine was better. Not that she had any to compete with.

Cassie had met agent Aaron Hotchner before. He was working on a case that bounced back and forth between military and federal jurisdiction. She was stationed in America at the time, a fateful meeting that didn't seem all that important so many years ago. Today she was unable to tell if she was thankful for it or not.

Green tinted eyes met hazel ones. The stare was neither aggressive nor polite. It was just that; a look. "How is Haley?" Hotch's wedding band was warm, he'd been white knuckling his fist all morning. At first she thought it might have been her arrival that sparked the odd tension in the plane, however when a seventh figure emerged from the back end, she realized she shouldered the blame pretty evenly. It didn't take an analyst to pick out he didn't belong here. He wasn't horribly anxious, but he rubbed the nail head of his pinky against his ring finger. He was angry about something. Most likely the liaison she was told would be joining the team temporarily. This was his old case. He'd have to feel some sort of guilt, nervousness, or pressure over this. After all in some way of describing it, it was his fault this guy was still out there. You'd never hear Cassie admitting such a thing out-loud.

Hotch's response about his spouse was interrupted by another voice. A heavy voice, it was filled with confusion. "Hotch?" Aaron turned, Derek was almost out of his seat now. His skin crinkled as his nose scrunched. A half a sneer. "Right, sorry." Aaron took a step to the side, he'd gesture over towards Cassie.

"This is the new agent, introductions were supposed to be more formal but..." Cassie could see the way he fought himself to not look towards the odd man out. She piped up. "Liberté, egalité, fraternité." Her pronunciation wasn't that far off. It sounded practiced. It was. "French revolution?" The skinny kid's brows knitted. His train of thought was derailed by the ever consistent Derek. "We all know that one. What the hell does it have to do with this though?"

Cassie shrugged, awkwardly rubbing her chin against her shoulder as she did so. "Something about sticking it to the man. I was supposed to start Monday, but they weren't entirely sure when the team would return. You're as upset about this meeting as I am." The atmosphere was honestly much kinder than most situations she had been in. But she was out of her element, a fish out of water. Here everyone seemed casual, when her normal was the very opposite. All eyes were on her. It took her another moment to understand why. Thankfully with the change in pace she didn't have to meet every confused gaze with a stiff position. She was allowed to be as informal as possible. Still, impressions mattered.

"Cassandra Lorayne, Cassie, Cass, I don't have much of a preference." Tan fingers flexed against her sides. Without her manual of squaring her shoulders, planting her feet together, and raising an arm to her forehead, she didn't know what to do. Aaron was nice enough to pick up the slack. He'd point with all five fingers towards each member. "Jason Gideon, Elle Greenaway, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, and Max Ryan. Ryan was a part of the initial case eighteen years ago." At each call of their name the member would give some sort of wave or awkward smile, as if the pointing wasn't enough of an indicator.

The air about them gave away the notion that they weren't entirely aware of her indoctrination to the team. Cassie doubted it was sprung on them, but the concept was probably only batted around before more important things stole their attention away. Aaron had known for a while, he was the only one lacking any sort of surprise.

A few moments of people watching later and the jet was already taking off. Nobody sat properly, instead they'd shift their positions to sit around a clunky laptop that Derek was opening up. Dark fingers pads clacked against buttons, a small ringtone, and there was a woman on the other end. She had blonde hair and a very personal choice of fashion sense. "Talk to me sweetheart." Noone on the jet besides Max batted an eye at his nickname for the woman. Reid caught Cassie's confusion. A cautious smile paired with a tilt of her head led him to notifying her with two fingers half raised. "Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst." Cassie nodded. "Your oracle, yeah?" She'd murmur back to him. He didn't quite catch the reference. She didn't get a chance to explain it.

"Philly PD confirmed that Carla Bromwell's been dead less than twelve hours. She was forty-seven years old." Hotch and Morgan glanced between each other. "That's odd."

"Their age range is older."

Elle cut in. "Why would the victimology change?"

"That's not the only odd thing, she was found tied with flex-cuffs, not ropes." Everyone was a puzzled as the next person. "That's all I have for you, PD is waiting for you at the crime scene." Morgan just nodded and waved her off with another unprofessional comment. "Thank you baby girl."

It wasn't easy to tell whether Cassandra's perplexed expression was due to the new information, or Morgan's choice words for his coworkers. Reid would once again offer some lighting. "It's sort of their thing." It wasn't a very good answer, but a relation like that, one that hadn't violated any rules yet, wasn't something she was able to comment too much on as the newbie. Instead she'd take the high road and sit back with a thick file of the former case findings. Unlike most others on the jet, she didn't spend her time researching other murderers and serial killers. It wasn't from a lack of care, more the opposite. Her former job hadn't been much different, albeit more physical. But she tired from surrounding herself with the worst humanity had to offer. She'd seen both sides of the spectrum, but the most heinous interactions often crossed her desk. If she had put any free time into it, she would have taken the plunge several years ago.

Instead of a refresher, this was her first time seeing the details. She'd have to put a good amount of effort into reading up on it. Everyone else was familiar enough. The seasoned veteran of this particular killer didn't seem to keen on the help, which only created another barrier.

He wasn't stupid, and if Cassie could hear the way her newfound coworkers spoke about him, so could he. It wasn't anything unprofessional just voiced concerns. Cassie wondered if she had listened any longer when those same concerns would be made about herself. She didn't have the time to worry about some other's perception. The folder was thick, it smelled like freshly printed paper. Old records had been tracked down and republished, it beat searching up the initial documents.

She'd read over the whole thing twice before flipping back to the first police report and actually thinking about the words in front of her. By all accounts this new method of killing didn't seem to connect the previous offender. If it wasn't for the letter, nobody would have known. Which meant it was someone who wanted to do this, not someone who couldn't stop themselves. Which, Cassie had never found to be an accurate description of a murderer. She knew other profilers would classify that sort of person as an unwilling victim of their own urges. She liked to classify them as dead. But this was FBI, not the lawless land of the military. Blue jeans pressed against the back of leather seat covers, repositioning herself at the previous train of thought.

Why had he changed? It wasn't of his own accord, couldn't possibly be. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Her tongue caught between her teeth, sounding off a sort of clicking noise.

————————————

Carla Bromwell's home was filled to the brim. The news reporters and curious passerby's were enough to give Cassie a headache. The amount of detectives inside was another issue. She'd split off from the two most comforting figures to take a look at the body. Gideon and Elle were headed to the room as well. "Agents Gideon, Greenaway, and Lorayne." The department detective raised a brow, but he wasn't given time to push the subject matter when Max came into the room.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

Cassie didn't listen to the rest of their conversation. She might have been interrupting something when she spoke. "It's been processed?" A simple nod was all that she'd need. Kneeling down near the body, Cassie would carefully move her wrists and neck. The photos were an obvious indication that this was a different methodology. Elle took over, repeating Cassie's steps. Maybe it was out of distrust. Maybe it was out of morbid curiosity. "There's no bruising."

"The note said 'no fight'." Cassie tilted her gaze up towards Elle. Who was currently distracted with something else. From the looks of it, one could only assume it was whatever Max had said. Bad first impressions, but Cassie was struggling to really care about how the older man felt about all of this. Her scrutiny wasn't solely just from blaming him, more so his attitude. She didn't like it. Which wasn't actually saying much given she didn't like a lot of things.

Gideon broke the tense silence. "The wound is extensive, it's violent, he's escalating." Elle went on a sort of goose hunt after that. Not that Cassie would have done any differently, but she just wouldn't have said it out-loud. Her ability to work with others wasn't nonexistent, yet it did need an update to the manual.

"Elle's good at this sort of thing Max."

"Never said she wasn't."

Leveraging herself with the nightstand, she'd use an arm to stand up and take a step back so Max could look at the body himself. There wasn't anything else the could learn from it without the forensics report. Ryan pressed a padded finger against the woman's clothes. "I haven't felt like this around a dead body in a long time."

Cassie didn't need to hear anymore. He was taking it too personally. The former MP was no saint, she had her fair share of cases that she wore too openly on her sleeve. She had grown since then, to some extent. And in the areas that she hadn't, she kept hidden.

As she was stepping out, Reid, Hotch, Elle, and Morgan were all coming back. Hotchner had a paper in his gloved hands. It didn't take a genius to guess what it was.

"In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present." Max had taken the note, intent on reading it with his own eyes. The note offered two more context clues, a quote from Max's book, and the promise of a gift in two days. It was all an attempt at riling the former agent up. The unsub was targeting him specifically. Either a grotesque fascination or the perfect means of getting him worked up. An on edge agent is an agent who can't do his job. It was working.

They weren't going to find anymore than that. The behavioral team led themselves outside, only to be greeted by more angry reporters and microphones in their face. Cassie weaved through the crowd and dodged into the closest car available to her. A black sedan with tinted windows, a rental, something for the team to use. The department was the next agreed upon stop, from there everyone had done just about the same as her.

Unluckily enough she had managed to pick the one vehicle that Morgan was driving. The leather smelt of some bad cleaning agent and the air was humid inside the van. Getting comfortable seemed impossible so she'd opted for the self meditating movements of pressing down overgrown cuticles with her thumb.

"So,"

She turned her head, her eyes lagging behind in the motion of facing him.

"So?"

"First day."

The car stalled to stop. Someone was taking too long to turn.

"Yep."

"That's all? No questions, comments, concerns? No issues?"

Cassie's light brown brows furrowed. "Should there be?"

"No."

"Then, no."

There was silence again. The conversation was over.

"But,"

Until it wasn't.

"Most aren't as enthusiastic to touch a body on their first day."

"CSI had already done what they needed to. I didn't see anything wrong with it."

Morgan let out an odd half-laugh, half-cough. "Again, I meant as enthusiastic." He'd tilt his head to the side, still facing forward as he spoke. His eyes never left the road ahead, but he made up for that with other movements. Every time he spoke his right pointer and middle finger would spread off of the wheel and point to who knows what. His right thumb tapped against the leather cover.

"I wasn't enthusiastic."

Her nose would crease with the rest of her face. An extended proof of her dissatisfaction over the comment, as if the quick change in tone wasn't enough.

"It was the first thing you did."

"But it's not my first time."

She watched as his bottom lip tucked under his front teeth.

"What did you do before joining the BAU?"

"You don't know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I did."

"This. Homicide investigation. We were all profilers, and detectives, and the law."

"Military?"

"Yeah. Aaron didn't say anything?"

"Didn't get the time to."

"Right."

There was no more talking after that. Further into the city streets Morgan would trade his hand motions for a thin pursing of his lips. Traffic was entertaining enough to drop any other questions he had. Or, Cassie just wasn't.

There was no time wasted between parking the rental and meeting with the other timely members of the unit. They made their way inside the sand colored building and pretty quickly they had the entire department working with them. Cassie would take a few steps towards the back, as though she were yet another officer these agents were preaching to. It wasn't only due to her new rank on the totem pole with the team. She was also a little jarred by how quickly they where to adhere to policy and comply. Then again, this was the bureaucratic process, not the militaristic.

Hotch lead the beginning of the profile, as he went on the others bounced off of him. They were a real unit. Real as hers used to be. Most likely better.

"Over the last two decades, our killer has changed. The age of his victims is more notable."

The head detective on the case shrugged his shoulders. "The keystone killer is older, his victims are older too. So?"

"Most killers have specific fantasies they act out through their violence. These people fall under an identifiable few categories. He liked young brunettes."

"And that means?"

Back to the BAU members, they worked fairly seamlessly. There was no indication of a turn, however nobody attempted to speak over the younger Dr. when he chimed in. A commentary on Ted Bundy. Cassie only hoped he was brought up due to his known name, and not some weird fascination. Reid would go on to explain even Bundy had a type, a type that when he started to neglect, lead to his ultimate capture. In the same vain, it lead to more violence.

Gideon raised both palms at an angle. "It could be a sign that he's devolving." As though there was some invisible speaking baton being passed between the group, their statements moved from one to another. First with Morgan. "Which could mean he's about to slip up. Though, the devolution theory is just that, a theory, we can't rely on it."

"If he is in a frenzy," Hotch interjected, taking the mantle of the conversation again. "We can't tell how fast he'll continue to devolve."

"Or how many more victims he'll take before he's finished." Gideon curled his mouth inward.

"So, in order to keep that number as low as we can, we need to go over everything. Everything we learned eighteen years ago, everything we got today."

The oldest of the BAU leaned back against a whiteboard covered wall. He steepled his fingers together. "We'll start with the older profile, Max," The latter turned away, shaking his head and waving the former off. Gideon sent a look towards Hotch, who cast it over to Cassie. Her eyes went wide, then they scrunched up. Russet colored lips pursed before a curtly nod was offered.

"Right the..." She thought, frowned, then continued speaking. "We're looking for a man in his forties now, white. He's thoughtful, meticulous. His former means of killing suggests a law enforcement or military background. Most likely he's stayed in the same area all of his life." Had she been speaking too much? She passed the proverbial stick with a look of confusion. Tossing it's invisible form into the air and hoping for the best.

Elle would come to the rescue. Then Morgan, then Reid, and back to Hotch for a closing statement. Gideon had meandered off after Max. At least, that was the most likely scenario. She couldn't really see the stern faced agent walking off just because he didn't want to present in front of the class anymore.

If he had, she wouldn't have judged. Her own presentation of the profile left a bad taste in her mouth. She wasn't used to this way of phrasing it. It felt clunky, unnecessary. She looked for evidence and facts, not probability. A profile wasn't unheard of in her investigative unit, but it wasn't relied on in the way it was here. Psychology was one thing, making up a killer in your mind was another. She was still skeptical. Openly so when she had been interviewed for the position. They felt her stance was a fresh look. She felt it was a pity situation.

After wrapping up the main idea, Hotch gestured for the team to follow him to a carved out space for them. The blinds were up, leaving the goings on inside of the room visible to everyone. Cassie didn't mind. The openness felt fresh. The sun could peak in through the windows. Her old office had been without windows, the light fixtures were bleary, the paint job reminiscent of a filing cabinet covered in dust. She much preferred it here.

She appreciated the two whiteboards. Even if it made the room more cramped, it allowed the youngest of the group to visualize his musings. In her past, she would have just strewn papers about her desk and hoped for the best. That seemed viable here too, but with so many members it might have gotten overwhelming. She glanced down at the wooden fixture. It already was.

"We should focus on the differences between the crimes, what's he doing that's new?" Hotch breezed past the group, yet another Manila folder in his hands.

Elle, Hotch, and Morgan opted to sit around the table. Reid stood, phasing in and out of his own little world when the conversation required it. Gideon was beside him, he put more of his eggs in the basket of the exchange. The self-certified genius was good at balancing them between the two. Cassie was comfortable standing as well, just on the other side of the room. "The victim was hit in the head, so that's one." Derek leaned back against his seat. "The note mentioned she didn't put up a fight, so why feel the need to hit her? To show dominance?"

Hotch shook his head. It didn't make sense. "He never needed to before." Elle thrummed her fingers along a photo of the crime scene. "But a hit like that wouldn't just scare her, it would knock her out."

"—To control her better." The head of the group finished.

Cassie's gaze flicked between each speaker, landing on Gideon as he found interest in the abyss. He stared towards a photo, but his head seemed somewhere else. "He switched from a knot, his signature, to flex-cufs."

"They're easier, it saved him time." Morgan kept his eyes on Gideon. He'd turn his head over his shoulders to catch Cassie's eye when he finished speaking.

"No, no, it's not that. The knot was intimate. It wasn't about the ease of immobilizing her. He chose a completely unnecessary approach."

"Maybe we should just forget about this, seriously. It's not helping us to go over what others already knew. Let's pretend he's a new offender."

The glass was cool against her arms, she'd trade her hands for her biceps when pushing off of the wall to step forward. A little brazenly, she let a few fingers fall to the head of Morgan's chair, pressing down and holding on as a sort of cane for her posture. "That's the problem, he's still the same person he was. We can't mull over what happened in the past, but we can certainly compare it to the future. He went from intimate, slow, methodical killings. He played out his fantasy with full physical control. So he traded it, for what? A smack to the head and a heavy lidded girl. He can't watch himself take the life from her eyes anymore. Where's the 'fun' in that." Cassie sucked in a breath through her teeth during her commentary. She let it go quickly as she ended.

"What I'm saying is—"

"—Guys, I have a name." All eyes moved from Cassie to Reid. She lifted her hand off of Morgan's chair and crossed her arms. Her hip dropped at an angle and she balanced more weight on her left leg.

"Nibrahs? What is that?" Reid bit the inner left part of his cheek at Elle's question. "It's backwards, S. Harbin. He was an original suspect."

"It's not him."

Max had finally made his entrance. He brushed off the conclusion, claiming Scott Harbin, S., had been in jail for stabbing someone. Sentenced thirty years, which meant there was no way it was him.

"Unless he's out on parole."

Max didn't seem to keen on the notion. "He's a pervert and a small time thief, he steals undergarments. I interviewed him, twice, he's no killer." There were a few exchanged looks. Morgan picked up his phone and nodded in Hotch's direction, who returned it with a nod of his own. "I'm going to call Garcia, see if she can find anything about him."

Max raised his voice, adamant that they were being lead down a dead end. A second wave of looks. Silence. Morgan left.

"Jason why are we here?"

"Hm?"

"Are we here to catch him, or just prove to Max he knows more than us?"

Nobody answered, because the only one who could had left. The four remaining didn't have a chance to pick up where Cassie had left off. Derek came back in with a shit-eating grin and a notecard with scribbles on it.

"We've got an address for Scott Harbin. He was paroled three months ago, missed his last hearing."

"That makes him a wanted man." Elle was already out of her seat, pulling her brown jacket over her shoulders.

Leaving the station house required a bit more than a few rental and squad cars. Priorities were higher, everyone was banking on the fact that this was supposed to be their guy. A killer to be put away. It still felt too easy. However, a dead end still pointed you to a different direction. They'd be negligent not to take it. No matter what was about to meet them on the other side.

————————————

They'd been banking on the fact that this was their Keystone Killer, SWAT was going to be involved one way or another. It took a few extra moments to get their group in the door after the men in black. They took a more defensive stance and let the first three members of the BAU past. Elle and Cassie were at the forefront, the presence sent a silent figure to dart from behind a cabinet.

"Don't move— Hey!"

Elle practically vaulted past Cassie towards the man, grabbing him by his shoulder and sending a swift kick to the back of his leg. He stumbled over and she applied her weight to his back to apprehend him. "Are you Scott Harbin?" Cassie felt a hand on her shoulder, and instinctively she moved out of the way. Max looked down at the man being detained. "That's him."

"Nice to see you too Ryan." He'd smile up from his cuffed position. Cassie's brows met in the space between her eyes and tilted upwards. "You missed a parole hearing." Gideon commented. It was just an excuse, they had no reason to be here. They had no real evidence. A lawyer could dismiss his name in the riddle easily. But, an excuse bought them time and a search warrant.

The agents wandered through his home, picking up what they could just based on his arrangements. He was organized, neat, obsessively so. He needed constant control over every aspect of his life. It made a good argument. Cassie didn't like the feeling of it, though. She stood in front of him, her hands resting on her hips. Her expression gave a lot more away than just a train of thought. She bounced from theory to theory. Moss colored iris' scanned his form. Even going so far as to move behind him from where he sat in the arm of his couch. She couldn't see any injury to his hands. Nothing of note about his posture or physical capabilities. He moved his fingers back and forth, a squeezing motion, an attempt at self soothing. She didn't think this was the guy. As much of a creep as he was.

He looked out of the corner of his eye at her. "You finished checking me out?" Cassie locked eyes with him, nothing but disinterest on her face. She wasn't going to say anything, even if she was she wouldn't have had the chance. Elle made her way over, almost gesturing for Cassie to take a position behind her. The two were about the same height, maybe Elle had an inch or two on her. Cass was a little better built physically. Not a hulking mass of muscle, but you could see the beginning of a tone through her short sleeved shirt. She'd take the offer anyway and step around the two. Elle was leaning over in Scott's face, her eyes wide with something beyond disinterest. Fury maybe. "Did she upset you? Make you angry? What? You're fantasizing about hurting her, me? No, no you wouldn't do that. What's the matter Harbin, can't handle a woman who isn't afraid of you?"

Scott licked his lips. A sign of enjoyment, a sign of stress, it wasn't enough to tell just from the movement alone. Agitated, probably.

Gideon pulled Elle aside. Cassie didn't want to listen. She moved on from the room and up the stairs to the second floor of the home. A few SWAT agents still roamed, but she mostly watched as Morgan and Hotch moved back and forth. They stopped in the entrance of a room for a second. She waited, too many cooks in the kitchen. She wasn't needed anywhere right now.

"We need some help in here! Get an ambulance, now!" Morgan's voice was like an alarm bell ringing, everyone throughout the home heard it. Someone called out a response and raced down the steps past her. She was moving with similar urgency in the opposite direction. She was tall enough to see over their hunched forms, Hotchner and Morgan crouched near a woman. Her mouth had been taped shut, her feet tied at the ankles. She was wrapped in some sort of plastic. Awkwardly, Cassie shouldered Morgan to push him out of the way. She wormed herself between the two and pulled out a knife from her back pocket. Carefully she tilted the sharper side of the blade up towards the ceiling and worked it under the plastic. It took a bit of leveraging and gentle 'It's okay, you're okay, its okay' to get the knife to pierce the solution. Once she had it torn enough she moved to pull a blanket off of the bed above them. Hotch helped to cover the exposed woman as Cassie cut, leaving no room for any extended embarrassment.

The woman wasn't harmed besides a few bruises on her hips and thighs. That was good enough for Cassie. Once she finished peeling back the last of what was on top, she switched positions with Hotchner and pressed a hand against the woman's cheek. There were too many sounds, too many questions, too many voices, Cassie only focused on the lady's sobs. She did her best to murmur those same former phrases over and over again.

What felt like far too long of a time later, EMTs came into the room and pushed the three aside. Hotch left the building first, his cellphone indicating his attention was needed elsewhere are the moment. Morgan got out of their way, heading down the steps to reconvene with Gideon, Elle, and Max. Cassie stayed, she stayed until they were putting the victim on a stretcher and carrying her down the steps. She helped at the transfer point, holding the right corner of the stretcher near her head. She hadn't repeated her mantras in a while, the EMTs had picked up the slack for her. Once they could begin to wheel her out, the profiler let them go.

Philly PD wanted to be the ones to make the arrest. It looked better to the news reporters already gathering outside. Cass could only hope they had enough sense to not photograph the victim as she was being taken away, but she wasn't ignorant.

"It doesn't make any sense, he was a small time creep." Max let out a breath as he spoke. Gideon blinked. "He fits your profile, the age, the background, the obsessive traits."

"Still—"

"Guys." Cass pulled a slip of paper out of the wipers of one of the rental cars. "It's.. for you," She passed it to Max.

Isn't Scott an inelegant monster. He harbors no light. He is pure evil. Balance is what produces mercy. You'll be reminded of my mercy tomorrow.

K.K.

"We didn't get him?" Everyone had started to gather now. The pause was enough to spark concern. Morgan spoke first, Gideon answered. Max was too stuck in his head, going over everything yet again. He was reliving the chase from eighteen years ago. It wasn't pretty. "He's not the one we're looking for. Form a six block perimeter, we have to have seen him."

But they hadn't. Nobody had. He had been right outside, waiting for the exact moment the police would file in like ducks after their mother. He had slipped off without anyone the wiser. The atmosphere on the way back was bleak. Everyone shared a similar sentiment of frustration. Cassie couldn't feel proud of her observations from earlier, it had only served to get off the sick freak who was orchestrating all of this. It sentenced another victim to a worse fate. The BAU's methods made her feel stagnant, like she had no more control over what was about to happen than a leaf did over the way the winds blow.

"That's got to be a first for the BAU, a killer leading us to another." Hotch commented as the made their way back to the little room they were given for mediation. "No, we all know they make the best profilers, it's how they find their own victims. It's how they think they can get away with it." The oldest would correct.

"So we're starting over. Run by it again, what do we know about the Keystone Killer?"

"He's not dead, or in jail."

"He likes playing with us, he's treating it like a game where he's controlling all of the pieces." Elle raised her head as she spoke. Then Morgan, then Reid.

"He strangled seven women in the late eighties, stopped for eighteen years, then picked it back up again. Only this time he chose to suffocate them. Ten percent of violent crimes are carried out through strangulation, it only takes eleven pounds to incapacitate a person. Hanging on for a minute longer and that person will never recover." The skinny kid's ramblings weren't bad. Cassie could admire them for what they were worth. He was smart. Probably smarter than she'd ever be. The only difference was he learned his facts through textbook, and she earned hers through practice.

"But, he suffocated his latest victim. It's actually more passive than strangulation. What Lorayne was saying earlier, he can't feel the life leave the body." Aaron reaffirmed.

"But why? Why, why, why? Why change his MO, it suggests a blitz attack, yet in the past he walks right into his victim's homes without so much as a struggle."

Cassie's face lit up, her expression almost elongating in a moment of realization. She had never finished her train of thought from before. They had been so distracted with Scott Harbin that she had just forgotten nobody else was thinking the same as she was.

"We keep talking about this as though he's doing it on purpose, but what if it's not. What if something happened that stopped him. A sole loss of confidence isn't enough for such a drastic change. He lost his confidence in his own abilities, not his means of killing. A few years ago I was on a case that involved a serial murderer, similarly to this guy's MO. Maybe a little less showy— in any case, he started to slip up when he changed. And he only changed because he had been in a supply moving accident. Lost all control of his dominate hand. Couldn't kill the way he wanted to. He found another way, but it was sloppy, witnesses were around, we caught him."

Morgan leaned against the wall where Cassie had once stood. "So it's an injury?"

"Or a stroke." Hotch looked to Reid, who shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Either one, there will have to be some sort of medical records, right?" Derek didn't really agree with Gideon. "Alright, so an accident after nineteen eighty-eight in Philidelphia, that doesn't lower our suspect pool by much at all."

"It's too many hospital records." Spencer finally answered.

"Call Garcia anyways, see what she can find." Pointing towards the exit, Gideon gestured to Morgan.

It took a few minutes for Morgan to return, he had a slanted smile. Not good, not bad. "There's a lot of records to go through. Garcia's having them sent over now."

Hotch moved towards the fax machine as it sounded off, indicating the first few pages. "Let's get started then." He'd grab a couple, pass them around, and repeat until everyone had a handful. Cassie still didn't sit with her pile, she'd let it sit off on the top of a cabinet next to her while she looked through whatever her current file was.

Morgan tossed down a few papers, a frown on his dark lips. "We're looking for a guy in his twenties, is that too early for a stroke?"

"I still think it's a possibility. We're looking for a fair amount of loss of mobility." Aaron didn't look up from his stack. Reid did however, happily explaining the statistics around strokes. Something or other, Cassie brushed it off with a laugh that sounded more from her nose than it did her mouth.

"Hm?"

Reid was staring at her now. So was Hotch and Morgan. She shook her head, biting the inner flesh of her cheek as she did so. They all went back to their own files.

Twenty-five minutes in and it felt a little hopeless. The records Garcia had given didn't narrow it down at all. Sure a few names were marked off, but then again too many to count were added. "This is taking too long. Just for a moment let's rule out strokes, what's something else that could have happened?" Cassie mimicked Morgan's earlier frustrated motion and tossed her papers down.

"A car accident would have to be filed in police records, especially if it resulted in injury, right?" Spencer tried to pick up where she was leaving off. Gideon and Max nodded.

"Back then we profiled him to have some sort of American-made sedan."

"Alright, then why don't I call Garcia back, have her cross reference sedan accidents with Philly PD records. That should narrow it down significantly with what we've established."

"It's a long shot." Ryan seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes at Morgan, a slip of a few words from Cassie halted that means of response. "It's better than nothing."

For the third time that day, Morgan would return from his little 'chat' with Garcia. Only this time he seemed a lot more proud of himself. "'Think I've got something; Walter Kern, fits our age range, military background. ROTC, Air Force, his accident happened right outside of Bromwell's address."

He passed the already printed document around. Cassie skimmed over it. He certainly looked like the type. "In his accident he lost mobility of his right side due to spinal cord and nerve damage." Veiny hands rolled up dove-white sleeves as he spoke.

Cassie watched as the invisible stick returned to the playing field. It was Hotch's turn. "He installed home alarms with, guess who, Scott Harbin."

She sought to grab it before it was taken by someone else. "That's how he could walk right in to his victim's home without issue." And as quickly as she had it, it was taken by Elle. Tapping her pencil against the paper, she'd flick it back and forth with her ring finger. "He got his major in criminology. Shows to how he was able to evade law enforcement."

And from Elle to Gideon, "Do we have an address?"

"575 Wight Street Southeast Philadelphia. Got you, you son of a bitch."

That was probably the first time Max had smiled in the day that Cass had known him. There was no time to mull over it, once again the team was up and moving. SWAT was hesitant, they had failed to catch him the first time, leniency wasn't on their side. Neither was the press.

Cass was stuck with Morgan again, Reid too, though he kept to himself in the back of the car.

"You were right."

Again she was stolen from her thoughts by the brawny driver.

"Is that shocking?"

"Well, not when you phrase it like that. I was trying to compliment you, you know."

"Oh."

"That's it?"

"No, I was trying to think of something to reference that you would understand."

"Like?"

"A philosophical quote, nothing good came to mind. That's not exactly my thing."

Reid was about to say something and Morgan had that look in his eyes through the rear view mirror, something that screamed break-check. Reid no longer had anything to say.

"What is your thing then."

"Nothing really. Oh, I guess something along the lines of I'm the Chandler to your Phoebe, though that's a bit of a stretch. I only watched a few— Nevermind."

Morgan gave a dumbfounded look, but didn't press the issue. There were bigger problems than whatever Cassie got up to in her limited free-time.

Gideon and Max took the lead on the entry of the home this time. It was almost deserved.

They knocked once.

No answer.

Twice.

No answer.

It was bordering on three when the door finally swung open. A woman in her later fourties' answered, she had short brown hair and a tired face. Makeup, jewelry, her clothes were ironed. Cassie's nose crinkled.

"This is agent Ryan with the FBI, we need to speak with your husband." The woman quickly looked away. She was sheepish, confused. She'd stutter out a response to Gideon. "He's not here."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Well, I,"

"Why don't you let us inside?"

She stuttered, again, failing to form any coherent sentence. She'd nod anyways and the team followed inside. His wife said something about volunteering at a community center. Gideon notified Hotch, to which Cassie gently pressed her fingers to his raised elbow. He looked at her, doe-like eyes squinting in confusion. She took a step back and mumbled. "Don't send everyone there. He's still intent on giving us that 'gift'." Jason looked her up and down once, then complied without saying anything in response to her.

Max had let the reason they were there slip, the murders, the seven victims.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, please." She didn't take very kindly to the notion. Then again no good person would. "What you're suggesting is absurd, and,"

"—I don't think you believe that Mrs. Kern." Cassie took a step closer to the woman. She was taller than her. Height helped in most cases she had been on before.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't think you believe that your husband has nothing to do with this. You're dressed awfully nice, he likes you that way doesn't he. Modest, untouchable. Though, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that last part isn't true."

"Lorayne," Gideon warned. She should have listened, should have stopped talking. This was her first day, her first case, she had everything to lose. And yet so did an innocent girl.

"I'm guessing he has a space in the house, a room, an area, a closet, a chest youre not supposed to touch. Don't look inside of, don't even think about. If you did, Walter would get angry, wouldn't he?"

The wife took a step back. Cassie took a step forward. She looked anywhere but the agent's face. "He has a photo-room, but he only worries that I'll mess up his pictures. That's all."

"Eighteen years ago you noticed your husband fell into a depression, it seemed like it would never end. Maybe he was more irritable. You were thankful on one hand, he couldn't hit you if he wanted to. But he wasn't the same. Just a few days ago he returned back to his old self, for better and for worse."

"How do... no, what does it mean? Did he..?" Cass blew a quick puff of air out of her nose and stepped off to the side. She had said all she needed to.

"We need to see that room Mrs. Kern." She didn't miss the way Gideon followed her with a grim expression as he spoke.

SWAT was the first to clear the cellar on the left side of their home. It was cold, but well kept even from a quick glance at the stairway. Heading further into it lead to a room covered in photos, newspapers, anything relating to the case. He had a copy of the book Max had written about his experiences as an agent. He was a textbook stalker. Countless photos of past and present victims framed the steel-toned stone.

Reid flipped through a scrapbook looking binder. A collection of his killings, a story. There was a chapter missing, like he had referenced in his notes before. He wasn't finished, he had only killed Carla now because he had planned to kill her before. His accident had stopped him. It explained the extended depression. His fix wasn't just the killings, it was the perfection behind them. The consistent evasion, the methodology.

"Who's in the latest chapter then?"

"Sylvia Gooden."

Gideon stepped back into the room, he looked down at the image of the woman. "Hotch confirmed Walter left the community center an hour ago. We need Gooden's address."

Thankfully, for as much as a memorabilia fanatic he was, he included everything there was about these women. Including addresses.

The team was on the new sight as fast as possible, SWAT and Philly PD were right on their heels. It didn't take longer than a handful of seconds for them to be suited up and ready. Gideon confirmed Walter's vehicle was a block down the street. Preparations to go in were moving fast. Max raised his voice so the crowd of people could hear him.

"I want him taken in alive."

Which as fun as that sentiment was, it wasn't always a good one. They didn't have a clue what state they'd find Kern or Gooden in. Her life may come down to his. And while rotting in prison before his sentence was earned was the best possible outcome, Max needed to grapple with the fact he might not see satisfaction.

The blur of guns and combat boots breezed through the main doorway. Clearing each room was impertinent, and so was following the screams they could hear from Sylvia above. Gideon lead, followed by Morgan, Max, and Cass. Gideon trained his gun eye level before pushing open the door. There must have been eight voices, all yelling some different version of the same thing; 'Don't Move.'

Morgan detained Kern. He'd purposefully bash his side off of a full length mirror. A feasible accident excuse would work just fine. Cass made out the hand off to Max from behind her. Kern spoke of the former agent like some star crossed lover. She tried not to pay too much attention to it.

Currently calloused fingers were preoccupied in removing the plastic from Sylvia's face. She brushed her thumb against the older woman's forehead, checking to make sure the blood that was leaking was also clotting. It had already started to dry, she hadn't been hit too badly. Most likely because she had struggled too much for Kern's liking.

"Shh.. shh.. it's okay, you're okay. My name is Cassandra Lorayne, alright Miss Gooden? You're not hurt anywhere else, right?"

The blonde woman shook her head. Her body was trembling. She was sweating, her skin was clammy. It was taking her a bit longer to get the words out of her sob choked throat. Cassie didn't rush her. She'd repeat what she had done with the previous victim hours earlier. A gentle seesawing motion of her knife and the flex-cuffs were off.

"Breathe with me Miss Gooden."

She was sitting up now, her shoulders heaving with another heavy cry. Cassie moved from her kneeling position to sit beside her. She pulled the woman closer and sheltered her within her arms. "You're okay, it's over now, you're okay." And she'd repeat those words for as long as she could. As long as it took for them to feel real.

————————————

Cassie was still getting accustomed to the whole private jet thing. It felt too classy, even if half the participants aboard had already slipped off their shoes and curled up under a blanket. Sometime she'd have to find wherever that stash of linens was. Though, for now, she was preparing herself for an earful. Gideon was moving from his seat to her end of the plane. He was at least kind enough to ensure the only one listening was Elle. To which Cassie couldn't mind too much, she felt a sort of solidarity in their methods, so hopefully the other brunette wouldn't be too abrasive in the aftermath of her scolding.

"You really think he beat her?"

"What?"

She had always been told to never play poker. Which was a sad comment given she was actually great at the game, just not great at her expressions. She could hold out in situations that called for a stern, unwavering face. But right here, right now, she was too wound up to keep her feelings to herself. Crinkled features gave a pretty good indication that she was absolutely taken aback.

"I asked a question Lorayne."

"Err, honestly? No. She didn't give away all of the signs, just some. Some is enough to incite a thought, and a thought is enough to be a fear. Even if he hadn't, she had rationalized that he could. Or, would, if she crossed a certain line."

"Alright."

"Alright?"

Gideon turned to sit down, he was done with the conversation. She'd outstretch a hand to say something else, but recoiled and changed her mind.

JJ had an open seat across from her, and Cassie would find comfort in the openness that followed.

"Have any of you been told about the time that Gideon was tricked into. . ."

So, this was her new home. For lack of a better phrase. It would take some time to fit in, and more effort still. Though, Cassie was able to let go of her fear for just a moment. It was the first time that day she had stopped thinking about the past, and hoped for the future.

————————————

Date Posted: 04/24/24

Not Yet Proofread, too lazy :(.

Next Chapter: 05/02/24

#criminal minds #bau team #spencer reid #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #elle greenaway #jj jareau #dr spencer reid #oc #original character #multifandom account #x reader #jason gideon #hannibal lecter

10 notes · View notes

im-a-wonderling · 1 year

Text

Love & Hate, Part VII ~ Paul Lahote

Wow, this series is getting more and more popular. This part has one of my favorite scenes in the whole fanfic, so I hope you guys enjoy! @writing-on-the-wahl, thank you so much for being such a good sport about helping me edit all my fanfics before I post them. You’re the best, and I’m forever grateful.

Warnings: descriptions of needles and drawing blood

Word count: 9k

Love & Hate masterlist

The two mile walk from his cabin to Sam and Emily’s house took twice as long as it could’ve, but Paul didn’t want to let the wolf out. After so thoroughly losing his freedom of choice last night, he wanted to avoid shifting if at all possible.

It sent him into a foul mood, the fact that he was tiptoeing around something within himself. Nothing egged at him quite so much as that.

If Y/N wasn’t around, he wouldn’t have any issues with the wolf. There would be no need for arguing, no need for spontaneous trips to Kansas City, and absolutely no need for Jacob to bite him. Paul ran his hand across his shoulder underneath the sleeves of his tank, over the place where the bite mark had been. The wound had closed fairly quickly thanks to his supernatural healing, but the memories of the pain and embarrassment lingered.

He was so far gone, so preoccupied with thoughts of a woman that his packmate had to bite him?

And worse than that, the words Jared shared about Y/N being alone wormed around in his brain, joining forces with the wolf’s utter mortification over the fight they’d had. In favor of dealing with the full moon, Paul pushed the memories of the argument aside, but now the full moon was over. Now there was no excuse to make to rid himself of the waves of shame.

A growl loosed from his throat.

Paul was easily irritated, he knew that, but Y/N could just get under his skin like no one else ever had.

Add that to the wolf’s constant, unhelpful commentary about how beautiful she was and how good it would feel to be next to her and how perfect she was…Paul’s path to being the crazy villager everyone laughed about was almost set in stone.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the present.

Apparently, when Sam had informed Carlisle of the events the night of the full moon earlier this morning, Carlisle had asked for the chance to speak to the pack. Since Paul was intentionally not shifting, he didn’t have the chance to see the memory, but according to what Sam said on the phone, Carlisle had been rather anxious.

What could have the doctor all tied in knots?

I suppose I’m about to find out, Paul thought as he opened the front door.

Y/N’s scent hit him like a semi truck, and he immediately clenched his fists, fighting his desires both for more air and more of her smell.

Had her scent always been this sweet?

Paul didn’t know, but if her scent was somehow becoming more irresistible to him over time, he might as well take up permanent residence in Kansas City if he wanted to be a functional human being.

Was there somewhere in La Push Paul could get a scuba tank? If he brought his own air, there was no need to be smelling Y/N’s.

He shook his head.

Stupid idea.

He stepped into the house, trying to ignore the intoxicating smell, lest he lose any semblance of common sense he had left. As soon as Paul laid eyes on the scene in the living room, however, he realized he had much bigger problems.

Jacob sat on the armchair, like he always did, while Sam and Emily stood beside the walkway to the kitchen. A few werewolves lazed about on the furniture while the majority of the pack made themselves at home on the floor. Considering the pack’s rise in numbers, there wasn’t any floor space to spare.

Carlisle Cullen stood with his back to the fireplace, hands wringing and eyes flitting to look at every werewolf in the room. Leah, perched on the arm of the couch, gave a mock salute when she saw Paul. She was the only one to acknowledge him. The rest of the pack watched the doctor. No one assumed the bloodsucker’s news was of a good variety, but his apparent nerves heightened the highly strung atmosphere.

The tension in the air was unlike anything Paul had ever experienced.

Paul stood on the other side of the walkway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, pretending like he knew exactly what to do with his arms. His ears caught the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, and from the labored gait, he knew exactly who it was.

When Y/N came around the corner, Paul’s heart seized in his throat.

He’d forgotten how beautiful she was. It wasn’t just one part of her. It wasn’t only the way her hair framed her face or the sensuous lips or the innate grace she carried, even with her limp. No, her beauty belonged in the whole picture, the balance and colors used in this living painting.

His insides leapt as she came closer. He wasn’t sure if he’d been existing these past few days because to be seen by her was to exist, and it’d been far too long since they’d last seen each other.

Paul’s brain came to a screeching halt.

Those thoughts weren’t his.

Shut up, Paul grumbled at the wolf.

Still, the wolf barked in protest as Y/N limped right past him without batting an eye.

“Y/N,” Sam said congenially.

Instead of saying anything back or even nodding, she pursed her lips, throwing a glare in his direction. When Jacob got up to offer him her seat, she fixed him with the same cold stare and limped over to stand by the wall opposite Paul instead.

Paul cocked his head, suddenly curious.

Why was she behaving with such hostility? There was no way she’d forgiven Paul for the comments he’d made after changing her tire, but she wouldn’t take that out on Sam or Jacob. She was unreasonable, but not that unreasonable.

Which meant something else was going on.

Whatever it was, it most likely had something to do with Carlisle’s studious effort to avoid looking in Y/N’s direction. Didn’t the two of them work together? They’d acted fairly chummy before, so why suddenly did Carlisle look as if there was a tennis ball stuck in his throat?

Paul suddenly straightened.

Had some sort of romantic advance been made? Had Y/N…

He didn’t want to finish the thought, not when her smell was calling to him. Not when it took all his strength not to give into the gravity she’d always seemed to have around him. Besides, the doctor was happily married…right?

But what if Y/N was attracted to him? It would make sense because they were both in the medical field, but she wasn’t supposed to be with the bloodsucker, she was supposed to be with him. No one could ever be good enough for her, but Paul was the only one who could be sure to try every day to keep her safe and happy.

Really, man? Paul asked the wolf. Calm down.

“Alright, Carlisle,” Sam said, arms folded in the stance he typically took when he was trying to look authoritative (Paul had once caught him practicing it in a mirror). “What’s the news?”

Carlisle cleared his throat, and Paul couldn’t help noticing he now looked like a high school boy about to confess to his parents that he’d accidentally gotten a girl pregnant. “Um, well, my family and I…we-we decided not to, uh, tell you about this, but with the events of late, it’s probably best that you know.”

Paul exchanged a nervous look with Jacob. A bloodsucker secret? This couldn’t be good.

“You may recall that some humans have blood that sings to vampires.” Carlisle took a deep breath. “These ��singers’ are nearly impossible for vampires to resist, especially if they haven’t practiced resisting human blood before.”

“So…it’s like how Bella’s blood sang to Edward?” Jacob asked.

Y/N hadn’t known that, judging by the slight rise of her eyebrows.

Paul hated the fact he’d even noticed.

“Yes, like that.” Carlisle scratched his neck. Then, his eyes darted in Y/N’s direction, as if it were uncontrollable.

A flare of some green-eyed, protective need rang through Paul, like Carlisle’s look was a mallet hitting Paul’s bell. “Out with it already,” Paul grumbled, curling his hands into first to keep from storming towards the vampire and bashing his face in. “Some of us have patrols to do.”

Carlisle shoved his hands into his pockets. “As you know, werewolves and vampires are natural enemies.” He paused again, and Paul only just resisted the urge to walk over and shake the words out of him. “I think that’s why this vampire is hanging around.”

Confused murmurs erupted in the room, as mostly everyone still didn’t understand what Carlisle was getting at.

“What didn’t your family want to tell us?” Sam asked, trying to get straight to the point.

“The blood of a wolf’s imprint sings to all vampires,” Carlisle said.

The whole world ceased to spin, teetering dangerously on its axis.

Paul gaped at the doctor.

How long had the Cullens been sitting on this? Did the Cullens have any idea how much danger they’d put Emily in by not telling the pack this information? Or Kim, Jared’s imprint? Or Quil’s kindergarten imprint?

Of course, the Cullens kept this to themselves. Renesmee, being half vampire, was most likely immune to this.

A few growls sounded around Paul, and he knew he was not the only one having a hard time refraining from violence.

Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw Sam shift to stand in between the doctor and Emily. “You’re saying,” Sam said slowly, like he was imagining what Carlisle would look like with a broken nose, “that vampires are attracted to the blood of our imprints?”

Carlisle nodded solemnly. “I think that’s why this vampire is hunting Y/N.”

Paul froze.

In his preoccupation, he hadn’t realized it wasn’t just Emily, Kim, Claire and Renesmee who’d been endangered by the keeping of this secret.

Y/N was too.

Had someone dumped a colony of fire ants on Paul? He could’ve sworn something was burning his skin, crawling up and down his back and neck. The guilt that had been plaguing him earlier was nothing compared to the tidal wave that rose up in him now. He nearly choked as the full weight of the news sunk in. It was Paul’s fault Y/N was in danger. The vampire wouldn’t be hunting her with such an intensity if Paul hadn’t imprinted on her.

Paul’s eyes slowly slid to her, suddenly wishing she would look at him so he could guess what she was feeling.

But Y/N’s eyes stayed on the doctor as a mirthless laugh tumbled out of her mouth. “You’re telling me–” she pushed off from the wall to step in Carlisle’s direction, “–that not only am I stuck with him–” she pointed an accusing finger straight at Paul, “–as my supposed soulmate, I’m now an irresistible snack for all vampires?”

Carlisle winced. “That’s a bit harsh–”

Another bitter and grating laugh came from Y/N, and Paul felt like his insides were shriveling and crumbling away.

“Dr. Cullen, I think you should leave now.” Sam’s voice was tense, leaving no room for argument. With the speed Carlisle headed for the door, he wasn’t looking for any room anyways.

Unfortunately, Carlisle left behind only one target for Y/N’s wrath.

She rounded on Paul. “You.” Paul was glad just then for Y/N’s limp, because she wouldn’t be able to chase him if he needed to make a run for it. “You and your imprinting!”

“Y/N, that’s enough,” Sam said the same tone he’d used on Carlisle.

But of course, where the doctor had fled, Y/N stood her ground. “I’m not one of your lackeys!” she spat at him. “I have a job, Sam, a life that I’ve been shut away from because you guys can’t catch this stupid vampire. And now, you’re only going to shut me up longer while you cross your fingers and twiddle your thumbs!”

Paul knew he should get involved and make an attempt to calm Y/N down or reason with her. But he couldn’t make himself move towards her.

“We’ll protect you,” Sam cut in, “just as we have been.”

Y/N advanced on him. “What, are you going to tell me to be patient and sit around this house while I continue to wait for you guys to save the day?!” Sam opened his mouth, but nothing came out, which is how Paul knew that was exactly what he’d been going to say. Y/N shook her head so violently that a lock of hair fell into her face. “No.” She tucked the lock of hair behind her ear in a movement that somehow made Paul’s chest ache. “No, now it’s my turn.”

“What are you going to do?” Sam asked. “Chase the vampire down yourself?”

The little jab at Y/N’s limp made Paul’s breath catch. He knew that Sam’s frustration wasn’t really aimed at Y/N, he knew that. But his hands still rolled into fists, and it took every bit of his strength to keep from flinging himself at the alpha.

But Y/N didn’t cower or cringe, she only held herself taller. “No, because as you guys have so kindly proved, chasing this vampire doesn’t amount to anything.” Sam’s face soured, and Paul’s shoulders relaxed from their previously murderous stance as a smile fought to break free. Clearly she didn’t need him fighting her battles.

“We need to lure him,” Y/N said.

All the members of the pack looked at each other, and Paul didn’t have to be in his wolf form to pick up on their desperation. “How?” Jared asked.

“Bait,” was Y/N’s response.

Every cell in Paul’s body rebelled as his head filled with the yips of rejection from the wolf. “Absolutely not,” he blurted out, causing everyone in the room to look at him, Y/N included. It was hard to focus when he could see the full scope of the anger simmering in her expression, but he managed. “We’re not putting you in danger.”

“I don’t need your permission, and I certainly don’t need any of your protective wolf bullshit.” Paul couldn’t hold back his flinch. “It’s my life on the line, and I’ve had enough of sitting back and hoping that you guys will do your jobs. I say we’re setting a trap.”

Y/N’s icy words made Paul feel cold all over, but he wasn’t about to back down. “Do you have any idea how painful it is to be sucked dry of all your blood?” he asked her. He intended for it to match her levels of venom, but the question came out softly.

Y/N’s eyes blazed hotter. “I’m no stranger to pain.”

The wolf whimpered. She didn’t deserve pain, nor any other discomfort this world could subject her to. She deserved sunshine. And bouquets of flowers. Gentle kisses and back massages. Bubble baths and–

“Fine then,” Paul managed to say around the wolf’s cascade of thoughts. “Do you have any idea what happens to a wolf when its imprint dies?”

A smile appeared on Y/N’s face, an expression of pure spite. “Well, you’ve wanted to be rid of me since day one, so it seems like a win-win for you.”

All of the sinew in Paul’s body rotted into pain, and he inhaled sharply. He deserved that comment, he knew he did, but it was like Y/N thrust a knife into some deep part of him. Whether that part belonged to him or the wolf, Paul didn’t know.

Not looking the least bit apologetic, Y/N addressed the pack. “The vampire wants my blood. And thankfully for us, I’ve been drawing blood since I started med school.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You want to draw some of your blood and use it as a trap?”

Y/N nodded. “Carlisle said it was nearly impossible to resist an imprint’s blood when it’s inside the body. Imagine how irresistible it would be outside of the body.”

Bile burned in Paul’s throat at the idea of any of Y/N’s blood being outside her body.

“It could work,” Leah mused, and Seth elbowed her. “What?” she snapped. “Y/N’s right, our way hasn’t worked. Maybe it’s time for a change of tactic.”

Paul glared at Leah, but she didn’t bat an eye.

“I’m down,” Seth said, looking completely at ease in his position sprawled on the floor. Paul opened his mouth to argue.

“I’m in too.” Jared’s eyes were far away, likely centered around a fair-haired classmate in need of extra protection.

“Sam?” Jacob pushed, and Paul wheeled to look at the alpha.

Sam glanced at his wife, and Paul knew what he was thinking.

If they used Y/N as bait and caught the vampire, Emily would be safe.

Sam rolled his shoulders, preparing for action. “Let’s do it.”

Paul stared around the room at the pack, at his brothers, who’d been gushing about their imprints and telling Paul that he would one day understand. Yet every one of them had thrown Y/N into the way of danger for either a chance at a bloodsucker hunt or their own imprint’s safety.

Paul’s blood boiled, bringing his body temperature even hotter.

He wanted to rip out his pack’s throats.

And what’s worse, he knew it was only his own imprint bond making him feel that way.

This was why.

This whole situation offered more proof than Paul could ever need about the imprinting bond. It always, always did more harm than good.

As Y/N and the pack launched into brainstorming, Paul shrank against the wall, wishing he could be alone.

He wanted nothing to do with this plan.

“What do you mean I have to go to the hospital?!” Paul roared at his alpha. It didn’t matter if the two werewolves were all the way across the room; Paul’s raised voice still made me jump.

He cut me a glance, something urgent simmering in his face, but he turned back to Sam too quickly for me to decipher where the heat was coming from.

Sam didn’t even blink at Paul’s commonplace display of temper. “We need Y/N’s blood, and the supplies necessary for that are at the hospital. Plus, this way Y/N can check out Emily and the baby to make sure they’re okay.”

“So then you go with them,” Paul snarked. “Why is my presence necessary?”

“Because I’m driving Emily home after we check the baby. And because someone needs to protect Y/N while she draws the blood. Because we don’t want her alone in that hospital with Dr. Cullen. Because she’s your imprint and I’m your alpha.” Sam arched an eyebrow. “Do you need more reasons?”

I glanced at Paul, who, noticing my attention, sat down on the armchair, frowning. I rolled my eyes at his petulance. If I could stomach being in the same room with him, he could too.

“Emily, are you almost ready?” Sam called, rubbing his forehead.

“I can’t tie my shoes!” she hollered back from the bedroom.

“Just wear slip-on shoes then!”

“Sam Levi Uley, stop being a jerk and help me tie my shoelaces!”

All the worry on Sam’s face melted away, giving room for a smitten smile. “Coming,” he said, too quietly for Emily to hear.

The sweet tone of his words only made it all the more awkward when he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room with Paul.

His eyes rested on the wall. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he was internally debating something dull, such as the best technique for brushing one’s teeth. But there was no mistaking the way his fingers gripped the arms of the chair or the way his arm muscles were flexing, allowing a sliver of his tattoo to peek out from his short sleeve.

He hadn’t so much as attempted to start a conversation with me, not about my blood singing to vampires, nor what he’d said after changing my tire. Part of me wondered if he waited because he wanted me to break the silence first.

But I didn’t have anything to say that I could tell Paul.

Like, for instance, how would I ever be able to convince a vampire to bite me but leave enough blood in my body to circulate the venom that would change me? If my blood was irresistible, no vampire, no matter how disciplined, would be able to resist even a drop of my blood. It wouldn’t just be a risk, it would be suicide.

Once again, my quest had become harder and more steps were added to my plan.

Now this vampire had to be dealt with before Paul and I could focus on breaking the bond, and there was a chance of my blood remaining irresistible even after the bond was broken.

The idea of getting that far and still failing was…unthinkable.

I tried to shake off the hopelessness swirling around me like fog. Becoming a vampire was my only hope and had been for months. I wouldn’t stop, not even if it seemed impossible.

I walked into the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water. I’d barely taken a sip when Emily waddled into the kitchen. “I’m driving,” she announced.

“Do you think that’s wise?” Sam asked gingerly. His soft tone didn’t land as intended, for Emily turned to glare at her husband, who seemed to shrink a little.

“I’m with Sam,” I said, drawing Emily’s wrathful gaze. But unlike Sam, I’d dealt with expecting mothers before. “Your movement is limited, and that’s not safe for you, your baby, or anyone riding with you.”

Emily narrowed her eyes, but I could tell by her silence that she saw my point. Out of anyone in La Push, my MD probably had the most sway with her. “I’m not riding with Paul,” she finally said flatly. “He’s a maniac when he drives.”

Paul started grumbling under his breath.

I smiled at Emily, slightly pleased that she’d annoyed him. “You can ride with me.”

“Absolutely not,” Sam interjected. “There needs to be one wolf per car, in case the vampire shows up.” Emily’s obvious exasperation didn’t seem to have the same effect this time around. Sam might’ve been willing to quail on some things, but when it came to vampires and safety, he’d never change his mind, not with the recent news from Carlisle.

Then the whole room seemed to come to a realization at the same time.

If Emily wouldn’t ride with Paul and Sam wouldn’t allow her to ride with me…

I shot a glance at Paul, who glanced at me at the same time. He looked away quickly, but I just narrowed my eyes.

If he didn’t already regret imprinting on me, he would soon.

With his superhuman lungs, one would think Paul’s lung capacity would be upgraded as well.

As it was, holding his breath lasted him less than a minute.

Her smell clung to his skin like humidity, and like humidity, it was causing him to sweat badly enough to need a shower. It was difficult to keep still. His limbs contained all this unnecessary energy, making time seem slower. Any time Emily’s car came into view on the road in front of them, Paul stiffened. The anger at his pack had yet to dissipate, and Sam was the worst of the lot.

Y/N’s eyes never strayed from the road, and her ramrod posture made Paul’s back hurt. Paul didn’t know how it was humanly possible, but she looked even less comfortable than he was.

When they passed the spot where Paul had changed her tire several days ago, Paul shrunk in his seat a little. Should he apologize? Would Y/N not appreciate the reminder of what’d been said? Or would this awkward tension in the air remain as it was until he apologized?

Apologize, the wolf sang. Apologize, apologize, apologize.

Paul ignored the chanting as much as he could. Despite what the pack and the elders might think, Paul owed Y/N the same she owed him: nothing. He tried to take a steadying breath, but the air laced with her smell did nothing for his inner turmoil.

One step at a time, Paul told himself. First, defeat the vampire. Then, break the bond.

A sharp melody sounded, startling Paul, and the phone in Y/N’s cupholder started vibrating.

“Can you look at that?” she asked.

Paul squirmed. “Umm…I’d rather not.”

“Oh for goodness sake,” Y/N said with a roll of her eyes, “ look at the caller ID.”

“You look at it,” Paul shot back.

“What is your problem?” she snapped. “I’m busy driving, just pick up the phone.”

“No.”

“Pick. It. Up.”

“No!”

“Now!”

“NO!”

The ringing stopped, and Y/N’s fingers whitened as her grip on the steering wheel increased. “Great, now I missed a call because you wouldn’t just look at the caller ID.”

Paul crossed his arms. “I didn’t want to snoop.” Surely she could appreciate that.

“It’s not snooping if you have my permission.” A muscle in her jaw rippled, and he strongly suspected she was grinding her teeth, adding to the bite in her voice. “Curiosity is the most natural thing in the world. The human race would’ve died out long ago if they hadn’t been curious.”

Her clipped tone provided the spark for Paul’s short fuse. “I’d hardly call respecting your privacy an action that will annihilate the human race.”

“Why can’t you just do what I ask?” Y/N grouched. “What’s so hard about picking up a phone?”

“Exactly, so pick it up yourself.”

“I’m driving.”

Paul threw his hands in the air. “What’s the big deal? There’s hardly anyone else on the road and it would only take you a few seconds!”

“A few seconds is all it takes to get in an accident!” Y/N burst out. Her chest heaved, her body trying to keep up with the rush of blood towards her reddening face.

Paul stared at the angry splotches on her cheeks. Why had she spoken like that? Like it was a confession born of unspeakable events? Admitting to being an uptight driver wasn’t some dark and terrible secret.

Y/N shifted her left leg, and with that small action, it clicked.

“You were in an accident.” Paul shifted so he was facing her. “That’s how you injured your leg.” And that was why she was so militant with seatbelts and not texting while driving.

Y/N grit her teeth, but she repositioned her left leg again.

“How long ago?” Paul asked before he could stop himself.

“Mind your own business,” was the cutting reply.

But while her hostility was usually effective in ending any more questions, it couldn’t stop Paul’s curiosity this time. “How bad was the accident?”

“I said–”

“What kind of injury was it? Did you have surgery? Did you break a bone?”

“–mind your own business!”

Paul studied her. He’d freely admit to anyone that he didn’t know his imprint that well, but if the accident was insignificant, Y/N would’ve admitted it, simply to correct him. The only reason she’d be cagey was if it truly was a horrifying event.

She wasn’t angry.

She was afraid.

His stomach sank.

He’d assumed that Y/N’s cynicism and rigidity had been attitudes gained after a lifelong struggle. But if it was an accident, it could’ve happened recently. Was that why she’d dropped everything and moved across the country? Was she struggling to cope? Jared’s words came back to him. Right now, she doesn’t have anybody but us. How alone was she? And how alone had she been when she’d been in that accident?

The ringtone started up again, interrupting Paul’s whizzing thoughts.

Y/N didn’t say anything. Apparently, her tight lips outweighed her sharp tongue.

Paul reached for the phone. “It says dad.”

If Y/N was grateful to him for finally telling her who it was, she didn’t show it. “Just let it ring. I’ll call him later.”

“Okay.” Paul gingerly set her phone back into the car cup holder.

Y/N didn’t say anything, clearly preferring silence. But Paul’s mind was racing too much to call the atmosphere ‘silent’.

Leading Sam, Emily, and Paul through the Emergency Room entrance was mortifying.

Even at eight months pregnant, Emily was still walking faster than I was. Apparently carrying a baby the size of a coconut still didn’t compare to my limp. The back of my neck felt hot, as if all the staring somehow kept raising my body temperature.

All four of us squeezed into an exam room that was clearly not intended to fit a pregnant woman, her doctor, and two overly protective werewolves.

As soon as Emily got onto the exam table, I pulled over the ultrasound machine, accidentally clipping Paul’s foot with its wheels. “Ouch,” he grumbled. I ignored him, focusing on the Ecovue gel bottle.

“Might be a little cold,” I warned her.

Emily didn’t flinch, her eyes focused on the ultrasound screen that wasn’t displaying anything yet.

When I pressed the ultrasound wand to her stomach, Sam shuffled closer, capturing her hand and lacing it with his. A tiny heartbeat emitted from the monitor, and I glanced up at the virile alpha to see his eyes glistening. Emily smiled widely, squeezing her husband’s hand. “That’s our baby.”

“Hello, baby,” Sam said quietly.

I studied the pair. It wasn’t unusual for ultrasounds to be emotional events, but why was Sam behaving as if–

“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled, looking down at his wife with guilt deeply etched into his expression. “We haven’t even discussed names.”

Emily reached up a hand to cup his face. “It’s okay. You’re out there saving the world.”

Oh.

Sam hadn’t been to an ultrasound yet.

Feeling awkward, I glanced over at Paul.

Paul was looking anywhere but at Emily’s belly or the monitor. His eyes skimmed the cabinets around us, the art intended to be comforting, and even the jars of alcohol pads and tongue depressors. If it wasn’t somewhat inappropriate to laugh during such a sweet moment between a husband and wife, I would’ve.

I froze the screen before withdrawing the wand and cleaning it up. “Your due date’s in a month.”

Emily tore her eyes away from Sam. “There’s a midwife in La Push that agreed to work with me.” Clearly she remembered what I’d told her at the last ultrasound.

“You’re having the baby at home then?”

“Yes,” Emily said, sounding extremely confident while Sam looked anything but.

“Honey, are you sure that’s wise?” Sam glanced at the frozen screen. “What if something goes wrong?”

“That’s what the midwife is there for.”

“Still, I’d feel better if we came here.”

Sensing an argument brewing, I got to my feet, wiping away the gel on Emily’s stomach. “I might very well still be sleeping on your couch when you go into labor, so if it makes you feel more confident, I can be there for the birth.”

Sam eyed me, and I knew what he wanted to ask.

“I’m an MD. I’m only a month short of having completed an obstetrics residency. Between the midwife and I, your wife will be just fine.”

Emily clapped her hands. “Perfect. There’s the plan.” She tried to sit up, and Sam immediately helped her before she could fall back again. “Now I’d like to go home.” She awkwardly slid off the exam table before making her way to the door.

I busied myself with resetting the ultrasound machine.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam follow Emily, stopping in front of Paul.

“You’ve got her?” he asked quietly. Was that remorse on the alpha’s face?

“Yeah.” Paul’s equally soft response spoke of dark promises.

The exam door opened and closed before I realized which ‘her’ they were talking about. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I decided to say nothing as I led Paul out of the ER.

I expected him to trail somewhere behind me or in front of me, but instead, he kept time with my labored pace. Somehow, that annoyed me more than if he’d gone ahead or behind me.

He reached the elevator before I did, but instead of pushing the button, he shoved his hands in his pockets. I sent him a suspicious look.

What was with the sudden gentleman act?

I pushed the button, and the doors dinged as they opened. Paul and I walked inside, and I selected the button for the second floor.

“Hold the door!”

Paul stuck his hand through the rapidly disappearing entrance, and the doors slid open, revealing none other than Carlisle Cullen.

He came to an abrupt stop. If vampires had any blood in their body, all of Carlisle’s would’ve drained from his face just then. Was this reaction due to seeing me?

Then the lift started to shake, creaking and groaning.

I turned to ask Paul if Forks often got earthquakes when I saw that his whole body was convulsing, and he was staring daggers at the doctor.

Carlisle fell back a step. “I’ll take the next one.”

Paul’s glare didn’t lessen, even as the doors closed, shielding the vampire from view. The floor of the elevator continued to tremble underneath my feet.

“Paul?” I asked warily.

The shuddering didn’t cease.

“Paul?!”

His eyes remained on the elevator doors. Was he having some sort of seizure? I set a hand on Paul’s shoulder, shaking him to get his attention. “Paul!”

Paul blinked, trance seemingly broken. Then his attention shifted to my hand, still resting on his shoulder.

I withdrew it. “What was that?”

“The wolf,” Paul grumbled, his hands reaching up to fiddle with his stubby braid. “Neither of us are very happy with that bloodsucker right now.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so I led Paul to my office. “Wait here,” I told him before limping to the nearest med supply closet.

Paul, of course, didn’t comply.

I rolled my eyes. “I told you–”

“I can’t protect you if I’m not with you.” Paul folded his arms imposingly for emphasis, and I tried to ignore the muscle bulging off his arms.

“You’re not authorized to be in the supply closet.”

Paul shrugged. “Neither is the vampire. I doubt authorization matters much to him.”

My fingers itched to push him back to my office. With great effort, I continued towards the closet. The faster the blood was drawn, the sooner we could leave and the sooner we didn’t have to be around each other.

Alcohol wipes.

Medical tape.

Gloves.

I quickly realized I wouldn’t be able to carry all the supplies I needed with one arm. Without looking away from the labeled bins, I handed the box of gloves to him, half expecting to hear it thudding against the floor. But no such noise sounded. I handed the alcohol wipes to him, and he took them without comment.

Tourniquet.

Gauze.

Empty blood bags.

“Two?” Paul blurted out.

I quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

Paul shifted, and the box of gloves fell out of his grip. He tried to catch it, but failed. We both crouched at the same time, our hands brushing as we reached for the box. I expected him to jerk his hand away like he always did upon physical contact with me, but he didn’t. He picked up the box like nothing had happened.

Well, not nothing.

There was a peculiar and unsettling contusion in his face. He looked…concerned?

I made to brush past him, but he sidled into my path with such severity, it nearly made me lose my balance. “Two bags seems like a lot.”

“Paul–”

“How much of your blood is two bags?”

“It’s not a big deal.” I tried to walk around, but Paul planted himself directly in front of the door.

“How much?” Paul pressed.

“It’s two pints of blood.” I made another attempt to leave, but Paul threw a hand into my path, somehow balancing all the supplies in one arm.

“How many pints of blood do you have total?”

“About ten.”

Paul’s jaw went slack. “You want to draw a fifth of the blood in your whole body?”

“The more blood used for the trap, “ I explained as patiently as I could muster, “the more likely it’s going to work.”

Paul was shaking his head long before I finished speaking. “Absolutely not. Losing that much blood is not good for you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, have you been to med school? If you had, you would know that blood loss is traumatic at 30 to 40%. Clearly I’m not planning on getting to that point.” Paul didn’t budge, and my patience frayed. “Oh for the love of–what do you want from me?” I nearly shouted at him.

“I want you to stick to one bag.”

I folded my arms. “Not your decision to make.”

Paul opened his arms, all the materials crumbling to the floor as he set his hands on his hips. “If you try to do more than one, cinnamon sugar, I’ll haul you over my shoulder and carry you out of here. So please just stick with one.”

“You’re threatening me?”

“I said ‘please’.”

I rolled my eyes. “So you’re nicely threatening me?” His only response was to smile proudly. My frustration reared its head, and I quickly tamed it. “Look, we should get started. We can argue about the number of bags later.”

Paul was already shaking his head. “Oh, no, no, no, no, you don’t get to dodge this–”

“The longer we stand here, not getting any of my blood,” I said with as much composure as possible when talking to a headstrong werewolf, “the longer we stay here, away from the pack and exposed to danger.”

After a moment, Paul nodded and bent down to regather the supplies.

As we walked back to my office, I realized it hadn’t even occurred to me to lie to Paul. If I’d said it was 20 or even 10%, we wouldn’t have had to compromise. So why hadn’t I just said that?

I shoved the question away with all my might. It was time to focus.

I prepared all the supplies for the blood draw, and Paul stood, his hands in his pockets as he glanced around at my office. “I need your help,” I told Paul. He stayed where he was, warily watching me. “I can’t wrap a tourniquet around my own arm.”

“I…” Paul scrunched his nose. “I don’t know how.”

I opened my mouth to say something snarky, but then he glanced around the office again. The airs of arrogance that normally pooled around him had gone.

He’s embarrassed, I realized with no small amount of shock. I wanted to laugh at the idea of this massive, arrogant man being embarrassed about anything whatsoever.

A small part of me whispered that if I wanted to make him feel the way I felt by the side of that road, I had an opening. I could bring him to his knees.

But for some reason, I couldn’t make myself do it.

What was happening to me? Was I losing my edge?

It was Sam and Emily’s fault for being so loving and adoring to each other, it’d softened me up.

“I’ll show you what to do,” I said, my aggravation bleeding through.

Paul reluctantly came closer. His warm fingers brushed my upper arm as he followed my instructions, tying the tourniquet in the exact place it was supposed to be. “What’s the tourniquet got to do with drawing blood?” he asked.

“It dilates the veins, making them easier to access.” I pressed the tip of my middle finger to the inside of my arm, trying to locate my antecubital fossa.

One of the most random things I’d learned in my medical career is how bouncy veins were to the touch, especially when a tourniquet was on. Veins were thinner, had lower blood pressure, and held more blood than arteries. Veins were also closer to the surface of the skin.

I finally located the vein and lifted up the needle.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re going to stick a needle in yourself?” Paul looked rather green all of the sudden. “That needle looks big, why does it look so big?”

“I didn’t think you’d be so squeamish,” I replied. My arm was starting to tingle a little bit, letting me know the tourniquet had already been on for quite a while.

Paul stiffened. “I’m not squeamish.”

“Then get back over here and help me.”

“Help you?” Paul’s shrill voice filled the office. “Help you with what?”

“I need you to hold the skin tight so the vein doesn’t roll as I try to get it with the needle.”

Paul took a nervous step back, his arms posed in front of his body like he was in a boxing ring. “Why can’t Dr. Cullen do it?”

“Oh, now you trust him?” I scoffed. Why would Paul suddenly swivel to the opposite side of the emotional spectrum when it came to the doctor?

“No, I don’t trust him,” Paul declared. “It’s just that…he’s probably more qualified to do this than I am.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell you exactly what to do.” When Paul didn’t move, I tried to adapt a more comforting tone. “Look, all you have to do is hold the skin tight. You don’t have to watch me stick the needle in or anything. It’ll be easy.”

“Easy?” Paul repeated sarcastically. “Nothing about sticking a needle in your body should be easy.”

The tingling in my arm increased. “Will you just sit down and help?” I swallowed hard, annoyed with having to beg, but having no other choice. “Please?”

Paul slowly lumbered over to the other chair and lowered himself into it. It took a great deal of instruction, but eventually, Paul correctly held the skin taut as I held the needle, hovering just above the vein.

“One,” I said softly to myself, making sure my grip on the needle was relaxed, but firm. “Two.” I took a deep breath, looking up to see Paul’s face turned far away from my arm. “Three!”

The needle went in painlessly enough, but there was no blood flow. “Crap,” I muttered.

Paul shifted slightly. “What?”

“I missed it.”

“Missed what?”

“The vein.”

Paul’s head whipped around with so much force, the motion probably could’ve powered the hospital. “What?!” His eyes fell upon the needle in my arm. “Oh my gosh.” He clamped a hand over his face, blocking his vision.

“I need you to hold the needle for me.”

Paul’s hand flew away from his eyes, and he blinked at me. “Oh, hell no.”

“Either you hold it or I just let it go, and I’m sure I don’t have to explain how dangerous it is to just leave the needle half in, half out of my body.” Paul gulped as I guided his hand to the needle, my fingers showing him how to hold it properly. As soon as I let go, Paul muttered something in a different language, staring at the wall behind my head.

“Give me…a second.” I felt around the needle with my free fingers, scouting out the skin for the familiar buoyant feel indicative of a vein.

“Just tell me when it’s over,” Paul said, shutting his eyes.

Again, the urge to laugh nearly overwhelmed me. I paused in my search, looking at his face. It occurred to me that I hadn’t really actually ever studied his face. Hot was too crude a word, and handsome was too virtuous of one. He truly lay somewhere in between, forever resting in an area as gray as his fur. If I leaned forward, I’d be close enough to kiss him.

That observation shook me out of my reverie, and I refocused, finding the vein and taking the needle from Paul to redirect it towards the vein. My effort was rewarded as blood started flowing through the tube and into the first bag.

“I’m done,” I told Paul as I ripped a piece of medical tape with my teeth and secured the needle.

Paul opened his eyes, took one look at the needle in my arm, and closed his eyes again.

I couldn’t stop my laugh. “If I’d known that shoving a needle into my arm was the way to shut you up, I would’ve done it ages ago.”

“Okay, calm down there, sugar.”

“Why do you call me that?” The question was out before I realized curiosity was the thing fluttering in my chest.

Paul cracked his eyes open, his attention centering on my face instead of my arm. “No reason.” His tone was breezy enough, but a faint blush started on his cheeks, magnifying my interest.

“Oh, there’s definitely a reason. And since I’m the one with a needle in my arm, I think I deserve to know.”

“Hey look, the bag’s a quarter full already,” Paul said in a poor attempt to distract me.

I checked to make sure the tape was still secure. “You’ll have to get the next bag ready.”

Paul’s head jerked up. “We’re not doing another bag.”

“It’s–”

“It’s your blood, and you have a medical degree, and you’re stubborn, but that’s still not enough to convince me,” Paul replied. “I’ll yank that needle out if I have to.” He reached out, like he was preparing to take it out right then.

I sat back in my chair, feeling slightly woozy. “You could do that, but you could do it improperly and give me a hematoma. Or even cause me to lose more blood.”

Paul froze. “I could hurt you?”

For all my knowledge, I couldn’t quite discern the meaning of his tone. Was he concerned again? Or was he still feeling squeamish?

And why did I care?

“Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal.” Intrigue shone in Paul’s eyes as he gestured for me to go on. “We’ll stop at one bag if you tell me why you call me ‘cinnamon sugar’.”

Paul sat back in his chair, folding his arms. “This is extortion.”

“What can I say?” I said with a casual shrug. “I get what I want.”

“Do you?” Paul mused.

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Always?”

I hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

Paul scratched his chin thoughtfully. “No deal.”

I blinked. “No deal? Why not?”

“Well, you did say you always get everything you want.”

“So now you’re trying to spite me by withholding information?”

“Possibly.” Paul leaned closer to me, a smirk toying with his lips. “Or maybe I just want to see what lengths you’ll go to in order to get the answer.”

Something in my chest danced, curiously rising to skim the surface of his brown eyes. “You just love making things difficult.”

Paul scoffed. “That’s all you, sugar.” He reached out to fiddle with the blood bag. “That’s…” He looked two seconds from hurling. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“We should get ready to hook up the second bag.”

Paul made a noise of disbelief. “We’ve gone over this. We’re not doing a second bag.”

“Unless you want to ‘fess up, yes, we are.” I reached over to my desk where the second bag lay, intending to prepare it, but Paul snatched it up.

“No, we’re not.”

I made another pass at the bag, but my reaction time was so sluggish, Paul easily lifted the bag above his head before I got anywhere near it. Not one to be outdone, I stood up, stretching out my hand for the bag.

I’d underestimated the effect of blood loss.

I swayed, my center of balance shifting over to my left side, and my bad knee buckled. I nearly lurched forward, only just leaning back to allow myself to fall back into my chair instead of forward onto the floor.

My heart thundered in my chest, and I knew I couldn’t blame it on having less blood to pump through my body.

Falling.

I’d done it often when my knee first sustained its injury. After the accident and surgery, I’d spent hours doing physical therapy, doing everything I possibly could to restrengthen the muscles around my knee. Unfortunately, knee injuries involved muscles, bones, and ligaments. The complexity of the joint fed into the complexity of injuries to that joint.

The bleakness of my prognosis wasn’t something to face, it was something to avoid. Transitioning to a vampire was the only way to fully avoid it.

“We’re doing two bags,” I said stubbornly. “This trap has to work.”

Paul kneeled down, setting the blood bag on the floor. “Stop at one bag.”

“No.” I shook my head and regretted it as my world spun. “We need two.”

Paul got to his feet, resting a hand on each armrest of my chair, trapping me into it. He opened his mouth to speak and shut it again, eyes dropping to the blood bag. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Counteroffer. We do two bags, and you tell me about your accident.”

My heart tripped, falling headfirst into a hasty pace.

Brown eyes dipped to my chest all the sudden, and I remembered the comment Paul’d made about being able to hear my heartbeat.

I didn’t want to give him answers.

Couldn’t give him answers.

“No deal.” I pushed at his shoulders, shoving him away from me.

Paul stepped back, folding his arms. “Since I know you’re used to winning, I’m not sure you know what happens when two people reach an impasse.” I opened my mouth, and Paul held up a finger. “They compromise.”

“Compromise?” I laughed.

Paul didn’t. “Compromise. It’s the basis of every relationship.”

“You’re just saying that because you want me to agree. If I say honesty is at the basis of every relationship, would you tell me why you call me ‘cinnamon sugar’?”

Paul sighed, rubbing his forehead. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Do I strike you as someone who lets things go?” He paused, slowly raising his head to look at me, a sudden sadness in his eyes. I shot him a confused look. “What’s your problem?”

“I’m sorry.”

I sat back in my chair, hardly believing my ears. Did he just…? “What are you apologizing for?”

“For what I said by the side of the road.”

His words rebounded again, as unbidden as every other time they’d replayed in my head.

Wanting to be rid of you has nothing to do with that, and everything to do with you!

My worst fear, that something really was wrong with me, confirmed by my ‘soulmate’ himself.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Paul wrinkled his nose. “It does. I don’t have a problem with your…” He gestured towards my knee brace.

Discomfort rustled its wings. “Like I said, it doesn’t–”

“Yes, it does,” Paul said firmly. “I was frustrated, and I said things I didn't mean.”

“I don’t really–”

“I think you’re a very capable person.”

As compliments always did, his words made me want to cringe, to retract my turtle head back into my turtle shell and avoid uncomfortable things until they were long gone. “Can we drop this?” I asked, fiddling with the needle so I didn’t have to look at Paul.

But Paul was on a roll. “I mean, you can’t change a tire, but I can’t stick a needle in someone to get blood and whatever else you doctors do, so it all works out.”

Warmth blossomed in my cheeks like a mellow fever. “It’s not a big deal.”

“And I know I said I wanted to be rid of you, but it’s the imprint bond I don’t like.” My desk creaked as Paul sat precariously on its edge. “I could’ve imprinted on anybody else, and it wouldn’t’ve made a difference.”

I abandoned the needle, looking up at Paul.

“I mean it,” he said, correctly decoding my expression.

“Whatever,” I muttered. I started to cross my legs, but my good knee bonked against the metal of my brace, so I gave up.

“Am I forgiven?”

“Paul–” I began to say, more than ready to move on to anything else.

“Am I forgiven?” he said louder.

“Yes, you’re forgiven!” I snapped, focusing on the irritation at his persistence instead of whatever other feelings were rising in my stomach. “Now will you just attach the second bag?” Paul raised an eyebrow, and I rolled my eyes. Really, I couldn’t blame him for his skepticism, but did he have to be so thorough in his doubt? “I’m not going to do a full bag, I’ll only do half.”

Paul cocked his head. “Compromising, are we?”

“Annoying, are we?” I parroted back.

No reply came. Paul’s eyes narrowed, traveling over my face with a sort of hypervigilance. I suddenly felt sorry for the creatures in biology that I’d studied under a microscope. Is this what it felt like to be measured and weighed? To have one’s behavior scrutinized and written about in a scientific report?

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking.”

“Stop it.”

The corner of Paul’s mouth turned up. “Is it illegal to look?”

“It should be,” I grumbled. “Especially when you should be hooking up the second bag.”

Paul didn’t move, still inattentive to my words in favor of inspecting my face. Had he gone deaf? What could possibly have him paying such close attention, and with such a dreamy look in his eyes?

“You’re still doing it.”

With a start, Paul finally got up, picking up the second bag and crouching to tie off the first one. “Sorry,” he grunted. “The wolf had things to say.”

Check out my masterlist for more fanfics like this one!

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Love & Hate tag list:

@lahoete @trantolette @nicodoesntexist @unicornicopia1 @adaydreamaway08 @inpraizeof @zealouspursecowboydeputy @vendylewin @britty443 @forkscult @sokkasimp101 @toomanythoughts33 @thatmultifandomlovingmf @imsuchafuckingmessbuthello @itsmytimetoodream @sapphireplums @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @sneezie98 @swidkid @volturiwolf @convolutings @lettermessenger @unstablekay @simpingfortoomanypeople @curadopordeus @mrmurdocksgirl @fuckthatfeeling @avis15 @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @slytherinfolk25 @patychieffi @skinmittensgoblin @itsmytimetoodream @soldierheart

#twilight #twilight fanfic #twilight fanfiction #paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote fanfiction #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x you #werewolf #fanfiction #fanfic #imprint #imprinting #love #hate #love & hate

132 notes · View notes

dxmoness · 2 years

Text

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 | 𝐑. 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐧

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs : Rᴇɢɪs Fʟᴏʏᴇɴ , Jᴜʙᴇʟɪᴀɴ Fʟᴏʏᴇɴ

ᴍᴀɴʜᴡᴀ : Fᴀᴛʜᴇʀ I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ

ᴀʀᴇᴜᴍ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ : @acuriousmoon ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ sᴀɪᴅ I ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜᴛ I ᴡᴀs ʙᴏʀᴇᴅ sᴏ ʜᴇʀᴇ!

SHE was a simple person. One that was just trying to work to survive.

Her job was not so simple, but it was fun to do. She was a nurse that cared for people with mental problems. Issues such as depression and anxiety. She worked in the local rehabilitation center that she had worked in for years now.

Her loving, caring personality led to many patients enjoying her as their company when needed. But, this was also the cause of the downfall of her health. Either way she continued overwork her body for those who suffered from such mental illnesses.

Though she was loved by different people, it didn't mean everyone in the facility loved her. For one particular patient did not adore her like the others do. In fact they loathed her with passion.

One day she was attending to some medicine that needed to be organized, and the crazy patient decided it was their chance to ruin the female who had worked hard enough to make them feel at home.

Creeping behind the female, they reared back making sure he aimed for the place of the heart. After a quick calculation of how their actions would go, they brought the knife down. Just as Name turned around.

The last thing she remembered was a knife heading towards her screaming figure, and a piercing pain that spread all over her body. Sending waves of pain, then everything turned dark.

"Miss?" Her eyes flung open as she bolted up, panting. A damp towel was on her head, and bandages covered her neck.

She was in a massive room, it screamed rich at her face. It seemed peaceful.. Befits it since it was supposed to be an infirmary.

She looked to see that there was a young male staring at her in disbelief.

When she tried speaking, the words came out all scratchy. Her throat felt parched. "Wa...ter...." She whispered, her head was killing her. Her pain could not possibly be worse right now.

The male was seemed even more surprised now, rushing to get what she wanted.

This place... This didn't seem like any of the hospitals in the town she lives in. Where was she?

"Good to see that you've finally awoke, Miss Arquette." Huh? Arquette..? That clearly was not her last name was this male mistaken. "Is something wrong?" The male asked, sitting down on the bed. He leaned down and brushed a bit of hair away from her eyes.

She found herself staring at a tall man with beautiful azure eyes. He looked like someone from an anime or manga of sorts.

The male's actions were gentle and friendly. Like he knew who she was that sat here, even though she had no idea who he was.

"I'm sorry who are you..?" The male's gentle kind eyes suddenly switched to a hardened cold look.

"You don't remember me?" He asked, clearly pissed off that she was unaware of who he was.

"No.." "Then, I'm going to kill that bastard who poisoned you." The male declared just as the young servant from earlier came into the room with water and tea for her.

"O-Oh! Duke Floyen." The servant bowed respectfully at the duke who stared at him with interest.

Floyen..? This name was familiar somehow. Then it hit her. Duke Regis Adri Floyen was a man from the novel she had been reading. The person whose daughter was mistreated by him.

So she had died and been reincarnated in this world as a noble of a different family. But, what was her relation with Regis Floyen?

"Regis..?" She whispered. She had hesitated on calling him by his name, but he seemed to relax when she said it.

He nodded at her state. "So you just needed a bit of recognition. I shall check on you tonight, after my training."

After a while of being bedridden, she was finally energized enough to take walks and attend garden parties.

This world was so different from her simple modern life. She was eager to see how it unfolds.

Currently she had no goal until she started recollecting her memories of the novel.

So far in this current timeline Regis has not met his wife, Amelia. So that was her current goal. To bring them together and at least make the storyline go as it should. As well as another thing, keep Regis from ignoring his daughter.

As far as she knew Regis and Jubelian had never made any affectionate actions towards one another therefore that was the second priority.

As she wrote the things down, she thought of another thing.

The main goal shouldn't be trying to keep the storyline together. It should be trying to keep alive. She realized that it was hard enough to do, yet it is necessary to live long enough to see Jubelian and Regis' relationship grow.

Now that the plan was made came the hard part. Keeping the plan in track.

A sigh escaped her lips when she finally put down the quill. She pushed her messy sweaty hair out of her hair.

Once she was in tiptop shape, the duke sent for her. From what she understood from the meeting, which wasn't much, was that she was supposedly something like Regis' therapist when he felt depressed or uneasy especially after battles.

Her replies were just nods and shaking her head since as far as she knew, lower rankings were not allowed to speak unless spoken to.

This was easy since it was basically her job before she died and got here. When she left, a feeling of excitement replaced her nervous feeling when she had arrived.

This could get her closer to Regis. The closer she was, the easier it'd be to convince him to love his daughter in the near future.

#manhwa #self insert #regis adri floyen #regis floyen #regis adri floyen x reader #father i dont want to get married

269 notes · View notes

nekoannie-chan · 1 month

Text

Trust

Character: Steve Rogers.

Word count: 127 words.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Steve doesn't know who he can trust.

Major Tags: Trust issues, doubts.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @catws-anniversary CA:TWS 10th Anniversary Event with the prompt:

"Trust Issues."

@saiyanprincessswannie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard @rogersbarber

Steve walked quickly; he wasn't sure who he could trust. Ever since he met the Strike team, he thought Brock was trustworthy; he would never have thought he would attack him.

Was there anyone who wasn't against him?

He didn't understand how it was possible that he was now the enemy; there was something else hidden. The main problem was who he could trust.

Maybe he could go with Sam... No, better not; he didn't even know if it was a trap. Maybe Sam was also working for whoever was after him.

First he would retrieve the memory Fury had given him and look at the files; he didn't even know if he could trust him, even if he was gone...

Who was he supposed to trust?

#CATWS10 #steve rogers

6 notes · View notes

moe-lazyeye · 3 months

Text

War Helmet Removed (Part 3)

Part 1, Part 2

Stonegit: Stonegit remained still. He knew what the answer had meant as well as Jonas. The possibility was there. The family could back him but not if a war broke out because of his actions. With one member of the royal family already dead, there was no one else who could rightly take the fall outside of Stonegit. Stonegit stepped further back into the room and rummaged around until he found some parchment and charcoal. "There may be little I can give you, Jonas, to help bring light to this situation. The tariff I forced Eindride to sign is gone, and between my memory and words I fear I am just breeding confusion..." He gave a wry, reminiscent smile as he scratched the pen across the paper. "Which has always plagued me I suppose, but here." He passed him a set of notes. The runic scrawl was still rudimentary, although a good deal better than Jonas remembered when Stonegit had been younger. "This is a copy of the letter I sent with the released hostages. And this is a note of everything I remember from the original document, and the day I brought it to Egil."

Jonas: The day I brought it to Egil. Well. There was the answer to that. Jonas wasn't sure if this made things better or worse. It was mostly learning which "worst" the situation was. Jonas looked over the notes, mulling carefully. He held the paper up in one hand and rubbed at his chin with the other. "The document Egil signed," Jonas said, as a statement, but to receive outright confirmation from Stonegit. This was huge. He wasn't angry at Stonegit. He was just concerned with making this situation right before a dear family friend was harmed and before international conflict broke out anew. It was a problem, and Jonas felt the pressing weight to fix it.

Stonegit: "Yes." Stonegit confirmed. "After I managed to get the councils to draft the document and Eindride to sign it, I took it to Egil. He signed it with scarcely a word." His hand came up to rub at his eyes and brow. "Jonas I...I fear I may have taken advantage of Egil in a time of grief. On my life I would never do such a thing on purpose but looking back..." He sighed as he slumped back in the chair. Even in the recollected summary, the sanctions Stonegit had managed to put against Eindride were severe and sparred no force behind its blows. However, as Jonas continued to mull through the papers, he did notice an element to the note sent with the hostages that Stonegit had neglected to make a point out of. It appeared as though the discussion of blood debts had actually originated with Eindride, a point that Stonegit then acknowledged, not that there had been much room for the Wilderwest to respond to the invasion as if it had been anything other than an act of war. It was conversation specific enough that Eindride would understand its meaning without the need for Stonegit to even sign the letter, nor did it have any excessive words that could have been used against the Wilderwest. It was, potentially, another starting place to finding out the means to stabilizing this matter.

Jonas: Jonas was still mulling over the data, but to Stonegit, he better knew what to say. "A person's grief does not rob them agency. You made your decision, he, his." Ultimately, Egil's responsibility would always fall on himself. Jonas fell silent again as he processed his remaining thoughts. He didn't enjoy thinking over his father's death, but therein lie the tangle of the issues. That the blood debts began with his father's offense and were fulfilled through Eindride executing him made sense. It coincided with everything Jonas independently understood of the matter. Eindride's quest had been to take vengeance against Gareth for those Gareth had slain. With the death of his father, Eindride's violence would be fulfilled, if Eindride were being logical. As he'd already voiced to Stonegit, Jonas suspected the Wildest North would find Stonegit's retaliation an unnecessary and grievous deed for a matter that should've already been 'settled,' so he feared this would set them on path for a second round of tit-for-tat. He feared this would make them feel the Wilderwest would continue to act unjustly against them. However, it did also mean that, with the blood debt paid in his father's death, in an ideal situation, they could negotiate peace: the most egregious Wilderwest offenses were already settled. He had to hope for this instead of any slights perceived.

Stonegit: Stonegit read Jonas's body language. A skill that had taken him quite a bit to grasp the fundamentals of. It was good to know Jonas did not share his fear, and Stonegit worked within himself to accept the truth of the man's words. "Nothing will stop the Wildest North from making a poor decision if they are determined to do so." He voiced with a note of resignation. "That is what drove them to invade us the first time...so what of Egil then? Shall we take this to him...again...?"

Jonas: Jonas exhaled noisily. Something still wasn't adding up, and Egil, as king (Weird to think of my brother as that...), was a needed authority to get this handled. "Yes, I think we should."

#fin #botgd #botgd2 #stonegit #stonegitblogs #jonas haddock

2 notes · View notes

bisolationist · 10 months

Note

I'm so frustrated with that menalez "is solidarity possible between lesbians and bi women" discussion because it acts like the harm is completely one-sided. yeah I know bi women can be homophobic and more privileged but that doesn't mean it's an imagined one-sided problem and all behavior against bi women is fine. After a man that sexually assaulted me started bragging he turned me, everyone took his word for things and lesbians around my campus would passive aggressively 'whisper' things like "eugh it smells like c*m in here" when I walked in the room, or they spray whipped cream in my drinks at a party now while mimicking a dick. Or when I got a girlfriend they shit talked her so much that it made our relationship impossible. Almost more than the assault it made campus unlivable and I had to drop out. And what about the other bi women that see this behavior too, is not just about me. I know this send at least one other woman back in the closet and another into insisting she was a lesbian. Maybe that's cowardly and wrong of her but how can they not see they encourage that with how they act? But they never think this is important lack of solidarity. And is also how many people refuse to even bisexuals have any difficulties or oppression at all. Many say they don't experience homophobia,. Those people are IRL too and in groups and making important choices. GC darling Kathleen Stock was saying not too long ago Bisexuals are only politically relevant when they are in a same-sex relationship. As if our oppression doesn't start before and continue after. I'm sorry for the rant it just makes me sad.

I don't know what discussion you're talking about and frankly I don't want to comment directly on that if it's supposed to be about bi women and lesbians specifically.

I'm so sorry you had to go through that, anon. But I'll say that your story is not at all uncommon. I'm honestly kind of stunned because I've also run into the "ew you're going to smell like fish" (this being a crude and misogynist reference to vaginas ofc) from gay men, so that very much brought back some bad memories. I've mentioned it recently, but there's definitely something very weird about how many bisexual people see harassment from gay/lesbian people go SHARPLY up after they deal with a homophobic/biphobic incident from a heterosexual person, and especially if it's sexual assault. It happened to me after my CSA *and* after my mother cut me off, though in different ways. I've talked to a fair number of bi women that were either turned away from "LGB" support groups after a homophobic crime, or else faced ridicule and harassment there so they ended up feeling worse. The pattern seems to be that here's this logic that since bi women can be attracted to men, that homophobic men assaulting them thus isn't an "LGB" related issue. And before anyone puts words in my mouth none of this is to say that gay people oppress us or that they even could oppress us. But I think there's a lot of people eager to twist the knife when hets do. I still can't wrap my head around why there's so much aggression specifically aimed at people that speak openly about SA or homophobic treatment from heterosexuals. At best I can imagine that these people believe in pushing a certain agenda where bisexuals don't live meaningfully different lives than heterosexuals, and thus it's all right to treat them a certain way? So like they react to bisexuals talking about their oppression as a challenge and as a non-oppressed group trying to claim oppression that isn't theirs? Sorry, I'm rambling and speculating at this point. But yeah I'm really sorry you and so many others I've heard from have had similar incidents. I do wish it was something we could address with more respect and an understanding that even if "oppression" isn't in play it's still an extremely traumatic and harmful reaction that compounds the already difficult feelings of sexual assault while being a sexual minority.

#tw sa #tw csa

9 notes · View notes

tenebraevesper · 4 months

Text

Five Nights at Freddy's: Nothing Remains, Night 18: Follow Me

''He's been waiting, abandoned and patient, so long (long). A savage masked ghost story from the past he roams (roams). He said: ''Follow me''. Follow, follow, follow… Over 30 years ago, when he took them down below, and tonight he walks again, so step inside enjoy the show. Follow me! Then you'll see! Follow, follow, follow, follow, but the truth is hard to swallow. Follow me! Then you'll see! Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow… Follow me, see a nightmare in action!''

– Follow Me by TryHardNinja (Five Nights at Freddy's 3)

xXxXxXx

The children absolutely loved him, always cheering when he approached them and started to interact with them. He would sing, dance and play with them, enjoying seeing them being so happy. His purpose was to spread joy and he was taking his role seriously. He would always make sure that the children would smile whenever he was around. And then… And then…

Static had overwhelmed him, covering his vision, with an error message appearing in the bottom corner. He found himself walking down a dark, narrow hallway, stepping closer and closer to the office. Something felt incredibly wrong about this, as he had never been here before. It felt like a distant memory, but that was impossible. This place, while it may have existed in the past, was long gone at this point. He knew that he wasn't supposed to be here, but he had to wonder – how was this possible and why was he remembering this?

He looked up, realizing that he wasn't looking at the office anymore, but at the back room. It wasn't a human who was standing there, observing him, but a golden and green bunny with purple glowing eyes. He knew this bunny, and he was aware that he wasn't any of his friends.

He just smiled at him, recalling the memory again. This wasn't the first time they had met.

xXx

An icy feeling spread through his chest. Springtrap shivered, not sure why he was feeling like this. He wasn't feeling cold or anything like that, but there was a sense of dread and anticipation. While he could easily shrug it off as nothing, he knew better. The issue here was what happened that afternoon at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza and, while it was brief, it was rather unsettling.

While Sam had been kept busy by an employee complaining about Puppet acting weird, Springtrap had kept an eye on Freddy as he interacted with a few children, but he wasn't paying that much attention to the bear animatronic. He was still thinking about his conversation with Sammy, grateful that his son decided to confront him and talk to him, but at the same time feeling guilt and regret that he hadn't done more for him. Sammy, and Michael and Elizabeth had suffered horribly because of him and now, it was too late for him to do anything. A mere apology couldn't give them their lives back.

As he looked up, still lost in his thoughts, he saw Freddy staring at him. It wasn't the kind-hearted, joyful look Freddy usually had when interacting with children. Instead, he was giving him a cold stare, his blue eyes flaring up. Then, the glow in his eyes faded and Freddy gave him a smug look. Springtrap was stunned, watching Freddy as he continued interacting with the children as if nothing had happened.

He still had no explanation for this and it was just another thing he had to add to his ''Problems I Need To Deal With'' list. Aside from his family and the animatronics, he also knew that he needed to figure out a plan how to find Connor, but that was easier said than done. While he and Sam had figured that Connor wasn't probably in the mindset to make rational decisions, they hoped that he would make a mistake that would reveal his location. As for what would happen afterwards... Springtrap shook his head.

You should think about this later. Now, the most important thing is Sam's birthday.

Aside from knowing that the birthday lunch would take place at Freddy's, he wasn't really sure what exactly Emma had planned to do afterwards. He had figured that she would just let Sam do whatever she wanted, whether it was socializing with her parents or playing games at the arcades. It was her day, after all, and she would be the one to decide how to spend it. He just hoped that nothing would ruin it.

xXx

Sam felt a knot in her stomach as she dressed up. Even though she was now officially seventeen, she didn't feel as if she had changed much, aside from becoming one year older. She was curious about what her mother had in store for her today and figured that she should simply focus on having fun. Exiting her room, she walked over to Springtrap's room and peeked inside, noticing him giving her a cheerful look.

''Happy birthday, Sam,'' he said as she walked inside.

''Thanks,'' Sam replied, smiling sheepishly. ''I suppose Mum told you why I haven't told you that my birthday would be today.''

''Yeah, she did. She also threatened me, in case I decide to do something stupid,'' Springtrap replied in a nonchalant tone. He then crossed his arms on his back, his ears lowering. ''Anyways, I apologize for not having any gift for you…''

''Hey, the fact that I have a friend I can rely on is good enough for me,'' Sam told him. ''It's the best gift you could give me.''

''I guess that Emma anticipated that answer when she told me that she doubted that you would want me to give you a gift for your birthday,'' Springtrap muttered, with Sam smiling.

''Well, she is right,'' Sam replied.

''Of course I'm right. What else did you expect?'' The two turned around, only to see Emma leaned against the doorway. She then walked towards Sam, holding something small behind her back. ''Happy birthday, Sam!''

''Thanks, Mum,'' Sam replied, with Emma hugging her daughter and giving her a small, cream-coloured box with a silver bow on it. ''What's that?''

''Frankly, I wasn't really sure what to get you, as I wanted it to be something you'll find useful, but I think I made the right decision with this one,'' Emma explained as Sam opened the box. Her jaw dropped.

''Mum, this is so awesome! Thank you!'' she exclaimed as she pulled out a silver heart-shaped locket. The top of the locket was engraved to look like as if angelic wings were forming the heart, with a purple gem encrusted in the middle. As Sam opened it, she noticed that she could insert photos into both sides of the locket. ''I love it!''

''I'm glad that you like it. I have an additional surprise for you…'' She then frowned, glancing at Springtrap. ''That is, unless Afton had told you about it.''

''Trust me, I didn't,'' Springtrap replied, crossing his arms and staring at Emma. Sam just tilted her head and then focused on placing the locket around her neck.

''He didn't tell me anything,'' she said, clipping the silver chain and adjusting the locket. ''Besides, even if I knew what this surprise is, I wouldn't care about it. I just want to enjoy my birthday for once instead of having to stress over it for no reason.''

''You're right,'' Emma said, nodding lightly. She sighed. ''I guess that I got a bit too worked up about this, especially since I didn't want it to be a disaster like the previous ones.''

''If you ask me, you did a great job organizing this one,'' Springtrap told Emma, who gave him a surprised look, obviously having not expected a compliment from him.

''Thanks,'' she said, albeit sounding a little reluctant.

''Also, could you two not argue today?'' Sam asked. ''I know that you love taking jabs at each other, but could you please agree on a truce, at least for today?''

Emma and Springtrap exchanged glances, knowing well that this wasn't exactly possible. While they knew that would quit arguing with each other for Sam's sake, not making sarcastic remarks about each other would be a bit more difficult.

''We'll try.''

''We can't promise anything.''

Emma and Springtrap said in unison, with Sam rolling her eyes, knowing well that it was just a matter of time before one decides to mess with the other. It was a habit none of them were really willing to give up on and, in a way, a sign that both were comfortable in each other's presence.

''Anyways, we are still waiting for Aaron to arrive,'' Emma said, looking at Sam. ''Once he's here, we'll show you what the surprise is.''

''Okay,'' Sam replied, with Emma exiting the room and going downstairs. She then glanced at Springtrap with a smug look on her expression. ''So, are we going somewhere?''

''You know that I cannot tell you anything,'' Springtrap replied.

''Then, we are indeed going somewhere,'' Sam said. Springtrap snorted, just shaking his head.

''You'll find out soon enough,'' he told her.

xXx

A few hours had passed, with Sam deciding to spend the time until her father's arrival by watching random YouTube videos. However, she couldn't focus much on the videos as something else was on her mind, something not related to her birthday.She glanced at Springtrap, who was sitting on her bed, leaned over and looking as if he was lost in his own thoughts.

''You know, I have noticed that I'm scheduled to work after hours today,'' Sam said, with Springtrap glancing at her. He remembered that Emma told him that she talked to Anthelm, who probably decided to give her that shift so Sam could spend most of her day celebrating her birthday. ''We could stay there a bit longer in order to see whether the Drawkills might stop by.''

''I agree that we should stay there for a while longer,'' Springtrap replied, albeit still looking a little absent-minded. ''It is worth a try to see whether we are going to encounter the Drawkills.''

''Okay, I just hope that…'' Sam trailed off as she heard the sound of a car outside. She quickly got up and rushed over to the window, looking outside, with Springtrap following her. She grinned. ''Dad!''

She then quickly ran out of her room, going downstairs. Springtrap didn't follow her, but instead went to his room, where he had a better view of the driveway. He noticed a man dressed in a red T-shirt and brown trousers exiting the car, with Sam running up to him and hugging him. The man hugged her back, excited to see her. As he let go of Sam, he brushed with fingers through his messy dark brown hair, pushing his sunglasses up, and gave her a boyish grin.

Springtrap calmly observed the family reunion, deciding not to introduce himself to Aaron Blackburn yet. He was actually waiting for the go-ahead from Emma, who too went outside, with Aaron greeting her. He seemed to be really happy to see her and even Emma looked quite relaxed in his presence. While Springtrap was glad for them, especially after seeing Sam being this excited about seeing her father, he couldn't help but feel strange about it.

In a way, this was the kind of family his own could've been, if it weren't for the fact that he was a remorseless monster who just wanted to satisfy his own selfish desires and didn't give a damn about his family. He then saw Sam rushing back inside the house, his ears lifting up as he heard her run past his room and into her own. However, a moment later, he heard her running back downstairs, now carrying a black bag and entering Aaron's car. He felt a knot in his stomach as he observed the two driving away and went downstairs, encountering Emma.

''I noticed that Sam and her father had left,'' he told her.

''Yeah, and you're coming with me,'' Emma said, grabbing her bag and her car keys. ''Aaron already knows where we are going and we will be meeting up with them at Freddy's.''

Springtrap nodded, following her outside and entering Emma's car, still silent. Emma glanced at him as she drove out of the driveway and on the street, noticing the blank stare on his expression as he looked through the window. She narrowed her eyes.

''Okay, Afton, what's wrong?'' she asked.

''I'm fine,'' Springtrap replied, not bothering to look at Emma.

''If you were fine, you wouldn't be this quiet,'' Emma told him. ''I know that you are upset about something. You can either talk about it or let it eat you inside out.''

''Honestly, I'm currently not in a mood for an argument,'' Springtrap replied.

''Suit yourself,'' Emma said, with Springtrap being a little surprised that she didn't press the issue. ''Besides, we did promise Sam that we wouldn't argue today, didn't we? Nevertheless, you should take care of yourself or you might end up losing your mind.''

''I know,'' Springtrap muttered, once again feeling a knot in his stomach. There was something he simply didn't want to admit to himself and he knew that, if he didn't confront his feelings sooner or later, he would regret it.

xXx

''Where exactly are we going?'' Sam asked her father, feeling a bit impatient. She was quite excited about the surprise her mother had prepared for her, even more when her father drove her to a quite familiar part of the town.

''Hey, calm yourself down Sam,'' Aaron told her, smiling. ''You don't want the surprise to get ruined, right?''

''I wouldn't mind it,'' Sam replied as they turned into another street. ''As a matter of fact, I believe that I already know where we're going.''

''Really?'' Aaron snorted. ''Well, Emma did mention that you'd find this place even blindfolded, so I guess that I shouldn't be that surprised.''

''Wait, so we really are going to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza?'' Sam asked, with Aaron nodding. She fist-pumped. ''Awesome!''

''I have a feeling that something had happened since the last time we had seen each other,'' Aaron said. ''You haven't been this cheerful since, well… I think the last time I saw you this excited was when I took you on that road trip last year to visit the most haunted places in Utah.''

''I guess I just got a lucky break this summer,'' Sam replied.

''If that's so, maybe we could go on another road trip,'' Aaron replied. ''Either that, or we could just have another Dead by Daylight gaming night. You still play as The Huntress, right?''

''Well, she is my favorite Killer and I usually dominate the game while playing her,'' Sam replied.

''That's true,'' Aaron muttered, remembering the many times Sam had managed to beat him, despite all the counters he came up specifically for her. ''I will give you a call then.''

''Sure, Dad,'' Sam said, knowing that, as much as her father wanted to have some bonding time with her while playing games, he would still dread the moment she decides to get serious in-game. ''But, don't get too disappointed when I beat you.''

''Challenge accepted,'' Aaron chuckled. A few minutes later, they had arrived at Freddy's, with both exiting the car and waiting for Emma to arrive.

''I'm not sure if Mum told you about it, but I had actually gotten a job at Freddy's,'' Sam said.

''She did talk about it, but she never specified what kind of job it was,'' Aaron replied. ''Are you working as a cashier or…?''

''Actually, I work as an animatronic technician,'' Sam told her father, only for Aaron to ruffle her hair, with a proud look on his expression. ''Hey!''

''I'm impressed by your choice,'' he told her, with Sam grabbing his hand and moving it away, then tried to fix her hair. ''Although, I didn't know that you were familiar with robotics, aside from having an interest in animatronics thanks to those games.''

''To be honest, I took the time to learn a few things about animatronics during summer and for this, I had some help,'' Sam replied. ''It isn't that of a big deal, though, and I'm still learning. Besides, all I currently do is keeping an eye on the animatronics and checking on them after the place is closed for any damage. Since they're still new, as this place has been open for a little over a week, there isn't much that needs to be done.''

''As long as you enjoy it, I don't see a problem here,'' Aaron told her, giving her a thumbs up. He then looked around. ''Ah, there she is.''

Aaron pointed at the entrance, with Emma waving at them. She was alone, with Sam wondering where Springtrap was, as she expected him to be here too. Maybe he's already inside. After all, we didn't see Mum's car anywhere on the parking lot.

As she and Aaron walked over to the entrance, she had to wonder how the encounter between Springtrap and her father would go. Her father was certainly less paranoid than her mother and had a rather lax approach towards anything problematic, sometimes acting a little airheaded. She knew that this was something that annoyed Emma, since she wanted him to take things more seriously, with Aaron's reply being that she should relax a little or else she'll just miss out on the joys of life.

''I do hope that you like the surprise,'' Emma told Sam.

''It's amazing!'' Sam replied excitedly. ''This is going to be the best birthday ever!''

''I'm pretty sure that you're going to say the same next year,'' Aaron said in a sarcastic tone. ''At least we know now where we are going to celebrate your birthday again.''

''We'll see,'' Sam replied as they went inside. ''Who knows whether this location is going to be still open until next year.''

''Why wouldn't it be?'' Aaron asked, with Sam shrugging.

Emma meanwhile approached an employee, talking to her about the reservation, while Aaron was looking around, curious about the place. Sam, meanwhile, was trying to see if Springtrap was nearby. Mum didn't really left him at home, did she? I mean, I know that she would rather drop him off at a scrapyard than bring him here, but still…

The employee directed them to a booth, as Emma didn't deem it necessary to reserve a party room since it would only be a lunch for three people. The employee then told them that she would get the food and drinks they had ordered and left. They sat down, only for Aaron's eyes to widen as he realized something. He facepalmed.

''Oh, damn,'' he muttered.

''What's wrong, Dad?'' Sam asked him.

''I forgot about your birthday present,'' he said in an apologetic tone.

''Don't tell me you left it back at home like last time,'' Emma said, her eyes narrowing. Aaron gave her a sheepish look.

''Don't worry, this time, I actually brought it. I just left it in the car,'' he said. ''I'll be back soon.''

Sam chuckled, while Emma sighed, rubbing her temple. The accident she was referring to had actually occurred last Christmas, with Aaron calling them and telling them that he wanted to spend Christmas with them. Emma agreed to it and Sam was excited to see her father. However, he was in a rush and had accidentally left Sam's Christmas presents at his apartment. Sam didn't really care about it, but she thought that it was quite hilarious when, a few months later, Aaron showed up with the Christmas presents, having swapped the wrapping paper for an Easter-themed one, and apologized for messing up.

''Honestly, if his head wasn't attached to his neck, he'd probably forget about it too,'' Emma muttered. Sam chuckled.

''Well, that's how Dad is,'' she said, her smile fading. ''Anyways, Mum, where is Springtrap?''

''I assume that he's somewhere inside the restaurant. That is, if he managed to find his way through the back door,'' Emma added the last part in a teasing tone. ''Besides, I doubt that it would be that hard to miss a bunny animatronic, so you will just have to wait for him to appear.'' She then leaned her chin against her hand. ''He did look upset though, but he didn't want to talk about what was bothering him.''

''I hope you two didn't get into another argument,'' Sam said, frowning.

''No, we didn't,'' Emma replied. ''However, I do believe that you and Afton are going to have a conversation later on. He's more willing to talk to you about his issues than to me.''

Sam nodded. A few minutes later, Aaron approached them, holding a box covered in shiny white wrapping paper, with a red bow on the top.

''Here you go,'' Aaron said as he placed the box in front of Sam. ''Although, I think you already know what it is, since you've been telling me how you wanted to buy it by yourself.'' He sat down, turning to Emma while Sam unwrapped her birthday gift. ''What did you get her?''

''This!'' Sam answered instead, holding up the locket, with Aaron nodding.

''It's really pretty,'' he said. Sam just smiled and continued unwrapping the box and opening it, revealing a VR headset.

''Thanks, Dad! I can't wait to test this out!'' she said.

''Don't use it too much, though, as it is going to overheat and you will end up with a headache,'' Aaron told her, giving her a bitter smile. ''I actually hoped to get you an early access to the VR game my team was working on, as I feel that you'd love it, but per company policy, I'm not allowed to leak anything.''

''Really?'' Sam asked, feeling both excited and disappointed. ''Couldn't you at least tell me what it is about?''

''I'm sorry, but I can't. Besides, it's still in the beta stage and needs to be tested,'' Aaron replied. ''However, I can assure you that there will also be a Halloween-themed DLC, so you have something to look forward to after the VR game comes out. I will also give you a call when it does come out.'' He then pointed with his thumb at the stage with the animatronics. ''Although, that doesn't mean that I cannot give you any hints. I'm sure that you had already heard about the announcement of the game.''

Sam's eyes widened as she realized what he was talking about. Her heart was racing and she felt thrilled, having a good idea what kind of game this would be. While she had forgotten about it, as the announcement had been made several months ago and had no new updates, not even the name of the game, she felt hyped for it now that she got a confirmation from her father.

''Could you at least tell me the name of the game?'' Sam asked. ''I doubt that knowing the title is going to be much of a problem.''

''Well, I guess that it wouldn't,'' Aaron muttered as he thought about it. ''It's called Help Wanted.''

''I see,'' Sam grinned. While it was just a title, her mind instantly went into overdrive as she started speculating what the game would be about.

Eventually, the employee returned with the pizza and the drinks they had ordered, along with a Faz-Tokens Pass for Sam, which had been included in the birthday package Emma had reserved. Sam felt quite content as she at the pizza, but she still had to wonder where Springtrap was and what exactly he was upset about. Not to mention, he was also supposed to be a part of this celebration, as he was her best friend. She glanced at her mother, who was talking to her father about work and life in general, sounding as if everything was normal.

Well, in a way, things are relatively normal. Sam leaned back, crossing her arms as her eyes narrowed. On the other hand, if there's anything I have learned is that not all things are what they seem. My family isn't perfect, even though it seems as if it is. She then smiled. Nevertheless, it's not that bad.

''Anyways, Sam, what about you?'' Aaron turned to his daughter. ''I know that you work here now, but I'm curious whether there's anything else currently going on in your life.''

''To be honest, there kind of is…'' Sam muttered, only to get cut off.

''You know, you should look a bit more cheerful on your own birthday.''

''Springtrap!'' Sam was relieved to see Springtrap, smiling as he approached them, holding up a tray with the birthday cake. She glanced at her parents, noticing that Emma was a bit apprehensive, while Aaron looked quite interested in the bunny animatronic.

''I didn't know that you had agreed on having animatronic deliver the birthday cake,'' he said, glancing at Emma.

''Honestly, I would've been more satisfied with any other animatronic, but we just had to get this one,'' Emma replied, frowning as she looked at Springtrap, while Aaron gave her a puzzled look. He didn't really understand why Emma disliked the bunny animatronic so much.

''I know that you are worried, especially since you couldn't decide who'd be your daughter's friend and personal entertainer, but trust me, I only have her best interests in mind,'' Springtrap told her, with a rather smug look on his expression.

''Honestly, I feel as if I'm missing out on something,'' Aaron said as he leaned back, looking at Springtrap and Emma. However, before any of them could explain anything, Sam had intervened.

''Dad, meet Springtrap,'' Sam said. ''He's the reason why I decided to learn more about animatronic technology and why I work here. Also, he's quite unique.''

''Really?'' Aaron asked, giving Springtrap a curious look. ''What do you mean by that?''

''The truth is that I'm a highly advanced animatronic left behind by one of the former owners of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza and that I was found by your daughter,'' Springtrap explained, glancing at Sam. ''Not only did she salvage me and brought me to her home, but she also attempted to repair me and mend what was broken. Rest assured, she did an amazing job.''

Aaron whistled, looking quite proud as he turned to Sam. ''You know, you could've told me about your friend over here a bit earlier. I wouldn't have minded…'' he trailed off as he realized something. ''Wait, you brought the animatronic home?''

''Yeah,'' Sam replied, with a sheepish look on her expression. ''Spring is kind of living with us. His AI and his memory had also been left in tact and he has extensive knowledge in robotics, so he was also the one who helped me learn how to handle animatronics.''

''I see,'' Adam nodded. ''Well, whoever built that bunny was quite a genius.''

''Thank you,'' Springtrap said, with Sam chuckling, while Emma just glared at him. He then set the cake on the table and sat next to Sam, with them being across Emma and Aaron. ''You won't mind if I join you, then?''

Aaron and Sam shook their head, while Emma just gave him a cold look, biting her lip. She then took a deep breath and reached for the knife that was on the tray, starting to cut up the cake. She had actually been questioning her decision about also bringing Springtrap here, as she had a bad feeling that he would say or do something that might ruin this little party.

''You know, Emma, maybe we should've taken a few photos before you decided to massacre Sam's birthday cake,'' Aaron said suddenly, with Emma turning to him, only to realize that she accidentally cut up the cake into uneven pieces. She then glanced at Sam, who gave her a worried look.

''I'm sorry, Sam,'' she muttered, putting the knife down.

''It's okay, Mum,'' Sam replied, already knowing what was bothering Emma. ''Honestly, I'm really enjoying myself and I'm glad that my birthday turned out to be like this.''

''Sam is right,'' Aaron added. ''You should relax a little, considering there really isn't anything you need worry about.''

Emma didn't reply, but instead glanced at Springtrap, who just nodded, making it clear that he wasn't here to cause trouble and that he would stay true to his word. While she didn't trust him, she knew that he wouldn't want to disappoint Sam.

''Okay,'' she sighed. ''As long as nothing happens…''

Sam, Springtrap and Aaron were just glad that Emma had finally lowered her guard down. They knew that she was stressed about this whole thing, with Sam and Springtrap being aware that Springtrap's presence made her even more anxious than usual, so it was a good sign that she decided to listen to them. Emma then poked with her fork at what had remained of the strawberry cake, giving them all a nervous look.

''I hope that you don't mind having to eat a cake that looks like it went through a shredder,'' she said. Springtrap and Aaron gave her amused looks, while Sam chuckled, already putting two pieces of cake on her plate.

''No, I don't mind it at all,'' she replied, taking a bite.

xXx

A bit later, Aaron and Sam decided to waste the Faz-Tokens on the basketball arcade game, while Emma remained back at the booth, leaning against the seat and trying to relax a little. However, this proved to be quite difficult considering Springtrap was sitting across her.

''I thought that you'd be staying close to Sam,'' she told him.

''I don't think that's necessary since Aaron's with her,'' Springtrap replied. ''Besides, I figured that you might want company.''

''You're wrong,'' Emma replied. ''The last thing I need is your company.''

''Really?'' Springtrap snorted. ''I remember you telling me that, if there's something I'm upset about, that I should talk about it. However, I believe that the same applies to you as well.''

''Okay, then. If you want to have a conversation with me, Afton, then you'd have to tell me what exactly was bothering you,'' Emma said, tilting her head. She noticed Springtrap's ears lowering, with him avoiding eye-contact. Emma figured that he wouldn't talk, as he remained silent, but then he looked back at her, his eyes glowing in a faint purple.

''Fine,'' he said. ''I admit, I was feeling jealous at Aaron, and I know that I'm sounding like an idiot.''

''Well, you are an idiot, but I don't think that's the point here,'' Emma replied. ''I assume that you weren't really sure how to handle Aaron's visit, especially considering how you decided to act as if you were Sam's father during the past few weeks.''

''I think the more appropriate term would be 'father figure', but you're right,'' Springtrap said. ''In the end, I was upset over nothing, just as you were.''

Emma rose an eyebrow. ''What?''

''Let's be honest, you don't want me here,'' Springtrap replied. ''The only reason you even tolerate me is because of Sam. However, I have promised you that I wouldn't do anything that would ruin her day and I kept my word.'' He grinned. ''Yours, on the other hand…''

He quickly shut up as he saw the icy glare Emma gave him.

''You are right, I did expect you to do something wrong and it irritates me that you're actually trying to be a decent person,'' Emma told him.

''So, you don't believe that I can actually be a good person,'' Springtrap replied her, with Emma looking a bit stunned by that reply. She then shook her head.

''Afton, you-'' Emma got cut off by Springtrap.

''Listen, I understand why you don't want to trust me and, honestly, I'm not going to ask you for it. Nevertheless, I'd like to thank you for at least tolerating my presence,'' he told her. ''If it weren't for the circumstances I found myself in, I wouldn't even be part of your and Sam's life.''

''I hate to point it out to you, Afton, but if you didn't decide to involve yourself in Sam's life, I doubt that she would've been able to overcome her own issues,'' Emma replied, biting her lip. ''So, thank you for that.''

Springtrap stared at her, stunned. He then nodded.

''You're welcome,'' Springtrap replied, knowing that this wasn't something Emma really wanted to admit. ''At least I had managed to make one person happy.''

They were silent for a while, with Emma glancing past Springtrap, looking a little confused.

''What is that animatronic staring at?''

Springtrap turned around, noticing Showtime Freddy staring at a what Emma probably thought to be empty space. However, what he saw was a little boy in a black and white stripped T-shirt, looking back at Freddy. Sammy then turned to his father, smiling and then ran away. Springtrap sighed in relief, glad that Sammy wasn't afraid anymore of the animatronics. However, the joy he felt was replaced by a sense of dread when a wave of static briefly overwhelmed him.

Something's wrong.

''Hey, what are you-'' Emma didn't even finish her sentence as Springtrap suddenly stood up. At the same time, Aaron and Sam had returned, with Sam holding a Showtime Bonnie plushie she got from exchanging the tickets at Puppet's prize corner. She and Aaron were arguing playfully over their respective scores, when Sam noticed the alert look on Springtrap's expression. However, she decided to stay calm, especially after seeing the puzzled look Emma gave Springtrap.

''Hey, guys, guess who managed to beat Dad at that basketball arcade game,'' she said, drawing Springtrap and Emma's attention. Aaron ruffled her hair, grinning.

''Yeah, only because I let you,'' he said. Sam snorted, stuffing the plushie into her bag and glanced at Springtrap.

''I'm glad that you're enjoying yourself,'' he told her, with Sam noting a faint purple glow in his eyes. ''Anyways, before I forget about it, there is something I want to show you.''

''Sure,'' Sam replied. Despite his calm demeanor, there was something in Springtrap's tone, telling her that there was a problem they needed to deal with. She glanced back at Emma and Aaron, one being suspicious, while the other was curious. ''I'll be back soon.''

''Follow me,'' Springtrap said. Sam nodded, relieved that her parents didn't question any of this and followed Springtrap through the restaurant. It didn't take her long to realize that he was leading her to the hidden back room. She looked out for employees, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to them. Well, no one except for the animatronics. Sam's eyes narrowed as she saw Showtime Foxy who, while talking to a few children, rose his head and looked straight at them. He didn't follow them, though.

''What's wrong?'' Sam asked Springtrap as they entered the empty corridor.

''I'm not completely sure, but I just have this weird feeling… It's the same thing that happened when Sammy tried to contact us,'' Springtrap told her, pointing at the hidden back room. ''I had figured that it would be better if we get away from the crowd and go somewhere where people wouldn't think to search for us.''

Sam just nodded, following Springtrap inside once he opened the door. However, the moment they stepped inside the room, Sam's vision became blurry while Springtrap got overwhelmed by static once again. They could hear the door close behind them. As her vision cleared, Sam looked down, noticing a pool of dark red liquid on the floor. Stunned, she took a step back.

Blood?

She looked up, her eyes widening in shock. Five animatronic mascots were leaned against the wall, all of them having blood flowing through the gaps in the costumes. Not only that, but when Sam took a step forward, she could see glassy eyes staring back at her through the masks they were wearing. She clenched her fists, shaking, and glanced back at Springtrap. He had a look of shock and horror on his expression, but it then was replaced by a frown as he realized what was going on.

So, you really want to replay the nightmare?

Links:

#Previous Chapter

#Current Chapter

#Next Chapter

#Five Nights at Freddy's: The Untold Story (Masterlist)

#Five Nights at Freddy's: The Untold Story #Five Nights at Freddy's: Nothing Remains #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #william afton #springtrap #fnaf 3 #five nights at freddy's 3 #showtime animatronics #freddy fazbear #showtime freddy fazbear #sammy afton #crying child #fnaf missing children incident

4 notes · View notes