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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 3 years

Note

hiya there! i love your work and i was wondering if i could request a Chishiya fic where its 3 times the reader almost kisses him and the one time he kisses them OR 3 times they almost confess their feelings and the one time Chishiya confesses his feelings. its up to you! :D

Thanks for you request! Here you go! 😉

Interrupted Confessions | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

{Main Masterlist}

Character(s): Chishiya (ft. Niragi, middle-aged woman from the second game, OC, Aguni, militants)

Summary: You and Chishiya keep trying to confess your feelings for one another, but something always seems to come between you when you finally get the chance

Warnings: drinking (reader), violence, mention of dying/death, guns, gunshots, panicking, mild angst

Word Count: 2.5k

*reader is gender-neutral

Chishiya wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions, especially when it came to romantic feelings. He appeared so confident and smug most of the time, but if someone was to even give him a bouquet of flowers or wink in his direction, his sarcastic remarks become caught in his throat and he doesn’t know how to react.

He could tell that you held romantic emotions for him. He was a people watcher, so he knows how people act when they feel that way. For ages, he tried to ignore the fact that you liked him, but as time pressed on and he began noticing you a lot more during games and at The Beach, he could slowly feel himself develop feelings for you back.

He knew he had to tell you soon enough, but every time he tried to open up to you, the world just didn’t allow him to have the chance.

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

1st Attempt

The first attempt Chishiya had at trying to express his interest in you was at The Beach.

It was a usual late night, everyone dancing and singing on the big patio of the hotel, allowing themselves to indulge in the delusional thoughts of being safe and sound, not having to worry about their lives for the time that the alcohol infected their hearts and minds.

You had had a few drinks, beginning to feel a little light headed yourself. You had dragged Chishiya down to the bar with you, convincing him to keep you company due to not being able to find Kuina or Usagi. Chishiya gladly went along, wanting to make sure you didn’t over do it and end up getting yourself hurt.

You sat on a stool at the bar, leaning on the wooden bench and staring down into your empty cocktail glass. Chishiya leant on the bar next to you, scanning the crowd of rowdy and social people. It was entertaining, watching people being drunken idiots.

He glanced over to you as you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Chishiya,” you mumbled. “Have a shot. I feel bad for being the only one ordering. You’re making me look like an alcoholic.” You nudged a small glass filled to the brim with liquor in his direction, trying to encourage him to drink it.

Chishiya smirked as you looked at him pleadingly. He lifted his hand out of his white hoodie pocket and pet your head playfully. “No thanks Y/N. A matter of fact, I think you’ve had quite a bit.”

He could tell the intoxicating alcohol was beginning to get to you as he saw your eyes begin to gloss over. Your movements became a little more lazy and disorientated.

You pouted and looked into his piercing eyes that filled with the unfamiliar feeling of care and concern for you. “Just one more cocktail? We haven’t even been down here for long and you already want to leave,” you groaned, turning back to the bar to shout for the bartender.

Chishiya rolled his eyes and chuckled at you. You were lucky he liked you. If anyone else was to act the way you did around him, they would irritate him like no tomorrow.

Around half an hour later, Chishiya and you were strolling up the stairs to the roof, wanting to escape the chaotic ground level that pounded heavily as the bass in each song seemed to become more and more powerful, beginning to make your head hurt.

Chishiya and you giggled together as you tripped up the stairs slightly, being able to catch yourself before you face planted. Chishiya held a firm grip on your shoulders, making sure you don’t end up hurting yourself.

“You’re such a lil’ goose,” he laughed, turning his head towards you with a wide smile across his face, showing off his cute teeth. You smacked his cheek lightly, being embarrassed from his intense stare, considering how close his lips were to yours. “Shut up, you’re no better when you’re drunk. Last time you drank, I had to drag your ass up all these stairs like a baby. And you’re much heavier than you look.”

Chishiya laughed, and in a moment of bravery, he lifted a hand and gently stroked his knuckles across your face. Your skin was hot and soft under his touch, making him feel warm inside and gaze lovingly at you.

Silence took over the atmosphere, and you both stood still in the hallway together and stared into each other’s eyes. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol talking, but the warm lights made Chishiya’s skin glow beautifully, and you didn’t think he had ever looked so gorgeous.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “Can I do something?” His heart was pounding so loudly, he was afraid you would be able to hear it through his chest. Why was he suddenly feeling brave?

You smirked and cocked your head to the side, pretending to not understand what he wanted. “And what would that be?” you questioned in a playful tone.

Chishiya took his arm off your shoulder and placed it against your other cheek, holding your face delicately in his hands so he could keep you looking at him. “This.”

Just as Chishiya was slowly leaning in to crash his lips onto yours, you both suddenly heard a deafening bang down the hall. The sound made you both quickly jump apart in fright, snapping your heads to see what caused the noise.

There stood none other than Niragi, having just kicked a young woman into the wall across from the room they came from.

“Locking doors I see? What exactly do you have to hide?!”

Chishiya and you stood completely still as you watched Niragi stride over to the woman and grip a fist full of her hair, pulling her up and making her scream in pain.

“Y/N, come on,” Chishiya said quietly next to you, sounding rushed.

You looked at him confused. “What? We can’t just leave her,” you said, stumbling after him as he dragged you by your wrist, trying to pull you away from the scene.

“It’s not our business. She went against the rules, we can’t defend her.”

That wasn’t true. He could easily take on Niragi to help the girl, and so could have you. But considering your state at the moment, and Chishiya’s main concern being your safety around Niragi, he just wanted to leave to get you safe again.

Your safety was more important than a small kiss or saving a girl who broke the rules.

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

2nd Attempt

Chishiya’s second attempt to admit his romantic feelings towards you occurred at a game together.

The game was held in an apartment complex. Luckily, you two had managed to be put into the same group, meaning you could work together to survive. Two militants from The Beach also joined you, one of them being Aguni. Chishiya and you knew you wouldn’t receive any help from them, so you decided to just stick to you two for this one.

The game was a five of spades. The players had to find a safe zone to turn off a bomb within the time limit without getting killed by the ‘Tagger’.

As soon as the game began, you suggested to Chishiya to go to the top level, as you would be able to get a good view from there and be able to determine the Tagger’s patterns and habits to take note when searching for the unlocked door.

You both stood at the end of the top floor, having a clear view of the many levels and seeing all the players scattered in different positions.

You felt your heart sink as you saw a middle aged lady with a handbag on one of the middle levels. She was alone, looking around confused. It made you guilty that you couldn’t do anything to help her.

“As usual,” you heard Chishiya mumble beside you. You glanced at him and saw him scanning the players before continuing. “Everyone looks like they’re about to die.”

You blinked at his statement, looking back over the edge of the concrete railing. The vast sea of darkness that became darker the further it was away from the game made you feel empty. It purely just appeared like a black hole, waiting to suck you back into it’s depressive atmosphere.

“Sounds about right,” you responded to Chishiya.

Chishiya turned his head towards you, feeling his white locks become tangled together from the wispy wind. He examined your features as you stared over the area, admiring the way your skin glowed in the fluorescent lights. He looked down to your legs, hearing your shoe lightly tap anxiously on the ground.

He slid closer to you on the railing, placing a soft hand on your thigh to still your shaking leg and placed his chin on your shoulder before speaking softly. “Don’t be scared, I’ll protect you.”

You turned your head slowly towards him, seeing your lips only inches apart once again. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “As if I need protection,” you teased.

Chishiya huffed, hiding his face in your hair in fear of you seeing the blush creeping onto his cheeks. You smiled at his movements. “You’re a bit clingy today, aren’t you?”

From that comment, Chishiya pulled his head back and looked into your eyes. His emotions were bouncing around his mind, making his heart beat quickly in confusion. Why couldn’t he just say it? Either of you could die at any time, why was he wasting time?

A piercing sound filled the air, and you gripped the back of Chishiya’s hoodie to roughly pull him to the harsh ground. Your reflexes went into overdrive as the gunshots rang. You glanced towards the hall on your right, in fear of seeing the tagger there. But luckily he wasn’t.

“Y/N, look.”

You looked towards Chishiya to see him standing over the railing again. You scrambled to your feet and stood beside him, following his line of sight.

A door a few levels down had several bullet holes around the sides of it. The tagger had tried to shoot someone there from a different level.

“He hasn’t done that yet. He’s trying to protect it,” Chishiya theorized. You nodded and pushed off the railing. “Come on, we don’t have much time left.”

You both quickly entered the lift and selected the floor the damaged door was on.

As you both stood in silence, Chishiya’s words that almost poured out of his mouth before still rang in his ears.

‘I’m clingy because you make me feel safe.’

When will he ever have the chance again to tell you that?

He promised himself that if you both survived that game, he would confess to you before your next game. Because who knows what the game makers would make you do next? For all he knew, it could get you killed, and he would never be able to get to tell you how he feels.

************ 3rd Attempt

Surprisingly, Chishiya wasn’t the one to confess his feelings first. You were able to bring enough courage together to say it to him, but it wasn’t under the best circumstances.

He always envisioned his confession to you as being sweet and loving. He dreamed of telling you how he felt underneath the stairs on the roof, like a cliché romance movie.

But he didn’t get that chance.

You and him were huddled together in the corner of a trashed room. Chishiya held you tightly against his chest, patting your head to try and ease your rapidly beating heart and nervous breaths.

“Shh,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly. “It’s okay. This’ll be over soon, and we can leave. We can find somewhere else to go.”

Gunshots rang outside the door of the room you were hidden in. Chishiya felt you flinch at every bang, making his heart sink lower and lower. He hated not being able to comfort you, it made him feel sick almost.

The Beach had become a game arena. Aguni has demanded the militants to kill everyone on sight so he could find the witch the hard way. As soon as Niragi had yelled and shot several bullets to the ceiling, sending everyone into a sudden panic, Chishiya didn’t even give you time to think before grabbing your arm and dragging you hurryingly away from the lobby to hide from the militants.

So there you were, trying to make yourselves as small as possible behind a turned over table in the corner of a pitch black hotel room. Chishiya thought it was best not to hide in his room or your room because the militants would look there first to find you.

Chishiya lifted his face from the top of your head to glance towards the door. He sobbed slightly in fear as he saw shadows through the small crack at the bottom of the door. People were running back and forth through the halls screeching for help, trying to escape the murderous militants.

He felt you wrap your hand around his upper back and tuck your face into his neck, causing your tears to make his sensitive skin wet, not that he really cared.

He sighed heavily, trying to relax into your touch. It was deemed impossible to be calm, but having you there with him brought him more relief than anything else could’ve in that moment.

Chishiya placed his cheek on your head, snuggling into you and inhaling your scent. “I-I’m sorry,” you mumbled out.

Chishiya frowned at your apology. “Why are you saying sorry?” he asked.

“I-I’m sorry,” you cried quietly again. “I’m so in love with you Chishiya, and I’m so sorry that I’ve waited until now to say it. But I’m afraid if I don’t, I won’t get another chance.”

Chishiya felt his heart stop in his chest. Silence fell over both of you, but then Chishiya placed a soft hand on your jaw to lift your teary face to face his.

“You idiot,” he laughed, tears still streaming down his smooth cheeks. “You’re an idiot. You should’ve told me this sooner, I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the exact same thing.”

His words only made you sob harder, pushing your face towards him to share a desperate kiss. It was messy and emotional, but that kiss alone was enough to make both of you understand how much you truly cared.

Whether you both lived or died at that moment didn’t matter to either of you, all that mattered was that Chishiya finally crawled out of his shell to let you in, and you had finally been able to create the courage to express what you truly felt about him.

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

3 Months Later...

The breeze flew gently past your body, making your skin develop small goosebumps at the cold feeling. Your eyes scanned over the vast ocean of water in front of you, almost being blinded from the morning sun reflecting off the surface.

You glanced behind you quickly when you heard light taps of feet against the grassy ground. Chishiya walked away from the tent and rubbed his eyes. He sat next to you, but not without giving you a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning baby,” he whispered into your ear. You smiled at the pet name, turning your head and placing your lips against his. “Good morning.”

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Just thought about this as a story or headcanons, maybe the lords in re8 have a child, which is the reader and they are somewhere around 7 in the beginning. You can do them all separately, like first part would be Heisenberg, then Dimitrescu, Beneviento, and then Moreau, so the reader would accidentally do something and they are scared that the lord that is their parent would be super mad and they run away and the lords reactions to their child being gone and maybe the reader goes back to the village older, maybe 14 or 15 and the lords are emotional when they finally reunite with the reader. Maybe at first they don't recognize the reader at first, thinking they are just an outsider until they see something that they gave the reader as a birthday present and they recognize them. And it's just full fluff in the end? This has also been bugging my mind for a while 🤣 sorry if this ask was complicated to read

Heyy ~ lovely idea as always hun! I changed it up a bit, hope you don't mind and still enjoy reading it nonetheless 💗

Alcina Dimitrescu

- Being the youngest Dimitrescu, you were expected to be a bit of a spoiled brat since our mother and sisters looked after you like the most precious and rarest gem in this world - Surprisingly though, you were a very well behaved child - A shy, quiet, well-mannered kid that followed their mother's rules like they were the law - But even you weren't immune to that childish curiosity that every kid possesses - So you had to go on and break a rule or two eventually - However, the biggest one you broke, the one that had you sweating nervously, was sneaking down into the basement where the wine your mother and sisters were so proud of was kept - With trembling hands you picked up one of the bottles, the one with the most interesting pattern on the bottle, and began to expect it - That’s when a noise suddenly echoed throughout the basement, causing you to drop the bottle which broke as soon as it the ground, sending the red liquid splashing everywhere - You were mortified - You were only six at the time, you couldn’t think of a strategy to fix the mess you had made - So instead, you chose to run and hide, convinced you’d get in A LOT of trouble when your mother would find out - The place you chose to hide in was a run down part of the courtyard where you were least likely to be spotted by anyone or anything - Your plan started backfiring only about an hour after you settled in your hiding spot - The cold was starting to be painful on your skin but you refused to go back in - Before you knew it you had passed out, deleting any memory of what was to happen afterwards - Upon waking up, you found yourself in your room, changed in a new set of clothes and void of the chill you were suffering from before you lost consciousness - It didn’t take you long to notice your mother sitting in a chair next to the bed, struggling not to drift of to sleep, her face looking like she had aged about ten years in the span of a few hours out of worry - “Mom?” You spoke up weakly, startling the woman who was on her feet and crouching down closer to you within a second - “Y/N, darling, why’d you do that? You had me worried sick.” Alcina said, her hand gently caressing your hair, none of that sternness she was known for left in her - “I’m sorry, mama. For scaring you and for the wine bottle. I didn’t mean to...” You tried saying but got choked up by your tears - “The wine be damned. Nothing is as important to me as you are sweetie.” She said, planting a soft kiss on your forehead before climbing in bed with you and wrapping her arms around you, her embrace so warm and comforting - You never doubted your mother’s love for you, but that moment only made you more sure in it and made you love her triple the amount you already loved her

Donna Beneviento

- Donna had always been generous with the amount of dolls she allowed you to have and play with - Although, the ones she gave you were not infected with her Cadou and couldn’t move or speak on their own as to not scare you - However, you were still allowed to play and talk with Angie who you were raised to see as a sister - And just like sisters, you and Angie also fought every now and then - But, this one time, she really angered you and with all the strength of a six year old that you possessed you threw her across the room - She hit a wall hard enough to loosen one of her arms and it fell off - That’s when you knew you were practically dead in trouble and ran to hide under your bed - As you were climbing up the stairs though, you could still hear Angie’s screaming and crying from downstairs and Donna could no doubt hear it as well - So as to avoid running into her, instead of hiding upstairs, you went into the basement - Where you had never been in, by the way - Meaning you had no idea what horrors awaited you there - Mannequins, doll parts, terrifying dolls which moved on their own - In your eyes it was a pure nightmare - Seeing the dolls turning their heads to follow your movement, some even raising an arm as if to greet you almost made you scream several times but you didn’t want to give away your hiding spot - And that’s when the laid out mannequin on the table, one you were already terrified of, turned it’s head to look at you, opened its eyes and mouth - The radio on the other table turned on simultaneously, all of it being too much of a scare for you to be able to suppress the scream you let out - That’s when you felt a hand on your shoulder and screamed even louder, even beginning to cry - The hand turned you around and you were suddenly facing your mom who looked scared and concerned, a little paler than usual too - You took no notice of that though, seeing as how you ran right into her, hiding your face in her hip - “I’m sorry mommy! I didn’t mean to hurt Angie! Just please don’t let them scare me anymore!” You cried, your tiny hands balled up in fists, clutching to Donna’s dress as if for dear life - The woman was relieved to see you were safe although still a little confused as to why you had even run down to the basement in the first place - And then she thought a bit more about what you had said - “Oh dear, you thought you were in trouble? Angie’s perfectly fine, Y/N. Her limbs come off loosely all the time. You didn’t even actually hurt her.“ - Seeing that your distress was showing no sign of decreasing, Donna picked you up and proceeded to carry you up to where Angie was so she could apologize for making you feel guilty in the first place

Salvatore Moreau

- Being a young kid, the Reservoir was a rather dangerous place for you to wander around in unsupervised - Usually you’d stick to the safest area, aka the one furthest away from the water, and would only be allowed to see the rest of your dad’s property with him by your side, holding your hand to make sure you wouldn’t fall - But one day, as you were sitting in at the entrance of the Reservoir, in the small body of water by your feet you saw a golden fish - Mesmerized, you foolishly ducked down to try and touch it but it, of course, swam away - Oh but you were far from prepared to let it go - So you chased after it, watching its glimmering skin rush under the surface of the water, going further into the dangerous parts of the property - You were mindless to the fact you were entering a territory that was originally forbidden to you - That is until a wooden board on the dock broke under you, causing you to fall in the water - And being only barely six years old, you didn’t know how to swim so before the panic had even worn off completely, you started screaming for help, praying your father would hear you - And boy were you in luck - A giant fish emerged from the water from underneath you, carrying you on its back to the dock you had fallen from - You scrambled to get to the safe half of it and sat on the ledge - By the time you were able to look around with clear vision instead of the blurred with tears one you had been struggling with seconds prior, the monster fish was gone - And your dad was standing on the dock next to you - “You see no why you aren’t allowed here, child?” - You nod, sniffling and running to hug him, relieved to be in your dad’s safe embrace - Despite the efforts to be stern, Moreau crumbles back to his usual loving and caring self, being the best father in the world in your eyes - He carried you, piggy-back style back to the safe space of the Reservoir

Karl Heisenberg

- It goes without say that, growing up in a factory as dangerous as Heisenberg’s, there’s certain amount of rules you have to respect for yours and your father’s safety as well as the successfulness of his experiments - But there was no force that was able to keep you away from this one machine that looked far too interesting for you to overlook - You couldn’t help but go up to it every now and then to look at the blinking lights and the tempting colorful buttons - And then there was one day when just looking didn’t satisfy you - So you went on to press a few buttons, in the order of your favorite colors - It didn’t take long for you to realize how poor that decision was - When sparks started flying from the machine was when you finally decided to back away and that satisfying your curiosity wasn’t worth it - But it was already too late - The whole process had stopped, the conveyer belt of murder machines pausing mid-movement suggesting the whole operation was hindered - “Y/N? What on Earth are you doing?” - Your dad’s voice had never terrified you so much - All excuses and apologies you wanted to say died down in your throat at the sight of your mildly agitated father standing behind you with an unimpressed look on his face - He wasn’t angry by any means but your vision was too blurred by tears for you to be able to see that - “Dad, I’m so sorry!” You cried, running to hug him, back turned to the malfunctioning machine you believed you damaged beyond repair - Wrapping his arms around you, he gave you a quick hug before stepping around you and approaching the machine, fixing it with the press of a few buttons - “Hope that teaches you a valuable lesson not to break the rules kid.” He said with a crooked smile, ruffling your hair while you still stared at machine in disbelief

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

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I mean, I don’t believe in the predictive power of dreams, obviously, but still, it’s a deeply unsettling thing to find. I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. - Episode 11, Dreamer

Jon stares down at the paper in his hands.

He’s had many an unkind thought towards Gertrude, his predecessor, the woman responsible for this mess and the current bane of his existence. She’s been the topic of most of his grumbling as he sorts through piles of nonsense and decaying cardboard boxes. He’s got no love lost for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy she’s dead. Or, specifically, to have a statement apparently predicting it through the medium of some prophetic dream. Ridiculous. He wants to feel detached, unaffected, but he can’t help the sickly sense of dread that creeps up his spine and lingers in his throat.

It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.

Jon doesn’t know Antonio Blake and has no reason to believe him. But he’s known something’s wrong for a long time now.

He’s never admitted it aloud, never within his assistant’s hearing range, but he can feel it, as foolish as that sounds. This miasma of wrong, of being watched, of becoming...something else, that happens every time he records a statement. Despite the academic detachment he aspires to, he does attempt to empathize with each statement-giver and get into their mindset. But what he’s doing here...it’s different. He can visualize it so perfectly, the terror in their words sticking in his throat and setting his own heart pounding, as if he were the one experiencing it and not just regurgitating it to an ancient recorder. He’s always had an ‘overactive imagination,’ as his grandmother would say, but this is relentless in its manifestation. The fear is real, not imagined. Each statement draws him further and further away from the safety he used to cling to, where the only real cases were few and far between and the most sinister things lurking out there in the world were books and the monsters within them.

And as much as he wants to linger on the false accounts and take comfort in tearing them apart, his hands automatically seek the real ones, the right ones. It’s frightening, the ease with which he finds them nowadays. Perhaps he’s a better archivist than he thinks.

She died and you’ll be next, something whispers to him. He’s being dramatic, as he’s wont to do, but it feels true. Every statement that doesn’t record correctly, every follow-up he has to qualify with an ‘I would dismiss this, but-’ is starting to add up. His nights have become restless. He often lies awake regretting that he ever took this job, that he left the relative safety of research for a position he’s not sure how to fill, his only reassurance Elias’s occasional emails that he’s ‘moving in the right direction,’ whatever that means.

Jon assumed he’d be more removed from the dangerous aspects of the job that research entailed- following up, going to locations, field work. And it’s true, he has assistants to do that for him now. Dependable, for the most part. And while he should feel safe in his tiny office with nothing but dust and paper and cobwebs (good lord, the cobwebs) he feels more unsettled and exposed than ever. He once joked he’d die of old age before getting the archives in order. But now a stroke sounds much more pleasant than whatever happened to Gertrude. If it’s true.

Perhaps it’s a joke, he thinks. Planted by one of the others, designed specifically to unsettle him. Well, it worked.

It wouldn’t be surprising. He’s...not had the best start. The promotion was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected; he knew he’d been on Elias’s radar, though he wasn’t expecting it quite so soon. He’s young and unfortunately, it shows. The way he stutters through department meetings, talking about digitization while the others, all of whom have at least a decade on him, shoot pitying looks. He stays later and later, the desire to show some sort of progress even as he discovers more mess by the day. The permanent scowl that now graces his features becomes his armor as he walks the halls and feels himself becoming the uptight, unlikable curmudgeon everyone believes him to be. The one time I measure up to expectations, he can’t help thinking.

A joke. There’s a comfort in that. At least it’s familiar.

But it didn’t record to the laptop, his traitorous mind supplies. It's a bit sad he would prefer it to be a mundane attempt at bullying rather than a real expression of the supernatural, but he supposes it’s par for the course. There were many nights as a child he wished for the same thing, for that boy to go back to taking his lunch money and the occasional beating or two instead of…still, he dismisses it from his mind. You don’t know there’s a correlation. Follow up. Disprove it.

He’s interrupted from his musings by a knock on the door and the vague outline of Martin through the frosted glass. “Come in,” he calls, attempting to inject some irritation in his voice to cover up the shakiness. “Did you need something?”

“Ah, I finished my write up for the Herbert case, was wondering if you had anything else for me?”

His hand hovers over the statement on his desk. He opens his mouth but then closes it, thinking better.

“Can you send Tim in, actually?”

______

“Sorry boss, I couldn’t find anything on this Antonio Blake fellow- well, at least with the details he provided, which were next to none. Proper spooky, though.”

Of his assistants, he trusts Tim the most with this sort of thing.

On a surface level, it wouldn’t make sense to some. Tim can be loud and gregarious: the typical, charming extrovert. But he’s not unkind and he’s a hell of a researcher, especially when something grabs his interest. He digs into statements and doesn’t let go- not unlike Sasha, though he’s a bit better at empathizing and handling things...sensitively. Easily attuned to Jon’s moods, Tim’s always been willing to lend an ear whenever he gets too in his head about cases, helping him talk things through or on several memorable occasions, go down the rabbit hole with him. He’d taken the statement from his hands with an easy smile, though his face grew serious with the nervous look Jon shot him.

And if Tim couldn’t find anything, well. Maybe it was a prank after all.

He sort of wanted it to be true, frightening as the implications were. Because then it would mean this terrible, heavy feeling on his shoulders was real, and not just the byproduct of his own mediocrity. He doesn’t want to be scared, he doesn’t want to be in danger, but at least it would provide a real reason for panic, and not just his own inability to measure up. He doesn’t want to prove them all right, collapsing under the stress of a job poorly done and so easily crumbling at a stupid, made-up statement, targeted as it may be.

“A joke, then.” Jon says, rubbing a hand at his temples, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice. Tim makes a commiserating noise.

“You know how people are, the institute isn’t exactly popular. You remember last Halloween, when-”

“Yes, I don’t need a reminder.” Jon sighs. He’d rather not relive that day, stressful as it was. “But that wasn’t quite what I was thinking.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Jon continues, attempting to make his hands busy as he pointlessly shuffles papers.

“It’s rather pointed, isn’t it? I doubt someone off the street would create such a detailed account of the death of an...archivist as opposed to the usual ghostly drivel.”

A look of pity flickers in Tim’s eyes and Jon has to turn away. “I don’t really think anyone here would-”

“Really? You don’t?” Jon lets out a mirthless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face as he stares down at his desk. “I’m not blind. Or deaf.” The derisive snorts if he goes off on ‘needless tangents,’ how Rosie pretends to be busy whenever he approaches Elias’s office, the way his name badge still reads ‘researcher’ after months of asking for a new one. He’s basically become a pariah.

“Jon, did someone say something to you?” The words are carefully chosen and he’s leaning forward now, making as if to stand up and god forbid, do something comforting. It’s not that Jon doesn’t want the comfort; he craves it more than anything. But he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t trust himself not to break at the gentlest of touches. Being on the receiving end of Tim’s protective streak is nothing new, but he shouldn’t need his assistant looking out for him like he’s some sort of helpless infant.

He snorts derisively instead, covering up the insecurity and hurt with a sardonic, self-effacing smile. The kind he knows Tim hates. “They don’t need to. I’ve walked in on conversations, I’ve seen the way people go quiet, the looks they give me-”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. Jon wonders how he looks, if Tim’s going this soft. “Don’t listen to them, alright? You inherited a mess, we all did- but we’re doing our best, yeah? Study and record, like Elias said.” Jon doesn’t dodge the hand that finally lands on shoulder, and he’ll deny to anyone that he leaned into it.

“Study and record.” He repeats listlessly, slumping back down into his seat. He’s let himself get too worked up, acting like a child instead of a boss. He’s not sure when he started wearing his heart on his sleeve, but Tim’s always been good at reading him. Though he’d rather people think him an arrogant ass than the seething mess of insecurity he truly is.

“Atta boy.” The pat to his shoulder is purposefully light, devoid of Tim’s usually friendly force that sends him stumbling forward. “Now get out of here at a normal time, alright? We can grab lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us, if you like.”

Jon makes a noncommittal grunt, though the thought is nice. He entertains the idea for just a moment, remembering their occasional outings back in research. Tomorrow he’ll make his excuses. He hasn’t been much of a friend as of late, and he’s not sure he deserves the kindness of company.

“And if there’s anyone that needs a stern talking to from me, I-” Tim wags a finger and Jon rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang of warmth the words send through his chest.

“Don’t, please. It’s fine.” It isn’t. “But...thank you, Tim.”

“Course.” A wink and a sloppy salute to lighten the mood, and Jon feels the tension in his posture ease minutely as Tim shuts the door behind him.

He lets out a breath and reaches for the tape recorder. He’s wasted too much time already.

Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.

Good luck.

He fights a shiver as the man’s voice leaves him and the last vestiges of that twilight world fade back to his dimly-lit office. In his follow up, he tries to play it off as a joke. A bit of hazing for the new boss. And yet the uneasiness still creeps into his voice, and he ends another tape on a stilted, half-believed note.

If this is genuine…

Jon prays that it isn’t.

And like most of his prayers, it goes unheard and unanswered.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32165071

reblogs > likes

#tma #the magnus archives #my writing #jonathan sims #tim stoker #season one jon feels #with added tim #in which rye has feelings about jon 'dismissing' statements and thinking it could be a joke and TRUSTING TIM #what else is new #reblogs appreciated <3 #a light bit of #jontim

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imaginesfor-thesoul · 4 years

Text

spencer reid x hotch! daughter

(this is totally an au w/out jack and haley IM SORRY)

:: :: ::

The BAU had always heard about SSA Hotchner’s beloved daughter, (y/n), though none of the members had ever had the pleasure of meeting the aforementioned.

Besides the occasional anecdote, Hotch kept mostly to himself about his family. The only tangible evidence that (y/n) even existed was the black and white baby picture propped up on Hotch’s desk. On especially hard days, that silver photo frame displaying his gorgeous baby girl would be the only thing getting him through the day.

Naturally, mystery creates conspiracy. Derek had proposed that perhaps she was trouble, a black sheep. Maybe Hotch was ashamed to talk about her. Garcia, on the other hand, had attempted at some light snooping (minor invasion of privacy). Her search amounted to nothing more than a couple report cards and a birth certificate. JJ could appreciate Hotch’s value of privacy for his family, though on drunken nights with Emily and Spencer would sometimes picture what the mystery girl looked like (this often concluded with a female hotchner, furrowed brows and all).

The elusive daughter of aaron hotchner was far from the BAU’s mind that day, when a young girl wandered into the bullpen asking to talk to “Mr. Hotchner”.

The girl, late teens early twenties at first glance, walked into the buzzing room with a look of worry, yet a piqued interest.

She had got in using her last name and showing ID just to confirm. “Would you like me to tell your dad that you’re here, sweetie?” the kind woman front desk asked with soft eyes.

(y/n) shook her head “that’s alright, i’ll find him, thanks.”

Walking through the glass doors, it was busier than she was expecting. Perhaps she would need help finding her dad after all.

Taking cautious steps, so not to disturb the important people probably doing very important things all around her, (y/n) didn’t see the 6’1” mop of hair and cardigan approaching behind her.

“What are you looking for?” A silvery voice inquired from behind her.

The sudden voice caused (y/n) to jump out of her skin “Jesus dude, you scared the hell out of me!” She turned to see a man. A very gorgeous man. He wore tall cheekbones and wide, heartbreaking eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologized quickly, though his previous question still lingering in the air.

(y/n) crossed her arms over her chest and quirked a brow. “How did you know I was looking for something?”

The man flashed a quick (cocky) smirk before stating “Well to start, when you got to the glass door, you pulled before pushing it open, indicating that you’ve never been here before, or at the very least, haven’t been here often. You came in slowly and scanned the entire floor, shortly analyzing every face around you, as well as reading every sign on a door from where you entered to here.” He finished. He spoke quickly, precisely and matter of factly.

As impressed as she was, all (y/n) could manage to say was “So you’re a profiler, huh. Let me guess, Reid?” She had remembered her dad telling her about the young genius.

Taken slightly aback, Spencer responded with “Uh, yeah. And you?”

“That’s not important. What is important however is the fact that you’ve been watching me! What, do I have a “kick me” sign on my back or something?” (y/n) nervously quipped. For some reason, he made her feel small... and warm, is it hot in here??

“No, not that I saw” He smiled lightly. “So, can I help you find something?”

(y/n) remembered why she had come here in the first place. “Oh yeah! Can you point me towards my- uh... Mr. Hotchner.” She cringed a little at her close slip up.

Reid instinctively pointed towards the top of the steps of the bullpen and towards the middle office. “He’s right up there-“

(y/n) lit up and began heading that direction.

“Wait you can’t just walk in there, he might be on a call or something. Do you have an appointment maybe we can get you to JJ!” He fumbled over his words as the girl continued to confidently stride towards his bosses office.

He looked to the members of his team for any sort of guidance or suggestions, yet they all remained speechless when the girl threw open Hocthner’s office door and jumped on in. “Who the fuck?” Was all Derek could say.

(y/n) pulled the door open with an unexpected force. It had been about 2 weeks since she had seen her father, and the look of surprise on his face made the homecoming all the more better.

“(y/n)?! What are you doing here?? How did you get in?” Hotchner questioned. Concerned, yet always happy to see his girl.

Noticing the numerous sets of eyes on him from the profilers downstairs, he quickly closed the blinds before scooping (y/n) into an overdue bear hug. “I missed you, dad.” She told him, letting go of him.

“I missed you too, (y/n). Always.” Smiling sadly, he ushered her over to his desk to take a seat.

“So what’s going on?” Hotchner asks, his furrowed brow returning.

(y/n) sighs, returning to reality stung a bit as the memories flood back. “I’m sorry I didn’t just do this over phone but I’m too afraid to use my phone in case someone is tapping it.” She let out, a slight pounding in her chest as the anxiety returns.

“What are you talking about?” Hotch eagerly asked. Worry spreading across his features.

“Do you remember a couple weeks ago my roommate, Amber, passed away from a drug overdose?” (y/n) began.

Hotch nodded.

“Well, two nights ago, I came back and my other roommate, Lacy is-“ (y/n) was trying everything in her power not to cry in front of her dad, though the words could barely come out. “She’s missing, dad! And there was a note... A note saying that whoever left it had killed Amber and that Lacy was next!”

She was hysterical now.

Hotchner’s heart broke as fear rose within him. His worse fear of something happening to (y/n) was getting dangerously close, and his sobbing daughter in front of him made him ache through and through.

“Right, here’s what we’ll do.” He took her hands in his in attempt to get her to stop crying.

“I’ll get the team on it right away. you’re going to have to help us, but I promise you, we will keep you safe.” (y/n) nodded and wiped the flowing tears off her cheek.

After a few more minutes of consolation, (y/n) had gathered herself and followed behind her father out his office door. Standing above the bullpen, Hotch shortly cleared his throat gaining the attention of his team. “We’ve got an urgent case, everyone up here now, Morgan, grab Garcia.”. The tall, dark and undeniably handsome man nodded and headed off promptly.

The rest of the team, curious as to why JJ hadn't brought the case to the team obeyed nonetheless. Reid caught (y/n)’s eyes once more. Through that gaze, an incomparable sense of safety fell upon the two.

Filing into a board room, Morgan and Garcia were the last to stumble in after Hotch, (y/n), Reid, Prentiss, JJ and Rossi. It was interesting for (y/n) to finally place faces to the names she had heard many stories about.

Hotch stood before the team. “Everyone, this is my daughter, (y/n). I wish I could've introduced her under different circumstances but here we are.”

A slight, barely audible realization settled through the team with Derek and Garcia fondly smiling towards you, JJ and Prentiss sharing a glance as if to say “called it”, Rossi nodding in understanding and Reid gaining a slight look of fear across his features.

As her father explained the events from the past couple of weeks, (y/n) zoned in and out, knowing the case through and through. Though she was still fearful, she let her mind drift towards the absolute sunshine that was Dr. Spencer Reid. His light had been the only source to pull (y/n) out of her total darkness, though it was just momentary.

They were magnetic from across the table. She didn't want him to pity her. As Hotch detailed what was going on, Reid couldn't help but glance at the girl, in a silent attempt at reassurance.

Pictures of Lacy and Amber (that Garcia had quickly dug up) up on the screen, (y/n) felt the familiar feeling of darkness creeping up once more, her eyes welling up, though she couldn't seem to look away. She didn't seem to hear as Hotchner finished up and the team immediately jumped into action.

A large hand made its way to her trembling one. “We’ll find her, I promise”.

(y/n) looked into Reid’s soulful eyes and she could tell, he genuinely meant it.

Catching sight of her father’s furrowed brow, she swiftly slid her hand from under his and cleared her throat. She shortly replied “Thank you.” Though the look in her eye declared so much more.

:: :: ::

part two

AN oh hey, it’s been a minute.

#spencer reid #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner #criminal minds #Matthew gray gubler #Matthew gray gubler x reader #Matthew gray gubler imagine #ff #imagine #derek morgan

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klbwriting · 3 years

Text

Pirate’s Heart - Chapter 1

Perfect Color, or Not

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader

Warning: so this chapter is pretty dark, Kaz’s backstory is dark and there is suggestion of sexual assault but it is not described

Song: Perfect Color - Safety Suit

Taglist: @sixofshadowandbone @thedelusionreaderbitch @itsemy01 @angelicdanvers @marinettepotterandplagg @screen-to-stage @aysegust @sagewrites111 @lilyoflower @hey-peeps @starjane312 @spawn0fsatan @myalupinblack

Yellow nice to meet you

Do you know that you just blue my mind?

It was the perfect conversation, I think that I red about one time

And I told a white lie when I told you, I've never been green with envy you

You are the perfect color

The song would not get out of Y/N's head and she hated it. Pekka sang it to her about her tail all the time. And she hated Pekka Rollins. Well hated him as much as she could without a heart. Why was she thinking so much anyway? Wasn't she sleeping? Why was she moving and why did she hear voices? She groaned, eyes slowly opening to see two teenage girls standing above her. They were gazing at her with curious eyes and she tried to wipe her own eyes, only to find her wrists were tied to the table she was laying on.

"She's awake Nina," she said a girl with bronze skin and dark hair.

"I can see that Inej," the other girl, creamy white skin with brown hair and freckles. Nina was light eyed while Inej had dark eyes, and both girls were fourteen, maybe fifteen years old. How long had she been asleep? It couldn't have been that long, she didn't feel any older. She turned her head, finding a mirror on a table nearby and seeing that she didn't look older, only dirty.

"Where am I?" she asked. She knew she was on a boat, she could feel the sea moving them, but how did she get there? She was in the jungle before, bleeding, stabbed where her heart should have been.

“You’re on the Menagerie,” the one called Nina said. Inej tried to shush her and Y/N could hear footsteps nearby.

“What have you girls brought me?” a beautiful blond woman asked, entering the room. She was dressed in fine silks with an intricate peacock feather tattoo on her face, making her look almost like an animal herself. Y/N felt a very strange pang of fear, dulled by her lack of heart, but she felt it enough to worry about this woman.

“Tante Heleen, we found her in the jungle when we were hunting,” Inej explained, her eyes downcast. Y/N was fast learning that this woman was not to be trifled with, but she didn’t care. She wanted out of these bindings and she would do what she needed to survive.

“My, my, she is filthy, we will have to clean her up, get me the sponge and some water,” she demanded. Nina did as asked, and Heleen started to clean her face. “Not particularly special in the face, homely and plain. Face too round for most men…eyes are dark but not special, lips are too pale will need color,” the woman continued, cleaning down her body and commenting on everything. Breasts were too small, stomach too round, hips too wide, legs… She stopped at her legs, staring in shock as the bright scales that still dotted her thighs. They were remnants of her tail in case she ever got it back. Heleen demanded Inej get a message out at the port for the commander, they had something special for him.

“What is it Tante?” Inej asked. The look Heleen sent her made Inej run. Y/N was becoming very aware of how this ship worked. Heleen was a captain of some kind of pleasure vessel and all these poor young girls were stuck here attending to the men who paid for them. Y/N was disgusted, and she could see from the look on the woman’s face that she was going to be the centerpiece of some kind of show for this commander. Like hell she would have another man touch her without her permission. Y/N looked around the room and realized she would need to wait for her time to arrive. She started to pretend to be scared, her acting not very good, it had been a long time since she’d been around anyone and Heleen saw right through it.

“O now, I see, you’re fearless are you?” she asked, a snake like smile on her face. “Well, let’s get you dressed and shackled. The commander will want us to report back to Argoes immediately.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed. Like hell she was going anywhere near Argoes, not when Pekka was going to probably be there. She would bide her time, wait for a moment to strike. Y/N may have been a lovestruck mermaid but she was also a rare tail, trained to defend herself. She knew things were different with legs but her upper body defensive maneuvers should be the same.

Heleen had her hands shackled and took her to a room full of clothes, dresses in bright colors, silk, and lace. Nina had followed, listening as the captain listed items for her to retrieve. While they were distracted by clothes Y/N slid a hat pin into her hand, starting to work the cuffs. Humans learned many things about mermaids and nearly none of them were true. The idea that they were stupid, unable to function at the same level mentally as humans, they were underestimating Y/N right now and she was pleased.

The child, Nina approached her, getting her dressed. Y/N saw the girl look at the hat pin, saw the shackles were no longer together and instead of outing her the girl said nothing. Y/N smiled, she would let the girl live whenever she killed Heleen. She wasn’t a monster, at least, she didn’t think she was. Heartless or not she wasn’t going to kill a child who was clearly being used by adults for terrible things.

“Let me cut this string…” Nina said, moving to a dressing table and taking a pair of scissors and moving back to Y/N. She cut a pretend string and slid the scissors into the sleeve of the dress she wore. Their eyes met and an understanding crossed between them. Y/N would kill Heleen, take this ship, and then she would take care of these children. No more powerful men were going to use these babies for their own pleasure again.

Heleen took her above, walked her to the side of the ship. Y/N looked around, all the crew, everyone, was a child except for one man who seemed to be the muscle on this craft. All young girls of various ages, some as young as 7. Y/N felt bile rising in her throat as she looked in the eyes of some of them, their eyes were much older than they should have been. She looked at Nina and motioned for her to fall back a little bit. Nina took two steps back and sat down on the deck. Heleen turned to face the mermaid as she stood, pointing to the island in the distance.

“Now, when we arrive at Argoes…” she didn’t finish her statement. Y/N sunk the scissors into Heleen’s eye, digging in as deep as she could. She pulled them back out, feeling the blood on her face but not letting the warmth distract her. As soon she killed Heleen the man came storming over, lumbering a large. Good. Y/N ducked down, sliding under him and kicking out her leg. He ran into it, nearly snapping it in half as he faltered, trying to balance. For a moment she thought he would regain his footing and come for her but then Inej and Nina came out of nowhere and pushed him, sending him toppling over the side of the ship and into the sea. Y/N stood up, rubbing her knee as she leaned to the rail of the ship.

“Well, I’m sorry you had to see that…” she started. Nina and Inej just shrugged and the rest of the girls on the ship looked at her. She felt her soul ache for these children and realized maybe her soul could harness strong emotions, but it still didn’t feel completely real, still dulled by her lack of heart. O well, she would protect these children, make them into a force a nature, show the world that they were more than just a body to warm a bed.

“Come on, let’s push her over,” Inej said so some of the older girls, moving to Heleen’s body. Y/N held out an arm.

“No, you are children, you shouldn’t be disposing of dead bodies, you shouldn’t even be touching them,” she said. “Get the ship ready, we are sailing for any port except Argoes.” She struggled but finally tossed Heleen’s body to the sea. Turning she sought out Inej.

“Inej love, did you send that message like Heleen asked?” Y/N asked, gently touching the girl’s face. Inej shook her head. “Good. Now, you and Nina are my first mates alright? So, where have you always wanted to go?”

Kaz Rietveld didn’t know how long he had been on that boat in the middle of the ocean. He didn’t know what day it was, what time, all he knew was that he was starving and so very thirsty. Sitting in all this water was making it worse. He had tried seawater, even knowing that it would do nothing but make him sick, but he had been desperate. God, is this how he died? 15 years old and in the middle of the cursed ocean. Fucking hell. He should have just let his uncle know he was alive when he had the chance, but instead he had hid, never wanting to go back to that horrid fortress. But instead, he was just going to die here. O well, what really was his life worth anyway, crippled leg from a botched escape with his brother when he was 11 and now, well now he was broken entirely. He knew that the moment they got on that boat, but he had gone anyway.

He was laying down, ready to die, when the water moved, waves hitting the boat harder than before. He sat up and looked seeing a pirate vessel flying the black colors approaching. He knew this was his only chance. Kaz could die in this boat or he could try his best at getting on that boat. He waved his arms, screaming at the top of his voice. He thought they were just going to pass but then a rope ladder was dropped down the side as they pulled up next to him. He scrambled up the ladder and dropped on the deck, panting.

“Water…please…” he begged. The men around him smiled, looking like they had found a present. One of the men handed him a cup and he drank before spitting out the burning drink. Whiskey, not water. The pirates laughed at him and he saw a few cabin boys standing by, looking fearful of him. No, not of him, for him. Kaz realized that he may have escaped one prison and wound up in another. The spirit of the sea witches clearly wanted revenge on his entire family. Taking his parents before he could remember them wasn’t enough, claiming his brother wasn’t enough, now he was stuck here. Fine. If the sea wanted a war, he would give it one.

For the first six months of his time aboard the Crow he was a cabin boy, but just in name. Truly he was whatever the other men wanted him to be. He was relieved when they brought aboard women for a week or two when he could just be a normal cabin boy. Unless the women liked him too. He noticed the two other cabin boys clung to each other, Jesper and Wylan, keeping each other as safe as they could. One of the crew, an honorable ex-navy captain named Matthias also tried his best to protect them. He often would give sleeping drafts to the crew to give the boys a night to themselves, but even he could only do so much.

Kaz waited, biding his time until the captain himself wanted a visit. Then he put the plan he had with Jesper, Wylan, and Matthias into action.

Matthias put the poison in the crews dinner, which they ate at 6PM before moving to do night work on the vessel. They were all dead before 6:30. The captain ate his dinner at 7PM so Wylan stayed in his cabin, distracting him by being a bumbling fool and getting a severe punishment for it. Kaz would have felt bad but he didn’t know if he was capable of feeless anymore. Jesper brought dinner to the captain and helped a bloody Wylan out of the cabin. Kaz slid in as they left and stood, watching the captain as he ate his meal.

“Come here boy, I want a better look at you, want to see what all the fuss among the crew is about,” he said. Kaz swallowed the sick in his throat and approached, letting the captain touch him, roughly feeling his hands on him. Then the coughing started and Kaz let out a breath of relief. The captain clutched his throat as his airways closed and soon he was dead at Kaz’s feet.

With the help of the others Kaz had the crew overboard and they headed towards a port far from Argoes to gather a new crew using the money the captain had stashed in a vault in his office. The four of them argued over who would be captain but Kaz won out, being the only one truly willing to kill for the title. He decided that as soon as he got to port it was time to reinvent himself. Kaz Rietveld was no more. It was time to take a new name and become something else.

#six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x reader #kazbrekker #kaz brekker #kaz #pirates heart series #pirate kaz brekker

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years

Text

Fic: Safe and Sound

Summary: After discovering the horrific truth of Tucker’s experiments, Mustang faces a race against time to get Nina to safety and away from a life in a government lab. Out of ideas, he calls in the Elric brothers, independent alchemists of the people whom he knows to have an interest in human transmutation, and more specifically, reversing it.

Determined to do what they can for her, Ed, Al and their mother provide a safe home for Nina, and over time, they work out how to help her back to her normal state.

Rated: T

Safe and Sound

“It’s a mess, sir.”

Roy looked out of the window at the rain teeming down outside the Tucker home. Hawkeye’s blunt summation of the situation hardly did it justice, but he couldn’t think of a more apt term to use. He turned to Tucker, who still seemed unable to see what he had done wrong in the name of scientific advancement, and he felt the anger begin to burn through his veins once more, even hotter than when he had first entered the place and realised with sickening horror what Tucker had done, and what he must have done two years prior as well.

He strode across the room, grabbing the front of Tucker’s shirt and lifting him bodily out of the chair he had been sitting in whilst Fuery had recorded his statement and confession.

“Colonel.” Hawkeye’s voice was sharp, and Roy glanced over at her. She was kneeling in the corner, next to the chimera (Nina, her name was Nina, she gave him a flower crown the last time he was here), who was watching the scene with wide eyes.

“Don’t hurt Daddy,” Nina pleaded in that low, uncanny, unreal voice, slow and pained but every bit in earnest. The anger in Roy’s blood roiled afresh, and his grip on Tucker’s shirt tightened.

“Lieutenant, get her out of here. Take her out the back way and get Havoc to sneak her into HQ.”

“Daddy…”

“Come on, Nina,” Hawkeye coaxed. “We need to go now. We need to get you somewhere safe.”

“Daddy…”

“Colonel Mustang needs to talk to your daddy, Nina. Come with me. Are you hungry?”

Hawkeye guided Nina out of the room. Once the door was closed and he could no longer hear the lieutenant’s soft cajoling, Roy sank his fist into Tucker’s face. It did not make him feel any better. He hadn’t expected it to.

He let Tucker back down into his chair, leaving the room as Fuery completed the final bits of paperwork.

He needed to work out what to do about Nina. If anyone got word of her, she’d be locked up in a lab and experimented on as an alchemical freak of nature for the rest of her life. He needed to keep her safe, and if there was the slightest chance of getting her and Alexander back to normal, then he had to pursue it.

Roy was not in his area of expertise here. Human experimentation, bio-alchemy, the many varied and illegal and impossible forms of human transmutation - none of that had ever been in his remit and he had never had any desire for it to be. He ran a hand through his hair, desperately trying to think of a solution. Smuggling her into HQ was only a temporary measure and not a perfect one at that; there was still so much that could go disastrously wrong. He needed to get Nina out of sight and out of mind as soon as possible, hiding her away where the military would leave her alone.

A thought struck him and he moved through the house towards the telephone, dialling Falman at headquarters.

“Falman, can you find out if the Elrics are still in town?”

“Yes, sir. On it.”

Roy had first come across Edward and Alphonse Elric four years ago, when news of a couple of young but extremely talented alchemists researching human transmutation and Philosopher’s Stones had come to him through the state alchemist grapevine. With the military always interested in those with an interest in the alchemic taboo, Roy had been despatched to take a look at the lay of the land as regarded the Elrics, and potentially recruit them.

He hadn’t reckoned on their being quite so young, just eleven and ten years old, and he absolutely had not reckoned on their mother. Trisha Elric was a tiny, frail-looking woman with perpetually pale blue-tinged lips and a constant cough from the Frontline Flu that had almost killed her in ‘04, and she was a force of nature who had told Roy in no uncertain terms that her sons’ interest in Philosopher’s Stones was highly personal and that there was no way in hell they were becoming state alchemists despite the research opportunities it would afford them.

Roy had reported back that the Elric brothers were a dead end, and had left them in peace to follow their own research, whilst still keeping an eye on them every time they came to Eastern City to the large library there.

With their secretive nature, their no-nonsense mother and their persistent interest in human alchemy, Roy held out the tiniest hope of Nina’s best chance being with the Elrics.

Hell, anything was worth a shot at this stage.

“Sir?”

“I’m listening, Falman.”

“The Elrics are still in town, sir. They’re in a guesthouse by the station.”

“Thank God. Get someone to try and persuade them to come to HQ.”

“Will do, sir. And, erm, Ms Elric?”

“She’s here too?”

“Yes, sir.”

Roy sighed. “Probably best if she comes too.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up, winging up a prayer that this hunch would pay off.

“So…” Ed stretched out his legs, uncaring for who in Eastern Command might trip over them as they waited for Mustang to make an appearance and tell them why they were there. “What do you think the Bastard Colonel wants us for this time?”

“Edward.” The sigh that his mother gave was a long-suffering one rather than showing any real disapproval, and he could see that she was trying very hard not to smile.

“What? You call him the Bastard too!”

“Not in his place of work, I don’t.”

“Officer Falman was really quite apologetic when he picked us up,” Al mused. “Maybe something’s gone terribly wrong and they need us to fix it. You know. Someone outside the military.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “If that’s the case, they’d be better off picking anyone other than you two. You’d hold it over them as blackmail material for the rest of their lives. Honestly, I don’t know where you got your devious streak from. It wasn’t your dad, which leaves me with the uncomfortable conclusion that it must be from me.”

“Where do you think Dad is right now?” Al asked. “It would be just our luck if he chooses this weekend to come home and we’re not there. I can imagine him going over to Granny’s: ‘Pinako, I swear I had a wife and two children when I left but I appear to have misplaced them.’”

Mom laughed, but Ed didn’t respond. Although he now knew the full story of why Dad had left, the fact he’d left in the first place still rankled even now, and he knew that he would continue to view his father with mixed emotions until the man himself was back in the flesh and could answer for his own actions. Still, that hadn’t stopped him and Al from setting out on the current quest that had occupied them for the last four years, namely finding a way to get Dad back to normal so that when he did return, he and Mom could live a vaguely ordinary life together.

“I’m really sorry about all this.” Falman appeared in the corridor again. “It’s just that we’ve got a bit of a… situation.”

Ed raised an eyebrow as they got up to follow him, deciding to reserve judgement. Falman led them into Mustang’s office, where the rest of the team was clustered around the colonel’s desk with nervous expressions.

“Ok… Anyone want to tell us what’s going on?”

Mustang came over. “We have a situation that requires some discretion.”

Mom snorted. “You picked the wrong two for that.”

“I think when you see what we’ve got, you’ll agree with me.”

Intrigued, Ed approached the desk and peered under it.

It looked like a dog, on the face of it, although it appeared to have some kind of mane of long dark hair, and there was something about the eyes and mouth that didn’t look quite right.

“Chimera?”

Mustang nodded.

“I’m guessing the majority is from a dog, but what’s it fused with?”

Mustang didn’t get the chance to respond before the chimera spoke, a soft, desperate whimper.

“I want Daddy.”

Ed’s blood ran cold. “Someone chimerised a human child?”

“Yes.” Mustang’s voice was deadly serious. “This is Nina Tucker. Her father decided to create a chimera capable of human speech. He’s in jail now.” He gave a heavy sigh. “If anyone gets wind of this, she’ll be shut up in a military lab for the rest of her life. We’re giving out that Tucker’s chimera didn’t survive the transmutation to try and buy us some time. This is the reason why I wanted you to see her. I know that you two are probably the leading state-independent researchers of human transmutation right now. If anyone can help her, you can.”

Ed looked at Al, who was staring at Nina with sad horror, and then at his mom, who was having a coughing fit. Falman brought her some water.

“Mom? You ok?”

She nodded, before slowly, deliberately, getting down on her knees and shuffling under the desk.

“Hey Nina,” she said gently. “My name’s Trisha. How old are you, honey?”

“Six.”

“You’re scared, huh?”

Nina nodded. “Want Daddy.”

“Your daddy can’t come, honey. He did something very, very bad, so he has to go away for a while.”

“A very long while,” Ed muttered.

“Don’t be scared, though,” Mom continued. “We’ll look after you, me and Ed and Al.” She reached out, carefully brushing Nina’s hair out of her eyes. “It’ll be all right, I promise.”

She was just being Mom. In her eyes, Nina was just a scared little kid. Mom didn’t see the alchemy or the implications. She just saw someone who needed a family to keep her safe.

Ed crouched down beside her. “Hi Nina. I’m Ed, and this is Al. We’ll get you sorted out, don’t worry.” He had no idea where he would even begin, but he had to do something to help her out.

Nina looked at Trisha.

“You… Ed Mommy?”

“Yeah, I’m Ed’s Mommy. Why don’t you come with us now, and we’ll take you home, somewhere nice and safe and quiet.”

Nina nodded slowly, and Mom looked up at Mustang.

“I’ll look after her,” she said. “She’ll be safe and off the grid in Resembool. I can’t say we can help her, that’s up to the boys to decide what they’re prepared to try and what they’re capable of doing. But I’ll look after her, and in return, you make sure that the monster who did this never sees the light of day again.”

Ed was beginning to see why Mustang was scared of Mom.

The frenetic logistics of getting Nina home with them without being discovered by the military at large took a while to sort out, and Trisha couldn’t rest easy until she was safely behind her own front door. Winry and Pinako had been brought in on their secret, it would have been near impossible to keep it from them.

Actually looking after her proved to be just the same as taking care of any other child - she was just a little larger and more unco-ordinated. From the moment that she had seen Nina and decided that no matter what, she was going to take care of her, Trisha had not really given any thought to the difficulties that might be involved in caring for a chimera. At the end of the day, Nina was a little girl and Trisha intended to treat her like one, even if she didn’t exactly look like a little girl.

She required a little more concentration than the boys had done, because whilst she could speak, full sentences were difficult simply because of the shape of her mouth, so articulating her needs wasn’t as simple as it could have been. But she would eat at the kitchen table with them if one of them spoon-fed her, and she loved to watch the boys practice their alchemy and listen to the bedtime stories they would weave her.

Occasionally the odd trait that was definitely dog rather than human would forcibly remind Trisha that Nina was two beings in one now - most notably she preferred to sleep curled up behind the couch in the living room rather than in a bed - but generally, Nina was the daughter she’d never had.

“Dad could fix her,” Al said one evening whilst they were sitting around after dinner. Nina was dozing, her head in Trisha’s lap. They’d taken to braiding her mane to keep it out of her eyes, and she’d decided on blue ribbons today. Trisha stroked the silky ends through her fingers. “I mean, he’s a Philosopher’s Stone, he should be able to do anything, right?”

“He probably could,” Ed agreed. “The difficulty would be finding him and explaining the situation. We haven’t known where he is for ten years, tracking him down now to break off from his quest and come home to un-chimerise a chimera wouldn’t exactly be the easiest solution.”

“Yeah.” Al sighed. “I guess it’s back to the drawing board and Dad’s books. I don’t really recall any of them talking about chimeras, but then, we weren’t really looking for any information about them.”

Trisha coughed, startling Nina out of her doze, and she looked around for a while.

“Big brother Ed?”

Ed grinned. Trisha was surprised at how quickly Nina had decided on Ed as a surrogate big brother, but he was definitely the person that she seemed to have latched onto as her link into the family. Ed was Big Brother. Al was usually just Al. Trisha was Ed-Mommy. (Occasionally, when she woke up crying from nightmares, she was just Mommy, and Trisha would hold her as close as she possibly could.)

“Hey Nina.”

“Where’s Daddy?”

The grin dropped as quickly as it had appeared on his face.

“Your daddy had to go away, Nina.”

“No… Ed-Daddy.” Trisha followed her sight-line over to the opposite wall; she was looking at her and Van’s wedding photo on the mantel.

“Oh. He had to go away too.”

“He did bad?”

Ed snorted, and Trisha laughed.

“I think that depends on who you ask, honey. No, Ed and Al’s daddy didn’t do anything bad. He’s travelling around the country at the moment. Ed’s daddy is a very powerful alchemist and there are some things he has to do to make sure everyone is safe. It’s sad that we don’t see him, but he’s the only one who can protect us. All of us.”

“Oh.”

They fell into silence again, until Al spoke up from the floor where he was sitting in the middle of a sea of books.

“Maybe if we knew how Tucker did it in the first place we could reverse engineer it.”

“I guess.” Ed sighed. “I’d be afraid of making it worse, though. Sometimes I’ve thought about asking her if she can remember what happened, but I don’t want her to relive what was probably a very traumatic experience.”

“Exactly,” Trisha said. Nina’s head was resting in her lap and drowsing again. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t help her, boys. No one is expecting you to. You’re already giving her the care and love and safety that she needs, and that’s all that matters. If we do get a little girl and a large dog out of this, then that would be wonderful, but right now, Nina’s wellbeing takes priority.”

She thought about the picture that Mustang had sent her, along with a packet of documents from the Tucker household that might be useful - birth certificate, medical records and the like. A sweet little girl and a huge, goofy-looking dog. She stroked one of Nina’s front paws sadly. Although she was mostly aware of her changed shape and size, there were the odd little moments where she forgot she didn’t have hands, and it always distressed her. Trisha wanted nothing more than for the chimerisation to be reversed and for Nina - and Alexander - to live normal lives, but if that wasn’t to be, then Trisha would just take care of the chimera for as long as she needed it.

They’d settled into the routine of having Nina with them remarkably quickly, and Al was pleased by just how easily she’d become part of the family. It was very clear that Ed was her favourite, but he didn’t seem to mind that at all. It was strange, Al had never really thought of Ed as being particularly good with kids, but then again, they had never really come across all that many over the course of their research. He completely doted on Nina though, and whenever she and Mom had been making flower crowns, he would always wear the one Nina picked out as his without any complaint.

Although he was used to Nina being around, it was still a surprise to see her bounding out of the house towards them as he and Ed made their way up the hill having been to see Winry in town.

“Ed! Big Brother Ed! Ed! Daddy’s here!”

Al looked at Ed, Ed looked back at Al, and they both started to sprint up the hill. Nina’s father was still in jail in Eastern City, there was no way he should be in Resembool, it had been given out that Nina was dead, who had spilled that she was here…

Al barrelled into the kitchen with Ed hot on his heels, and both of them stopped dead.

“Oh.”

It wasn’t Tucker. The man standing in the kitchen hugging Mom tightly was their own dad.

There was the click-click-click of Nina’s nails on the floor tiles behind them.

“Ed-Daddy,” she said proudly.

So that was what she meant.

Eventually, Mom let go of Dad and he turned to them. It must have been just as much of a shock for him to see them now, considering how small they had been when he had left.

“I’ve been gone so long,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise how long I would be. I’ve missed so much. I’m sorry.”

“I…” Ed seemed to be having trouble taking it all in, and he shook his head. “It’s so weird. I’ve rehearsed this moment for years and now it’s here and I have no idea what to say.”

Al stumbled as Nina butted his legs and peered around him.

Dad looked at her, curious.

“I see our family has grown whilst I’ve been away. Hello there.”

“This is Nina.” Ed moved closer to her protectively. “She’s our little sister.”

“Big Brother Ed!”

Dad looked from Nina to Ed to Mom and back again.

“I’ll explain later,” Mom said.

“It’s ok. I think I know what’s happened.” Dad came over, crouching in front of Nina and offering her his hand. She tentatively placed her paw in it, and he shook it gently. “It’s nice to meet you, Nina.” He smiled. “You’re like me, aren’t you? Made into something different by alchemy you had no say in.”

Al knew at that moment that he didn’t have to worry about his father not accepting Nina or not being prepared to help her.

Much later, once Nina was asleep on her cushion behind the couch, and once Dad had explained everything that had happened over the last ten years - and before that - in his own words, and once Ed had stopped yelling at him, and once Nina’s situation had been explained, Al voiced the thought that had been at the forefront of their minds ever since Nina had come to live with them.

“Dad, can you help her?”

Dad didn’t reply for a long time, his brow furrowed in thought, but Al’s heart leapt to his mouth as he eventually nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “I think I should be able to, but it’s the kind of thing that I’d only get one shot at. It would have to be perfect first time, because if I get it wrong, it’ll just make it worse.”

Al looked at Ed, and then at Mom, who nodded.

“I think it’s worth the risk,” she said. “She’s the sweetest darling just as she is, but I can’t imagine what kind of internal distress she’s in, and I think she’d be happier if she was back to her old self.”

“In that case, I will do what I can.”

It took a couple of days for Dad to work out exactly what he would need to do, during which time Al was incredibly conscious of the fact that although he had come home now, he had not come home for good and there was still a lot of work that he had to do around the country in order to be prepared for the Promised Day coming and everything that would happen then. He still couldn’t quite get his head around the scope of it all, but it was a reasonably valid excuse for leaving them for so long. If something went wrong and it ended up backfiring on Dad, then what would happen to them all then? It would all be for nothing if they were doomed into a massive transmutation circle in a couple of months anyway.

Eventually, Dad announced that he was ready, and Al ventured into the study. All the furniture had been pushed back against the walls, and the most complex transmutation circle that Al had ever seen was drawn on the floor. Dad was kneeling in the middle of it, tracing out all the lines to make sure that there were no breaks.

“This should separate her out into two separate entities again,” he said. “The souls should be able to provide the power needed for it.”

Mom brought Nina into the room, and she shied away from the circle, hiding behind Mom’s legs.

“Scared,” she said. Al couldn’t really blame her. The last time she’d seen a circle this large and complex drawn out on the floor was probably the time she was chimerised in the first place.

“It’s ok, honey. I’m right here. This will make you feel a lot better, I promise.” She stepped into the circle. “Come on, Nina. I’ll be right here with you.”

“Mom, are you really sure that’s a good idea?” Ed asked. “Considering everything that could go wrong?”

Mom looked at Dad, who would have to be inside the circle as well in order for it to work.

“I trust you,” she said simply, and she sat down, holding out her arms for Nina.

“Scared,” Nina whimpered, but she padded across the floor and curled up in Mom’s lap.

Dad looked up.

“Step out and close the door,” he said. “This could get disturbing to watch.”

“But…”

“Edward.” Dad’s tone was non-negotiable, and Al dragged Ed out of the study, shutting the door behind them. Ed continued to grumble for a while, but then bent down to watch through the keyhole.

There was a deafening crack of alchemy, and bright red light flared out below the door.

The light was blinding, and Ed couldn’t really see much after Dad plunged his hands into Nina’s chest. The alchemy was roaring in his ears and he couldn’t hear anything useful, so he was forced to step back from the door and just hope that everything would be all right.

It seemed to take forever. It was the kind of thing where once it was started, it couldn’t be stopped until it was done. It wasn’t a job that could be left half-finished whilst Dad took a break to get his breath back. He imagined what it must be like, having to separate out two souls and two bodies into two completely separate entities and not leave anything mixed up.

He was glad it was Dad doing it and not him. He glanced across at Al.

“Do you think they’re all ok?”

Al shrugged, but his expression was just as worried as Ed knew his own was.

“I guess all we can do is wait and see and trust Dad.”

“Hmm.” Ed didn’t trust his father with a lot of things, but when it came to alchemy, he couldn’t think of anyone he could trust more than Dad with something like this.

The alchemy roared louder, and Ed could see sparks under the door.

“That’s it. I’m doing something.”

“Ed, don’t be stupid, what on earth can you do?”

“I can do something!”

“Ed!”

Suddenly, everything was dark and silent. For better or worse, it was all over. Ed looked at Al, and after a moment, Al nodded.

Ed flung the door open...

“WOOF!”

...and was immediately bowled over by a very large, very shaggy dog. He could hear Al laughing above him, and he took that as a good sign. Finally managing to dislodge the mutt long enough to sit up, he peered into the room.

Dad was flat on his back, drenched in sweat (or possibly dog saliva), and breathing like he’d just run the Central City marathon, but Mom was still sitting in the circle, and in her arms, clinging on for dear life, was…

“Nina, honey,” Mom said softly. “You can open your eyes, it’s all over now.”

Nina opened her eyes and looked around the room.

“Al. Big Brother Ed. Alexander!”

She rushed over on slightly wobbly legs, throwing her arms around each of them in turn with the longest and most exuberant hug being reserved for the dog. Ed supposed he could understand that, he’d been her closest and longest friend, after all.

Mom got to her feet and held out a hand to pull Dad up, slipping her arms around him and going in for a long kiss.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you, Ed-Daddy!” Nina did not let go of Alexander, who seemed content to be hugged for as long as necessary, but she was beaming at Dad. “You’re right, I feel much better now.”

Dad smiled. “You’re welcome, Nina.”

“Come on, Nina.” Al was trying to shepherd her out of the room, and considering how gooey and love-eyed Mom was looking, Ed was happy to leave his parents to smooch in peace for a while.

“Let’s get some cookies for you and Alexander. It’s a good job we keep dog biscuits here for Den when Winry brings her over.”

They left the study, Ed closing the door behind them, and the four of them made their way into the kitchen.

Nina had always seemed to be remarkably content considering what had happened to her, but seeing the sheer joy in her face as she was able to hold a cookie and feed herself again was wonderful.

“What do you think happens now?” Al asked as he poured milk for him and Nina. “The colonel asked us to take care of Nina and help her if we could, and we’ve done that now.”

“I guess everything just stays the same as it was before.” Ed snaffled another cookie. “Nina doesn’t really have anywhere else to go, so we might as well just keep looking after her. What do you say, Nina? Do you want to stay here with us?”

Nina nodded. “Yes. I like it here with you.”

“I don’t think Mom and Dad would have a problem with it. I think Mom feels outnumbered by us sometimes and she’s enjoyed having another girl in the house.”

Nina just giggled, and then gave a theatrical sigh as Alexander found his way into the box of dog biscuits and got his large nose stuck in it, running around the kitchen with it over his face like a muzzle.

“Alexander!”

Ed laughed. “Well, I think that the latest new arrival might take a bit of getting used to, but I’m sure Mom won’t mind him either.”

(They were all so absorbed in chasing the dog around the kitchen that none of them noticed the flash of red alchemic light under Dad’s study door again.)

To say that everything surrounding the Promised Day had been one big frantic mess of alchemy, planning a highly organised and highly secret coup, and learning the most extraordinary things about what had been going on in the world for the last few centuries would be an understatement, but at the end of it all, Roy was simply glad to have made it out of the other side unharmed. There was an awful lot of work still to do, but with the immediate threat gone, they could take their time a little more and not have to worry about the entire country potentially being made into a giant Philosopher’s Stone at a moment’s notice.

Speaking of Philosopher’s Stones, though… Roy thought of Hohenheim. It was a small world, after all. He had been surprised to find out that their independent benefactor who had been working behind the scenes to stop Father and the homunculi for over a decade was the Elrics’ father, and moreover that he was the reason for their intense interest in human alchemy and Philosopher’s Stone research, but having met him, everything made a lot more sense.

Everything was also a lot more confusing, but Roy got the impression that someone like Hohenheim just created confusion wherever he went, without necessarily knowing why or indeed intending to.

All of that explained why he was now on a train to Resembool to go and see the Elric family for himself, because after the dust had settled and Father had been defeated and Hohenheim had vanished off as suddenly as he had appeared, going back to his family for good now, a single thought had pushed itself into Roy’s brain and refused to leave.

Nina.

She had gone with the Elrics months ago and they had promised to do what they could for her with their knowledge of Philosopher’s Stones. Now that they sort of had one to hand, surely something could be done? Or would it be impossible to undo Tucker’s work?

Roy made his way up the hill towards the Elric home, repeating the journey he’d first made five years ago when they had first come into his sphere of knowledge. He hoped that Trisha wouldn’t chase him down the road with a shoe as she had threatened to do on that first occasion.

“Hello, Colonel.” He was pleasantly surprised to find her out working in the garden but still rather wary of the fork she was holding. “What brings you here?”

“I… I was actually wondering how Nina was getting on.”

Trisha smiled. “She’s doing well, Colonel. She’s settled in nicely. It’s as if we’ve always had her. Van and I would be happy to adopt her if you’re willing to sort out the paperwork for us.”

There was something different about Trisha, Roy thought. She seemed stronger, more vibrant, and her lips were a normal pink colour rather than the blue tinge he’d grown used to seeing on her. Something or someone had healed her lungs.

“Colonel? You’re staring, sir.”

“Oh. Yes. Right. Yes. I mean, of course. I’ll get the paperwork as soon as I get back.”

“Excellent. Everyone will be so pleased.” She stood up, brushing down her apron. “Do you want to step in for a while, get your breath back after tackling the hill?”

“Erm, all right.” He stepped through the gate and followed Trisha up the path towards the house. The door opened before they got there.

“Mr Mustang!”

A large white shape bowled him over and started licking him voraciously, and he heard a familiar little giggle from the doorway.

“Hello, Alexander,” he finally managed.

Nina was standing in the doorway with Ed, who was smirking in the way only Edward Elric could smirk, and Roy knew that he’d lost all dignity in Ed’s eyes - if he’d even had any to start with.

“You did it,” he said, looking from Nina to Alexander and back again.

“Well, Dad did most of the work,” Ed said. “But she’s safe and happy here.”

Nina nodded. “I have big brothers now! I never had them before. I’m kind of hoping for a little sister too. Maybe now that Ed’s Daddy is back and Ed’s Mommy is well again I’ll get one.”

“Oh no.” Ed threw his hands up. “We are not thinking about that at all.” He sighed. “Thanks, Nina. Now I need brain bleach.”

“Ed, Nina, are you going to let the colonel in through the door?” Trisha’s voice called out from inside the house.

“I don’t know.” Ed looked down at Nina. “What do you think? Shall we let him in?”

“Yeah. We might need to get him a towel for Alexander’s drool though.”

Roy rolled his eyes as he got to his feet, following Alexander into the house. It was good to see Nina happy and thriving with a new family, who she seemed to have accepted readily as her own. It was good to see Trisha no longer suffering the after effects of her illness, and it was good to see the Elric family all together once more.

He hung back in the kitchen doorway, watching them all for a moment, very much feeling like the outsider that he was until Trisha pulled him in to join them.

Considering that the state alchemist programme had been little more than a device in which to form potential human sacrifices for Father’s plans, Roy had no idea if it would be continuing into the future, but the thought still remained in his head even as Ed was showing him back to the front door an hour or so later.

“Edward?”

“Yes, Colonel?”

“You and Al, and your parents... don’t ever stop doing what you’re doing. Using alchemy to help people, and taking care of those who’ve been wronged by it.”

Ed grinned. “Oh, we don’t intend to, Colonel. You’ve got my word on that.”

Roy felt a sense of peace as he made his way back to the station. As long as there were people like the Elrics in the world, he could hope that everything would be all right in the end.

#FMA: Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Edward Elric #Alphonse Elric #Roy Mustang #Nina Tucker #Nina lives!#Trisha lives!#Everyone lives!#Nina and Alexander get back to normal!#AU #canon divergence #Fic: Safe and Sound

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slutsofren · 3 years

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Danger Days Chapter 1: Summertime

Summary: You think you've settled in pretty well to Jackson, your best friend Maria was leading the community with her husband Tommy. Things were going rather fine until a turbine went south. While at the power plant, you came across two visitors. Joel needs his brother to complete a mission but you stepped in, dredging up your past with FEDRA, with the Fireflies. Shit can't hit the fan twice right?

Word Count: 1,399

Read on AO3 here

Warnings: none, just a bit of backstory

Notes: this is a Joel x Reader/OFC multi-chap series, absolutely no use of y/n or other descriptors as long as I can try. Reader is about 30-35 in this timeline.

You put on the worn-in boots, trying to ignore the phantom pains shooting in your left hand. The skin around the nub where your pinky used to be was swollen and throbbing. It frustrated the hell out of you. After all these years, memories and ghosts haunted you whenever the nerves flared up in your palm. Doing your best to ignore it, you laced up the last shoe and grabbed your black sherpa denim jacket, tossing it over your shoulders to keep the late summer chill away.

“Oh shit,” you whispered to yourself as you took a step outside your home, immediately being blasted by the cold.

Tonight was one of the weekly adult get-togethers at Seth’s, something most of the Jackson residents looked forward to. Usually, you’d never bother with attending but your best friend and her husband managed to convince you to come out and relax for once. Admittedly, it was rare for you to have a night off since you often volunteered to walk the perimeter of the safe zone, keeping an eye out for any activity.

Your feet shuffled along until you came to the bar, the music wafting through the air and you made your way inside.

The pub was lively tonight, you could spot a few couples having a blast dancing to the music playing from the jukebox. It seemed like tonight the adults were throwing it back and reminiscing with some old 1980s music. You called over the man himself, Seth, and he grabbed you a beer.

Thank the stars the greenhouse had a steady growth of hops, you couldn’t imagine trying to do any of this sober. You leaned against an unoccupied area of the bar table, idly watching as people danced and sipped at the bottle.

After doing this little routine, the drink was getting a little warm from the heat of your palm but that was alright, you were living in the moment. Your best friend and her husband always told you to let your hair down every once in a while, so to speak. It was near impossible to always be on edge, waiting for the next fight. For half your life this is how it’s been, it’s hard to shake off that feeling even after a couple years of relative safety.

You looked up from your drink, your eyes finding the couple on your mind. You sat watching as Maria and Tommy were in the dead center of the dance floor looking at each other like there was not a damn worry in the world. It was something you envied of the woman, if you could admit it to yourself. Not everybody finds love and some semblance of peace in the goddamn apocalypse. Good for her, good for them .

Gustavo, an elderly Hispanic man, walked up and stood next to you. “Mija, why don’t you go dancing? You’re too pretty to be standing here alone,” he says, his subtle accent eliciting a soft smile from you.

“Because you know I’d sooner bite their heads off if they tried, tio.” Gustavo wasn’t related to you but you loved the blacksmith like family, so much that you called him your uncle.

The elder man gave a hearty laugh, his calloused hand gave your cheek a small pat. “I want to see you dance with somebody before I die,” he says as he turns to leave.

You give him an incredulous look, “Don’t keel over too soon, tio, or I’ll bring you back myself and make you wait even longer!”

His laughter still rings in your ears long after he walks away. Your eyes steal a few more glances at the dancefloor as you turn around and abandon you nearly empty glass of beer on the countertop and resume watching how everybody sang along and moving ungraciously together. Feeling alive, living in the moment. Carpe diem or some shit , you think.

It doesn’t take much for Maria’s perpetual scowl to mark across her face, that woman was always pissed off about something. So, when the power went out in the pub, you could only imagine the blonde woman immediately furrowing her brows, grumbling something explicit wanting to find out what cut her date night short. Being the leader of the community rarely had nights off.

The crowd inside Seth’s was slightly alarmed, power hardly ever went out in Jackson. It usually signalled the worse. You gently shoved your way to where you last saw Tommy and Maria and found her leather clad arm, “Think it’s bandits?”

“I hope not,” came from Tommy to your right, his voice low and weary.

“Alright everybody, go home. We will figure out what’s going on and we will all be back to our normal routines. Got it?” Maria’s voice was short and authoritative, something you sure scared the shit out of some of the younger kids.

Slowly, the patrons all filed out, using whatever the moon illuminated as their only guide to getting outside safely. You could hear a few curses and muttering every time it sounded like somebody walked into a stool or table, it was kind of funny.

Tommy was the first to pipe up, “Let’s head to the fence, make sure everybody is okay.”

The three of you filed out and headed straight for the perimeter, there were no sounds of shouting or gunshots which was good to note. The closer each of you got to the fence, the eerie silence met with you.

“The electric fence is down,” Maria grumbled.

You looked at her, “Think the power plant is out?”

“Probably,” she sighs, “We can leave at first light.”

After you leave them, you head straight for your home as they continued to circle the perimeter and talk with whoever was on guard duty tonight.Your home was a walk away, further out from the other homes. It’s not much outside of a small studio loft but you loved it. It’s cozy and has everything you need within a couple dozen steps.

The room is dark, naturally, but you manage to walk to the little kitchenette off to the left of your room to find your solar lantern. One of the best damn discoveries you managed to find since the pandemic hit. It turned on easily, creating a dim glow around your room. You went to your desk and started to get your backpack ready for the trip to the dam. Stuffing it of some snacks, your spare knives, and some extra bullets, each a hotter commodity than the next.

It had been rainy recently so you decided to pack a couple extra jackets and flannels, making sure you had plenty of socks to go too.

By the time you finish packing your backpack for the excursion, a soft knock arrives at your door. You opened it to find Gustavo standing there, looking bright eyed. “Mija, I heard you were headed out to the dam.”

You nodded, “Wanna come in, tio?”

“Ah, no, Antonia is waiting for me,” at the mention of his wife, the lovely woman, you wonder where she was hiding at Seth’s. The two of them hardly go far without the other. “I just wanted to come by and bring you this.” Gustavo puts a semi-large wrapped gift in your hands and you take it, shifting it this way and that.

You open it, removing the ornate paper and it opens to a brown rectangular box. You slip the lid off and find an incredible hunting knife with a leather holster. “Gustavo,” you say. Your eyes wide in adoration, looking at the handcrafted knife.

His chest puffs out in pride, “Just don’t let Tovar see it, pendejo has been trying to take it.” The two of you chuckle at the expense of his young apprentice. He was a bit of a handful and full-time idiot, you admit.

Putting the knife down at the small table by your front door, you give Gustavo a warm hug and your thanks. He left shortly after that but not without giving the old man a kiss on the cheek and a promise to not hurt yourself with his gift, and another for keeping it away from Tovar.

You shut the door and turned back to your loft, standing in the dim light. Leaning against the door, you take a moment and close your eyes. Tomorrow’s excursion was going to be long.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel (the last of us)#joel the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us 2 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel tlou x reader insert #asher's writing #danger days fic

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thedreadvampy · 3 years

Text

talking to my mum last night and getting fucked up about the degree of trauma my grandparents' generation faced and how. unwilling and ill-equipped the care system is for the obvious fact that there's a huge incidence of PTSD and complex lifelong mental health issues in those generations

grannie was 17 when she became a nurse and she was working immediately in London at the height of the Blitz. her first day she saw blown apart children and had to comfort their parents. she was almost hit by a rocket cycling home.

grandpa spent the whole war in labour camps before being trapped behind the Iron Curtain in the ruins of Dresden, almost dead from starvation from the camp, for another 3 years before making it back to Blackpool to find out his parents had died in his absence.

granny got radiation sickness at 13 from being put under an X-ray with no protection and forgotten about for hours; she lost all her hair and developed chronic pain and health problems. after years of severe physical, emotional and sexual abuse from her family and the men around her, she got engaged to an American pilot who was shot down and killed in the last month of the war. her former boyfriend came back a dissociative shell of his pre-war self and she ended up trying to raise three small children on her own, with her family at the other end of the country and her husband often having violent flashbacks and outbursts of rage. she was suicidal and had violent psychotic breaks and got institutionalised and medicated on and off her entire adult life.

like. it isn't just the war. people born in the early-mid 20th century, especially women, have been subject to so much sexual trauma, domestic and social violence, bigotry, and grief on grief on grief.

with my granny, it's entirely understandable that she was 'mad'. when I knew her, she was on heavy daily dosage of lithium - she stopped because it was destroying her gut after 30 years and she became violently aggressive, vindictive, scared, psychotic, paranoid, frequently delusional and extremely abusive. She was terrified of doctors because of her repeated experiences with medical abuse, she was furious with everyone around her, she coldly hated her husband and seemed actively happy when he died, and the thing is all of that makes perfect sense because she was profoundly and repeatedly traumatised for at least the first 50-60 years of her life.

but the thing that worries and answers me is that the elder care system and the mental health system are completely unwilling to engage with the fact that many many many old people have severe pre-existing mental health conditions. after all, how many of us have PTSD or psychotic episodes or bipolar or BPD or special care needs related to autism or OCD or ADHD or whatever? those don't just Cease To Exist after a certain age. and our parents and our grandparents grew up in times with much less support for mental health and much less awareness of trauma. granny's early traumas were familial but she was institutionalised repeatedly and treated appallingly throughout her life and that's in itself traumatic.

when granny was 82 and she stopped taking her lithium, she was frail, ill and a danger to herself and others.

they put her on a dementia ward when she was sectioned because she was Old, and Old Mad People Are Demented. but she didn't have dementia! she had chronic PTSD and paranoid delusions but she knew who, where and when she was and she was perfectly sharp, she just wasn't coping. when we went to visit her she'd say furiously 'they think I'm like the other people in here but I'm not, I'm not losing my marbles, I've always been this way'

none of us got any support looking after her while she was in hospital or after she left the inpatient ward - nobody checked in on grandpa while she was in hospital or on weekend release, and after she was released Dad looked after her single-handed while trying to deal with his dad's death. (she may have murdered grandpa while on weekend release, or he may have died of heart failure - either way when she went off the rails after 20 years stable, he gave up on life and I me and my sibling (for the record we were 10 when she left hospital) listening to her trying to continue unpicking her past trauma was I think the most therapy she got after she left.

she couldn't go into a regular elder care home because she was too unstable, she needed specialist mental health care and she sometimes needed to be constrained for her own safety and that of other people. residential mental health care facilities weren't equipped to deal with her needs as a woman in her 80s. she couldn't go into dementia care, which is about the only residential care available for old people with serious mental health needs, because she didn't have dementia and it would have been utterly inappropriate and harmful for her and the other residents. she lived to 93 and for the last 11 years of her life it was up to Dad and us to look after her in her home because there was simply nowhere else for her to go.

and what really fucks me up is that she wasn't past help. a lot of people thought she was but when she left hospital she was trying really hard to continue therapy on her own without a therapist, she drew and wrote about her life and memories and she used to sit opposite me and open up in a way I now utterly recognise as trauma therapy, she would try to find ways to talk about what had hurt her and state into the middle distance for tens of minutes trying to get it together enough to continue. she wanted to do the work. but the only people there for her were her son who was shellshocked from losing his dad and traumatised from effectively losing his mum again and who was spending all his energy just trying to get through work and home and get her physical needs met, and a couple of preteen children who had the will but not the capacity to help. we were barely holding ourselves together (mum drove granny places but mostly her capacity was being spent being about the only support Dad or us could get) and we just couldn't meet the work of a trained therapist. and eventually she gave up on getting better and got angrier and more bitter and more abusive to everyone. but she wanted to feel better. she wanted to deal with her shit. but there was no support.

and there must be thousands of people like her. older people with lifelong trauma and mental health issues who are too mentally ill for elder support and too old for mental health support. and the MH system doesn't think they're worth the resource cost because after all they're old, they'll die soon. but where are they meant to go? and how much harm does unsupported home care do to the person in need of care and to the people carrying for them? it just multiplies trauma down the generations. you can't just expect mental illness to only affect the young when the old have been just as traumatised and you can't treat them as separate issues when old people need carers who are qualified to deal with both their age and their mental health issues.

like yes many people develop late life mental health issues like Alzheimers and dementia, just as many people become disabled for the first time by age. but a lot of people are disabled or mentally ill for decades before they reach anything approaching elderly, and those things don't suddenly go away and don't have the same support needs as late-life issues.

idk. I'm very angry. if there was recognition of the need to support older people with lifelong trauma then my grandpa wouldn't have died hopeless and unsupported, my granny might have got her life back and got some healing after 80 years of living in fear, my dad wouldn't have had his own mental breakdown and slide into paranoia and conspiracy theory, and me and my siblings wouldn't have lost our whole adolescence trying to shore up two badly neglected adults' catastrophic mental health while under constant fire.

literally a ten minute weekly phone call with grandpa while granny was in hospital and weekly follow-up talk therapy for her after she was discharged could have made so much difference but nobody fucking cared. because she was Old. she was in the hospital because she was a danger to the people around her and they discharged her for the weekend as a trial run and her husband died suddenly while she was in the house and she seemed totally unbothered and they still. let her out for good two weeks later with no followup care or therapeutic follow-up and no support or advice for Dad on looking after her. they started talk therapy in hospital and then dropped her abruptly and left her raw and cracked open without any way to put herself back together. and she isn't unique it's just. Careless. and so destructive.

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romeulusroy · 3 years

Text

Being Pollys Long Lost Child Would Include: (Part #1)

Showing up the Small Heath with nothing but a suitcase and a vague idea of where to go

You actually run into your cousins/brother before you even know who they are on the way there

Breaking through their group right down the middle, unaware of who the Peaky Blinders are

A few yell or tease, but you don't care, not when it's this important

Telling Michael to fuck off when he makes a comment about how rude you are, unaware he's actually your brother

Still, you won't let those assholes ruin your big day

Staring down the front door

What does someone say in a situation like this?

Sorry I didn't visit sooner, I never knew you existed? Did you ever give up a child so many years ago looks like you? Do you have any kids?

You barely knocked twice before the door swung open

You weren't sure who to picture. . . . the woman all those people described seemed like a million women. . . Sometimes she was a mastermind, other times a drunk, she could be feared or admired, smart or stupid. . .

Instead all you saw were her big brown eyes and look of distrust

"Yes?"

"Are you, uh. . . did you. . . I'm y/n, I think you might be my mother."

The statement comes out stuttered and flunky, but it's strikes her none of the less, leaving her quiet for a moment

Anna was dead, Michael had come home, but they never found her baby

She couldn't let herself get her hopes up, knowing anyone could have set you up to this now that business was growing and so was their list of enemies, but she couldn't deny you if it really was true

Against her own judgement, she let's you in before anyone sees you

She knew she shouldn't have, but when you're sitting there, before her, she can picture all the times you were a baby

How your features matched, though of course that had been a long time ago, maybe she was just making it up to match for her own good

She thought about you every day, about the life you could have lead, the person you would have become, it made her sad, but hopeful, the same way she felt when she thought about Anna

You let her look, and after a while, she spoke up

"What did you say your name was?"

It's not the name her baby had, but you were so young, she figured they could have renamed you the way Michael's parents had

You found yourself telling her everything, talking before you could stop yourself or even realize what you were saying, wanting to unveil something that would convince her you were hers

From your parents, to your siblings, your grades in school and all the detentions you'd gotten, the friends you made and the hobbies you had

You never told anyone about all the times you felt different, strange, like you didn't quite fit in, and yet you were telling a complete stranger all of it and more

It wasn't until you mentioned your baby blanket, the one you'd actually brought with you, did it catch her attention

That was one thing your parents neglected to change

Polly was the one to sew the holes in it, passing it down from your siblings to you, she recognized her own stitching

Suddenly you're in her arms, being called another name

You found her, you found your mother

If Polly could have kept you for herself, she would have, knowing the kind of world you were walking into, the dangers you would face by associating yourself with her

In return, she tells you about your brother and sister, stories about you as a baby, memories coming back before she can stop them

The time your sister dressed you up and pretended you were one of her dolls, when your brother thought he could trade you in for a puppy

Like Michael, you're thrown into the family before you know what's going on

The boys burst through the door, all of them talking at once, interrupting your time together

"What are you doing here?" You question, recognizing Michael

"Me? Who the fuck are you?" The two of you look to your mother and Polly knows, just by your fighting, you're her baby

Being introduced to an army of relatives all at once

Your cousins are welcoming, friendly, the oldest ones laughing, teasing about how chubby you were as a baby

Your attitude towards your brother doesn't change, he's a pain in the ass already, but you'd never had an older sibling before, you figured he wasn't the worst of the worst, right?

Besides, you barely know one another, you hope it'll get better the more you get to know one another

It doesn't take her long to explain the business

You're curious, and observant, two things that work in your favor and against your mothers

You're not naive either

Sure, you didn't grow up with any of this, and though your parents tried to shelter you, you always knew where to find trouble

The way they cling to one another, how the crowds disperse, the mere mention of your family name, the gleam from their caps, this was not the kind of business one would brag about being part of, at least not in the company of others

You weren't stupid

Still, Polly tries to keep you away, at a distance, as do the rest of your family

You're still a kid in their eyes, but you make that pretty hard

It becomes clear what your parents were trying to hide from you, protect you from, but you weren't scared like they were, you were fascinated

It also becomes clear how easy you fit into it all, becoming a shadow to your mother, your brother, anyone who will let you follow and watch until you show them just how much you've learned

This lifestyle was dangerous and addictive, and like the rest of your family, you understand the appeal, much to your mother's dismay

Eventually she lets you in, let's you practice shooting a gun with your brother, go to the bar with your cousins, sit in on family meetings

Her one rule is that you are never, under any circumstances, alone

You take to the lifestyle quite easy despite her fears

The feeling you've always had where you never could quite fit in with your family, your siblings, even the kids around you, it all went away

Being paired up with Finn a lot since you two are the youngest

You don't mind all the time though

He teaches you a lot of tricks with his brothers, the other blinders, ways to get people to listen to what he has to say, share all their secrets

You prove yourself not only worthy of the Gray name, but also your place in the business as well

You don't quite idolize Thomas as much as your brother does, and when you can't bite your tongue any longer, it can get you into trouble

Luckily, your mother is always ready to stick up for you

She catches herself calling you by the name she gave you, and though you're not quite ready to take it, you know she means well

"Fuck off, Michael."

"I'm telling mum you said that."

"Snitch."

Fighting with your brother becomes normal, not all out of hatred anymore, but a constant, dull annoyance

You begin to find your place here, in the job, the family, everything

Part of you hates to admit that you don't miss who you used to be, who you thought you were going to be

Your parents knew you were smart, but they always assumed you'd live a life like theirs, one of safety, predictability, a life that was boring

Here, you had a life of excitement, danger, one that kept you on your toes, where moving up in the world was something to work towards, not just dream of

Polly knew what you were leaving behind, and she wouldn't have stopped you or blamed you if you decided to turn back, but it was the happiest day of her life when you knocked on that door

You were giving her the second chance she always wanted

Your parents, on the other hand, are anything but happy

You call home a few times, assuring them you miss them, you're thinking of them, you might visit, and that you're happier than ever, but your parents know something is up

Word spreads quick in a small place like yours

Rumor spread you'd run off with a secret partner, skipped town after getting into trouble again, joined the circus

The more time that passed, the crazier they became

But your parents knew

They should have suspected you were lying from the beginning, that you were after the one thing you' d always asked about, that you figured out all along what they'd kept secret. . . . .

Now they regretted not seeing it before

It takes a little while for them to figure out where you went, where Polly ended up, but they found you again, and they were coming to bring you home once and for all

A/N: Ahhh okay I know I kinda left it on a cliffhanger!!! I hope this part was as good as the first!!! There might be a third idk yet :P

#headcanon #polly gray #polly gray headcanon #peaky blinders #peaky blinders headcanon #series #ennasfavorites

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archived-zombbean · 3 years

Note

Yoooo do you have a post somewhere about your Gotham sona's info?

I have an official post on my RP blog but I can put it here! (I'm debating on removing the tattoos on the ref sheet tbh, but I'm not sure yet X'D)

Name: Sona Bean Xueen

Height: 5'0

Weight: 200lbs

Blood Type: B+

Education: Associates Degree

Which Batman Verse is she from?

My own universe called "Death's Child" I take a mixture of my favorite versions of Batman villains, and heroes and mix them.

Relationships:

Victor Zsasz (Sexual and Romantic)

Edward Nygma (Sexual and Romantic)

Jonathan Crane (Romantic)

Oswald Cobblepot (Friend)

Harley Quinn (Friend)

Waylon Jones (Friend)

Jervis Tetch (Friend)

Harvey Dent (Friend)

Victor Fries (Familial)

Pamela Isley (Friend)

Jim Gordon (Very rocky friendship; He would jail her if given the chance.)

Background:

Sona grew up in normal comfort for the first ten years of her life. The daughter of a low tier mafia henchmen, who ran a red light district building by the name of the "Bucking Bronco" where anyone could get their rocks off for the night, for a price. Her father was a man by the name of Jeorge King.

She was spoiled rotten, but never seemed to quite understand that she was. Clothes, toys, treats, and the like were given to her freely, even by men and women her father worked with. She was happy.

However, one day it all changed. She became ill.

Everyone at birth is scanned in this universe. When you are, it's determined what insurances will cover you, what surgery will be allowed to you, and how expensive treatment costs would be. Sona had contracted an easily curable illness, however her scans at birth showed that she stood a 5% chance of contracting said illness. Treatment was expensive, her father's insurance wouldn't cover the cost, and he began to seek out ways to get money to cover it.

This was the first step into a dark era.

Her father began stealing money behind his boss's back, trying to hit up places that wasn't on the list, and even began selling drugs and illegal weaponry to rival gangs.

One night when Sona was asleep, she awoke to gunshots in her living room. Scared the, now thirteen year old, girl walked down the hall and into the room to see three men in black over her fathers body, a bullet through his head. She held in her scream, her voice a whimper between her fingers. But their ears were sharp, and their voices like venom.

"Hey there little girl," one purred, advancing on the young girl who could only cry, "It's okay... I'm not gonna hurt you... okay well, that's a lie... you see your father's been very, very naughty~ Which means you have just as much to pay for as he does, you know? No hard feelings~"

That night the screams that ebbed from her lips were muffled by the rough assault of her intruders. It ended with a bullet to her gut, in hopes she would suffer as a final 'fuck you' to the King line.

As she lay in a mess of blood, sweat and tears, she choked back her whimpers. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair!

She got up, shaking on her hands and knees, crawling over to her father's corpse. She shook him, desperately trying to wake him, but to no avail. She shook harder.

"Please! Please.... dad, wake up! Please.... I... I need you... I can't.... I can't breath..." she felt blood in the back of her throat, but she refused to die. She had to live. She had to!

The memory is a blur, but that day she was rescued by a young man. A police officer of all things. Peter Gordon. She was alone. She had a decent amount of wealth left behind by her father, an inheritance of sorts. she had to change her name. Leave the old behind. They'd find her if she didn't. So she changed her name to Xueen.

It took six months to repair the damage. She was told she would never be able to have children, but it didn't seem to phase her. She didn't care about starting a family. To hell with what little future she had left. What she craved was revenge.

Revenge came on her 16th birthday. After a few years of underground training, paying hired guns to teach her to use high caliber weapons, and pistols, she finally shot her shot. The men that raided her family home and murdered her father died at her hands. She shot out their knees, broke elbows with sledge hammers, gutted one and slung his entrails over another, she pulled eyes from their sockets, used adrenaline to keep them alive for 48 hours. When the screams finally faded, she sobbed. She finally killed the people that murdered her father.

She had no purpose. She was still going to die. It was just a matter of how long it would take until she died.

But a thought occurred. Those three were just following orders. They were just pawns on a much larger board. There was still a king to overthrow. Her hands clenched into fists, and a snarl laced her lips. There was more to do. She had nothing to lose. Death was already at her doorstep, might as well greet him with an open hand.

She no longer feared death.

Sona invested in stocks which only served to increase her wealth, but by this point her illness had progressed to the point of no recovery. If she'd just gotten the treatment as a child, it wouldn't have progressed this far. She was eighteen.

She hired her own group of thugs, her own gang beginning to form. But they weren't quite up to snuff. She needed someone with more experience in killing... someone who wouldn't hesitate. Someone who would be loyal, and follow her every command. She was getting sicker. She needed someone to be her weapon when she was unable to lift one herself.

A few weeks later she hears of a serial killer. Very proficient. Very lethal. He's taken out a few of her men already, so she dared to see just whom this man was.

And it was then she came face to face with the mass murderer himself. A man decorated in scars along his arms and chest, a sadistic smile trailing over his lips. His eyes had a murderous lust to them, but she could only smile back. He was perfect.

"Hello there, my name is Sona Xueen. Did you know you've been causing me a lot of trouble lately?" she hummed, resting a hand on her chin.

The man advanced slowly his curiosity piqued. Why wasn't she afraid of him? Why wasn't she running?

"Hmm..." he looked her over, a glimmer of a knife in his hand, "Aren't you cute~ what would bring a vulnerable, sweet, young woman all teh way out here~?"

She grinned even wider, "I have a proposition for you... you work for me, you get paid, and you get to kill more than just junkies and my men for a living... work for me and you'll never have to live in filth again! You'll be able to live out any perverted violent fantasy you set your sights on!"

He paused, glancing over the other, then at the knife. After a long train of thought he tossed the knife to the side.

"What'cha got in mind boss?" he chuckled, a dark tone to his voice.

"How does targeting corporate heads sound? They've been very, very naughty, and I think it's about time we send those pig headed shits packing," she smirked.

The other's eyes widened, "A challenge~? I like it!"

"What's your name?"

"Victor. Victor Zsasz,"

She was twenty one.

She now stands at the epiphany of her career. There are ten corporate heads that need to roll, and five have already crumbled. There are five left to snuff out. She grins at the thought. The thought that her revenge will not only satisfy the violent lust in her stomach, but that there will never be children that are forced to go through what she had. Parents will never have to suffer losing their children. Parents will never be forced to resort to extreme measures to ensure their safety and well being. People won't have to die over a system designed to kill them.

She coughs. Her chest hurts. A pain shoots through her entire body. She's surprised she's lived this long. Perhaps it's spite? Or anger? Perhaps it's her wanting to live just a bit longer so she can spend time with the friends she's made along the way.

She feels a hand on her shoulder as she's lifted into a strong pair of arms. It's Victor. He wears a goofy smile as he always does around her. She lets out a satisfied sigh. For now everything is okay. For now everything is normal. One day she'll die. One day Victor will make sure that he's the one to do it. He's vowed. He's promised.

She's somehow made it to thirty.

That's basically everything I have on her so far! I have a few comics planned to go into detail of her relationships with some of the rouges she's closer to. Like Victor as her lover and weapon, Riddler as her informant and occasional sex partner, Mr. Freeze as her father figure, Penguin as a very dear close friend, and her strange friendship with Jim Gordon because of his father saving her life. There's a lot of puzzle pieces I'd rather fill in with art and pictures rather than story format, but I hope you enjoy her lore!

#sona #sona's backstory #lore #devil's child au #batman #oc

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hotchley · 3 years

Text

when death finally comes

Surprise lovelies!!

I had the sudden urge to kill Hotch, so here we are. I killed him. It’s not happy at all and there is no comfort and I kinda hate it and I’m not sure most of it makes sense, but I wrote it and I am proud of it, so now I’m subjecting all of you to it :)

A special thank you to @whump-town for encouraging my writing and saying that killing Hotch kinda cleans your palate. I will hold onto that information.

Trigger Warnings: major character death, blood, child abuse, implied suicidal thoughts

read on ao3!

In the end, it is not merciful.

It is not expected or beautiful.

It is not poetic. Nor is it peaceful.

It is not what he deserved.

Because what he deserved was old age.

A hospital, where the lights would convince him of a better future. Where he knew what was coming and could prepare his final words and one last smile, if only to comfort the family that would definitely be stood until the last possible moment.

He deserved a care home, so Jack would not ever have to associate the apartment with the feeling of death. He deserved a care home, because it would imply that Jack was older and had his own family. It would mean that Haley's life could be celebrated with a smile that was more accepting than sad.

He deserved Virginia, the only home he had ever known. Because when Haley exploded into his life in a flurry of costumes and dances that he could never quite master, that place became his home. Her embrace felt like the love he had never received.

And even when her embrace morphed into avoidance and hesitance, she had been home. The only person that could see him human. When she died at the hands of a serial killer, he thought that was it. He thought he would never recover. But he did, and Virginia started to warm again as the team started to find reasons to see him and Jack.

He deserved love, safety. He deserved a long life that he would be proud of. He deserved to see Jack's college graduation, Henry's highschool graduation, Penelope's daughter, Spencer's wedding. He deserved to witness everything that just wouldn't be the same without him before he was laid down to rest one final time.

He deserved to be held.

He deserved so much more. He always had. But happy endings were not made for people like him.

They were not made for heroes that could save everyone but themselves because nobody ever taught them how to. They were not made for men that could look everyone but themselves in the eye. They were not made for fathers that wished for their son to be better, without ever realising that they themselves had been better.

They were not made for the terrified little boy that had grown into the scared man. Because that little boy had never been taught what it meant to be happy. That scared man had never understood the difference between safety and joy.

Mercy did not come for those that had scars that would never quite heal, no matter how much surgery was carried out. It did not come for those that believed the blood of so many innocent people still stained their hands.

It did not come for people that had been forgiven by everyone but themselves.

What Aaron Michael Hotchner- and god, he still hated his middle name, forever tainted by the memory of his father and all the pain he inflicted on those he was supposed to protect- deserved was peace.

What he got was as far away from that as the universe could manage.

He was still a few years shy of his sixtieth birthday when it happened.

It was a basement in Seattle. Seattle, which he had always loved, with everything he was, until David Rossi came to find a serial killer that would get away and only cause more and more pain after he was found.

It was a basement in Seattle because even after all these years, he was a hero. He had never learnt how to walk away from anyone or anything. He had never stopped believing that good would trump bad, even when the villains and the unsubs just kept winning.

It was dark. Because he hadn't seen the mans' face before he was taken, and they certainly would not risk him seeing it now. Not now they had worked out who it was. The former Agent Aaron Hotchner, who had beaten a man to death with his bare hands. Who had come back from everything the killers he fought had thrown at him.

Who had stared into the abyss and not even flinched.

It is slow. And painful. And he is aware the whole time that the life is leaving his body, and no matter how hard he tries to fight it, he can't. He is frozen in place, terrified as the scars he tried so hard to never look at are reopened. The blood drips onto the floor beneath him and he feels his eyes flutter shut behind the blindfold.

He was so tired. It would be so easy to give in. But it would've been easy to give in as Foyet plunged the knife in. Too easy to stop fighting as he fell down the stairs after finding Haley. Even easier to resign after Peter Lewis made him watch the family he had always vowed he would die for be murdered right before his eyes.

So he tries not to give in, but eventually, it becomes too difficult and he is forced to let go.

When Aaron Hotchner dies- is brutally murdered for trying to protect a young woman from being mugged- he is alone. He is alone and he's not old enough to get his state pension. The EMTs can't even try and attempt to revive him. His son is unreachable because his phone died whilst out at a party, even though he told his dad he was studying.

Jack never recovers from the guilt that the last thing he said to his dad had been a lie. The team had been on a case. Jack couldn't make the phone call. He hadn't processed it himself. He kept expecting his dad to walk into the apartment and offer to make pancakes or complain about his knees, even though he refused to use the cane.

Jessica lost her brother, and wondered when it would finally be her turn. The only family she had left was her nephew. Everyone else- her mother, her father, her baby sister and her little brother- was gone.

The team couldn't even pretend that his death had been swift and painless. They had seen enough murders and studied enough signatures to know what caused immediate death and what dragged things out. Derek identified the body. It had taken him longer than he cared to admit. Because the body on the ground was not the Aaron he had known.

And they never caught the culprits. Even with their sloppiness and poor skills, the team never managed to find them. It was like they had just vanished into thin air. But none of them ever stopped searching. Their newest profiler- a woman already hardened by life and its horrors- worried that they would all eventually become Jason Gideon.

Haunted by the one person they should have been there for but failed to save until every victim with soft brown eyes, or messy black hair, or a broken son, or so many different things, started to look like him.

Dave's eulogy was beautiful. Derek's was a testament to the Aaron that had existed before everything fell apart. Jennifer's reminded everyone that he had always been a father, even before Jack was born. Penelope spoke of the side he was so careful with- the one that held onto her presents like they meant everything to him, and in some ways they did. Emily's poked fun at him the way only she could, even though tears were falling onto the paper. Spencer spoke of the trust Aaron had placed in him, and the man he had taught him to be.

Jack couldn't read his. He was so angry. At his father for always needing to be a hero, instead of being a father. At the team for not finding the killers. At the world for leaving him an orphan, even if he was close to college graduation. At George Foyet for not killing them all that fateful day, if only so he would not have to live without his parents.

Aaron Hotchner died, a hero, a father and a friend, without ever realising just how much he was cherished and adored.

It is not what he deserved.

It is nonsense. It is chaos.

It is unexpected and destructive.

In the end, it is cruel.

It always is.

#major character death #tw blood #tw child abuse #tw suicidal thoughts #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #hurt aaron hotchner #hotch whump #sumayyah writes cm

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pengychan · 3 years

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 23

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: There's Chekhov's gun and then there's Ernesto's poison. You know the rule.

Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit!

***

“This way, all of you, don’t make noise.”

“But Sister Antonia, these are your quarters--”

“And you’ll stay here until you’re told otherwise, chicos. Make no noise. We’ll bring you food here until they’re gone.”

“But the girls…?”

“They wouldn’t take them for their ranks. God willing, they’ll leave them be. We’ll keep them safe, too. Now you stay here, all right?”

A few terrified, wide-eyed glances from the boys. No reply.

“Am I clear?”

“S-sí.”

“Can we pray, Sister?”

“... Quietly,” Sister Antonia said, her voice tight in the way one’s voice gets when it’s so close to breaking up, and she closed the door, turning the key in the lock. When she turned to grab the bookcase and drag it across the floor, Imelda stepped in to help her push it. It left deep scratches on the wooden boards, but no matter. They would cover that with a rug.

“Is Miguel still missing?” Imelda asked, her voice as firm as she could make it. Antonia lowered her gaze with a nod.

“He’s the only one who didn’t come back. None of the boys has seen him since they went out to play hide and seek.”

Imelda bit her lower lip hard enough to almost break the skin. “Nor Óscar, have they?” she forced herself to ask, and the slow nod felt like a blow. Where was he? Where had they both gone? Could it be that they had both made it to her parents’ home, that Miguel had followed Óscar there? Maybe he had, maybe they were both safe.

God, please.

“I’m sorry, Imelda,” Antonia’s voice reached her as though from a mile away, and she scowled. Anger came easier than despair, and it was more than welcome. No point in fearing the worst behind the safety of those walls.

“They may very well be safe and sound,” she snapped, and marched to the door. “I will go out looking. If they ask, I’m looking for some of our girls. Make sure they’re all in - if anyone asks, this is a girls-only institution.”

“... Do you know where Sofía is?” Antonia spoke up, fear now showing in her voice, and it made Imelda pause. As much as she rolled her eyes at their antics, poorly hidden behind hastily closed doors and too thin walls, Imelda knew they cared deeply about one another.

“She’s taking care of something important. She will be here soon. Don’t worry,” she added, and smiled in the attempt to convey a sense of calm she did not feel. “She can handle herself just fine.”

Antonia’s own lips curled in a weak smile. “I won’t tell her you admitted that. Be careful out there. I really do want to see the gringo’s face when Padre Ernesto officiates your wedding.”

Imelda, who rather liked the idea of her wedding actually being both legal and valid in the eyes of God, knew they would probably have to settle for the gringo to officiate it, but that was not the moment to voice that thought. Except that, as she stepped out and ran towards the plaza, she quickly found out that perhaps the gringo would be in no position to officiate anything anymore, either.

“What…?” Imelda stopped in her tracks, stunned at the sight of several men quickly carrying a body towards the church on a sheet, dark blood a stark contrast to the man’s pale skin and fair hair. He looked-- was he-- dead?

If they go around shooting priests, none of us is safe.

There was no love lost between her and Father John Johnson, and yet there was a stab of something in her stomach at the idea he may be dead. He had been trying to help, after all. He had left the relative safety of the parish to help its people.

Maybe he just said something stupid. He does it a lot. Only this time they were armed.

“Go call doctor Sachéz,” Imelda heard someone saying as they passed her by, but before she could even voice her question - would the doctor be of any use, was he even still alive? - someone else called out her own name.

“Imelda!”

Ceci’s voice caused her to tear her gaze off the gringo who was perhaps an ex gringo. She was running up to her, hair dishevelled in a way Imelda had never seen it - she had always been dignified, even when they were young girls.

But today was not a normal day.

“They have Miguel,” Ceci panted, grabbing her shoulders. “And Óscar.”

No. No. No.

For a moment, just a moment, the world seemed to spin around her. It was as though sunlight itself faded for a moment, distant screams muffled, leaving the world empty and dark. Imelda’s knees may have buckled, they almost did, but she couldn’t allow herself to collapse.

“Their commander is loco,” Ceci was saying, eyes wide. “He just kept screaming about a deserter, one de la Cruz, and the more we swore none of us knew him the more he lost it. And when Padre Juan stepped in-- Imelda! Wait! Come back!”

Imelda didn’t listen: she just tore away from her grasp and ran, towards the plaza, towards the cries.

They had her brother. They had her charge. She had to go to them.

Whenever she thought about that nightmare scenario, Imelda was so certain of what she’d do: get the pistol she had taken from Ernesto, and use it the second it was necessary. But now that it was happening, she knew that taking out the gun would mean signing her death warrant, and that of God knew how many others in the village. A lone woman with a pistol - she would be killed quickly, and retribution on everyone else would be swift. She would be of no use to anyone dead.

Maybe Ernesto had been right, after all. What involvement she’d had had been from the sidelines. She knew nothing of war; Santa Cecilia knew nothing of war.

But war had come to them, and it was a matter of learning fast or dying.

He just kept screaming about a deserter.

There is no mercy in war, Ernesto had said.

He’s one of our own now. I can’t give him away.

They have Óscar.

I promised we would protect him.

They have Miguel.

We protect our own.

He lied to us.

There must be something we can do. Anything.

As she ran as fast as her robes allowed her, blood rushing in her ears and thoughts going in circles, Imelda could only pray that Ernesto would stay at the González farm, unaware, for as long as possible.

If he returned too early and they found out he was there, and that they hadn’t handed him over, it would spell disaster for all of them.

***

“Miguel!”

Héctor’s scream was loud enough to hurt his throat, and it was still lost under the echo of the gunshot, under the wordless cries of the people of Santa Cecilia trying to back away, the shouts of those calling out for doctor Sanchéz and the stunned cries of ‘he shot him, he shot a man of God ! ’ coming even from the Federales themselves.

It was lost beneath all the confusion, and Miguel’s screams.

“No! What have you done! What have you done!”

“Be still-- be still, brat! Don’t try my patience, there is a bullet for you too if you won’t--!”

“Let me go!”

“I am warning you!”

“Murderer! Let me g--!”

“Wait! Por favor!”

This time, Héctor’s cry was loud enough to be heard. That, and it’s rather hard not to notice someone in a priestly robe throwing himself in front of your horse, gripping the reins and looking up at you with a look of pure anguish on his face.

The commander seemed startled, pistol still in mid-air, and he let his gaze shift from Héctor to the motionless priest bleeding out on the cobblestones, a few men already trying to press on the wound to stop the blood loss, calling for help to take him to the doctor. Héctor didn’t look down, didn’t focus on the fact he had just witnessed a man being shot down, didn’t even think he was putting himself in danger of being next.

All he knew was that the man had Miguel, and he couldn’t have him.

He opened his mouth to plead, but the commander’s eyes were back on him and he spoke up before he could. In his grasp Miguel was shaking, eyes full of tears and skin ashen.

“Are all priests in this village eager to become martyrs? Let go of the reins now, or--”

“I’ll join you,” Héctor blurted out, holding tighter onto the reins. “I beg of you to let him go. I’ll take his place.”

The soldier’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline; Miguel, on the other hand, let out a gasp.

“Héctor, no--!” he choked out, only to trail off when the man gave him a shake.

“You know him?”

“He is a warden of the Church. I--”

“Well, go back to the Church. We don’t take in priests.”

“I am a novice, not a priest,” Héctor spoke quickly, and fell on his knees. Blood soaked through the robe, warm and wet, while somewhere behind him Father John was taken away on a sheet. Federales allowed it, most of them probably still stunned at the notion their commander had just shot a priest; many held no more love for the Church than Huerta himself did, but fear of God’s punishment was too ingrained in their hearts since childhood not to hold some weight. “I have taken no vows-- none. I can join the army. I’ll do it right now. I’ll do anything you ask.”

There was a hiccupping sob, tears spilling down Miguel’s cheeks. He was always such a lively boy, so smart, always up to something - but now he only looked like the scared child he was. Héctor desperately wanted to comfort him, but he dared not tear his gaze from that of the commander, whose harsh expression had softened even so slightly. When he spoke again, his voice was… calmer.

“You seem to care about this muchacho an awful lot.”

“He’s like a son to me,” Héctor said, and he realized the truth of it only as it left his lips. Miguel let out another sob, trying to wipe his eyes.

“Héctor…” he managed, and Héctor finally dared smile at the boy. A shaky smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“It will be all right, chamaco, I promise,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it, and looked back at the soldier, who stared back a few moments… and finally lowered the pistol, putting it back in the holster.

“What is your name?”

“Héctor, señor.”

“Héctor and what else?”

“Just Héctor. I-- I have no family.”

“Can you hold a gun?”

“Sí.”

“Shoot?”

“I-- only tried a few times. But I will learn.”

“Mph. I guess it’s something. We can’t be picky these days.”

“You won’t regret it. I swear.”

The man sighed. Much later on, Héctor would wonder if the look he gave him that moment truly was somewhat apologetic, or if it had just been his imagination. To his last day, he would never be entirely sure. “... Very well, Just Héctor. I am Commander Hernández. Welcome to the Federal Army,” he said, and let go of Miguel. The boy jumped off the horse and was in Héctor’s arms the next moment, crying hard, face pressed against his shoulder.

“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go,” he sobbed, holding on tight. “You’ve got to get married-- I’m sorry I was so mad at you-- please don’t go--”

I’m sorry, Imelda.

“It will be all right,” Héctor managed, trying to sound as optimistic as he could. “I’ll be back once this is over and I’ll have plenty of stories to tell.”

Miguel sniffled, still holding on tight. “Promise,” he choked out.

“I swear.”

Another shuddering breath. “Did you-- do you really--?”

“All right, all right, enough. Just looking at you makes my teeth rot.”

Gustavo’s voice rang out suddenly, and Miguel was torn from Héctor’s arms before he could react. He tried to protest, to break free, but Gustavo had already pushed him back towards Chicharrón, who trapped him in a steely grip the boy had no chance of escaping - Héctor would know, he had been on the receiving end of that a few times before.

As the old gravedigger began pulling Miguel away despite his protests, and Héctor stood - so much blood on the cobblestones, surely the gringo was dead - Commander Hernández gave Gustavo a somewhat weary glance. “And you are…?”

“Gustavo Torres, señor. I wish to join your ranks,” Gustavo said, making a dismissive gesture towards the plaza behind him. “I’ve had enough of this place. I am a good shooter, too,” he added. Héctor knew that was an absolute lie: Gustavo couldn't even hit his own foot with any type of firearm. What the hell was he going on about - and why join the Federales? He was a pendejo, that much was no mystery, but since well did he support Huerta? What was going on?

Commander Hernández tilted his head, seemingly taken aback of for entirely different reasons. It probably wasn’t often anyone volunteered to join. “... Well then. If you’re willing to join, I see no reason to deny you.”

“Uh, Commander…” a soldier approached them, looking a little shaken up. Either he was new to all this, or he found his commander had gone a step too far in shooting a man of God in cold blood - gringo or not. He gestured towards a group of people behind him, separated from the rest of the plaza; all men of varying ages… and, to Héctor’s horror, among them there was a boy. Óscar. “We have the thirty men you ask--.”

“No you don’t,” Gustavo muttered. “What you have is twenty-eight men and a half,” a pointed look in Héctor’s direction, “plus a child. The muchacho with glasses over there? Those two bottle ends on his face are not enough to make him usable with a gun. He couldn’t tell his sister from a donkey. I mean, sometimes no one can,” he added, making Héctor want more than anything to wrap his hands around his neck, thumbs on the throat, and squeeze.

But he could see what he was trying to do, so he held his tongue and his hands. Just barely.

Commander Hernández raised an eyebrow. “If this is an attempt at taking the boy’s place, it is rather transparent,” he said, and Gustavo shrugged.

“Then I can replace anyone else,” he replied. Either he did an excellent job at sounding like he didn’t give a damn either way, or he really didn’t give a damn either way. “Or you leave with thirty-one men. It just seems fair to warn you that the boy’s eyesight is awful and he’d make a poor soldier.”

Commander Hernández turned back to look directly at Óscar, who pressed himself against the wall under his gaze as though trying to make himself feel smaller, all skinny limbs and huge glasses. In the end, the man shrugged. “Mmh. Those glasses do seem awfully thick, and you do look like you’d make a better soldier,” he said, and he gestured for the closest soldier to let him go. Cries of mercy for others rose up from sisters, wives, parents - but none was heeded. There would be no more mercy that day.

As he watched in relief Óscar being pushed away from the lineup, eyes wide and bewildered, Héctor only vaguely heard the commander’s orders for his men to give the new recruit uniforms, get supplies and fresh horses from the village, and be ready to leave within the hour. He let out a long breath and turned to Gustavo.

“Gracias,” he murmured, only to get an annoyed look in return.

“Don’t thank me. If we survive this, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Let me guess. This is all my fault?”

“Of course it is. It’s always your fault, somehow,” Gustavo grunted, glaring at the ground while they walked to get their uniforms. “We can only hope the puta is going to follow my instructions and get us help.”

A thought crossed Héctor’s mind, unexpected and blinding as the flare of a match in a darkened room. He found himself blinking, taken aback. He had no clue who the puta may be, but the rest was… revealing. “Those messages-- the instructions-- was it y ouch! ”

“Scream it for everyone to hear, why don’t you!” Gustavo hissed, falling back into step after stomping on Héctor’s foot. It caused him to walk a bit awkwardly, but he didn’t protest or say anything more. Only after a folded uniform was pushed into his arms - obviously used, ill-fitting and with specks on it that looked a lot like dried blood - did Héctor dare turn, heart heavy in his chest, hoping to get at least one last glimpse of Imelda before he left.

And, for the second time that day, he got his wish. Imelda stood at the front of the crowd, holding onto Óscar. He was already taller than she was, but she cradled his head the way she did when she was a girl and he was just a young child. Miguel was there, too, having somehow escaped Cheech’s grasp. He was holding onto her robe but, unlike Óscar, he was looking towards him. Both him and Imelda were, his face tear-soaked and blotchy and hers terribly grave, and terribly pale.

I’m sorry, he ached to tell them both. Stay safe. I love you. I’ll be back soon.

But they were too far away, and he could only hope his glance would be enough to tell them that. He could only hope they knew.

When I return, Héctor thought, refusing to contemplate any other scenario, to add any ifs to that. He’d be back, whatever it took. When I return and we marry, Miguel will stay with us.

Only then, with that thought in mind, Héctor was able to give them a weak smile.

***

Had it not been for her brother holding onto her like he hadn’t in years, or for Miguel clinging to her robe while shaking with hiccuping sobs, Imelda may have ran forward. She may have pushed through, to the commander, and screamed to him that she knew where to find the deserter he wanted - that he could have him, if he released everyone else.

One man’s life against thirty. Thirty men, including the one she loved, that could be released in exchange for one.

I could save him. I could save them all, here and now.

Later on she would not be proud of what she came so close to doing, but neither would she be ashamed. She had promised Ernesto she would protect him from the Federal Army if it came to it, and she had meant it; if it came to taking a bullet to keep that promise, she’d have taken the bullet. But letting other people do the same… that was where she balked.

As much as it tore at her heart, she knew Héctor had made his choice. He must have known that giving Ernesto away would save him and Miguel both, but he had decided to take Miguel’s place and keep Ernesto safe instead. The others, though, had no choice at all. Twenty-nine men who knew nothing of Ernesto’s deceit and could not make their own decision as to whether he should be protected with their lives or not.

There were young husbands, young fathers, family men who may never return home, leaving widows and orphans and lonely parents. Who were they to make that choice for all of them? Who was she to do it?

We protect our own.

He is one of ours, too.

One life. One life against thirty.

Héctor may never forgive me.

He can hate me, if it means he’ll be alive to do it.

Imelda watched, her head wrapped in silence, as Héctor took a uniform and finally, for the first time, looked back. Their gazes met, the coldness in the pit of Imelda’s stomach turned to ache, and the idiota did the unthinkable. He had the galls to smile at her, and somehow it was the most heartbreaking thing she ever had to endure - seeing that smile, and knowing it may be the last time she did.

No. No, she couldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t let that smile be taken away from the world a day too soon than it had to, no matter if she would never again see it directed at her. She would live with it. They both would.

With a long breath, Imelda made peace with the fact she may never be able to sleep well again as long as she lived, and gently pushed Óscar away. “Go home,” she told him, stroking his cheek, and went to step forward and go speak with the commander.

Only to stop as Miguel’s grip on her robe tightened and he pulled her back, looking up at her with a tear-streaked face. “Don’t do it,” he choked out, and Imelda’s blood ran cold. It was as though the child had read her intentions on her face, plain as day. “I promised him he’d be safe here. I promised.”

Oh, my little one. It was too much responsibility to put on you.

Imelda swallowed, unable to speak for a few moments. “Miguel…” she managed, her voice barely audible, most of it stuck somewhere in her throat. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. Sometimes we need to make-- choices we’d never want to make.”

“I don’t want to choose,” Miguel pleaded, still holding on with both hands. “I don’t want either of them to die. He-- he’s loco, you didn’t see how he shot Padre J-Juan, he… he really hates Ernesto, I don’t know why, we can’t let him have him…!”

She sighed, and crouched down, wiping his face with a sleeve. “Miguel, listen to me--”

“No. You listen before you do something I assure you you’d regret.”

Sofía spoke suddenly before Imelda could say anything more, crouching next to her as though to comfort Miguel as well. “First of all, lower your voice, Jesus Christ. Second, don’t do anything. We can kick Ernesto around for putting us into this mess later, and I’ll be first in line, but no need to see him hang.”

“None of those men has ever been in a battle. If they take them--”

“We’ll take them back.” Sofía pushed something into her hand, a folded piece of paper. “We will have reinforcements.”

“What…” Imelda read the brief message, taken aback. Then she read it again, and again, and again; the handwriting itself struck her as much as the content itself. “Wait… this is…?”

“Same handwriting as the instructions you’ve been getting, yes. It was Gustavo all along.”

Somehow, Imelda may have been less surprised to be told that the Pope himself had been behind the entire thing. Gustavo, of all people? Someone who never cared about anyone other than himself?

Except that he took Óscar’s place just now. I owe him. Oh God, he made me owe him. He will never shut up about it, will he?

“It-- what?” was all Imelda managed to say in the end, stunned. But it made sense, suddenly - how José and his men had known their bell needed repair, and why they had come running to fix it after Ernesto’s unsuccessful attempt, once Gustavo took it upon himself to find a solution. She knew there was something behind it, but she had no idea what. Now she knew.

The bell had always been their means to call for help.

Once they have left, ring the bell to a death knell and don’t stop. Help will come. Tell them to follow the trail. They’ll know.

“Wait, what… what did Gustavo do?” Miguel was asking, confusion overriding his anguish. Sofía smiled, and pulled him close.

“Don’t worry, niño. We’ll fix everything,” she said, brushing back his hair. She smiled, but even her smile was wrong, sharp, teeth ground tightly. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Imelda stood slowly, slipping the note in her sleeve, and glanced up. Now all she could see were people huddled together mourning their losses, while soldiers took all that was not nailed down in the small weekly market. The men the Federales had chosen to join their ranks were gone, Héctor with them, without so much a last word between them.

No matter. This is not the end. We’ll bring them back. By any means necessary.

“... Let’s take Miguel back to safety, and be ready to ring the bell once they’re gone.”

“And what do you plan on doing?”

“There is something in my room I need to retrieve, and a horse I need to borrow,” Imelda said, very quietly, as they began walking away from the plaza. Sofía still held onto the hand of a very confused Miguel; she knew she was referring to the pistol, she had to know what she meant to do, but she didn’t say as much aloud or try to talk her out of it.

“Of course,” was all she said. "Be careful.”

“What’s happening?” Miguel asked, his voice small. Desperately wanting to be hopeful, but terrified of seeing that hope shattered. “How… can you really fix this?”

“... I’ll do my damndest,” Imelda replied, getting a somewhat shaky laugh from Sofía.

“If the gringo heard you, he’d have a heart attack.”

“Oh!” Miguel seemed to recoil. “Padre Juan! Is he-- did they get him help?”

“Huh?” Sofía looked down, taken aback. “What happened to the gringo?”

“He was shot.” Miguel swallowed, and tugged at her sleeve. “He was trying to save me and… and… can we go to doctor Sanchéz first? Por favor-- just to see if he’s… if…”

His voice faded, and Sofía looked over at Imelda with a bitter smile. “First one points a gun at me, then they shoot a priest. Our robes aren’t much of an armor anymore,” she said, and turned back to Miguel. “... I’ll send one of the sisters to see him as soon as you’re safe with the others, and let you know how he’s getting on. I promise.”

Miguel protested, but not too much. He was exhausted, still in shock for everything he had gone through in the span of little over an hour, and all things considered it was testament to his resilience that he was not curled into a ball and screaming.

He let Sofía lead him back to the orphanage, and Imelda watched them disappear with a long sigh. He was safe now. He could rest. Her own work, however, had only just begun.

Imelda gave another quick glance behind her, towards the plaza, before she headed back to her room, where a pistol lay hidden beneath a floorboard, waiting to be loaded. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to it; she had hoped the Federales would spare their village until the end of that war. But there they were, and there she was.

It was time to see if the hours spent learning to load and aim had been worth something.

***

All right, so maybe the painfully slow trip to the González farm had been worth it, after all.

Ernesto was almost entirely sure his half-assed blessing had precisely nothing to do with the young bull suddenly realizing what went where and enthusiastically getting to work - too enthusiastically, he had definitely seen more bull than he ever needed to see in his life - but he had to admit, the timing had been nothing short of amazing.

The look on old Manuel’s face had been a sight to behold, and the fresh eggs he had gifted him immediately afterwards were a nice plus. He’d probably been moments away from falling on his knees and declaring him a true miracle worker, which would have been flattering but also rather awkward, right next to a bull and a cow getting down to business.

Ah, he couldn’t wait to tell Juan his blessing had worked, after all. Maybe he’d suggest Manuel González to name any resulting male calf Ernesto and a female Juanita, just to be spiteful. That would teach him.

Ernesto was snickering to himself at the idea when suddenly, on the other side of the hill, the bell of Santa Cecilia’s church began tolling - slowly, with long gaps between strikes. It was enough to make the smile fade from his face, heart dropping somewhere in his stomach as always whenever he heard that sound. A death knell.

What happened? Who died? I was away only hours, what did they do?

It may be nothing, of course; one of the old parishioners may have kicked it, a sad but not really unusual occurrence. With some luck, it may be the insufferable gravedigger. Maybe the sexton had finally fallen off the stairs and broken his stupid neck.

But that couldn’t be it. The death knell would only ring out during a funeral, or… or maybe the damn Pope had died, didn’t all churches do that if news came that the Pope croaked? He was almost sure they did. Or maybe someone had just climbed on top of the belltower to fuck with the bell for no reason.

I was only gone for a few hours. What can possibly happen in a few hours?

Anything, was the answer. He’d learned the hard way that anything can do wrong in a few hours. Everything can go to shit in less than a few hours, and something in his gut told him that was exactly what had happened. Trying to keep a sudden wave of panic at bay, Ernesto spurred the stupid donkey to go faster until he reached the top of the hill, and looked down.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe; it was as though something had taken hold of his lungs, and squeezed all air out of him. From way up there in the distance, nothing about Santa Cecilia looked amiss - but it was not the village itself he stared at. What made his blood run cold was the column of men on horses and carts further west, leaving it behind. Federales.

They’re leaving, Ernesto thought, hands shaking on the reins. It’s all right, he told himself, but it was a lie and he knew it. The Federal Army never left anything behind if not devastation, and the bell kept going on and on and on, the continuous death knell making him want to scream. He could taste bile, stomach clenching.

Dead, dead, dead.

There it was again before his eyes - the men who stood blindfolded before the firing squad, his own rifle gleaming in the sun, the wails of women and children and the elderly quieted down by the deafening bangs once the order was shouted and they obeyed. When they left those villages, too, had he heard the church’s bell ringing to a death knell. Mourning.

Santa Cecilia was in mourning. His village, his parish. His people. His friends. Who did they take? Who did they kill?

Not me. They’re leaving, they must not have been here for me. It’s all that matters, isn’t it?

… Isn’t it?

Ernesto didn’t answer his own question. He shut down all thought the way he desperately tried to shut out the ringing of the bell, and spurred the donkey down the hill as quickly as he could, heart hammering somewhere in his throat.

***

They’re mourning us already.

The thought was enough to almost break him, but Héctor forced himself to keep going, holding onto the reins of the horse he had been given, clad in the too-small uniform that had been drenched with someone else’s sweat and blood. Forcing himself not to turn, not to break, because he knew that if he did he may never be able to put himself back together.

Was that how soldiers got through it? Was that how Ernesto had survived until he'd found refuse in Santa Cecilia - by focusing on nothing but the road ahead, never turning back to look at what they may never see again?

No. I will be home again. I’ll be with them again.

Héctor held tightly onto the reins and followed the horse in front of him, holding onto that thought with all he had.

***

They’ll come as soon as they get the message. They must.

Towards the back of the convoy, Gustavo shot a glance ahead towards the commander. He kept riding, not turning once. Thinking the bells were ringing to mourn them, most likely, or the stupid gringo priest who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, or both. Either way, he would be wrong… but he didn’t know that. He wouldn’t know until it was too late.

Gustavo Torres pulled a knotted-up handkerchief from his pocket, one of several he’d stuffed in, and prepared to let it drop as soon as the column of men turned to another path.

***

With how little he’d lasted in bed the one night she had been dumb enough to spend with him, Sofía had written off Gustavo’s stamina as non-existing. However now, with her arms already aching from ringing the bell no more than a few minutes, she had to take that back.

Not that she would say that aloud, let alone in his presence, but apparently he wasn’t bitching for no reason when he said bellringing was more work than it looked like.

No matter. Keep ringing. Keep going. Help will come.

So she did keep going, letting her gaze wander towards the column of men, their men among them, leaving the village right ahead of her. She kept ringing as she noticed Imelda leaving the parish down below, clearly having recovered the pistol they had taken from Ernesto and heading towards her parents’ home to… borrow one of their horses.

Be careful, Sofía thought, and might have prayed for her safety if she still believed God gave a damn. Instead she bit her lips and kept pulling. Kept ringing, focusing on nothing else.

And thus failing to notice Ernesto rushing down the hill, into the village and towards the plaza as quickly as the donkey - and then his legs - could carry him.

***

“They came upon us like locusts--”

“I turned and they were there--”

“They took my son! My only child, what will I do--”

“Why didn’t God smite them where they stood!”

“Thirty men, my brother among them, I ran but I was too late, I couldn’t say goodbye--”

Ernesto heard all of it, heard the cries and pleas, the anger and pain, but they seemed so very distant. He stood on the spot, reeling, eyes fixed on the ground in the middle of the devastated marketplace.

There was blood. There was so much blood, soaking into dirt and pooling in the cracks between cobblestones. People and carts and horses had stepped over it in the chaos, tracking it everywhere; no matter where he turned, there was blood. A trail of it left the plaza, away from it, towards the church. Only one clear trail.

Only one body.

“Who…?” Ernesto managed to ask. His ears were buzzing, and his tongue felt too large. The reply came like a blow to the pit of his stomach.

The Delgado widow crossed herself, her skin pale as ash. “Their commander knows no God. He tried to take an orphan, the boy Brother Héctor spent so much time with-- Marco, was i--”

“Miguel?” Ernesto blurted out, horror stealing his breath for a moment. He looked at the woman with wide eyes, feeling as though all strength was sapped away from his body. All that blood, it seemed impossible it had all come from a child. It felt like a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.

No, not him. It can’t be. Héctor will never recover.

“Yes, Miguel… the poor child, he was so scared. Padre Juan tried to save him, to stop that man, but that beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!”

“What-- Juan?” Ernesto looked around again, at the blood, at the weeping people all around - and back towards the church, where the trail led. Above him, all around him, the death knell kept ringing.

“He shot-- Juan?”

Dead. Dead. Dead.

“Sí. Ah, it was horrible. He fell back, and didn’t move-- so much blood, I couldn’t bear to watch.”

Ernesto staggered back, light-headed, struggling to make sense of what had happened. How had it happened? Only hours earlier, Juan had been alive and well - in a good mood, even. Messing with him by sending him out to bless a stupid bull. He’d chuckled, patted his arm like the insufferable bastard he was, promised there would be no Latin lesson that evening.

And now there would be Latin lessons at all, ever again, because that idiota could learn every stupid rule of an useless dead launguage but didn’t have enough brains not to step between a man with a gun and his target.

Bile rose to Ernesto’s throat, and he closed his eyes. Behind his eyelid the sun still shone, merciless, and he stood in the desert, beneath two swaying hanging corpses, talking to a priest on the brink of death. Left to die for trying to be merciful when the world would not, for trying to put himself between prisoner and executioner.

It was a bad call, Padre, Ernesto had said.

It was my duty, Padre Joaquín had replied.

Stupid priest. Stupid gringo.

High above, the bell kept ringing.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

When Ernesto heard himself speaking again, his voice was barely audible to his own ears. “... And Miguel?” he managed. Had Juan’s death at least been worth something, anything at all?

“Oh, the child is safe-- Brother Héctor took his place, it was heartbreaking to see, but at least he has a chance of coming back alive.”

Ah, of course. Of fucking course Saint Héctor had taken the boy’s place. What was it with that village that made everyone so damn inclined to martyrdom? What was it about Santa Cecilia that made those who lived there so eager to die a stupid death?

God damn you, stop dying on me. Stop leaving me behind.

“Padre Ernesto, will you pray to God for our men’s return?” a voice spoke up, and Ernesto turned to face a small, scared crowd. It was the first time he got to linger in a village after the Federal Army left it behind, and he found he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the anger, the pain, the pleading looks. He couldn’t stand how the first thing they chose to do was praying to a God who would not hear, or chose not to listen.

God had never been any good to Ernesto. He had long since learned that if you want a job well done, you have to do it yourself.

Ernesto gave a kind smile, seething with anger behind it. Anger was good, though. Anger would get things done. Anger was something solid to cling on to, so that he could ignore that other thing gnawing at him, threatening to undo him if he let himself acknowledge it.

He knew what he had to do.

“Of course,” Ernesto said, still smiling. “I will immediately retire to pray for their safe return in the chapel. If you’ll excuse me.”

He rushed towards the parish before any of them could say one more word - and before any of them could mention anything about the deserter they were looking for. He followed the blood trail for a distance and then diverged towards the back of the church, the death knell unbearably loud in his ears. He did his best to shut it out, to focus on the small voice in the back of his head. Juan’s voice, back when they had only just met.

“As the founder of my order said, todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina.”

Any means to find the divine will.

Ernesto had seen the wisdom in de Loyola’s words then, and he certainly saw it now. By the time he reached the small shed where holy wine was stored, among other things, the blood rushing in his ears almost covered the incessant ringing of the bell. His hand closed around the cold metal key in his pocket, and bared his teeth in a smile that was almost a snarl, jaw clenched so tightly his face hurt.

He had no idea what the divine will was, and neither did he care. He knew his own will, and he would see it become reality.

“Todo modo,” he gritted out, and turned the key in the lock.

***

“... Do you think he has any chance of pulling through, Doctor Sanchéz?”

The man didn’t reply right away, washing his hands in a bowl of warm water that had by now turned almost completely red, as had the towels strewn about. For several moments all Antonia could hear was the quiet splashing of water, the distant echo of the bell ringing outside - what was Sofía doing? - and the painful-sounding gasps as Father John Johnson struggled to draw in each breath, eyes shut, skin pale and clammy, covered by a sheet.

“Mph. I stitched up all I could, but my guess is that he’ll be the gravedigger’s problem before sundown. I have never seen a man lose as much blood as he did and live to tell the tale.”

Ah. Antonia nodded, folding her hands. There was no love lost between John Johnson and… any of the sisters, really, but this was not something she would wish on anyone.

He tried to stop them.

“I see,” she finally said. “We will pray for him.”

“Getting Padre Ernesto to come as soon as he returns would be a better use of your time. He will need the final rites,” Sanchéz muttered. Antonia barely had enough time to open her mouth to let him know she would when she was cut off by a groan. They both turned towards the bed; the gringo was still unconscious, but stirring weakly. Or was he regaining consciousness? Had he heard them? Or--

“Er-- nest--o,” he choked out, and that was it. His head fell back on the pillow and he made no more noise except for a weak, low whimper.

After a long silence, doctor Sanchéz sighed. “... Go get him, for Christ’s sake, so he can give this poor bastard his final rites.”

Antonia nodded, something heavy in her chest, and went out to do just that. She was told almost as soon as she stepped outside that Padre Ernesto had indeed returned, and headed to the church to pray… only that he was not there. He was not in the chapel, not in the living quarters - not in the yard, nor in the orchard, or in the orphanage to comfort the children, or even back at the plaza. No one had seen him since.

Padre Ernesto had returned, they told her... only that now he wasn’t anywhere.

***

Chicharrón needed a drink.

It wasn’t that the events of the day had left him shaken, that he had felt powerless, or that he was terrified out of his mind of how quickly Héctor would die in battle, after a lifetime learning how to handle a guitar and barely touching a rifle. It wasn’t that he worried about Miguel’s state of mind, or that he was generally so upset even Juanita looked crestfallen.

No, of course not. He was too old for that nonsense. He needed a drink for reasons unrelated to the day's mess, that was all, and he knew just where to find it.

But it seemed someone had found it before he did, because the shed’s door was open and what caskets of holy wine had been left were gone.

Of course, better of them to have found the wine rather than any weapons or other supplies hidden away - that would have probably made them decide to burn Santa Cecilia to the ground - but that was the last straw and Chicharrón was suddenly too furious to even try and see a silver lining to anything.

“Those bastards! Even the wine! Is nothing sacred anymore?”

Chicharrón would have kicked the door, if not for the fact he would have probably lost his balance or even broken his peg leg, so he did the next most reasonable thing, and punched it.

“YOWCHGODDAMNIT!”

He punched the door again for good measure - his hand already hurt, anyway - and limped inside. Maybe they had left at least some wine, at least a casket; it wouldn’t hurt to check.

As luck would have it, there was one casket left, but Chicharrón didn’t pick it up right away. For a long time he could just stand frozen on the spot, staring at the empty space where something else had been stored. Something that was not wine at all.

Well, look at that. Had those damn idiots taken the rat poison, too? God, he hoped they thought it to be sugar or something or the other. He hoped they would eat it and choke on it.

Chicharrón limped right out of the shed with the remaining casket under his arm, slamming the door shut behind him and getting ready to toast to that wish - entirely unaware of the fact that a priest who was not a priest at all was currently clambering up the hill with two donkeys, one of whom carrying nothing but caskets of wine, hellbent on making that wish come true. By any means necessary.

High up in the belltower, the bell kept ringing.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #miguel rivera #coco #fake priest au

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yesttoheaven · 3 years

Text

I SEE YOU – chapter II

pairing – arthur fleck x female!reader

wc – 2.4k

warnings – none, just some rude people. It's gotham.

a/n – I'm late with this chapter, I know... 🙃 but I hope you like it!

chapter one here:

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

Y/L/N – your last name

A week has passed since Y/N met Arthur Fleck. It was a long week for her – with TV appearances, some biased rumors about a possible affair with her co-star and problems with the city's main NGO. The place was invaded and looters took what little they had to offer to the population. Gotham police were doing their best to find those responsible, but it would take some time.

Despite the problems, Y/N constantly found herself thinking about the brown-haired man. At some point he was always in her thoughts. Since the day she left him in front of a building on Winslow Avenue, they haven't seen each other anymore. Y/N would like to know what he thought of the movie, but the man never came.

Maybe he didn't like the movie, she thought. And that was totally fine. What was not right was this desire to find him again.

On Wednesday, Brian asked if 'the guy with the big shoes' had called her, but the actress confessed that she had not given him her phone number. What the young actress didn’t know, was that Arthur had crossed the city – more than once – just to tell her what he thought about the movie, but his attempts were marked by misunderstandings.

"The entrance for employees is on the other side." The receptionist informed, attracting the attention of Arthur, who was walking through the luxurious hotel lobby. He didn't know if she was talking to him directly, but he approached the counter anyway.

"Huh... Y-You talked to me?"

"You are the new janitor, right?" The woman stopped what she was doing and finally looked at him, repressing the urge to roll her eyes.

Arthur shook his head and with a small smile, he said:

"I'm looking for Y/N Y/L/N." The mere fact of saying her name made his heart run so fast. Arthur could not explain, but since he met Y/N, his days have become colorful. He still suffered from the brutality of the citizens of Gotham, but everything became more bearable.

"Y/N Y/L/N? The actress? Are you sure?" The receptionist asked incredulously and at the same time seemed to hold herself back from laughing. It really seemed like a joke to her. What could this strange man want with Gotham's Golden Star?

"I need to deliver this to her." Arthur showed the VHS tape, hoping it would guarantee his free pass. "What room is she in?"

"Listen, I don't know how you got through security... but you certainly saw all those people out there. Everyone wants to talk to Y/N or just ask for an autograph. The problem is that none of you are allowed to be here."

"Autograph? I'm not here for the autograph! She wants to know m-my opinion about her new movie."

"I'm sure the only opinion that matters to her is that of the Academy of Oscars."

"You are not understanding... We are practically friends, she saved my life in that alley! Ask her! Say that Arthur Fleck is here... S-She... She will remember me!" While Arthur was stuck in his own words, the woman called the security guards.

The moment two men approached, Arthur realized that things were going very, very badly. In his mind everything seemed easy. He found Y/N and she was happy to see him, but in practice he hadn't reached the elevator yet and the security guards were already putting him out.

"Wait! You got it wrong..." He tried to explain and get rid of the men who were holding him, but the receptionist just shook her head, telling them to get him out of the lobby before the residents showed up to see this show. This would not be good for the hotel's image. "I just want to see Y/N..."

"That's what everyone wants." One of the men said, laughing.

"And I wanted her to dance for me." The other security guard confessed, sighing sadly, while that desire would remain only in his dirty imagination.

Near the main door of the luxurious hotel, they treated Arthur like trash, throwing him on the sidewalk. The poor man managed to maintain his balance and remain standing with the little dignity that remained, but that disappeared as soon as a painful laugh cut his throat.

"Go back to your filthy home! You are too old for this fan and idol thing."

...

When the elevator doors opened, Brian left the metal box accompanied by two officers. Because of the police's satisfactory commitment in this case – obviously Y/N's status contributed to this – the actress received good news. The stolen supplies from the institution were found in a shed and a man was caught in the act. Other suspects are still being sought, but the only piece that doesn’t fit, is that the owner of this shed is Thomas Wayne, candidate for mayor and also owner of WayneCorp.

"Tell Miss. Y/L/N that we will capture the responsible."

"Or those responsible." The other officer added, reinforcing his commitment to the citizens of Gotham.

As soon as the officers left the building, Brian intended to go back to Y/N's room and check on her, mainly after receiving new information about the case, but his plans were interrupted by Susan, the receptionist. She showed a big smile, waving, and he approached the counter trying to look friendly.

"Hey, Susan! How was your day?"

"You know, check-in, check-out... The same things." She laughed, shaking her head. Her job was not exciting, but it paid her bills. That was enough. "I saw the cops... Do they have any suspects?" Curiosity was plastered on her face and Brian sighed, fully understanding why she had called for him. Gossip.

"Unfortunately I can't give too many details, but they are doing a good job." He stated, satisfied with the investigations.

"I don't know if that can help anything, but maybe he participated in the theft..." The woman murmured. The words seemed to be directed at herself, like a loud thought, but the bodyguard was unable to ignore and asked:

"What are you talking about, Susan?"

"A man was here looking for Miss. Y/L/N. His insistence scared me. He was determined to go into her room, only God knows what he intended to do, so I called the security guards, they put the man out. But Carl saw him across the street for three days straight."

"You did the right thing. It's unbelievable how Gothan became a fucking asylum!"

"Do you think I don't know? Sometimes it feels like we're living in hell... But the freak left his name. Arthur Fleck. I don't know if it's real, but you should check with the police."

"I will do this... Wait! Did you say Arthur Fleck?" Brian questioned, as confusion appeared on his face. That name was familiar to him.

"It's a strange name for a strange guy."

If it were possible, a lamp would be shining next to Brian's head right now. Arthur Fleck is the name of the guy with the big shoes.

Without any explanation, Brian ran for the elevator, leaving Susan extremely confused behind. When he arrived at the actress' room, he found her talking on the phone. She didn't look happy.

"Oh, he does not want to talk to me? Very busy, huh? You know I don't like to get involved in these problems... but he started it, Alfred!" Y/N had crossed her limit. The only thing she wanted to do was talk to Thomas Wayne about the NGO supplies that magically appeared in his shed, but that would be impossible. Alfred insisted, saying that the billionaire was at an important business meeting and that he had no connection to the theft. "Okay, I will not insist. Maybe when you regain your senses, you understand my side. Have a nice day, Alfred!" She ended the call and looked at Brian.

"I can't believe you called Thomas..."

"Likewise when he called the mayor’s office trying to ban the showing of Midnight Seduction." The actress argued, showing a fake smile. "These NGOs that I help, they are hindering his path, it is not very difficult to see. You know how men like Thomas Wayne build their empires. It's not pretty."

"God, I know... but be careful what you say. It is a very serious accusation." He advised, concerned for her safety. Y/N just walked over to the table in the center of the room, picking up her glass of scotch and drinking all the amber liquid.

"Don't worry, I'm used to white-collar men."

"Oh, I can see it, but I hope you're used to clowns too, because I have news about the guy with the big shoes." Brian started, capturing her attention immediately.

"Arthur was here?" Y/N's voice took on a hopeful tone and a beautiful smile formed on her lips. For a moment it was as if all her problems were gone.

"Well..." Brian cleared his throat, choosing the right words to tell her, but deep down he knew it wouldn't work. "Arthur was committed to seeing you, but Susan did not allow his entry."

"Why she did it? Usually she talks to me first..."

"It is the protocol, but in this case she considered his behavior to be atypical. I don't know if he was nervous and had another fit of laughter in the middle of the lobby, but she believed that he could present you with some danger or even be involved in the theft of the NGO... The security guards kicked him out."

For the first time in this conversation, Y/N didn't know what to say. The words were stuck in her throat. She felt stupid for not giving Arthur her number or simply putting his name on the reception list. Any of these options would have avoided the embarrassment he went through.

"Maybe you should talk to him. Do you know where he lives." The blond-haired man suggested. It was clear as the day outside that Y/N was silently blaming herself for what happened and that was not fair to her. "What do you think?"

"Arthur possibly hates me now..." She murmured, walking across the room. First he was beaten in a dark alley and now humiliated, practically compared to a criminal. All Y/N wanted at the moment was to go down to the lobby to clarify some points with Susan, but Brian was right. Talking to Arthur is the best she could do. "Prepare the car."

"What? Now?" The surprise was tangible in his voice.

"I don't know, maybe next month?" She rolled her eyes. "You have an appointment?"

"No, but you have." Brian added, crossing his arms. It took a few minutes, but as soon as the actress finally remembered, her mouth opened in a perfect O.

"The dinner with Charles is today! I completely forgot!"

"And before that I need to get Misty. If she gets here with the makeup artist and you're on the other side of town, we'll be in big trouble."

"Maybe not." Y/N smiled.

...

"If Misty finds out where we are..."

"First: You need to calm down. Second: She will only know if you open your mouth and tell her." Y/N listed it on her fingers and then took off her sunglasses, looking at the building across Winslow Avenue. "Just trust me."

"I think I will regret this later." He whispered to himself, leaving the interior of the car and opening the door for her. Y/N accepted the help and together they went to the entrance to the building. The next step would be to find out which floor Arthur lived with his mother. "And now what do we do, genius?"

"I confess I didn't think about that part..." The actress replied, looking around curiously. The place was nothing like the luxurious buildings in downtown. There was no lobby to ask for information and the reality here was completely different.

"Do you need help?" Brian and Y/N were surprised by a female voice and found a woman near the building's front door, holding some groceries from the market.

"Oh, hi!" Y/N smiled as the woman approached where they were. "We are a little lost... Do you know which floor Arthur Fleck lives on?" After that question, a mixture of confusion and surprise appeared on the woman's face.

She didn't believe it when Arthur said that a downtown girl saved his life, especially when that girl was the Gotham's Golden Star. It seemed impossible, but now Y/N Y/L/N was here, asking to see him.

Abandoning these thoughts, Sophie smiled, agreeing immediately.

"You are lucky. Arthur and I live on the same floor, I can accompany you there."

The actress smiled appreciatively and Brian offered to help with the bags from the grocery store. As soon as they were inside the metal box, the woman pressed the number 8 button and looked at Y/N, saying:

"By the way, I’m Sophie Dumond."

"Nice to meet you, Sophie. I am..."

"Oh, I know who you are." She stated, dispensing with the introduction. "I mean... Gotham breathes you!"

"Sometimes it is strange to open the window and see your own face on a billboard or on TV." Y/N confessed. The fame was glamorous, but sometimes suffocating.

"It sure is better than opening the window and seeing a pile of garbage. This is the privileged view we have here." The woman argued, laughing at the situation and the elevator stopped on the eighth floor. "Well, Arthur lives there." After leaving the metal box, she pointed to the end of the hall and while Brian helped her with the bags from the grocery store, Y/N thanked Sophie for the information and walked to the location indicated.

Looking at the "8J" sign, she took a deep breath, wishing she had a mirror nearby to check her appearance. She wanted to be presentable to finally meet Arthur again, even though he might be mad at her. Gathering courage, Y/N knocked on the door. To her disappointment, no one came. The apartment continued in absolute silence.

"Don't tell me there is no one at home." Brian appeared beside her. Realizing that the actress was anxious, he knocked on the door again, with more insistence this time. "We can come back another day..."

Without a better option, Y/N was ready to go back to the elevator, when the door was opened unexpectedly, revealing a woman on the other side.

"Hello, you must be Arthur's mother! I'm Y/N and this is Brian, we are friends of your son."

–––––––––––––––––

a/n – I really don't know if anyone is going to read this, but I would be happy to know what you think of the story :)

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worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 3 years

Text

Flesh & Blood | Part Six

Series Summary: A mysterious stranger with ties to your past shows up in your small village

Pairing: Count Dracula x reader

Word Count: 1670

Warnings: none? maybe slightly out of character Drac

A/N: as always spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :) if you want to be added to the taglist let me know (please note I cant reply to comments using this blog)

Masterlist | Part Five

- - - - -

“Ughhhhhh” you let out a loud groan as your alarm blares through your room, waking you up before you're ready. You sit up and the pounding in your head reminds you of the amount of wine you consumed the night before, and the vampire you consumed it with. Slowly it all comes back to you. The candle lit picnic. The heart wrenching love story. The almost kiss.

Butterflies flutter around your insides as you relive the moment in your head. But they soon disappear when you remember how close you came to being Dracula’s kill of the night.

The clock on the nightstand reminds you that you have somewhere to be. You quickly get ready for work, take some painkillers and head to the high street.

“Morning love!” Maggie calls from the kitchen as you enter the bakery

“Morning Mags” you say, not quite matching her cheerfulness

“How was your evening?” She asks as she continues to knead the bread she’s making “did you get some sleep?”

“Not really no. I, uh… I kinda had a date”

“What?!” She spins around to look at you, spilling flour in the process. She grins at you “who’s the lucky man?.. Or woman? No judgement here”

“Man” you giggle as you carefully consider whether to tell her the truth “well, actually… vampire” you say sheepishly and her face drops.

“Y/N. Please tell me you're joking”

You shake your head and she stares at you.

“Do you understand how dangerous that was? He could have killed you!”

“But he didn’t” you shrug, choosing not to admit he almost did “look, I know it was dangerous but I needed answers from him Mags. And it was actually a really nice night. We talked and laughed a lot, and he told me things that I don't think he would have told me if anyone else was there.”

“You're talking about him as if he isn’t a vampire. A murderer!”

“Maybe that’s not all he is! Maybe he’s more than that. I saw a different side to him last night.”

She watches you for a moment before coming to a realisation “oh my God, you're in love with him”

“No! No, I’m not in love with him”

“But you have feelings for him?”

You look at her and take a deep breath before slowly nodding your head. Maggie closes her eyes and lets out a sigh.

“Oh Y/N. What am I going to do with you, eh?” She walks up to you and pulls you into a hug.

“Are you going to tell Zoe?” You ask quietly.

“Not if you don't want me to”

You let out a sigh of relief.

“BUT you have to keep me in the loop. Okay? You tell me when and where you meet him, every time. And you let me know you're safe. Always.”

“I will, I promise. Thank you Maggie”

“I love you Y/N, I just want you to be happy”

The sound of the front door opening ends your conversation as Maggie goes to serve the first customer of the day. You take your phone out of your pocket and decide to quickly send Dracula a text.

“Can I see you? x”

— — — —

Lying in bed that night you once again find yourself thinking about Dracula. Even though you’ve only known him a short amount of time, he has completely taken over your thoughts. You wonder if he thinks about you as much as you do about him. Clearly not since he hasn’t replied to your text today. You sigh as you roll over in bed and gasp as you see him lying next to you. Before you can say anything his hand is around your throat. You try to scream but no sound comes out. You try to fight, but your limbs disobey. You're completely at his mercy and he manoeuvres himself on top of you.

“You left our little date so quickly last night, I thought I’d finish it now.”

He grins revealing his glowing sharp fangs. With a growl he lowers his head to your neck and you shut your eyes tight as he sinks his teeth in.

Your eyes shoot open as you sit upright in bed and bring your hand up to your neck. No bite marks. It was just a dream. You take deep steadying breaths as you reach over to turn on the bedside light.

“You know you really should lock your windows”

You turn your head and see Dracula outside.

“What are you doing?” You ask, climbing out of bed and walking over to the window “Van Helsing’s guard dogs will see you, why don't just you come-”

“NO!” He stops you “Do not invite me in, it’s not safe. I thought the dream I just gave you would have taught you that”

“You did that?”

“I’m just dropping by to tell you how much I enjoyed talking with you last night, and to say that I am truly sorry about how it ended. After tonight you won’t have to worry about your safety anymore”

“I’m not worried”

“That’s the problem Y/N, you should be! I am a vampire, I have murdered innocent people. You should be terrified of me!”

“Zoe isn’t”

“Zoe has a reason, her blood is like poison to me”

“What?”

“She didn’t tell you? She’s dying, that’s why she isn’t afraid. I can’t drink from her without killing myself in the process. But you, Y/N the only thing stopping me from drinking your blood is my own self control and I cannot rely on that. You saw for yourself last night how quickly I can change, how easy it would have been for me to kill you”

“But you didn’t”

“But I could have! Either you don't understand the danger you're in when you're around me, or you just don't care. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to you, fascinated by you even. But I cannot allow you to risk your life any longer”

“Surely that’s my choice to make”

“Not anymore. I’m leaving the village”

“No”

“I’m not here to debate! I’m here to apologise which now I have done I can say goodbye”

“No!” You reach out the window and grab his hand, taking him by surprise. “Stay! Please, I don't want you to go. Just come inside and-”

He quickly pulls his hand out of your grasp and looks at you with a slight hint of panic in his eyes which quickly turns to anger “I told you not to invite me in. How could you be so stupid?”

“Drac-”

“Goodbye Y/N”

“No! Dracula!” You call after him but he’s gone.

You grab your phone off the bedside table and call him, but it goes straight to voicemail. Maybe he just needs a couple of days and then he’ll come around. But what if that really was goodbye?

You sink back down into bed and pull your duvet up around you, hugging yourself tightly for comfort as you eventually drift off into a restless sleep.

— — — —

Just over a week later you're awoken one morning by a frantic knocking at the front door. You step into you slippers and grab your dressing down, wrapping around yourself as you run down the stairs. You're surprised to see Zoe stood on the other side when you open the door with a young man you recognise from your first visit to the Harker Foundation. Zoe walks straight past you into your living room and the boy looks at you apologetically.

“Uh, what’s going on?” You ask as you gesture for the boy to come in and close the door behind him.

“Dracula” she drops a file on your dining table and looks at you expectantly.

“What about him?” You reply nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Were you ever going to tell us he’s left the village?”

“I presumed you’d know, and clearly you do otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Besides its not like he told me where he was going-”

“London.” Zoe cuts you off “We’ve traced him to London with the help of Jack”

“Hi, I’m Jack” The young man steps forward and waves awkwardly.

“Seem’s Dracula took a liking to Jack’s girlfriend-”

“She wasn’t my- we were just friends” Jack stutters

“-to Jack’s friend.” Zoe corrects herself “So much so that he killed her”

“I’m so sorry” you offer to Jack and he gives you a small smile before you turn back to Zoe “But what has any of this got to do with me?”

“We need you to come with us to London and talk to Dracula. Convince him to come back to the village”

“Why me?”

“He’ll listen to you”

“He wants nothing to do with me! He made that perfectly clear! He won’t even answer my texts, what makes you think he’ll listen to me?”

“He has a connection with you Y/N.” Zoe says, but her voice sounds different “just like he had a connection with your great great grandmother all those years ago. Why else would he spare the life of Sister Y/N? Why would he spare yours now? He feels something for you and it scares him. The man who cannot die is afraid to get close to anyone who can”

You think over her words for a moment, then you remember.

“Martha” you whisper to yourself. Zoe and Jack look at you confused “he had a wife, but she died. It makes sense now, why he is the way he is.”

You think again and take a deep breath, nodding your head.

“I’ll come with you. But I don't think it will change anything”

“Get dressed, we leave in half an hour”

Part Seven

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

Text

Part I

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Mild Language, Triggering Content

▹ Words: 4.6k

▹ A/N: Buckle in. This is going to be a long ride.

“No way!” Your friend Manda squeals. “Those were the exact words?!”

You smoosh a frantic hand over Manda’s mouth and shush her, then slightly pop up from your seat to scope out the packed bus, making sure none of your schoolmates heard her outburst. To your relief, only a few close students glance over with little interest and barely anyone in a wider radius catches Manda’s words over the buzzing clammer of other conversations. Blowing out a satisfied exhale, you turn back to your friend, removing your hand from her mouth with a teasingly reproachful frown.

“Tell the whole world, why don’t you?”

She giggles, “My bad. But can you blame me? This is huge!”

Thrilled warmth floods into your cheeks from her enthusiasm. She’s right. This is huge, and you might have secretly sought this exact reaction because only Manda’s trademark, earsplitting squeal stamps news with the seal of authenticity. It’s real. You heard your Destined Words.

The same jitters from when you woke up this morning skitter up and down your spine, sharpening your senses to the max, making it easier to recall the words that floated into your subconscious—words from a bodiless voice. Your Soulmate.

I’ve got you.

Your mind handles the precious words like a porcelain tea set, carefully deciphering the voice pitch and attempting to match it to a face, knowing its efforts lie in vain because the words’ owner only becomes apparent when they speak them to you.

Some inner part of you distinctly translates the words into a comforting assurance, an assurance one might receive after coming home from a long day’s work and walking into the soft embrace of a lover. It weaves itself around your mind like a consoling safety net, painting an image of a lover better than you’ve ever imagined and everything you’ve ever hoped for.

You couldn’t have hand-picked a better day than today, Midtown High’s field trip to the MoMA, to gush over the words with Manda while admiring spectacular, thought-provoking art pieces. One of the perks of going to Midtown High is their fantastic field trips. You circled this Friday on your calendar at the start of the semester because while you loved being in a school centered around technological sciences, you were excited to study artists’ colorful, eclectic expressions and how their cultural personalities materialize in the stroke of a paintbrush.

“You’re so lucky,” Manda says, trying to pull off a pout. Her vibrant smile triumphs. “Only three days after you turn eighteen, and you hear your Destined Words. I’ve got four more months before I file a complaint.”

You sympathetically rub her shoulder, her oversized, long-sleeved denim jacket rough to the touch. “It’ll come. Just don’t wait for it.”

“Oh, I know it’s coming. I just want it to be something as cute as yours, you know.” She shudders, “My cousin Alonzo said his Destined Words were ‘Sure, whatever.’ Can you imagine that? Finally being mature enough for your Soulmate and that’s the first thing they say to you? I mean, sure, he and Tanya are super cute together, but ugh. Those words?”

You snicker, “Let me guess. You’re expecting a grand gesture?”

Manda nods with a dead serious face, though she could never truly pull it off with her full lips and Cabbage Patch Doll cheeks. She’d have a better chance at getting away with murder than intimidating someone with her cute little frown. “If I don’t hear the words ‘Where have you been all my life, you breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous goddess,’ then I’m demanding a full refund.”

You blankly stare at each other for a beat before you crack, both of you laughing until your sides ache and you’re gasping for air, not caring for the teachers' hushes from the front of the bus.

“I just can’t believe I finally hear the words, you know,” you say as the laughs fade. “It’s like a fairytale come true.” You lean your head against the cool glass window, watching the placid cerulean waves come into view as the bus drives onto a bridge. “I wonder what they’re like, if I know them. If they’re nice. My mom says she already had a mega crush on my dad, so when he said the words, it already felt like they were together.”

Manda sighs dreamily. “I bet they’re cute. And super smart. Those words seem kind of thoughtful, too, so that’s a bonus. And, hey, don’t worry so much.” She gently knocks her shoulder against yours. “They’re going to love you.”

You weren’t scared that they wouldn’t love you. Everyone who finds their Soulmate never doubts that that is their person. What pins a tiny knot of anxiety to the pit of your stomach is how it will happen.

As a young girl, you spent countless nights dreaming of the sequential events leading up to the day you finally met your Soulmate, orchestrating the moment like a scene from all the rom-coms you binged. Your person accidentally bumps into you either in a hallway or on the bus or in the lunch-line, gazes deep into your dazed eyes, then declares their love for you with some cliché phrase before scooping you into their arms and planting a kiss on your expectant lips.

I’ve got you.

The sweet words drifting in your head do their best to ease away the anxiety. You have nothing to worry about. The meeting will play out the way you fantasized, if not better. All because of those words.

“We’re all gonna die!” Ned Leeds shouts from the middle of the bus.

All heads snap to the right windows. In an instant, densely packed bodies swarm from the left side to the right, sandwiching together to search for what Ned was staring at, some opening the windows and craning their necks for a better look. You grunt as someone digs their elbow in your ribcage to see more, and you tensely shove them against the back of the seats in front of you before peering out of your window.

It’s a sight no eyes could miss. A large, metal donut levitates in the clear sky, an obstruction not there mere seconds ago. You gasp in wonder, but not fear. Surely, the Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes, will have this taken care of before the sun sets.

The bus driver, an old man with a smile as sly as a fox and pearly white hair, casually calls out, “What’s the matter with you kids?! You’ve never seen a spaceship before?”

“He’s got a point,” you shrug as Manda gapes at the driver with incredulous eyes, then rounds on you as you calmly sit back down. “We always get so worked up over these aliens, and nothing ever really happens. The Avengers got it handled.”

“You sure? Because that looks a little menacing.” Manda worries at her lower lip, anxiously sneaking peeks out the window. Many students stay plastered to the scene.

“Positive.��

✦ ✧✦ ✧

The appearance of the metal donut effectively sullies your experience of the MoMA. None of the tour guides thoroughly explain the paintings' and sculptures' meanings or historical relevance. Instead, they string together incoherent sentences about person, place, and time as they gape at the video feeds live-streamed to their phones. Even Manda stays glued to her screen, chewing on her lower lip so hard you're surprised she hasn't punctured it.

Fifteen minutes into the tour, aggravation chafes into you like sandpaper, rubbing your skin raw. You waited months for this trip. Months! You'd be damned if a few pesky aliens took this special day away from you. You weren’t afraid. You had no reason to be.

Fed up, you take matters into your own hands and stealthily break away from the group, tip-toeing back to an intriguing wall of paintings and observe it by yourself.

One painting catches your eye early, drawing you to the middle of the wall to study it further. Its tag reads The Lovers, René Magritte, Paris, 1928, Surrealism, Oil Painting. There are two people, a man and a woman, painted with white cloths shrouding their faces as they share a seemingly intimate kiss. You lean in closer, noting the almost murky atmosphere and how it lends to the mystery of the kiss. What did Magritte want you to think when you analyzed this piece? What questions did she want you to ask?

You derive two: Is love mysterious and complicated as the atmosphere suggests, or is it intuitive and straightforward as the veiled lovers suggest? And, would the love still be the same once they lift the veils?

Beep. Beep. Beep. All the phones in hearing range chime out three urgent trills, nearly ejecting your soul out of your body. Clearing your head with a shake, you pull your phone out of your back pocket. You don't even have to unlock it. The news alert flashes up like a hazard light. Tony Stark Missing.

You blink. What the hell is going on?

"Are you seeing this?" Manda whispers, sidling up to your side.

You nod, at a loss for words. Iron Man is missing? How? What happened? Did it have something to do with the metal donut?

You blink harder and take another long look at the notification, hoping it was a typo or missing a few words, words like Tony Stark Missing Iron Man Suit. Hell, even Tony Stark Missing Cheeseburgers. Anything but what's on your screen.

Somewhere in the background, Mrs. Kramer, your Art teacher, roll-calls the students to the front entrance. "Okay, guys, time to cut the field trip short."

Your shoulders sag. This can't be happening. Is it really that serious?

"Peter? Peter?" Mr. Dell calls out, clenching onto a clipboard with shaking hands. "Has anybody seen Parker? Peter Parker?" he inquired, looking over the students' heads. A bead of sweat gathers on his forehead, even though there is virtually no heat in the building, and it's a breezy, 72-degree late-spring afternoon in New York City. "Where does this kid always sneak off to?"

Ned stuttered out, "He, uhm, Pe-Peter left early, sir. Family emergency."

"An emergency? Was it so important he couldn't at least notify the supervisors?" Ned bobbed his head up and down, keeping his eyes stapled to the floor in a manner that hinted at no further comment. Mr. Dell huffs, "Alright. But he's getting detention, and I have half a mind to put you in there with him, Leeds."

Ned's face screws up in a chastised grimace. "Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again."

Your eyes linger on Ned as he pulls out his phone and rapidly taps at the screen, probably sending a strongly worded text to his best friend, rebuking Peter for roping him into his antics and nearly earning him a week's detention. You don't know much about their friendship, but they appear tied to the hip at school.

Ned's a nice guy. Reliant to a tee. You had the pleasure of partnering with him on an art project in Kramer's class a few weeks back, spending a considerable amount of time joking while diligently rendering an interpretation of Van Gogh's A Starry Night on a five-by-five foot canvass. During that time, he often complimented your paint-smeared overalls and your hair's ever-changing up-dos. He seemed like such a great friend to have.

Peter, on the other hand, is a tough nut to crack.

You only ever shared one class with Peter Parker. Spanish last semester. You remember him being too antsy for your liking, always checking his watch impatiently, answering questions too fast, bouncing his leg up and down, acting like he had someplace better to be and better things to do. His impatience never made sense to you until you heard some girls in the locker-room whispering about his Stark internship and how lucky he was to be working for the Tony Stark.

When the internship suddenly halted, and Peter landed himself in the longest detention sentence you'd ever heard of, you started to take more notice of him only because he was around more often. He was sort of cute in a boy-next-door kind of way with his science pun tee-shirts and smooth, tousled brown hair. For a brief time, you fleetingly considered asking him to Homecoming, but the futility of such a question wasn't lost on you. He noticeably crushed on Liz Toomes, and you were confident Peter's pining for her meant destiny twined their paths.

But Liz is gone now, and there's a growing 90 percent chance Peter's set his sights on MJ. Brooding quirky girl ending up with boy-next-door, now that match made perfect sense, just like a rom-com, or even better, an 80's teen romance.

Manda tugs on your arm, her hands forming a shackle around your wrist. "Come on. They're getting back on the bus without us."

Sure enough, you two were nearly the last ones in the entrance, the remaining students filing out of the door. You rush after them and reach the bus doors right before they shut, huffing in unison. Manda doubles over and grasps her knees, heaving.

"Here," you gasp. "We're here."

Your driver tuts, swinging the doors back open. "Good thing you two made it in time. This bus waits for no one, not even me. Come on," he says, waving you inside. "Let's get this show on the road."

You trudge back to your designated seats, collapsing against the plastic covering as the adrenaline subsides, replaced with the forgotten dread of the trip's abrupt end. You lean over and peer out the left side windows when the bus rolls over the bridge again, surprise rattling ominously over your bones as you find the metal donut gone from the sky.

Where did it go? Did the Avengers get rid of it?

Your hand still clamps your phone. An annoying, slight tremble in your hands trips up your fingers as they try to type in your passcode, but you succeed on the fourth try. You scroll through your social media, hoping beyond hope that someone captured the Avengers' victory or something close to a victory, something that proves the news headline wrong. Stark's probably lying low, too beat down to show his face to the press.

The far-fetched lie makes you internally flinch. You don't know much about the guy, but you're more than a thousand percent sure Stark wouldn't hide from the press if he won anything.

A sinking horror clogs your chest as you obsessively watch clip after clip, onlookers recording some unconscious guy in a red cape being invisibly bound and trailing after the commanding hand of an elongated, greyish-blue alien. Spider-Man tries to get the red-caped guy back, swinging through the city and dodging billboards, his webs clinging to the departing ship's underside, Iron Man flying into the sky after them.

It’s bad. Oh, sweet heavens, it’s bad.

Maybe it’s not that much of a big deal. Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably nothing. The end of the videos suggested the Avengers gained the upper hand on the fight, so maybe, just maybe, the alien was fleeing—fleeing… with a captive. Hurtling off into God knows where with Iron Man and Spider-Man onboard.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Your back flattens to your seat and your unseeing eyes meld to your phone, the thunderous beats of your heart stifling the rest of the world into silence. The air is thinning.

Your ears are buzzing.

A vice clenches your chest.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

The dubious mantra and vague words of your Soulmate blend into an all-consuming cacophony of words, gelling together in a chant of solace.

It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine.

By the time the bus drops off the students at Midtown and you and Manda quietly walk in the direction of home, the mixture of affirmations fans away the panic settling around your chest, bringing back a semblance of your earlier confidence, or rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.

Outside the apartment complex, an overwhelming amount of residents’ windows glow, most of them probably stuck to their couch, replaying the recent events on any major news network and speculating the whereabouts of our mightiest heroes.

It takes a while to dawn on you that you and Manda are the only ones standing outside. On the entire block.

Nothing stirs. Even the bodega on the corner appears closed for the day.

It's five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and there’s plenty of light left.

Emptiness pours out of every alley like ink spilling from a broken bottle, blotting the whole surface of the street with the absence of human activity. A tree's rustling leaves are so startling your breath locks up and you jump. Manda doesn't say anything, recovering from the sudden noise herself.

Leaving the deserted streets behind, you and Manda glumly walk up the steps of your apartment complex and up to your residence on the third floor. The apartment is eerily silent as you toss your keys on the kitchen counter and lock the door behind Manda.

"When are your folks getting back from their honeymoon again?" asks Manda, shrugging out of her jacket and toeing off her sneakers, leaving them propped against the wall by the door.

Habit controls your body as you open the fridge, grab two Sprites, set them down on the counter, then reach for the half-finished bucket of Red Vines from the top cabinet shelf. "Sunday morning, I think. They only have the weekend off. Want some pizza? I can call up Joe's."

"Please and thank you," she says, plopping down on the couch. The old thing croaks, its springs wheezing under the unwelcomed weight.

The maroon monstrosity is a family heirloom, dating back to your grandparents' time. Mom loves it, claiming it adds the right amount of character to the drab living space, knowing fully well that anyone with fashion sense would never describe any space she inhabits as drab. Dad is adamant that it's one spill away from handing in its resignation.

Picking up your house phone, you confirm, "Extra-large cheese and olives?"

You don't know why you ask. Ever since the inception of your infamous best friend "crash-overs," cheese and olive pizza starred as the staple meal: that, and a bucket of Red Vines your dad occasionally steals from. Maybe you asked for normalcy or maybe to confirm Manda's plan to stay for the rest of the night. What you do know is you don’t want to be alone.

She hums a distracted yes, turning on the TV and upping the volume to listen to Channel 10's news reporter recount the fight between Iron Man and the alien.

Though already burned in your memory, the images douse your body in bone-chilling fear.

You turn your back and dial in the order, not at all surprised that Joe's is still up and running. Once the employee confirms your order and promises a speedy delivery, you grab the drinks and candy and place them on the coffee table, ignoring the TV.

"C-can you turn it to something else?" you quickly pipe up as you sit next to Manda, unsuccessfully hiding the tremor in your words. "I don't think I can stomach the news right now."

"Yeah, sure." Slow and reluctant, Manda switches the input and goes into Netflix. "Anything you wanna watch?"

"Teen Wolf."

Manda groans, "Again? We've seen that a million times."

"Oh, come on," you groan back, playfulness strained in your words. "It's a classic. You can't say no to a classic."

She gives you a dour frown, one that still couldn't land an inch of seriousness on her amber-colored cherub cheeks, until she relents from the weight of your puppy dog eyes.

"Fine, but only because of Michael J. Fox. Next time, I'm picking."

Neither of you really pay attention to the movie or touch the pizza when it arrives. In fact, for most of the night, Manda scrolls through her social media, watching what you can only assume are today’s events. Sometimes she’d put the phone down when you politely asked, but it unfailingly ended up right back in her hands, so after a while, you stop asking. When the movie’s end credits roll around, and you dress into your pajamas, put away the remaining slices of pizza, and call it a night, both of you climb into your bed. She is still scrolling.

You try and force yourself into REM sleep, keeping your eyes shut until you hear Manda’s heavy breathing beside you. The clock on your nightstand reads 9:53 p.m.

Yawning, you curl up into a tight ball on your side of the bed and wish your mom and dad were here to help you get out of your head. Manda can’t do it when she’s so caught up in hers, and you don’t think you’d be able to tell her how scared you are. It’d only scare her more.

Tony Stark is missing. Manda would have screeched her head off by now if anything changed.

I’ve got you.

Yeah, but Tony Stark, the freaking Iron Man, is missing.

I’ve got you.

You can’t possibly understand how bad this is.

I’ve got you.

You audibly huff against the reassuring words, but they eventually do the trick in temporarily pushing the worry away, allowing you to fitfully slip into dreamless oblivion.

Seven hours later, you wake to a text from your mom. The sunlight is so bright in your room you lower your phone’s brightness all the way down, squinting at the small letters.

-Coming home early bbygrl. Dad says hi and he misses you lots hunny bun. xx

A titanic-sized weight lifts off of your shoulders—something you hadn’t even known was there until you re-read your mom’s text and verify the timestamp.

They’re on their way home, where it’s safe and you can all keep an eye on each other. Niagara Falls is just a six and a half-hour drive from here and Mom texted two hours ago, so they’ve got a couple hundred miles left. You don’t care about the distance. As long as they’re coming home, you’re fine. You can wait.

The morning’s activities in your residence pass into a weird déjà vu of last night. Manda is awake before you, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in her lap and the TV turned on to Channel 10, the volume slightly lower from last night. A bit peeved, you ask her to switch it to some cartoons while you pour yourself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

She goes back to scrolling on her phone, sparingly taking bites of her soon-turned soggy cereal. You perch on the arm of the couch, far away from Manda's screen, and munch on your cereal in silence. This whole situation sucks enough without Manda’s constant doom-scrolling, but her utter silence is wearing your nerves thin.

Three full episodes of SpongeBob play on before you heave tempered sigh and set your finished bowl of cereal on the table and face Manda.

“Do you have to do that?”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Do what?”

Unbidden anger flows through you like magma spewing from a freshly erupted volcano, flaming into your veins and flaring your heart rate as you yank her phone away and toss it behind the couch.

Manda stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. She may be partially right.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

You scoff, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I like talking to my friend once in a while. Maybe it’s mentally damaging to watch the same thing over and over and over again, and I was just trying to save you from brain rot.” You stand up and cross your arms over your chest, letting the rage propel your words. “Seriously Manda, give it a damn rest.”

“Why?” Manda crosses her arms too, glowering up at you, close to achieving a convincing frown. “Because you’re ‘positive’ nothing’s going to happen, right? It’s just aliens. No prob.”

You hold your tongue, waiting for her to air out all her frustrations because she’s right. She’s right to throw your words back at you. Yesterday morning you were totally sure of the Avengers, and not much has changed. You still firmly believe they’ll win whatever this fight is with the aliens, but you know scrolling through your phone for updates won’t do anything but boost your anxiety, like it’s doing to Manda.

When you think the coast is clear to speak, you lowly say, “I get it.”

“You get it? You get it? No, mama, you don’t get it. Because, see, if you got it, my phone wouldn’t be collecting dust behind your couch!”

“You needed a break, Amanda!” You shout back at her. “That phone’s never left your hand since you got here.”

She snaps her fingers as if she reached an epiphany. “Attention. That’s what it is. I haven’t given you enough attention today and you’re feeling left out of the spotlight. Newsflash, hon, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Other things are happening besides you hearing your Destined Words.”

“Wh-what?” you balk. “That… no, that’s not what this is about.” You’re not even sure where she even came up with the conclusion that you needed something as stupid as attention right now. Did she think you were that self-centered?

She cocks her eyebrow challengingly, “Alright, then tell me what it is. I’m all ears.”

“Me hearing my freaking soulmate has nothing to do with this! Nothing! And I’m not some attention-starved lunatic. Christ, Manda,” you roll your eyes, letting your hands fall with a slap against your sides. “It’s about you watching the news all day like… like this is the end of the world or something. We’ve gone through this. New York has gone through this. Alien attacks are nothing new, and I’m tired so sick and tired of you…”

You slow down, raising a soft hand to your chest—strange, tugging sensations sprout somewhere deep, deep down within you. So deep you're not sure it's actually there.

“Sick and tired of me what? What?” Manda pressed, the almost-frown lessening as your head tilts. “What’s wrong?”

You gradually shake your head. There’s no conceivable way to articulate what’s happening to you because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You feel… tingly, like every single hair follicle on your arms and legs rise, standing on high alert.

“Something’s not right.”

The tugging intensifies dully. You gasp against it, desperately clawing at the front of your shirt with the pads of your fingers, seeking to protect something tangibly nonexistent. It’s like someone’s fingers pinch a taut guitar string inside your chest, pulling on it with increasing pressure, pulling it further and further until it can’t move an inch, holding it the apex in a deathly promise that, with one final tug, the string will give.

I’ve got you.

Everything happens within a second.

You whimper out an anguished yelp as the string abruptly snaps.

Manda leaps to her feet and grasps your shoulders, begging to help.

Then, right before your eyes, Manda’s body begins to dissolve.

“M-Manda...? Amanda, wait! NO!”

She falls away into a pile of ash on your floor.

You drop to your knees, screaming.

And so does the rest of the world.

...

Part II

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