#complete with crinkly half moon eyes

[alasarys]

Daniel discovering his Secret Santa recipient

#the way he goes from semi serious to laughing #complete with crinkly half moon eyes #and the cheeky 'i would have chosen again if you'd let me' jaw thrust #sobbing #daniel ricciardo #secret santa 2022

[randomstarmuffin]

Hm. What’s this? I seem to— drop something— oh! It’s the number 6. On a rug. Arug. Interesting :39

Spotify wrapped inbox prompt! Accepting (...but if anyone else is interested please do not expect it to be quite this long it very well could be but I am not capable of making length promises you really cannot trust me)

6. “Adhd” by Truslow (39. “Tonight You’re Perfect” by New Politics)

aw, geez, not on the-- i just had that steamed... now look what you’ve done, there’s a big ol 6 on the carpet. are you happy??? (actually though, i’m going to need to know how you somehow wrote 2 numbers -- I am counting the number you hid secretly in the emoticon -- of songs which are NOT on my arug playlist, but which DO completely fit. howd you do that huh??)

Sorry, there’s a clear reason I don’t post fics to tumblr usually lol. Behold, something that FAR exceeds drabble territory:

    “Stop!”

Doug drops back on his heels, instantly obeying. He already felt a bit winded, but now his lungs constrict in a terrible little squeeze that has nothing to do with running up a staircase and hiding in a tiny alcove under the hush of night sky where only the full moon can see them.

Maybe he’s stupid, especially compared to Arthur, but he’s pretty sure even he couldn’t have misread such an obvious sign. An obvious, bright and shining KISS ME, STUPID sign in the, like, atmosphere or whatever: the way Arthur had been looking at him, in how close together they’d been, in the way the conversation had naturally petered out and Arthur had glanced at his lips and leant in and closed his fucking eyes and–

And put up his hands to push Doug away by the shoulders not half a second later.

Which, fine. Doug can roll with it, and it’s not like it would really bother him if Arthur had actually changed his mind or just realized he wasn’t into it or wasn’t as comfortable as he’d thought at first or whatever.

But.

But.

The way he won’t meet Doug’s gaze anymore, and the way his posture straightened up—not just to stop bending down toward Doug, but also in that stupid way he gets when he’s feeling awkward or like he has something to prove. The way his expression is stabilizing into that level, flat, stupid mask he tries so hard to keep up all the time, and for what? His real smile—a little lopsided, a little crinkly in the nose in a way that makes his glasses ride up ever so slightly, if you’re watching for it—is a much nicer, more welcoming thing. It’s gone now, though, as surely fallen away and lost as tree leaves in winter.

The problem isn’t that Arthur’s drawing a line about the attempted kiss. The problem is that Doug can see in his eyes that he doesn’t feel differently; he’s feeling what Doug’s feeling, and he wants it as badly, and he fucking won’t go through with it.

That’s what hits Doug like a punch to the gut. He’s not worth trying.

Arthur’s arms drop back to his side, and then seemingly feeling that wasn’t enough to dispel the awkward tension (it wasn’t), he clasps them behind his back, too, for good measure. What, was he worried Doug would try to hold his hands?

“We… We can’t– We shouldn’t be doing this. I should…” he makes an aborted gesture indicating he means I should be going.

And, man. Fuck this.

Doug laughs humorlessly. “Why? I’m not on your list of pre-approved suitors, or whatever you do in your fancy ass castle? Can’t be seen ‘consorting’ with the hired help?”

Arthur flinches a little. Good.

“Doug–”

“No, Arthur, you listen up,” Doug interrupts, crowding into Arthur’s space despite his half-baked attempts to back away. He jabs a finger into his royal highness’s chest, hard enough that with any luck he’ll be feeling it far longer than only while it rests there. “Save that shit for your subjects, or whatever the hell. Don’t fucking tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. You don’t get to decide that for me. Sorry if that’s not what you’re accustomed to.”

“I’m not–” Arthur grits his teeth, just slightly, barely visible in the pale moonlight, a tick of irritation even he can’t mask completely. He takes an ever-so-slightly shaky breath. “I fail to see,” he amends carefully, sounding no more put off than he is delivering the upcoming week’s weather forecast (and all the more out of place because of it), “the need for you to– to be– like…this.”

He steps back again, and this time pushes Doug’s hand away as well. In its absence, he pointedly does not rub at the spot Doug’s finger had been, despite the fact that Doug’s 90% sure he accomplished his goal of making it bruise.

“Like what, Arthur?”

“Like– Just– Agh.” The little noise of aggravation he lets loose would be more gratifying if he weren’t literally turning away at the same time. “I should hardly think I’d need to tell you that.”

Doug crosses his arms and follows right along, keeping the same amount of distance between them. There isn’t much room up here on the observatory’s top deck for him to really go anywhere, after all.

“Oh? Don’t underestimate how stupid I can be. Try me.”

“You’re not–” Arthur takes a breath. “Do not put words into my mouth.”

“Ha!” Doug crows, triumphant. “So don’t put them in mine either, asshole.”

“I– Hff.” Arthur runs a hand up the bridge of his nose, under his glasses, knocking them askew. “Just– Forget it, okay. I… Please, Doug. Just forget about me, we can– We can just act like nothing ever happened.”

“Like nothing ever happened,” Doug repeats. Slowly.

“Yeah—Yes. I will just… We can avoid… That is, if I leave first, you can just wait here for a few minutes before following so Volcanon doesn–”

“Fucking hell, Arthur. Seriously?! First of all, you do realize that pretending we don’t fucking know each other is ten thousand fucking percent more suspicious in a town with a fucking population of twenty fucking people! Which we showed up to together, at the same fucking time? What do you want me to say, I tripped and fell over and—oopsie!—lost my memory, too? Fuck.”

Arthur frowns at him, and for as happy as Doug is to get some kind of reaction, a silent little frown is not going to cut it.

“Is that it, then?” Doug demands. “Or what, are you firing me? How much do you want me to pretend I have no godsdamned clue who you are, exactly? Should I re-introduce myself? My oh my, would you look at that, a real bona fide prince, how very exciting!”

Arthur’s frown pinches in the corner. “Do you want to be fired?” he asks, seeming to surprise even himself a little with the question. Doug would actually have really gotten a kick out of it, if only he’d asked several minutes ago when they were still laughing and the mood hadn’t gone to shit.

“Don’t change the fucking subject.”

“No,” Arthur says. “No, I want to know this. You keep bringing it up. If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you–”

“Do you remember that thing we just talked about, where you keep putting damn words in my mouth?”

“–as after all, it’s not like you really…” Arthur blinks at him, trailing off.

Doug rolls his eyes. “So that’s a no, you don’t.”

“I simply,” Arthur says, grimace very briefly twitching across his cheek, “do not see the point in keeping up the—let’s face it—ruse, if you will, when that is clearly not what you want.”

“Oh? Then, tell me. What is it I do want, huh?” Besides a single measly kiss.

(Which he’s clearly not going to get. And it’s so stupid, so stupid, because it’s not like he was even planning to act any differently, after. Nothing had to change—nothing would have changed—if Arthur had just let it happen to begin with. A kiss isn’t really a big deal, even if Doug’s skin is still crawling with the retracted potential of one. But now, well…)

“I believe I was recently informed how distasteful it is to speculate on behalf of other people,” Arthur replies, snippy and over-enunciated. Good. Doug wants snippy.

(It definitely doesn’t tickle that missed-potential itch.)

“Yeah? Well surely they also ‘informed’ you that it’s different when you have permission, right? Go on, lay it on me. Tell me how it is, oh imperial scholar, oh ye of infinite wisdom who always knows best. Hit me.”

It’s gratifying that Arthur, of all people, looks for half a moment as though he might have been considering taking him up on it, literally. Of course, he would never, but it’s the thought that counts. Especially with Arthur.

“Mmn. If I had to speculate. I would say what you want, what you have been expressly complaining about in no uncertain terms since we left the capital, no less, is for me to ‘get out of your hair,’ as I believe you once put it. I fail to see the problem with fulfilling those wishes now, is all.”

“Hah. Do you.”

As though that weren’t ages ago. As though everything hasn’t changed since then.

As though Arthur doesn’t know exactly how little Doug had been hoping Arthur would ‘get out of his hair’ moments ago, huddled in that alcove. As though he doesn’t have eyes and can’t see how little Doug wants that now, either, despite Arthur’s best efforts.

And, really. It’s insulting and he knows better. He’ll have to try much harder than this.

“I merely wish to be conscientious.”

Doug snorts. “Sure. Call it what you need, buddy.”

Arthur opens his mouth, but falters at the last second before he can say anything more.

And Doug could almost scream, because he realizes a half second before it happens that he’s lost. That he’s lost Arthur, lost him to himself, to his thoughts and worries about every godsdamned thing except the one thing he ought to be looking out for: himself.

And not what he thinks that should mean, not how people see him and what they think of him and how his actions will reflect. Him.

Doug watches Arthur slam the door on himself, not for the first time, and, for the first time, wonders if Arthur even knows what that means. If he even knows what he’s doing to himself.

Doug’s been playing this part for a while now, pretending to be the sort of stalwart companion they both know he obviously isn’t. He would even say he’s been doing a good job of it, that it’s worked out well for the both of them, all things considered. And, fine, he can admit it—he was trying. He didn’t have to put as much effort into it, not when they’d already left the capital and there wasn’t anyone else around who could have filled the role even if Arthur had wanted them to.

But Doug had tried. And that’s not easy to admit because it is quite clearly contrary to his cause, but– How could he help himself when he’d caught a glimpse of what he could find behind the façade?

And where exactly had that gotten him?

Whether Arthur can see Doug’s turmoil, he can’t be sure, but either way he is unmoved to change his mind and continue talking. He takes a breath and with naught more than a prim nod turns gracefully on his heel and resumes his approach of the exit, neither too hurried as to betray frustration or anger nor too slowly as to betray hesitance or remorse.

Unbidden and despite the fact he’d known to expect this as soon as he saw the shift in Arthur’s expression, Doug scoffs, a sound of disgust and scorn and deeply unpleasant surprise.

And maybe some unpleasant surprise at the unpleasant surprise, too. Like… It’s not really that important. Doug doesn’t care that much about this. About Arthur.

And really, even though he does, what had he been expecting all this time? Why let it get this far? He knows what has to happen. He’s always known! He’s worse than Arthur’s being right now, if he really deluded himself into thinking he could have this and achieve his goal at the same time and everything would stay all hunky-dory. If he thought he could get this close and expect there to be no consequences.

Because now, as Doug watches Arthur rebuild his walls twice as high and twice as thick, he realizes he can’t do this.

Sure, he shouldn’t do this, he’s always known that, deep down. He let himself do this for far too long, it’s true. But all this time, it’s been because he could do it, because there wasn’t anything to stop him, because he could keep idly poking and prodding and being rewarded with more pieces of the puzzle.

But he can’t. Not anymore.

It’s not that he thinks those walls are insurmountable. Frankly, given enough time just standing here staring him down, Doug thinks it would be pretty easy to bring them crumbling to dust again. Not like it’d be the first time, after all.

And it’s certainly not that he’s seen a side of Arthur he finds repelling—if anything, he’s seen more evidence tonight that Arthur is capable of fighting for himself than not, which is… Well, not worth examining further, right now, however it might make Doug feel about him.

He can’t do this because Arthur is capable of being this person Doug can see, so clearly, who has so obviously been dying to get free, all this time, but he keeps choosing not to be.

And Doug is too in l–

He. Is too…involved to keep watching him do it.

If Arthur wants to keep doing this to himself, then, hey, that’s great. It’s not like it has ever once been Doug’s place to tell him what to do with himself. (Not like he’d ever listen even if he tried.)

But it is Doug’s place to choose what he does, and he can’t let his choice be to watch someone take everything they have to offer and smother it, over and over and over and over.

He’s lost too much. He can’t keep losing Arthur, again and again.

(If his revenge consists of getting rid of the people responsible for his losses, paying them back, giving them as good as what was got, how could that possibly figure in this? Who is he supposed to be mad at, if it’s all one and the same? What is he supposed to do about it?)

Much better to just be done with it than stand around and let it happen.

So, Doug watches Arthur retreat, chin high and immoveable and untouchable, as he’s done several times before. And he knows it’s not enough. There’s no finality in it, there’s only Arthur’s expectation—whether Arthur is aware of it or not—that eventually Doug will, once again, follow his lead, no matter how plentiful or loud his grumblings about it will be. He’ll still be there anyways.

And for just one second, Doug allows himself to imagine that things are different. That he can and will do just that.

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be just a daydream, hidden in a secluded area under the moonlight.

Maybe it’d be something they could figure out in concert, in harmony, more than the first draft of a melody only they can hear, something real and open and true.

Maybe it’s something they could learn to do together.

“Maybe it’s time to just admit it,” Doug says coldly, freezing Arthur’s retreating back in place on the stairs. Like this, they’re about the same height, and Doug appreciates how it makes boring holes into the back of that stupid, entitled, idiotic blonde head easier.

“…Admit what?” Arthur asks slowly when Doug doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t turn around.

“Admit that we’ve done all we can do for each other. We made it to Selphia, like you wanted—woulda been nice to have a head’s up there, by the way! And you already know I’m not really here because I cared about…attending to you, or honor, or whatever. So we’re good,” Doug replies dismissively.

Arthur still does not turn. “…We did achieve the first aim I intended to pursue, yes. And as I said, I will not stop you if you do not wish to retain your position. However, if you are under the impression I have accomplished everything I set out to do, you are mistaken.”

“No, you’re right,” Doug agrees.

Arthur is playing the specifics close to his chest, so Doug may not know everything, but he knows Arthur is clearly up to something when late into the night most nights, he can still be found pouring over records and receipts and maps and recovered journal entries by candlelight. Doug doesn’t really get where all of the documents even come from, but he knows there’s a kind of rhyme and reason to the haphazard way they end up in towering stacks on one side of Arthur’s desk, same as the so-called organization of his extensive collection of glasses.

What exactly Arthur’s secret agenda is isn’t important, though. The problem is and always has been Doug’s agenda. Selfishly, he hopes Arthur is clever enough to figure that out himself.

“But,” Doug continues, biting out the words, “as far as what you wanted—why bother pretending that it’s—that we’re—nothing when, clearly, it really was nothing. So. Later. It’s been real.”

Arthur turns around then, stricken. Doug has never seen such an expression on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t like the heady curl of pleasure he takes in having caused it, considering the circumstances, but oh, does he.

Maybe it’s not fair, when he’s decided to be this way not because he doesn’t care, but rather because he has all at once discovered he cares entirely too much. But that angry part of him—the part that wants to just grab Arthur by the scruff and wring him around until he realizes how stupid he’s being, the part that hates being so entirely consumed by something ultimately futile, the part that just wants to take all the things burning him up inside out on everyone, someone, anyone, around him if only so he isn’t the only one in flames—that part of him wants Arthur to hurt, too. Even if it isn’t fair. Even if he doesn’t figure as much to Arthur as Arthur does to him. (Even if, improbably, heinously, unforgivably—he does.) He should still have to feel something at Doug’s absence.

“No, no,” Doug says, deciding to screw it, to let that part of him take over, “Go on, now. Please, don’t stop on my behalf.”

Yet.

It’s petty, and it’s desperate.

But the other part of Doug?

It really, really hopes he does. Please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur can’t stop.

Arthur would do a lot of things, ones he’d never really thought he’d have reason to, much less want to, on Doug’s behalf.

Just, not stop.

If he stops, he may never start again. If he stops, and admits that he—enjoys? Covets? Anticipates?

Desires, ardently?

—the time that he spends in Doug’s company, that he wants nothing more than to go back to that quiet, shining moment in the alcove across the observatory deck and freeze it and trap it in a jar and hold it close so he can live in it forevermore? If he admits that, he has to admit that there’s no purpose to what he’s seeking out, that finding it—finding her—won’t give him what he wants. That he’s spent all this time searching for something in the entirely wrong places.

That the thing he wishes for above all else wasn’t really anything special, that there wasn’t a deeper meaning behind it, that there wasn’t a reason he can point to. That it’s something one can just happen upon by accident. That there’s nothing to earn, nothing to prove, no epic quest required to win the right to glittering riches unimaginable.

That it’s incidental, and small, and plentiful, and common, and he’s spent so long chasing a dead end lead with such single-minded focus that he’d missed it every time it’s been right in front of him. Or if not it, then—the truth of it, which is something of equal, or perhaps even greater, import to him.

He can’t admit that. He knows it can’t be true. He has evidence, eyewitness testimony. It’s a pledge and it’s a duty and it’s a struggle and it cannot be easy or else how much time will he have wasted?

It’s difficult. Everyone says so. He knows it to be so.

But, says the errant little voice in his head, did you ever think to ask in which ways it should be?

Arthur can’t stop, and there’s a reason he’d had to beg Doug to do it earlier, to stop, instead of pulling away from that almost-kiss on his own.

Kiss. Had they really almost…?

Not that it means anything, necessarily. There are plenty of reasons to do something like that. Plenty of reasons that aren’t the only one Arthur can seem to conjure up, which is really more of a laughable non-reason than anything concrete or real.

He had simply wanted to.

They had been so close, and Doug had been right there, and that had been the only thing he could think—not even really think, truly. More like, he hadn’t been thinking, or couldn’t think, and had only possessed an impulse to do it, and… Well, and nothing else. Scarily, he doesn’t think he has a better justification to point to.

So, it’s– It’s good Doug had listened to him, that they’d avoided it. How unnecessarily complicated; how improperly had Arthur been willing to take advantage of someone he held a position of power over.

(…Technically. Sort of. Not that it means anything in practice. He thinks, if the mood were different, Doug would laugh himself to tears if he suggested this aloud, and say something about how Arthur wishes that were the case.)

Arthur doesn’t suggest it aloud. Instead, he meets Doug’s eyes, belatedly realizing they’re at height with his own, owing to his being on the steps. They catch on the moonlight and flash that fascinating striking silver; there’s steel in them, too, now, but also something else, molten and alive and demanding, all at once anvil and ingot and hammer alike.

If only Arthur could figure out which shape they’re being stricken into.

Something is different about this, as compared to every other time Doug has complained and threatened to leave Arthur’s “sorry ass” behind to be torn apart and eaten by palm cats on his own, that he has better things to do than babysit a “grown-ass” man all day.

(Are all of Doug’s insults ass-related, now that Arthur thinks about it? It’s not something to ponder on right now, but it’s hard not to consider all the same.)

Arthur really must be out of it, but either Doug doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that that’s the case, because he seems to take Arthur’s continued silence to be its own kind of answer. Something changes, a shift in his weight or a twitch in his expression, something Arthur can’t quite put his finger on but can’t help noticing all the same.

Doug blows an angry huff of air, and Arthur can tell he’s hesitated too long. He’d thought they could salvage this and just go back to how things had been, but he misstepped somewhere, and he just can’t figure out where.

He doesn’t exactly get a chance to mull it over, though.

Under his breath, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but also sort of like part of him absolutely does, he says, “Figures you’d leave too. I guess that’s all you ever learned to do, huh?”

Arthur nearly doesn’t recognize the nasty voice lowly gutting him in an afterthought, pulling apart every single piece of his insides, sizzling as it cuts through him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell about the tone or the speaker when the words have seized him to the point of gasping for air.

It’s a swift, violent thing. For the way it dismantles every conscious thought and sensation in his body, if he had the slightest bit left of his propriety he’d almost say it was a mercy, such an expedient—such an accurate, precise—execution.

But he can’t breathe, doesn’t remember how, isn’t sure if he wants to, so how can he possibly be expected to respond?

But an assassin’s job isn’t to torture, is it? Get in, finish it, get out. Arthur still doesn’t know the whole story, but it may as well be the truth, too, for everything he does know about why Doug dropped himself onto his doorstep in the first place.

Regardless of how well-trained for it he is, Doug wraps this hit up quietly, short and to the point. And Arthur almost wants to thank him for it.

“Don’t worry,” Doug says, voice so close to Arthur’s ear and so very, very far away. “I’ll save you the trouble.”

And he shoulders past Arthur and just.

Leaves.

Arthur isn’t sure how long he stands there, feet on stairs at different heights, nearly-but-not-quite-by-a-step-or-two on the observation deck all alone, growing cold in night air. There’s a chill in it, absent of a breeze but rather of the type that merely sinks directly into your bones without any motion, the kind your body involuntary soaks up like a sponge. He doesn’t remember how Doug left, exactly, though he supposes, with no shortage of hysteria, that he must have used the stairs to do it.

(With no shortage of hysteria, he’s very briefly struck by the thought that he wouldn’t, technically, have had to do so, necessarily, but he shuts that off before he can picture how such an improvised exit would end. He can’t even think it.)

(Besides, how could he have done that when Arthur knows Doug had pushed past him on his way out?)

(He had. Surely, he had. Arthur can feel the phantom burn of his touch blistering his side. He hadn’t imagined that.)

(Right?)

Arthur is on the floor of the observatory deck, the Selphian observatory deck, and he isn’t quite sure how he got there, but all he can think is that this is what he wanted, this is what he asked for.

He’d been begging for this, to be alone, to have his legs collapsed out from under him (somehow, miracle of miracles, not on the stairs but on flat, solid deck, though he’s not sure when that happened, either). His knees, he realizes, sting from the impact of falling on them. He wanted… He wants–

He needs help.

It’s so simple. How he hadn’t realized before is impossible to know. He can’t do what he came here to do on his own.

But things had changed, hadn’t they. Without his noticing, without his permission, without his appreciation, Arthur had gained something he’d never once in all his 19 years had, and he hadn’t even realized it until it was gone. Someone who truly listened, and cared, and not because they were on a payroll, and not in spite of it. Someone who stuck around despite all-too-oft expressing frustrations about situations he’d put them in. Someone who hadn’t known him all his life, and hadn’t asked to hear about it, but had remembered anyway. A confidant.

A friend.

And maybe…

If Arthur hadn’t been so stupid, and blind, and senseless, maybe tonight he could have even been more. Maybe he already had been, and Arthur simply and foolishly had insisted he wasn’t. Hadn’t let him be.

Maybe, despite everything Arthur’s ever known telling him otherwise, maybe that fleeting moment, that moment-before-a-first-kiss, in which everything had felt perfect–

Maybe it really had been?

He struggles with it, but at least the air comes easier to breathe, now. Nothing that feels perfect ever really is. Arthur knows this. He’s always known.

Focusing on the basics always helps. Perfect is imaginary. It’s not real. By definition, it is untouchable and unquestionably impossible.

But.

But the stars shining in Doug’s silver eyes, iridescent in the moonlight. But the lingering echo of his muffled laughter, like a barrier holding out the rest of the world aside from just them two. But the gentle weight of his touch, branding Arthur’s forearm where he holds it.

Perfect is a fabrication, it is a standard to be upheld, it is expected.

Perfect is not something that knocks you so hard off your feet that you tear through the knees of your trousers, that catches you so unaware that you haven’t even realized you’ve fallen until you hit the floor.

Arthur knows this. He knows many things, and he knows this.

But.

Oh, but.

But he believes, for the first time in a long, long time—a startlingly, shockingly, quakingly long time—he believes tonight. He believes tonight had felt perfect.

Being nearly caught by Volkanon after assuming the head butler would have already been asleep, immediately after they’d stolen out of the castle with an assortment of documents even a visiting prince really shouldn’t have been privy to, which they’d filched from the castle basement and which had still been very much on Arthur’s person. Doug snatching his arm when he’d frozen stiff, quickly but discreetly dragging him away in the opposite direction. A near miss with Forte coming around the corner on patrol, Doug yanking Arthur back into the observatory stairwell just before the Dragon Knight could spot them.

Of course, it’s not like they’re fugitives. There would have been no reason for Forte to think anything amiss even if she had seen them, and as Doug himself has pointed out, it’s more suspicious to draw attention to the issue by pretending something obviously untrue. If they had just kept walking, no one would have stopped them from a pleasant if somewhat late night out strolling Selphia’s streets. Even Volkanon would have likely only had an exuberant greeting for them and asked how their night was going, none the wiser about what Arthur was concealing in his coat.

But had that mattered? Had it mattered that it had been unnecessary when Doug, face flushed with adrenaline, had started wheezing quiet giggles about the overreaction, had turned to Arthur, eyes bright, and said, “Race you to the top,” and taken off up the stairs before Arthur could stop him.

Had it mattered that they could have kept walking, when Arthur finally made it to the top (a bit more out of breath than he’d like to admit) and realized he couldn’t see Doug, and he’d wandered onto the deck apprehensively, halfway through quietly calling his name a second time when he’d been bodily tugged into an alcove he’d never once even noticed before. When he’d stumbled into Doug, who had been been right up against him, laugher still singing in his eyes and the crinkles in his face, and Arthur hadn’t been able to help himself from laughing too.

It hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t been anything noteworthy at all, in fact, not any part of the whole thing.

And it had been—wonderful. Exciting. Thrilling for no reason in particular, not due to any real danger, not for any reason Arthur could think to give. It had just been…unreal. Perfect.

And Doug—Doug had been perfect.

No, not just that—Doug had made Arthur feel perfect, too. And that’s nothing anyone’s done in… Since…

Has anyone ever?

Has he ever felt such a perfect, whole sense of belonging, such a perfect reason to just be, to screw all the other noise and nonsense and not worry about everything else around him and just be, there, in the moment, with someone else by his side? The way Doug, without even trying, had done tonight?

At least, before Arthur went and ruined it.

Ah.

Right.

What does it matter, what does it matter, for Arthur to realize any of this now? Doug already left. He isn’t there to help Arthur back on his feet. He isn’t there to tell Arthur if he should keep running, or if he should stand and fight, or anything else.

How unbearable, to only realize how far and fast and deep he’d fallen after he’d already absolutely screwed up his best chance to do something about it, tonight.

Arthur rearranges himself carefully, mindful of his scraped knees. Out of habit, he pats the pocket of his coat containing the documents that had gotten him into this situation in the first place. They’re still there, safe and sound. He sits leaning back against the observatory railing and tips his head to gaze at the stars above him.

Arthur sighs. What Doug had said—that last part, at least—that had hurt. And the irony of saying it and then leaving himself? With a clearer head, Arthur can now say that was far worse.

And isn’t that just something. People say these sorts of things about him, have said them since he was a child, and he’s never paid them much mind. Sometimes they sting a little, he can’t help that, but never any worse than a prick of the finger. But tonight? But when Doug was the one saying it?

The worst part is, Arthur isn’t sure if he was wrong—about any of it. About Arthur running away, about them having already done all they could do for each other? About Arthur putting words in his mouth and expecting things from him that he’d never promised?

And had he truly meant it, that there was nothing between them? It hadn’t felt that way. The fire in Doug’s eyes hadn’t made it seem so. But how can it possibly be, that someone as direct and shameless at Doug would lie so unflinchingly, now, after all this time?

Unless…all of it had been a lie?

Arthur knows that could be true. Hell, maybe it’s even likely, given what little he knows about Doug and how very much he doesn’t.

He just…doesn’t believe it.

The stars twinkle on, laughing at him, and the moon watches, still and silent and calm. The clear, cloudless sky itself offers no great insights—though it does remind him that there is supposed to be a storm blowing in sometime in the next few days.

Calm before the storm, indeed.

It’s a little silly, but Arthur doesn’t have any energy left to combat silly, so he mutters, “If you were going to send a sign, wish you would’ve been a little more clear about that,” at the sky.

Predictably, he does not receive an answer.

#AND YOU THOUGHT YOURS WAS LONG BEN. HUH. HUH????? #absolute insanity. this is the last time i sit down and insist i'm capabale of writing a drabble #why do i persist in my hubris and folly like this #uh. idk what to tag this lol. a mess. a good one but still a mess hahaha #my words #asked and answered #patt speaks (too much) #idk that feels like a tag i could get a lot of use out of lol #ask game #rf4 #rune factory #rune factory 4 #spotify wrapped #rf4 arthur #rf4 doug #arthur x doug #ummm. yeah idk. the arug sickness #love you too buddy lmao. dont have anyone id rather keep fucking doing this with <3

[crackedoutgiraffe]

The Stars in Your Eyes

THIS IS PART 2 OF TO THE MOON AND BACK

Part 2: Chapter 1 Part 2: Chapter 2

A/N: I’m thinking of starting a one-shot “series” based off of songs, send me a message with any songs you want to see!

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 4,898

9/30/2015

A string of murders across the country led Hotch to tell Rossi and Morgan to fly out to Seattle to investigate. The victims had peculiar face paint when they were found.

Reid was at his desk reading books insanely fast when you both noticed Hotch and Garcia enter the bullpen. He gave you a look telling you to follow him. You both stood from your desks and made your way to the conference room.

“Is it the same unsub?” you asked as you and Reid rushed in.

Rossi was looking over some files when you entered, “yeah.”

“Two murders on two coasts in two days,” Morgan flipped the pages in front of him. “This guy is on a mission and he’s not going to rest until he completes it.

Hotch entered on the tail-end of Morgan’s thought, “neither will we.”

“But we’re still down two profilers,” Garcia looked around the room with a sour look on her face. JJ was on maternity leave and Kate quit.

“Our six brains against his one,” Rossi pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Everyone take a few minutes to review the case and we'll meet back in 20 minutes,” Hotch grabbed one of the files from the table and left. The rest of you followed in his footsteps, grabbing files and leaving the room.

Reid went to sit at his desk and you sat on the floor next to it. For some reason, you always worked better on the floor than at a desk. The twenty minutes flew by and you all returned to the conference room.

“We know for a fact that victim number one was bound and gagged,” Morgan read a page of the file, “but it doesn’t look like number two was.”

“Windows in both residences were tampered with,” Reid noted.

“So he knows how to get in and out undetected,” you finished his thought for him.

Garcia piped up, “ok, so that’s impressive because aluminum foil is super crinkly.” The team looked at each other with different looks of confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m not a profiler, I’m trying my best.”

“No, it’s a fair point,” Rossi leaned forward in his chair. “He snuck up on a tweaker who probably hadn't slept in a couple of days.”

“M.O. said this guy is good at hunting,” you leaned back in your chair.

Hotch flipped through the pages with a confused look on his face, “Cause of death?”

“Cardiac arrest, but Dr. Mertz in the crime lab can’t pin down how,” Morgan sighed and rested his face in his hands.

“He might hide it under the face paint,” you held your hand out to Reid under the table. “What we’re assuming is a ritual might be a forensic countermeasure,” Reid interlocked his fingers with yours.

“What do we know about the face paint?” Rossi asked.

“Traditional greasepaint used by clowns,” Reid like to talk with his hands so he had to let go of yours, “but, applied to resemble a Pulcinella.”

Garcia pulled her phone out, “ok, I totally know what that is, but I’m going to google it in case someone doesn’t.”

“Sorry,” Reid leaned forward. “The clown archetype that we recognize today actually dates back to a 16th-century stage tradition called commedia dell’arte, where actors wore masks to resemble their characters. The Pulcinella was a trickster character, usually without a voice. He used a horn to make funny noises.”

“Maybe the victims tricked him, and he’s remaking them in death how e saw them in life,” Rossi added.

“So this is a vendetta by the unsub and not a compulsion,” Hotch’s phone started to ring as he finished his sentence.

“It’s gonna make this guy really hard to profile,” you sighed.

Hotch picked up his phone, “Alright, Dave, keep working on victimology. Morgan, stay on the M.O. Reid and Y/N, dig deeper into the ritual. I’ll be right back.” He stood from the table and left the room. You figured he had to talk to some of the applicants to replace Kate.

The group of you left the room. Morgan headed to the crime lab. You grabbed a map from down the hall for Reid to work on. When you wheeled it back into t bullpen Rossi and Reid were already hard at work.

“Thank you,” Reid gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing a marker. Rossi stood up and opened the file in his hand, “well this doesn’t clear up much. Vic number one was a divorced dad who got custody of his kids.”

“And two was the local drug supplier,” Reid paced in front of the whiteboard.

“What connects these guys?” You sat on Reid’s desk.

Rossi sighed, “nothing.”

“And we would never have made the connection if it weren’t for the face paint,” Reid looked incredibly confused. “Which begs the question, why do it at all?”

“To taunt us, feel superior,” you added.

“It’s obviously a message,” Spence started to rummage around his desk. “My assumption is has something to do with the mouth.” He picked up the book that was next to you and flipped to a seemingly random page. “Look at this,” he showed Rossi a picture from the book, “the colors of the Pulcinella are oddly inverted. Traditionally the character has a black face and a white jaw, he’s painting it the other way around.”

“You said that this character was the precursor to today’s clown because he couldn’t speak, right?” you hopped off the desk and stood next to him.

“Yeah that’s right,” he glanced at you.

“So he was also the first mime, too,” you pointed at a few of the pictures of the board.

Reid turned to look at you, “very much so, which means he himself might have an injury to the jaw.”

Morgan came into the room and joined the three of you, “our unsub can’t eat solid food.”

“How do you know?” you turned to him with a look of confusion.

“Dr. Mertz found a nutritional supplement in the stomachs of the victims,” he pointed to the board, “what have you guys figured out?”

“Y/N, can you get Hotch and Garcia, I think I know what’s happening,” Reid grabbed a few papers and books from his desk and went to the conference room.

You did as he asked and got Hotch and Garcia to go to the conference room. When they got there Reid was standing at the front of the room while Morgan and Rossi were sitting.

“What is it, Reid?” Hotch sat down in the chair next to Reid.

“The unsub has a feeding port in his stomach,” he said such a gross sentence very nonchalantly.

“He has a feeding port in his stomach?” Garcia looked disgusted.

“The nutritional supplement that Dr. Mertz found in both victims would be ideal for someone who couldn’t eat normally,” he was very cute when he talked with his hands. “So if the unsub sustained an injury to the jaw, it would also suggest that he is unable to speak.”

“Hence the Pulcinella mask,” Rossi leaned back in his chair. “It’s his way of communicating.”

Garcia was listening very intently, “what is he trying to say?”

“Well let’s work our way back to that based on what we know,” Morgan picked up the file in front of him. “We know this guy travels thousands of miles in two days. So he probably doesn’t sleep. He’s able to sneak into a suburban house or a drug den undetected. He overwhelms his victims silently and then injects them, and then as they lay there dying over the course of an hour, he simply sits over them and leaves them a highly symbolic message, but it’s a precise message. His victims are seizing up right in front of him, but this guy does not miss a brushstroke. This is a man who’s been around death before. It doesn’t faze him. Who else would leave this type of message?”

“Drug cartels,” Reid’s face lit up. “Cutting the tongues out of snitches and the hands off of thieves.”

“The mafia,” Rossi leaned back, “sleeping with the fishes and all that.”

“Oh my god,” you picked up your file, “he’s a hitman,” the team shot you confused looks. “Think about it only a contract killer could be this good.”

Morgan nodded, “his message isn’t for us, it’s for his customers.” With this final revelation, everyone sighed.

There was a knock at the door behind you. You turned around to see Anderson standing with a file in his hand, “Sir, they discovered a new body.”

“Thank you, Anderson,” Hotch followed Anderson out of the room.

You leaned back in your chair, “do you guys want to go get lunch?” Everyone agreed except for Garcia who had to help dig up for information on the newest victim.

Once Garcia left you all quickly decided on a restaurant and piled into your car. You got to the restaurant and enjoyed an incredibly normal meal for your insane life. Rossi paid and you all made your way back to the BAU. As you pulled in Rossi got a call from Hotch saying that we are ready to give the profile. The four of you made your way upstairs and to the bullpen. Hotch got you caught up on the new information. The group of prospective agents was called in and you all prepared to deliver the profile.

“The unsub that we're looking for is a contract killer who is doubling back to kill his former customers,” Morgan started. “This man is highly skilled and well-trained. Under no circumstances should he be engaged without back-up.”

“So is this a case of organized crime tying up loose ends?” one of the agents asked.

“Organized crime's got nothing to do with this, at least not in the traditional sense,” Rossi warned

You could see the gears turning in Reid’s head, “in 2013, the Bureau took down the Silk Road network. Our initial assumption was that it was an encrypted online market for illegal drugs, which it was, but upon further inspection, we were stunned at the breadth of goods and services being traded online. Weapons, child porn, even hitmen.”

“And the payment scheme was escrow based, in which the buyer would put down half as a deposit and the other half when the seller delivered,” you clarified. “We've now confirmed that all 3 victims hired the unsub over the past year through a similar escrow system.”

“So why is he killing his old clients?” the same recruit asked.

“Hitmen

don't leave a message unless you pay them to,” Rossi always had an answer. “The exception is to leave a warning for customers or competitors.”

“This unsub suffered some sort of injury to his jaw or voice, most likely as a result of something these customers did,” Reid said. “The Pulcinella mask is his statement on revenge and justice-- betray the oath between customer and contractor and you pay the price.”

“Now, normally a man with this kind of defect would attract attention,” Morgan started. “The fact that he hasn't indicates that he has deep pockets and a network of resources at his disposal.”

“Share this profile with your local divisions and with law enforcement. Search for escrow payments to match the unsub to his clients. One of those clients will be his next target. Thank you,” Hotch finished. With that, all of the starry-eyed recruits fled from the bullpen.

Morgan and Garcia fled the room as well, leaving you and Reid to fend for your selves. The two of you sat at your desks for an hour without saying a word. You eventually got up from your desk and went to sit by him. You sat on the floor and rested your head on his lap. He used one hand to flip through the pages of his book and the other to pet your hair. You felt your eyes starting to close when Morgan and Garcia frantically ran into the room.

“We found the next victim,” Morgan held up a piece of paper. Hotch and Rossi came down from their offices, you and Reid both stood up and went to meet them.

“Name and location?” Hotch said as the five of you rushed to the elevator.

Garcia waved her phone at you, “already sent.”

The doors of the elevator closed on a smiling Garcia. You all quickly jumped into your SUV’s and drove to the beat-up garage in Baltimore. Hotch told you that there wasn’t going to be much time to get ready hen you got there, so you had to get your vests on now. Reid and Morgan put theirs on while you kept your eyes on the road. When they were done, Reid helped you squeeze into yours while keeping at least one hand on the wheel.

You pulled into a parking lot with ten cop cars and two SWAT units. Morgan quickly sought out the SWAT team captain to coordinate your entry “how do you want to do this captain?” You all shook the captain’s hand.

“We’ll breach and clear,” he pointed to the building behind him. “When it’s locked down, the site is yours. Sound good?”

You all nodded in agreement. The captain started to walk back toward his team and you all followed, drawing your weapons. The SWAT team threw the doors to the garage open and worked there way inside, “Police!” one of them yelled.

“Don’t shoot, do not shoot,” a voice called out from behind a car.

The captain found the car and raised his weapon, “come out with your hands up!”

“That’s gonna be real hard, real hard,” the voice yelled. “Look!”

You were the first to go around the car to see what was happening, “Morgan, get everyone out of here,” you holstered your gun and looked back at Morgan with a worried look on your face.

“What is it?” Reid furrowed his brow and moved closer to you. “Grenade!” he shouted when he finally saw what you were staring at.

The SWAT team started to yell at him to drop it but he yelled that he couldn’t.

“Put your weapons down!” Reid lowered his gun and approached him, “you mean that literally, you literally can’t drop it.”

“Yeah,” his temper was short.

“What’d he use? What’d he use?” Morgan repeated with more ferocity each time.

The man nodded his head toward the cart next to him, “over there.”

“It’s dried and set,” Reid was holding the man’s hands in his own, “he glued over the pin-hole.”

“Do you have any acetone?” you knelt down at his side to examine it yourself.

“That won’t work, that won’t work,” the victim kept repeating this to Reid over and over.

Morgan picked up the bottle the man gestured to, “Y/N, he’s right. It’s an industrial acrylic. It holds car parts together.” The SWAT team was leaving to set up a perimeter but you four were going to stay.

“Look, you gotta do something, ok?” the man kept pushing his hands closer to you.

You tried your best to stay as calm as possible, “we’re going to do everything we can.” Reid was frantically looking around for a solution.

“My hand is cramping, just do something, all right?” the man yelled at you this time.

“Y/N, four cars,” Reid was still looking around the room.

“Each car has a battery, right?” you stood up and looked at him. “Each battery has an electrolyte solution of 62% water, 38% sulfuric acid.”

“Y/N, that won’t work,” Morgan sighed.

“Why not?” Rossi was definitely confused at this point.

“Because the acrylic will still stay bonded to the metal,” Morgan grabbed the man’s hands to help keep them still.

“Absolutely true, but it will also create a saponification effect on his flesh,” Reid explained. “The grenade will literally slide out of his hand like a wet bar of soap.”

“Of course, there will be an intense burning sensation on the skin, and the smell will be horrendous,” you pointed out.

“You can't--you're not burning my hands! You're not gonna do it!” he shouted \.

Stay still!” Morgan shouted back

“Hey, listen, pal. We have two geniuses working to save you so just shut up,” Rossi said sternly.

Reid ran to find a turkey baster and quickly got some of the solution from the batteries. You, Morgan, and Rossi all put on gloves to protect your hands.

“Sit down,” Morgan snapped at the man.

“This is gonna hurt, but you'll survive. Is everybody ready?” Reid came to meet you with the solution.

“Yeah,” you were the one tasked with grabbing the grenade as it slid out of his hands. “Just watch your aim. All right, my hand's on the lever.” Reid started to dispense the solution on his hands. It was difficult to listen to the man screaming, but you knew it was for the best. After a while, the man’s hands detached from the grenade and it slid right into your hands, “I’ve got it,” you shouted.

Morgan wrapped his hands in a towel and tried to soak up the acid, “Are we safe Rossi?”

Rossi examined the miniature bomb in your hands, “yeah the lever’s st-” he paused, then you heard it. The click that it was armed. “Run!” Rossi shouted.

Your instincts took over, you threw the grenade as far as you could and high tailed it out of there. Right as you ran through the door you heard the explosion. The five of you ducked behind a police car and covered your heads.

“You guys ok? Anyone hurt?” Reid asked as everything settled down. “You ok?” he asked while wrapping you in a hug.

“I’m fine,” your breathing was heavy but that you were fine.

Rossi grabbed the man you just saved from being blown up and shoved him in the back of a police car. The rest of you hopped into your SUV and headed back to Quantico. Morgan grabbed the ‘victim’ and dragged him to an interrogation room.

Before you went to your desk, you took a trip to the bathroom to clean yourself up a bit. You were splashing some of the cold water onto your skin when you saw Reid walk in.

“Are you okay?” he had worry in his eyes and on his face.

You turned around and leaned against the sink, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a tight hug.

“I’m not,” you sobbed into his shoulder. “I don’t want to live without you.”

“You’ll never have to,” he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. The two of you stayed like that for well over an hour. Morgan texted you to come to the bullpen right away. You cleaned up your tears, grabbed Reid’s hand, and made your exit.

“Ok, so, a week ago, this guy stumbles into the Atlantic City E.R.,  having been shot in the jaw,” Garcia started as you walked into the bullpen. “Can't give them his name 'cause of the whole shot in the mouth thing. But his fingerprints lit up the Rome police database like a Christmas tree.” “Italian,” Rossi interjected. “That explains the pulcinella influence.”

“Yeah. They were able to get a name-- Giuseppe Montolo, but by the time Jersey P.D. got there, Montolo had been patched up and made his escape,” Garcia finished.

“And now he's on some type of payback gig,” Morgan started. “He has no idea who double-crossed him, so now he's killing every customer that he suspects might have done it.”

“I tried to use Al's username and password to flush out other clients, but they don’t call it the Darknet for nothing,” Garcia seemed distraught that she couldn’t anything.

“Then we let it go,” you chimed. “We're not going to catch him that way.”

“What other way is there?” Garcia asked.

“Montolo changed his M.O. drastically with the last victim,” Hotch pointed out. “He went from up close and personal to collateral damage. Al blows himself up or we kill him. Either way, it's a win-win.”

“If he made that dramatic a shift, it was a mistake,” Reid noted. “That's how we catch him.”

“All right, then let's do this old school,” Rossi stood from his seat. “Morgan, you took Al’s confession. Walk us through it like you're the unsub.”

“I got my victim on the ground, and I have the syringe in my hand,” Morgan started to walk around the room. “I have total control over him. This is my moment. I'm gonna make him pay for what he did. But Al said he got a text. I don't like what I see. Now I have to change my plan. What was on that text?”

“Someone tipped him off,” you shook your head. “He wouldn't deviate that much otherwise.”

“But that would mean that,” Garcia paused.

Hotch nodded, “we have a mole.”

“There's a lot of new faces around here want to join the BAU,” Rossi looked around the room at the people hanging around.

“I don't think it's a federal agent,” Reid narrowed his eyebrows. “I think it's someone in local law enforcement.”

“Based on what?” you turned to face him.

“The clock,” Reid pointed to a clock hanging on the wall across from him. “According to Al, the unsub left 5 minutes before we showed up. That's a narrow window. Too narrow for him to wait around for an embolism, but he had to figure out a way to deal with his last victim. Montolo changed his M.O. at the last moment because he learned about us at the last moment.”

“So the last on to hear the cavalry was coming is the Judas,” Rossi nodded. “That means a local cop.”

“Or SWAT. You said Wilson pulled his men off the scene?” Hotch asked.

“He said he wanted to box the unsub in,” Rossi reminded. “But maybe he really wanted to ensure he got out.”

“We profiled that the unsub would have support and resources,” you pointed out. “An ally in SWAT would give him both.”

Morgan sighed, “we go after a captain, we need more than a profile, we need proof.”

“The security perimeter they set up, they would have recorded every license plate-- Garcia,” Hotch turned to the perky blonde.

She rushed over to the laptop she had set-up, “yes, sir. Ok. Cross-referencing last name Wilson. Uh, ok. I got a Ford Taurus. It is registered to Betty Wilson, wife of Captain Phil Wilson.”

“Quite a plan these 3 have,” you scoffed. “He waved his own wife through the checkpoint. And she secured the hit man's escape.”

“Montolo has them both working under duress,” Morgan shook his head. “Wilson has to be a customer.”

“Which means he's also a target,” Hotch sighed. “Dave, you get to the wife’s house.”

Rossi quickly got up and headed for the elevator. Within 20 minutes he called saying that Montolo had taken Phil. Hotch sent Reid and Morgan to drive around until we can get them an address. Garcia ran to grab some equipment that Hotch needed to call Phil.

“You ready?” Hotch asked Garcia, who was setting up the phone call.

She connected aa wire and started to type on her computer, “Almost. Setting up caller I.D. Spoofing and... Dialing.”

Hotch turned to you and handed you the phone, “ok, all you have to say is, ‘It's me. Can you talk?’ And I'll take it from there.”

You held the phone to your ear and tried to change your voice a little, “It’s me, can you talk.”

“Yeah,” you could hear the shakiness in his voice.

You handed the phone to Hotch, “not on speaker,” you whispered.

“Captain, this is Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. We're going to get you out of this. Just drive normally and follow my prompts. Can you talk? Yes, it's fine, or not right now. Did you enter the address in the map apps on your phone? We're getting the address from your phone, sir. My team is going to beat you there. You're gonna drive him straight to us. Sir, you are the last errand. He's going to kill you.” Hotch shortly set the phone down. You all waited around and held your breath waiting for a call from Morgan. Rossi had called Hotch and left his phone on so we could hear his conversation with the wife.

“3 years ago, I had two miscarriages, back to back, just like that,” you could hear a crying woman. My O.B. prescribed painkillers, and after a while... My...dealer wanted me to do things. He wouldn't leave me alone. That's when I read about Silk Road. I could buy the drugs anonymously, and... And more than that. I kept it all a secret until he showed up at our door. Then I didn't have a choice. When I told Phil... He said he still loved me. God, I'm so sorry.”

“You get all that?” Rossi asked.

“Yeah,” Hotch answered. “Relay that to Morgan and Reid. As soon as Montolo lands, he's gonna kill Wilson. There'll be no time to intercept or talk him down.” As Hotch was talking, you noticed he was staring at one of the new recruits.

Shortly after Rossi hung up, the phone started to ring in the bullpen, “oh, dear, Captain Wilson is calling us, he’s calling home,” Garcia said as she saw the caller ID.

“I can try to fake it,” you stuttered to Hotch.

“All right, everyone quiet,” Hotch announced. “Stay off your phones. No one makes a sound. Lewis, you're up,” a pretty black woman started to approach the desk you had set-up at.

“H-hello?” She picked up the phone. “What is it? Is everything ok?”

“Hotch,” you heard Morgan’s voice through your earpiece. “He just landed.”

“Phil?” She continued. “Just do what you need to do and get home, ok? Sweetie, I can hear it in your voice. What is it?”

“Morgan, do you have a shot?” Hotch asked.

“Do you have a visual?” you assumed Morgan asked one of their SWAT members. “Hotch, this is negative. Wilson's in the way.”

“Honey, talk to me, baby,” the new agent was really good. “Tell me where your head is at. I know. I'm so, so sorry about all of it, but just keep your head down and we'll get through this. Ok? Do you hear me, baby? Just keep your head down.” You saw both Hotch and the new agent pull the phone away from their faces. The new agent set the phone back on the receiver.

“What happened?” you asked.

Hotch set his headphones down, “someone fired.” You hated this part of the job. You weren’t able to know who was shot and who was shooting, for all you knew Reid could have been laying a puddle of his own blood.

You waited in agony for a few minutes before Garcia’s phone started to ring, “It's Reid,” she answered the phone. Reid, what happened? What happened? What happened?”

We got both of them,” you heard Reid over the phone and let out a long sigh of relief. “Alive.”

“Yes!” Garcia practically screamed.

“Good work,” Hotch smiling was a nice sight to see. “We'll see you back here.”

“Look, I just want to say, even if I don't get the position that this was the best job interview ever,” the new agent was smiling from ear to ear.

“Penelope Garcia,” Garcia stretched her hand out to the new agent. “You're marvelous. She's marvelous.”

“I’m Dr. Y/N Reid,” you went to shake her hand.

“Reid?” she furrowed her brow. “Are you and that other agent siblings?”

“We’re married actually,” you gave her a warm smile.

“Agent Lewis,” Hotch interrupted. “I believe I asked you to wait and that was about 36 hours ago.”

“It was completely worth it,” Agent Lewis was still smiling.

“Maybe we could have that sit-down now?” Hotch asked.

“Yes, 2 a.m. is my jam,” she started to walk toward Hotch’s office. You turned around and started to pack your stuff up. You hadn’t even realized it was that late.

“Sir?” Garcia stopped him.

Hotch turned around to face Garcia, “Yes.”

“Do I have to organize the other applicants to follow her?” Garcia whispered.

Hotch smiled, “no, you can tell them the position's been filled.”

You liked agent Lewis and smiled at Hotch’s answer. The two of them went to his office and closed the door. Garcia grabbed her equipment and headed back to her office.

The bullpen was quiet, which is an odd sight. You laid your head down on your desk and closed your eyes. You made a promise with yourself that you wouldn’t fall asleep. Unfortunately, you were woken up by Reid who was crouching by your side and playing with your hair.

“Let’s go home,” he smiled at you when he saw your eyes open.

You yawned, “please.” Standing from your seat you grabbed your car keys from your pocket.

Reid grabbed the keys from your hand as you got to the elevator, “I’m driving,” he smirked. You pouted at his chivalry.

When you got to the car you snuggled into your seatbelt to try and fall asleep again, “I love you,” you whispered as you fell asleep. Before you were knocked out you heard a small scoff and an ‘I love you too.’

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic

[breakingsomething]

the fall part twenty - all hallow's eve

basic summary: it's jamie's birthday, and his brothers are determined to make his day good for him. also, rhea, jackie and aaron do bad shit again. surprise, surprise.

trigger warnings: flashback, extreme distress, hypnosis

tagslist: @synonymsforzombie @spicydanhowell @skyewardlight @dreaming-of-stories-and-stars @cest-mellow @graveyardlettuce @lower-your-expectationss

"jamie, jamie, jamie! get the hell up, man!"

jamie groaned and rolled over, unfolding his arms and blinking in the sudden light. above him, he could see a blonde head, blue eyes and a big grin, along with a hand that shook his shoulder. "wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. well, pancakes and bakey. or just pancakes. we made pancakes. jamie, wake u-up!"

jamie pulled a hand from underneath the covers and flipped chase the bird before yanking his blankets over his head.

"oh, don't be like that," he heard chase scoff. suddenly the blankets were being torn off, and jamie hissed playfully, unable to hide a grin. chase laughed. "get up, lazy ass! and happy birthday! happy halloween birthday to the pumpkins!"

he left the room, leaving the door wide open. jamie rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh despite no one being there to see it. he sat up and finally got out of bed, glancing at his phone (not that he needed to in order to know what time it was, he was always aware of the time anyway) to see it was eleven o'clock. he'd slept a full ten hours. better than usual, he thought as he pulled some clothes out of the assorted pile his brothers had put together for him from their own wardrobes. usually he only got about seven.

he brushed his hair and went downstairs, where everyone was sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast with innocent smiles. they had been talking in hushed tones but immediately went quiet when jamie came in, trying and failing to act completely natural. "ok, what's going on?" jamie sighed dramatically, swinging his hands out as he signed. "is it a special day or something?"

"happy happy birthday!" marvin cheered, pushing a huge box from underneath the kitchen table. henrik and chase followed suit with slightly smaller boxes, grinning. "you're thirty and also three now! like two birthdays in one!"

jameson couldn't help but laugh. "i don't need presents - you guys are sweet, though. please, don't do too much just for me."

"but it's your first birthday with us!" chase cried, lifting his box onto the table. "this is fudging special! also, we have to do gift unwrapping and cake cutting soon, cause i gotta go get the kids in like, half an hour. stacy's actually coming with us to take them trick or treating, how cool is that?" marvin and henrik cheered, and jamie clapped with a big grin at the delighted look on chase's face. "i know, right? oh my god, before we do birthday stuff, guess what louise is going as for halloween."

"sonic," marvin said immediately.

chase giggled, pushing his cap up further as jamie sat himself down on the seat next to him. "you'd think, huh? but no. try again."

"someone from teenage mutant ninja turtles?" henrik asked before taking a sip of his coffee. chase shook his head.

marvin blew his hair out his face. "anyone from sonic at all?"

chase grinned and nodded. "she's going as tails the fox. do you wanna know why?" the other three nodded. chase leaned back in his chair. "because she's making connor go as sonic. she wants to be tails this year because he can fly."

there was a pause before everyone laughed, henrik choking on his coffee. "dear god," he managed once he'd finished his coughing fit. "that's the first time in maybe four years she hasn't gone as sonic, correct?"

"yes!" chase wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. "she came up to me and stacy and was like "mama, papa, i don't want to go as sonic this year" and we were internally like "finally, she's leaving her sonic obsession behind" and stacy goes "oh, so who do you want to be?" all sweetly and connor - connor fudging runs in dressed all in blue like "i'm sonic now!" swear to god i lost my mind. i'm still losing my mind, christ."

jamie listened to them chatter for a few minutes, content just to hear them talk. he'd missed a lot in his life, it seemed. maybe now was the time to catch up. just the thought made him smile.

"so jamie!" marvin said, snapping him from his thoughts. "present time! open mine last, i think you'll really like it."

"my present is probably the most pathetic," henrik said sheepishly, sliding the crinkly, rectangular package over to him. "i didn't really know what to get you and i've been - ok, i won't give excuses. i hope you like it anyway."

jamie smiled wide. "thank you, henrik. i wasn't expecting a lot anyway. honestly, i don't like receiving gifts. makes me feel strange. but you guys are too nice, you really are."

he gently undid the paper and grinned at the contents. a large stack of candles, all different scents and such. "henrik, this is great!"

henrik shrugged, trying to hold back a small smile. "i'm glad you like it. i was worried you would think it was silly."

the next present was chase's. he seemed very excited to hand over his present, practically vibrating as he passed him the large box. it rattled as jamie took it, something sliding around the top. "it's two presents in one," chase beamed, shaking hair out his face. "come on, open it!"

"give the man a second to breathe, chaser," marvin laughed as jamie rolled his eyes teasingly, deliberately making fun of chase's impatience by opening the box extremely slowly. by the time he'd opened it fully, chase was almost standing in his chair. jamie stuck his tongue out and pulled out a box of chocolate poptarts, to which he raised an eyebrow with a grin.

chase groaned. "those are just extra, look at the real present beneath! i wanna see what you think!"

it was a strange sort of ball. "it's called a moon light," chase explained. "they're so pretty! i thought you could use one for your room, even if you can't see the colours."

jamie turned it over in his hands, smiling. "it's beautiful," he signed once he'd set it down. "i love it so much, thank you."

marvin pushed his box over, grunting with the effort. "ok, so you said not to get you much, but your room was so empty and i wanted to get you something good," he said. "i think you might like this. but be careful, it's fragile."

jamie groaned. "oh, good gods," he signed before picking the box up - it was very heavy - and setting it on the table. "marvin, i don't need anything big."

"hey, it's just one thing," marvin protested. "we've barely given you anything."

"you gave me a home," jamie said without thinking. "you didn't have to do that but you did, even though you had no reason to trust me. you could have sent me away and you didn't and i honestly believe that's the best thing you could ever done for me."

he stared at the package without blinking and didn't look up at his brothers.

"oh - oh, jamie," marvin said softly. "fuck, of course we'd give you a home. you're our brother and we love you."

"yeah!" chase chipped in. "we know you're not anti, and we know you don't think like him. jackie was the fool there."

"you've never given us reason not to trust you," henrik murmured. he placed a hand on jamie's, so gently. "you're a wonderful man and we all know it. we wouldn't do all this for you if we didn't trust you, and we do. we do, ok? we love you so much."

jamie suddenly felt lucky he talked using his hands, otherwise he'd be bursting into tears. he nodded vigorously and quickly unwrapped his present, gasping softly when he saw the beautiful vinyl player inside the box. shiny and dark, with a frank sinatra vinyl at the top of the box. jamie blinked, taking it in. "marvin, it's - beautiful, thank you. this is too much, how much even was this?"

marvin grinned. "a magician never reveals his secrets."

"let's set it up in your room," henrik said excitedly, eyes shining. "oh, i love vinyls, i don't even have a player for them but i own so many and i'm sure you can borrow them -"

"ah, 'scuze me," chase interrupted, holding up both hands. "i have to leave very soon. it's saturday. let's do cake and then i'm bolting."

marvin leapt up, singing to himself as he danced round the table, and jamie snorted. "we're actually doing cake? seriously?"

"of course we are!" marvin almost shouted, digging through the fridge. "who do you think we are, james? a family that doesn't do cake? unheard of." he turned round, an enormous grin on his face as he lifts the pink cake up. "it's cake time, gentlemen!"

they cut slices of the cake, laughing and talking and complimenting marvin on the cake, which he'd apparently baked himself. jamie got the biggest slice and almost couldn't manage the full thing despite how good it was. about twenty minutes later, chase got up to leave, ruffling jamie's curls as way of saying goodbye. "see you fuckers later," he said, doing finger guns before wincing. "shit, i should stop swearing. fuck. i mean - not fuck. just - ahhh, i'll see you dorks later. adios."

"dorks? really?" henrik called after him. chase stuck his hand through the front door again to flip him off.

the rest of the day passed pretty smoothly. chase texted them a few times with updates, at one point sending pictures of the kid's fantastic costumes mixed in with heart eyed reaction images. the three other brothers went out to mcdonald's for lunch and got enough chips to fill nearly a whole tray, which was apparently enough to make chase jealous. he later sent pictures of him, connor and louise at the park with huge ice creams in hand. "gods, it's no wonder people call us childish," jamie laughed teasingly, dipping about ten chips into his own tub of ice cream at once.

"who's calling us childish?" marvin jokingly exclaimed, crossing his eyes and making an exaggerated face of anger. "give me names, i'll challenge them to a duel."

"point proven," henrik sing-songed, sticking his tongue out. "don't cross your eyes or your face will get stuck like that. james, i cannot believe you eat your chips with ice cream and genuinely believe it tastes nice. you are a disgrace to humanity."

"let's all dip our chips in ice cream to piss off henrik," marvin grinned, and he and jamie smacked their soggy chips together with a cry of "cheers!" henrik spluttered, shaking his head in disgust.

"people like you are the reason the mcdonald's ice cream machines are always broken," he scoffed, flicking some ketchup from his burger at marvin. "the employees see you coming and go "ah, scheisse, it is the magic cat bastard again, about to dip his chips in ice cream like some kind of animal. sorry, sir, machines are broke." you disgust me."

"a-w, what about me?" jamie pouted teasingly, sticking out his bottom lip.

"not you, jamie, you are a treasure and we're happy to have you here," henrik said warmly. then he made a face at marvin. "you, however -"

they were interrupted when chase sent a photo of him, stacy and the kids, chase proudly holding up a cheese and onion bake from gregg's. they then all collectively agreed he was a teasing bastard and moved on.

they bickered all the way home about what movie to watch. "it's halloween," henrik argued, smoothing his hair out his face. "we should obviously watch a nightmare before christmas."

"i think we should watch dawn of the dead just to piss chase off," marvin grinned.

"what, dawn of the dead, 2004, you mean?" henrik laughed. marvin shook his head, grimacing and widening his eyes in mock horror.

"i think chase would kill us," he giggled. "which might be funny, but it's jamie's birthday, so he should pick." they both turned to him. "what do you think?"

jamie shrugged. "i don't know. i haven't seen all that many films, even when i was with you. i did watch a few with anti, though."

"ooh, like what?" marvin asked curiously. he nearly walked into a streetlamp but managed to smoothly dodge it. "what movies did the fantastic antisepticeye have to show?"

jamie wiggled his mustache, thinking. "hot fuzz. and i watched a documentary about penguins when he was passed out once. then there was the night we were both up with nightmares and pulled an all nighter to watch a movie about chickens."

"another documentary?" henrik wondered. "anti doesn't seem like the documentary type."

jamie shook his head. "no, an animated one. it had a chicken and a - a fish and a goose and a pig? i think?"

"...charlotte's web?" henrik guessed slowly.

marvin elbowed him. "charlotte's web was about a spider, you numpty. d'you mean, uh… chicken run?"

"free birds?" henrik asked. "me and chase watched that last year with connor and louise."

"wasn't that about turkeys?" marvin giggled.

henrik rolled his eyes. "and when was there a fish in charlotte's web?"

"there was definitely a fish in charlotte's web!"

"they lived on a farm -"

dapper whistled sharply, interrupting them. "no, no. there were aliens. robot aliens. made the sky fall like jackie did."

the two went silent. then henrik spoke. "are you saying you and anti watched chicken little?"

jamie snapped his fingers. "that's the bitch!"

marvin let out a disbelieving laugh. "chicken little? the little bitch with the glasses and the goose girlfriend or something? and anti watched it with you?"

"to be fair, we were both tired and miserable and didn't really care all that much," dapper signed casually. "i think we fell asleep anyway. i just remember during the incident with jackie, i was thinking about that chicken."

there was a long pause as they crossed the street and walked past the corner shop in the direction of their flat. "i don't believe it," henrik eventually mumbled. "fucking - anti. fucking anti willingly watching chicken little with you. i can't picture it. i can't. that's literally incomprehensible to me."

by the time they got home, it was four o'clock, and they decided on ordering pizza for dinner. "i haven't eaten a single healthy food today," marvin announced, almost proudly. "i want a meat feast with barbeque sauce and stuffed crust."

"how much money do you think we have, bastard?" henrik despaired, but when he called the pizza place to ask for hawaiian for himself and plain cheese for jamie, he heard him add stuffed crust to marvin's order.

they sat down in the living room and started up the tv, the three of them snuggling up on the one couch. "you mock us for chips and ice cream, yet you eat pineapple on pizza," marvin accused, throwing his legs across jamie's.

"hawaiian pizza is perfectly respectable," henrik said lightly. "anyway, let's watch a movie. then we can set up the player in jamie's room while we wait for chase to come back."

"will we get trick or treaters?" jamie wondered. neither man saw his hands, so he whistled and repeated the question. henrik shook his head.

"we don't get them because we live in a flat," henrik said. "i suppose since we're on the bottom and therefore get two floors, we could technically try it. maybe next year."

"definitely next year," jamie agreed. "it sounds fun."

they did end up watching a nightmare before christmas while they ate their pizza. the music and animation was lovely, and henrik didn't shut up the whole time. "i absolutely love this song," he said as the oogie-boogie man appeared on screen with his dice. "i used to listen to the soundtrack of this film all the time, it always manages to fit with each character and such -"

"henrik," marvin said gently. "shush."

it was near the end of the film when someone chapped at the door. "i thought you said we didn't get trick or treaters?" jamie asked, to which marvin got up and went to go answer. jamie took henrik's hand. he hated the small part of him that was still so ridiculously afraid, especially on today of all days.

they heard the door open. "trick or treat!" came two small voices, and one familiar one. jamie and henrik laughed in relief upon hearing chase and the kids coming inside, laughing and chattering loudly. marvin peeked into the room and grinned.

"guess who's back!" he cheered. behind him, connor and louise leapt in, still wearing their costumes. everyone cheered as they posed to show them off, huge grins on their little faces. "it's sonic and tails themselves, in the flesh!"

"uncle jam, hen, marv!" the children cried, cheeks dark with cold and excitement. "look at us, we can fly and go super speed!"

"very nice!" henrik affirmed warmly, and he lifted connor onto his lap as he spun by. "come here, you ridiculous fox boy. how many sweeties did you get?"

"lots!" connor cried, and he tossed his bag from his gloved fingers onto the couch besides jamie. "dump it out, uncle jam, i wanna show off my sweets! louise - no, tails, come over here! come show your sweets. papa! where are you?"

"right here," said chase. he was laughing, and jamie realized why as he came into view; he was wearing a mask with a frankly terrifying face on it. "evening, gamers. how are we all doing?"

"what - what are you?" henrik asked in horror over the sound of marvin and jamie's laughter.

chase pulled up the mask and made a mock hurt face. "hey, i'm shadow the hedgehog! i'm being a good father by cosplaying with my kids." he lowered his voice as he shrugged his jacket off. "they made stacy go as amy."

"although technically sonic and shadow aren't friends for a long time, because shadow's really sad about maria's death and he does a lot of bad stuff that sonic doesn't like to make up for it," louise suddenly said, dropping to her knees on the floor and spilling her sweets out. "although shadow does help sonic save the world in sonic adventure 2 to try and fulfill maria's last wishes. it's not all shadow's fault, though. he was made to save maria and he failed and that really hurt him. he also got put in suspen-ded ani-ma-tion for a while, then he got used as a weapon by eggman. he's not really a bad guy. he's just had a lot of bad stuff happen to him and i love him. oh, con, i got a wispa!"

"lemme see!" connor shrieked, leaping off henrik's lap to join his sister on the floor. jamie turned to henrik and marvin with raised eyebrows, slightly taken aback and completely astonished.

"she knows a lot about sonic," chase whispered, sitting down beside them. "it's her favourite thing. one of my favourite things to do is ask her any question about it and listen to her ramble. it's so sweet. hey, lou!" louise turned round to look at him, a chocolate bar hanging out her mouth. chase grinned. "tell us some more about shadow and maria."

louise's eyes lit up. "oh! ok! well, maria was the granddaughter of this guy called gerald robotnik, who's eggman's grandfather, and gerald, kinda, he created shadow as an experiment to help maria, who was really sick…"

it was maybe ten minutes before henrik went to go make some hot chocolate for everyone, and then shouted out in surprise. "hey, what the f- what are these pumpkins doing here?"

"oh!" chase yelped, leaping to his feet. "i completely forgot! guys, guys, i said i was gonna get pumpkins for us to carve and i did! jamie, come see, we're carving pumpkins!"

and he had indeed bought pumpkins. connor and louise had each already picked one out, and jamie, henrik and marvin made a big show of arguing over the others, which really made the kids laugh. as they set up plastic bags all over the living room floor, jamie began to get really excited. he knew that he has carved a pumpkin in his introduction video that jack made, the video that had been deleted minutes after being uploaded with only anti able to recover it, but jamie didn't remember it. the weight of the pumpkin didn't feel familiar in his hands. smooth, slightly wet. the sensation was kind of awful. but jamie wasn't about to tell anyone else that. the kids were enjoying themselves, and he wasn't about to ruin that.

"now we draw faces and whatnot on them," chase said, pulling some sharpies from his pocket and tossing them in the air. "let's go, gamers. con, lou, i'll help if you need any. are you doing scary face or silly face? i can do both."

it was nearly seven o'clock now. jamie wasn't sure why, but he found something felt so off with every line he drew on the pumpkin's surface. a strange feeling of deja vu. which was ridiculous, of course. jameson hadn't ever carved a pumpkin.

"ok, now the cutting!" chase announced cheerfully. too cheerfully for the words he was saying. even in context, jamie felt sick. "louise and connor, you are absolutely not doing this part yourselves. henrik, can you - thank you, thanks. looking fantastic, jamie! how are you enjoying your carving experience?"

jamie managed to smile as he looked up, head bobbing like a doll. "good," he signed, dropping his pen. he noticed connor had gone with a scary face with gnashing teeth, and louise had gone with a cheery face with squinty eyes. "they look great, kids."

"thank you, jam-jam!" connor squealed in a silly voice, with louise repeating right after. jamie laughed silently, feeling his head spin.

"you know how to carve it, right, james?" marvin asked. jamie jumped at his voice. marvin had pulled his hair back into a bun, a sharpie behind his ear. his grin faded slightly. "are you ok? you look a little pale."

"fine," jamie signed. he picked up the knife.

he picked up the knife

he picked up the k

"come on, dapper. you just - cut right here." anti's voice, free from static. warm and irish. "you can do it, dap. i believe in you."

blood blood blood blood blood bl

"dapper - dapper, look up. come on, you useless fuck - don't - oh, don't pass out. i'm right fucking here."

blood blood blood

"hey, dap. you're doing good. keep a hold on that knife now, eh? don't let anyone sneak up on you. always be on the lookout, that's my motto."

blood

"hey, dapper ----. look up, lift your chin."

anti's face swam into view. he looked younger. stubble on his face, shorter, less curly hair, thick gauges in his ears. a black scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. he flashed a forced smile, showing sharp fangs. "there we go. stay still and let me get these bandages on you. i'm sure you're tired, having used so much magic to keep yourself alive." he laughed hoarsely, shaking his head. "a time traveler. i can't believe ---- sent me a time traveler. ha, happy one year death anniversary to us, ----, thank you for this lovely present -"

he was more talking to himself now. dapper ---- was happy to let him. this man was kind, helping to fix up his wounds. anti - his name was anti, right? - gently wrapped the bandages round his cleaned throat. his fingers were cold. so were his eyes. dapper ---- couldn't tell what colour they were, but they looked like ice. when their eyes met, he felt a shiver go down his spine.

"look at you," anti murmured, and he smoothed dapper ----'s hair from his face. it felt nice, and he leaned into the touch. anti hummed softly. "look at you. my time traveler. so much untapped power. i think we're gonna have fun, dapper ----." he smirked. "ha, maybe i should come up with a better name. dapper's a shit name. and as funny as it would be to call you ----, i think i'd have to kill you. look up, dap-dap. ok, nevermind, that's an awful nickname. dapper it is."

he took his hands away and leaned back, studying him. they looked so alike. twins, almost. dapper ---- lifted his hands to his neck to grace the bandages, wincing. anti watched him.

"thank you," dapper ---- signed.

anti frowned. "what's that sign?" he repeated it after him, placing his hand to his chin and extending it outwards. "i don't know any bsl."

dapper tried to mouth the words, but he wasn't used to moving his mouth to form words, and he knew he looked clumsy. "thank you," he signed again, trying to make his tongue go to the right places. anti's eyes widened in understanding, and he signed it too, both of them moving in unison.

"ok, cool!" anti beamed. he made the sign again. "i should learn bsl. might come in handy, and i suppose if i have to put up with you, i might as bloody well. oh, don't look so put out, dap." anti tilted his head and his smile faded to a more genuine state, less forced. "i suppose a weapon like you is worth learning a language for."

"jamie, jamie, jamie - look up, hey. it's just me, be - be careful, drop that knife. drop that knife, james. look up. look up at me."

his hands were covered in - no, they weren't covered in blood, they weren't, they weren't. they were shaking. just shaking. pale, white hands. silver knife. dapper knew what silver looked like.

"jamie." warm and irish. not anti. of course not anti. dapper would never hear anti's voice again. "jamie. hey - chase, get the kids upstairs. pumpkin's are basically done anyway. jameson, hey, it's me. it's marvin. henrik's here too. can you look up, hon? come on, it's ok, you're ok. just us."

just them. kitten, doctor, jinx, dapper, and the gunman's children. six peas in a pod. he was going to be sick.

"fine," he signed numbly. "i'm fine. i'm fine."

once upon a time there was a scared time traveler without a voice and without a soul of his own, born into a world that wanted him dead from the beginning, a world that he came into bleeding, a world that knew the pain that was in store and tried to end it for him early, a world that was cold but contained a brother who spoke in lies and said he loved him, said he was safe, anti, i was never safe and you are a fucking fool, why did you let me save myself, why do i have to still love you?

"i want this to stop," dapper signed, jameson signed, damien signed, mustache signed, anti signed, what was his fucking name again? "i'm just tired. i'm sorry."

"that's ok," kitten - marvin - murmured softly. he touched dapper's - jameson's, jamie's - hand just slightly, grounding him. "we're here. it's ok. it's ok."

it wasn't ok. it was never ok.

-

that night, jamie awoke with a nightmare.

he wasn't sure what it was, just that when he sat up in bed, his heart was racing loudly in his ears and he was sweating, breathing hard like he'd been running. maybe he had, in his dream. a few minutes passed before he slipped out of bed and padded down to the kitchen to get a drink of water. he definitely needed one.

he couldn't believe he'd lost it like that. in front of the kids, as well - jamie had never been so ashamed of himself. just from holding a knife! he shook his head in disgust, balling his fists up and digging his uneven nails into his palms. it was pathetic how easily upset he was. how easy it was to become silly, naive little dapper again. some days he wondered if he was even jameson jackson at all.

he got a drink. a cup of water, then another, to soothe his pounding headache. his whole body felt slightly numb, and in the silence of the house, he could hear his slightly wheezing breaths. he drank more water. his chest felt that little bit looser.

then something crashed outside and jamie was up like a shot.

he could hear someone just outside the front door. someone scrabbling to pick something up, someone groaning and making small, pained noises. jamie's heart raced as he marched to the door, hand on the lock. he realized he wasn't armed. didn't have a knife on him like he usually did. always be on the lookout, was his motto.

well, if there was anything jamie had learned from being dapper, it was that anything could work as a weapon if you were caught off guard. he grabbed the broom that was leaning on the sideboard and threw the door open, jabbing the handle out the door to hit whatever intruder might be there. instead, he heard someone gasp loudly, and just managed to see a glitching flash of light before the person scrambled to the side of the door, just barely out of jamie's line of sight. they'd left a bag on the ground. a black and white flying tiger bag - one of jamie's favourite stores back when he was dapper. he picked it up, not looking to his left to see the intruder. he could hear them breathing. jamie peeked inside the bag, blocking everything else out as he looked.

a black sketchbook. a black sketchbook and a plastic container of greyscale markers. not only that, but there was a millie's cookies bag, containing what jamie knew to be a deluxe rainbow cookie. anti had always joked about the irony of them being his favourite. he laughed silently and opened the sketchbook to the first page. inside, scribbled in the top left corner, was the word "payback" with a small >:) face next to it.

jamie could see anti out the corner of his eye, still pressed against the wall. he didn't look at him. instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket - thank the gods he'd fallen asleep in his clothes - and quickly opened his text to speech app. there was an awkward pause while he did so, and for a moment jamie was afraid anti would bolt regardless of whether he was still there. but then it loaded and he wrote what he had to say, fingers flying across the keyboard, and held the phone up for the other man to hear.

thank you for the present. and thank you for having the sense to not try and deliver it until you thought i was asleep, even if you are a dumbass and alerted me anyway. night, anti.

anti didn't reply, of course. jamie didn't look at him. he simply closed the door and went back inside.

-

"evening, auggie! you're back early, i thought you were having a halloween celebration or something."

anti rolled his eyes at the sound of his roommate's voice. it was coming from the kitchen, so anti shrugged his jacket off and went straight to his room instead. carlos followed him. "hey, where you going? it's an all hallow's eve full moon, mate! come on, have a drink or something."

anti flipped him off. carlos pouted, sticking his already very pointy chin out further. he looked a lot like shaggy from scooby doo, anti thought, and tried not to laugh at the thought.

carlos held up a hand before turning and darting into the living room, coming out a moment later with a notebook and pen. "gotta keep one of these handy at all times, huh?" he laughed, snorting. anti resisted the urge to roll his eyes again, and carlos collected himself. "so. were you at a halloween party or something?"

anti frowned and began to write. no, why the fuck would i be? do i look like i go to holiday themed parties?

carlos raised his hands. "ok, ok. you left with a bag, and also you asked if we owned "wrapping paper or some fucking shit along those line, maybe even a bloody bow at the very least" earlier, so i assumed you were going to a party."

who the fuck gives presents for halloween???

carlos shrugged. "i dunno, you?"

anti sighed deeply. it's my brother's birthday, fuck's sake. can you move out my way so i can go to my room please?

"what - oh hey, no, stay and have a drink!" carlos protested, moving to block anti's way again. "come on, august, you're no fun. anyway, if it's your brother's birthday, why didn't you stay and celebrate with him? it looks like you just dropped his present and bolted."

anti snorted. basically. we're not on the best of terms. he wouldn't have wanted to see me. also, i can't drink. i'm fairly certain i've told you this.

carlos shook his hair out his face, scratching the back of his neck. "why'd you give him a present then? also, i know you can drink because you bought like, three bottles of jack daniel's a week or so ago, you're talking pish. now stop being antisocial and have fun for once."

anti's pen scribbled across the page. i have epilepsy, you bastard. also, i don't have to explain myself to you. so go away.

carlos crossed his arms. "this is my flat. you're the one who's paying to stay here. also, also, you probably shouldn't be drinking if that's a trigger for your epilepsy or whatever? that's not a good idea? why would you do that to yourself, anyway?"

because i hate myself. also, you pay to stay here too. you just paid first.

he tried to push by carlos, but the man spread his arms out to block his way, a cheeky grin on his face. anti wanted to hit him. "now now, auggie, i am not letting you spend the rest of your night being depressed in your room. you do that every night. even if you don't drink, come and sit in the living room at least! i was planning to invite some friends round if that's ok by you. it'll be fun!"

anti clenched his fists, face twitching before he calmed himself enough to write again. i'd rather sleep for twelve hours than watch you make out with your partners all night. if you aren't going to move i will fucking stab you and i am not joking.

to anti's absolute rage, carlos just laughed upon reading what he'd written. "you're funny, aug. and they have names, you know. johanna and robert. they're cool people! you might like them." he raised an eyebrow, showing his palms to the ceiling. "johanna's a firefighter, and robert collects knives. you like knives, right? i think you could be friends."

anti tried to keep ahold of his anger, but really, he was still partially in a good mood from jameson accepting his present, and he was also too tired to do much. he sank into himself, blowing the air out his cheeks. i don't want to, ok? not tonight.

carlos sighed. "i - sure. sure. but mate, you really have to stop isolating yourself. i'll admit i don't know a lot about you, but i'd like to, you know? you seem like a cool guy." he stepped aside, leaving room for anti to go into his room. then he widened his eyes, and held up a hand. "wait! let me show you what i learned." he pinched his thumb and pointer finger together in an open and closed motion in front of his face. the sign for "talk." then carlos frowned. "i, uh, forgot the sign for "later." i swear i learned it. i'm trying to learn, like, basic phrases. here, i can -" he held up his hands and signed each letter of the word "later," grinning proudly once he'd finished.

anti blinked in surprise. he wasn't even sure what to say - the fact that this man he barely knew was doing anything for him was amazing. slowly, hesitantly, he put out his pointer finger and dragged it through the air, pausing a couple of times. "later." carlos repeated after him. he smiled wide.

"cool!" he breathed, signing the full phrase. "i should definitely learn more bsl. might as well if i'm gonna be putting up with you, eh, august?" he laughed and stepped back, nearly walking into the living room doorway. "thanks. you're cool, mate."

anti just nodded. then he turned and went into the darkness of his room.

he didn't want to turn the light on. it was far too quiet, so he threw himself down on his bed and put his headphones on, staring out the window. carlos had been right - there was a full moon. a full moon on halloween. strange. that almost never happened.

anti's heart was racing and he wasn't sure why. he placed his fingers on his wrist to check his pulse, then on the area behind his ears. why was he suddenly so worked up? he almost laughed. it was always the littlest things these days. always the littlest things.

he closed his eyes and listened to the music in his ears.

-

kazuki kamata was an unusual woman.

anyone who knew her would tell you that. while she was kind, she was also sometimes merciless, and would do almost anything for those she cared about. she was a protector. she was fire and she was ice. no one knew where she went at nights when she left hecate. no one knew who her friends or family were. no one knew if kazuki was even her real name. some speculated she was on the run for murder. one man swore he heard a rumor that she was a world famous arsonist.

kazuki never indulged any of these rumors. she'd never needed to. people parted for her in the streets, magicians or not. people could sense her power. who would dare argue with that? no one with sense. no one ever challenged her.

until him. that skinny, green haired bastard that one of kazuki's magicians had brought in one day, the hyper irishman who apparently had no magic specialty and just did whatever the fuck he wanted. marvin mcloughlin. kazuki disliked him from the start. he was a dickhead and he didn't follow rules, he was arrogant and selfish and loud and he was an embarrassment to their organization. she couldn't count the amount of times naomi gudmundson, the poor agrokinesis girl, had come to her office to apologize for his behaviour without his knowledge. he was, to be frank, a fucking idiot. and kazuki was sick of him.

she planned to give him a notice of leave, informing him that he would no longer be welcome in their organization. it was a few days or so before she was going to do it when she found the man in the stairwell of one of their halls, curled in on himself and sobbing. kazuki had just waited to see if he'd notice her there, because what else was she supposed to do? eventually he'd glanced up, gasping at the sight of her. "i - i - miss kazuki, uh, miss kamata!" he'd spluttered, scrubbing fat tears from his splotchy red face. "i'm - i should - i'm sorry, i'll go, didn't mean to disturb -"

"it's ok," she'd said softly. to his disbelief, and her own, she'd sat down on the step next to him, wincing at the cold, hard floor under her. she shifted, trying to get comfortable. "are you alright, mr mcloughlin?"

he'd shook his head, sniffling and desperately trying to cover up his face while he wiped it off. "i'm fine," he muttered, turning away. "it's nothing, i'm ok. you should probably go. i'm sure you have important hecate work to do or some shit."

kazuki narrowed her eyes. "i'd kindly thank you not to curse like that in my presence, mcloughlin. i don't take well to such disrespect."

marvin had flushed, shoulders shooting to his ears. "sorry," he mumbled. "very sorry. i don't - i don't mean to be rude."

his face crumpled further, and he buried his face in his knees, shaking slightly. kazuki found herself softening. she knew she shouldn't. she knew she should get to her feet and leave before something happened that she would regret. but she didn't. "tell me what's wrong, mr mcloughlin," she murmured. the air around them seemed to thicken, and marvin sat up slightly, shaking his head and blinking rapidly as though it would stem the rapid flow of tears.

"had a fight with my brother and his friends," he mumbled. "it's - it's so stupid. i'm sorry, i'm - i'm really sorry!"

he gave a gasping sob and doubled over, shoulders shaking. kazuki screwed up her face. fuck, but she had no clue what to do. the kid was having a full blown panic attack from the looks of it. should she… without thinking, she stretched out a hand and touched his shoulder, warm magic flowing through her hand. "you're ok," she reassured, watching his turquoise eyes calm. "you're alright. what were you fighting about?"

he shook his head. "dumb shit. my brother's friend h-henrik, he got hurt recently and he hates me, and yet jackie - my brother - he gets mad at me when i get on at him, but he's such a p-prick and his brother used to like me b-before i met henrik but now he's - he's mad at me too, they all are. assholes." he let a hiccuping sob that sounded almost like a laugh. "i sound like such a ch-child, i'm sorry. i'm just really tired. i'm sorry. i'm always such a dick and i don't mean to, i'm just really angry all the time and i don't know why and i'm sorry, i really don't mean to be -"

he gasped, and kazuki gripped his arm tightly. "breathe," she said quietly. "you're going to pass out if you don't calm down."

"please don't kick me out!" he blurted, more tears pooling in his eyes. slit eye pupils, like a cat's. diamond shaped. kazuki had never noticed that. "please, i know you're going to kick me out of hecate and i really don't want to - to go, i - please, i promise i'll stop being an asshole and i won't pick fights with raymond and i'll -" he coughed wildly, covering his mouth. "i'm so sorry. i've b-been acting like a child. i promise you i'll be better."

and it was then that kazuki came to a quiet realization.

"you can stay," she said firmly, and marvin's face lit up. she held up a hand to stop him. "but you do have to promise that you'll be more careful of your words and actions in the future. we've had several complaints about you from other members, and if you don't change your ways i'm afraid i will have to do something about it. do you understand?"

he nodded frantically, a smile cracking his face. "yes, of course - thank you, thank you so much." he wiped his face with his sleeve again, sniffling. "i - i don't want to leave this place. it's basically been my escape from home when i'm not with naomi, and i wouldn't want to lose it. really, i… i don't mean to be a dick. i promise."

kazuki learned something that day. and what she learned was that no matter how hard she tried, she was always going to come back to love. she was always going to feel empathy, she was always going to want to comfort people who were hurting, and there was a part of her that was always going to feel so painfully human. she saw herself in this young, green haired magician. and she unfortunately grew to care about him as time passed. even once she'd discovered he'd been practicing darker magics and made him promise to stop. even once he'd left hecate. she was so human sometimes. it was nice to be reminded of that.

tonight, back in the present, she was thinking about him.

she did that sometimes. it made her wonder how things might have been if she had been different towards marvin. if she had been less cold. kazuki didn't like to be close to people. kazuki didn't want to let herself care about anyone. she thought maybe, if she stayed indifferent, she'd stop. but… she hadn't, had she? she loved marvin. he was like a dumbass child who cursed a lot and interrupted meetings and made a nuisance of himself. and she loved him. he reminded her... he reminded her of her brother who she'd lost so long ago.

she suddenly remembered his book of magic. the one he'd given to her in exchange for her help all those months ago. she still had it in her drawers in her office, right at the back of the one on the bottom. really, she shouldn't have taken it from him in the first place. "you're an idiot, kazuki," she sang to herself under her breath as she pulled the key off the chain on her neck. "you never know what you want."

the drawer was empty.

kazuki stared into it. the drawer was empty. the drawer couldn't be empty.

she stood and marched briskly out her office, heart racing but face void of emotion. she was good at that. "alana!" she snapped, and the purple haired magician who had been walking by stopped dead with wide eyes. kazuki frowned down at her. "have you seen anyone come into my office at all today?"

alana shook her head. "no, miss kamata. only you."

kazuki's heart skipped. "alana. what do you mean, only me?"

the girl looked confused. "you were here earlier, miss kamata. you told me and tony to look alive, i believe? why?"

kazuki just shook her head. she couldn't breathe all of a sudden.

"because i haven't been here all day," she murmured, far too quietly.

it seemed the past was catching up to her.

-

"this is perfect!" rhea cackled. she was spinning in a circle with the book clutched to her chest. "so much magic, so many spells! can you believe that air magic bitch kept it in a drawer in her office? fucking sentimental sap. shouldn't make things so easy to get to."

"ok, and was risking our fucking lives worth that stupid book?" aaron suddenly spat from the couch he was curled up on. jackie flinched. rhea did not. she stopped spinning and glared at him, eyes narrowing with venom.

"it was, actually," she said, her light tone contrasting with her ice cold expression. "jackie's brother is extremely powerful and he has basically every spell he knows in this book. is that correct, jackie?" she turned to him, and jackie took an instinctive step back. "tell your boyfriend that i'm right."

jackie… honestly wasn't sure what rhea wanted with marvin's magic. however, it had been her idea to sneak into hecate and steal it while jackie and aaron kept watch, and the plan has worked, so he supposed no losses had been made. but it seemed aaron has taken this as a personal attack. "you fucking asshole," the blonde hissed, suddenly getting to his feet. "do you have any goddamn care for anyone but yourself?"

jackie laughed nervously, raising his hands. "guys, let's not do this."

they both ignored him. "you're a selfish fucking cunt and all you want is to use us for your gain," aaron seethed, his face red with sudden anger. "we could have gotten in big trouble - breaking into a place like hecate is no fucking joke, rhea, and we're not up for playing your games anymore. tell her that, jackson!"

rhea smiled at aaron cruelly, not an ounce of warmth in her face. "i'm apparently doing a better job of protecting you two than you are," she beamed, voice strained with a thin veil of rage. "you're completely incompetent without someone to guide you. i'm trying to help you and have been from the goddamn start. you would have fucking died without me and i'm honestly starting to wish i had let you."

jackie jumped in before punches could be thrown. "guys!" he shouted, pushing them both away from each other. "you're being fucking ridiculous. rhea, explain why you needed us to get marvin's magic when we already have access to basically all his black magic spells. aaron, you…" he hesitated. "you just… calm down."

aaron spluttered while rhea sat on her couch nearest the window. "ok," she smirked, folding her legs under her. "your brother is an extremely powerful mage, jackie. and while his black magic is strong, the rest of his magic is stronger."

"nothing is stronger than black magic," aaron said through gritted teeth. jackie took his hand and ran his thumb along the back of it soothingly.

rhea cocked her head. "and that's where you're wrong. white magic can be just as powerful, if not more. see, aaron, you're like - you know how in movies there's the dumb guy who always tries to solve his problems by using brute force, and it works for a little while, but then the smart character comes in and uses their brains to solve everything?" she pointed at him with an innocent smile. "you're the dumb guy."

jackie pushed aaron back down before he could do anything he probably wouldn't regret. "let's not poke sticks right now, huh?" he said, shooting the last word at rhea. "explain what you mean, please."

she sighed. "there is no concrete line between black and white magic," she said. "and there is no actual hierarchy of magical strength. it all depends on who's controlling it, who's magic it began as, and how the spell is conducted, among many other things. it's not just "what the spell is." if it were that simple, any magician could shift as well as me, or i could bend air as well as that japanese magician." she paused to take a breath. "point is, this magic stems from a very powerful man, which would make the spells powerful. we could use these."

"and it was worth our lives?" aaron interjected smoothly.

rhea snorted. "yours, maybe."

"rhea," jackie snapped. "aaron is my boyfriend, and if you want my help, you'll have to deal with him too."

"i can fight my own bloody fights," aaron spat, pushing jackie's hand away. he glared at rhea with murder in his eyes before turning back to jackie. "and what, am i just an accessory to you? something to be dealt with? i'm a human person, jackson, and i demand respect."

rhea scoffed. "i don't know that you deserve it."

"guys," jackie protested. "aaron, just shut up -"

"you're supposed to be defending me!" aaron shouted, whirling round on him. "i'm your boyfriend, i've known you for a year now, you just met her like three weeks ago! you - don't - you're gonna trust her opinion over mine?"

jackie shook his head. "it's not like that," he said weakly. "but we need rhea on our side -"

"i don't trust her and i've made that plainly clear!" aaron despaired, grabbing jackie's shoulders without warning. "please, listen to me -"

"aaron - aaron, let go -"

"you don't believe me! i'm not just being paranoid!"

"aaron -"

"you never listen to me, you fucking asshole, i'm trying to warn you -"

"aaron, shu̸t ̸uṕ͜!"

the sudden wave of panicked magic nearly knocked him out. he staggered back, clutching his head, before he noticed what he'd done. aaron was swaying on the spot, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. jackie's heart dropped. no, no, not again, not again -

"aaron - shit, i didn't - didn't mean it," he choked out, wrapping his arms around himself. "shit -"

"oh, well done," came rhea's voice. he turned to her, vision blurred with tears, to see she'd stood up again and was now beside him, a small smile on her face. "you know, jackson, i didn't think you were the type to hypno your own boyfriend. that takes guts."

"accident," jackie sobbed. "it was an accident -"

"but you wanted to do it," she said quietly. she took his hand, and her face softened. "you wanted to hypnotize him to make him shut up. i don't blame you. you know i'm right and you feel bad because your boyfriend doesn't believe that i'm to be trusted. it must hurt. but i understand."

she pulled him into a gentle hug, facing him away from aaron so he couldn't see his face. jackie stared numbly out the living room window as rhea pat his back, speaking softly. "this is a very hard situation for you. i get it. but… you're gonna have to admit it. aaron isn't good for you. he's just holding you back."

"he's my boyfriend," jackie mumbled into her shoulder. "and he's my best friend. i love him. he's never once held me back from anything and i love him."

rhea pulled away. she studied jackie's face for a moment, expression blank. then she shrugged. "ok. well, i made you a profile on my netflix. i set your picture as the blue wally guy from black mirror because i thought it was funny. watch whatever you want, i don't judge. i'm going to my room. see you tomorrow, jackson."

she skipped out the room, jackie staring after her.

#jacksepticeye #boop writes #jameson jackson #marvin the magnificent #chase brody #jackieboy man #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #aaron mckenzie #rhea maclaren #the fall

[highqueenofelfhame]

when we were kids, five.

The thing that woke her up wasn’t necessarily the sun coming through the window, or the pounding in her head. It was that when she rolled over, something crinkly and uncomfortable mashed against her face enough that she opened her eyes and braved the bright beams that poured through the window. Papers attached to a manilla envelope with a precise and neat signature stared back at her and she couldn’t believe it.

It was over. He had finally given her the divorce she’d been asking for for years. And she couldn’t decide if it was a relief or a weight on her chest.

What was a weight on her chest was the way she had acted last night. Like a complete drunken, blubbering fool that he didn’t deserve to put up with. They may have been technically married but that didn’t mean that she was his anything to take care of, and if his date or relationship with that girl had been real and she had ruined it…

Well, she owed him an apology and that was absolutely certain. The other certainty in her life? That she likely looked like complete and utter shit.

When she managed to pull herself out of bed and stagger to the bathroom, her thoughts were confirmed. Mascara marred the space beneath her eyes looking very much like someone had taken the ‘fill’ tool on Microsoft Paint and filled her bags in with murky gray. Even her hair and eyes were somehow dull under the bathroom lighting, the hangover plaguing her entire being and not just her aching head.

It was a necessary decision when she slipped into the shower and turned the heat almost all the way up, relishing in the way the water nearly melted her skin. The heat was rejuvenating, thawing the aches and pains she felt all over. She was in the shower until the water started to cool. It was only then that she got out and braided her damp hair down her back and changed into presentable clothes for the day.

By the time she had changed, eaten, and hydrated enough to be a functional human, her hair was mostly dry and hanging in messy waves around her face. She was in her rental car and driving down the bumpy road to Rowan’s house soon after pouring a fresh cup of coffee into a traveler mug, and she was off.

When she first got to Rowan’s, he wasn’t there so she decided to wait it out by walking through the back yard down to where the beach was. Something, though, caught her eye under the large willow tree that they had spent many days relaxing under in the spring while she read and he doodled in a sketchbook.

Under the tree there was a large cross protruding from the ground at the base of the trunk.

Fleetfoot was burned into the wood and Aelin felt her heart stutter to a complete stop. Her mind raced, thinking back over the last few days how every time she addressed the dog it didn’t acknowledge her. It never came up to her when she called, it never responded to her or showed that it knew her in any way. Aelin had initially chalked it up to her being gone for so long but this… she hated the hollow ache in her chest that told her that this was where her dog lay. Rowan had simply got a new companion after she was gone.

Suddenly it became too hard to keep herself stitched up at the seams. So hard as she fell to her knees and pressed her palms against the cool grass. Hot tears began to fall from her cheeks, the pain growing and growing until there wasn’t an out anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the dirt, fingers running over the ground in search of any sort of stone to lay at the foot of the cross. “I didn’t know. If I had known I - oh gods.”

It was like the dam she had built over the last eight years burst and she couldn’t keep any of it inside anymore. Something about losing not one, but two babies ripped her soul clean in half while she pressed her forehead to the dirt.

For the first time in eight years, Aelin allowed herself to think about why she left. About the joy and panic she had felt when she and Rowan found out they were pregnant with their first child. About the devastation that had thoroughly wrecked her when she woke up to her stomach hurting, to blood staining emerald sheets. She thought of the shoebox sized coffin they had buried in the cemetery down the street in the baby’s honor, and how she laid in bed and grieved while Rowan did his best to hold them both together.

“You never did anything wrong,” she whispered to the dirt, to the baby, to Fleetfoot, to Rowan. “It was only ever me afraid to face my losses that I could not and cannot face because I am a coward. I am a coward and I am so sorry.”

A twig snapping had her jumping to her feet and whipping her head around to see Rowan approaching. She wiped at her face then swiped her palms down her jeans leaving streaks of mascara behind. It didn’t matter that she looked like a mess. It never had, not with Rowan. She gave him a watery, sad smile and gestured toward the cross unable to find any words.

“I didn’t know how to tell you and if you were leaving soon I thought maybe it would be better if you thought she was doing okay,” he said softly, hands slipping into his pockets. The look on his face told her he had heard everything she had whispered to the earth. For some reason it made her angry, but these days it was starting to feel like everything he did made her angry. “I signed your papers, Aelin. I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“I came by to... I don’t know,” she sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, suddenly not knowing what to do with her hands. His face looked so broken and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was her doing. If it was her words from last night, or if he had heard everything, then he’d heard what she’d said about the baby. They’d never really talked about it before, aside from last night when she’d told him he suffocated and stifled out whatever flame she’d had inside her.

It was something that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Rowan had never stifled her, only encouraged her and supported her however she needed. In truth, Rowan had always been the most supportive person in her life. More than her parents, more than her friends… more than Chaol. From the moment she had been born he’d been a solid constant. And now that it was just going away… She wasn’t sure how she felt.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” she finally admitted, twisting her fingers around her hands. “I’ve been harboring this anger toward myself for so many years but it was easier to pin it on you. I couldn’t come back because if I did, I would have to face all of that. Face you. And I just couldn’t do it. I know my apologies don’t mean much, but I’m sorry.”

“Can I show you something?” He asked her, green eyes searching her face.

“Show me what?”

“I just want to take you somewhere, show you… something.”

Aelin’s arms folded over her chest and she shook her head. “I can’t.”

“You can’t come with me or you won’t come with me?” His hands slid into his pockets, the muscles of his forearms shifting. Tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she contemplated how to answer.

“Both,” she shrugged, sliding her own hands into her back pockets as she took a step backward. Rowan nodded, and without another word she disappeared up the path.

~*~

Aelin couldn’t find her phone anywhere, and had given up on looking for it in her rental and in her parent’s house. So instead of boring herself with searching for it in high places, she decided to head to low ones to see if anyone had seen her phone last night. There was a fall festival downtown, and despite herself she wanted to go and partake in the harmless fun for the first time in almost a decade.

Hundreds of booths lined the streets and thousands of people milled about them. For awhile, she let herself wind up and down the street, taking in all the vendors for big and small local businesses. She bought truffles from a patisserie and couldn’t resist the smell of the kettle corn that was being freshly made in giant copper kettles. She even bought accessories and jewelry from several other vendors, doing what she could as a celebrity to support small businesses.

“Princess,” a low voice drawled behind her, and she turned to find Fenrys prowling toward her. With a grin, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “How are you? You okay?”

“Nursing the hangover of the century but these chocolates are curing my ailments.”

“I’m just impressed you didn’t miss a bullseye until after you were neck deep in alcohol.” They both laughed, Aelin looping an arm through his despite all her bags. They walked back toward her car so she could drop them all off, chatting about things they’d missed along the way.

It felt so easy to be here. To remember all the times that they had spent laying on a trampoline counting stars or double-jumping each other until they were flying so high she’d felt like a bird taking flight for the first time. The memories just poured back into her mind and she couldn’t stop the flood gates that opened wide and threatened to swallow her whole.

By the time she locked eyes with Rowan under a canopy of lanterns, it was dark and her heart was pounding in her chest as she remembered the soft warmth of his lips on hers while he kissed her goodnight. Or had it been a kiss goodbye?

“Hey,” she said softly, shivering from the slight chill that always came with fall nights in Orynth.

“Hey.” He fell into step beside her, walking until they reached the edge of the woods, the only light coming from the moon and far away street lamps. She didn’t know why she’d led them here when she knew how dangerous it was to be so alone with Rowan. Aelin just didn’t want to admit it to anyone, not even herself the way her stomach knotted every time she looked at him. The way her chest had squeezed so tightly when she saw his name signed on those papers.

When she’d first arrived in Orynth, it had been easy to believe that it wouldn’t matter. That it wouldn’t hurt when he signed the papers, that it would be a relief. Instead, her heart had seized in her chest for a moment as a blind panic struck her like lightning but she’d chalked it up to relief. Intense relief of it ending. But it hadn’t been that at all.

“When I saw that you were engaged in the magazines, I was at the grocery store picking up milk and eggs. Waiting in line, minding my own business, but I always ended up searching the covers for anything about you. Anything that would tell me you were doing okay because you changed your number and I couldn’t ever get through. And I tried, Aelin. I called that disconnected number every few days until someone else answered and told me I had the wrong number like a godsdamn fool.” His laugh was harsh and anything but funny. “And then I saw you were engaged. The eggs slipped from my hands, the milk jug exploded over the floor. I was standing in a puddle of egg yolks and whole milk staring at that damn magazine until the manager asked me to move.”

Aelin hadn’t even considered what it would have been like for Rowan to see the photos. Her main concern at the time was her parents and getting the divorce. At the time, she hadn’t particularly cared about his feelings. But now she did, and she could imagine the way the color must have drained from his face, that light headed feeling that came with an intense shock to your heart. She knew what it felt like because the same thing had happened to her when she walked into the bar last night and saw Lyria perched on his lap. It had hurt.

“I didn’t want it to get out until I got home, but I’d forgotten to take the ring off before the premiere.” Voice barely above a whisper, she couldn’t put much more sound behind it. She couldn’t get herself to meet his gaze, either, but she could see him nod out of the corner of her eye. Her fingers spun the diamond ring around her finger anxiously, and some piece of her wanted to tear it off and throw it into the woods behind them. Instead, she carefully picked up Rowan’s hand and turned his palm over, ran her fingertips over the lines that she knew better than she knew her own.

“What do you want, Aelin?” His voice was soft.

“I just wanted you to sign my — ”

“Not yesterday. Or the day before that. What do you want right now?” Hard. Rowan’s voice was hard, turning so quickly from an easy-going conversation and making it something else entirely. It was as hard as the fist he curled his hand into, capturing one of her fingers between his own. Aelin looked up at him, brow furrowed.

“I don’t know.”

“Gods above, woman. You are so… gods you infuriate me.”

“Yeah, well, right back at ya, asshole.” Completely done with Rowan and whatever he had to offer, she turned to leave but he was faster. His hands took her face between them and his lips were on hers before she could even think or process. The harsh bark of the tree he backed her up against dug into her shirt as hard as her fingers twisted into his hair.

It felt so good, so, so good to kiss him. It was like waking up, like coming alive, like being set on fire and burning and burning and never wanting to stop despite the pain that covered your skin. She wanted more of it, more of his lips that were soft and warm against hers. More of his fingers that were now digging into her hips, more, more, more —

But then he was pushing her away, shaking his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Go home, Aelin.”

It was quiet for a beat before she heard footsteps approaching but she didn’t break eye contact with Rowan. Rowan, whose chest was heaving and his lips were swollen and red from hers.

“Aelin?” Her heart stuttered and faltered and stopped and started all at the same time.

“Chaol,” she said, eyes still on her now ex-husband for a moment before she turned to look at her fiance. When she looked back at Rowan, he was shaking his head at her before he started to walk away, only stopping before Chaol for a moment. He towered over him, out-muscled him, and for half a second Aelin was worried about Chaol being laid out on the ground by Rowan’s fist.

“You and I are in love with two very different people,” he said softly, and then he was gone, stalking back toward the festival with his head hanging low and hands deep in his pockets.

“What’s he talking about?” Aelin inhaled sharply, rubbed at the tension headache between her brows. “There were photos of you on every gossip site in the country and all over social media of you leaving some bar holding hands with that guy. I thought you came back to tell your parents, Aelin. You came back to have a godsdamned affair?”

“What? No! No. Gods above, no. He - I… he’s my husband.” Aelin swallowed hard, the next words going down like stones. “Ex-husband.”

@starseternalnighttriumphant @musicmaam @city-of-fae @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @tangledraysofsunshine  @lorcansalvaterree @valarian-trash @hey-its-grey @sleeping-and-books @thephilosophyofblank @breezyfreezey @westofmoon @tonystarksbish @mariamuses @thereaderandfangirl​ @silvermindedwarrior @rosesandglass @xxhopelesspeachesxx​ @maraadyyer @flowerspringsea​ @the-bookloving-girl​ @vartineh @mis-lil-red @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius​ @dreamcatchersimss​ @chemicha @vi0let-femmes @ttakeitbacknoww @dressedindustandshadows @lowhangingtreebranches @bamchickawowow​

@damnthisjam

#had to post this on mobile my internet is out here wildin #ill add tags later #rowaelin #wwwk #wwwk5

[reddie-fangirl24]

Eddie, The Patient Chapter 2     (A Reddie Fanfiction)

Link to the Previous Chapter

“And continuing on... um, from where we left off yesterday... the war had devastated... the entire world...”

Most of Eddie’s students’ tired expressions resembled his own. Usually starting off the period walking down the aisles of the five rows of tables like he normally did, Eddie sat down at his desk, feeling as if he were going to collapse to the ground. His muscles felt so achy. And anytime he opened his eyes he saw twice the amount of students that he had, causing his unsettled stomach to lurch.

Realizing that he had closed his eyes for a second, Eddie jumped, straightening himself to make it look as if he were well. Would his students notice, was the question? Some of them were playing with their pencils while only a few were fully attentive, wanting to learn.

 “Um... who knows the date on when the war ended? William?” Eddie asked a student who wasn’t raising their hand.

“Um... September 1, 1945?” he answered shyly, sinking into his chair like a turtle.

Eddie hardly paid attention to the answer. He barely cared about what he was teaching. “Very good.”

“Wait, Mr. Tozier, Will is wrong!” Bethany, the teacher’s pet, spoke up from the front row. “It was September 2nd, 1945! Not the 1st!” she confronted William making the embarrassed young man hide behind his arms. 

Ugh, please don’t shout. “Right.”

“Mr. Tozier, I have a question!” Another boy spoke up.

“Go ahead.” Mind over matter. You are strong. You are brave.

“Why didn’t we just time travel into the future or to the past and stop the war like that? Isn’t that what they could do in Back to the Future?”

Now, Eddie noticed that it was his favorite ‘class clown’ student who loved to stir up trouble. He was very intellectual but refused to show it, constantly making jokes every week, interrupting his lessons. What was he going to say? Didn’t he marry a class clown? Oh, no, the clown. He didn’t want to think about that nightmare right now.

“Okay, let’s move onto history reports,” Eddie suggested, struggling to smile. One little movement and surely he’d be ill. 

There was an echo of groans and ‘I don’t want to’ responses that floated around the room.

“But, Mr. Tozier, your lecture is supposed to go until 9:15. It’s only 8:55!” A student pointed out.

Was it only 8:55? “Well, I figured we have a lot to get through. James, would you like to go first?”

This would be easy. He had this group of students until quarter to ten. And then his next class had the same project. All Eddie had to do was listen and grade the assignments later when his mind wasn’t so muddled. If he remained as stiff as a statue that awful feeling in his stomach would go away.

His student walked to the front of the room. “For my assignment, I wrote about George Washington. He was famous in history because...”

“... Rosa Parks is my idol. We should all recognize Parks for her courage...”

“... Without Edison, we wouldn’t have any light...”

And next, it was the class clown’s turn. Did he actually have his paper finished? Why were his eyes spinning? “My report is on Charlie Chaplin, one of the greatest silent comedians of all time!”

Why did Eddie leave the house this morning? There was no way he was going to get through the rest of this day, feeling his stomach churn. Clutching at his gurgling stomach, Eddie felt himself sweating and yet feeling chilled to the bone at the same time. He hardly had the strength to lift up his own head. Peering out the window, the sun dipped behind the clouds. Oh no, would he have to walk home in the rain? 

“... Charlie Chaplin starred in many movies, even directing and acting at the same time!” His student went on.

Charlie Chaplin. Oh, yeah, didn’t Richie give a report on Charlie Chaplin all those years ago in class? But only... oh, God, no he couldn’t think about that disgusting moment!

“... His life was like a roller coaster...”

Roller coaster. Richie forced him to go on a roller coaster one summer with himself and the other members of the Losers Club. Somehow his mother never found out about it. If she ever did she would have skyrocketed into the moon, breaking it. It was the worst experience ever! The ride was so terribly fast, jerking from side to side, going upside down, falling down a steep vertical drop. And the spinning. And spinning. And spinning...

Oh, God, I shouldn’t have imagined that! Before Eddie even had the chance to pray, he leaned over the side of his desk. Unbeknownst that the janitor moved his trash can during his nightly chores, Eddie threw up all over the floor.

Eddy’s classroom was in an uproar, shouting in disgust, jumping out of their seats, and looking away from the disgusting sight. The student who was giving his report at the front of the room almost tripped himself up backing into a wall.

His head spinning, Eddie felt dizzy, groaning. He clutched at his stomach, in pain. He felt a hand fall on his shoulder. 

“Mr. Tozier, are you okay?” His student Bethany asked him.

Eddie’s stomach heaved again until there was nothing. As tears trickled down his cheeks, Eddie finally realized what had happened as his students were talking to each other. Feeling his throat close up, Eddie didn’t realize that he was being led out of the room by Mrs. Allison, the principal of the school! Luckily, she was walking in the halls when one of his students caught her attention.

“Everyone out into the hallway. Molly, go get the janitor! Mrs. Gregory, can you look after Mr. Tozier’s class, please?” Mrs. Allison called into a classroom across the way from his.

Trembling, Eddie held his head in complete and utter shame, tears falling from his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. He threw up right in front of his classroom! Teachers never got sick! Especially in front of their students! 

The utter reactions of shock and disgust from his students broke his heart. How could he let something like this happen? Now he was going to get other people sick! Parents were going to think that he was an irresponsible man for coming into work with the flu once they heard the news. He felt so stupid for coming to work knowing that he wasn’t well. 

“There, there, Eddie, the worst is over...” Mrs. Alliston warmly assured him, giving Eddie a tissue to clean off his mouth. She wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulder. Although Eddie almost towered over the woman, he couldn’t keep up with her speed. He half leaned against her for support. Oh, he was such a burden. The hallways felt much longer than usual.

“L-Look at what I did...” Eddie uttered shamefully, trying to breathe normally. Slow and steady breaths. Almost reaching into his pockets, Eddie remembered that he didn’t need that useless inhaler. It was so hard to get used to that, even after five years.

“It’s alright, dear, it happens to everyone. You’re going to feel a lot better once you lie down,” she smiled at him. It was only to hide how disappointed she was. While Mrs. Alliston was a friendly woman, Eddie always feared how he was doing as a first-year teacher. No matter what she always told him how great of a job he was accomplishing. She even became somewhat of a mentor figure to him. Like a mother.

As soon as he was in the office the nurse immediately sat Eddie on a bed with the crinkly white paper used to protect the bed from germs. He cringed not knowing how many other sick students had occupied this bed. Oh, he was already sick. The nurse’s office was never his favorite place. That’s why he always avoided having to go to the nurse during his time as a student.

It was always his mother who decided if he went to school or not, even if he had the smallest cold. Even Myra obsessed over some little thing when he’d cough. He was surprised that he was never held back feeling as though he missed so much school one year. Eddie never had the say to make his own decision if he wanted to stay home or not.

“Do you think you may be sick again, Mr. Tozier?” The nurse asked holding a thermometer to his ear. She was very friendly offering him water to rinse out his foul-tasting mouth and even avoiding students coming into the office.

“I don’t know!” Eddie sniffled, hugging himself, shivering. First, he was warm. Then freezing. He had to admit that he felt a little better. But, not for long. That unsettling churn came back. And it hurt. Being sick was never fun after the injury. Even just the slightest sneeze hurt.

“Calm down, Mr. Tozier. Being upset makes your stomach feel worse. Oh, dear!” The nurse was shocked in the instant she looked at the thermometer. “You have a fever of 102! You poor thing. Here, put your legs up, lie down. Would you like a blanket?”

Eddie nodded. His hands felt like ice. He felt like a kid once more, barely able to form words as tears leaked from his eyes like a waterfall. Tears weren’t helping his case. In fact, they did make him feel worse. Eddie felt that burdensome churn again, clutching at his stomach and sitting up, covering his mouth. On instinct, the nurse grabbed the trash can. Standing at a safe distance, she encouraged Eddie who painfully regurgitated into the trash.

Afterward, she helped him lie back down, this time covering him with a blanket. It wasn’t big enough, leaving his feet uncovered. Eddie felt so lightheaded that he didn’t even care, his head in terrible pain. It wasn’t as worse as his abdomen. Pain surged all around, making him moan. If only he had his prescribed pain medication with him.

A flustered Mrs. Alliston came into the room, having overheard. “Eddie, I’m going to get your husband on the phone. He can come and take you home.”

“No!” It hurt too much to yell, so he lowered his voice. “Don’t call my husband, please?” Eddie begged. 

“Why not?” Mrs. Alliston asked alarmed.

“Richie is busy with rehearsing for this show. And he is very stressed.” It hurt Eddie to say that. He wanted Richie here now more than anything. No, he couldn’t ruin any more of Richie’s shows. Richie would be furious with him. That was the last thing Eddie wanted, feeling as if he were getting in the way of it all. 

“Could you call my friend Bill Denborough or his wife, Audra? They live in the L.A. area. Their names are listed in the emergency contact, too.” That was all the energy he had left to speak, closing his eyes unable to stand the light in the room. His head hurt and he felt so exhausted, ready to fall asleep at any moment.

“Sure, Mr. Tozier. Don’t you worry about anything. Get some rest. Is there anything that you need right now?” the nurse asked.

My husband. “No,” Eddie’s voice cracked with a heartbreaking sob.

The nurse comfortingly patted his shoulder. “It’s all right. You rest here. Call if you need anything.” Before leaving she pulled up the garbage can. Thankfully she turned off the lights.

Eddie was left alone in the little room. How could he let this happen? He was going to get fired he knew it! His boss was masking how angry she was. A first-year teacher sick. In front of his class. How embarrassing.

All Eddie wanted to do was snuggle closely next to Richie, smelling his wonderful cologne. When was the last time they snuggled? 

Their schedules hardly coincided. Richie had so many shows after another, coming home late when he had already fallen asleep. And then when he’d wake up for work the next morning, Richie was fast asleep, tangled in a strange pose and snoring lightly. 

Sometimes Richie even traveled being gone for close to a week. Before he became a teacher, Eddie went with him. It was the best time. Staying in hotel rooms, eating at the best restaurants, and just getting to spend time together, further bonding in their relationship. He adored those memories.

Succumbing to sleep, Eddie closed his eyes listening to his boss get in contact with Bill.

#Reddie #IT Fanfiction #Reddie Fanfiction #Eddie Kaspbrak #Richie Tozer #bill denbrough #It Chapter 2 #It 2017 #It movie #clowns #sick fic #The Losers Club

[trinitysroses]

👿📛🔥🐄🎄💡🐶🐊👅💭🍌💣👑

👿: Describe Sehun in 3 emojis: 🔥🕺🏻🐩(only picking 3 was haaaard)

📛: FMK: Beagle Line -NOOO DAMMIT AUBREY. F: Chanyeol M: Jongdae K: Baekhyun (IM SORRY)

🔥: OT9 from least to most kinky:YixingBaekhyunKyungsooJonginSehunJongdaeJunmyeon (DADDY/Sugar daddy kink for SURE)Chanyeol(also so daddy) Xiumin (DAAADDY)

🐶:Tag someone who reminds you of Chanyeol: I mean really @overdosed-on-exo61

🎄: if you could gift one Christmas gift to all 9 members: a month’s vacation completely unbothered and rested

💡: If you could tattoo one EXO lyric on you, what would it be: 나 아득하게 떠올렸던 어제를믿을 수 없는 나의 오늘로또 내일로 닿게 했죠 (Yesterday feels so far awayBut unbelievably, it became todayand it’ll reach tomorrow)

🐄: who would be the best dad: omg. This one is haaaard. Totally Chanyeol tho.

🐊: tag someone who reminds you of Chen: That’s obviously @exo-waithowdidigethere

👅: a favorite body part for each member:You realize most of these are gonna be their lips right?? I totally have a lip thing…Sehun: Listen. Literally can not choose ONE thing. I love his lips. But I love his eyes. And his nose. And his long legs. And…Junmyeon: his gorgeous smileYixing: arms actuallyJongin: Lips tied with his abs for sureChanyeol: his smile and hiis eyesJongdae: crinkly eyes when he smiles.

Minseok: his eyesBaekhyun: can a laugh be a body part?!Kyungsoo: LIIIIPS for days.

🍌: Favorite cover of Chanyeol’s:ALL OF MEEEE

💭: Dream Fanfic AU:I just wanna meet Sehun in a coffee shop and buy his drink, is that too much to ask?!

💣: Marry Sehun or Suho:Don’t make me be openly rude to Suho like this. We all know the only answer for me ever is Sehun.

👑: the reason that your bias is your bias:Originally, it was his stunning face. Then I saw videos of him dancing and he was flawless in his movements. I was immediately drawn to him. But as I grew to learn about EXO- Sehun, his quiet and soft nature that somehow balances out when he’s spoiled and loud floor-laughing with Chanyeol all make this amazing human being. He loves EXO-L so much. He is always worrying about them and wishing they take care of themselves. He has the most gorgeous laugh and smile. Like, his half moon eyes when he smiles… it melts my heart. Jesus I could go on for hours about Sehun.

#EXO #about me