#i should show off his lung surgery scars again. smile :)

[todayisafridaynight]

twitter goin through my old aoki posts and girls i miss aokiposting....

#snap chats #he's my modern day tohru adachi tbh i need to draw him being silly and goofy while being aware of His Horrors #im listening to that 10 hour mario video and ngl its been an hour and this is like Lofi Beats To Study To for me #it's also how i feel whenever i think of aoki <3 and the arakawas but this aint bout them #i should draw masato again... or aoki.... maybe i should draw them BOTH... #i should show off his lung surgery scars again. smile :) #not for stream tomorrow. or maybe for stream tomorrow. idk theres a lot i wanna draw #i kinda wanted to draw tsuruno tomorrow or at least do some expression sketches #oh no im spoiling the stream plans </3 im fickle anyway LOL we'll see #i'll prob just do a bunch of quick sketches instead of one big piece i NEEEEED to draw for enrichment or ill explode #too many things ive wanted to draw this week and no time...

[kimjihyun-archive]

(it’s still me) I ask for 14 with jihyun please 🥳🥳 (I am prepared mentally to die)

desperation | jihyun kim

WARNINGS: mentions of rika, and stabbing, they’re in the hospital, she’s a lil angry for a moment, kissing??? idk 

WORD COUNT: 1.8k (a doozy baybee)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i’m so sorry for this. i love writing soft v with all of my being, but i think there’s a point where the patience with him has to wear thin and he has to be told that this, though understandable, is wrong and he deserves to think better of himself.

She decides tonight, that she hates hospital rooms. 

Whether it be the white walls, or the lingering scent of alcohol, or the way the machines whirl around his chest—it makes her sick—a night in the room feeling disturbingly like an eternity. She already can’t sleep—her eyes trained on each breath that spills from his lungs, something sinister in her telling her that it’ll be his last, but the stark white color that swallows the room makes it almost impossible. 

Her fingers have been twisting his for almost an hour. She traces shapes into the back of his hand, haphazard polygons that follow the grooves of his knuckles. She doesn’t know if he can feel it, but, god, she can. 

She can feel the way his hands have carried so much for him. Every callous, every freckle—every long day in the sun and prickling of evening air. Something lingers below his skin that she’s never felt in anyone before—perhaps she simply never wished to. 

And she could kill him for this. 

When she pleaded for freedom through hushed phone calls and he whispered words of escape, she never expected this. When he promised to take her away from that room in the middle of the mountains, to save her from his faults, she imagined being snatched away in the night—a quiet affair that could never be detected. 

She should’ve known better than to think things could lean so far towards her way. She should’ve known that Rika, bathing in the light of the forest moon, silver knife in hand, would never let them go so easily. She should’ve known that escape could only lead to jagged scars, and rushed surgeries, and the plaguing smell of this room. 

There’s a flash behind her eyes then, a bright red, the only one that could possibly counter the whites of his sheets. It’s the red that soaked through his jacket as she stumbled upon him in the grass. It’s the red that stained her fingers as he crumbled in her lap in the car. It’s the red that she clawed at under the soapy water of the dingy sink in the bathroom until her hands grew raw. 

This room is too white, its floors too clean, his breaths too mechanically settled. It’s too calm and too quiet and everything in her head is screaming for him to wake up. She wants to shake him, to dig blunt nails into his shoulders until his eyes grow wide open—until she can spot the vibrant blues the flicker at his irises. 

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. 

And yet, V’s eyes remain closed—the lids are slotted so softly over what she yearns to see. The gentle mechanical hum that bellows from his chest is still there, as strong as it was a moment ago. The room remains still—no matter the efforts of her pounding skull, no matter how much she wills him to feel the aching breath of life, it’s quiet. 

A part of her, some small, cynical part, wishes so badly hate him. He claimed to never be one for theatrics but this is the kind of dramatization that clings to her skull so tightly that it no longer feels real. And yet, this reality that sits in front of her is much too strong to deny.

She can’t verbalize how she wishes to hear his voice again. How she yearns for the smiles so small that she’d rarely catch them—his denial of meriting each one so clear. The words tug at her vocal cords but something halts them in her throat. Perhaps the worry that they’d fall upon deaf ears. Perhaps the fear of admitting them at all. 

Instead, her fingers continue to run across his knuckles, each breath tangling in her mouth. Her eyelids fall heavy—not with exhaustion, but with a sudden, disgusting compliance to the room. She leans forward in her chair, her forehead resting against his arm with a delicacy she’s never quite felt before—with a need for something, anything, that resembles him when he’s alive and well. 

Then, a groaning of the mattress. 

She lingers for a moment, too afraid that the only sounds in front of her are a new gasp of the equipment, but when she opens her eyes and his expression is contorted, the air is knocked from her chest. 

She doesn’t dare speak a word, the stirring presence of him enough to leave her body tingling and numb. His eyes are closed, but there’s a lively flutter behind them, one that seizes the will for life that she clung to so heavily earlier. 

Her grasp on his arm tightens and the muscle sputters. It’s the most she’s seen from him since he was wheeled into the operating room and, surprisingly enough, it’s the most she needs for heat to bloom within her chest. 

Her name is the first thing to consciously stumble from his lips, a morph of word that’s not quite right but not quite wrong either. It’s quiet and clumsy, but also the only thing she wishes to hear. 

“V?” Her voice echos off of stark walls and slowly, his eyes open. They’re duller than she remembered—bloodshot and heavy with the tug of unconsciousness—but they still pool vibrant blues and soft cerulean together—an unmistakable liveliness deep beneath the surface. 

“You’re okay,” he says. 

Ease seems to settle within his shoulders at the sight of her and something within her aches to laugh. He’s worried about her—even in an entanglement of wires and tubes—but of course he is. He’s always worried about her. 

“I am,” she replies through a chuckle. “But more importantly, so are you.” The machines still buzz in a way that tears at her ears, but there’s a smile stretching across his cheeks and an unmistakable warmth bellowing throughout her chest. 

Her fingers halt in rubbing his hands, but with the most energy he can muster, he’s quick to snatch her wrist. The dead weight of his hand was comforting while the hum of machinery was the only hint of his liveliness, but it’s nothing compared to this. His fingertips are calloused, and yet so soft against her palms—the pads of his thumb tracing each line etched into her skin. 

“I should call Jumin and let him know you’re awake,” she mutters. “He’s been pacing around here for hours, but I told him to go home and rest for a while. This room can drive you insane.” 

His face seems to fall at the sound of that, but she keeps her gaze heavy on him in an attempt to make him feel a little less burdened. 

No, no, this was easy—watching your body rise with breaths that were never your own. Please, don’t worry about me—or Jumin either. He’s fine too; he was only trying to call every doctor in the country if it meant keeping you alive.

 She tries to shift from her chair then, but his grip tightens. 

“Wait, can you—” There’s a desperation in his voice, one she hates that she recognizes. “Can you stay for a little while?” 

The last time he spoke that way, he was curled into scratchy cotton sheets of the cabin, begging her to let him give himself to RIka. 

“She’s not going to stop until she has me,” he’d pleaded. 

“She’s not going to stop, period, V,” she’d retorted, lips drawn tightly into a frown. 

She hates to say that she was right, but glancing at the bandages wound around his chest and that sorrowful gleam in his eyes, god, she was. She hopes he knows that too. That maybe the cotton-wound stitches and smell of rubbing alcohol are enough to show him that Rika craves so much more than revenge. 

“Yeah, of course.” She settles back down into the chair, scooting it closer to the bed, the knowledge that one Jumin Han might very well kill her for making him wait dull in her mind. 

V’s chest rattles and he sucks a breath through his nose, his thumbs making their up way up her wrist. Half of her wants to curse him for making her head spin at his touch, but the other half, the better half, leans into it. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” She laughs, a snide little sound that pours from her lips, and his mouth hangs open in curiosity. 

“I just… I just wished you would’ve listened to me for a second.” Her voice is poison dripping off of her tongue, but the gentleness behind it is still so evident that she hates herself for it. She hates that she can’t stomach scolding him. She hates that she understands. 

“I know, I know, I let you down and I let the RFA down and I should’ve handled it mysel—” The chair slides out under her, squealing against the tile, her fingers holding the side of his face and suddenly— 

She kisses him. 

Her lips find his with a heaviness that neither of them had expected. A passion she’d never felt before burns in the back of her throat, and though his skin is nearly frigid, her entire body grows warm. 

His shoulders grow stiff, but he never pulls away, never hesitates to kiss her back. Something terribly needy grows between the two of them, but there’s an encasement of wires and tubes that halts her there, so she pulls back—breathing so intensely that the air burns into her lungs. 

“V.” She doesn’t bother to move away, their faces so close that she can feel his breath dotting her neck. She can see that brilliant blue now—the one that she’d pleaded so intensely for. His eyes are blown wide, a redness blooming at his cheeks, but his irises are still speckled with striking cerulean—a contrast so disgustingly bright against the whites of the room. “Please.” 

She doesn’t have to say any more before he nods, his lips falling shut. He gets it, god, she’s thankful that he gets it. The room still lingers with that recognizable hospital smell, leaving a pricking at the bottom of her stomach, but he’s here and he’s safe and she can feel the tingling of his lips on her own. 

She hates hospital rooms. 

She hates them when she pushes the chair back into place. She hates them when she dials Jumin’s number, and she hates them when she watches the guilt settle so deep into V’s chest that it burns. But he smiles at her, so kind, and bright, and sorrowful that she can’t find it in herself to leave him, no matter how much he urges her to. 

So, she takes his hand and kisses his knuckles, and hopes to god that this last time she has to be here. Hopes to god that he, after everything, will remember the startling silver of Rika’s knife and the ache in his chest, and he’ll listen. 

#jihyun kim #jihyun kim x reader #v x reader #jihyun kim x mc #v x mc #mystic messenger #mysme #mysme fanfic #hunterelys

[somebodycall911onabc]

More post 4x13, Maddie-centric, a little Madney, a little Buddie. I just want her to be happy. Warning for a lot of emotions in this one, folks.

Maddie is elbow deep in soapy water when her phone starts ringing. She tells Hildy to answer (being a parent has definitely taught her the wonders of technology, unlike Eddie) while she shuts off the tap and reaches for the dish towel.

“Hello?” She asks, seeing Chimney’s name scrawled across the screen. It’s been two hours since he last called—not concerning, but a deviation from the usual.

“Maddie. Are you OK? How’s Jee?”

A bad call, maybe. He could’ve lost someone.

“We’re good,” Maddie says, stealing herself. She hates to lie to him, but she’s being honest in the way he means. They’re not hurting in any way he can fix.

He breathes out a whistling breath over the phone. “Good. Good. Thank God.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. No, I mean. I’m fine. But… Jesus…” He mutters something too low for her to hear. “It’s Eddie. He’s in the hospital — alive — but, but he got… he was shot, clean through the shoulder. Some psycho opened fire on the LAPD.”

Maddie’s heart drops to her stomach, where it stays for another hour until Chimney walks through their door. She’s holding Jee-Yun, who’s wailing like her little lungs are about to give out, but she and Chimney find each other like magnetic poles. She steps into his arms and wishes that the whole world could just drop away. Just her, and Chimney, and their daughter. That would be enough.

“It’s all over the news,” Maddie says. Jee-Yun seems to have been stunned into silence by the unexpected arrival of her dad.

“Athena says they’ve got some of the best people in the department on it,” Chimney says. “They’re gonna catch him.”

“They’d better.”

“Yeah well, otherwise, they’re going to have Amateur Detective Buck on their hands again.”

Jee-Yun starts hiccuping, picking up where she left off, and Chimney steps back to lift her out of Maddie’s arms. She lets go without a fight. She’s so tired of fighting.

“Don’t even joke about that. I’m sure he’s losing his mind—he hasn’t answered any of my calls or messages.”

Chimney attempts a smile. Or maybe all along he’d been going for that twisted grimace. “Bobby’s corralling him, don’t worry. Your brother isn’t going to do anything stupid.”

“Like drag Athena into an active investigation to chase down the man who stabbed you and kidnapped me?”

“Yeah,” Chimney says. “Exactly like that.”

Maddie turns her head to look out the window. She knows what he’s going to say in answer to her question, and she can’t bring herself to look at him when he does. “So what are you all going to do? What happens when someone targets the entire Las Angeles Fire Department?”

“Our jobs,” he says, and Maddie closes her eyes. “We have to, Maddie. We called in C-shift today, but we go back tomorrow.”

“OK,” Maddie hears herself say. What else can she do? How can she tell him that she’s afraid they’ve avoided tragedy one too many times, that she can see them all running to the end of a line, nothing but a long fall below them?

She feels like someone froze half of her in ice, then told the other half to run for her life. She feels fathoms deep in very dark water, but someone is screaming in her ear to swim up, up, up.

When Chimney pulls on the bullet-proof vest, Maddie doesn’t say anything. The human throat wasn’t made for the drawn-out scream inside her head.

Maddie doesn’t visit Eddie while he’s at the hospital. Between Jee-Yun and her own shifts at work, there isn’t time. She feels a little bad about that, but despite their small social circle, she and Eddie haven’t gotten that close over the years. Buck takes up all the air and space when he’s around, a wildfire that she and Eddie chase around and keep from burning up the furniture. But Maddie feels like she should have been there while Eddie was confined to a hospital bed, watching his friends risk the same fate as him when they pulled on their uniforms—she feels a sort of kinship with him. With that helplessness.

So she shows up at his door a week later with Jee-Yun and dinner.

Buck lets her in, which has ceased to be surprising as a general rule, but seems a little suspicious in these circumstances. She hasn’t heard anyone mention Ana’s name since the shooting.

“Jee-Jee!” Buck shouts, whisking Jee-Yun from Maddie’s arms.

“Oh, hi, how are you,” she mutters, watching Buck as he kisses Jee-Yun’s nose and grins. He looks like he needs a long shower and an even longer nap. But Jee-Yun giggles at him as he makes faces and smacks his lips. It’s sweet. It only hurts a little, seeing how good Buck is with her, when sometimes Maddie still thinks of him as that little kid she stitched up every time the world knocked him down. It only hurts a little that for Maddie, getting Jee-Yun to smile is like pulling out her own teeth with rusty pliers (i.e., really goddamn difficult).

“Hey, Maddie,” Eddie says, reaching the door. He nudges Buck aside to make room for Maddie to come in. “It’s good to see you.”

Maddie looks at his cast, at the way Eddie hunches in on himself and the blue-black bruises beneath his eyes from exhaustion and blunt-force head trauma, and feels so goddamn guilty. She should have come sooner. She should have tried harder.

“Hey,” she replies, wiggling the takeout bag, “I come with nourishment.”

“By all means,” Eddie says, sweeping his hand out to the hallway. Maddie leads the way to the kitchen, Eddie slumping behind her, Buck cooing at Jee-Yun and somehow managing not to walk into a wall.

“I figured something light and healthy would be best,” Maddie says, dropping the bag on the counter.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much doctor’s orders,” Eddie agrees. He peeks inside the canvas tote and pulls out a container, opening it up to reveal a big, green salad. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

“It was no problem—“ Maddie starts, but she realizes Eddie is wrinkling his nose in disgust, not gratitude. “Oh, shut up and eat your veggies. There’s chicken in it,” she adds with a laugh.

“Where?” Eddie snorts, eyeing the salad like it might come to life and strangle him with leafy hands.

“Chris! Guess who’s here!” Buck, who hasn’t heard a word of their conversation, barrels into the living room where Chris is sitting on the floor with a host of action figures.

“Don’t—don’t let her put anything in her mouth!” Maddie calls after him.

Eddie chuckles and takes a seat at the table. “How’s it going with her? With Chimney?”

“Us?” Maddie keeps her eye on the living room situation while she sits down across from Eddie. “We’re fine. How are you? Buck seems to be living in your back pocket lately.”

“Yeah, he’s been…” Eddie trails off, and Maddie glances over to see him looking at the living room. She turns her eyes back to see Buck sitting cross-legged on the floor, cradling Jee-Yun while showing Chris her tiny fingers. The first time he held Jee-Yun, Buck had lost his mind over her fingernails. They’re so small, he’d said reverently. How could anything be so small?

“I wouldn’t be here without him,” Eddie finishes. “I think I’m going to ask him to move in.” The way he says it isn’t a joke, isn’t something light-hearted about being down an arm or how Buck is free labor. He sounds contemplative. Wondrous.

“Oh,” Maddie says. “But what about… I mean, won’t that be kind of weird for Ana?”

“Buck didn’t tell you?” Eddie asks, turning back to face her and fishing a fork out of the bag. “Ana broke up with me.”

“Oh, my god.”

“I know. But it wasn’t like what happened with Chimney. Ana had the guts to say it to my face.”

“Jesus, Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was the right call. I’m not upset, actually.” Eddie pokes around the container until he finds a piece of chicken, throwing Maddie a smile as he picks it up. “It was the easiest breakup I’ve ever had.”

“Well, that’s… good.” Maddie pulls the bag toward her and lifts out her own salad. She’d gotten Chris chicken fingers and fries, but Eddie doesn’t have to know that. Not until he finishes his grown-up, post-ballistic-surgery food. “Then should I ask what your intentions are towards my brother?”

Eddie chokes on his lettuce. She flashes him a smile while he struggles to swallow. “He is a strapping young man,” she adds. “Very… able-bodied.”

“You’re evil,” Eddie says, laughing.

“No, just observant,” she counters. “Every time I called Buck this week, he was either with you or Chris.”

“I keep telling you people that Buck’s suspension wasn’t my fault. I was unconscious when it happened.”

“All I’m saying is, my brother wouldn’t risk losing his job for just anyone.”

“You think so?” Eddie asks, smiling down at the table.

Maddie takes a delicate bite of spinach and pomegranate seed. “My brother spent a long time running, Eddie. I always thought he was just running away, but he was running toward something. The 118 is his family. But you and Chris are special. He would bleed himself dry if it meant keeping the two of you safe.”

Eddie’s fork is paused halfway to his mouth.

“Don’t take advantage of that,” Maddie says. “If you can’t say the same for him, you need to let him go. I’ve seen him hurt too many times, Eddie.” And she doesn’t mean just Abby—she means their parents. She watched Buck drag himself through hell for a love he shouldn’t have had to fight for. She means herself, too, because she knows that the years he spent thinking she’d chosen Doug over him had cut him deeper than she had any chance of healing. Even now that he knows the truth, there’s a scar.

“You’re a good sister.” Eddie lowers his fork and meets her eyes. “I wasn’t really expecting the shovel talk a week after getting shot, but I promise you that I feel the same.”

“Well, good,” she says. Then, “Oh god, I really did corner you while you’re—I apologize. That was thoughtless and rude of me.”

Eddie just laughs. “Please, Shannon was a wreck the whole first year. She actually forgot my birthday.”

“Oh, Chimney would never let that happen,” Maddie says, feeling a genuine, soft smile cross her face. This is the first time in a week she hasn’t felt the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. It’s an unexpected, but welcome, break. “He starts dropping hints at least three months in advance.”

“I wasn’t really around to remind her,” Eddie says. “That’s my biggest regret, really. Not being around more when Chris was little.”

Ah, there’s the familiar, soul-crushing weight of the world again. It was a nice minute, while it lasted. “It must have been hard to be away from him. I can’t even imagine…” Maddie swallows, but her food tastes sour, acrid. She can imagine. She has. She’s fantasized. About walking out the door. About not coming back.

“That’s the thing,” Eddie says, “it kind of... I mean, I missed him, and I missed Shannon. And now? I would rather get shot a thousand times than leave Chris. But at the time, it was easy. Ridiculously, insanely easy.”

Maddie watches as Eddie runs his hand through his hair, a twisted smile taking over his face. “What kind of fucking father chooses a war zone over his own wife and kid, you know? I kept telling myself it was for them, it was for us. But really I was just scared. I was terrified of it, of being a husband, a father. I didn’t know how to be those things.”

There’s something unfolding inside Maddie’s chest. An old hurt, an old fear, unraveling for her to finally grasp at its edges and see the bloody, wretched mess. “I don’t either,” she admits. She hasn’t said that to anyone. Not Buck, not Athena, not Josh. Certainly not her parents. Because that thing inside her, that little girl curled in on herself to hide away her broken heart—her parents had a lot to do with it. “I’m so scared. All the time. She’s tiny, and perfect, and I’m… I’m not good enough.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Eddie says.

“No,” Maddie says. “I’m going to ruin her, Eddie. I’m a horrible mother. I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t do this.”

“Whoah, whoah.” Eddie reaches his hand across the table to grip hers, tight. Maddie raises her other hand to her face to wipe her eyes. “You’re doing great, Maddie. You’re really good with her.”

“No, I’m not. Not really. I mean, Buck is more of a natural at this than I am.” He’s in the living room, letting Jee-Yun chew on the collar of his shirt, while Chris is talking and gesturing wildly with his hands. Buck looks happy. He looks rapt, focused. All in.

“I don’t think anyone’s naturally a good parent. I think it’s supposed to be hard. That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”

“I just don’t want to hurt her,” Maddie says, watching Buck, watching Jee-Yun, watching Chris. This beautiful tableau of a family that she wants so desperately to be part of.

“That’s normal. That fear is… hell, Maddie. That’s parenthood.”

“How do you deal with it? How do you walk around with that, knowing… knowing any moment, you might fail?”

Eddie tightens his hold on her hand, pulls on it slightly to bring her focus back around to him. “I’m going to tell you something I told Buck a long time ago,” he says. “You’re going to make mistakes. It’s not like there’s some test you can study for and get the perfect kid at the end. What matters is that you love them enough to keep trying.”

Maddie remembers Buck, what feels like a lifetime ago, staring down their parents. Love me anyway, he’d said. “It’s that simple?” She asks, feeling hollow. Feeling like she failed before she even crossed the starting line.

“Of course not,” Eddie says. “It’s hard work, loving someone. But you’re not in it alone, either. You’ve got all of us.”

He’s right. Maybe she can put a little bit of the load down, once in a while. Maybe she doesn’t have to be crushed by all that weight.

“I’m sorry,” she says, cracking a smile, “all we’re doing is talking about me.”

“Trust me, it’s a relief,” Eddie says, smiling back. “All anyone wants me to do is talk about how I’m feeling. I’m sick of talking about myself.”

“It’s nice to know you’re not the only one with problems?”

“Yeah. Exactly that.”

They share a raw, honest smile, and Maddie does feel a little bit lighter. “I’ll be sure to come back for more sage advice,” she says, pulling her hand away.

“Next time, bring pizza,” Eddie says. It makes Maddie laugh.

When she gets home, she puts Jee-Yun to bed and looks at her. Just takes in that fragile nose, the impossibly delicate eyelids, her perfect, untidy mouth. She thinks about how she’s been scared her whole life—of upsetting her parents, of hurting Buck, of losing Doug, of leaving Doug, of finding love.

But all those fears, they brought her here. So maybe this is just another journey, and maybe it’s OK to be scared.

When Chimney gets home the next morning, he crawls into bed with Maddie and Jee-Yun. Their daughter had started fussing at three in the morning, and now they were both exhausted. But Maddie holds on tight, holds Jee-Yun close, and when Chimney wraps his arms around them and drops a kiss into her hair, Maddie hears him say, "my two best girls. How did I get so lucky?"

And she thinks, this. This can be enough.

#it's not perfect but I worked kind of really hard on this and I'm feeling some type of way so here you go #for anyone who wants to cry about Maddie #ray writes #madney #maddie buckley #how did this get so fucking LONG #long post

[detectivejay-chuckles-halstead]

Love // Pt 2 // Jay Halstead x Reader

Description: Jay wakes up

Warnings: None

Words: 1511

Pairing: Upton!Reader x Jay Halstead

Part 1

A/N: There will be a Part 3 to this as well!

You hesitated at the ER doors of Med, not sure if you could bring yourself to walk in. Through the glass, you could see at least a dozen officers standing in the waiting room, waiting to hear if their colleague was going to be okay. And here you were, about to walk in to see if your boyfriend was going to be okay. Two separate types of relationships, one man. 

“You want to go in?” Hailey asked you, not sure how long she’d been standing next to you. 

“Not really,” you answered with a sad laugh. “But I guess I probably should, right? I mean, it’s Jay in there.”

“There’s no rush. Will gave us an update not too long ago. He’s in surgery, so it might be a while. You’ve got time,” she assured you. “Why don’t we sit out here for a bit until you're ready?” You nodded, the two of you sitting on the bench next to the entrance. 

“That was the first time he told me he loved me,” you finally said. “And all I want is to get to hear him say it in person. I don’t need him being a ‘what if’ Hailey.” She squeezed your hand, grounding you as tears came to your eyes. 

“He’s not going to be a ‘what if’ because he’s strong. He’s gonna pull through this, and the two of you are going to have the epic story you’ve always wanted. Remember when we were kids and you always talked about how you were going to meet your Prince Charming someday?” You leaned your head on her shoulder.

“You always made fun of me for it, Hails. Like any big sister would.” The memory came to mind, getting you to smile.

“The first time I saw you and Jay together, I realized that’s exactly who he was. He’s your Prince Charming, Y/N.”

“How is it you always know what to say?” you asked her, holding onto her like a lifeline. 

“Because I’m your big sister. We always know what to say,” she reminded you, holding onto you. Jay may have been your partner, but you were the one he loved. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been sitting out on the bench when someone joined the two of you, sitting down in the free spot. When you looked over, you saw it was Will. 

“He’s out of surgery,” he told you softly, yet he didn’t look happy about it. “The bullet went through his vest. They were able to fix most of the damage, but he lost a lot of blood and damaged his lung. We’ll know how bad it is if he wakes up.” You were following along until the word ‘if.’

“If he wakes up?” you asked, needing further clarification. If he was out of surgery, why wouldn’t he wake up. 

“Doctor Abrams is worried about Jay having brain damage from lack of oxygen. A mix of the blood loss and the damaged lung. He’s hoping to start weaning Jay off the ventilator within the next couple of days to give his lung time to heal. Then, we’ll know. I can take you up to see him,” he offered, getting a nod in agreement from you as your sister let you go. 

You’d met Will a few times when you and Jay would go to Molly’s, the red-head stopping by occasionally at Jay’s place to watch a hockey or baseball game. So, it wasn’t that you weren’t familiar with Will, but it was the situation that was unfamiliar. You couldn’t exactly ask him how his day was going, how work was, how the girl he was seeing was doing. Not in this situation with Jay in the ICU. 

“He isn’t going to look like himself, Y/N,” he told you at the double doors leading into the unit. “There’s going to be a bunch of tubes and wires. He’s not breathing on his own yet, so there’s a machine breathing for him. It’s a belief that when people are like this, that they can still hear everything. So, just talk to him...He’s in there somewhere.”

“I’m scared, Will,” you admitted, the older man bringing you in for a tight hug. 

“I am too. But he’s gonna get through this. He always does.” 

You wanted to believe Will’s words, hanging on them with high hopes. He led you to Jay’s room, slowly opening the door. Jay was laying in the bed, head up at a forty-five degree angle. A blue tube snaked from his lips to a machine that hissed with every breath. There was a bag of blood hanging, tubing attached to one of the IVs. He had one in his hand, and then one in each arm giving him different medications that you could only guess on how to pronounce, let alone what they were. What really caught your eye was the stark contrast between all these tubes and wires to the paleness of his skin. 

Once you took it all in from the doorway, you were able to sit next to him, taking his hand in yours. Just a few hours ago, you were kissing him on the way out the door to go to work. Now, you were sitting in the ICU holding a deathly pale, cold hand. You could only imagine what the damage from the bullet looked like, not sure if you ever wanted to know until it was a pale scar marred on his skin. 

“You scared me, Jay,” you told him softly, looking for any indication that he was actually hearing you. “Talking like that was going to be your last chance...You’re going to have a million more chances to tell me you love me, you know. And after this. I’m not going to waste any moment with you, not going to give up any chance to show you I love you. Because I do, Jay. I love you. And I’m sorry it took you getting shot for me to tell you. Because it scared me. All of this scares me, because I’ve never felt like this for anybody before.”

“He’s going to be okay,” Will assured you again, knowing it was the brother side of him saying this and not the doctor side. Especially considering he’d warned you that Dr Abrams wasn’t sure if he’d wake up. 

“I’m going to hold you to that, Will.”

Four days later, you sat next to Jay after work. You hadn’t even stopped by your house, keeping a bag with civilian clothes in your car so that you could go to the hospital right after work. They’d extubated him early in the morning the day before, but he still hadn’t woken up. All the tests came back normal, so they said it was just a matter of time.

“Hailey wants to go on a weekend trip. We haven’t had one in so long, but I told her it would have to be after you were home,” you told him, thumb rubbing across his knuckles gently. 

They’d taken the IV out of his hand, but he still had the two in his arms. His skin was back to a normal color finally as well, looking like the Jay you’d always known. Just asleep. 

“Maybe I could convince you to give up the keys to the cabin for a weekend?”

“Like hell,” he mumbled, head lolling to the side before his eyes fluttered open. His eyelids looked heavy as he looked at you, as if he hadn’t slept in a year. Yet, he’d been asleep for four days. 

“Jay,” you sighed with a smile, bringing his hand up to your lips. “Is anything hurting?”

“No...just.” His voice was scratchy, so you grabbed the glass of water sitting on the table, bringing the straw up to his lips. That seemed to help as he took a small drink. “How long?”

“You’ve been out for four days, Jay. Somehow the bullet made it through your vest. They were talking about the possibility that you wouldn’t wake up because of the blood loss,” you explained softly, the weight on your chest disappearing slowly the longer he kept his eyes open. 

“I’ve been shot before, but it was different this time,” he told you, keeping his eyes on you. “It felt like it was it. And I just...I had to tell you I loved you in case there wasn’t another chance.”

“I love you, Jay. Which means, you’re not allowed to scare me like that again.” That got him to smile. Squeezing your hand. “Go back to sleep for a bit. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He nodded, eyes drifting closed again. 

This was how it went for the next three days, Jay’s moments of consciousness becoming longer and longer. Will had told you it was because his body needed time to recuperate. It didn’t matter why, just as long as he was going to be okay. Which it seemed like he was. Things were going to be okay.

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagines #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #fanfiction #Chicago PD

[justatiredghost]

Everything I ever wanted Ch3 Read More AO3

Dave died in Vietnam, but then he suddenly wakes up again in some sort of science facility. He has no idea what’s going on or where Klaus is, but he’s pretty sure he’s a prisoner. (The Commission has the technology to offer Five a new body, but since the Hargreeves siblings went on the run after failing to stop the apocalypse, they’ve managed to advance that technology even further.)

-

Dave jolted awake, half remembered memories of pain and terror spurring him on as he scrambled off of a bed, trying to get away while he still could because he wasn’t restrained anymore. He was moving too quickly, his stiff limbs protesting, but he didn’t want to waste this chance in case it was all he was going to get. 

His legs gave out almost immediately and he fell to his hands and knees, a pain in his chest knocking the air from his lungs. He clutched at the spot, gasping, trying to catch his breath as agony radiated through his body. Then he remembered the gunfire, the blood, and seeing his own lifeless body laid out in front of him. 

He clawed at his shirt in his panic, pulling it down enough to see, but there was no blood, not even a scar. He gagged at the memory, but he didn’t have anything in his stomach and ended up retching painfully. Once he’d regained himself, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and, while he waited for the world to stop spinning, glanced around to get his bearings. He might as well, nobody was trying to stop him yet, after all. 

The room he was in was pristine, white walls and minimal furniture that looked generic enough that they probably duplicated them for hundreds of rooms that looked exactly like this one. It reminded him of the barracks, just without bunks filling every space available. It wasn’t a home and it wasn’t a hospital, just a place to sleep at night. 

There were two doors, one propped open and leading to a small bathroom, the other large and heavy-looking, like the kind meant to keep someone inside, just without the bars. There was a huge window taking up most of the wall next to the door, but the glass was dark and opaque and he couldn’t see anything through it. Maybe it was just a bad mirror. 

None of this made any sense. He had no idea where he was or what could be happening. At least he wasn’t tied down and kept company by his own corpse anymore. His stomach clenched threateningly. He wondered what they’d done to him. It felt absurd to even consider, but what if he really had died? What would that make him, some sort of clone? Was he even the same person?

But then, how was that even possible? All of this was so surreal. This sort of thing didn’t happen, not in real life. And definitely not to a nobody like him. Maybe this was all some sort of hallucination induced by whatever they were using to keep him under for surgery. Or maybe he was just dead. Whatever was going on, the one thing he was sure of was that he needed to get out of there.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to stand up. The world swayed and his knees shook, but he didn’t fall this time. Using the bed and wall for support, he made his way towards the door. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any sort of doorknob or lock. It was just a solid surface. He pushed on it, banged on it with his fist, but nothing happened. 

There was a solid looking white side table next to the bed, and, with a shrug, Dave picked it up and threw it at the window-mirror-thing. He put as much weight behind it as he could, but he just felt too weak and wasn’t surprised when it bounced off ineffectively. That didn’t stop him from trying a few more times, until he collapsed to the ground again, winded, his limbs feeling shaky like he’d been marching all day and night. It didn’t seem like he was getting out of here any time soon. 

“It seems like a waste of time to me, but if it makes you feel better, by all means, please continue.”

The voice startled him and he looked up in surprise to find that the glass was no longer dark and opaque. Now, he could see through to the corridor outside and an older woman watching him with some amusement, smoking a cigarette. She crossed her arms, apparently pleased by the effect her entrance had had on him. Something about her unsettled Dave. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew this woman could be incredibly dangerous.

“Where am I? What’s going on?” he asked, clambering back up onto his feet, trying not to show how wary he was of her. “And where are the others? I was on the front line; where’s the rest of my squad?” 

“My, aren’t we just full of questions,” she said with a chuckle. “Lets see. Where to begin? Well, you are at the Commission headquarters. The R&D department, specifically.”

“Can I leave? Or am I a prisoner.”

“You’re not even a tiny bit curious as to what the Commission is?” 

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure you’d give me an honest answer.”

“Fair enough,” the woman sighed. “We do safeguard all of space and time, but very well. Moving on; the Umbrella Academy, or, the Hargreeves siblings, a name you’re no doubt familiar with, have been causing us quite a bit of trouble lately.”

Hargreeves? As in Klaus Hargreeves? He had mentioned the Umbrella Academy before, so it was possible. Dave nearly asked in his excitement, at this hint that he might still be alive, but he bit his tongue. He still didn’t know what she wanted and he didn’t want to give anything Klaus wouldn’t want her to have. So he simply stayed quiet and hoped his expression didn’t give him away. He doubted it. He never had been very good at that sort of thing.

“We’d like to strike a bargain with them; put an end to all this nonsense. This is where you come in. Since you were obviously close to one of its members, we brought you back as a sign of good faith.”

“Brought me back?” Dave echoed, worried he knew what the answer was going to be. He just needed to hear it.

“What we’ve done here is a scientific marvel, really,” the woman said, looking pleased with herself. “Sure, we can recreate a person’s body, keeping our employees at the top of their game, that’s easy. But bringing someone back from the dead? That took a bit of creativity. But I’m proud to say it worked in the end. Hopefully our next experiment will prove just as fruitful.”

Dave could hardly listen, too stunned to pay attention. So he really had died. He absently brought a hand up to rub at his chest, where he could so vividly remember the feeling of having a ragged hole ripped into him. He tried not to think about that. He tried not to think about how the grief on Klaus’ face had been the last thing he’d seen before it all went dark. 

He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the here and now, like he did on the battlefield. He could have a breakdown or something later.

“So,” he said, taking a deep breath, hoping his voice would be steady. “What you’re saying is that you want to use me as leverage to bribe the Hargreeves to stop fighting against you?”

“‘Bribe’ is such a crude way to put it,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “We’re doing them a favor. And you, too. We can all come out of this with something we want.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Dave said. “I appreciate it and all, but maybe you should put me back where you found me. I won’t be part of anything that might put the Hargreeves in danger.”

“Oh, rest assured, that can definitely be arranged,” she said and her cruel smile made him certain that she would follow through with it without hesitation if the mood struck her. “We can certainly do this the hard way, too, but we’d much rather do this with your cooperation. It would be so much easier.”

Dave always had a feeling there was more going on with Klaus than he let on. He’d said some things, painting vague pictures that Dave still struggled to completely put together. It didn’t help that they’d been high for a lot of their discussions, too. But this seemed like some sort of secret government shit that Klaus had certainly never mentioned. It was all too big for Dave and he had no idea what to think. Except that he wouldn’t ever do anything that could put Klaus in danger. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t help you,” he said, steeling himself for whatever was going to happen next. He half expected the woman to pull out a gun. 

“Well,” she said, adjusting her hat as if it could be anything less than perfect. “The hard way it is, then.” She turned and left, the sound of heels clicking against the floor echoing along the corridor as the window went dark again. 

Dave would have slumped to the floor in relief if his legs hadn’t given out first. They were trembling from exertion just from standing there. He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so weak. Maybe this was just what it was like, being a clone. Or maybe he needed to rebuild whatever muscle he had had. Later, though. For now, he laid back on the carpet, completely exhausted.

Dave was a lot of things, but mostly he would describe himself as a disappointment in nearly every aspect of his life; with his family, with the military, everything. But the one thing he truly felt proud of was the way he had made Klaus smile, how happy he had seemed when they were together. If that was all he managed to accomplish in life, he would still consider it a success despite all of the other failures. That was the one thing that truly mattered. And he certainly wasn’t going to jeopardize all of that by working with a group that must have done some terrible things if Klaus had decided it was worth it to join up with the Umbrella Academy again. 

That was good, though, wasn’t it? His family had never seemed like the most supportive people, but maybe they could patch things up and look out for each other. That’s what Dave hoped, at least. Klaus wouldn’t be alone, and he had his whole life ahead of him. He didn’t need Dave. He’d probably already moved on from him and was getting on just fine. He was a survivor. 

Honestly, Dave felt a little bad for this Commission. He wasn’t really sure why they’d chosen him, he wasn’t special enough to use as some sort of bargaining chip. But even then, he wouldn’t want Klaus making any sacrifices for him, either. He didn’t even want to put Klaus in a situation where he had to make that sort of decision. So, he decided he needed to make sure he couldn’t be used against the Hargreeves in any way. He needed to escape, or die trying. If they killed him soon, maybe Klaus would never have to know. He wouldn’t have to grieve for him all over again.

#klaus hargreeves #klave #klaus x dave #dave katz #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #fanfic #everything i ever wanted #hello yes i am feeling desperate to post something new #for anyone still reading my fics #after so long #so here have this #sorry it's so short #anyway #this is post-season 1 #my fic

[aloha-solar]

The Spaces Between the Stars: Three

Rating: M

AO3 link here

It was soothing to see that this project was like the Lazarus Project. Of course, the guidelines and steps this time were simpler but the two’s commonalities made Miranda feel more confident as she worked. It made her feel even more confident that she didn’t have a doctor glancing over her shoulders every five minutes, second-guessing every decision she made. No, for the most part Miranda worked in complete privacy, only calling in assistance when Shepard needed surgery.

For the most part. The doctors stayed away, but the visitors certainly didn’t.

Some of Jack’s students had already been discharged, but at least half of them still needed to remain in the hospital for further treatment. As a result, Jack took to sticking her head round after she visited her students.

“Jack, you do realize that I’m actually trying to work here?” Miranda said one evening. It had been two weeks since Hackett hired her, and she felt pleased with the progress Shepard made. The burns were mostly superficial, and while Miranda felt certain they would leave some scarring, it wouldn’t be debilitating. The wound on the left side of Shepard’s torso still needed regular dressing, but it hadn’t showed any signs of infection or major damage. Her lung puncture was healing nicely as well, and they’d been able to switch her to an oxygen mask instead of full intubation. The only problem seemed to be her brain…

Jack shrugged, offering Miranda a paper cup of tea from the canteen. “Yeah, I know. But I’m currently out of commission until the kids are all back on their feet, so what else am I supposed to do?” She took a slurp of her energy drink. Miranda rolled her eyes.

“You can learn other skills,” Miranda said. “And I know most of those tattoos are self-inflicted. You could open a tattoo parlor in the meantime.” Jack laughed before downing the rest of her drink in two seconds flat.

“Why? Want to be my first customer, princess?” Jack said. “How about a nice Cerberus symbol on your—”

“Maybe you’re good at something else,” Miranda said quickly. Jack laughed again before punching Miranda on the shoulder. Miranda shot her a quick smile before turning her attention back to her datapad. Jack walked over to the window to Shepard’s hospital room.

“She’s doing as well as she can, considering the circumstances,” Miranda said, not turning around and answering the question that was playing in Jack’s mind.

“She wasn’t this bad when you guys dug her up, right?” Jack asked. Miranda glanced over at Jack. Jack was still looking through the window, but she’d crumpled her can in her hand and ruptured it. Miranda turned off her datapad and then stood next to her.

"When we got her, we couldn’t tell if she was a man or a woman,” Miranda said. “A lot of her gear was infused onto her body, and—”

“So she’s not as fucked up,” Jack said flatly.

“No,” Miranda said. “She’s not.” She wondered if she should something nice for Jack—perhaps give her a shoulder pat or a hand squeeze—when Jack suddenly stepped away.

“Gotta go see the kids one more time before visiting hours are up,” Jack said. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Miranda saw that Jack’s jaw was slightly more rigid than usual. Her voice sounded thicker as well. “See you around, princess.”

“Jack—” Miranda began but Jack had already walked down the hallway and turned the corner. Miranda sighed, before taking a sip of her tea and heading back into Shepard’s room.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were lots of visitors to Shepard’s room in that month. Miranda never saw Kasumi in-person, but there would be little hints that she’d stopped by whenever Miranda left the room: once there was a teddy bear stuck at the end of Shepard’s bed; another time, an abstract painting hanging on the wall that said, “Get well soon, Shep!” When Miranda scanned it with an omni-tool, she saw that it was an elcor creation, a piece that had been declared stolen just before the war began. Miranda considered calling the police, but instead ended up taking the painting home to her apartment. Shepard would probably get a laugh out of it, she decided, before they handed it in.

Zaeed came once, carrying a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. Miranda chuckled when she saw him. “I didn’t think you were the romantic type, Zaeed,” Miranda said as the two of them shook hands. “And I don’t think Shepard’s ready to eat solid foods yet.”

"I couldn’t damn well smuggle her in a gun now, could I?” Zaeed said. “Figured it was the next best thing. These are damn good chocolates, and the wine’s from 2122.”

“How do you know the chocolates are damn good?” Miranda said.

“Because I had to try a couple to make sure they weren’t poisoned!” Zaeed said. He handed Miranda the box and the bottle, before taking the seat next to Shepard’s bed. He put his arms behind his head and crossed his legs.

“How did you even get these anyway?” Miranda asked, putting the bottle down on the floor next to Zaeed and plucking a raspberry cream chocolate from the box. “You were on the Citadel, weren’t you?”

“Not all of the Citadel was destroyed,” Zaeed said. “Most of the Outer Wards did get pretty fucked over, and there were apparently a couple of attacks on the Presidium, but most people fled to the Inner Wards when the Reapers decided to bloody drag us across the galaxy. And that isn’t bloody alien swill: that is pure Earth chocolate. Speaking of which, the marzipan ones are pretty good. Toss me one, will you?”

“I thought we were supposed to be saving these,” Miranda said, but she obliged.

“There’s a good girl,” Zaeed said, popping the chocolate in his mouth. He nodded at Shepard. “How’s my favourite commander doing? She all right?”

“As all right as she can be, Zaeed,” Miranda said. She closed the lid on the chocolate box and put it on the floor too.

“She’ll get up eventually,” Zaeed said. “When I got shot in the head, doctors thought I was done for. Said I’d be in a coma for the rest of my life. Shows how much those bastards know.” He chuckled. “Rage ain’t just an anesthetic, it’s a hell of a stimulant.”

“I don’t think rage is going to help,” Miranda said.

“You don’t think she’s not gonna be pissed that the Reapers nearly destroyed Earth and every fucking planet in the galaxy? Nah. She’s gonna be pissed when she wakes up,” Zaeed said. “Now if you need a merc to help discharge her early, then I might be available..."

Garrus and Tali were still off the grid, which left Miranda thoroughly unsurprised. All the Normandy crew would be banging down the hospital door if they were still on Earth, and none of the alien crew would even dream of going off-world until they saw Shepard wake up. She hoped that wherever they were, they’d be back on Earth by the time Shepard woke up. It stung, but they’d been with Shepard since the beginning. And as much as Shepard cared for Miranda, it would be stupid to assume that Shepard wouldn’t be disappointed when she only saw Miranda, and none of the rest of her crew.

Jacob and Grunt were off-world too, but at least Miranda had spoken to Jacob. She didn’t expect anything from Grunt—the krogan quickly dispatched themselves the second the last Reaper fell—but Jacob was stationed on a ship near the ruins of the Arcturus Station, part of a team that was supposed to rebuild it

“But you don’t know how to build anything, Jacob,” Miranda said, two days after Zaeed visited. “How are you supposed to help rebuild an entire space station?”

“By not being part of the building team,” Jacob answered. The connection was full of static, but Miranda could still here Jacob's voice above it. “I’m there to help guard the workers, prevent any attacks and fights from outsiders.”

“Ah, Jacob. And here I thought you left your merc days behind you,” Miranda said.

“I’m still serving as a member of the Alliance,” Jacob countered. “Plus they want to make Arcturus a military outpost this time, instead of being a hybrid between a base and civilian housing. They’re going to heavily reinforce it and everything.”

“What else could be out there besides the Reapers?”

“No idea,” Jacob said. “But…doesn’t it make you feel better at night knowing that we have a major base against outside attacks?”

“I suppose,” Miranda said, knowing that pointing out Arcturus Station's quick destruction during the Reaper invasion would not be a good idea. “But I’ve got to run, Jacob. Shepard isn’t going to make a full recovery without me. Tell Brynn I said hello and that I hope everything’s going well with the baby.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Miranda,” Jacob said, laughing. “And Brynn…Brynn will be fine. Let me know when Shepard wakes up. Maybe I’ll treat us all to a few drinks. Just like old times.” Miranda smiled wanly before she disconnected. She liked Jacob—he was a good soldier, and she knew that if she spent more time with him, he’d be a good friend—but their lives were taking different routes. He seemed intent on forgetting about the Normandy and his time spent on it. She, on the other hand, had grown fond of some of the crew members. But then again, did she really have a choice in that fondness? Miranda didn’t suppose she did. Before the Normandy, the only other person she cared about was Oriana. Now…well. It felt odd, and it was more than a little distracting, but she liked those unexpected visits from her former crew-mates. She hadn’t realized how much she missed them.

The last person to visit was Samara. She came in late one night, exactly a month after Miranda started working on Shepard. After Miranda spoke to Jacob, she found herself in the hospital nearly twenty-four-seven, scanning Shepard’s body this way and that, trying to find some explanation as to why Shepard wasn’t waking up. Her abdomen wound had started closing up, her lung puncture was nearly healed, and her scars had faded, so it couldn’t have been from body trauma. The brain scans showed no major damage. No, the implants were the issue. They hadn’t failed: they were still working, keeping Shepard’s heart beating and her lungs full of oxygen. But they weren’t behaving properly either: if they were, Shepard would have been awake the second most of her major injuries were treated.

So Miranda slaved away in Shepard’s hospital room, running every test under the sun and still coming up empty-handed. She couldn’t even ask the doctors for help: they were her implants, her creation, and if she asked the medical staff for help, they wouldn’t have a clue as to how they could help. It all left Miranda tired and frustrated…and scared.

"Is that going to be it then, Shepard?” Miranda said the night Samara arrived, throwing her hands up in the air. She’d run another round of tests, trying to see if electro-shock therapy could get Shepard up, but still nothing. It was a long shot, anyway—electro-shock therapy stopped being used at all, even for mental illnesses, at some point in the 2080s—but after hitting every single wall in the maze, Miranda was fast running out of ideas. “Are you just going to lie there for the rest of your life?”

“That would be very unlike Shepard to do so,” Samara said, and Miranda jumped and turned around. “My apologies, Miranda. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Samara,” Miranda said, putting the paperwork away and turning the lights up in the room ever so slightly. “But what are you doing here? Visitor’s hours ended a while ago.”

“I had thought you had left already,” Samara said. “I don’t know Earth time that well, but I believe twelve o’clock at night is rather late for humans.”

“Not just here in the hospital,” Miranda said. “But here on Earth. I thought you’d have returned to Thessia by now.”

“I thought so as well,” Samara said, crossing her hands behind her back and walking slowly towards Shepard’s bed. “But it seems that the relay damage has delayed my leave. And after I heard that Shepard was the one who set off the Crucible, I felt that I needed to see that she was all right.”

“I see,” Miranda said.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Samara said.

“What question?”

“Why you’re still here instead of resting,” Samara said. “When I received the message about Shepard from Kasumi, I wanted to see her as soon as I was able. Kasumi said that you usually went home at eleven o’clock.”

“That’s what I usually do,” Miranda said, making a mental note to check the room to make sure Kasumi hadn’t cloaked herself without Miranda’s knowledge, “but…it’s funny, but as Shepard’s injuries have healed, I haven’t been as home as often as I should.”

“I see,” Samara said. Miranda felt her insides squirm. As much as she respected Samara, there was something about her that made Miranda nervous. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Samara could kill Miranda for breaking asari law without any consequences, or perhaps it was because Samara’s eyes were so piercingly, unnaturally blue, almost the exact shade of her skin. Miranda wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to find out.

“You’ve done an excellent job with her,” Samara continued, gazing at Shepard. “I believe Shepard would be pleased to know that her friend is taking such care of her.”

“I’ve had practice,” Miranda said simply.

“Shepard mentioned you being the one who brought her back to life,” Samara said. “I imagine this project is easier for you.”

“It would be even easier if Shepard actually woke up,” Miranda said. She started pacing, twisting her fingers. Samara’s eyes followed her, but she stayed by the bed.

“It’s…” Miranda began, but then trailed off. How could she describe it? It wasn’t a coma, but it couldn’t be sleep either. A vegetative state? Was that what Shepard was going to be? Alive, but only by the loosest definition of the word?

“She’s not…I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Miranda finally got out. “She didn’t score terribly on the Glasgow scale, but she didn’t score well either. But the doctors ran so many scans on her that they were able to rule out any sort of brain damage. It must be the implants that are the issue, but I don’t know what’s the matter with them.

“I’m the one who designed the implants, so why don’t I know what’s wrong? They want me to bring Shepard back again, but what if the first time was a fluke? What if she’s supposed to stay dead this time? I know I’m doing everything right, but the implants were supposed to wake her up the second her injuries started healing!” Miranda kept burbling on, coming up with different theories—had Wilson interfered during the Lazarus Project? Did the Illusive Man have some part in this? Did the Alliance?—when suddenly, Samara grabbed Miranda’s hands. Miranda stopped mid-sentence, finding herself face-to-face with Samara’s piercing eyes.

“Tell me, Miranda, when was the last time you slept?” Samara prodded. There was something almost motherly and tender in her tone that nearly made Miranda cry. Samara killed hundreds, if not thousands of people for the sake of preserving ancient justice, but Miranda had forgotten that Samara had been a mother before all of that.

“Do you want the last time I actually slept, or the last time I slept well?” Miranda asked. Samara gave her a sad little smile.

“Both,” she replied.

“Then I’m fairly certain you won’t like the answer for either of them.”

“Then perhaps you should get some rest,” Samara replied. “You’ll only injure yourself if you keep working like this.”

“I would,” Miranda said, letting go of Samara’s hands and stepping away. “But I can’t rest until I know Shepard will be all right.”

“You mean until she wakes up,” Samara said. She took a step closer to Miranda, closing the distance that Miranda created. “Tell me, Miranda: did you work yourself this hard when you were rebuilding Shepard?” Miranda paused. Truth be told, she had worked herself that hard in the beginning. She overworked herself in the three months before Shepard woke up as well, but she had no choice that time: she couldn’t risk Wilson waking her up again and nearly killing her. But those months in-between, when it was clear Shepard was healing and stable, she finally let herself relax. How could she not? Shepard would have been fine: the implants were placed and working well. But this was different: the implants were working, but as if they were at minimal power.

“If you’re worried about doctors interfering, you have no need to,” Samara said. “I will watch over Shepard until you return.”

“But what if something happens when I’m not here?” Miranda asked, looking down at Shepard. She looked peaceful, her black hair fanned out on her pillow, her breathing even and regular, but she kept thinking about the implants. What if they failed the second she stepped out of the hospital? If she didn’t get back quickly enough, there would be no chance of saving Shepard. All her hard work would be for nothing.

“You cannot keep thinking of the possibilities that something will go wrong,” Samara said. “Something could have gone wrong this past month, yet Shepard has remained stable. She is no danger if you step away for one night.”

“But what if it does?” Miranda said. “I know it’s stupid that I can’t trust my own handiwork, but—“

“Miranda,” Samara said. She placed her hand over Miranda’s again and rubbed her thumb over Miranda’s knuckles. “You have let yourself become overtired and over-paranoid. Once you have rested, you will be able to think clearly. Besides,” Samara said with another small smile, “even genetically-engineered humans need to get some sleep.” Miranda stepped away again and gave one last worrying look at Shepard. She took a deep breath.

“You promise to let me know in case anything bad happens?” Miranda asked. She hated how high and pleading her voice sounded—almost childlike—but she knew that Samara wasn’t going to let Miranda stay.

“You have my promise,” Samara said, walking to the chair and sitting on it in the lotus position. “Now go. Shepard will be safe under my watch.” Samara closed her eyes and lit up the dim room with her biotics. Miranda gave one last look at both of them before slowly walking out.

As she walked down the hallway and outside into the cool London air, it occurred to Miranda that for the first time in a month, it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She inhaled sharply, taking in the smell of rain on concrete and the sharp scent of the takeaway places around her, before hailing a taxi to take her back to her apartment. She’d scarcely been in it since Hackett gave her the job.

She barely made it onto the couch before collapsing on the lopsided cushions and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She didn’t wake up until evening the next day. Bleary-eyed, Miranda stretched and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. The clock said six twenty-three. Miranda groaned. She ran her fingers through her hair and popped a few peppermints in her mouth before sprinting out of her apartment and back to the hospital.

She didn’t know why she rushed back. Shepard was still unconscious, her various monitors providing a beeping harmony in the background. Samara, by the looks of it, hadn’t moved either, still in the same position and chair she’d been in when Miranda left. Samara opened her eyes when she heard the door open.

“You should have phoned me when I didn’t turn up this morning,” Miranda said, running her omni-tool over Shepard’s body and checking all her vitals.

“I felt no need to,” Samara said. “Nothing about Shepard’s condition changed while you were away, and you needed the rest.” Miranda sighed. Samara was right on both counts.

Well, nearly right.

“Her implants are becoming more active,” Miranda said. She turned around to face Samara. “If they’re becoming more active, it means that they’re getting ready for when she’s conscious again.”

“I see,” Samara said. “Then the rest turned out to be good after all?”

"I…yes, that’s right,” Miranda said, turning around and facing her. “I suppose that running all those tests might have interfered with the implants.”

“Perhaps,” Samara said. “Or you two needed to spend some time apart.”

“A doctor and a patient spending time apart?” Miranda said. She crossed her arms as a smile tugged at her mouth.

“I remember my daughters fighting with each other about such trivial things,” Samara said. “I often needed to separate them before they would apologize to each other.”

Miranda chuckled. “I see,” she said. Samara nodded at her.

“I should take my leave now, Miranda,” Samara said. She gave her a pat on the shoulder before walking to the door. “I hope I see you again before I return to Thessia.”

"Same to you,” Miranda said. “And maybe I should tell Kasumi to send you in whenever I need to take a break.” A small smile flickered across Samara’s lips.

“Yes, that would be an excellent idea,” Samara said. “I will await her message. But in the meantime…good-bye, Miranda.” Miranda gave Samara a nod and watched the door close behind her. She turned back around to Shepard, pulling out her omni-tool to check her vitals again. As she walked over to Shepard’s head, she saw her eyelids begin to flutter and she let out a sharp breath.

Miranda’s jaw dropped.

#Mass Effect #mass effect fanfiction #mass effect fanfic #shenko #f!shenko #fshenko #femshep x kaidan #kaidan x femshep #Kaidan Alenko #femshep

[shakespeareanwannabe]

Heartbeats

Santiago Pope Garcia x F!OC/Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary: A first date at a Beer Garden shouldn’t be difficult to manage, especially with his team at his side, but Santi still has doubts.

Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol Consumption, Swearing, Benny being Benny, references to war time injuries, references to Anxiety if you squint

A/N: Hey y’all. Sorry it’s been a while. Some stuff came up, but I am so happy to finally have this chapter out to you all! Anyway, this is chapter 3. Please enjoy!

**********

Listening to his own heartbeat had become something that Santi was pretty comfortable with. When the Humvee had hit a landmine during his first deployment, sending him, Frankie, and Will sky high, he’d woken up in a military hospital in Germany, with only the steady beeping of his heart monitor to keep him company. Well, it kept him company until Will wandered in with a cup of coffee. The youngest member of the team had somehow managed to walk away with a couple of cracked ribs and some scarring on his back, whereas Pope had fractured his knee and given himself a pretty nasty concussion. At that point, Frankie was still out. He had broken a rib, punctured a lung, and fractured his hip, all on top of a nastier concussion than Pope’s. There was a harried moment when they thought he wouldn’t make it, but Fish was the toughest bastard out of any of them, and within nine months he was patrolling the desert with Santi once more.

After various near-misses, his multiple knee surgeries, and his so-called miracle neck surgery, Santi woke up to that same sound of his heart beating. It reminded him that he was alive. It was a comfort.

Now, his heart was beating so loudly in his ears he couldn’t think straight. And, the kicker was, he wasn’t even in country or recovering from a near miss. He wasn’t getting shot at or sneaking around an enemy compound. He wasn’t even sitting in the back of a helicopter while Fish tried to fly it over the fucking Andes while carrying too much weight and, fuck, he was an idiot. He hadn’t even been able to pull off a ‘sure thing’ mission. He hadn’t been able to pull of a relationship with a girl that everyone thought he was fucking anyway. Why the fuck did he think he would be able to pull off impressing this much younger woman who, for some god forsaken reason, thought he was worth her time?

Rebecca was a professional. She had a fucking Masters of Fine Arts that she used to lead tours and co-curate the art museum while also teaching art lessons to kids all across the state. And then there was him. Santiago Garcia. A washed up, beaten down, half-broken retired soldier who was living off his (not unsubstantial) savings and the kindness of friends, who had almost no prospects other than signing another damn contract and going off to shoot questionable people under the orders of even more questionable people until his knees gave out or he broke his fucking neck running around on favela rooftops. She was so far out of his league, he had no clue how to even find her league.

And yet, he found himself sitting outside her apartment in his truck, about to go and buzz up to let her know that he was there. Early. To pick her up. For their date. What was he thinking?

He was shaken out of his negative reverie when his phone buzzed four times in quick succession.

“I swear to god, if you’re sitting outside her apartment deliberating over actually picking her up or standing her up, I will drive there myself and beat some sense into you.”

“Hey man, Charlie’s had a little too much to drink (first weekend alone without Mateo) and she’s threatening your manhood if you stand up your date. Do not show up here alone, cabrón.”

“Dude, you’re bringing a date? Why haven’t I heard about this lovely lady?”

“Ignore him. He’s drunk.”

Pope could imagine his friends, his team, sitting around their reserved table at the beer garden, acting like millennials with their phones out, texting him and ignoring each other for a moment. They were insane…He loved them.

“Keep your shirts on, I’m coming.” He copied and pasted the message into the four separate threads and sent them off, ignoring when his phone buzzed again with what could only be a “That’s what she said” reply from Benny as he exited his truck and made his way to her lobby door.

He pressed the small white button next to her name and waited impatiently for her response.

“Hello?” the tinny machine garbled, but he had become accustomed to her voice. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds, like the sound of the waves at the beach or the sound of his own heartbeat. Soothing.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey, c’mon up! I’ll be ready to go in five!”

Santi gulped then shook his head and pulled the door open when the lock clicked, signalling that she had unlocked it for him. What was he nervous about? He was god damn Delta Force. Some girl should not be shaking him up this bad.

Santi took the short elevator ride up to the fifth floor, trying to calm his hammering heart, and knocked on her door.

When the door creaked open, he was reminded that Rebecca Cooke wasn’t just ‘some girl’. He had taken one look at her, sweaty and red faced and face distorted from pressing into a massage table and been smitten. Every conversation he had with her dragged him further in, until he was hooked.

Now, standing in front of him, dressed in a sapphire blue lace dress that swished around her knees, he was smacked in the face with the fact that she was, in fact, the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. The short sleeves showed off the smoothness of her arms and the V-neck had him having to drag his eyes away from her décolletage.

“Hey Santi,” she smiled gently at him, moving in to place her hands on his shoulders as she placed a hesitant kiss on his cheek.

“Um…hey,” he replied, mentally kicking himself for being so lame. “Uh, these are for you.” He handed her the bouquet of wildflowers he had bought on a whim on his drive over.

Rebecca smiled up at him, a slight glimmer in her eyes as though he had just made her the happiest person on the planet. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he blurted. She giggled, turning her back to him and he grimaced at the stupid cornball line.

“Let me put these in some water and grab my shoes, and we can go, okay?” she called back. He looked towards her retreating form and gulped at the sight of her bare back. Fuck, this was going to be a long night if he couldn’t get himself under control. If he was going to actively pursue Rebecca, he was going to do it properly.

“Uh, yeah. No worries.” He followed her a few steps into her home and peered around at the small space. It was a small apartment, cozy and warm. A suede sectional sofa overtook most of the living room, a soft looking throw blanket tossed over the side and brightly coloured patterned pillows were piled up on one end as though she had been searching for something. A variety of prints and pictures decorated her walls, everything from the infamous Kissing on VJ Day photo to a print of San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk by Monet, drawing his eye from one frame to another in rapid succession, drinking in the little details of the life she lived that he so desperately hoped to be a part of.

“Ready to go?”

His eyes were drawn back to her like magnets as she exited the small but spacious kitchen, glass vase in hand. She deposited the vase with the wildflowers on the side table next to the sofa, picked up her purse and held up her other hand, a pair of strappy sandals hanging from her finger.

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. It’s a, uh…it’s a nice place you’ve got here,” he managed to get out, cursing himself internally at his stupidity.

She smiled sweetly at him, that starry-eyed look still in her eyes as she clutched his arm to slide her sandals on.

“Thanks. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

She didn’t release his arm as they exited the apartment, clutching him close as she locked the door, as they rode the elevator, and exited the building. He shifted carefully to grip her hand and help her into his truck, closing the door softly behind her as he paced over to his door, silently coaching himself to not be a total idiot on this date.

She was into him. Holding onto his arm, looking at him the way she was. She liked him. All he had to do was not screw it up…and not let his friends screw it up.

He hauled himself up into the driver’s seat of the truck and let it idle for a minute as he double checked his mirrors. Finally, he pulled out of the parking lot and began the ten-minute drive to the Beer Garden.

“I, uh, I meant what I said. About your apartment. And about how beautiful you look. Because you do. Look beautiful, I mean. That dress is…nice.”

“Thanks.” An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and Santi fidgeted with the wheel. He was halfway to convincing himself that this whole thing had been a bad idea when she turned to him. “Are you as nervous as I am?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathed, causing her to giggle. “I swear to god, I’m not normally like this.”

“I know, that’s why I asked! I thought you were either really nervous or completely regretting asking me out,” she sighed, leaning back in her seat as the tension began to slowly dissipate.

He waited until he pulled up to a red light to turn and meet her gaze. “The only regret I’d have is if I didn’t ask you out at all and was left wondering what might have happened if I’d just gotten my balls up and asked.”

He watched her eyes widen as she looked down at her lap, jerking the car back into motion as someone honked behind him.

“Can I confess something to you?” She waited for his nod. “I had a shot before you got to my place to try to calm my nerves, but I don’t think it worked. I just…why are we nervous? We’ve been friends for a couple of months now, right?”

“Right!” he exclaimed, laughing as he risked another look at her. “I don’t know, Bex. Maybe that’s why we’re nervous?”

She shrugged delicately, pulling her legs up into the seat as she twisted to watch him drive. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just…I really want this to go well, you know?”

Santi took a hand off the wheel and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I know. I really know.”

She sighed, twisting her hand in his grip until she could interlace their fingers. “Okay. So. We’re two friends. Going on a date. We’ll just…see how it goes, okay? At the end of the night, if we decide we’re better off as friends, you drop me off, give me a high five, and we’ll see each other on Monday at the clinic.”

“But?” he asked anxiously because, like he said, he knew. He knew how badly she wanted things to go well because he desperately wanted the same thing. He’d been drowning in her for months, and he felt like he was just now being taught how to swim.

“But…” he heard her take a shuddery breath. “But if things do go well, and I really hope they do, Santi…If things go well, we agree to go on that coffee date before our sessions on Monday. Deal?”

He squeezed her hand again. “Deal.”

**********

The Beer Garden was a nice place. A solid first date choice. There was liquor to settle the nerves, incredible food to snack on over conversation, a live band to dance along to, mood lighting, and an outdoor patio with fairy lights that was pretty fucking magical, if Santi was allowed to say so.

He and the team had been there once or twice, usually after completing a room at Santi’s house, but this was the first time both Charlie and Frankie would be joining them, since Mateo was off for a sleepover at Grandma’s house. In a way, Santi was grateful. Rebecca knew Charlie, and Charlie was very protective of her patients both inside and outside of the clinic. Santi knew that Charlie and Frankie would help make her feel welcome. Will wouldn’t be an issue. But Benny…when the kid drank, he drank hard, and he was a loudmouth stone cold sober. Hopefully, Will would be able to keep his kid brother in line.

Santi slowed as he felt the distance between him and Rebecca grow, their arms growing taut until he was forced to stop and turn around, lest he let go of her hand.

“Hey, you okay?” he moved to stand in front of her, shielding her from the busy wait staff and slightly drunken customers who were milling around the door to the outdoor patio.

She offered him a distracted nod, her free hand coming up to smooth her hair behind her ear. “Uh, I’m just gonna…” her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of Charlie sitting at a long picnic style table with a bunch of large men. She met his eyes urgently. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

Again, Santi found himself watching her retreating form as he cursed his own actions. He thought that having a group hangout would be a good idea for a first date. It kept things loose and informal and, after their conversation in the truck, he thought it couldn’t hurt to have some people there to help things continue moving in the right direction. Besides, so many people had group first dates. It kept things light. Only, now Pope was seeing his mistake. He wasn’t just introducing Rebecca to his friends. He was introducing her to the most important people in his life. His closest friends. His team.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself as he watched her duck into the bathroom before nearly sprinting outside to the table. He dodged a few waiters and barbacks before slamming his hands down on the table, causing Benny to jump. “She’s in the bathroom, Chuck, don’t start,” he quickly stated, watching as Charlie’s eyes went from murderous to understanding in the space of a blink. He slowly met each and every one of their eyes. “If any one of you motherfuckers ruin this for me, I swear to god I’ll find a way to end you.”

“Hey, I like her already,” Charlie shrugged, tipping her glass back to swallow the last of the foam. “If you ruin this with her, I’ll be the one ending you.”

“Noted. Fish?” His best friend cocked an eyebrow at him and Santi nodded, communicating in that way that only best friends can. “Fair enough. Will?”

“Hey man, I just came out for a drink.”

“Yeah, I know,” he conceded, before fixing his eyes on the youngest member of the group. “Benny?”

“What? What am I gonna do?”

“Considering you’ve stared at every waitress’ ass as they walk by, and commented on two of the barbacks’ butts, I’d say you’re definitely the problem here, Ben,” Charlie commented lightly, leaning over to rest her head gently on Frankie’s shoulder, smiling softly when he planted a sweet kiss on her temple.

“Hey, I—”

“Shut up, she’s right,” Will growled into his glass.

“Fine, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Happy?”

“Ecstatic. Charlie, did you collect on your little workplace bet?” She offered him a slightly drunken thumbs-up. “Good, you’re buying.” Pope considered the table before him before straightening and taking a few steps back towards the door. “Please, just be nice?”

“Hey, I’m always nice!” countered Benny, a cocksure grin on his face.

“Yeah, that’s what he’s afraid of, dipshit.”

The din of another Miller argument faded as Santi returned to his post just in time for Rebecca to emerge from the bathroom.

“Uh, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Santi wrapped his arm around her shoulder as he led her out onto the raised wooden patio. “You’re still nervous, huh?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Charlie’s fine, but the rest of your friends…”

Santi tugged her gently to the side and pulled her to a stop.

“Don’t worry about them, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Santi, you fought a war with them. That’s not something I can just not worry about.”

“Look, they’re gonna love you. Trust me…” he looked over his shoulder to peer at his friends, who were all surreptitiously trying to both look at them and look natural. “They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots. Look…see that blond guy? That’s Will. You could set a bomb off next to him and he wouldn’t flinch.”

“Oh, so that’s Will the Wise?” Santi smiled at the moniker. He’d found himself dropping some of Will’s more memorable motivational quotes during physio, and she had come up with the name for his quiet but forceful friend. “And the one who hasn’t stopped staring at my ass is Benny, I assume?” Santi whipped his head around to see Benny subtly trying to peer around him to get a glance at Bex’s profile. He quickly moved into his field of view and turned his back on him. Benny wanted to check out a nice ass? He could feel free. “And I know Charlie, which makes the quiet one…?”

Santi smiled softly. “That’s Frankie.”

“I like him already.”

His smile grew at the pronouncement. “I figured you would. Frankie’s good people. Easy to get along with. Now, please don’t worry?” he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze before running his hands up and down her arms soothingly. “They’re gonna see exactly what I see.”

“Which is?”

He smiled. “A stunningly beautiful, intelligent woman who I somehow suckered into going out with me. Ready?”

She gripped his hand again and smiled up at him. “Ready.”

**********

Things were going…well. Better than Santi had dared to hope. He didn’t know what Will had said, but Benny was being a real gentleman and keeping his mouth shut other than asking polite and interested questions about Bex’s work. Bex and Frankie had taken off like two peas in a pod, which gave him a warm feeling in his chest that he dared not name. Not now, anyway. Instead of examining his feelings, he decided to go get another drink.

He stood slowly, squeezing her hand when the angle got too awkward to maintain contact, and leaned down to ask, “You want another one, Bex?”

She smiled and nodded, “Yeah, would you mind getting me a pale ale this time?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!” Benny interrupted, leaning across the table towards them. “She got a nickname?”

Santi shot Will a look, but the older Miller just held his hands up in surrender, as if to say, “You brought it on yourself”.

“I-is that a problem?” Rebecca asked, looking around confused.

Frankie leaned forward, resting his free arm against the table and adjusting his grip around Charlie’s waist. “Every one of us has a nickname,” he explained quietly. “For us,” he gestured to the men. “It’s a military thing. Kind of like a right of passage.”

“I earned ‘Charlie’ after three months of seriously dating Frankie,” Charlie added, her voice only slightly muffled from her cheek resting on Frankie’s chest. “Chuck came three months after that, and then only Santi gets to call me that.”

“Oh…” Rebecca murmured, wrapping her arms around herself and looking around the table at the demolished plates of nachos, chicken wings, sliders, poutine, and potato wedges. Santi quickly retook his seat, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

It had been instinct, giving her a nickname. Rebecca was too formal for the spitfire who made him laugh so hard his abs hurt more than his knees after a physio session. Becca was cute but she had grimaced at the name, citing overuse in popular culture for her dislike. Rebbie made her snort, and Becky made him want to go find Douchebag Derek and give him a swift kick so there was no way his DNA would be reproduced.

She had loved the name Bex. It was rare, it was quick, it denoted her spark and her wit, and, best of all, he was the only one who used it. Now, it looked like she was feeling insecure in it.

“Frankie’s nickname is Catfish,” he piped up, not wanting her to think too much on the subject of him giving her a cute moniker so early in their relationship (week 3 to be exact).

It worked. Her head whipped around so quickly both Charlie and Santi winced.

“Really? Why?” she asked the man sitting next to her.

Frankie’s quick glare and microscope cock of the eyebrow went unnoticed by the entire table, except Santi, who gave him an apologetic half shrug.

“When we were in basic,” he began with a good-natured grumble. “We were all swapping stories one night, and the only good one I had was the one where my old man and I went out fishing together.” Rebecca watched as Charlie placed a small kiss on Frankie’s chest, just above the third highest button, where Frankie had evidently decided to quit, not that his fiancée was complaining about the excess skin on display. Clearly a sore subject, Rebecca filed away for later. “We went all day without catching a single fish, but just as we were about to call it quits, there’s a tug on my line. And I ended up reeling in a 17-pound catfish.”

“Last time you told the story it was 15 pounds,” Will muttered.

“I always heard 13,” Benny laughed.

“Eh, whatever. It was a big fish to 10-year-old me, okay?” Frankie downed the last of his beer. “Besides, it’s not as stupid as how Ironhead got his name.”

Santi laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one.” Will glared at him. “Hey man, Frankie told his story, now you’ve gotta tell yours.”

Will sighed as he sat forward, leaning in towards Rebecca. “So…I was probably the clumsiest private in basic training. Now, I could do push ups and sit ups like a champion, but the more complicated exercises…Well, let’s just say our drill sergeant didn’t know what the hell to do with me. Climbing a rope ladder? I’d get my foot twisted and end up hanging there like three-day old laundry on the line. Going on a march through the woods? I’d find the only rock in the road and trip over it. Field striping a rifle? I’d yank on something too quickly and give myself a black eye.” Rebecca giggled, bringing a smile to Santi’s face. “And inevitably, every time I screwed up, I’d end up smacking my head. One day, we were doing this exercise and I really got my bell rung. Our drill sergeant sent me to the infirmary because he knew there was no way in hell that I didn’t have a concussion. But I didn’t. Hell, I didn’t even pass out. When he found out, he was shocked. Said I must have the hardest skull on earth. Thus, Ironhead was born.”

“Pfft…” Benny snorted loudly, the sound breaking through Bex’s giggles and Charlie’s muffled chuckles. “It’s not even a good story, man! I coulda told your drill sergeant that you were clumsy as fuck the day you enlisted! Now, Pope’s…that’s a good fucking story,” he guffawed, leaning back as far as the bench seat would let him.

“Benny…” Will put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, which was quickly shrugged off. Santi fixed him with a glare, and Frankie was subtly drawing his hand over his neck, but Benny was too drunk to care.

“Pope?” Bex looked up at Santi confusedly, but he didn’t get the chance to explain before Benny’s crowing laughter boomed out once more.

“‘Oh god, oh god! Yes god! Yes! Please, god. Por favor, mi dios! Oh my god, oh my god!’,” Benny’s voice rang out in a poor imitation of a girlish squeal. He threw his head back and laughed drunkenly, almost falling off the bench seat. “We thought for sure that Corporal had to have the Pope himself in her room for her to be screaming for God that loudly. But no. Turned out to only be Santiago Garcia, known almost exclusively as Pope from then on out.”

Bex looked between the two men, eyes wide, before standing and squeezing out into the crowd, heading back towards the bathrooms.

“At least I got a nickname, jackass,” Santi hissed, kicking away from the table. “I didn’t spend my whole military career known only as ‘Will’s Little Brother Benny’.”

Santi turned and chased after Rebecca, praying she hadn’t gone too far.

“What? What did I say?” Benny asked, half a potato skin hanging out of his mouth.

“If this fucks them up, I’ll kick your ass for both of them,” Charlie groaned, unable to take her eyes away from where her two friends had just disappeared.

**********

He found her standing under the strings of lights that hung above the front door.

“Y-you weren’t thinking of leaving, were you?” he asked in a slightly trembling voice.

She turned to him, eyes bright, and chuckled. “No…I just needed some air. Well,” she looked around the darkened city street. “Some different air. Front fresh air instead of back fresh air. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugged out of his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders as she shivered. “I…I’m sorry about Benny. He’s an idiot most of the time, but when he drinks…”

“He could win the Nobel Prize for Darwinism?”

He chuckled, a soft smirk appearing on his face. “Yeah, something like that.” They stared up at the dark sky for a long moment, a hesitant peace falling between them. “That story he told…I’m not exactly proud of the way I used to be. I hope you know that.”

Rebecca shrugged delicately. “We all have a past. We all have things we’re not proud of. What matters is who we are today. And you want to know something?” she looked up at him with those eyes, and he pressed down the urge to kiss her.

“What?”

“I really like who you are today,” she whispered, bringing a smile to his face.

“I really like who you are every day,” he whispered back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, his smile growing even larger when she leaned into him. “You ready to get out of here?”

She wrapped his jacket tighter around her body. “Yeah, it’s getting a little chilly.”

He nodded in agreement, gave her a quick squeeze and released her. “I’ll go grab my wallet and we can get going.”

Santi wove his way back through the crowded Beer Garden until he reached the table, quietly scooping up his wallet.

“Everything okay?” Frankie asked quietly as Charlie dozed on his chest.

“Yeah, tell your firecracker that she doesn’t have to kick any asses. See you tomorrow?” Frankie nodded as Santi pulled out a crisp twenty and threw it on the table. “Adios, hermano,” he murmured, bringing his hand gently down upon Frankie’s cap and giving his head a slight jiggle. “Will, can you get me that info on that electrician?” Will nodded as Santi clapped a hand down on his shoulder, bringing his hand up to gently clasp his buddy’s forearm before Santi removed it to give Benny a quick swat on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Santi fixed him with a glare. “Yeah, okay. I deserved that. Night man.”

Santi strolled out of the restaurant, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw Rebecca, wrapped in his jacket, staring at the restaurant doors, waiting for him. That warm feeling in the pit of his stomach came back full force, and, for the first time, he didn’t want it to go away.

**********

His truck quietly slid into a parking spot out front of her apartment building.

“Well…” she murmured. “I guess this is me.”

Santi nodded, a sigh building in his chest. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t want a simple dinner date to end, but he wanted it to continue. He wanted to keep talking to her, keep listening to her, keep touching her.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll walk you to the front door,” he stated, desperate to stretch their remaining few seconds as long as he could.

She smiled and waited as he made his way around the front of the truck, opening her door and offering her his hand. They strolled the maybe twenty paces to the front door and stopped, turning to face each other while their free hands sought each other out.

“I had a really nice time. Your friends are great. Frankie’s awesome.”

“He really is.”

“Well…uh…good night, Santi.”

“Bex?” he tugged slightly on her hands, so she remained facing him. “I…” That warm feeling in his stomach burst. “Oh, fuck it,” he pressed forward, planting his lips on hers the way he had been imaging since he had picked her up four hours previous. Sweet and tender, raw and full of something that would go unnamed for a while but had so much potential. He pulled back for the space of a breath, taking in her closed eyes and slightly parted lips. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

Finally, her eyes opened. “Don’t stop,” she quietly pled, freeing her hands to place them on either side of his face, tugging him back to her lips.

They stood there for what could have been minutes or hours, neither knew nor cared. It was like every moment of their friendship had been leading them to this moment, and they wanted to live in it forever.

It wasn’t until the nearby sound of a fire truck siren starting up broke the serene quiet that they broke apart.

“So, uh…coffee on Monday?” she asked, eyes slightly glazed over and lips plump.

“Definitely.”

**********

Tags list: @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell, @buckstaposition, @who-talks-first

#santiago pope garcia x oc #santiago pope garcia x rebecca cooke #not another fairytale ending fic #first date fic #series #triple frontier fanfic #frankie catfish morales #santiago pope garcia #oscar issac #pedro pascal #slow burn #but its not that slow

[letitrainathousandflames-archive]

I Have To Find The Will To Carry On

Fandom: The Clone Wars (2008) | SPOILERS FROM SEASON 7

Characters: ARC-0408 | Echo, CT-7567 | Rex, Clone Trooper Hunter, ARC-5555 | Fives (mentioned)

Tags: hurt/comfort, grief, PTSD, survivor’s guilt, echo needs a hug

Warnings:  dehumanization, grieving, suicide ideation, depression/, gore m/, torture m/, medical torture m/, explosions m/, death m/

Set shortly after the ending of the last Bad Bath Arc episode, with a flashback set shortly before said ending. Be mindful of the tags. There ARE spoilers of the new season in this fic.

-

“You, uh. You just tell us if you need anything else, okay, Echo?”

Echo looked around one more time before sitting down in his bunk with a sigh.

“I don’t think I will, Hunter. This is...” he ran his flesh hand over the soft, clean sheets “This is much more than I’ve had in a long time.”

Hunter shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, and Echo offered him a small smile.

“Please don’t look at me like that. The worst thing you can do is treat me like I’m some fragile thing. It’ll take me some time to adjust, of course. But I can manage just fine.”

Hunter squared his shoulders, setting his jaw.

“Right. I would ask the same, if I was in your place.” and he offered him a salute “I welcome you again to Clone Force 99, corporal. It’s great to have you on board.”

“Glad to be here, sir.”

And with a small nod, Hunter left, closing the door behind him.

Echo looked around the small quarters. The first day in the barracks always feels weird, and Echo felt the small pang of anxiety that dragged him back in time, to his first day at the 501st’s barracks.

Their first day.

Fives had taken the upper bed and would hang upside-down every ten minutes or so to interrupt Echo’s reading of the reg manuals just to show off his recently painted helmet with a rishi eel drawn in blue over the white plastoid. They would giggle quietly to themselves, looking at their new armors and even when they bickered Echo knew he couldn’t possibly have asked for a better person to have by his side through the war, and he alwaysbelieved that Fives felt the same way about him.

-

When Echo decided to leave with the Bad Batch, Rex had asked him if he could spare him a minute before leaving, and so they had walked to the Captain’s barracks. Rex let the doors slide shut behind him, turning on a single dim yellow light that kept his face partially shadowed as the Captain turned to face him.

Echo didn’t quite know what to say. All the time they’ve spent apart… Everything he had missed… He wondered if Rex meant to fill him in on all of it before sending him away with the Bad Batch.

But Rex didn’t speak. Echo could notice the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were curled into fists, how he seemed to be swallowing down once or twice, eyes staring right into Echoe’s.

The silence was deafening. Echo took a small breath and opened his mouth.

“I-”

He fell silent again, wetting his lips for a second to then purse them tightly. He could feel a shiver creeping up his spine. He knew why he was there. Rex also knew. Still he had to ask.

He had to, had to, had to ask, had to know, had to-

“Where is Fives, sir?”

The sharp, shaky intake of air from Rex should have been enough of an answer. Rex shifted his gaze away from Echo, his entire face becoming twisted with something- something Echo had never seemed in his captain face before. It looked like pain for a moment soon it turned into anger, sheer unrestrained anger that shifted into pain as the captain bared his teeth and lowered his eyes.

The low light wasn’t low enough to keep the tears brimming in the captain’s eyes from glisten some, before he blinked them away. Rex lifted his gaze to Echo, wet trail drawn over his cheek.

“I’m so sorry.”

The period Echo had spent in cryostasis had been so cold. The invasive, forced surgeries performed by the separatists’ medical droids under General Grievous’ supervision had been so painful. For a moment throughout the process in whish Echo had been turned into something more machine than human, he had thought he had lost his humanity. His ability to feel anything other than the numb state of sedation and cold.

He had never hated to be wrong so much as he did now.

The pain seemed to cut through the circuits welded on his chest and into the soft, weaker flesh beneath.

“No.” he heard his own mouth say while his mind felt distant, detached from his body that wasn’t his anymore, hadn’t been since the explosion “No, no, it- It can’t be.”

Echo looked back and forth, brain trying to understand what Rex was saying. No. That was impossible. Fives was… Was the best of them. He couldn’t- he wouldn’t-

“No, no, no, it can’t be, it can’t be!” he speaks louder, like he can convince Rex to change what he had just said “No! He would wait for me! He wouldn’t just- He can’t have just-“

Echo reached forward, grabbing Rex’s chest plate and yanking him closer despite his weakened joints.

“Rex, it can’t be, Rex-“ a sob cut off his words, and Echo felt his eyes hot with tears that blurred his sight like the ice in the cyostasis chamber would and he almost felt like he was back in the cursed thing, trapped, breathless, freezing from the inside out “Rex, please, I’m begging you…!”

Rex wrapped his arms over Echoe’s, pulling his brother into a hug and Echo just slumped against him, shaking his head over and over. It was like the last shred of sanity he had been clinging on to – his brothers, his family, his home, his only sense of normalcy in this chaotic, wretched universe – had been torn from him.

“He died as a soldier, Echo.” Rex said, voice half-choked

Back in the Citadel, the impact of the blast aimed at Echo had knocked him back into the shuttle with such violence that his helmet slipped out of his head; his body had hit the back wall so hard all the air left his lungs as the explosion made everything turn into a spiral of scorching heat, and roaring fire. The concussion had been enough to make him barely feel the charred stumps of his right arm and left leg or the weight of the durasteel cargo crate that had crushed his right leg. The last couple of breaths he had taken before losing consciousness ached, both because of the smoke-filled air and his two broken ribs. Fainting had been almost a blessing.

Not much later the droids had forcibly amputated what was left of his three limbs after the explosion with no anesthesia, and Echo had trashed against the binds that kept him secured over a table, screamed himself hoarse, lost control of his bladder, begged for death over a thousand times. He then had wires and tubes connected to his spine, heart and lungs before the ice engulfed him and his mind was ravished, invaded, and every ounce of resistance was met with punishing agony

All that pain, all that torture, and cruelty and still, still-

This was the most painful moment of his life.

“Why?!” he sobbed, feeling Rex’s cheek wet with tears against his jaw “He had no right… He couldn’t leave me..!”

Echo wondered for a moment if he was upset at Fives for dying or if he was just jealous of him. The entire time he was away, his only wish had been that the separatists had let him die. And now he would have to live without his dearest brother.

“Isn’t fair… We should’ve gone together… Side by side, I would’ve… Would’ve been glad to march away with him…”

Rex ran a gloved hand clumsily over the back of Echo’s hair. It reminded him of the way older cadets would soothe their younger brothers when they would confess to be afraid to go to battle.

“I know you would. I know, Echo.” Rex swallowed down, not letting go of Echo “He loved you so much, brother. Never was the same after he lost you. Kept searching for meaning in all of this, kept trying to make sense of it all. Made sure to ensure all regs were being kept like he… Like he was trying to bring some of you with him wherever he’d go.”

Echo sobbed harder at that, clutching Rex like a lifeline. His legs whirred, weakened by the overwhelming feelings in his brain, and Rex kept him standing still. He would always carry his men whenever they’d need him.

“We all missed and mourned you at the base, Echo. We felt your loss, but the scar it left on Fives never healed. He fought and bled and struggled to protect everyone, you knew him. And this wish to protect us ended up costing his life.” Rex paused for a moment “It was all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

Echo pulled back some, trying his best to keep his legs working still, despite how much he wanted to just sink to his knees and rip the circuits off his chest to make sure his heart would finally cease to beat for good.

“You always said that, captain.” Echo sniffled, rubbing his eyes “I’m sure you blamed yourself over what happened to me, too. It wasn’t your fault. None of it is.

Rex raised his eyes to the ceiling, clearly trying to hide his tears as he drew a long breath and let it out sharply to then look back at Echo. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, so tired. Echo knew he wasn’t looking good at all after everything the separatists had done to him, but the captain seemed to have aged so much since the last time he’d seen him.

Was it their fate, all of them clones? To wither away, to be tortured and mutilated, to die in pain? Who could say the ones of them that survived were the lucky ones?

Rex opened one of the pouches on his belt, retrieving a small comm device from it and offering it up to Echo.

“Here. I’ll reach you through it soon.”

Echo looked at the thing with curiosity before placing it in his own pouch.

“That’s… nonstandard.”

“That’s because it won’t be used for standard communication. I need an outside line to you. Its signal is scrambled, and the communications through it must be kept short to avoid us being heard, understood?”

Echo gave Rex a tiny smile.

“Ah, yes. Breaking the rules. Now it feels like home. Fives would-“

Echo stopped himself. He couldn’t say his name. Not yet. Rex swallowed down, reaching for the same pouch again.

“Oh, and this is for you.” he held his hand up closed in a fist “Fives used to keep it on him always, but he left… his equipment behind before his last mission. I managed to retrieve it and kept it with me, and when I thought that we might finally meet again, I brought it with me so that you could have it.”

The captain opened his fingers, and in his palm there was a small piece of durasteel. Echo took it with his flesh hand, holding it close to inspect it. It was slightly blackened, and the shape of it made it look like it had been cracked off from a larger piece rather than crafted to be of that exact size, although it did look like someone had smoothened the edges of it some to make them blunt.

“What is it?”

Rex gave him a bittersweet smile.

“No one knew. He only told me what it was right before we… lost you. This is a piece of the Rishi Moon outpost, after Hevy blew it up. I figure it must’ve been a part of one of the reinforced windows.”

Echo looked back at the memento in awe, sight going blurry with tears again.

“Rishi Moon… it feels like forever ago.”

“Yeah…”

The two of them shared a moment of silence, and as Echo stared at the piece of durasteel, he thought of Fives. Of his funny quips, his chaotically improvised plans, of his laugh and his particular way to annoy Echo as a display his affection. And he knew Rex did the same.

Remembering a fallen warrior was the way to keep him marching beyond. If it was up to Echo, he would make sure that the memory of Fives would never fade away.

-

Echo laid down on his bunk, reaching for the crook of his neck and feeling the small silver chain to then tug gently at it until he managed to pull the small durasteel pendant from under his black shirt and over his chest – where it clanged softly against the plate over his sternum.

He shifted on the bed, still unused to the weight and lack of mobility of his prosthetic legs, thinking of the comm that Rex had given him, hidden under a few bundled wires of a compartment in his. Skywalker had made him a new prosthetic arm that lighter and more efficient, with actual jointed fingers and sensors over the digits and palm. What was it that Rex wanted to talk about, hidden even from their superiors?

Echo ran his fingers over the piece of durasteel hanging from his necklace.

“What am I gonna do without you, brother?”

The haunting silence that followed never answered his question.

#to post on ao3 #hurt/comfort #clone feels #echo #rex #tcw #tcw spoilers

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Murtagh on the Ridge AU

An alternate universe in which Murtagh survived Culloden and joined the others at Fraser’s Ridge

*listed in chronological order: Claire’s return; first Christmas after Claire’s return; Company Part 1; Company Part 2; Bree’s arrival; Jem’s birth; a skunk on the ridge

For anyone having difficulties with how the formatting on the original post is showing up (replying to the prompt from @just-a-zombie-killing-ninja) here it is again. Fingers crossed this one doesn’t duplicate the text or throw the Keep Reading break in weird places, lol. ~ Mod Lenny

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

The Rescue

Murtagh kept to the shadows, his joints screaming in pain from staying crouched so long. He was too terrified to move or risk making any noise that the men at their makeshift camp might hear. It had been more painful to watch Claire as she fought against them and made her ill-advised escape attempt, watch them strike her and tie her up, watch her as she got one of them alone enough to whisper the pleas he knew she told herself were at least worth trying.

But it had been too open, too exposed to be able to do anything rash – he was on his own, after all.

Still, he hoped that she could sense him nearby, that she would hold on to hope a little longer. Jamie would be after them all by now. He had to be. All Murtagh had to do was watch and wait for an opportunity, to do what he could to keep Claire alive for when reinforcements would arrive.

He had heard the explosion at the still but he hadn’t been close enough to the house to join the others in what must have been a mad rush to reach it and limit the damage. He’d been on one of the therapeutic walks Claire prescribed to help him since his injury during the damned Regulator skirmish. It had hurt to breathe for the longest time and he still grew winded easily. Damned lucky they’d brought him to Claire when they did – just as his lung collapsed. She’d saved his life that day. He owed it to her now to use the gift she’d given to return the favor.

It was getting darker and the men were gathered round the fire eating and drinking in celebration of their cunning and successful capture of Claire. Murtagh ground his teeth at their arrogance and shamelessness - to glory in attacking two women and an injured man, one of those women with child no less. He hoped Marsali was alright, had given Germain what instructions he could for when Jamie or anyone else returned. No, there was nothing to be proud about in what these men had done or planned to do.

They were moving Claire away from the circle, to a tree a little ways outside the light cast by their fire. The man talked to her, his hair long and unkempt. He didn’t appear to be threatening her - looked like he’d loosened the gag in her mouth so she could drink and reply. Still, Murtagh’s hand went to one of several blades he’d grabbed on his way out of the surgery - some of them were Claire’s scalpels.

If the man made a move against Claire, Murtagh would attack - quick and quiet if possible, hopefully leave the men thinking there was more than just one of him and buy himself and Jamie time for it to be true.

The man replaced the gag and returned to the fire with the others.

Claire was alone and considered sufficiently subdued. They’d stopped paying attention to her.

His moment had come.

Murtagh creeped closer, careful in how he distributed his weight, moving soundless until he was behind the tree and could take his blade to the ropes that bound Claire. She sensed him there and tensed, her breathing quickening with panic.

“It’s only me, lass. Keep still and quiet now,” he whispered, glad to feel the tension in the ropes sag as she relaxed. He moved quickly, freeing her hands so she could work on the knot binding her feet while he cut through the rope at her throat (would it leave a scar similar to the one Roger Mac bore?).

As soon as the gag was removed, Claire covered her mouth with her hands to muffle the sound of her sob of relief.

“Come lass. We must be quick and silent,” Murtagh warned, pulling her behind the tree before helping her into a low crouch. Claire winced and Murtagh’s chest tightened. She must be in a great deal of pain. “This way.”

He led them further into the dark trees before turning and circling around to the other side of the men’s camp, keeping that safe distance. It wouldn’t be long before Claire’s absence was noticed and Murtagh hoped they wouldn’t think to look on the far side of the camp from where they’d tied her up. He hoped the safest place for the two of them would be right under the noses of Claire’s captors. He hoped Jamie and whoever he had rounded up to help search for Claire weren’t too far behind.

Sure enough, a commotion soon broke out in the camp.

“Where’s the bitch gone?!” Lionel Brown shouted.

“The ropes’ve been cut,” another called after investigating the tree.

“He’s the last one was with her,” a finger pointed. “He must’ve let her loose.”

“I swear, I didn’t,” Wendigo protested.

Punches were thrown and scuffling broke out among the men before Lionel Brown fired a pistol in the air as a warning. Claire flinched under Murtagh’s arm where they hid behind a boulder.

“Find the bitch first!” Lionel ordered. “You, stay and keep watch. Everyone else, FIND HER.”

They only had a torch or two between them so it would be difficult if not impossible to follow any tracks Murtagh and Claire had left. The youngest of the group, Lionel Brown’s nephew, remained near the fire, kicking at the dirt and muttering about being left out.

When the noise of the searching men had died down, Murtagh squeezed Claire’s shoulder and nodded for them to continue on deeper into the woods away from where her abductors had vanished.

Progress was slow and awkward with nothing to light their way, but Murtagh was confident of the direction they needed to take to get back to the Ridge. Besides, it would be better for them to stay off the regular paths as those were certain to be the next place the men searched, especially believing Claire to be on her own.

“Thank you, Murtagh,” Claire whispered after they’d gone on for at least ten minutes. “I don’t… I can’t…”

“Hush lass,” he murmured. “Ye would have helped Jamie do the same for me or anyone else if we were taken.”

They left it at that for a while longer.

Then they heard the unmistakable sounds of men searching nearby and froze.

“Get down,” Murtagh instructed, pulling Claire to the ground behind a tree.

“They went this way!” a voice called in the darkness behind them but there was more noise ahead of them too.

Murtagh strained to see in the dark. He must’ve over corrected at some point, bent their path too much and circled back closer to the camp. Maybe the light of the torches had been enough to track them after all – they couldn’t move quickly with Claire’s injuries and both of them exhausted.

Just as he made out Lionel Brown’s face in the glow from an approaching torch (though he was sure that the party hadn’t yet spotted him and Claire), a loud, oscillating cry pierced the forest and confusion shot through Lionel Brown’s expression.

“Ian,” Claire murmured, her head rising to look behind them.

There was a flash from a pistol that struck the man bearing the second torch, causing him to drop it and then all hell broke loose around them. Murtagh pressed Claire to the ground again, shielding her with his body as he waited for the fighting to die down.

The clash of swords and flashes of gunfire were followed by the gasps of pain and cries of wounded men.

“Claire!” Jamie cried, barrelling through Lionel Brown’s men, his sword swinging from side to side like a thresher through wheat. “What have ye done wi’ my wife?!”

Several of the men quickly yielded, raising their hands in surrender, grateful to be spared. A few others had nothing to lose and went down fighting.

It was over in less than five minutes. The men of the Ridge rounded up their prisoners and bound them. Lionel Brown was kneeling at Jamie’s feet, clutching a gash on his arm. At least three of his men were dead though it looked like the men of the Ridge had only suffered minor injuries.

“WHERE is my wife?” Jamie asked, his sword at Lionel Brown’s throat.

“Jamie!” Claire called, as Murtagh helped her to her feet.

Ian stepped forward, tomahawk in hand to keep Lionel Brown down while Jamie turned and ran to Claire, wrapping her in his arms.

Murtagh emerged to satisfied smiles and nods from Fergus and the others.

“Did they hurt ye, Claire?” Jamie asked, his tone laced with fury looking to be unleashed. Several of Brown’s men trembled. “Did they… violate ye?”

Claire shook her head, leaning into Jamie’s chest. “Murtagh freed me and got me away before they could,” she told him.

“Thank ye, a ghosted,” Jamie said with tears in his eyes.

Murtagh just nodded.

“And the lot of you should thank him too,” Jamie said to the captured men. “Ye’ll be brought to Wilmington to be tried for yer crimes. If more harm had come to my wife… ye’d be makin’ yer final peace now.”

Several of the men blanched. Lionel Brown smirked and spat at Jamie’s feet.

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

Lionel Brown and two others were hanged several weeks later, having been found guilty of murder (poor Geordie who’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time), attempted murder (Marsali and the child she carried were both fine and Claire’s injuries were healing nicely too), kidnapping and destruction of property. The others in Brown’s band were branded for the lesser crimes they’d pled guilty to and imprisoned or banished from North Carolina. Two of the men had been given more lenient sentences for providing testimony against the other conspirators.

One of them, Wendigo, was happy to be banished. Ian and Murtagh agreed to escort him from the colony. Claire had given him a piece of the broken opal and told him she hoped the stones left him trapped in that space between. They would never know whether he made it out the other side but Ian and Murtagh confirmed the man had vanished.

Richard Brown attended his brother’s trial, alternating his glares between Jamie and the brother who believed himself immune from consequence. He resented Jamie for not turning the men over to his unofficial policing force, but also knew that going to the governor’s men had ensured that force – and Richard Brown himself – wasn’t caught up in the legal mess. Lionel Brown had recruited and acted without his brother’s knowledge or authority.

It was a stalemate for the time being – one both sides were happy to take advantage of to rest and heal.

#;mod lenny #murtagh on the ridge au #featuring: murtagh #featuring: richard brown #featuring: lionel brown #CANON DIVERGENCE

[hobbitsnapes]

The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 9

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @tyuuniverse)

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever. (I suck at summary’s)

A/N:Here it is guys. The reveal of who angel is. I’m so thankful for each and everyone of you who’s red this story, who’s liked it, shared it and who keep up with it. I love you all and can’t wait for you all to see what’s coming up after this. I’m gonna be honest and say, I was (who am I kidding I still am as I write this.) terrified. I never expected people to like this story. It’s not something you typically see and it’s not a character who’s written about often. But again, thank you. I’m hoping this reveal is up to par with what you’re hoping. I hope you like it. Again, thank you for giving me a start at writing and keeping me going with my stories.

“Do you have your taser gun?” Jason asks, as he watches her load up her pistol. “No, why?” “You didn’t bring it last time.” “Usually I don’t take it, why should I this time?” She asks as she looks at jason. Her head tilted slighting. Confused at why she should take it this time around. “This guy isn’t our usual psycho. His real name is Lazlo Valentin, commonly known as professor pyg. He had a schizophrenic breakdown and now wears a mask to resemble a pig. He was a scientist prior to his break. He’s an obsessive perfectionist who believes that all humans are broken and needing to be ‘fixed.’ His idea of perfection is turning people into what he calls them Dollotrons. He’ll kidnap a person, and with whatever he can find, preforms surgery and uses chemicals to make them mind controlled automatons. They feel no pain, and they never stop unless killed. I honestly would rather you sit this one out, not because you can’t handle it. But because of how sick this fucker is.”

At this point, Jason is looking her in the eyes with what could only be described as fear. “And I don’t want you going out alone with this bastard. God only knows what he’d do to you if he got to you.” Jason looks down at this, picks his final gun up and looks her in the eyes again. “Alright, but I need you to promise to be careful. He’s not big or strong or even that smart. But he’s sick enough to get to you.” “If I can handle gas Huffers laughing gas, then I think I can handle Mr. Piggy.” At this Jason laughs.

The crunch of the shards of metal and gravel send sounds throughout the top floor of the beauty parlor. That is until they reach a back door. Once they enter they hear a faint sound of music. The music growing louder the further they reach the basement.

The sound of O mio babbino caro playing along with a voice singing along to it. The voice off key and definitely male along with groans of pain and yells growing louder once they reach the basement door.

They reach a back metal door that leads them to a long staircase, the voices clear as day once they reach the bottom steps. The room wreaking of blood and stale rusty pipes.

They see through glass windows surrounding the makeshift operating room pyg standing over a metal operating bed. He’s singing along to the song along with snorting every few seconds. The closer they reach they see what looks to be a woman on the table with a doll mask covering her face. “You’re done here Valentin. Step away from the woman.” Her and Jason turning their heads to the voice behind them. Out from the shadows walks in Batman. Robin standing right behind him. “And you two. Get out of here. You’re not needed.” Batman says as he eyes her and Jason. “Oh no no no no. Pyg is not ready yet. Pyg must fix her. We are not ready. Pyg must make her perfect. Pyg can make all of us better.” “Okay that’s enough Mr. piggy. Now get the fuck back before I shoot you in between your eyes. Then we’ll see if you snort.” She says as she raises her gun at the deranged man. “He said leave!” Robin yells at her. “And you go fuck yourself bird boy! I’ll shoot you too! Now, I said GET BACK!” “Pyg not ready! Pyg is god! Pyg will fix you all! Now rise my Dollotron and show them how perfect you are!” The woman on the table sits up from the table. Her stitches tearing open when she stands to the ground. She isn’t even Phased by it as she swings at her. Angle dodges the hit and swings her foot up and into her face. The woman falling to the ground. Angel gets on top of her and hits her in the face again. The woman barley making a noise at the hit and punching her in the face. She climbs on top of her and tries choking her but before she can angel takes out her hunters knife and impales the woman in the gut. The woman letting out a cry from it as angel gets on top of her and rips her mask from her face. And as soon as she rips it from her face she's met with a horrifying discovery. “M-mom? No, it it can’t me. Y-you’re dead! YOU’RE DEAD!” She cries as she holds the lifeless woman’s face in her hands. Sobs wrecking her body at the horror of what she’s done. A hand pulling her away and into a strong chest. “It’s not her sweety, it’s not her.” She doesn’t hear what Jason says as she rips from his hold and runs to Pyg. (Trigger warning.stabbing)

“YOU DID THIS TO HER!” She screams as she impales him in the stomach with her knife. Ripping through his flesh as she tears it out from him and into him over and over as he screams out in pain. “YOU DID THIS!” She screams repeatedly. The sound of ruling flesh and cracking of bones along with cries of pain filling the already loud room. She stabs him one final time in the heart, his head dropping to the floor.His lifeless body laying in a heep. (End of trigger)

She’s ripped away again by Jason. “Stop! Stoop! He’s dead!” Jason yells as she fights out of his grip. She rips away from him, a hit landing her on her back. The impact knocking the wind from her lungs. She looks up to see robin standing above her. She stands back up and swings back to hit him but before she can, he grips her by the throat and slams her into the wall. His chest pressing so hard against her she can feel his heart through his suit. “DAMNIT! WHY DID YOU DO THAT!” Robin screams at her in her face. His grip on her throat tightening. “HE WAS KILLING PEOPLE AND TURNING THEM INTO MIND CONTROLLED ZOMBIES! ALL YOU FUCKING DO IS LOCK THESE PSYCHOS UP SO THEY CAN GET OUT AND KEEP DOING IT AGAIN! AT LEAST WE ARE GETTING RID OF THEM!” She screams, she takes her pistol and hits him over the head with it.

He stumbles back as he clutches his face.

She runs away from him towards the door. But before she can make it, a blade is thrown and strikes her shoulder blade. The searing pain of the sharp blade tearing into her flesh and scars. A blood curdling scream ripping out of her as she grips her shoulder. She falls to the ground as tears leak into her mask. The pain white hot and it takes over her body.

A hand is placed on her face and as she looks up, her eyes meeting Batman as he kneels to her. “Here let me help you.” “NO GET AWAY FROM ME!” She screams as she gets up away from him. She rips the blade from her shoulder, a scream tearing through her as she does this. She looks at robin with tears pooling through her mask and onto her face. Adrenaline Coursing through her as she runs out of the room.

Before Damian can move he’s tackled to the ground. Jason on top of him hitting him repeatedly. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE! SHE WAS FINALLY BETTER AND YOU HAD TO GO FUCK IT UP!” Jason screams as he hits Damian repeatedly. He starts to chick him but is ripped off from Damian and into Bruces chest. Jason thrashing as he hits Bruce. “YOU DID THIS! YOU HURT MY DAUGHTER!” Daughter? Jason doesn’t- then a memory comes to him from a few weeks ago

Damian and her are walking through the park, his arm on her shoulder. They’re trying to collect all the toys that were used with Titus to put into her bag. They Grab the last plush bear and put it in the bag. “You know, you never told me much about your parents, can I ask what their names are?” She seems startled at the question, until she smiles and looks up at Damian. “Oh yeah sorry about that. My moms name is Julie, but she’s not around anymore. My dads name is Jason.”

‘It can’t be?’ Damian thinks. There’s no way it can be her. He runs out the door and sees a trail of blood, he follows the droplets to a broken window. He gets onto the roof and sees her about 5 buildings away. He runs from building to building, trying to keep up but staying behind her enough so she won’t see him.

She drops from a building and this causes him to panic. Why is he panicking? He can’t stand her, so why is the idea of her-he can’t think of that as a pain settles into his chest. He jumps from the same building onto the ground. The gravel meeting his shoes causing a large sound throughout the alleyway. She’s nowhere in sight and the blood trail is gone. He checks behind walls,Behind a dumpster but comes up with nothing. That is until he goes behind the next building and sees her mask on the ground. He grabs it and looks up, he’s met with a tall apartment building. He sees an open window and grapples to it.

He climbs through the window into what looks to be a bedroom. He hesitates to enter, that is until he sees her suit on the floor. The back of it having a patch of blood from the blade. He looks around in the dark room and again, she’s nowhere to be found. He goes to the door and opens it, he creeps into what looks to be the kitchen and sees a light from under a door. He hears water running and what appears to be crying.

He slowly opens the door and his worst thought was correct. There she sits in the bathtub, her knees brought to her chest as sobs wreck her body. Her back to him enough to see the blood trickling down from the water, but that’s not what got his attention. On both shoulder blades, deep red scars that have healed over cover them. The flesh healed but the scars still appear to be deep.

She turns her head at the noise and looks him in the eyes. Tears falling down her cheeks. “A-alexia?” She lets out a yell as she launches at him. Her nails scratching his face as she pushes him out of the room. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

Damian stumbles back as she slams the door shut. He hears a noise a few feet away and looks up and sees Jason. “You, you’re her dad? You can’t be! You’re no fucking father! YOU CAN'T BE!” “So you’re the one she’s been going out with all this time. You’re the one who’s made her the happiest I’ve ever seen her. For weeks she’s come home with a smile on her face but never told me who it was. And for the record her name isn’t alexia.” “Then who the fuck is she jason!” “Her name is Saundra. And while she isn’t mine she is my daughter Damian. Just as I was the son to Bruce.” “You’re no father Jason. She’s not your daughter! She’s a psychotic murderer who belongs in Arkham! Along with you!” “Say what you want about me, that I’m a killer, that I’m psycho, that I belong behind bars or in a padded cell. But don’t you DARE call her that! Did she tell you what actually happened to her?” “No I didn’t.” Both men turn around seeing her. She’s wearing a long nightgown with her wet hair hanging in her eyes. Tears falling down her face. She takes in a deep breath, she shudders slightly. Her fingers fidgeting with her dress pockets. “My mom and dad, they loved me. They never wanted me to be sad or feel pain. They hid all of the bad things in the world away from me. They gave me love, along with anything I ever wanted. They always made sure I was protected. Well turns out my dad wasn’t always a nice guy.”Tears are falling freely down her face, she hiccups and wipes her eyes with the palm of her shaken hands. H-he grew up on the streets, committing Petty crimes to get by. That was until one day he was approached by a guy. The guy was looking to rally up a crew to rob a bank. They all wore masks and hid their identities from one another. The guy they were working for had a name. His name was. God, t-the joker. One by one each of the guys were killed. My dad got away from him and changed his name. He later met my mom and had me. Well joker ended up finding us. When I was 16 I never knew what pain, sadness, or anything bad was. My dad made both my mom and I pack up our bags and we fled to a home on the outskirts of Gotham. That night, I watched as my mother was beaten, stabbed screaming for help. My dad was beaten with metal bats repeatedly. I-I tried getting away but was hit over the h-head.” At this point she’s sobbing uncontrollably, shaking as her hands ball into fists at her sides. Her head hanging to the ground. A-and was taken to the ground by joker. My dad screamed at him. ‘Please, not my little angel.’ Those scars, I got from him. He slashed a Serrated knife into my flesh over and over until he reached the bone. When he was done he let out a maniacal laugh as I lay there screaming in pain as blood soaked my nightgown and the floor. He then bent down to my face and said ‘aww poor little angel lost her wings.’ Am I still a monster Damian? Or am I one of that sick fucks countless victims? I wasn’t the first or the last as he kills many more, that is unless he’s finally stopped. We could all be safer, happier, and kids won’t be ripped away from their family.” She looks up at Damian, his face cold as ice as he stares her down “You’re still nothing but a killer. Rather than doing what’s right you chose vengeance over justice. You’re just as bad as they are.” “AND WHAT WAS I BEFORE DAMIAN! When you didn’t know! You saw who I was and I showed you the girl I was before he killed my family and left me for dead! I bore my heart out for you but didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d understand what happened to me! THAT NIGHT YOU TOLD ME YOU HAD FEELINGS FOR ME!” She’s shaking as she screams at him. Her voice breaking towards the end from her songs and sore vocal cords. “And I could never be with someone who does the things you do.” At that Damian leaves.

As she hears him jump out the window she falls to the ground. Sobs taking her over. Jason grabbing her and holding her tight to his chest. “He-he kissed me dad. He made me feel like I mattered to him. Like i wasn’t just a monster.” She sobs into his chest. He rocks her back and forth and rubs the bottom of her back. “And what he said doesn’t matter. He’s a fucking prick. You do matter, in fact you’re the reason I keep going. If I didn’t have you..god I can’t even imagine. You’re my world bub.” “How did you know who he was? And why did you say you were once Bruce’s son? What haven’t you told me dad?” Jason bows his head down so as to not look her in the eyes. “I lied to you. There’s things I haven’t told you about my life. But, I only did it to protect you. I promise that.” “Tell me the truth dad. Please. I can’t handle anymore lies.” She grabs the side of his face as she says this. His eyes meeting her tear filled ones. “If I tell you. Please promise you’ll remember I did this because I wanted to protect you.” “I promise dad.”

As Jason lays there on the couch, he looks down at her as she sleeps soundly. Her stuffed bear clutched to her chest. He lazily runs his fingers through her hair. Her tears finally dry tracks on her face. As he looks at her peaceful face, he makes a promise to make those who hurt her pay.

Tags: @psychovigilantewrites @comic-nerd-dc @comic-brew

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne fanfiction #older!damian wayne imagine #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne #batfam x reader #batfamily #batman #red hood #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #dc #dc imagine #dceu

[anaboo-thewriter]

Reckless (End)

Summary: The Fast and the Furious AU. You’re an undercover cop with a mission to infiltrate a team of street racers responsible for the theft of millions of dollars worth in electronics. However, you didn’t think you would fall for the leader of the team and your target, Bucky Barnes. Now you must make the decision, will you turn Bucky and his team in order to become an FBI agent you’ve always wanted to be, or throw caution to the wind and continue to fall for a criminal?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: Angst

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Holy. Shit. It’s been 2 years since I’ve written this and it has finally ended. Inspiration has a funny way of showing up in unexpected places. Unfortunately, I’m unable to write as much as I’d like to because I’m back in school with a whole new set of rules and priorities. So thank you to all those who stuck around and thank you to newcomers who have enjoyed the ride!

Please reblog and/or comment if you enjoyed it.

RECKLESS MASTERLIST

Nat was wheeled back into surgery on a stretcher. The gash on her head was deep enough to receive stitches, and she floated out of consciousness on the way to the hospital. You, Sam, Steve, and Bucky attempted to wait patiently in the waiting room. Steve paced back and forth, chewing on his bottom lip, Sam occupied himself with an old magazine, and Bucky stared you down from across the small area. His jaw was clenched tight, and his foot tapped against the for impatiently. You tried to avert your eyes from him, but every time you glanced at him, guilt consumed more of you.

"James, I'm really sorry about Nat," you couldn't take the silence anymore, and you were trying desperately to make amends. You couldn't stand him being mad at you.

"Are you really sorry about Nat?" Bucky questioned, but you could hear the anger in his tone, "or are you sorry that you got caught being a nark?"

His words stung. "That wasn't my intention, James," You tried to defend yourself.

"Don't call me that. You lost that right when you became Officer Y/L/N," Bucky interrupted you. Your heart dropped and withdrew from the conversation. That was it, you were cut from Bucky's life, and there was no coming back from it.

Sam and Steve looked at you with sad eyes before they returned to what they were doing. The friends you once called family remained loyal to their leader, and it sent a shiver down your spine from the cold shoulder. You were now an outcast. The pit in your stomach grew bigger with guilt. The foundation for the makeshift family was trust and loyalty, and you broke it with one phone call. You didn't want to make the call, but it was the only thing you could do to save Nat. You didn't regret your decision; you just regretted the consequences.

"Mr. Barnes," the doctor came into the waiting room with a small smile on her face. Bucky, Steve, and Sam darted towards her. You lingered in the back to eavesdrop on what she had to say. "Your friend is doing great. No serious injury, other than a few scratches and bruises and a slight concussion. She should be ready to go home soon, though."

"Thank you, doctor. Is it okay if we go see her?" Steve questioned with a sigh of relief. The doctor shook her head and lead the group through the double doors. You trailed behind the group, contemplating on joining them, but you watched as they walked to Nat's room. Steve turned to you with sad eyes, with a small smile on his face. It hurt to look at, but you knew you made the right decision.

You couldn't stand to look at the white walls of the hospital, so you decided to step outside to get some fresh air. The open-air filled your lungs and relaxed your tight muscles from the tense situation. Your mind wandered to your case. Everything pointed to Bucky and the crew, but you couldn't bear to put him in jail. There had to be some way for you to take the heat of them and put on somebody else. It was unethical, but you were willing to do it.

Police sirens drew closer to the hospital, and you knew why they were coming. Before they surrounded the area, you ran back into the hospital. You burst through the double doors and looked through each room until you found the crew.

"Jesus, Y/N, what the hell are you still doing here?" Steve all but screamed.

"No time to explain," you insisted, "you guys need to get out of here,"

Confusion crossed the crew's face before distrust settled. "Why would we believe you now, after you've been lying to us for months," Bucky suspected.

"Bucky, we don't have time for this," you grew frustrated, "In less than 15 minutes, my boss will come through this door and shut this place down looking for you and they will send you to jail,"

"Bucky," Nat softly spoke, "I don't think she's lying about this,"

Bucky's head snapped toward Nat. Her bandage covered her scar, but there was a bruise on her shoulder where her gown had slipped. "You can't be serious, Nat? Before Race Wars, you were so skeptical of her, now you're siding with her. You must have hit your head harder than we thought,"

"Bucky, I know you're feeling betrayed right now, but Y/N wouldn't be risking her job right now to try and save us if she didn't care as much as she does," Nat slowly got on her feet and inched her way to you. She wrapped her arms around you for a tight hug. "Thank you, Y/N," Nat choked out, holding back some emotion, "I don't think I'd be here right now if it weren't for you,"

You were surprised by the embrace, but you gently wrapped your arms around her in return. "Thanks, Nat," you whispered.

"I hate to break up this very sentimental moment," Sam said as Nat, and you broke apart, "but didn't you say that your boss was coming in less than 15 minutes?"

"We're basically sitting ducks here," Steve chimed in, "we need a plan out of here,"

"Leave it to me," you said with a confident smirk.

"Fury!" you called for him, "Fury, I just saw Bucky and his team, they were headed to the roof,"

"Good work, Y/L/N," Fury commended, "They won't get far," He and group of officers ran through the double doors to catch the team.

On their way into the hospital, four nurses in gray scrubs and face masks walked out in confusion. You surveyed the area before walking out of the hospital. Not many officers were in the vicinity, nor were there police cars, marked or unmarked. You didn't encounter any other officers on your way to your vehicle with the four nurses in tow.

"I think this is the end of the line for you guys," you declared.

The nurses took off their masks with a breath. "How did you find these?" Sam asked.

"I don't think you want to know that," you winced. The look of disgust crossed the gang's faces as they were ready to get out of their dirty disguises. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and handed them to Bucky.

"What do you want me to do with those," he questioned.

"It's your 10-second car, you should take it," you simply said.

Bucky reluctantly took the keys from you and whispered, "Thank you." His eyes were soft, with a small shimmer. He was grateful for what you did that it was almost redeemable.

You gave him a small smile, "You guys should really head out before you really get caught,"

"Not so fast," a gruff voice was heard throughout the parking lot. You all turned to see Rumlow, strutting his way over to you. His eye was nearly swollen shut, and his lip still split open from the beating during Race Wars. "I want what's mine, Barnes,"

"We don't owe you shit, Rumlow," Bucky stood between you and Rumlow. Even after your betrayal, he still continued to protect you.

"Bucky, you need to go," you insisted, stepping away from his security, "I can handle this," Bucky started to speak. Still, you commanded him, "Go!"

He let out a disgruntled huff. He ran with the team to your car and drove out of the parking lot.

"Whatcha gonna do now, girly?" Rumlow taunted, "Your team left you, what kind of loyalty is that?"

You put your fists up, ready for a fight. Rumlow lunged forward to grab you, but you dodged and punched him in the ear. He let out a yell in aggravation and tried again, but you went under for a kick in his groin. He winced in pain, taking a knee. You needed to subdue him to get the cuffs on him. You brought your knee back and hit him square in the chin. He fell on his back, knocking him unconscious.  

Quickly, you struggled to roll him on his stomach and placed the cuffs on around his wrists. You grabbed your cell phone to make the call to Fury. "Fury, I got the guy you're looking for,"

"What? You said that Barnes was on the roof," Fury said.

"It wasn't Barnes doing the heists. It was Brock Rumlow," you asserted. The tried to make the lie as convincing as you could for now. Bucky and the gang were off to plant the evidence to make the conviction stick. It was the only way to keep Bucky safe. Nobody could know you were framing somebody for a crime they didn't commit. Nobody could know you did this for a criminal street racer. Nobody could know were in love with James Buchanan Barnes.

Tags: @anagentinwriting ,  @capbuckybuchanan @thecheesecakeklutz @caplansteverogers@cap111218 @ursulaismymiddlename @fandomlifeuniverse @suz-123@after-avenging-hours @asirenscalling @killmongerdreams @papi-chulo-seb @a-splash-of-stucky @captainrogerss @anakin-skywalkers @sebbies@whothehellisbella @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @soldatbarnes@satans-knitting-club @nedthegay @ex-bookjunky @lostinspace33@avengedqueen26 @thefallenbibliophilequote @vaisabu @pinkisokay@lachicadelamanzana @void-imaginations @its-daydreamer23@showbuckysomelove @palaiasaurus64 @goodolbucky @artemis3691

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #avengers imagine #avengers #steve rogers #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #brock rumlow #the fast and the furious #the fast and the furious au #series finale #ana writes

[grouptalekindnesssoulstories]

You can’t be my soulmate!

So, I kinda got a sugar rush when I was watching a tiktok compilation on youtube. And the idea of the first words but with multiple people popped in my head. So I decided to do a lil snippet. I may still have too much in my system but eehhhhhhh just makes my brain go zoom!

Warnings: Misgendering, manipulation, a mention of homophobia, mention of disownment

What are you laughing at hot topic? haunted each day that Virgil didn’t find his soulmate. 

I love the new outfit caused Roman to switch up his attire everyday he could, but being a well-known actor made that a common sentence. Not a very common first sentence luckily. 

Thanks, why wear those gloves? shamed Ethan every time they removed the aforementioned gloves. 

___

I fiddled with my newest piercing, the third on my ears. I had gotten it less than two months ago, which had gotten dirty looks from my parents when i saw them. They had disowned me several years prior after learning I was gay, and trans. With a shit-eating grin, I flipped them a double bird. After they turned away in horror, I mounted my motorcycle and roared down the streets. I parked it behind the restaurant I worked at, locking it up on a special pole my brother had installed when I got hired. 

“Reeem. Seen our parents lately?” I called as I shoved open the back door. He poked his head back, tilting his sunglasses down as I removed my patchwork hoodie.

“What parents. All you’ve got is me, babes. But, yes. I saw the people who birthed us a few days ago. I assume you ran across them and they disapproved?”

“Of what? My top surgery, new piercing? Answer to that one is all of it” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and waved to one of his partners, Remus. I tapped my ear after tying on an apron. He pulled out his ear so I could see the blue pin in it. I shot a thumbs-up as I straightened my posture to wait on my first table. The first few hours passed in a blur of people I didn’t care to make note of. 

“Excuse me, sir. I believe we have a reservation?” A weedy man flagged me down. I raised an eyebrow as I checked the schedule. 

“Only one, and that’s for R. Roy. One sec-” I turned around and shouted over my shoulder “Re? What time was the reservation coming in?” 

“That’s for m-”

“Uh, 3 o’clock or so” Remus surfaced, cutting off the man. 

“I’m afraid I’m here on Mr. Roy’s beh-” The man tried again, this time I cut him off. 

“That was twenty minutes ago. And where did Brit go? They were supposed to be doing this” 

“EXCUSE ME. I AM HERE TO MAKE SURE MR. ROY’S TABLE IS READY” The man practically screamed, cutting off our conversation. 

“Ah, I’m afraid he’ll have to come himself. We only answer to our customers” Re cut in, smiling wide. 

“You and I both know that isn’t true you idiot” An almost-familiar voice accompanied the man himself. 

“RoRo!” My sibling-in-law immediately brightened, scooping the smaller man into a hug. I chuckled behind one hand as the man made breathless protests. When he was at last released, my laughter got louder because it was the Roman Roy, and his appearance was all mused up now. 

“I’m so sorry sir! I’ll go get your backup right now!” The assistant started to buzz nervously around the famous man, reminding me of a fly. 

“No, no. I’ll be fine. This is a family place, so it’s not a big deal if I look a little messed up” He soothed, waving the man out the door. My laughter had not ceased by the time he had turned his attention to me. 

“What are you laughing at hot topic?” I clasped my wrist as the words tattooed across it flared with heat. I shoved the discomfort down, offering my hand.

“Only your fly-like assistant. I’m Virgil Maelstrom. I’m the younger brother of that idiot’s partner. Or one of them at least” Mr Roy took my hand, shaking it briskly before following Remus to the table near the counter. I pulled down my sleeve to see a name written under my words. Roman. I was soulmates with ROMAN ROY the singer! How did I end up with him. Emile caught me staring numbly as new words appeared beneath the original ones. 

“So. Finally met your soulmate?” They asked, a soft smile gracing their features. The smile that had caused my crush all those years ago. I had long grown out of it, but it still held power for their partners and me. 

“One of them I guess. It’s Roman Roy” I whispered the last part, showing them my arm. They hummed thoughtfully, messaging their own wrist. Rem had told me about his own experiences all those years ago, but to actually experience it was insane. 

“Well, why don’t you go tell him?” 

“I...can’t. He didn’t react to me saying anything. It was like I was just another person, y’know?” 

“Well, as your sibling-in-law, I say we’re gonna tell him. C’mon” They pulled me after them. I tried to make excuses, but the doctor was in full help mode. There would be no stopping them. 

“Uh, what’s up honey?” Re asked, looking confused at the determined march. 

“Roman. Good to see you. I found you a soulmate” They yanked me forward as they spoke, lighting up in pride. 

“Look, I’m sorry. They’re just re-” I started babbling, reaching my exposed arm up, forgetting it was free for anyone to read. 

“That’s my name” A soft voice interrupted me. Then a whoop from Re shattered the shock. 

“Lil’ bro! Look at that, two siblings, two chance meetings in this restaurant!”

“What did you say your name was-ow!” He cried out as words burned into his arm. Only your fly-like assistant -Virgil appeared beneath another set of words.

“I- Virgil. I’m Virgil Maelstrom. And it looks like we have another soulmate” He scooted over, nodding for me to sit by him. I took it hesitatingly, watching as his hands started moving as Remus drew him back into a conversation. The shop was closed as Roman ate, and paid for the rest of us to join him. I buzzed nervously, playing my my earring once more. It wasn’t until we were cleaning up when Roman approached me. 

“So. Uh. Virgil? Would you. Would you w-. Wouldyoubemyboyfriend?” He stammered, so at odds with how he was when in the public eye. I nodded mutely, and he swept me into a hug. 

~Elsewhere, A few months later?~

My hands shook as I reached for the top shelf. I wobbled, leaning heavily on my cane. I snarled, planting my cane firmly and stretching for the stuff I had put up there. 

“Sir, do you need help?” A woman approached me. I nodded, and she got it down easily. 

“Thank you mx-”

“Oh, no. It’s Mrs. Smith. Have a good day sir!” She pranced off, ignoring my protest that I was not a ‘sir’. The fire that had scarred me burned away my gender too. I hoisted the bag onto my good shoulder and walked the opposite way. I did not look forward to returning to the place I was forced to call ‘home’. 

“I’m home” I called, opening the door slowly. My girlfriend ran around the corner, beaming. 

“Sweetie! I missed you so much! I was gonna be so sad if you hadn’t gotten back so soon!” She nearly yelled, her face dropping slightly at the thought. 

“No, I wouldn’t. You know I try to be home as soon as I can” I offered a soothing smile. She took my cane and dragged me after her. She ignored my winces, her face screwed up so she couldn’t see. I kept as quiet as I could until the tv concert of Double R. I beamed as he sung, his current outfit looking so much better on him than the previous. When it had finished, my girlfriend was fast asleep on the opposite side of the couch. On a complete whim, I stood up and limped to the door. Taking my cane, I set out on a walk. 

~~~~

“Ro, be careful. You’re easily recognizable” Virgil begged as I stepped outside.

“Don’t worry my storm cloud. I promise to not draw unnecessary attention-” He snorted so I revised my statement with a glare “-I promise not to draw any attention to myself. I’ll be back soon” 

“Whatever. I’ll have my phone on me, so call if you get in trouble” He closed the door behind him. We had been dating for a few months, and they’d been the best (and safest, but don’t tell Virgil that) of my life. I couldn’t wait to meet the third member of our soulmate bond though. I drew the hood of my sweatshirt, borrowed from Virge, up over my head. I wandered aimlessly for a while before deciding to get some milkshakes before heading back. I bumped into someone as I was putting in my earbuds.

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?!” I asked them, and they waved me off. 

“Yea whatever” They mumbled to the ground. I offered them a hand up. They took it and when meeting my eyes, just stared. 

“I love the new outfit!” They finally blurted out. I let out a yelp as my arm suddenly got warm. 

“Thanks! I uh, I think you should know that you may be my second soulmate?” I said, drawing back my sleeve to show them my first message. Just like when Virgil’s message had finally appeared on my arm, there was a name there now. Blocky letters spelled out: Ethan. 

“I...yea. That’s my name. I’m Ethan! Ethan Snips. They/them please” they spoke hurriedly. I nodded, sweeping them up into a hug. 

“C’mon! You’ve gotta meet your other soulmate now” I smiled as they stared in disbelief when my own first sentence to them appeared with my name. 

___

I was soulmates with Roman. Roy! And there was a third person. I obviously needed to meet them as I had their message left. But I had two soulmates and one of them is famous!

“Wait I- nevermind. Please, just take me to meet them” I smiled, limping after him as quickly as possible. He bought three milkshakes, which he rudely refused to give me mine until we got back. We were near his trailer when I heard her. 

“She doesn’t sound happy” Roman turned nervously towards the sound.

“No, she isn’t. Hurry, please” I nearly shoved him in my haste to get away. 

“Bad?” He asked, meeting my eyes. I noticed he didn’t even seem to register my scars

“Very bad” I nodded, raising a hand up towards my blind eye as if it would keep her from coming. 

“HELP! SECURITY!” He screamed at the top of his lungs before scooping me up and running. I yelped, clinging to my cane and the arm wrapped around my chest. 

“Princey, you idiot, what did you do!” A dark haired man appeared, one hand already on his hip.

“Reeescued someone?” Roman smiled charmingly. 

“You idiot. He’s pretty, so I can see why you wanted to be knight in shining armor”

“No, you’re prettier. Handsome! Like the moon” I mumbled dazed. 

“Thanks, why wear those gloves?” I saw his frazzled gaze on my threadbare gloves. I clapped one hand to my arm where  warmth radiated suddenly. I raised my cane in answer.

“This is Ethan! Our second soulmate! Uh, they/them. I need to explain to the head of security why I uh...just screamed. Have fun!” Roman dashed out the door. 

“I’m Virgil. I’m assuming that was your mark suddenly warm, so my name should be under it” He sat a few feet away, playing with a small ball. I checked, and that was true. He didn’t move any closer or try to continue the conversation. It seemed like his question was more of a defense mechanism than him actually asking. 

“Virgil?”

“Hm? What’s up?” He looked up.

“What’s your family like?” There was a small chuckle as he picked up the ball and started tossing it between his hands.

“Well, I’m assuming you don’t want to hear about my parents. They disowned me a few years back. My older brother Remy basically raised me anyways. He married Ro’s older sibling, and Dr. Picani. I work at the restaurant they own. I met Ro a few months back when he came in, and we started dating” 

“Oh.” I traced the end of my shoe in thought. 

“Here. A secret for a secret? I’ll you something most people don’t know about me for something about you?” 

“Uh, sure. My middle name is Daniel”

“Ohhhh that’s kinda sweet! Well, I’m trans”

“Huh. And once again society has made equal exchange impossible”

“Ah! I see we have a philosopher” Roman came back in, kicking off his shoes and handing out replacement milkshakes.

“Yea. it happened aft-After a certain`”

“You don’t have to tell us if you’re not ready. We have time” Virgil interrupted me. 

“No. No, I want it in the open. I was caught in a fire, which caused serious damage to most of my left side, and my hands” I pulled off my gloves, showing the scars that across them. Virgil reached over, offering a hand in invitation. I shook my head and he withdrew it without comment. I already felt safer with these two than I had with anyone else. 

#sanders sides #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic roman #sympathetic virgil #manipulation #prinxieceit

[half-anidiot]

love

the flystep hanahaki au no one asked for

word count: 2480

cross posted here on my ao3

for maximum angst listen to already gone by sleeping at last while reading

--

Kieran didn’t even have to see the flowers to know what they were like.

Rose bushes were lodged in his lungs, making their home where they were not welcome. They took up all the room, expelling the air and oxygen that should have been coursing through his body in favor of growing black roses that clawed their way out of his throat leaving behind blood and aches that sucking on ice cubes could not fix. Black roses because that was the color of their eyes - eyes black and as deep as miles beneath the ocean and holding just as many secrets as they did sins.

Daniel could have tried hiding it (a futile endeavor, but maybe it would have helped settle his mind), but he just showed up to their meeting spot without bothering to mask the raspy voice or red-rimmed stare that never found itself able to meet Kieran’s. It broke a piece of Kieran to see him like that. Daniel was Herald, the Golden Boy, lovable, sweet, kind, and the poster boy for how much good the Rangers could do. He might have been beaten, stepped on, and defeated, but Kieran had never seen him look so broken. Even after the fight at the museum, his screams hadn’t turned into something to be pitied. They were created from the pain that Kieran had spun with their own hands, but filled with frustration, anger, and humiliation. The fear that Kieran had known Daniel was feeling never leaked through, something that they had to give him credit for.

It was different when Daniel grabbed them this time. Forget the fact that it was cloudy when it was usually sunny, tense silence filling the empty void that used to hold quick smiles and light jabs, the way his arms felt wrapped around them felt unequivocally wrong. What typically felt like a shield from the world (such an odd thought that was, Daniel protecting them) felt like a vice squeezing both their body and their heart to the point of bursting. Kieran was almost surprised that Daniel didn’t cough up any petals from the contact, but as they shot through the city past glass buildings and reflective metal both they and Daniel could feel the tickle beginning to build.

Daniel didn’t utter a word, too focused on not dropping Kieran from shaking arms and fighting back the rose that was inching its way up through his windpipe. His thoughts tended to race to and fro like butterflies being swirled into a panic, but during the flight they were slow. A creeping sludge of toxic self-loathing and sorrow that it made even Kieran hold back tears.

Desolate.

Terrified.

Grieving.

Yet here Daniel was, holding the source of his misery tight in his arms as if afraid Kieran would try to leap from his grasp to escape him.

For the millionth time in their life, Kieran wished they could love.

---

The first petal came out after Kieran’s first punch. It was almost comical in a sick, twisted way. Daniel had been too slow, and Kieran, in typical Kieran fashion, had socked him right in the stomach. As their fist slammed into his midsection, he coughed up a blood-splattered petal as if the force of Kieran’s hit had forced it from where it had been resting idly at the base of his throat.

The world seemed to cease movement. Breeze stilling, sounds of the traffic and bustle of life around them quieted as Daniel and Kieran held their breath. One lone black smudge tainted the darkest of reds fell gently to the roof below their feet. It swung back and forth, holding some hypnotic sway over the pair. As it touched down softly time started again. Kieran exhaled so heavily it hurt their chest. Daniel seemed frozen, dull blue gaze locked onto the unmoving petal despite the blissfully cool breeze that had picked up again.

Tentatively, Kieran raised a solitary arm to tap hesitantly on his shoulder. “Daniel…?”

He recoiled as if Kieran’s touch had wounded them (and it hurt, it hurt more than it had any right to considering the circumstances), breathing going from nonexistent to fast and hard in a matter of seconds. Daniel’s eyes were filled with unshed tears, half sobs escaping his chest in a wet ragged sound that scraped against Kieran’s ears and soul. The sludge thoughts had once again turned into the butterflies. However, instead of buttercup and golden sunlight, they were made of razor-sharp metal edges and torn up paper. They swept around Daniel’s mind, leaving bleeding gashes wherever they touched until his psyche was bleeding more than even his throat and lungs were.

“Daniel,” Kieran said more firmly, taming the fear that threatened to overtake their voice knowing it would only make everything worse, “Daniel, look at me.”

For the first time that day, blue met black.

That was, of course, when it all went to hell.

Daniel started choking and Kieran rushed to catch him without even thinking about what they were doing. Hands going under Daniel’s arms, they pulled to keep him from sagging to the ground as his chest spasmed. Guilty tears filled Kieran’s eyes as Daniel gagged and retched, body trying to evict the blossoms that bloomed in his airways. Finally, after what seemed hours of Daniel’s awful noises, he vomited up whatever meager breakfast he had eaten (fruit from the looks of it), blood, and an entire rose. It was mangled. The stem was twisted and torn, the petals had been crushed, and yet Kieran could not help but find some semblance of beauty in it.

Kieran had to hold in a shriek as they studied the flower.

Daniel sagged in their grip and Kieran slowly knelt to the ground while holding Daniel against their chest. His eyes were half-closed, a bleary look being thrown Kieran’s way before they closed completely. Kieran wasn’t sure what it was, perhaps the hopeless aura that Daniel wore like a mantle around his shoulders, but they let loose a desperate whisper of, “I’m so sorry.”

Daniel, being Daniel, responded weakly, “I know, it’s ok.” His hand fingers softly tapped an insignificant pattern on Kieran’s thigh where his hand rested. “I...I love you.”

“I know, Daniel,” Kieran said, wobbly and wavering. “But I-I can’t - ”

“I know.”

But that was the thing.

He didn’t.

---

Kieran had been created to do two things.

Infiltrate.

Listen.

Anything outside of that never should have occurred. 

Kieran wasn’t sure what was different about them - wasn’t sure they had the emotional or mental capacity to study it. But they had the capacity for more. Kieran could feel things they never should have felt - happiness, sadness, anger, despair, excitement, and yet…

Kieran had never been able to love.

For everything they could feel, the emotion that everyone held most dear and closest to their hearts was foreign to Kieran. They had never felt the fluttering of butterflies in their stomach, had never wanted to hold someone so close to them that they became one, had never desired to intertwine their soul with another.

Before Heartbreak, Kieran had had exactly three people they would die for, but to live for someone? To be able to open up and show every leaking wound, every scar that marred their body, every tattoo that lined their body in bright, disgusting, neon orange? It didn’t make sense. There was no guarantee that the person would stay, that they would see what was hidden and not flinch from horror. There was no guarantee that hatred wouldn’t rear its ugly head and strike when you were most vulnerable and leave you half dead and grasping at the strings of life that were slipping away.

Kieran had never felt it, had never understood it.

All it did was further prove that whatever abomination Kieran was, they were most certainly not human. 

Under three layers of clothing (far too many for the heat of Los Diablos) Kieran sat trembling. They were parked on a bench in the dog park. The sun sat high in the sky, a big yellow yolk against a cheerily blue and cloudless expanse. It seemed the universe was mocking Kieran today. Everything seemed more vivid and strikingly beautiful, as if the contrast on the world had been turned up by ten. 

The dogs ran to and fro, happy minds leaving streaks of pastel pink and gold against Kieran’s when they dragged against the last of Kieran’s inner defenses - a wall that they had been building since they had enough conscious thought to do so. It was sturdy, but simple, and thick enough to keep out even experienced telepaths. Over time the outside layer had grown battered, pieces chipped away and different colors splashed against the sides from where other minds had left lasting impacts. They couldn’t be washed off, Kieran had tried many times. The mental paint stuck no matter how Kieran tried to remove it. But the excitement today was leaving without any say so from Kieran. No matter how much they tugged and pulled at the remnants they fled from Kieran like water slipping between their fingers. 

With a violent shudder, Kieran jolted from their thoughts just in time to catch Steel walking towards them.

Suddenly they couldn’t breathe.

It had been a week since the rooftop with Daniel, and Kieran had not seen him since then. It hadn’t been his choice from what they had heard. Daniel had fought tooth and nail to be able to try and see them, but he had been held back by doctors, Ortega, and Steel. The only contact they had had since the fateful day was a single phone call that Kieran would rather forget.

---

“Dan-Daniel?”

Hey, Kieran.

“I-how are you doing?”

I’m...I’m not doing that well, honestly. The doctors told me I only have about a week unless I get the surgery.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

...I’m not getting it.

“...what?”

I’m not going through with the surgery Kieran.

“What do you mean you aren’t going through with the surgery?”

I’m not going to lose all my memories of you. They told me that I run the chance of completely forgetting your existence and I...I’m not doing that. Not just because of you, but because a lot of my memories of my brother are...tied with you.

“Daniel, do you even hear how you sound? Your voice is paper-thin. I don’t even want to know how much weight you’ve lost or when the last time you ate was. This is your life we’re talking about - ”

I’m not losing that. Memories are all I have left of him.

“Daniel if you don’t get the surgery you won’t have to worry about not having th - ”

I’m not getting the sur - 

“YOU’LL BE DEAD!”

…

I’d rather be dead than not have the two most important people in my life.

CLICK.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

---

A sour taste filled Kieran’s mouth as Steel solemnly told them, “Figured you’d be here. He wants to see you.”

His voice cracked halfway through and his eyes were rubbed raw enough that the pink shone in the sunlight. Steel, despite his namesake, was just as human as the rest of the world. For all he said about Daniel, there was a fondness there that Kieran didn’t quite understand.

Love, but not in the way that they had come to expect it.

“Is-is it - ”

“It’s time.”

The car ride was a blur comprised of shaking hands and a head filled with fog. Kieran couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t do anything but sit and tremble and stare out the window as if something would jump in and clean up the mess that had been created. 

Kieran felt like their head had been shoved underwater. Their vision was skewed and everything sounded muffled like someone was trying to speak while they were under. They had done enough research to know that they were dissociating, but as the car ride went by in silence, Kieran couldn’t help but feel slightly grateful. At least, like this, they couldn’t feel anything.

They couldn’t feel the grief that was already welling up in their throat, the heartache, the terror, the desperation that tasted like metal and felt just as heavy on their tongue. It was a poison that the fog blanketing their brain and senses kept at bay.

Before they knew it, Kieran was standing outside of Daniel’s room struggling to open the door. With a shaky inhale, Kieran pulled it open and nearly broke down at the sight that awaited them.

Daniel, the perfectly golden butterfly boy, heart and soul of an angel had had his wings clipped. His thin body lay under white covers (too white, too pure for the toxic disease that Daniel held in his lungs) covered in pale skin that wore a thin sheen of sweat like another layer of clothing. Blue eyes that had once burned fever bright with determination and passion were dull and wrapped in shadows made of purple and red.

Kieran walked over numbly, not quite believing that what they were seeing was real. Any minute now, they would wake up twisted in their sheets from this horrid nightmare and go off to beat Daniel’s ass in a few hours. That had to happen. It had to.

But it wasn’t.

Daniel gave one weak smile underneath the ventilator, eyes glowing as Kieran sat in the chair waiting for them and grabbed Daniel’s hand. It was clammy and he was only able to give a slight squeeze in response to the death grip Kieran had on it. 

For minutes, maybe even seconds, they sat there together.

Daniel and Kieran.

Kieran and Daniel.

For once, the light losing to the darkness.

And then he was gone.

Kieran could feel the moment he died. The last butterfly flapped its wings to the beat of their name Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran before dropping to the ground of Daniel’s mind. The last glimmer of light went out like a flickering candle in his eyes.

It was there it was there - 

It was gone.

He was gone.

There was no long speech, no ‘I love you’.

One minute he was there, looking into Kieran’s eyes like they were the sun he revolved around (as if Kieran was more important than him) and the next he was dead.

Kieran didn’t remember anything after that.

---

Not even two days later as they lay wrapped in their blankets as if they could save them from the pain that clogged their lungs with mucus and some invisible force that pushed mercilessly on their chest, Kieran felt a tickle at the base of their throat. With a shudder they coughed, they heaved, they gagged, they choked and - 

A petal. 

A petal blue as the sky and twice as bright - exactly like Kieran remembered Daniel’s eyes.

Kieran could love after all.

#flystep #fhr #fallen hero retribution #sidestep #herald/sidestep #daniel sullivan #angst #hurt no comfort #this really isnt happy guys #i cried 4 times writing this #it is currently 1 am #hanahaki au

[builder051]

Everything that kills me

A commission for an anonymous client.  Criminal Minds.

_______________________________________

take that money

 watch it burn

sink in the river 

the lessons I learned

everything that kills me 

makes me feel alive

The plane ride is uncomfortable.  Usually JJ has no problem reading or writing while in motion, letting her eyes and hand move gently with the turbulence, but today, the legal pad in her lap seems to be swimming.  The green lines fuzz over and disappear into a blur of the yellow paper, leaving her pen marks looking stark and dreary.  A subtle throb has developed behind her right eye and invited a streak of bright aura with it.  Some of her letters stand out in three dimensions while others seem to retract into the page.

“The local PD is still calling him a serial rapist,” Hotch says, flipping around his iPad to show the battered faces of four young women.  “But with one found dead at the scene and one failing to survive her injuries, we’re probably looking for a serial killer.  His time between victims is short, bordering on a spree.”  He glances around at the other members of the team.  “Time is really of the essence here.”

JJ nods and copies down the note.  She scans over what she has so far, as if reading it again will press the bit of information into her brain.  She only gets a moment, though, before her vision starts to cross again.  JJ rubs her eyes with her knuckle and brings the butt of the pen up to tap against her teeth.  

Come on, she tells herself.  Concentrate.

It’s been like this on and off for a while now, not that she wants to admit it.  If anyone asks, she’s fine.  No problems.  She’s good to work.  And truly, she is.  She has more good days than bad ones, sleepless nights notwithstanding.  The insomnia probably isn’t even related to post-traumatic stress.  JJ lies awake next to Will as often as she does when she’s away on a case.  The migraines are a different story, but not one she’s ready to tell anyone else about.  At least not yet.  

She blinks hard and starts over, re-reading the first line on the page.  Her forehead throbs before she finishes the first line of text..  

Four young women, raped and battered.  Patsy Michaelsen.  Age 22.  Found at the mouth of a bike trail with two punctured lungs, a miraculously non-lethal slash across her throat, and a used condom in her mouth.  The scar will show for the rest of her life; the raspy whisper of her voice is supposedly temporary.  The BAU has a file of notes from an interview with local law enforcement, but it’s none too enlightening.  A man.  A dark hood.  A knife.  JJ could have guessed the details.  She imagines the specter of the unsub leaning over her; large, sweaty hands finding her neck.  It makes a line of cold sweat run down her spine.

Then Lydia King, a 24-year-old grad student with a UK passport, dead and buried in a pile of leaves just off the road in front of a playground.  Kids found her on their way out to play.  Not that she was much more than a kid herself.  JJ examines Lydia’s photo, taking in her unblemished chubby face.  If she didn’t know better, JJ would have pegged her for an innocent 16.  She finds herself wondering if Lydia was a virgin.  Then her stomach knots as she feels guilty, so instead hopes the abuse was at least post-mortem.

Jersey Jones was found fewer than twelve hours later.  Technically it was the next day, but the accelerated timeline between victims two and three means a spree.  The unsub is unravelling.  Possibly getting sloppy.  He left semen in the vic this time.  He’d forgotten the condom, or disregarded it.  The 27-year-old Jersey looked closer to 30, another departure from the previous MO.  They won’t know for sure it’s the same perp until DNA results come in, but JJ has little doubt.  

Then there was Sarah McQueen, the one who got away.  She managed to pick her way across six lanes of traffic and into a 24-hour diner where the owner called for an ambulance.  The authorities thought she’d been hit by a car until she started vomiting up strips of latex.  Local PD put two and two together and called the feds within the hour.  Hotch accepted the case as soon as Penelope finished downloading the files, and the team was on the jet before Sarah was out of surgery.

“She’ll be in a delicate position.  Traumatized and probably having trouble expressing herself.  She has head injuries in addition to slashes on her torso and neck,” Hotch warns. 

“That’s another difference from the last three,” Emily points out.  “Are we sure she’s not number three?  Is this all the same guy?”

“Lexington isn’t that big of a city,” Spencer supplies.  “It’s unlikely to have more than one active at a time with that population density.  Killer or rapist.”

JJ nods absently in agreement, still scanning her notes. 

“Anything to add?” Hotch asks, looking at her. 

“Um.”  JJ struggles to focus for an uncomfortable moment.  

“You ok?”  This time, it’s Emily, glancing her way with a concerned expression.

“Yeah.  Of course.”  JJ clears her throat and swallows.  “Looks like he’s escalating.  Jersey might have been a victim of opportunity, but things didn’t go as expected, so he went after Sarah before he cooled off?”

“Sarah does have more defensive wounds,” Spencer says.  “And the blows to the head might have been an attempt to incapacitate her.”

JJ nods again, glad the spotlight is off her.  Focus, she tells herself again.  What is with you?  You’ve worked while feeling this bad before, no problem.

Hotch starts to lay out plans.  As soon as JJ’s instructed to visit the victims in the hospital with Spencer, she lets her mind wander.  She taps her pen again, absently counting the dull clicks of the plastic against her teeth.  

Five.  The number of Patsy’s broken ribs.  

Twelve.  The number of hours between vics two and three.  

Eighteen.  The age of Sarah McQueen. 

“Hey.” 

JJ jumps, instinctively bringing her hand to her chest.

Spencer appears at her shoulder.  “Sorry,” he says.  “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.”  JJ smiles and drops her defensive position.  “Want to compare notes?”  She looks back to her tight cursive spread over the first page of her legal pad.  As usual, Spencer’s written about five times as much, his untidy scrawl marching across several crumpled-edged sheets.

He quickly reads over her shoulder.  “No, I think you got everything important.”

“Good.”  JJ runs her fingers through her hair, embarrassed of being put on the spot, even though she and Spencer are close.  Her nails catch and pull on a few strands, making her wince.

“You ok?”

“Oh, yeah,”  JJ repeats.  For a second she thinks considers saying headache, but she thinks better of it.  All that’ll do is put another worry in her friend’s mind, one that he certainly doesn’t need.

Spencer pauses and squints slightly.  “Tell me if you’re not?”

“Of course.”

JJ’s glad when the pilot’s tinny prep for landing announcement sounds.  Spencer sits beside her, and she’s relieved to be taken off the spot.  He can’t look at her now without being awkward. 

The silence between them still feels odd, though, so she takes a bottle of water from her bag.  JJ makes to unscrew the cap, but finds her hands trembling too hard to hold it steady.  Luckily the jet hits a patch of turbulence to cover the movement, but she feels caught either way.  Her mouth is full of thick saliva, and she isn’t thirsty anymore.  JJ settles for picking distractedly at the label until the plane touches down on the runway.

The drive to the hospital is downright painful.  JJ’s knees ache as she pulls herself up into the front passenger seat of the shiny black SUV.  She’s not sure how she wound up riding shotgun, but she’s grateful for the bit of good fortune.  The stiff leather seat feels hard and lumpy behind her back, and the air conditioning all but makes her teeth chatter.  Clammy sweat gathers on her forehead, but she wipes it away before the local detective behind the wheel has the chance to notice.

“How far to the hospital?” JJ asks, swallowing hard and trying to smile.  Her stomach twists uncomfortably again as her mind flickers backward to other times she held pain between her teeth like this.

It’s nothing like those other times.  No one is hissing in your ear.  No one is holding you against your will.

“Fifteen, twenty minutes?” the detective says, his voice thick with an Appalachian accent.  “Not too far.”

Not long for you, but a long time for those girls.  A long time when you’re the one tied up.

JJ shakes her head to clear it, but all it does is reignite the throb.  “Good,” she says, though her voice sounds anything but..

Spencer asks a question from the backseat, taking control of the conversation.  JJ silently thanks him, though he probably has no idea.

Or does he?  Guilt joins the noxious brew churning in her gut.  They aren’t supposed to profile each other, but they’re not supposed to keep secrets, either.  However she puts it, JJ knows she’s in the wrong. 

But what’s wrong about hiding a headache? she asks herself.  That’s all it is.  Just a little headache.

The hospital smells of antiseptic.  One whiff practically makes JJ’s eyes burn.  Cold discomfort rises in her stomach again as she picks up something else, something like salt and copper hovering just under the pervasive curtain of alcohol-based sanitizer.

The local cop leads them through a maze of hallways to Sarah McQueen’s room.  Through the window JJ sees her on her back in the bed, a layer of bandages wrapped tightly around her head, giving the impression of a snowy white ski cap pulled over curtains of icy blonde hair.  It looks like a dye job to JJ, maybe even one of those at-home bleach kits.  She makes a mental note to check the details of the other girls’ hair and see if that’s part of the pattern.

You should already know, the voice in her head tells her.  You’re falling behind.

JJ sighs and shakes her head slightly, her own blonde waves moving on either side of her face.  Her eyes feel wet, and she blinks a few times to get a handle on herself.  A pool of tears threatens to loose itself down her cheek, so she quickly swipes her thumb across her lower lash line. 

When JJ lifts her head, Spencer’s staring at her.  He narrows his eyes to a concerned squint, but Sarah begins to cough, and he focuses his attention on her instead.

“Hi, Sarah,” JJ says.  She clears her throat, bursting what feels like a bubble of mucous blocking the top of her esophagus.  “My name is Jennifer, and this is Spencer.  We’re with the FBI.” 

The girl doesn’t even have her eyes open, but if the doctors and local PD are letting them question her, JJ assumes Sarah is up to the challenge. 

“Mmph.”  The girl makes a little groaning sound.  Her lashes flutter slightly, but other than that she remains motionless.

JJ swallows.  She can’t decide if she needs to cough again.  Her vocal cords feel tight, as if an invisible hand is pressing down on the front of her throat. 

Spencer picks up where she left off.  “Do you remember how somebody attacked you?  When you were—Were you walking last night?”

Sarah’s eyelids move again as she squints up at them.  A litany of facts and figures flick at the back of JJ’s mind.  Don’t walk to your car by yourself.  Don’t go out alone after dark.

Don’t give up information no matter how hard you’re questioned.

Don’t let men have their way with you.

Sarah starts to say something, her voice low and raspy.  Only a few sounds come out before she moves her head painfully to the side to hack and sputter into her shoulder.  A few flecks of blood spatter on the pale green fabric of her hospital gown.

JJ can taste the copper from across the room.  She swallows quickly, but cold sweat gathers on the back of her neck as her gag reflex moves jerkily up and down.  She practically feels thick fingers reaching for her shoulder, then her throat.

“It—“ JJ starts, desperate to shake the feeling.  “You’re not in trouble.” 

Too much spit froths under her tongue.  Of course Sarah’s not in trouble.  Why would she even think that?

Maybe you’re the one in trouble.

Guilt bubbles in her stomach again, combining with something hotter and angrier that sends sickly tendrils up into JJ’s chest.  She crosses her arms in front of her, hoping the pressure will at least give her a momentary hold. 

“Just, anything you remember can be helpful.”

Sarah opens her mouth.  It makes a wet sound, and somehow that’s the last straw for JJ.  Oh god, she prays silently, please no.  Please not now. 

Sourness rises in the back of her throat, and not the kind that can be swallowed back down.  Her jawline prickles as her gut presses upward into her chest.

“I’m—excuse me—“ JJ delicately touches her lips with the tips of her fingers, then turns on her heel and hurries from the room.  There has to be a bathroom, a trash can, even a mop bucket.  Something she can get to before she completely destroys her dignity. 

There are emesis basins stacked neatly on the counter at the nurse’s station.  JJ snags one and hurries down a deserted hallway.  She slows, her breathing ragged, as a heave makes her stomach contract and her shoulders jerk forward.  She holds the basin against her chest and backs into the wall, slowly sliding down into a crouch.  Stars flicker in the corners of JJ’s vision.  Nausea rises up in her, and sourness blossoms across her tongue as she vomits, bringing up bitter coffee and orange juice along with the remnants of last night’s dinner. 

The basin trembles in her grip, sending ripples through the disgusting fluid.  A drip runs to the end of JJ’s nose.  She sniffles, getting a good whiff of the odor of her own sick, and gags painfully again. 

“JJ?”

She hears her name from the end of the hall.  It sounds miles away, echoing and hazy, but it brings an icy jolt of panic over her anyway. 

“No,” she says in a choked whisper, but whoever it is doesn’t hear her. Either that or he doesn’t listen.  

Footsteps approach.  Spencer’s hand drops onto her shoulder, and JJ jumps, the basin sliding from its loose position in her arms and clattering to the floor.  She swears under her breath as the pool of vomit seeps into her shoes.

“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to—again, you know,” Spencer stutters, grasping at her arm to keep her from falling.

“I—it’s—”  JJ can’t control the retch that bursts from her chest, and she throws up a third time, bile dribbling in strings hanging from her lower lip.  “Oh my god.  Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Spencer says quickly.  “It’s ok.  You’re alright.”  He pauses, cringing, to correct himself.  “Well, you’re not, but, it’s fine.  You have to breathe, JJ.”  He pats her on the back a few times, the soft percussive movement forcing air into her lungs. 

JJ’s throat burns with acid.  Her mouth waters, and she goes through the motions with a fourth, tiny heave.  She stands bent at the waist with her hands on her knees, her hair obscuring her burning face.  Spencer tries to help her upright, but JJ resists.  “No,” she murmurs.  “Just—just a second—”

“Of course.”  Spencer gently touches the back of her neck.  “I—you feel really warm,” he says.  “Do you think you have a fever?”

“No,” JJ says automatically.  She whips her hand behind her head to catch Spencer’s wrist.  His touch is nothing but soft, but she still can’t stand it.  “I’m sorry.”  She slowly begins to straighten, retracting her hand into her sleeve and dragging it across her lips. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes again.

“Don’t worry about it.”  Spencer’s eyes are huge and glassy with concern.  A soft wrinkle forms between his brows.  JJ wants to reach up to smooth it out, but that would require touching him, and she isn’t ready for that yet.  “You’re really sick.”

“I’m…”  JJ plans on saying fine, but she knows she can’t continue to lie.  “Yeah.”  It comes out as the tiniest whisper, quiet and crackling with the physical and emotional strain of pushing out the word.  “I guess.  Yeah.”

“Should I get a doctor?”  Spencer glances around.  “A nurse, maybe?”

JJ shakes her head.  They are in a hospital after all, but she can’t accept help.  She can’t let the team see her like this.  Fever be damned, she’s been through much worse.  She isn’t supposed to fall apart.

“No, I just—”  JJ pauses to swallow.  “Let me just—back to the hotel.  Or the police station.  If I just lie down for a minute, I’ll be fine.” 

Speaking leaves her fatigued and short of breath.  JJ feels herself sway on her feet, and Spencer gently catches her shoulders.

“Please don’t…” JJ murmurs.  She can’t stand his touch anymore; it’s as if his long fingers are leaving red-hot furrows that burn away her sweater and blister her delicate skin.  “I’m sorry.”

“Ok.”  Spencer slowly nods.  His face blurs, and JJ isn’t sure if it’s the vertigo finally taking over or a fresh round of tears.  “Should I call someone?  Hotch?”

“No—”

“Emily, then?”  It’s clear what he’s not saying.  JJ hates to admit it, but she would feel more comfortable with a woman.

“I—”  JJ wavers.  “I don’t know.  I guess.” 

“Alright.  Here.”  Spencer reaches for the disgusting basin she still has clutched to her chest.  “Are you, uh, done?”

“Yes, I think so.  Sorry, that’s…”  She shakes her head, reigniting the nauseating pain throbbing behind her eyes. 

“A natural process of the human body,” Spencer finishes.  “I won’t give you any more facts, I promise.”

JJ tries to smile, but her face feels heavy and frozen in a pained expression.  “Thanks.”

They drop the basin on an abandoned nurse’s cart and slip out a back door, then down the steps to the parking lot.  As soon as Spencer helps her into the car, he dials Emily and puts the phone on speaker.

“Prentiss,” the other woman answers on the first ring.  “Did you get anything from Sarah McQueen?”

“Oh.”  JJ’s practically forgotten about the girl.  Another swoop of guilt rises in her stomach, and she has to swallow hard to keep it from turning into something worse.  “Um…”

“You have any luck with the victims’ online presence?” Spencer asks, covering for her effortlessly.

“Actually, yes.  Garcia’s pulled what she can from all their accounts, and it looks like they were all into fitness.”

“What, same gym?”  The words sear on the way out of her throat, but JJ’s desperate to participate.

“No, more like trail running.”

“That’s really dangerous,” Spencer pipes up.  “Women going out alone after dark.  Probably wore their hair up.  Ponytails are easy to grab, making them more appealing targets…”  JJ sees the cogs turning in his head. 

“Could it really be that simple?” Emily asks.

“Talk to their friends.  See if you can recreate their running routes,” JJ suggests.  The last word sticks, and she covers her mouth before the resulting cough can turn into a gag.

“You ok?” Spencer reaches for her again, but retracts his hand quickly.

“JJ?”

“I’m fine, I just—”  Nausea rises in her, sending sweat trailing down from her temples.  “Oh god.”  JJ scrambles to open her door and hang her head out of the car.  She barely frees herself from her seatbelt when she throws up a weak stream of bile, almost all of it running sideways into her hair. 

“What was that?” JJ hears Emily ask, panic plain in her voice.

“I, um,” Spencer waffles.  “Actually why I was calling.  JJ’s sick, and I was wondering if you could meet us…  I don’t… I just…” he loses steam and begins to stutter.

“What’s wrong?  What happened?”

“An anxiety attack, maybe?” Spencer guesses.  He undoes his seatbelt and scrambles out and around the car.  “She’s vomiting, and I think she has a fever.”

“You’re still at the hospital, aren’t you?  Try urgent care—”

“No!” JJ says firmly.  She wipes her mouth with a shaking hand and uses the car door to push herself upright again.  “I just spooked.  I’m fine.”

“If you need a rest, you can take one,” Emily says.  “Hotch will let you—”

“Please don’t tell him.” JJ presses her fingertips into the corners of her eyes.  “I can’t let this get in the way.  What if someone else gets attacked tonight?”

“That’s not on you.”  Spencer shakes his head emphatically.  “We need you at your best.  Even just a little sleep will help.”

JJ sighs.  Guilt and sickness weigh heavily with the excess saliva running under her tongue.  He has a point.  She’s not at her best.  She hasn’t been at her best for weeks, and a nap isn’t going to make much of a difference.  “I’m sorry.”  JJ shakes her head.  She’s not even sure what she’s apologizing for, but she feels she needs to.  Badly. 

“JJ…”  Spencer looks from her to the phone.  “I know there’s something you’re not telling us.”

She shoots him a venomous look, and he quickly continues with, “You don’t have to say anything.  And I promise I won’t profile you any more.  But, just, you have to know we’re here for you.”

JJ swallows.  Her throat feels tight, and she isn’t sure if it’s more or less comfortable than it was before. 

“That’s,” she rasps, “I mean, thank you.”  She wants to explain more, but at the same time, she’s glad to remain silent.  “I will.  Sometime.”  A hiccup forces its way up, and she covers her mouth.  “Sorry.”

“Forget the police station, ok?” Emily says.  “I’ll meet you at the hotel.”

“Don’t—” JJ starts

“No, I’ll have Garcia load up some files.  I’ll look at them while you rest.  Then maybe we can put our heads together once you’re feeling a little better.

“I…”  JJ knows she can’t protest.  “Thank you.  You’re… Just, thank you.”

“You’re just welcome,” Spencer says at the same moment Emily says, “Of course.”

Spencer drives back to the hotel.  He appears to do his best to move the car smoothly, only skidding through one dangerously short yellow light.  “Ok, here we are,” he says after a few minutes of silence.

Thank god, JJ thinks.  She opens her door with trembling fingers, pausing to breathe through a queasy hiccup before attempting to exit the vehicle.

“Let me help you--”  Spencer runs around the back of the car and meets her on the passenger side.

“No!” JJ squeals before she can stop herself.  “I--I’m sorry.”  She covers her mouth with one hand and holds the other up to stop him.  “I just--I can’t.”

“That’s alright.”  Spencer stops in his tracks and holds the car door open instead.  “I won’t touch you.  Is it fever aches?”

The kid has to know that isn’t it.  He’s offering you an out, JJ thinks.  Take it.

“Um.  Yes,” she says with more formality than she means.  She wraps her arms around her chest as she stands up, a shiver wracking her thin frame.  

“Here.”  Spencer holds his hand an inch or so off the back of her shoulder, ready to catch her should she fall.  “We have rooms on the ground floor this time.  No elevator ride.”  He offers a wan smile.

“Good,” JJ manages.

They walk to the end of the hall.  Spencer taps on the last door in the row, and Emily opens the door.  “Oh, my god,” she says upon seeing them.  Then, “I’m sorry.  That’s--you look--”

“Dead?” JJ suggests with a dark smile.  It’s so inappropriate that she wonders if she’s getting close to delirium.

“Well, that’s not what I was going to say, but now that you mention it…”  Emily trails off, shaking her head.  “Get in here and take your shoes off.”  She points to JJ’s vomit-covered loafers.  

“Looks like you’ve got it from here,” Spencer says.  He lifts his hand in thanks to Emily, then gives JJ a hard stare.  “Take care of yourself, ok?  We’re all here for you to lean on.”

“Yes, exactly,” Emily echoes.  She looks to Spencer.  “Hotch wanted you back at the police station.”

Spencer nods.  “Ok.  See you later?  Hope you feel better, JJ.”

“Thanks,” JJ whispers.  

Now that she’s in a room where she can relax, her energy seems to be draining out of her along with her guard.  She divests herself of her shoes and gingerly moves toward one of the beds.  Emily helps her sit, then slips into the bathroom to run a washcloth under the tap.  

“Did you bring files from the station?” JJ asks.  “I thought Penelope was putting some on a laptop for us.”

“Yes,” Emily answers.  “But for me.  You need to rest.”

“I--”  JJ starts, but her train of thought leaves her as a wave of exhaustion crushes over her.  Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes as she feels tired and frightened and thankful all at once.  

“Hey.”  Emily sits on the edge of the bed and begins to carefully sponge JJ’s face.  “It’s ok, you know?  We all have our days when we need a little help.”

“Hm.”  JJ nods and presses her lips together.  “Yeah,” she whispers.  “Thank you.”  

#commission #fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds #jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentis #spencer reid #jj whump #female whump #emeto #emetophilia #illumivomit #hurt comfort #ptsd #sickfic #fever #migraine #headache

[jinmukangwrites]

End of the Day

ENDGAME SPOILERS, READ AT OWN RISK

A fix-it-fic because as good as Endgame was, there are still things I think could have ended differently. You know what I mean. We're all still crying.

-o-o-o-o-

The first thing he thinks when his eyes slowly creak open is that he shouldn't be alive. He doesn't know why he thinks that, only that it's at the forefront of his mind, that it's the only thing that's clear to him when the white ceiling above him slowly comes into focus. He shouldn't be alive, and there is a reason for that. A good reason. Something… something final and horrible happened. He remembers… pain shooting up his arm and an explosion, a flash of light. He remembers seeing the kid's face, tears and snot running down their cheeks and chin, he remembers wanting to say something, something important, but then Pepper came into his view, shining as beautiful as the sun, and Morgan, sweet Morgan, he can see her in her mother's eyes.

"You can rest now," she says, and he isn't inclined to argue. He's so tired, in pain, and-

He should be dead. He used the infinity stones… all of them. And he's just a human.

He should be dead.

He blinks and glances around the room, his short-lived theory of this being heaven is torn up like a scrap piece of paper when he sees the monitors and the wires piling around the room and connecting to his body. He can feel the pinch on an IV in his arm… his left arm. He can't feel the right. In fact, he can't feel a whole lot of the right side of his body.

He looks down and the heart monitor gives away his jumping heart when he sees nothing where his arm should be, his hospital gown falls off his shoulder strangely and he's hit with a strange sense of nausea. His arm is gone. It looks so unnatural and he can't stop looking at it.

His… arm is gone?

How could his entire arm be gone?

What happened?

Why is he alive?

There's a clicking noise as the white door across his room suddenly opens, he can only lay there in his mess of wires and blankets as a woman dressed in white medical clothes steps into the room. Dr Helen Cho stops in her tracks with wide eyes when her gaze falls on him. He's almost tempted to lift his arm to wave, but as consciousness continues to return to him, so does the pain. He settles for smiling slightly, the right corner of his mouth feels stiff.

"Tony," she breathes. She lifts her hand up to her ear and presses against a comm, Tony wonders where she got that, it looks advanced and he doesn't remember inventing it. "He's awake, send in the team."

He doesn't have time to question who the team is before she's quickly walking over to his bedside, nimble fingers checking over the monitors and machines before she's suddenly flashing a light in his eyes.

He hisses at the assault to his pupils and she makes a clicking noise with her tongue before she presses a button by the side of his bed. He finds himself being raised into a sitting position. "I'm going to check your stump, how are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm al-left," he says, or he tries to say. His mouth doesn't seem to want to work with him and it comes out a bit lazily and slurred. However, she does smile slightly; he's happy that even though he doesn't seem to be able to speak the best at the moment the joke still was able to be understood.

He lets out a small chuckle and hisses when the action puts fire in his lungs. He coughs and goes to lift his arm to cover his mouth, but the one he tries to move is the one currently missing and probably stuffed in a dumpster somewhere and that both horrifies and fascinates him at the same time.

Cho gently undoes the tie around his shoulder and pulls the gown down to reveal a mess of bandages. "On a scale from one to ten, how much pain are you in?"

"Ahh, six…"

His voice is scratchy, his throat aches. With each passing second he notices something that's in pain, but none of it is… agonizing. Just sore, stiff, numb, and bruised. Nothing too bad, but still enough to make him wince at every move.

Cho hums in content as her fingers go over his bandages... over his… stump. He watches in interest as she undoes the cloth and begins to unwind.

"What… happened?" Tony asks and Cho stops her work long enough to glance at him.

"What do you remember?"

He sighs and closes his eyes for a second. "Everything. I should be dead."

"You were with every single hero in the universe, Tony," Cho says as she returns to unwinding his wound. He catches a flash of scarred flesh colored an odd purple color. "Do you really think they were going to let you die?"

-o-o-o-o-

Turns out, Doctor Strange straight up teleported Tony to Wakanda as he was teetering on the thread between life and death. There, Shuri, Cho, himself, and other brilliant doctors worked for four days straight to save his life. They had to amputate the arm, which stung. His hands are important to him, and if he were awake he probably would have told them to let him go or find another way, but he wasn't awake. Pepper was. Morgan was. Peter was. May was. Happy was. They made the decision. His family made the decision so he won't complain.

They wanted him alive, he was ready to die but they wanted him alive, so he will continue to live for them.

He isn't allowed visitors for a few hours as Cho checks him over and makes sure everything is okay. His injuries are healing but they are extensive and numbered. His arm, or lack thereof, is the worst of them, but he has scars running up his neck and around his face, more trail down along his shoulder and side, going down towards his knee. He will need therapy along each of those areas, will need a constant supply of pain meds and scar lotion, but he will live.

The first person he sees is little Morgan, who he loves more than anything in the entire world. Loves her more than three thousand. He tells her that as Pepper walks in with tear stained cheeks.

"I love you five thousand."

"No! I love you six thousand!"

"I see your six thousand, and raise you one hundred thousand!"

"I love you one million kajillion thousand!!!"

He doesn't know how to best that number.

The next day is just the three of them with the occasional doctor or nurse coming into talk with him and check him over. It feels surreal, like it is all a dream and soon he'll wake up and Pepper won't be cuddled into his side—his left side of course, even with the absurd amount of pain meds he's on it still aches horribly—and Morgan won't be across the hospital room trying to figure out how to turn on the TV. Every time he blinks he almost expects to open his eyes to darkness, to nothing, or never open them again.

Yet his eyes still open and Pep's shampoo still fills his nose as he breathes her in, rubs her shoulder with his one hand, that alone must let her know that she is the most important thing to him right now. She hums in content and presses herself against him further, though she's gentle not to touch his scars and bruises.

The girl named Shuri came in once or twice to ask how he is doing and to show him her plans for a new prosthetic arm. He turns her down though, saying that he thinks he's done now and he doesn't need it. Pepper gives him a disbelieving look, probably already knowing that he's planning out his own design for an arm and he doesn't trust anyone else's work. Shuri doesn't look offended, she just smiles like she understands. Tony instantly likes her.

-o-o-o-o-

A week passes before anything fun happens. Pepper and Morgan returned back to their home so Pep could get back to running a company and Tony could finish recovering. They began to put him through physical therapy, specialist in Wakanda and Doctor Strange himself have fun putting Tong through the wringer as he almost has to learn how to move his body again. It's all different, he's off balance, his leg is stiff and thanks to a mostly scarred ear his equilibrium is thrown off, but he gets the hang of it. Eventually he's able to walk around fairly decently with a cane in his one hand and a rather annoying limp that he can live with.

And then he's clear two weeks later.

He remembers looking in the mirror before Doctor Strange came to work his wizard magic to teleport Tony back to his home. He thinks he looks like a very rich and more handsome version of Two-Face. Thanks to Wakandan tech and Stephen Strange's help, most of the scarring has been smoothed down to look mostly normal but he can tell, his skin isn't as smooth, it's rough and leathery to the touch. He doesn't think any amount of plastic surgery will ever be able to make his skin… human again. Iron Man has new scars now, though none of them look as aesthetically pleasing as the arc reactor had.

He supposes he will have to live with it. He's lucky to be alive after all.

-o-o-o-o-

There's a small homecoming party when he returns, just with his closest friends and family. It's strange to see Cap, an old man, hobbling around with his own cane, but Tony is happy for him. He finally went off to live his life how he wanted to. How he deserves to.

To say he's shocked to see one Natasha Romanoff there, happily making lame jokes with Clint would be an understatement. Turns out, when the soul stone was returned she was brought back, a soul for a soul. Equivalent exchange and all that. He's just happy she's alive, she plans to live with the Barton's until she figures out what she wants to do with her life.

"The old man told me we both need to get a life," she says, sipping at a a fruit flavored drink, "I told him you first. I suppose it's my turn now."

Thor is there too, thick as ever but he promises he's going to turn his life back around and when he returns from his trip with the Guardians he will be the strongest, most handsome Avenger there is once again. He says this while drinking a huge mug of beer, so Tony doesn't hold his breath.

Bruce… Hulk… Bulk? Whatever, that guy is there as well, his presence is instantly a comfort. His arm is in a sling and Tony can't help but feel a bit of jealousy towards it, but then Morgan runs up to him and grabs at his knees while Happy runs after her looking exasperated and he reminds himself that he could be gone right now. There could be a funeral in place of the party. His daughter could be doomed to grow up without a father, his wife without a husband. His arm is a tiny sacrifice when put into perspective.

He eats a whole lot of hamburgers that night.

-o-o-o-o-

A month after the universe is made whole again, Tony is finally able to reunite with Peter. He's been looking forward to it, he knows Peter has been too. The reason it took so long is because the world was way too excited to get it's children back, so excited, in fact, that they decided "let's throw them all back into school immediately!" Peter has been busy with school and reconnecting with friends and getting used to the fact that some of them are now older than him. Tony hears he's taking it like a champ with only a few bumps and bruises along the way. Thankfully his best friend Ned and his crush MJ are still his same age. The lucky kid.

The moment Tony sees Peter, it's like the world has slowed down. He is out weeding, testing out his new arm that he caved in and made himself, when May's car pulls in. Peter practically jumps out the window and sprints over to Tony with the widest grins and the definition of puppy eyes. Tony barely has time to stand up before he's locked in a crushing hug from the kid probably more powerful that Steve Rogers. Actually… now that Steve is a million years old, Peter may be the strongest person in the world excluding Thor and Hulk. Those guys are outliers. They are so freakishly strong they are just not included in the data. Carol is on that list too, now that he thinks about it.

Anyway, the hug is bone crushing and gross because the kid is crying, Tony isn't. One hundred percent, he's definitely not crying. It's just sweat, he's been outside all day.

They have a simple dinner and Peter instantly hits off with Morgan which Tony couldn't be more happy for. Morgan has grown up her whole life hearing stories about big brother Peter, her hero is Spider-Man in fact. Sure, Iron Man is great, but Iron Man is dad and that instantly lowers his cool points or something ridiculous like that.

He looks across the table as Peter is having a very avid conversation with Morgan about something or other. He can see black bags under the kids eyes, he can see how his hands tremble just a bit. Tony isn't stupid, Peter has definitely developed some anxiety, PTSD even, from the recent events. He hasn't touched the suit since returning back to Queens, not that Tony can blame him. May tells him that he's being provided a therapist, Sam Wilson himself, but the recovery is going slower than what it should. It seems that with all of Peters abilities, a broken heart and a tortured mind still takes a stubborn amount of time to heal.

Whatever the case, Tony will be there for him. He's considered Pete his son for the longest time. He's never said it out loud though because May is the main parent, but Tony can't change what he feels for the kid. He's never really had the chance to tell him though, how much Tony cares for him. So much was going on even before the Snap that Tony didn't even realize it himself how important Peter was to him, and then Peter dusted away and it was five years before Tony ever saw him again.

He decides he's waited long enough to make it clear to Peter, especially since he could be buried in a grave right now. He tells Morgan every night how much he loves her, but Peter has hardly gotten more than a hug or two.

Before Peter and May leave, Tony puts his real arm on Peters shoulder and pulls him in for a hug. It's amazing how quickly Peter responds, without hesitation, with a hug of his own.

"I'm proud of you kid," Tony says, "I'm so fucking proud of you."

He feels Peters shoulders jolt as sobs instantly break out. Tony holds him closer and puts his jaw over Peter's head and let's Peter get it out.

"Love you too…" Peter whispers through the tears.

-o-o-o-o-

Years pass, and Iron Man is no more. Just Tony Stark, Iron Man is a retired hero that will just be remembered and celebrated and nothing more. However, Tony still builds suits, just not for himself. The first one was for Peter, a strong spider themed metal suit made of the same technology Tony's last one was made of. It's smaller though, fits easily in a watch on Peter's wrist instead of the whole arc reactor thing Tony had going on.

The next suit was for Sam, who came to Tony panicking because he couldn't figure out how he was going to fly around with a giant vibranium shield. Tony had fun making that one, it was a challenge to find a way to make a place for the shield and still keep the wings aerodynamic. A fun challenge really, Morgan helped him out with it.

He's made many other things, but even that he stops doing eventually, Morgan is doing it all on her own. Just reaching Junior High and she's the smartest little person he knows besides her mom.

He's happy, he realizes as the years pass. Peter owns Stark Tech, Steve Rogers died a tearful and happy death, Pepper is retired, Natasha is happily married with her own rascals running around, she says they're adopted but Tony thinks they all look as mean and beautiful as she does. Clint is finally living his dream as a cowboy and nothing else. Bucky and Sam are the ring leaders of the Avengers, Wanda has found a love again, Happy and May for some reason fell in love and got married to the horror of Peter, Bulk Bruce Hulk whatever is leading the scientific world, Thor is chiseled once again and enjoying the on the go life in space, and Tony is so incredibly happy.

At the end of the day, when he takes off his prosthetic arm, painted a simple gray instead of the red and gold it used to be, he thinks about how lucky he is. He thinks about the family he's gained over the years, how many people have touched his life and how many say he's touched theirs. He used to be a drunk, used to be alone, used to be hated by everyone and seen as just an aloof rich playboy. Tony's surprised Rhody dealt with all his shit for as long as he had. It was Happy's job to, but Rhody could have left whenever he wanted, and he didn't.

At the end of the day, he thinks about the smiling faces of his loved ones. There could have been a funeral, they could have seen that crappy apology hologram he made before the time traveling thing, they could have been facing a world with no Tony Stark.

Tony is glad he's alive, because, once again, at the end of the day, he's so thankful for his family, the phantom pains in his arm don't even hurt anymore. He's glad he took the chance to bring back what they lost, and to keep what he's found. And have not lost his life in the process.

#jin writes #avengers endgame #marvel endgame #endgame spolier #endgame spoiler alert #spoilers #fan fiction #tony stark #peter parker #fix it fic #avengers #avengers endame spoilers #iron man #spider-man

[tinytony-snack]

Glowing heart

Steve is used to the light of the arc reactor reassuring him after a bad dream. Then, Tony had it removed... * Steve woke up from a nightmare, shivering and covered in cold sweat, desperately searching for air. He felt his lungs compressed, as if he had gone to bed with something really heavy on his chest. He had a nightmare about the two most important people in his life: there was Bucky falling from the train, but in the meanwhile the figure of his best friend mixed with the one of his lover, until it was Tony Stark who was falling without his Iron Man’s armor. He knew it was just a bad dream, he had them since the loss of Bucky. Being a super-soldier helped, because he didn’t need to sleep every night, so he could have avoided frightening memories. It went better through the years, of course they still were in war, but at least he moved on from that particular guilt. Then, he woke up one day and he discovered he slept for almost 70 years, and everything started again. His nightmares were full of water, strange technologies and aliens. Often they came all together, even if he slept once every four days and not for many hours. Tony saved his life in more than one way: first driving a nuclear missile through a wormhole, then giving him a home and his first real family of the 21st century. Well, he should have been grateful also to Nick Fury for the Avengers, but everyone knew that without Tony’s kind heart and generosity, they would have been apart. When they fell in love, Steve’s nights became a beautiful place where to find safety, because he was able to fall asleep in Tony’s arms, or with him in his own. He started to have good dreams instead of bad, even when his boyfriend spent the whole nights in the workshop. He knew that also Tony had trouble sleeping, and he worked almost all twenty-four hours to avoid dealing with his subconscious. Steve understood it and tried to put the least pressure on him, taking care of the man by providing him food and exhausting him under the sheets until he became useless for anything else outside the bed. It took a lot of time for both of them to work on their issues, and they made it, because they were together. They learnt to trust and to stand up for each other, they communicated and of course they still had fights from time to time, but at the end of the day the always kissed and wished goodnight, knowing that it would have been really good. Sadly, peace and quiet didn’t last long. Tony had as many enemies as Iron Man, and one particularly dangerous showed up just when he and Natasha found the first trace of the Winter Soldier. They destroyed a part of Washington, while Tony and Rhodes saved Pepper and the President, and the nightmares returned. He wanted to keep Tony safe with all his heart, and the reality slammed in his face that the dangers were waiting for them, just around the corner. At that point of their lives, his bad dreams where full of people falling, and falling again, and he was so helpless that he always woke up in the middle of them feeling at the edge of a panic attack. They both established a routine for nightmares: Steve had to think only to good things, one at a time, while taking long breaths. He did it, like all the other times. He thought about Bucky, and remembered that he was safety asleep with Natasha, in their Tower’s floor. They found Buck not long after Washington’s event, and Tony and Bruce worked really hard to remove everything that HYDRA put inside his head to control him. Steve could have never left Bucky in more trusted hands. Tony offered him to live in the Tower as well, and of course the genius tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. He still thought that buying a whole new wardrobe, providing Bucky with the newest Stark Industries’ technologies and improving his artificial arm was something normal, because he was a nice host. Steve knew better, and he showed gratitude tp Tony also from his best friend, repetitively. After he was calmer about his best friend, he thought about the love of his life and searched for his personal light. Since he got up and he was sitting on the bed right next to Tony, he turned to see the glowing blue light of the arc reactor. He was used to search it as first thing, because it was the symbol of Tony’s safety and that he was there with him. Sometimes, he wasn’t able to fall asleep without making sure that the light was the last thing he saw before closing the eyes. Tony mocked him, but he also slept without a top, and on his back, or at least not in any position that could have covered the glow. Steve was so used to it, that when he didn’t find anything, he didn’t realize the weight of Tony on the mattress, he just thought that probably he was still in the lab. Then he remembered having one of the best date out with Tony, that concluded with both of them very naked and, after, very exhausted. They had incredible sex on most of the conceivable surfaces of the penthouse, and Steve used the last energies to change the bed’ sheets with fresh ones, because Tony deserved a good sleep in a clean bed. As always, it has been fun and a bit frustrating, because a post-orgasm Tony meant a totally useless man that didn’t move any muscle on his own. His brain processed in less than one second that Tony was indeed in their bed, but the room was too dark for him to be fine. «Tony» He whispered, and he didn’t recognized his own voice, which sounded broken. He found his body with his hands, it was warm and real, he was also able to hear a little snoring that sounded more like purrs. But without the light of the arc reactor, all he was able to thought was that something was really wrong with Tony. He felt danger, and he didn’t like it at all. Even less when he reached Tony’s chest, and there were only scars. He felt something break inside himself, like when all the TV news reported Tony’s possible death due to the Mandarin’s attack. Here we go again, he thought, and he didn’t realize that he was calling Tony’s name again and again, with a more loud voice. He was also shaking him, with his trembling hands - he was all shaking, but he was focused only on the genius. He knew that Tony was a heavy sleeper, but he was too nervous to remember it. The blue glow was off, and it was that light that kept him alive. Without the arc reactor, the shrapnel shards would have reached his heart and killed him. It can’t be, it can’t be. He was fine, he kissed me goodnight. I kissed him, and held him so we'd have slept much tighter. «Tony! Wake up!» He screamed one last time. Tony abruptly snapped out of sleep with a gasp, and it was possible to see the fear in his eyes, because the room was suddenly illuminated with mood lighting. Steve run out of air and froze, while Tony got up and searched for possible threats. When he didn’t see anything wrong, he turned to Steve and found him really pale, covered in sweat. His whole body was trembling and he was watching Tony as if he was the most absurd thing in the world. «Hey, hey, Steve breathe. Honey, came on.» He rushed back on the bed and he cup Steve’s face with his hands, sliding one of them through his hair, that were practically wet, to pet them. «Breathe for me darling. Yes like that, take long breathes. Inhale deeply and breathe out. I’m here with you.» He talked to Steve for the next minutes, trying to reassure him, with a calm and soft voice. It wasn’t the first time that Steve or himself woke up scared, and it wouldn’t be the last. They weren’t used to it, but at least they knew what to do and how. Steve needed to feel him, and to listen to his voice. «I’ve got you, my love, I’ve got you.» He said, very fondly. Seeing Steve like that hurted him every single time: he was supposed to be the strongest and the bravest of them all, not vulnerable… not scared, and certainly not shaken and anxious. However, Tony was fully aware that nobody had to be nothing but theirselves, and he loved Steve completely, even when he was afraid. He just would have preferred him to be always happy, satisfied and protected. When he felt Steve relaxing, he stopped talking and kissed him lightly on the forehead, where he paused for few seconds. «Better?» He asked sweetly, and Steve nodded a little too quick. Then Tony slid his ands over Steve’s neck, caressing his shoulders and down on his arms. He stroked his exposed skin and went back up again on his face, where he gently press a thumb on his bottom lip and he searched for his eyes. «Wanna talk?» He asked in a soft voice, when he felt Steve’s breath stabilize. It was no time to show his worries, his boyfriend needed him to be strong and solid for both of them. It always was such an honor to be someone on which Steve could count on, it made his skip a bear every time he realized that. «Your- Your arc reactor,» Steve’s dry throat made him sound even more exposed. «It’s gone.» He whispered, lowering his gaze. «Yes, sweetie. I had surgery three weeks ago, they removed it and the shrapnel shards. Remember?» He didn’t. He did. «When I didn’t see the light, I thought… Thought that you were in danger.» Steve sighed and reached for Tony’s hand, to interlace their fingers. Tony seemed surprised at first, then he smiled and lay down, bringing Steve down with him. They bot lay on a side, with their fingers still interlaced. JARVIS turned down the lights, but they was still able to see each other in the eyes. Steve was surely calmer, more relaxed, and Tony looked at him with extreme tenderness. «I’m fine, more every day. I should have knew that you’d miss it more than I do.» «It was just a reflex. You know I’m happy that you had it removed, right? It was the right decision.» Steve said, brushing his thumb on the back of his hand. He tried to smile, but the moment his head touched again the pillow, he felt the exhaustion get back again. «I know, but, uhm…. You got used to its light. I’ll think about something to help, ‘kay?» Tony slurred the last word. Steve nodded, and brushed his lips with Tony’s before to actually kiss him. It was only a light touch, but it was enough to send all his love to his boyfriend. «Yes, thank you. Tomorrow sweetheart, I can hear your gears working already.» Steve giggled a little and Tony rolled his eyes at him. «Tomorrow.» He promised, leaning over to steal another kiss. * When Steve went in their bedroom the night after, he found a present on his nightstand. It was red, with a flashy gold ribbon on the top. There wasn’t any card, but of course it was from Tony, he was always so subtle. Steve opened the present, and it took his breath away for few instants. It was an arc reactor, slightly different from the last one that Tony created for himself, but he would have recognized its light and shape in every way. It wasn’t just that: half of the top of the tool was covered with a plaque that didn’t hide the vivid glow, and it was painted as half of his shield. It's perfect. That night, Tony found his boyfriend curled up on their bed, with his gift next to his head on the pillow. He wondered how Steve was able to sleep with the glowing blue light directly on the eyes, but actually, he slept in stranger places.

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