#i would like to state for the record she's only four months older than me and we've been friends since freshman year of high school

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Sweet serenade (part 1)

Bunty Windermere x reader. This is part one of two.

My first Father Brown fic! The Polish resettlement camp mentioned here is the one Suzie lived in, even though it hasn’t been mentioned since season 1. I usually watch Father Brown dubbed in my language, which is why I’m not sure I can faithfully portray the “voice” of the characters, with the appropriate 1950s lingo and all that; any suggestion is appreciated!

Warning: mentions of homophobia.

*****

Ten years ago

Bunty Windermere, sixteen years, three months and four days old, weeps silently, cuddled up on the spacious bed, in her family’s stately home; the walls have been recently repainted in a pretty peach colour her mother has chosen, and Bunty dislikes. She has put on her nightgown to cover the chemise that was everything she had on when her parents arrived, and tears keep flowing down her face; tears of pain, and regret, and most of all, of shame.

Oh, Merry, Bunty thinks; that’s all she can do, since the person those apologies are directed to is gone, thrown out of the house she has worked faithfully in for more than a year, and she’ll probably never see her again. I am so sorry. It’s all my fault… 

Bunty’s bedroom is on the first floor, and her parents have decided to retire to the living room before starting to argue, which is why their voices arrive muffled to her ears - not so much, though, to make it impossible for Bunty to decipher their words, especially her father’s, since he’s the one who is almost shouting. A blasted invert… against nature… under my roof… disgusting… 

Her tears have all but washed away Bunty’s make-up, which she tried to copy from a ladies’ magazine to look nice for her date. Hands pressed to her ears, she wills herself to become deaf to those terrible insults and accusations, and so misses the soft noise of the door opening, and realises she’s not alone in the room anymore only when, lying on her stomach with her arms hiding her face, she catches a glimpse of a pair of elegant, high-heeled shoes approaching the bed.

“May I come in, Bunty?” Aunt Fliss asks softly, and after a moment of confusion the girl quickly remembers that of course, her aunt had been invited to that soirée -that blasted soirée, Bunty thinks resentfully; what adult people party ends before eleven at night?!- at the home of a friend of her parents, so it’s not surprising that she came home with them, maybe for a nightcap or something of the sort.

Felicia, newly engaged to lord Montague -a man Bunty doesn’t necessarily dislike, but she thinks her aunt deserves much better, or at least more than a man who is already losing his hair before turning forty- as usual impeccably dressed, stylish and just a little more daring that would normally be acceptable, doesn’t wait for an answer to her question, but goes sit on the bed next to her niece. She takes a look around -the clothes abandoned on the chair and chest of drawers, the books and magazines piled on the desk, a record by Édith Piaf Bunty had put on her phonograph to create what she hoped was the right atmosphere for the evening- comments that the room is as messy as her own was when she was her niece’s age and she likes it very much, and then, circling Bunty’s shoulders with her arm, she sweetly inquires: “You want to tell me what has happened?”

Bunty is pretty sure her aunt already knows -after all the shouting match has been going on for fifteen minutes already, that is since Felicia and her brother and sister-in-law have returned from the party- but since her aunt is the only real ally she has ever had within the family, Bunty decides to indulge her, no matter how ashamed she feels - not of the fact itself, but of the pain and trouble she has caused to someone who didn’t deserve any of it. 

“It… it’s about Merry - Meredith, I mean, our maid; she’s a year older than me, she lives in the attic.” she begins, without the courage to look her aunt in the eyes; with a pang of guilt, she realises she should now use the past tense “Mom and dad came back earlier than expected, and… and they found her here with me.”

A pause. 

“We were in bed together.”

“I had gathered that much, Penelope.” her aunt sighs, without breaking her hug; the revelation seems to have surprised her, but there is no trace of disgust or horror on her elegant face, which comforts Bunty more than she could explain in words. She can still hear her parents fight; she can hear her mother crying, which is something she is not used to, and that makes her feel as if a whole building were weighing on her back, crushing her to the ground. 

“Dad is very angry, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so, darling; and I fear Meredith will be forced to leave. But don’t worry, I’ll speak to your father and I’ll convince him to give her good references, so that she can find a new job.”

“If he refuses you could threaten to tell mum he is having an affair with that woman working at his club.” Bunty suggests, and smiles weakly at her aunt’s surprise; her brother’s infidelity is old news for Felicia, and this club woman is the latest of a long list, but she had no idea her niece was aware of the fact “I’m not the only one in the family with a secret, aren’t I?” 

“You clearly aren’t. How do you feel?” 

Bunty sobs as she turns on her side, looking helplessly at her aunt; she has never felt so alone, and she has never looked so young and helpless. “I feel wretched. It’s all my fault, now Merry will lose her job, while I’ll be forbidden to leave the house for a while at worst. It was my idea, I invited Merry to come here, and now I ruined her life…”

Felicia softly points out that she clearly didn’t mean to cause so much trouble for her friend, who in any case will easily find another job, and Bunty answers that doesn’t make her feel better at all. Merry may not be her soulmate, she’s already mature enough to know, but Bunty liked her very much, and while she meant well when she started flirting with the young maid and knows Merry reciprocated the interest in full, she never stopped to think about what their difference in status may mean should they be discovered.  

“Aunt Fliss?”

“Yes, darling?” Felicia asks kindly, and Bunty looks at her. Felicia Windermere is no saint, and her niece knows what is being said about her, about her friends and those parties she attends where most of the attendees arrive with a partner and leave with another, but she doesn’t care; her aunt is a clever, resourceful woman, one who has always gone her own way without letting herself being influenced by critics and disapproval. Bunty trusts Felicia, she actually wishes she were a lot like her, and because of this she finds the courage to ask for… what? Absolution? Or maybe simply understanding…

“Is what Merry and I were doing so wrong? I am… very fond of her, and she of me, no one had been forced…” 

Felicia sighs as she looks at her niece, not unkindly, as she thinks back to when she was Bunty’s age and questions like that still made sense. A melancholic smile brushes against her rouged lips; she is decidedly not the most appropriate person to teach a young girl what is right or wrong concerning matters of the heart and she knows. “I wish I could tell you that as long as you hurt no one you can be free to live your life as you please.” she murmurs in the end “Unfortunately that is not how things work, and you are old enough to understand this. But there is one thing I want you to remember: don’t let anyone, especially not a person as close-minded as your father, make you feel ashamed about yourself, and tell you who to be fond of - who to love.”

Bunty’s smile is bitter as she dries her tears on the back of her hand - too bitter for her age, and for a person whose only sin has been to follow the desires of her heart. “If he catches me with a girl again I think dad would kill me; or even worse, put me in a convent.” she points out softly, only partially exaggerating, and her aunt admits that yes, her brother may accept a daughter who flirts with boys, but finding her with a person of her own gender…in that case the consequences could very well be catastrophic.

Felicia takes her niece’s face in her hands. “Try looking after yourself, Penelope” she advises, her eyes full of affection and concern, and Bunty promises she will. 

Bunty Windermere, twenty-five years, seven months and twelve days old, walks leisurely through the streets of Kembleford, an odd feeling, both resignation and hope, filling her heart. She is obviously happy to have escaped the latest row with her parents -her father especially- and since aunt Fliss had spoken so well about the village in her letters she is sure she’ll feel right at ease as well, but this place is so tiny… there is no night club or bar, the shops are so few she can count them on one hand and the most exciting event of the year must be the parish bingo at Christmas. She has met Father Brown only yesterday and she knows he is an exceptional person already, and mrs McCarthy, who she has heard so much about from her aunt it is almost as if they knew each other already, has been very kind to her as well, but people here go to bed with the sun and there is really nothing to do, nothing a person her age could do to pass the time and have some fun…

Six months ago

She’s walking along an empty unpaved road at the edge of the village, not far from the Polish resettlement camp, a gentle wind making the hem of her skirt twirl around her calves, her blue handbag hanging from her elbow. Bunty is so deep in her thoughts she doesn’t realise she’s no longer alone on the path until it’s too late; one moment the roar of an approaching engine behind her reaches her ears…

… and the next a moped, coming down the road at full speed, reaches her, and as the vehicle passes her the driver reaches towards Bunty, grabs the strap of her handbag and snatches it off her. 

A strangled cry, due more to surprise than fear or pain, escapes Bunty’s lips; she stumbles, already vaguely aware of what has happened but too shaken to react, and a moment later she has lost her balance, and she is falling, face forward onto the ground, and she knows it’s going to hurt, a lot, but she can’t do anything to stop it… 

She hits the ground hard, and pain explodes inside her; Bunty remains still for a minute, dizzy and still partially uncomprehending, before cautiously checking herself for damages; her face is miraculously uninjured, but she has hit both her right elbow and knee, and she can feel blood trickling down her leg. 

Those few seconds were enough to allow the moped, and the person driving it, to get away, the engine noise already disappearing in the distance. Bunty swears (something she had ordered herself never to do when in Father Brown’s company, or mrs McCarthy’s) under her breath. She had never been mugged in her life, a positive streak she’d rather not have broken. It’s really absurd, nothing ever happened to her when she lived in London, and then, after she moves to a tiny, sleepy village…!

“Oh, my God…!”

An alarmed, female voice fills the air, and then the sound of an hurried walk. Bunty blinks and, still lying on her stomach, sees a pair of sturdy brown boots enter her field of vision, and then a pair of knees, as their owner squats in front of her. “Are you alright? Did you hurt your head?” 

“No, I… I’m fine, I think.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. Give me your hand; can you stand?”

She can, and she does, the other woman ready to intervene should she stumble or lose balance again. “I saw what happened, but I was too far to intervene.” she explains, as if Bunty could accuse her otherwise; the moped has disappeared in the countryside surrounding the village, and the two women, being on foot, have no way to reach it “Did you see who it was?”

Bunty shakes her head as she checks herself; fortunately the one on her elbow is just a scratch, but her left leg is bleeding. She gratefully accepts the handkerchief the other woman quickly retrieves from her own handbag and offers her, and she reflects that she has to adjust her opinion on Kembleford, the village is not as sleepy and boring as she expected at all! Lovely, I’ve been here for less than a day and I have been mugged already… 

“Unfortunately no; it was a man, of that I’m pretty sure, but I couldn’t see his face.” she explains “And in any case I don’t know anyone yet, here in the village, so…”

The woman beams at her; she has a lovely smile, Bunty can’t help noticing.

“Ah! You must be lady Felicia’s niece; Father Brown mentioned you had moved here. Your name is Penelope, yes?”

It is; but she has not thought of herself as a Penelope since she was six. “I’m Bunty, Bunty Windermere.”

“It’s very nice to meet you; I’m (name), (full name).” 

They shake hands, and Bunty finds herself looking curiously at the other woman: she’s the first person her own age she meets after her arrival in Kembleford. (name) smiles at her, but a moment later her cheeks turn pink. “Oh, I’m so sorry; you have just been robbed, and I waste time making small talk…”

Bunty shakes her head; she’s still upset, but (name)’s presence is having a positive, reassuring effect on her… as if she couldn’t help feeling better, even though her handbag is lost and the other woman can’t do anything to help her.

“It’s no problem, really; it was good of you to come assist me.”

“Don’t mention it, I just wish I were close enough to intervene. I’m sorry for your handbag; did you have… something important in it…?”

Bunty shrugs; fortunately she didn’t expect to have a reason to carry money with her in Kembleford, since there are no clothing shops or restaurants. “Not much, but it had my favourite lipstick inside, and my documents… Well, I can ask for a new copy of those. I’m mainly sorry about the handbag, it was a gift from my aunt…” 

(name) frowns, her hands in her skirt’s pockets. She couldn’t look more vexed if she had been mugged herself, Bunty thinks with a sudden surge of affection, an unexpected feeling given the fact they have just met.

“I’m so sorry for what happened, and just a day after your arrival in Kembleford, I don’t even want to know what you must be thinking about the people here…”

“Well, unfortunately I know there are muggers everywhere, as well as good people.” Bunty points out; the idea of a person feeling sorry for another’s opinion on her town is a bit odd… but sweet “Are you… part of the village’s welcoming committee, by any chance?”

The question makes (name) blush adorably. “Well, no; but I’ve lived in Kembleford since I was born, and I’d like newcomers to feel at ease and welcome as well. Also, your aunt has always been kind to me.”

“You know her?”

“I’ve worked as a maid at Montague Manor when I was younger; I’m starting my own business now, or at least I’m trying, but she helped me a lot for years. You want to come to my place? I live down the road, you’re welcome to have some tea, if you want, or if you need to clean that wound on your leg.”

It is sweet of her, Bunty thinks, to worry about a person she has just met; (name) seems nice… and she’s also very pretty, she thinks without actually considering the fact - for now. “I think I’ll survive, thank you.” she says; she looks at (name), and (name) looks at her, and suddenly both of them are smiling “But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea, if it’s not too much of a bother.” 

The other woman’s response is quick, and sincere; even impassioned. “It’s no bother at all; quite the opposite.” she says; even so, there is something shy in the way she bites her lip, as if fearing her new acquaintance won’t find her company interesting enough to justify accepting her offer “Come with me, then.” 

Side by side, the two women start down the road, the sun slowly setting down behind them and the theft of the handbag all but forgotten. 

Bunty Windermere, twenty-six years, one month and nineteen days old, stopped dusting one of the round tables arranged around the room’s perimeter and grinned as (name) bent over the table and kissed her nose. 

Three days ago

“To what do I owe this display of affection?” she inquired, and the other woman winked as she smiled, that open, sunny smile that, six months after their first meeting, still had the power to make Bunty’s heart tremble. 

“To the fact that you are so adorable I simply couldn’t resist; and as a thank you for all the help you’re giving me, obviously.”

Bunty, who like her partner was wearing old trousers and a blouse already stained with green paint after the two of them had spent an hour preparing the sign to hang above the shop’s door, admitted that sweeping the floor and unpacking boxes of supplies was not exactly her idea of a fun morning. “Which is why I expect to be paid, mind you.”

(name), who looked happier and more excited than ever even though she had never been so busy, or running on so little sleep, pretended to think about it. “That can be arranged. Do you accept payments in kind?”

“From you? I might as well…”

The two women exchanged a smile, and then (name) turned to look all around her, equally proud and nervous for her shop. The room had a circular shape, the walls painted teal, her favourite colour; comfortable stools and chairs surrounded the round tables, while the counter was still empty, ready to be filled with fruit or cream-flavoured desserts. A second large banner, that Bunty had prepared herself since she couldn’t find one she deemed appropriate in the shops, hung from the ceiling. “SWEET SERENADE ICE CREAM PARLOUR - GRAND OPENING TODAY” it said in large, bright letters. 

Bunty smiled; she reached (name) and circled her shoulders with an arm. “Are you excited?”

“Excited? I haven’t slept for a week!” (name) exclaimed; she bit her lip, suddenly unsure “What if no one comes?” 

“I’m sure they’ll all come. Yours will be the first ice cream parlour in Kembleford, and the whole village has been talking about it for weeks. I’m sure you’ll have an incredible success.”

“I hope so! I’ve worked in six restaurants or cafés since I was maybe twelve, and I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, but this place is my own, and an ice cream parlour…” (name) bit her lip, as if not daring to believe her lifelong dream was finally about to become reality “I can’t wait for the shop to open! I really hope people like it.”

“I’m sure they will; it’ll go splendidly, since you have devoted so much time and effort to it. You should be proud of yourself, (name).” Bunty urged her; she remained silent for a moment before adding: “I am, in case you want to know.”

For a moment they simply stared at each other, wordlessly, two practically dressed young women -they planned on changing before the grand opening; as the shop’s owner (name) was determined to look her best for her new clients, while Bunty had always taken a leaf out of her aunt’s book and never appeared in public looking less than fabulous- a little weary after a whole morning spent cleaning the ice cream parlour and preparing it for its debut, and breathless for a completely different reason. Bunty felt suddenly shy, even a little self-conscious, which was absurd, since she had not uttered a love declaration, not at all, she had simply made an observation, even though for her standards -the standards of a woman who had had many flings and special friendships, but could count the real relationships of her life on one hand… and still have a couple of fingers to spare- that was no small matters, and she felt deeply close to the woman in front of her, a woman she had been fond of since their first meeting, when (name)’s sincere concern and earnest offer for help had won her over without either of them realising. It was difficult to give a name to, to define, that relationship, that was friendship and passion and trust and affection and empathy all in one, and yet so much more, a feeling she wasn’t used to and that, truth to be told, scared her a little, but Bunty knew she could never give up on…

She remained waiting, almost holding her breath, for a reaction, and thank God (name) did not disappoint; the other woman took her hands in her own, and smiled in that special way she had, happy and beautiful. “Of course I want to know; I care about your opinion more than anyone else’s.”

“... really?”

“You know it, Bunty. You know how much I care for you… and I don’t want to brag, but I know you care about me as well.” (name) said; she grinned, her eyebrow raised “Or am I wrong?”

A moment later they were in each other’s arms, joined in a kiss so intense it made both of their heads spin; it was a sweet moment, intense beyond words, but Bunty felt stupid -worse, she felt a coward- because she knew what was between her and (name) was special, almost magical, and she would have wanted nothing better than to shout it to the whole world, but she couldn’t, and the fault was her father’s, and the threats that had remained with her for ten years’, but still…

Cowardly. Cowardly and mean. 

… still, she knew it was unfair, and that the other woman deserved better.

“Is everything all right?” (name) inquired; she broke their kiss, and placed her hand against Bunty’s cheek; she was wearing a simple ring - her greatest treasure, she had explained to the other woman, not because of the jewel’s intrinsic value but because it had belonged to her mother “Bunty, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Bunty reassured her, forcing herself to smile; she felt guilty, as if she had cruelly hurt (name), and it pained her enormously. She was searching for a way to change the subject when, to her immense relief, she realised they were not alone in the shop anymore, which gave her a pretext to let the conversation drop.

“Are you quite sure you have made the right decision? What I mean to say is, he seems like a proper boy, polite, but you know what sort of family he was born in…”

“Hello, Father.” she said, looking towards the door and missing the disappointment on (name)’s face “Hello, mrs McCarthy. You’re more than a little early.”

“As I said already, the fact that Maksym’s father has made some mistakes, and that perhaps he will make some more in the future, doesn’t matter; the boy needs a job to help support his family, while we need someone to do the cleaning at St Mary’s. And in any case, what are you so afraid of? He can’t very well steal a confessional, can he?”

On that clear, sunny morning, Father Brown and his parish secretary had decided to take the long way to reach St Mary’s church, enjoying a brief walk before checking on the new cleaner’s first day of work. Mrs McCarthy sighed, still unsure the object of their discussion was up to the task. “It is true that there are no objects of value in the church.” she admitted; she waited for the priest to stop and greet a parishioner walking past them, and then added, her voice lowered to a whisper: “But even so, I’d feel more at ease if we waited a week before hiring him on a permanent basis.”

“That sounds reasonable. I’m sure Maksym will not disappoint.”

The priest and his faithful companion went through the church’s front door, and even the fastidious (she would have said particular) mrs McCarthy had to admit the wide room, bathed in the late morning’s light, looked way better than the day before; the single aisle’s floor had been swept meticulously, and the old wooden pews, each with two prayers’ books neatly placed on the seat, looked freshly dusted. The new cleaner had also replaced the flowers in the vase next to the altar, a gift from a parishioner’s garden, and polished the brass candle-holders on the sides of the door. “Well, he clearly didn’t inherit his father’s slacking tendencies.” she admitted.

Her approval made Father Brown smile. “Good morning, Maksym.” he said then, noticing the newly-hired cleaner, walking towards them from the other end of the church, and who smiled broadly in response. Maksym Czarniecki had recently turned fifteen, and lived in Kemblefold’s Polish resettlement camp; he was a sandy-haired, tall and slender boy, serious and polite when he wasn’t too shy to express himself. Father Brown was quite fond of him, and had been happy to give him a job. “We were just saying you’re doing a very good job.”

“Good morning, Father; good morning, mrs McCarthy.” the boy replied politely, the handle of a broom grasped in his hands; like many of the Polish camp’s residents, he spoke with a heavy accent, but his English was better than most “Thank you. I have just finished sweeping the floors here, and now I’ll do the same in the sacristy. I think I’ll be done by lunch time.” 

“There is no rush, the afternoon mass is at five. Do you have everything you need?”

Maksym thought about it for a moment, more focused on the matter than many would have been in his place. “Now that you mention it I could need some more detergent for the floors; do you mind if I go check?”

Father Brown answered that they didn’t mind waiting and Maksym left, hurrying towards the sacristy, connected to the church’s main room through a small door behind the confessional. “Are you sure you want to visit (name)’s shop before the opening ceremony?” mrs McCarthy asked as she examined the church’s floor in search of remaining dust grains “It is not exactly along the way home.”

“Of course. (name) has worked so much to make her dream of opening an ice cream parlour come true, and I think she needs all the support she can get; I want to wish her good luck.” 

“You’re only saying that because you hope she’ll give you some extra ice cream.”

The priest simply smiled in response, without denying; gluttony was a deadly sin, but he was confident a cup of chocolate and lemon ice cream wouldn’t lead him to perdition. 

Mrs McCarthy, whose floor inspection had yielded satisfactory results, hesitated for a moment before changing the subject… to one she didn’t feel quite comfortable discussing. 

“You know that after Bunty moved here in Kembleford she and (name) have become… great friends.” she started in the end; Father Brown, who knew her well enough to perceive where his parish’s secretary was getting at, pretended not to.

“Of course, they have been joined at the hip since they first met; it’s almost impossible to meet one of them without the other.”

“Exactly, about that…”

Mrs McCarthy looked quickly all around herself, as if fearing the walls or the wooden pews could listen… and chide her for discussing such scandalous matters; her voice dropped even lower. “You know as well as I do that for years there have been rumours in the village about (name)’s… inclinations.” she explained “And we know that Bunty is not exactly shy when… relationships are concerned. Besides, either she has finally started making her own bed after getting up, or in the last few weeks she has started sleeping out regularly… including last night.”

All of a sudden, Father Brown looked very focused on a damp spot on the nearest wall. 

“So I was wondering… if there was something between them; something that went beyond friendship. If they were… I mean, together. What do you think?”

“I think it is very nice that two young, adult, unmarried women, one of whom knew no one when she moved here in the village and the other who lost her only family when she was little more than a child, have become close and able to find companionship and comfort in each other. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes, of course.” mrs McCarthy admitted, impatient; the truth was, she was fond of both (name) and Bunty, even though she didn’t quite know what to make of their relationship. If only Father Brown would meet her halfway, instead of playing dumb! “They are both good girls, that’s for sure, but…”  

“I found it!” Maksym announced, joining the two once more and inadvertently putting an end to their conversation; part of mrs McCarthy was vaguely annoyed, but the other was almost thankful “Sorry if I kept you waiting, Father, I have two bottles of floor detergent, it will be enough for two weeks at least.”

“That is good to hear. Tell me, Maksym, do you know a woman named (full name)?” Father Brown inquired, who had just gotten an idea. 

“Of course, she’s that lady who lives near the greengrocer; sometimes I meet her on my way to school.”

“Well, perhaps you know already, but in the afternoon there will be the opening of (name)’s new ice cream parlour. Why don’t you come? It should be fun.”

Maksym looked interested, even thrilled, for a moment, but then his expression changed to one of regret, and he said he’d better not come. “It’s not because I don’t like ice cream.” he explained when Father Brown asked him “I do, even though I have only eaten it once. It’s just… Well, at the moment I have no money, so…”

Father Brown kindly pointed out that he wouldn’t need to pay, since for the opening the ice cream would be offered for free, in order to attract the attention of potential clients. “So you can simply go and ask for a cone the flavour you prefer.”

“Yes, but… won’t miss (name) mind that I scrounge off her? We at the camp don’t have much, I doubt we’ll be able to buy ice cream from her.”

“I’m sure (name) won’t mind,” mrs McCarthy reassured him; she wasn’t sure yet Father Brown had made the right decision hiring a person of not proven experience to take care of the church’s cleaning, but she couldn’t help appreciating the boy’s integrity “And if you want to be sure of it, you can come with us and ask her… and then return here to finish cleaning up.” 

Maksym, happy and with his conscience clear, accepted; as the boy went to put away his broom, Father Brown smiled gratefully at his parish secretary, who simply smiled in return. A minute later, the trio was leaving St Mary’s and, walking unhurriedly in the early spring’s warmth, reached the still un-inaugurated ice cream parlour. The small building, not far from Kemblefold’s main square, had hosted a barbershop until the previous year, and when the owner had retired (name) had taken the opportunity to buy it for a reasonable sum and repurpose it. 

As they entered, Maksym looked around, openly curious. “This is a nice place; I had never been in an ice cream shop.” he mentioned, while Father Brown and mrs McCarthy’s eyes immediately darted to (name) and Bunty, standing in the middle of the room… holding each other in an embrace, just a little too tight to be purely friendly.

They both instantly decided to pretend nothing happened… and they weren’t the only ones.

“Hello, Father.” Bunty said, smiling, a bit forcefully, at both; she was still wearing the same clothes as the previous evening and she was sure both the priest and his parish secretary had noticed “Hello, mrs McCarthy. You’re more than a little early.”

“We thought we would come to see how you are managing, and wish (name) good luck for her big day.” Father Brown explained, earning a large, grateful smile from the shop’s owner “And this is Maksym, our new cleaner… he had a question for you, (name).”

Clearly shy but politely, the boy explained his situation, and (name) told him he had no reason to worry. “This afternoon all residents of Kembleford will be my guests, and the more people will come, the happier I will be.” she reassured him; she had never spoken to Maksym before, since she had no friends at the Polish camp and the boy seemed to mainly hang around people his age, but he looked polite and well-mannered, and she appreciated his worrying about exploiting her “I’d really like you to come, and your friends from the camp as well.”

Maksym beamed at her, as if (name) had offered him a thousand pounds as a present. “Amazing! I’ll definitely come, miss (last name).”

(name) smiled, touched by his enthusiasm; no one better than her knew how a small treat, even a cheap ice cream, could make a person feel better, and offer a moment of joy even in the darkest of times. Her own parents had used to bring her to eat an ice cream at a café out of Kembleford every sunday after mass; she missed them more than the tasty dessert, of course, but she liked to think opening her own shop also meant honouring their memory.

“You’re more than welcome, precious. And you will come, will you, Father? It’d mean a lot if you wanted to bless the shop as well.”

Father Brown answered that he would be happy to. 

“What about you, mrs McCarthy?” Bunty inquired with a smile; she was still holding (name)’s arm under hers “Fancy an ice cream come?”

“I wouldn’t know; actually I had decided to start dieting…”

“Oh, come on; you don’t need to lose weight.” (name) pointed out courteously “And fruity ice creams are lower in fat than creamy ones, so if you get one of those you will be safe.” Flattered by the compliment, mrs McCarthy replied that maybe she could indulge in a little treat, as long as it was just a small cup.

“Is there anything you need, (name)?”

“I think I’m all set, Father. The suppliers should be here in half an hour, and thanks to Bunty I am almost done with cleaning the place.”

“All right, then; I can’t wait to taste that dark chocolate you told me so much about.”

(name) promised she would save him a cup, and a moment later the shop’s door opened once more. Inspector Mallory, who wore a grey raincoat, marched in, sergeant Goodfellow following suit.

“Hello, inspector.” (name) greeted him; she didn’t particularly like the head of the local police and was pretty sure she was unloved in return, but in her days as a waitress and maid she had had her share of unpleasant clients and guests, and was used to put on a good face and treat politely people who didn’t deserve it “Hello, sergeant. If you’re here for the opening I’m afraid you’re a few hours early.”

“I’m not here to eat an ice cream.” the inspector answered brusquely, before turning his eyes to Father Brown “Why are you here, Padre?”

“I just came to wish (name) good luck for the opening of her shop.” the priest answered, imperturbable “What about you? What brings you here?”

“My job, obviously; and I probably shouldn’t be surprised to find you there, since you are in the habit of getting involved in matters that don’t concern you. Although this time you have missed the crime scene; starting to slacken, are you?”

Before any of those present could ask the meaning of those words, Mallory had Goodfellow pass him the handcuffs the sergeant carried at his belt… and then, to the shock of all, stood in front of Bunty to put them on her wrists. “Penelope Windermere, I’m arresting you for the murder of Tadeusz Chodakievicz.”

#Father Brown #Father Brown 2013 #Bunty Windermere #Bunty Windermere x reader #Emer Kenny #Bellona's stuff

[enbyeddiediaz]

rewatched the Kitchen Scene (TM). they were insane for that. how am I meant to interpret that. how. how. if my friend walked up to be clutching her belt buckle I would assume she was trying to fuck. my friend has literally asked me if she could "tap that" and it was less gay than whatever the fuck was going on in that scene. my other friend asking me if I wanted to see her nipple piercing in front of god and everybody in our cooking class was less gay than that. me literally making out with the girl down the street was less gay than that. they wrote that and went "yeah they're just bros". or did they. that had to have been on purpose they had to have known how it looked.

#side note ive found myself in a LOT of very weird very queer situations #in that first scenario it was a few weeks before my 18th and she found out my birthday was coming up and went 'damn you're gonna be legal?.. #...lemme tap that' and the edited fuck boy emoji and I responded with 'i mean... 😏' and it was still less gay than the kitchen scene #i would like to state for the record she's only four months older than me and we've been friends since freshman year of high school #but literally what was going through their heads when they wrote that if not 'lets make buddie canon eventually' #in the tags write smthg you've done that was queer as shit and still somehow not at gay as the kitchen scene #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #911 #911 on fox

[joyfulholland]

The Peace Treaty - Mob!Tom

....when your father orders you to make peace with Tom Holland, heir to the other crime family, you find working together is not as horrendous as you once thought.....

a/n: enemies to lovers with mob!Tom...this was a labour of love but I really like how this turned out and I hope you do too! i was largely inspired by all of my insanely talented friend Hannah’s (@duskholland​) mob!Tom writing, which is an absolute must read for anyone and everyone! please let me know what you think! this was nearly a smut but I changed my mind so if anyone would be interested in a part 2 please send me a message!

warnings: swearing, lots of mentions of violence, some mentions of blood/injuries

word count: 6.1k

All weddings have a little drama somewhere, but you thought having to throw a knife to stop the unwanted guest escaping was a tad excessive.

Luckily, the majority of the wedding party and guests were out in the gardens, so it was only a select few who had seen you interrupt the man’s swift exit. You smirked in triumph as he turned back to face you, his posture having slumped realising that not only was he cornered, but severely outnumbered. Smoothing out the cobalt silk that was your bridesmaid dress, you took one step forward, before pausing at the cough from the man beside you.

Tom wordlessly flipped the pistol he was holding so that you could easily take it from him. His actions caused you to raise an eyebrow, and he smirked as he revealed the second handgun tucked into his waistband.

“Knew you wouldn’t be able to carry in that dress.” He grinned, eyes scanning your figure as you took the weapon from him. “Figured I better bring a spare so you wouldn’t have to miss out on the action.”

“Thank you.” You didn’t hide the surprise in your tone, still not used to his friendly attitude. Gesturing at the man still in the doorway, whose eyes were darting between you both, and the four other men behind you, you returned to the task at hand. “Shall we?”

“After you darling.”

~one week earlier~

“You can’t be serious Dad.”

Your father rolled his eyes from where he was seated across from you in front of the fire, the sound of laughter and music drifting under the door to his study from the party going on outside. Taking another sip of his whisky, he sighed at the incredulous look still plastered on your face.

“It’s time you made peace with him. I’m getting old, it’ll be your turn to run things soon, and we’d like to retire knowing the two of you aren’t at each other’s throats and throwing everything we built away. Besides, your sister’s wedding is almost here, and I want it to run smoothly.”

Sinking back into your chair, you let out a frustrated sigh before raising your own drink to your lips. Growing up as the eldest daughter of one of the two biggest crime families in London, you’d been raised preparing for the day it would be your turn to take on the “family business”, and you had relished in the prospect. The only issue you had taken to the entire affair, one which it seemed your father was now determined to resolve, was the heir to the other notorious family with whom you shared your work: Tom Holland.

One year older than you, the rivalry between you had started young. Both determined to prove you would one day be capable heads of your respective families, you’d attempted to one up each other at every opportunity available. Where he had excelled in marksmanship, your skill with a knife was incomparable to anyone else. When he began working for his father full time, you had begged your own to let you do the same, pleading that the fact he was older irrelevant. His specialty was smuggling, so you made disposal yours. The two of you even had a private scoreboard of times your activities had namelessly been displayed on the news, bragging that you were more successful at getting away with it than the other.

“Just shag him already.” Your younger sister, Isabelle, had groaned not a month before, as you’d finished regaling her with your recent triumph over him. “You’ve both been madly in love since you were about two years old.”

You’d almost spat your wine at her, the statement causing you off guard. Whilst it was no secret that Tom had suddenly become incredibly attractive over the course of a summer away when he was seventeen, you had made that fact irrelevant as your feelings towards him held nothing but contempt.

“I’m not in love with him.” Your words had come out as defiant, but it had only caused her to snort into her own drink. “Belle, he’s an arrogant, selfish arsehole who has done nothing but show as much hate towards me as I have to him since we were old enough to throw building blocks at each other.”

“I think you meant passion, not hate, but whatever.” She rolled her eyes, knowing when to drop a subject. “But it would be better for us all if you got along at least, and so help me God if the sexual tension between the two of you ruins my wedding I’ll murder you, heir to the firm or not.”

Which led you back to sitting across from your father, who had just informed you that he’d agreed with Tom’s father Dominic that the two of them were to hold ‘peace treaty’ talks between you.

“Did Belle put you up to this?” You asked suspiciously, eyes flashing to the door where you knew she would be holding court as the host of the wedding shower.

“She and your mother may have suggested it.”

“So she snitched to the both of you.”

“Actually, I think it was your mother’s idea first, she’s been speaking about it for a while.”

The smile on his face let you know you were defeated. It seemed they had all colluded together to force you into the ceasefire of your battle with Tom, and there was no way to escape it. Letting out another disgruntled sigh, you finished the remainder of your drink before rising from the chair.

“I assume he’s here.” The tone of your voice made your father let out a bark of laughter, and you knew you sounded like a child who had just been reprimanded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Not waiting for an answer, you crossed the room and re-joined the party that your father had pulled you from, rearranging your face into a fake smile as you passed guests in various states of enjoyment on your way to the main reception area in your family estate. You’d barely stepped over the threshold of the doorway when his voice rang clearly above the music.

“Well, if it isn’t my new best friend.”

Turning to face him, you saw Tom push up from where he was leaning against the wall. Your eyes quickly scanned his body, noting the near-empty glass held loosely between two ring-clad fingers. His black suit jacket fitted him perfectly over a crisp white shirt, which had the top three buttons undone to reveal a thin gold chain around his neck. He was flanked on either side by his two most loyal friends, Harrison and Tuwaine, both of whom offered you a smile. Whilst the rivalry between yourself and Tom was strong, neither of you had ever taken any issue to those in both of your inner circles.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s had the play nice speech.” Skipping any greetings, you return the other men’s smiles before focusing on Tom. He gives a short chuckle at your words before raising his glass to his lips and finishing the remainder of his drink. “For the record, I have no intentions of becoming friends.”

“I’m wounded darling.” Tom’s still wearing an obnoxious smirk as a server comes to offer you a glass of champagne, taking away his empty glass in the process. “I thought we could make a a good team, make everyone even happier.”

“In your dreams, Holland.” You know he’s just baiting you, but with the prospect of at least a couple more hours of party ahead of you, your patience for him was limited. “We can be civil at events and make an effort in any deals. But that’s it. We are not, and never will be a team.”

Not giving him time to answer, you swiftly turned on your heels and entered further into the crowd of people celebrating your sister’s upcoming nuptials, determined not to let him ruin this night for you anymore, and not to think about him until the next time you saw him.

Which, it turned out, would be sooner than you had hoped.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The following morning, you had retreated back to your own apartment.

Having cited ‘business’ as your reason, you knew that your family had seen into your lie, and that you wanted to be able to sulk in peace. You’d promised, under threats of bodily harm, to return two days before the wedding, giving you a good four days to get your bad mood out of the way.

The alone time only lasted fifteen hours.

It was drawing close to two a.m. when the banging on your door disturbed you. You hadn’t fallen asleep yet, having been going over some files at your desk, but the loud beating had startled you, and was unexpected enough for you to grab your gun from your bottom draw before approaching the source. Checking the spy hole, a string of curses left your mouth as you unchained and unlocked the door.

Tom fell through the threshold, his brown curls dishevelled, and his knuckles bruised. A thin trail of blood trickled down the side of his face from a slash above his left eyebrow, and a dark patch pooling on his shoulder alluded to there being another injury beneath his shirt. Quickly shutting the door behind him and relocking it, you spun to glare at the man who was now propping himself up against the wall of your hall.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked him, taking another survey of his injuries, and noting the yellowing skin under his eye that had a blue tinge. He had never been to your apartment before, but it didn’t shock you that he knew the address, especially as you knew his. Instead, you chose to ask the next most prominent question. “Have you been stabbed or shot?”

“I was close by, needed to tell you something.” He ignores your question, so you move past him to get to your bathroom, noting the wince he tried to hide as he moved to follow. Gingerly sitting on the edge of your bathtub, he watches as you grab a first aid kit from the cabinet under your sink. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I’m not going to stand here and watch you bleed.” You roll your eyes at him as you turn to face him, gesturing towards his shirt as a hint for him to remove it. He does so slowly, grimacing as he tries not to move his shoulder. You can’t help but take a sharp gasp when you see the gash running over the top of his skin, clear that a bullet had skimmed past him and not quite missed. Tom sends you a weak smile as you turn back to grab something to clean the wound. “What were you so desperate to tell me anyway? You could have just called.”

“Like you’d have answered.” Tom jokes as you step forward to begin patching him up, a hiss falling through his lips as you make contact with his injury. “You’ve made it clear that you only want to speak to me on a need-to-know basis, and this was urgent. That’s going to need stitches isn’t it? Just try and stem the bleeding until I get home, Haz is pretty decent at sewing me up.”

Your eyes flashed to meet his for a brief second before returning to his shoulder, nodding at his question. You couldn’t deny that you probably would have rejected his call and had nothing else to say to him in response. Grabbing some gauze, you start to tightly pad over the wound, waiting for him to continue.

“I ran into Jason.” His words promptly stop your actions, and your eyes connect again. Jason Boule was the son of another crime family, one whom which neither your father or Tom’s had gotten ever along with, and one who had been attempting to sabotage both of your businesses for years. “I think they’re trying to get someone into the wedding.”

“What did he say?” You ask, finishing with his shoulder before grabbing something to start cleaning up his face. “And what did you say to make him shoot at you?”

“Asked me to pass on congratulations to the happy couple, claimed he was disappointed he hadn’t received an invite, that he was sure it was going to be a day to remember.” Tom spoke the last few words with gritted teeth as you wiped over the cut along his face. “Then he…I may have said something about how vermin weren’t usually invited to weddings, which is about when he shot at me.”

“You missed something out in the middle.” You smirked as it was Tom’s turn to roll his eyes, having not missed the way he’d changed his mind mid-sentence, passing him an instant-cool pack from your kit. “Hold that on your eye.”

“Thanks.” He muttered, doing as you told him. You waited expectantly, and he groaned before carrying on. “He may have said some shit about you in the middle, which I may have punched him for, but that wasn’t important to the alluding to sending someone to the wedding point.”

“You punched him for bad-mouthing me?”

“Well, yeah. Just because I give you shit for not being as good as me, doesn’t give him any right to. Especially not what he said, which I won’t repeat for the fact it was disgusting.”

Eyes once again locked on his, you found yourself lost for words. Tom had tried to joke it off, but the idea of him defending you, in any situation, felt like a foreign concept. Dropping your gaze down, you sucked in a breath at the realisation of the intimate situation the two of you were in: you, standing between his legs as he sat, shirtless, with only centimetres separating the two of you. As you raised your eyes slowly back to his, you found Tom’s gaze still fixed firmly on your face. A moment passed, and for a brief second you found yourself leaning closer, until a loud buzzing signalled Tom’s phone ringing in his pocket. Snapping yourself out of it, you took a step back, eyes returning to his and forcing your face to remain neutral as he glanced at his screen and sighed.

“You should get home, get your shoulder looked at properly.” Your words shattered the tension that had surrounded you both momentarily, and Tom coughed before nodding and reaching for his discarded shirt. “Thank you, Tom, for coming to tell me.”

“All part of the peace treaty.” His smile looked forced as he pulled his shirt back on and stood, passing you back the ice pack and making his way to leave your apartment. “You wanna tell your Dad-“

“No.” You cut him off quickly, running a hand through your hair as you think through the situation. “I… this wedding is important, and I don’t want him worrying. We can sort it right?”

“OK.” He nods, his usual smirk returning. “You’ll actually have to answer my calls though.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m sure I can manage.” You roll your eyes at him, and Tom chuckles with a nod before going to unlock your door. “I’ll speak to some of my guys in the morning.”

“And you said we couldn’t be a team.”

“Go home Holland.” You sigh, gently pushing him out of your apartment. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Counting down the hours darling.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next few days were filled with flurries of phone calls between yourself and Tom, some more pleasant than others. Almost all of the calls were logistical; how many people the two of you planned on telling, whether or not to station someone at the exits. In an attempt to remain focused, you tried to keep your tone formal and business like, not deviating from the matter at hand.

The problem was Tom had other plans.

You’d be halfway through discussing exit routes when he’d suddenly ask your opinion on his suit for the wedding, or you’d be texting him floor plans and he would send back a picture of options for his shoes. And then of course, once or twice, the two of you would disagree about something and end up fighting, with one of you hanging up on the other before calling back almost immediately because it really wasn’t an issue you had time to ignore. Trying to balance getting along after so many years of competition, in addition to doing everything you could to ignore the moment that had transpired between you the night in your bathroom, as well as calls from your sister about last minute wedding worries was giving you a permanent migraine.

The day before the wedding, he called you just as you were finishing dinner with your family.

“Now’s really not the time.” You murmured, skipping any formal greeting as you stepped into the empty hallway. “I’ve just-“

“Come outside.” He cut you off, tone matching yours. “Got something you’ll wanna see.”

Not giving you a chance to respond, the line cut off, leaving you no choice but to follow his orders. Stepping into the snug, where everyone had retired to after finishing, you flashed an apologetic smile.

“I’ve just got to step out for a bit.” You told them, earning an eye roll from your mother and a curious look from your father. You shook your head slightly, reassuring him not to worry. “Won’t be too long.”

“If you’re not back when I go to bed I will kill you.” Isabelle sighed, head tilting back over the sofa from where she was seated in front of you. “Promise me you’ll stop and say good night.”

“Promise.” You mutter, dipping forward to kiss her forehead before retreating from the room. Hurrying down the hallway, you slipped out of the large front doors to see the outline of Tom leaning against his car, parked close to the doors of your garage. Crossing the gravel, the cool evening breeze made you shiver as you walked the dark to meet him, the hem of your dress grazing against your thighs. Getting close enough to make out his features, you called out to him. “Roddy let you in the gate?”

“Told him I had a meeting with you, he let me in no questions asked.” He hummed; body still angled from where he was leaning on the hood of his jaguar. “Figured you must have told him something.”

“Warned him we could have an unexpected visitor tomorrow so to not question you if you turned up.” You affirmed, crossing your arms around you in an attempt to keep warm. “What is it you wanted to show me?”

Tom’s eyes dropped to your arms and smirked, before pushing off his car and opening the door, tilting his head at it as a signal to get in. You did so wordlessly, sighing in content as he shut the door behind you and the heat of his car engulfed you. The car smelled more like Tom’s aftershave than any air freshener, which only strengthened when Tom had slipped into the driver’s seat moments later. As he reached across you to open the glove box, you held your breath as his arm, exposed from where he’d rolled up his sleeves, grazed your body, mind still determined to rid yourself of any minor attraction to him. Tom pulled out a large envelope, fingers brushing yours as he gave it to you before settling back into his own seat. Sliding out the contents, you found printed emails containing directions to your father’s study, as well as photographs of your family estate, and the name of a company which you were in the middle of a business deal with.

“May or may not have hacked into Boule’s emails.” Tom explained before you could ask, your eyes lifting from the papers in front of you to meet his. “I know we didn’t agree on that, but Paddy is becoming one hell of a whiz kid at it, so asked him to see if he could find anything.”

Smiling at the mention of Tom’s youngest brother, you returned your attention to the documents, speed reading through them as Tom waited for you to reply. Noticing the names on the email addresses, your eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You aren’t kidding about Paddy.” The surprise in your tone made Tom chuckle, and you lifted your gaze back to him. “These were coded, weren’t they?”

“Told you, kids got skills. Think we’re pretty lucky he’s already one of the family, or we’d all be fighting over him.”

“Well at least now we know what Jason’s coming after.”

“And that he’s only sending one guy. We’ll barely have anything to do.”

You chuckled softly at his words, leaning back against the chair and letting your gaze wander over the darkened landscape of your estate. You could only just make out the large marquee that had been erected for the wedding, most of it obscured by the dark as well as part of the house.

“Think we could have always worked together like this?” Tom’s words startle you, and you tilt your head to the side to find him mirroring your position. “You know, if you could have just admitted I was better when we were kids, then it would have been fine.”

You let out a short laugh, watching his lips pull into a grin at the sound. Seeing how smug he was, an idea flashed into your head. Before Tom could realise what was happening, you pushed yourself off your chair and swung your legs to straddle over his, pulling the small knife you had tucked into your belt free to press loosely against his neck.

“What was that about being better than me?” You asked, grinning as his expression changed from one of shock to frustration, his eyes rolling as he raised one hand to push gently at your hip. “You’re getting slow, Holland.”

“Doesn’t count.” He protested, eyes following your hand as you flipped the small blade back into the safety of its holder. “You’ve pulled bigger knives on me than that. Anyway, that wasn’t fair, I’m unarmed.”

“So I wouldn’t find your gun in the armrest box beside us?” You tease, settling back on Tom’s thighs and opening up the compartment to prove your point. “Oh, look, I was right.”

“You’re acting like you know more about me than I do you, but I’m well aware that you have another knife strapped on you, so this works both ways.”

“How do you know I have two?”

“Because you’ve been carrying two knives since you were seventeen after that job we had to do together that almost went wrong, and you only had one.”

“You remember that?”

“Course I do, you stole my car keys and refused to let me drive myself home.”

“Because you’d been shot.”

“I was barely bleeding.”

“That’s because the bullet was still stuck in your ribcage. Just because I hated you didn’t mean I wanted you to die. Besides, I was right. You passed out barely five minutes later.”

“You hated me?”

“Back then? Immensely.”

“And now?”

You hadn’t realised that you’d been getting closer to him, but as Tom asked his question, you felt his breath fan across your face. He’d sat up straighter, his hands sliding up to sit on your waist, whilst yours sat at the base of his chest, your eyes level and lips centimetres apart. Up close, you could see the mark left behind above his eyebrow from the fight a few nights prior, and the yellow tint below his eye where his bruising hadn’t fully healed. Tom’s eyes didn’t leave yours as he waited for you to answer, his thumbs dragging slow circles against your sides.

“Maybe a little less.”

You were sure your words had been inaudible, but Tom somehow seemed to hear them, and he smiled before lifting one of his hands to cup your neck and bring your head forward to close the gap between you. His lips brushed over yours tentatively as your eyes fluttered closed, both of you still hesitant in this unchartered territory. As his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, you emitted a soft sigh, hands tightening around the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer.

Doing so changed the mood from hesitation to excitement, and Tom tightened the grip on your neck as the kiss deepened. His other hand, which had still been sitting on your waist, slowly moved down and dipped below your dress until it was holding the back of your thigh. Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, Tom used his hold on your head to angle it, his lips trailing steadily along your jaw.

“If you leave any marks I’ll stab you.” Your threat was undermined by the moan that immediately followed it, as Tom found the spot by your ear, and you felt him grin against your skin before he pressed a final kiss to you and pulled back to meet your gaze. “I mean it, I’m not walking down the aisle behind my sister covered in hickies. It’ll be your funeral instead.”

“I love it when you threaten to kill me.” He smirks, darting forward to capture your lips once more. Pushing him lightly, he groaned as he fell back against his chair, the hand on your neck falling to his side. “Alright, alright. You don’t need to worry darling, because as much as I want to, the first time I fuck you isn’t going to be in my car.”

“The first time?” You push back from him, raising an eyebrow as he smirked. Tom simply hummed at your question, the hand on your neck dropping to grab both of yours. You waited for him to respond, only growing annoyed as he did nothing but smirk at you. Losing your patience with him, you wrench your hands free to lean across and open the car door. “You’re so infuriating, that’s why we never worked as a team. Your ego.”

“Definitely nothing to do with your temper either.” You weren’t looking at his face as you climbed out of the car, but you could practically hear him roll his eyes. Smoothing out your dress as the cool, evening breeze engulfed you once more, you turned to head back to the house, before he called out behind you. “You’re welcome, by the way. For the information.”

“Thanks!” You shout back, not turning your head as you continue back to the house. Tom’s laugh carries across the driveway, followed by the sound of his car door closing. Reaching the front door, you look back as you step back inside, watching as his engine purred to life before gliding back towards the gates. Quietly closing the door, you begin making your way to your room, noticing that most of your family had already made their way to bed. Stopping at the door before yours, you knock softly before hearing a muffled come in, cracking open the door to smile at your sister. “Just wanted to know if I’m being killed or not?”

“I’ll let you off.” Isabelle rolled her eyes from where she was laying in her bed but grinned back as you leant against the door frame. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, all good.”

“You’d tell me if there was something, right?”

“Absolutely.” You lied, pushing off the wall to cross the room and press a kiss to her cheek. “Now get some beauty sleep, or Adam won’t want to marry you.”

“Like you’d let him back out.” Belle joked, referring to how her husband-to-be worked for the family business. “Love you.”

“Love you.” You hummed back, before leaving the room and entering your own. Flipping on the light, you sighed before preparing for bed, thinking of what was to come in the next twenty-four hours.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“After you darling.”

Your eyes returned to the intruder cornered by the door, thinking over how you’d ended up here. The wedding itself had gone without a hitch; your sister and her now husband had exchanged rings and vows in front of everyone without any noticeable hiccups. You’d spotted Tom as you’d led the bridesmaids down the aisle and had determinedly kept your gaze away from him throughout the ceremony, only exchanging a curt nod as you’d left to take part in the official photo’s, trusting him to keep an eye. It was the only contact you’d had with him until you spotted what you’d been waiting all day to see, Freddie, one of your men, signalling you from across the reception party. Politely excusing yourself from the conversation you were in, you had wordlessly tapped Tom’s arm on your way back to your family house, hearing him do the same before following with Harrison and Tuwaine behind him. With the advanced knowledge you had gained from Paddy’s hacking abilities, the two of you, each flanked by two of your men, had found and cornered the intruder before he’d made it farther than the entry hall.

“I know Boule sent you, and why he sent you, and given the occasion, I don’t have time or patience to waste on your excuses.” You sighed, stopping in front as Freddie and Ralph moved to stand either side of him. Toying with the gun you now held, you watched as his eyes darted between the weapon and your face. “So you’re going to swiftly leave, and run and tell him nice try, but maybe next time. Because if you try anything else, the next knife I throw won’t miss.”

He hadn’t got a chance to respond before Freddie and Ralph had taken him by both arms, nodding at you before escorting him out of the building. You watched them go, as Tom followed suit. For a second, you thought he was leaving too, before he stopped to retrieve the knife you had thrown earlier, still lodged in the door. Wordlessly returning to you, he held the blade out for you to take, and you offered him a tight smile as you swapped it for the gun he had offered you earlier.

“Not that you need it,” Tom joked as you returned the knife to the strap on your inner thigh. Your eyes found his in surprise, watching as he replaced both of the guns he now held in his waistband. “What with you having two and all.”

“Thanks.” You muttered, before spinning on your heel to face his two friends. “We should get back.”

“She can’t possibly have two knives on her?” Harrison hissed to Tom, the three men a few paces behind you as you made your way back to the garden.

“Oh, trust me, she can.”

“Where?”

Smiling to yourself as the fresh air engulfed you once more, you re-entered the marquee to see no change to the scene from when you had left it: some people dancing, some milling around speaking and laughing, others still finishing their food at various tables. Eyes scanning the guests around you, they landed on the bride herself striding across the room determinedly in your direction.

“You lied to me.” She accused, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you to the dancefloor. Isabelle released her grip on you as the music changed to a slower song, wrapping instead wrapping them around you to sway slowly to the music. “You said that everything was fine, and then you sneak off to stop one of Boule’s men breaking into Dad’s study.”

“How the hell did you find out?” The smile was still on your face as the two of you spun in a small circle, mainly because despite her tone, she was still beaming herself. “I didn’t even tell Dad.”

“Roddy told me.” Her tone was smug as her eyes wandered from your face to look around the tent. “After I watched you leave that is. You didn’t really think I wouldn’t notice my own sister leave my wedding?”

“Well, I hoped the wedding thing might cause some distraction.”

“Fat chance.” She snorted, eyes returning to yours. “I’ve got a particular skill set that comes in handy. Don’t think I didn’t see Tom follow.”

“He was the one who found out about it originally.” Your tone changed as you thought over what had transpired between you. “You know he brought an extra gun because he knew I wouldn’t be able to have on today?”

“The fact that it surprises you is hilarious.” She laughs, stepping back from you and unwrapping her arms, only to link her fingers through yours instead. “You know that he’s-“

“Don’t say it.”

“Fine. I’ll let him tell you.”

“What-“

“Mind if I cut in?” You whipped your head to find Tom behind you, watching as he sent a winning smile to your sister. “Congratulations by the way.”

“Thanks Tom, she’s all yours.” Belle grinned back, pulling you in to kiss your cheek, before muttering in your ear, “You’ll thank me eventually.”

Releasing you completely, you watched as she passed Tom with another smile, walking straight into her new husband’s outstretched arms. Your gaze returned to the man in front of you, watching cautiously as he held out his hand.

“Oh, come on.” He laughed, seeing your hesitation. “Think about how happy our father’s will be to see their peace treaty working.”

Rolling your eyes, you placed your hand in his and allow him to pull you closer, your other hand rising up to rest on his shoulder.

“You stormed away last night before I could explain myself.” His voice was low in your ear as he began to move the two of you in time with the music. “Never have been a fan of letting me have the last word.”

“If this is an apology it sucks so far.” You reply, your tone light as you try not to focus on the warmth of his hand on your waist.

“I’m not going to apologise, it wasn’t the right moment.”

“You said that like you’ve been planning it.”

“Only every day since you stole my car keys.”

“Now I know you’re taking the piss.”

Pulling back to meet his gaze, you found nothing but sincerity as he took a breath to explain.

“You got the money we went there for whilst simultaneously holding three men twice your size at gunpoint, and then got us both out of there despite the fact I’d been shot. Then you took my keys and yelled at me whilst taking me home until I passed out.” The look on his face now was nothing like you had ever seen, his eyes searching yours as he continued. “Darling, as much as I really do enjoy the way you look when you’re mad at me, the main reason I’ve been antagonising you more and more the past few years was so I actually have a chance to spend time with you. Now if I’m making a complete twat of myself, say the word and we can continue the way we are and forget I ever said a word of this.”

“Tom-“

“You know you only ever call me that when I’ve been shot.” He mutters, a hint of his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Should I be worried?”

“You know I was already reluctant to admit that I might feel the same way, and now I’m going to take it back...”

Your words died on your lips as he silenced you with his own, dropping your hand to cradle your face as he kissed you softly. You could feel him grinning against you before he pulled back, thumb dragging softly against the skin of your cheek.

“This doesn’t mean I’m going easy on you now, you know.” You mutter, unable to stop your own smile taking over. “I mean, if you think that just because we’re together I’d start letting you-”

“Letting me?” Tom’s bark of laughter inspired your smile to grow even more, the incredulous look in his eyes quickly morphing into his trademark smirk. “I’m sorry, who was it who discovered Boule’s plans for today?”

“Only because you got into a fight over me. Admit it Holland, I’m your weakness. It’s not my fault you’re so in awe of my talents.”

“If I kiss you again, will you stop being so competitive?”

“Depends, maybe you should it try and find out.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

did you like it? did you hate it? let me know either way as well as anything else you want to see me write!

tagging some lovely people: @gonzalezyon @nowayhomeparker @sinisterspidey​ 

#tom holland oneshot #mob!tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #mob!tomfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland writing #tom holland one shot #tom holland fic #tom holland fluff #tom holland blog

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Fifteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: NSFW!!😈😈 please disregard colorado window tinting laws for this chapter

***

Cassian has yet to regret getting Nesta that personalized record, despite the fact that she plays it everyday on repeat with a near obsession. Is this what true love is? Letting your girlfriend blast the same songs through your home again and again, and never tiring of it? Never tiring of her?

He doesn’t get to ponder on it, because while Nesta spends the week lazing pantsless around the house (“I’m getting ready for the party,” she states while he rubs her feet. “Spiritually and all that.”), Cassian has to figure out how to turn the cabin into an inviting space for forty wealthy guests.

All of Nesta’s shit gets shoved in the back of his bedroom closet. Personal items and framed pictures of the two of them are swiped off any surfaces. Lights go up around the house. Catering is secured.

By the time it’s all finished, the cabin has been stripped of all warmth and familiarity and turned into something chic and upscale, suitable for a small gala. Nesta stares around at the space when it’s done, her face revealing nothing.

Cassian points to the small sitting area on the second floor, directly above the open living room, that leads outside to the wraparound balcony. “We’ll be able to see fireworks from there,” he says. He turns to see Nesta’s face is still carefully blank, the way it is when she’s thinking too many things at once. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks. “It’s not too late to cancel the whole thing.”

She looks at him in horror. “It most certainly is. The party’s tomorrow.”

“Still not too late.” Cassian might not have that much power in the overall Night Court hierarchy, but for Nesta he could figure it out.

She smiles wanly but shakes her head. “We’re doing this, and we’re not letting it go to hell like last time.”

***

Nesta knows her sisters are aware that she’s on the guest list for the party (though she can’t imagine what Cassian’s explanation for that one was), but she still stiffens when she enters the cabin through the open door. Her eyes fall on various men and women that she’s never seen in her life, all glammed up and dripping self-importance, until recognizing Feyre and her boyfriend laughing with an older couple in a corner. The only thing that brings Nesta a little peace is that the snide woman, Amren, isn’t here tonight, having chosen to spend New Year’s with her boyfriend in California instead.

Nesta eases up when nobody takes notice of her, though a few nearby guests throw appreciative glances in her direction. She looks like a disco ball in her sequined wrap dress, and a freezing one at that. She shuts the door behind her, sealing the winter air out, but quickly pulls her hand away from the knob. It feels like the door isn’t hers to touch. She realizes that even though the cabin is her home, no one here except Cassian knows that.

Speaking of Cassian, she needs to find him. Nesta is not such an advanced creature that she knows how to survive in a room full of strangers on her own, and she no longer cares if anyone finds her clinging to Cassian weird.

She makes it three feet before she’s accosted by Morrigan, carrying her usual champagne glass like it’s an extension of her.

“Nesta!” she exclaims, loud and bright as ever. She smiles broadly, with too many teeth. “You’re here.”

Nesta blinks in response. She doesn’t understand how Morrigan benefits from this exaggerated excitement. Is it supposed to be insulting or polite?

“By the way,” Morrigan adds when Nesta doesn’t reply, “what exactly are you doing here?”

A heavy arm slides around Nesta’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I invited her,” says Cassian with a smile. “Because she’s my friend, and this place is practically hers.”

“Oh, I think that’s an exaggeration,” Nesta says sharply, trying to step away from Cassian.

He holds her closer. “No it’s not. We were roomies for over two months, remember?”

Morrigan winces, looking between the two of them. “Right,” she says slowly. “I keep forgetting that. Cassian is like this with everybody,” she says apologetically to Nesta. “Don’t take him too seriously.”

Nesta nods solemnly, wanting this conversation to be over. “I won’t.”

Her exit is made clear when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” she says quickly, escaping from under Cassian’s arm.

Hurrying to the door, she swings it open.

Eris Vanserra stands looking irritated on the other side. He freezes when he sees Nesta, and then his face lifts into a smug grin. “Oh, this is too good.”

“So Cassian Madani was your sugar daddy all along?” Eris asks her later.

“Say sugar daddy one more time. I dare you.” Nesta stands near the stairs with her arms crossed, trying to pretend she isn’t associated with Eris. Which is more than a bit difficult when he keeps badgering her with questions, and Cassian is giving the two of them odd looks from across the room.

“I mean, what are the odds?” he laughs.

“My sister is dating his CEO brother.”

Eris throws her a look of surprise, but Nesta says, “How do you even know him?”

Eris sticks an hors d'oeuvre from a nearby platter in his mouth. “He manages security and logistics at every event Night Court is involved in. Can be a real pain in the ass to work with when I’m trying to get shit done for my dad’s company.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she retorts.

They’re interrupted by Feyre and Rhys appearing before them, Feyre with her hostess smile and Rhysand with an inquisitive look on his face. Nesta can’t tell which one of them is more attached to the hip of the other.

“Eris,” Rhysand greets smoothly.

“I see you’re already acquainted with my sister,” Feyre says. Her tone is tense, either because she’s still pissed at Nesta or—even worse—she feels protective of her.

“We’re classmates,” Nesta says tightly. “Does it matter?”

Feyre tries not to look hurt. “No—I just didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Ladies,” a new voice says warningly. Cassian’s left whatever droll conversation he was stuck in and made his way over to them.

“Is the entire party congregating here?” Eris looks around himself.

“No, we are not,” Cassian says, all his usual friendliness gone around Eris. “I just came to ask Feyre to talk to the representatives from Spellbreaker before they pull all their money out of our latest operation.”

Feyre’s eyes go wide and her tattooed hand goes to her chest. “That’s not really my job—”

“Oh, come on, darling.” Rhysand slides a hand around her waist. “I’ll go with you; the art of negotiating is easier than it looks.”

Nesta nearly pukes in her mouth, but she maintains a careful blank face until Feyre and Rhysand are successfully out of sight. Cassian turns to Eris with a stony look. “You’re still here?”

Nesta sighs internally; this man has never hidden his feelings in his life.

Eris shares an amused glance with Nesta as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Is there anywhere else I should be right now?” he replies.

“Maybe in hell.”

Nesta claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and fakes a smile at Eris. “Tell your brother hi for me,” she says while pulling Cassian away. “I miss talking to a sensible redhead.”

“That’s because you have awful taste,” Eris calls after her. Nesta drags Cassian deep into the hallway, where no one lingers.

She releases him without flourish. “Are you doing okay? Because it seems like you’re having a harder time with this than I am.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian defends. “I was just hit with a terrible memory back there.”

“Like what?”

“That you’re friends with Eris.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Friends is a very liberal term, but she won’t correct Cassian while he’s acting like this. “Thank you for helping with Feyre and Mor,” she says instead. “I didn’t need it, but I still appreciate it.” It’s a hard thing to admit, but she wants him to hear it.

“I was just trying to get you alone,” he says, leaning against the bathroom door. “I’ve been trying to get you alone all night.”

Nesta looks him up and down, from his white dress shirt and tied back hair to his uncharacteristically polished shoes. “For what?” she says warily. “If this is about a sex thing, don’t bother. There’s nowhere in this house for us to go without raising suspicion.”

Cassian pushes off the door with a dark look. “I wasn’t going to suggest staying in the house.” He holds a bronzed hand out toward her. “Wanna get out of here?”

***

Cassian doesn’t remember how he ever managed to fit all six-four of himself into the cramped backseat of his truck when he was fucking girls in college, but for Nesta he figures it out somehow.

Her pretty little dress is shoved down to her midriff, baring her arms and flushed breasts, and her skirt is bunched up high enough that Cassian can watch as he moves his fingers inside her. The glow of lights from the cabin lands on her perfect face as she throws her head back in pleasure, and he can only watch her in awe.

He laughs lowly when she whimpers and eases a third finger into her wet heat, in no rush to return to the party anytime soon. Let them all wonder where he and Nesta wandered off to.

But Nesta has far less patience than him; she pulls him in for a frenzied kiss and uses the distraction to slide her hand into his boxer briefs, palming his cock. He groans into her mouth as she pulls out the length of him from his unzipped pants, and it’s at that very moment that two voices interrupt their panting.

“Thanks,” a muffled female voice says from outside the truck. Cassian looks up through the dark tinted windows to find—Jesus Christ—Mor accepting a cigarette from Rhys. The two of them stand some feet away from the truck, unaware that anyone is occupying it.

“Some way to end the year,” Rhys is saying, watching the clear night sky. Nesta’s gone completely still beneath Cassian, not needing to get up and look to know who stands in the driveway. “Would have been even better without Nesta terrorizing Feyre at every turn.”

Sickness turns Cassian’s stomach at hearing such ugly words about Nesta come from his brother, but that sickness is quickly replaced by rage as Mor huffs a laugh. “She’s not that bad,” Mor says, taking a pull from her cigarette. “Though I could do without the attitude at every damn gathering.”

Rhys clicks his tongue. “She’s always been like that, even when the sisters were kids. It kills Feyre.”

Cassian glances down at Nesta, terrified of what he’s going to find on her face. But Nesta doesn’t look hurt or enraged like he expects. Instead, she’s listening closely with her brows furrowed, studiously intrigued.

Noticing Cassian’s attention on her, she meets his eyes and her breath hitches. A blush takes over her cheeks, and she clenches involuntarily around the fingers still deep inside her. Cassian realizes that his fury is written all over his face. And she likes it.

His anger at his friends flickers—or rather, transforms. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of Nesta. He sits up a bit straighter and kneels properly on the backseat, earning a curious look from her. Hunching so his head doesn’t hit the truck ceiling, he wraps his hands around her thighs and maneuvers her legs up, up until they’re hooked over his shoulders. She nearly chokes at the new position.

He adjusts them so his cock is pressed right up against her sex, and looks out the window again, where Rhys and Mor are still talking. It’s all idle gossip, he knows, but... “What do you think, baby?” He slides his length over her slick folds. “Should I go out there and defend your honor?”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta gasps, shaking her head.

“And it’s like when she’s not quiet as a brick, she’s being rude,” Mor rants outside, flicking her cigarette. “I know Cass is friendly with everybody, but I have no idea what he was thinking inviting her here.”

“Oh, she’s not so quiet when I have my head between her legs,” Cassian murmurs at Mor. He glances down at Nesta with a knowing smirk. “She’s not so rude when I give her the right incentive, either.” He pats her bottom lip with his thumb, the bright red lipstick smearing. “Isn’t that right, Nes?”

“Bastard.” Nesta squirms, trying to line up her entrance with the head of Cassian’s cock. She’s not even listening to the conversation outside anymore.

“I think he likes her,” Rhys says, his breath clouding in the freezing night air. If only he knew. “We don’t always use reason when it comes to people we like.”

“Maybe,” Mor ponders. “But I can’t imagine it going anywhere. They’re too different.”

“I disagree,” Cassian mutters. He finally gives in to Nesta’s efforts and pushes inside her, sliding to the hilt in one thrust. She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her moan.

“There are plenty of things we have in common, don’t you think, Nesta?” He sets a steady rhythm with his hips, pumping in and out of her. “Like how well we fit together.” Her head bumps the car door with every thrust.

“You—you’re gonna rock the truck,” Nesta tries to whisper. Cassian hides his smile in the crook of her knee at the rare use of informal contraction. She’s adorable.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen,” he teases, leaning forward to take a pert nipple into his mouth. A whimper slips past her lips; she’s nearly bent in half beneath him. With this new, deeper angle, Cassian moves slow enough that Nesta feels every solid inch of him.

His loose hair falls around his face as he drops his head to the center of Nesta’s chest. It takes every bit of restraint he knows not to suckle at the space between her breasts, not to leave reddened marks there that everyone will be able to see when they go back inside. But damn if this position isn’t driving him crazy.

Mor, Rhys, everything beyond the haven of the truck falls away. He doesn’t know if anybody is still outside, or if people have noticed his and Nesta’s absence from the party. He doesn’t care, not as he swears and thrusts particularly deep into her tight warmth.

Even her hand can’t contain the sound she makes at that.

Cassian moves one of his own hands to the crown of Nesta’s head, creating a barrier between her and the car door. With his other arm, he locks her thighs into place against his chest, and begins slamming relentlessly into her.

“CassianCassianCassian—”

He silences her with a searing kiss, and flicks her clit with a calloused thumb. Nesta scrabbles at his arms, at the seat upholstery, as her orgasm crashes into her. Her walls milk his cock almost painfully, and with a few more thrusts he’s coming, too.

As he rides out his climax, he intertwines their fingers together and presses them to the freezing window. Outside, there is no one to see the handprint they leave on the fogged up glass.

***

Nesta needs a moment to catch her breath while Cassian zips himself up. Leaning against the hard truck door, she achingly fits one arm back into the sleeve of her dress, then the other. “I think I have a bruise from where that seatbelt buckle stabbed me in the ribs,” she mutters.

“Where?” Cassian looks her over, but she waves him away and reaches over to dig in the back pocket of the driver’s seat, finding a packet of makeup wipes she left there some weeks ago. She plucks out a wipe for herself and tosses the rest of the packet at Cassian’s chest, which is covered in her lipstick marks.

He accepts the wipes with a “thanks” and begins rubbing at his reddened mouth and neck. Nesta watches him instead of wiping at her own lipstick, taking in whatever the light of the moon highlights: his unbuttoned shirt, his loose hair that fell forward into her face while they fucked, his skin peppered with her marks.

He notices her stare. “What?” he says, smiling.

“Have you ever done that before?” She nods outside to where Mor and Rhys were standing ten minutes ago. It wasn’t exhibitionism since nobody had seen them, but it still felt... dirty.

Cassian snorts, starting to button up his shirt. “I’ve done far worse.” He meets her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off to the sound of other people shit-talking my girl, though, so that’s new.”

Nesta blushes, and pretends to look around for her shoes to hide the reaction. She’s always known her bedroom experience was pathetically limited, but she’s just now starting to realize how much of that was Tomas’s fault. Not only was he boring when it came to sex, but he left her too hurt and untrusting to try anything with other men until Cassian came along.

Cassian nudges Nesta’s knee, and she finds him already holding her heels. Instead of letting her take them, he takes her feet and starts putting them on for her. “Clean yourself up,” he directs as he buckles a silver strap into place. “It’s almost an hour to midnight.”

Right. Cassian tosses her her panties, and she uses them to clean up the mess between her thighs before discarding them on the floor. “Don’t—” he tries to protest, but sighs and gives up. “You’re filthy.”

“You love it.” She picks up her forgotten makeup wipe to scrub at her smeared makeup. “Do I look okay?” She turns her face to him after a moment so he can check.

“You missed a spot.” He takes the wipe and rubs at her chin. “There,” he says softly, gazing more intimately at her than usual. “Beautiful.”

She most certainly doesn’t look beautiful right now, with the mess that’s been made of her face and hair. But he seems to believe it all the same.

I love you. The thought comes to her suddenly, unexpectedly.

“What?” Shock turns Cassian’s face.

Nesta blinks, realizing the words weren’t only in her head. “What?”

“You said—”

“I said ‘Let’s get out of here’,” she says quickly, swinging her legs down from the seat and reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go!”

She shoves out of the truck without waiting for Cassian and foots it for the cabin, breathing harshly like she just fell from a great height.

***

Nesta goes straight to the master bedroom to redo her makeup and pick up a new pair of underwear. She knows it’s cowardly to leave Cassian downstairs, stuck chatting with wealthy donors and unable to follow her, but she won’t let him confront her about the confession that spilled back in the truck. Not yet.

When she finally finds the courage to stick her head out of the room, she nearly jumps at the sight of Azriel leaning against the hallway wall.

“What are you doing in my brother’s room?” he says, as if he was waiting for her to come out.

The best lies are half-truths. “Avoiding people,” she answers vaguely, exiting the room fully and shutting the door behind her. She clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Snooping.” He pushes off the wall and slides his hands into his pockets. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve seen you all night, and now I find you in Cassian’s bedroom of all places.”

What is this, an interrogation? “I’m good at blending in,” Nesta says. “Few people ever notice me.”

“And I’m good at observing,” Azriel retorts, dark amusement gleaming in his gaze. “Where did you run off to earlier?”

Nesta looks him up and down, too bored to bother answering him. “I’m going to go now.” She shoves past his shoulder and walks away, leaving him too stunned to follow.

She comes across Elain near the top of the stairs.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise. Her brown eyes flicker past Nesta’s shoulder, to where Azriel still lurks in the hallway. She looks back to Nesta. “I wasn’t sure if you actually came tonight. I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hanging around.” Nesta waves a dismissive hand. It’s like Christmas Eve never happened between them. That’s the wonderful and terrible thing about sisters, Nesta supposes: there are no apologies, only moving on and moving past.

“Well, you look like you’re doing good.” Elain seems distracted. “I wish we could talk more, but I don’t have time for a fight tonight.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Azriel says, who’s snuck up behind Nesta. “If it’s me you’re worried about, I was just about to leave.” He’s addressing Elain, but won’t quite look her in the eyes. He turns to Nesta instead. “Happy New Year.” And then he’s gone down the stairs.

Elain stands there looking torn, wondering if she should go after him or not, but then Nesta says, “Why do you assume I would start a fight?”

“I—”

“Because if I remember correctly, our last fight was started by you.” She crosses her arms.

Elain sighs. “I just said I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m asking a question in response to a comment you made unprovoked.” When Nesta is calm, she can talk circles around Elain all night.

Elain throws her hands up. “It was just a stupid comment! I said it because we argue all the time. I can’t remember the last time we talked without arguing.”

“September twenty-eighth,” Nesta snaps.

Elain’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You got the loan for your flower shop approved and you called me to celebrate. I was happy for you.”

Elain shakes her head, but Nesta can’t read what she’s feeling. “You remember the most inconsequential things.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult, so Nesta shrugs. “Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.” She turns to go on her way. Of course, Elain doesn’t stop her. She’s never been one to get in the last word.

***

It’s ten minutes to midnight and Cassian still hasn’t been able to get a hold of Nesta since she ran from the truck. He doesn’t know why she’s running from such a simple truth, but he doesn’t plan on giving her much more time to hide. He has so much he needs to say to her—

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he’s about to slip away upstairs to find Nesta. Cassian turns to find Rhysand there, wearing the serious face he only uses for work-related business. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Cassian is not in the mood. He already had to repress the urge to find Mor and Rhys and tear into them when he returned to the party, and now he’s not sure if he can manage a conversation with his brother without snapping. Without spilling everything he’s worked so hard to hide.

“Not now,” Cassian says, trying to act chill. “It’s almost midnight and I’m trying to catch the...” He trails off as his eyes catch on Nesta, who’s appeared at the second floor sitting area with Eris.

“...fireworks,” he finishes. He turns to Rhys. “Let’s go upstairs to watch.” Half the guests, including the rest of his friends, are probably already outside for the countdown.

He keeps his eyes on Nesta as he climbs the stairs. Watching as she takes notice of him and quickly turns away, smiling at Eris instead. She lets the dickhead place his hand on her back to guide her out to the balcony.

Rage and disbelief take Cassian by the throat. Hiding in another man’s arms to avoid him? Coward fucking move, Archeron.

She steps outside with Eris, and before Cassian can follow he’s stopped once again by Rhys grabbing his arm. “Cass, will you slow down and listen to me for a minute?”

“What is it?” he snaps impatiently. They’re stopped at the top of the stairs, and other guests flow past them as they head for the balcony doors.

Rhys inhales, getting visibly irritated. He says, “I got a call from one of our overseas partners the other day—”

“Rhys!” Feyre calls from the balcony doors, waving her arms at him. “Get your ass over here, it’s almost midnight!”

Rhys turns to his girlfriend, his face lightening. “Be right there, darling.” He gives Cassian a sharp look. “We’ll finish this later.”

Cassian only nods and whirls on his heel, nearly shoving people out of his way to get outside. To get to Nesta.

Up on the wraparound balcony and down below on the frosty ground, guests are lined up with their partners, wrapped up in coats and eagerly awaiting midnight. He barely feels the cold, but he knows Nesta must. He should have grabbed a coat for her.

“Thirty seconds to midnight!” someone announces, answered by loud cheers.

Spotting shining red hair, Cassian grabs Eris by the suit jacket and whirls him around. “Where’s Nesta?” he demands over the loud chatter.

Eris makes a face like he’s been manhandled by a filthy dog. “Clearly not with me,” he retorts, shoving Cassian’s hand off him. “She got all pissy and went that way.” He gestures at a faraway section of balcony where most of the guests are crowding, hoping for an optimal view of the fireworks.

“TEN!” Someone starts the countdown. Others quickly catch on.

“NINE!” Cassian heads in the direction Eris pointed, searching through the sea of glitter and gold for a glimpse of Nesta.

“EIGHT!” He hears his friends calling after him distantly, asking where he’s going.

“SEVEN!” He catches sight of Nesta.

“SIX!” He doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he navigates through the crowd, reaching for her. But he knows she’s shining brighter than the moon right now. He knows he’s been fooling himself since the moment she stepped into his cabin this past September.

“FIVE!”

He closes in on her, her back turned to him.

“FOUR!”

Let’s not go out of our way to hide this anymore, they agreed after Christmas Eve. Let’s just be ourselves around our friends and family, and they’ll find out when they find out.

“THREE!”

In Cassian’s defense, he’s simply being himself in this moment.

“TWO!”

He takes Nesta by the elbow and spins her around. She meets his eyes in surprise. “Cassian. I was looking for you—”

“ONE!”

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

***

a/n: punk 57 was a shit book but i gotta give it credit for the truck scene

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein

#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au #for some reason i’m not showing up in the tags?? #i’m gonna kill everybody

[when-they-write-stuff]

IT WAS UNFAIR, Stiles thought, that Derek Hale was so freaking hot.

It wasn’t just because it was a summer day and he swore, it had to be over a hundred degrees. It wasn’t just because the man had shed his shirt long ago, working alongside the betas as they started the paneling of the Hale house’s unfinished porch. And it wasn’t just because Stiles was a raging bisexual and Derek Hale was exactly his kind of dream guy.

Except maybe it was all of those things. Maybe it was because Derek Hale was so goddamn gorgeous, so very shirtless, and so freaking muscled, Stiles couldn’t wrap his head around it all. And— and shit. It wasn’t fair, Stiles thought. 

It wasn’t fair that Derek Hale was so freaking hot.

Sighing, he took another long drink of his lemonade, protected by the shade of the trees from across the lawn. He’d started out the afternoon helping the others work on the Hale house, he really had. But Stiles was just human, okay? He wasn’t nearly as muscled or effortlessly tireless as the others. And he’d never admit this any other time, but he was totally okay with being the token human for the day while the others worked their werewolfy asses off.

Sitting next to him, strawberry-blonde hair whisping slightly in the faint breeze, Lydia looked like she felt exactly the same.

“I never thought I’d look at a handful of shirtless, sweaty boys and feel nothing,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. Stiles choked on his sip of lemonade and Lydia smirked, glancing over at him before her gaze drifted back across the lawn toward Derek. “Just like I’m sure you never thought you’d look at such a hot, shirtless Hale and feel so much.”

“Oh my god, Lydia, really?”

Lydia just hummed and Stiles desperately tried not to blush, dropping his eyes to the dirt. Because his worst nightmare was that one day Derek would overhear what Lydia voiced in ‘private’, and he might just have to throw himself off a cliff if that ever happened.

And he was too young to die.

“Please, just never say that again,” Stiles said. “Like, ever.”

“You know it’s true, though.”

Stiles shot her a sharp look, which the girl completely ignored. But if Stiles had anything to say about it, Lydia was definitely wrong. And— and even if she wasn’t, it wasn’t like he was that obvious about certain things, okay? He definitely wasn’t obvious. 

In fact, Stiles would like to state for the record that he was the total and complete opposite of anything Lydia ever said. 

Always. 

Because Stiles had never tripped over his own feet after Derek flashed red eyes in his direction. And he’d never run face-first into a wall when the man had simply growled his name. He’d never accidentally spilled coffee down the front of his shirt when Derek had brushed a little too close and he’d never almost had a heart attack when Derek had shoved him into a wall after Stiles had spilled a certain... beverage all over the man’s shoes.

Okay, okay, maybe he had done these things before. Once. On the same day. But that was just once.

Just once.

And Stiles was pretty sure nothing like that would ever happen again. In that order, at least.

Yet, here he was, doing his best to pretend like a shirtless and sweaty Derek Hale wasn’t doing unseemly things to him. Unseemingly things like fixating only on the unseemly that he’d like Derek to be doing to him. Because, well, the things he’d let Derek do to him...

“Stiles,” Lydia said, interrupting his daydream. “You’re drooling.”

Stiles snapped back to reality, shaking his head, and automatically flushed at her smug look. “I am not.”

“You are. And it’s a bit pathetic.”

“Okay, you know what? You’re a bit pathe—” Lydia gave him a dangerous look and Stiles promptly snapped his mouth shut. “Never mind.”

“Wise choice.”

“But I wasn’t drooling.”

Smirking, Lydia gazed back toward the Hale house. Then, a devious look crossed her face and she glanced over at him before nodding toward where the others had stopped to take a break on the half-finished steps. “You know, you could be over there giving Derek a reason to drool over you.”

Stiles blinked. “Uh, you mean get all sweaty and gross too? No thanks.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I mean stop hiding over here and go get yourself worked up over there. Show those idiot wolves what Stiles Stilinski has to offer.”

“Okay, first of all, that is never going to happen,” Stiles said. “And seriously, Lydia, you’re a menace. Do you know what lies under all of this?” He gestured down at himself and accidentally sloshed lemonade over his hand, cursing. Point one for what Stiles Stilinski had to offer. “Absolutely nothing, that’s the answer. Nothing but pale skin, weak everything, and the proof that I’ve spent most of my life living off of curly fries and milkshakes instead of that green crap I make my dad eat.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, looking slightly amused. Sighing, Stiles turned his gaze back across the lawn.

“What I would give for some werewolf abs, though.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Oh, that's absolutely how it works,” Stiles shot back. “Trust me, I know. I’m the pack expert, remember? The packspert, if you will. And you all rely on me to know these things.”

“Hm.”

Stiles took another sip of his lemonade, eyes still on Derek. Because he definitely was the pack expert, thank you very much. And werewolves like Derek Hale were definitely hot— it was part of the package deal. 

Stiles, on the other hand, was lacking hotness on many levels. 

And that’s why he was here, sitting far away from where Derek and any of the other werewolves who could catch wind of his... thoughts, daydreaming about a grumpy-growly alpha who would never see him as more than ‘skinny, defenseless, Stiles’. And he was totally okay with that, Stiles told himself. He was.

He’d always been better at lying to himself than others.

-

Three months before Stiles graduated Beacon Hills High, the Hale house was finally finished.

He thought it was a little strange how four years ago, the first time he’d laid eyes on the old house it had been nothing but a skeleton, the remnants looking like they could collapse in on themselves at any moment.

It was all different now. 

The Hale house looked a little bit like the ‘before’ pictures Stiles had once caught Derek studying— although there were also a few different things added on. Like the archery targets, for example. Or the giant porch that curved around to the back of the house, complete with a fire pit and a grill. 

Stiles couldn’t wrap his mind around ever seeing Derek Hale grill.

And yeah, the house looked a bit like these pictures Stiles had once caught Derek studying. The man had slammed them down and given Stiles a red-eyed alpha look before he could get a good look, but Stiles had ducked back into the room much later, finding a picture left behind that showed the Hale family standing in front of the house before it burned.

The younger version of Derek Hale had been smiling. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen the older one look like that before.

He’d left the room feeling a bit conflicted.

Two weeks after that, Stiles swung by the fully finished house after school, the first one to arrive before the rest of the pack. The Camaro, he noticed, was parked near the trees, but the Hale house itself seemed quiet, the newly built porch so much more welcoming than it had been all those years ago.

Stiles hesitated before climbing out of his jeep, debating waiting for one of the others to show up. Scott would probably go to Allison’s first and Lydia would probably be at Jackson’s. Stiles had no idea what the other three betas were doing, but thinking too much about what they got up to outside of Derek’s supervision never ended well. 

Stiles had learned that the hard way years ago. 

Faintly, looking at the silent house, he wondered if it would look like this after the summer of graduation. Something about that made Stiles’s stomach clench and he shook his head, trying to banish any thoughts of Derek Hale being stuck in an empty house all alone when they were all gone.

Forcing himself out of the car, Stiles pulled his backpack over his shoulders and started toward the house.

It was eerily silent when Stiles stepped foot through the front door. He hesitated and craned his neck to glance up the stairs, then down the hall. But the house seemed completely empty.

“Uh, Derek?”

There was almost nothing in the house yet, so Stiles’s voice echoed off the empty walls. He moved through the house quietly, checking each empty room that he passed. But the big bad alpha of Beacon Hills didn’t seem to be anywhere around.

Stepping into the living room, Stiles paused. Sitting across the room was a single chair, facing where Isaac had stated the ‘necessary’ pack TV had to go. Behind it was a single picture frame on the wall and as Stiles moved closer, he realized it was the same one he’d seen weeks ago.

The glowing eyes that reflected back at the camera were only a little creepy.

“Stiles?”

“Shit!”

Stiles spun around so fast, he nearly tripped over his own feet. Derek stood in the doorway of the room, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and a confused, if not a little concerned, look on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I… thought we were all meeting here after school?”

Derek raised an eyebrow but didn’t offer an answer. Fishing out his phone, Stiles scrolled through his unread messages and— shit. There were a number of cancellations from the others, one after the other.

Stiles swallowed hard, glancing back up. “Okay, I might be wrong.”

Derek just continued to eye him. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Stiles glanced around the near-empty room and desperately wracked his brain, trying to think of a reason that he should not be around either. Because what was he even supposed to do now?

This was not going according to plan.

“Well then,” he said, avoiding Derek’s unnerving stare. “I should be going.”

The silence continued to reign and when Stiles glanced back up, Derek just shrugged, turning away. And Stiles didn’t know where the hell the werewolf had come from or where he was going now, but he was not going to wait around and see.

Things did not need to be any more awkward.

Gripping the straps of his backpack tighter, Stiles made for the back door instead— the quickest escape route. Though, he still paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. Derek was gone now, but Stiles noticed a single empty plate on the table next to the single empty chair— the few things in the near-empty room

The house suddenly seemed even quieter than before. 

Stomach twisting, Stiles swallowed hard and shook his head, ducking out the back door into the cool evening air. And he didn’t look back until he was in his jeep again, staring at the looming house.

He thought he saw movement in the highest window; the quickest flash of shadow. But when he blinked and looked again, the window was empty and the house stood still. Still, dark, and almost a little more menacing than before.

Stiles jammed the key into the ignition and drove away faster than was probably necessary.

-

Stiles thought his crush on Derek Hale started sometime after his freshman year.

After Derek stopped scaring the ever-living crap out of him and Stiles came to terms with his possible bisexuality, he realized that yeah, Lydia Martin was hot. But Derek Hale was hot too. And it was kind of hard to look at either of them without his heart skipping a beat or two, which Stiles figured probably meant something.

But his possible attraction to Derek didn’t matter, he’d decided. His sixteen-year-old self was sure that he’d be marrying Lydia Martin one day and with that picture in mind, he could just appreciate Derek for what he was— a hot guy.

But then sometime around his junior year, Stiles realized he probably wasn’t going to marry Lydia Martin. And that… that was fine too.

One year later, he was completely fine with how everything had turned out. 

By the time the Hale house was fully furnished, the pack spent nearly every afternoon there. It was nice; close by and large enough for them all. And sometimes, when Stiles came through the front door and met Derek’s gaze, he thought he could remember this one strange feeling he’d had the very first time he’d laid eyes on the man. So many years ago.

Or maybe, that one time in the pool. Or the kanima incident at the sheriff’s station nearly three years ago.

Or the first time Derek had come through Stiles’s window looking for research help.

“Stiles? Bro, Earth to Stiles.”

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts as an elbow jabbed into his side. Yelping, he glared sideways at the offender; and Scott just grinned innocently back, nodding toward the others. 

“We’re all gonna go see a movie tonight. You in?”

“A movie?”

“Yeah, man. They’re doing replays of Star Wars all weekend.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You do realize there’s a TV here, right? One that Isaac literally said was a ‘life or death’ necessity.”

Sitting on the floor across the room, Isaac flushed. “It is.”

“So…”

“Yeah, but Star Wars,” Scott said. Stiles snorted.

“Dude, I literally own all of them. What about a movie night here? Oh, we could even get pizza!”

Scott exchanged a dubious look with Allison, who shrugged. Stiles glanced at Erica, where she was wrapped around Boyd on the couch. The girl hesitated, then cast a dreamy look upward, smacking her lips together. “Movie popcorn easily outweighs boxed pizza, Batman. I vote for the movie theater.”

“I second that,” Jackson said, smirking over at Stiles. Stiles glared at him.

“You don’t get a vote, lizard boy.”

Jackon’s eyes flashed gold. “Say that again, Stilinsksi.”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Lydia said, giving Stiles a warning look. He just rolled her eyes and the red-haired girl considered for a moment, before shrugging. “I agree with Jackson.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groaned. “Don’t side with the snake.”

But the decision was already made up, apparently, as Scott jumped to his feet with a grin. “Sweet!” he said, pulling Allison up too. “Let’s get out of here then.”

Stiles didn’t even have a chance to protest before Erica was snatching the jeep’s keys off the coffee table and taking off toward the door, the holler of ‘shotgun!’ left in the air at her back. Groaning, he ran a hand through his hair and then slowly pushed himself up too.

It was only then that he noticed Derek hadn’t moved a muscle from his spot in the furthest corner of the room.

“Uh, hey, Sourwolf, you coming?”

Grey-green eyes lifted from his book and Derek gave him an unimpressed look. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

This time, Derek’s brows furrowed. And yeah, Stiles supposed the book and the whole grumpy-growly attitude Derek had going on was probably a pretty telling answer. But he still couldn’t squash a strange feeling of disappointment.

“Come on, dude, it’ll be fun! Movie popcorn! I’ll even buy.”

To his surprise, the furrow between Derek’s eyes actually seemed to soften a little. Well, maybe it did. Just a little bit. “No, Stiles. You go.”

That strange feeling of disappointment grew even more. Stiles frowned. “Seriously, dude?”

And just like that, the unimpressed furrow was back again. Along with a flicker of red. “Yes, Stiles. Go.”

And yep, that was the Alpha werewolf that used to scare the crap out of Stiles all those years ago. Sighing, he turned away and waved a hand over his shoulder in dismissal. “Fine, Sourbutt. But you’re missing out on a good time!”

Stiles didn’t get an answer. But he hadn’t really expected one.

The house was silent as he left.

-

The weekend before graduation, Lydia had a party.

Stiles had been looking forward to it for weeks. Mostly because, yeah, the last party Lydia had hosted ended up going horribly wrong, but weren’t things different now? They hadn’t faced a supernatural threat in months and Stiles was finally starting to remember what it felt like to be a normal teenager again.

So, he was pretty excited for Lydia’s party. And of course, if he had still been in love with her, this would have been the most nerve-wracking night of his life. But Stiles was all good now and he was ready to have fun, do a little dancing, and maybe get a bit drunk if he thought he could get away with it.

He didn’t get a little drunk.

Somehow, three hours after arrival, Stiles was pretty sure he was wasted.

Keeping up with the werewolves was hard, he quickly came to realize, even if they laced their drinks with wolfsbane for a little extra kick. One hour in, Scott, Allison, and Isaac were nowhere to be seen. Two hours in, Erica was doing her best to convince Boyd to go around scaring the shit out of other drunks with their flashing eyes. And three hours in, Stiles had no idea where Lydia had gone, but the entire room was spinning so fast, he was pretty sure he was either going to pass out or hurl. Whatever came first.

He didn’t actually do either. 

Instead, somehow, Stiles ended up at the Hale house when the moon was high in the sky. It was dark enough that he could barely see the way to the front door, but that proved not to be a problem when he fell face-first out of his jeep the moment he managed to open the car door.

And shit, his dad was going to kill him if he ever found out about this.

Rolling onto his back, Stiles blinked up at the dark sky and groaned. He was pretty sure getting back up wasn’t an option, not unless he wanted to just go right back down. So maybe he’d just die here…

Except suddenly, a looming figure blocked his view and Stiles shrieked, kicking upward with all his strength. His foot connected with something solid and the figure grunted— and Stiles realized much too late what he’d done.

“Dammit, Stiles!”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, voice barely a whisper. Half-bent over, Derek glared at him and Stiles mustered his best smile, desperately hoping that would keep him from getting his throat ripped out on the spot. “Er, hey there, Sourwolf. Fancy seeing you here.”

Red flickered through the man’s eyes. Stiles winced and after another long moment, Derek straightened up, giving him a look that held the promise of possible murder. 

“What the hell are you doing, Stiles?”

Stiles blinked at the man. Then he shrugged, shifting a little in the dirt. “Resting.”

Derek’s expression tightened. The man leaned over again, sniffed deeply, and then his face twisted. “Are you drunk?”

“Only a little.”

“Dammit, Stiles!”

“Oh, please don’t ‘dammit Stiles’ me. I came here so I wouldn’t have to hear that exact statement from my dad tonight—”

But suddenly, Derek went rigid, his eyes flashing again. Stiles cut off, looking at the man in fear, and Derek gave him the most terrifying red-eyed look that Stiles had probably ever seen. 

The man really looked like he could kill someone now. And Stiles was the only person around.

But then when Derek spoke, his words were so calm, so steady, Stiles thought that was even scarier.

“Stiles, did you drive here drunk?”

Oh, shit.

Stiles opened his mouth— then closed it again. Derek’s face was carefully blank now and Stiles was pretty sure if he could actually stand, sober him would be running right now. Because this was scarier than he’d ever seen Derek— even when the man had been that grumpy-growly “I’ll rip your throat out” asshole when they’d first met.

But before Stiles could even think of an answer, he was being scooped up. A sputtering noise of surprise left his mouth as Derek all but hauled him over his shoulder and then turned around, starting toward the Hale house.

Stiles’s head pounded. His stomach churned and as he watched the ground just a few feet away from his face, he wondered what would happen if he hurled all over Derek’s back.

As if the man could read his thoughts, Derek’s grip tightened. “Don’t you dare.”

Stiles did his best to keep everything down.

The dirt of the front driveway turned into the porch steps, and then the front door slammed as the ground Stiles was looking at became hardwood. Derek hauled him into the living room and dumped him on the couch, making Stiles groan loudly.

“Oh my god, dude, my head.”

Derek gave him a look of pure fury. Any more complaints dying on his tongue, Stiles shrank back.

“I mean, never mind. I’m completely fine.”

“No, Stiles, you’re not.” Derek’s eyes sparked red. “I can’t believe you would do something so stupid. So irresponsible. ”

“I… what?”

But Derek just shook his head and turned away, stalking from the room. Stiles stared into the darkness for a moment, his thoughts moving slowly, and he totally blamed it on the alcohol. Except, he really just didn’t know what to do with what was currently unfolding.

Derek had actually sounded upset. Concerned, even.

Stiles figured he was even drunker than he’d originally thought. In fact, maybe this was all just a spiked-punch induced hallucination. Just like last time Lydia threw a party.

Except, this definitely wasn’t a nightmare.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Stiles right back out of his thoughts and he blinked in surprise as Derek stepped closer with a trash can, a glass of water, and a white bottle of pills.

“Uh,” Stiles said, utterly dumbfounded. Derek scowled at him and he shrank back again.

“You throw up on my floor,” the man growled. “I’ll rip your throat out.”

Wordlessly, Stiles nodded. Derek shoved the glass forward.

“Drink.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice. He drained the water in a few seconds and Derek set the bottle of pills on the side table, giving Stiles another dark look as he took the empty glass back. “Don’t take any of those until morning.”

Again, Stiles nodded. Derek set the trashcan next to the sofa and turned away again, vanishing into the darkness once more.

This time, the silence lasted a little longer. But still, Derek came into the room after a few minutes, another glass of water in hand and a rolled-up blanket tucked under his arm. As Stiles stared, the man set the water next to the pills, then unrolled the blanket and draped it over him.

Stiles felt a little bit like a child.

He honestly didn’t know how to react.

Then, finally, finally, Derek stepped back and folded his arms over his chest, surveying the entire scene as if he was satisfied with his work. Stiles stayed stock-still, kind of worried that any sudden movements would mess everything up.

Whatever ‘everything’ was right now.

Catching him staring, Derek glared again. “I’m going back to bed. If you wake me up, I’ll kill you.”

“...Got it.”

The man gave the room one more once-over and then turned away, heading back for the hallway. But before he could vanish into the dark all over again, Stiles sat straight up, internally screeching as the blood rushed to his head. 

“Derek?”

The broad-shouldered silhouette paused. Stiles swallowed.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t get a single response. Not even a nod.

Stiles blinked and Derek was gone.

-

Graduation came and went like it wasn’t even worth the hype.

Stiles had avoided going back to the Hale house since that night, but it was like it never happened. In fact, if he hadn’t woken up to an empty house with a cup of coffee next to the glass of water and pills, Stiles might have believed it hadn’t.

But it had, which meant he’d made a complete fool of himself. And as Stiles had dragged himself off the couch and toward the front door, he’d been pretty sure he could never face Derek again. It didn’t really help that he could barely remember anything that happened that night, because what if he’d said or done something totally dumb?

Dumber than usual, that is.

So he’d decided to avoid both Derek and the Hale house for as long as possible. He’d noticed his dad never said anything too, which meant Derek hadn’t dropped by to say a word of whatever the hell had happened.

Things were fine. It was all fine.

But then, when they were all hanging out after the graduation ceremony was over, Scott told him they were holding the graduation party at the Hale house.

“Oh,” Stiles said, his throat going dry. “Oh, that’s great. Great, great, great, dude. Absolutely great.”

Scott gave him a small look of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, great, I’m just fantastic,” Stiles said. Then, sighing, he shook his head. “Okay, no, I'm not. Remember that one time I told you Lydia Martin was the only person I’d ever have feelings for? Like, ever?”

Slowly, Scott nodded. Stiles swallowed hard and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I think I’m in love with Derek.”

In a moment, Scott’s eyes rounded twice their usual size. Stiles winced and almost instantly wished he could take back his words. Especially when Scott nearly shouted his next words.

“You’re in love with Derek?!”

“Oh my god, Scott,” Stiles swore, clapping both hands over Scott’s mouth. But the boy just ducked away and looked at Stiles like he’d grown two heads, mouth opening and closing a few times before he spoke again.

“What does that even mean?”

“Well, gee, Scott, I don’t know. What does being in love with someone even mean?”

“You... like him?”

“Seems we’re both coming to that gradual realization, yes.”

“Like, in a good way?”

Stiles stared at the boy. “Okay, please tell me you’re kidding right now.”

But Scott just continued to stare. Then, he glanced around and leaned closer, words hushed as if he was divulging his deepest secret. “Do you mean find him... attractive?”

Stiles pulled a face and gave the boy an incredulous look. “No, Scott, I don’t think werewolves who like to growl a lot and could probably crush me like a bug are attractive. And I definitely don’t think Derek is the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Scott blinked. Then frowned.  “Okay, but you’re not lying.”

“No, Scott, I’m not!”

If Stiles could go back about five minutes ago, he would probably punch his past self for ever thinking he could tell Scott something like this in public. The boy looked like he was still lost and Stiles mentally prepared himself for more questions— before Allison came out of the crowd and linked her arm through Scott’s own, giving Stiles a warm smile.

“Hey, the others are heading to Derek’s. You guys ready?”

Scott looked from Stiles, to Allison, then back. Stiles gave him a sharp, warning look, but the boy just winced apologetically and let Allison lead him away— with knowledge Stiles never should have provided.

Closing his eyes, Stiles took a few deep breaths and then trudged after the two of them, silently hating himself for every decision he’d ever made.

-

If he wasn’t fearing for some kind of inevitable doom, Stiles might have been amazed by how the Hale house looked in the darkness that night.

Okay, that was a lie. He was still amazed.

Lights had been strung through the rafters of the porch and multi-colored garden lanterns were stuck in the ground all around the lawn. Stiles smelled barbeque before he even stepped out of the car and almost instantly zeroed in on his dad behind the grill, looking like he was the happiest person on the planet.

Except, Derek stood beside him, laser-focused on whatever the hell the Sheriff was grilling. And Stiles was pretty sure they were talking.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

But before Stiles could rush over and intercept what he could only imagine was not a very promising conversation, there was a hand on his sleeve and he was being pulled across the lawn instead. Stiles spun around, cursing, and nearly stumbled over his own feet to see Erica looking at him with a sharp grin. One that made his blood run cold.

Yeah, this might be worse.

“So, Stiles, ” the girl said, letting go of his sleeve only when they were at the very edge of the lawn, far away from the sound of music. “You’re in love with our alpha?”

Stiles froze. Then groaned. “I swear to god, I’m going to kill Scott.”

Erica barked out a laugh. “Oh, Batman, your puny little werewolf friend didn’t have to tell me a thing.”

Stiles blinked. Erica’s grin turned sharper.

“You spent the night here,” she said smugly. “Last weekend.”

“Last weeken... oh my god.”

Crossing her arms, Erica gave him a triumphant look. And Stiles didn’t even know where to begin before the girl was speaking again. “So you’re totally head over heels for Derek then? I mean, clearly you two bange—”

“Woah, no, stop!” Stiles said, waving his hands through the air. Erica narrowed her eyes but closed her mouth, and Stiles took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I did not sleep with Derek.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t,” he hissed. “It was after Lydia’s party and I was drunk. I needed somewhere to crash.”

Erica raised an eyebrow. Stiles sighed.

“I almost passed out in the driveway and then nearly threw up all over him. Trust me, you menace, that’s about as far away from sleeping with Derek that I can possibly get.”

“Okay, then,” Erica said, studying him. “But you're definitely in love with him.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. And the beta’s face lit right back up as she laughed.

“Oh, I knew it! I am so going to win this bet.”

“Wait, what?”

“I mean, Boyd didn’t think it would happen until the end of summer,” Erica continued, completely ignoring him now. “And Isaac clearly has his head up his ass because he didn’t think it was going to happen at all—”

“Hold up,” Stiles said, cutting her off. “What are you talking about? What bet?”

Erica straightened. Then, she grinned.

“Nothing. No bet.”

“Oh, hell no,” Stiles said, shooting a look over his shoulder. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed them yet and he was going to get answers out of her before anyone could interrupt. Because if this was another one of the beta’s stupid pranks— “Erica, I swear to god, I’ll skin your little wolfy ass. Talk, now.”

“Well, see, it all started at the beginning of the summer…”

But suddenly, Erica’s eyes lit up and she trailed off, brushing around him. Protests already rising on his tongue, Stiles spun around after her. Only to freeze.

Derek stood a few feet away, hands behind his back as he glanced between them. Stiles was pretty sure his heart skipped at least two beats.

“Oh, alpha of mine,” Erica said, approaching Derek and giving him a sharp grin. “So good to see you. Also, I’m gonna go now.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and watched her move around him, head tilting slightly. Then he turned to look toward Stiles, who was starting to feel like he could be sick. “Er, yeah. Hey, Derek.”

“Was I interrupting?”

“Absolutely not.”

Stiles probably spoke too quickly because Derek’s eyebrows climbed even higher. Flushing, Stiles dropped his gaze and silently cursed himself. 

“I mean… no. You weren't.”

When he finally glanced up again, Derek still didn’t look very convinced. Biting down on his tongue, Stiles searched for any other kind of conversation diversion.

“So. Grilling.”

Derek’s expression turned even more incredulous, though his lips twitched a little. Stiles winced, turned his gaze downward again.

“I saw you and my dad earlier.”

“Oh. Yeah." Derek said thoughtfully. As if that wasn't disturbing news. "He offered me a position at the station two weeks ago. Deputy. I thought it was time I gave him an answer.”

Stiles’s head snapped back up so fast, he swore he heard something crack. “What?”

Derek slipped his hands into his pockets. “I’m taking it.”

“You’re— I— what?”

Derek didn't look too bothered by the fact that Stiles was nearly having a heart attack. But Stiles’s head spun and he felt a little bit confused, a little bit shocked, and kind of betrayed all at the same time. Because two weeks ago? That was plenty of time for his dad to at least mention something about possibly hiring Derek Hale.

“Now the house is built, I’m going to need to do something,” Derek said, studying him. “Over the summer and afterward.”

“Why?”

The moment the word left Stiles’s mouth, he felt like an idiot. Because, duh, they were all going to be spread out across the state pretty soon. Except for Lydia, of course, who was going multiple states away. But all this time, Stiles had imagined Derek being lonely and isolated in the Hale house when they were gone… 

And just like that, he felt like an even bigger idiot.

Oh.

Looking at Derek with new eyes, Stiles suddenly remembered the past few months a little bit differently. 

Derek, working alongside his betas on the new house— all amused looks and soft smiles. Then, that one picture on the wall, right next to the lone chair that soon sat right alongside the rest of the furniture; with enough space for the rest of the pack to be right next to him. And even beyond that, the contented silence when they all went off to do their own thing. Like he knew they were going to be back, no matter what.

A lump formed in Stiles's throat and he stared at the man, feeling like an idiot. “You’re not lonely here."

Derek tilted his head. “No.”

“It’s home.”

Once more, Derek’s lips twitched. Stiles swallowed hard. 

“Last weekend…”

“You’re lucky I hadn’t taken the job offer yet.”

Oh.

So, Stiles hadn’t made a fool out of himself that night. But maybe he’d been making a fool out of himself long before then, and ever since. He’d found it so easy to look at Derek Hale and think about all those years ago, like the man was still a part of the past. But maybe Stiles was still the one living back then, not Derek.

“Stiles?”

Glancing across the lawn, Stiles watched the others for a moment. Music floated through the air and he didn’t see a single person other than him and Derek standing apart from the crowd. And they were all different now, weren’t they? It’d been years.

Stiles took a small breath and glanced back toward the man. They were all different now.

“Do you want to dance?”

Derek’s eyes flickered and after a moment, the man nodded. Hands trembling nervously, Stiles followed him away from the edge of the lawn, back toward the others. Gaze drifting a little ways further, Stiles's stomach flipped to see Erica watching with a wide smirk and a wad of cash in hand.

And then, like the entire world thought this was amusing too, the music slowed.

Stiles froze, looking back at Derek. But the man just raised an eyebrow and Stiles thought that maybe he could die on the spot. Because there was nothing even hot about that look. No, Derek Hale was drop-dead gorgeous and Stiles couldn’t believe he was standing literally inches away from the man that he had somehow fallen in love with. And he hadn’t even done anything stupid yet.

Then Derek stepped closer, Stiles’s heart stopped, and he promptly tripped over his own feet, spilling right into the man.

Someone barked a mocking laugh to the side; it sounded suspiciously like Jackson. Wincing, Stiles pulled himself back up and slowly met Derek’s gaze again. 

“Sorry.”

“Let me.”

Fingertips brushed against his own and Stiles’s heart hammered against his chest as Derek took his hands. And shit, how many months ago had he been drooling over Derek like a teenager? Grey-green eyes danced in the glowing lights and Stiles remembered Lydia’s words faintly, flushing a little despite himself.

Give Derek something to drool over.

“You know, it's kind of unfair,” Stiles mumbled. “That you’re so freaking hot.”

“Oh, really?”

Stiles chewed on his lower lip, trying to avoid Derek's full-on gaze. “You know. Like, in a ‘I might be kind of in love with the big bad alpha of Beacon Hills’ way.”

Derek suddenly paused and Stiles’s throat tightened. 

“Only if that’s okay.”

Beyond them, the music had changed again, turning into something more lively. But Derek still didn’t move and Stiles forced himself to meet the man’s eyes once more, trying to expect literally anything— he didn’t even know what to hope for anymore.

Derek’s brows were furrowed. His expression was a little quiet, a little gentle.

“Derek?”

“It’s about time.”

And Stiles blinked, mouth dropping open. But before he could even say a word, even wrap his mind around what had just been said, Derek was leaning forward and Stiles closed his mouth right back shut as warm lips brushed against his own.

In an instant, some part of his mind screeched. Some part logged off and logged back on again. And one more part replayed that one time he’d run into a wall after Derek had simply growled his name.

Then, Stiles fell right into the kiss and thought what had he even been feeling again? 

So much.

But when Derek kissed him for the first time that night, the first time since they'd met, all soft and warm with the Hale house lit up behind them and the smell of barbecue in the air, Stiles realized he only felt one thing right now.

Full.

It kind of felt like the future. Kind of felt like home.

-

There was another picture hanging on the living room wall after Stiles went off to college, right next to the one of the Hale family. In it, some eyes glowed kind of creepily, some eyes didn't. Some people were holding each other tightly, some weren't. But they were all side by side, and they were all smiling. Older Derek Hale was smiling, just like all those years ago.

Standing next to him, eyes glowing for completely non-werewolf-related reasons, Stiles Stilinski was too.

- -

A/N: so I kind of mixed and matched prompts for this and it ended up being waaay longer than I expected. But I hope it turned out alright? I adore you both @wolfile​ & @pickosita5stwin​ !

#sterek #teen wolf #sterek fanfic #teen wolf fanfic #eternalsterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #ficlet #6k+ #stiles stilinski x derek hale #prompts

[emwritesstuff]

as the world caves in | ch. 5 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.  

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode four. Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes: I was going to make it only one chapter with the plot of episode four but it ended up HUGE, so I'm splitting this one in two. I’m posting the next one very very soon (probably tomorrow), just need to finish reviewing it sksksk

(warnings: mentions of death, gunshots, blood) (word count: 4K)

five: funeral

Ayo considered you for a moment, then turned to Bucky. “Eight hours. Do not forget.”

You exhaled slowly after she was gone, allowing yourself to return to a more relaxed state.

“You know Ayo?” Bucky said, after he made sure the door was well closed.

Sam mused from behind you.

“And you speak Xhosa!”

“When King T’Challa opened Wakanda to the world, I ended up leading the relations between our countries from our side. Learning the language was the least I could do.” You shrugged, smiling fondly when you remember the awkward phase where you still mispronounced everything, and how astoundingly lenient the King had been during it.

“Accomplished. It was sweet of you to defend me, at least.”

You raised an eyebrow at the glass of water you’re drinking, grateful that Zemo didn’t speak the language. If only he knew.

Well, you had a feeling he would. Eight hours. T-minus-fifteen.

“Hey, you shut it. No one is defending you. You killed Nagel.” Sam bit at Zemo, and you put down your water and took your phone.

It had been blowing up since the signal returned after your flight to Latvia, every single person who ever had your contact was looking for you. Understandably. It was your first “vacation” in a long time.

You swiped the notifications away, and your eyes met Bucky’s while Sam and Zemo squabbled.

“You shouldn’t be good at that. It’s not fair.”

“It’s just a phone, Buck.” You smirk up at him, and a corner of his lip tugs upwards in response. “And I’ve been around long enough to know how to deal with the ever-changing technology.”

“Does that mean you’re the older one now? I’ve been frozen.”

“Do I get older privilege?” You asked, not looking up from the screen. The news feed caught your attention, and you were quick to scroll past the one talking about The Winter Soldier’s appearance in Madripoor.

“…No.” Bucky pushed his bottom lip forward, shaking his head. You bit your lip to refrain yourself from telling him just how much of a child he was, but couldn’t hide your grin.

The next headline made the grin fall out of your mouth, it being replaced by a frown. You slid the phone to Bucky, you two sharing a concerned look as soon as he read it too.

“Sam. Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

You rubbed your temples and started pacing as Bucky explained to the other two men the situation. Three dead. Eleven wounded. Your heart wrenched, and you pressed a fist to your chest when you imagine how dire the things have to be for that to had become the latest desperate measure.

Wars have civilian casualties. People are bound to be caught in the crossfire. You knew this. You’d seen it. This was a deliberate attack, and it was a different time and conjecture, but you felt almost the same as you did when you walked through the rubble made of Europe, 80 years ago.

Seeds for a new war. You’d hoped you wouldn’t get to see it sprout again.

You finally looked up as Zemo questioned the three of you about having the will to complete the mission.

“She’s just a kid.”

You moved to rest a hand on Sam’s shoulder, but in the end, you might have been more looking to ground yourself than anything. He nodded at you either way, and you could see Bucky’s eyes on you from your peripheral.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there. You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of Super Soldier will always trouble people.” Zemo spoke with certainty, as if he was a professor and the three of you his pupils.

“I doubt she sees things that way.” You raised your finger as soon as he opened his mouth to retort. “Not everyone has the chance to be studying politics and understand how revolutionary movements can become extremism. Most people are just fighting to get to see another day.”

You wondered if Baron Helmut Zemo would ever understand that, the struggle. The uncertainty that wakes up with you and goes to sleep when you do, only to pose itself the next morning.

“It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.” His next line seemed to be enough of an answer. You let your hand slide off Sam’s shoulder, realizing you had it in a tight grip the whole time, and resumed your pacing.

You doubted Karli Morgenthau had much chance to reflect on the long-term consequences of her mobilization. She was helping people, people who needed things right away; she was providing immediate relief. The world only had given violence in return.

“She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The Serum never corrupted Steve.” Bucky retorted, but that obviously wasn’t enough to shake Zemo’s convictions.

The ache in our chest grew just a tad stronger, and you sank on the large sectional couch; Bucky seemed to have sensed your wariness, because soon enough he was bumping knees with you on the empty seat to your left. He radiated irritation, squared shoulders and head thrown back.

You laced your arm with his, nodding along with Sam as he talked about his aunt, understanding his plan when he reasoned that they might be doing a funeral ceremony for Donya. Bucky seemed to have loosened it up a little, and you agreed with him. It was worth a shot.

“You doin’ okay?” Bucky whispered, adjusting his arm so yours could have more room.

You raised your eyes at Zemo, stopping for a few seconds to observe the golden embroidery of the couch behind Bucky’s head before looking at him.

You squeezed his bicep. You mustered a small, strained smile.

Bucky’s eyes did not leave yours the entire time, two pools of blue and warmth and comfort that made you ache with how much you’d missed them all of these years.

“Jus’ fine.”

Bucky nodded.

“Liar.”

You flicked his ear with your free hand, which made him grunt. You giggled as Bucky shook his head and muttered something about you being such a child, and you could feel your nervousness easing up.

“Don’t be so grumpy, old man.”

---

You parted ways as Sam, Bucky and Zemo went to the displacement camp, and you went to the GRC office in Riga in search of information. You hadn’t been seen with them yet, so you took the chance of still being considered just a diplomat on a trip, seeking to maybe be of assistance in trying times.

It hadn’t been the most productive of mornings. The people at the office knew as little as you did of Donya Madani, or any of the other displaced people, which was appalling at the least. All they had was some half-assed records of when the camp had been formed, and that was months ago. Who knew how many people had joined by then. No wonder the Flag Smashers were at large, with more people joining and supporting the cause every day.

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins walked through the building’s doors, just as you were ready to leave. Hoskins recognized you immediately, whispering something to the new Captain America before both men approached you.

You shook their hands graciously, but your eyes remained on the door, you not wanting to waste precious time with the two. Especially Walker, who seemed to wear the shield on his back like it was a badge of honor, or even a safe-conduct to back up his moves.

It didn’t sit right with you, and not just because the man who wielded the shield before him was unreplaceable to you, and the man who stood before you seemed to have been handpicked to step inside Steve’s shoes, same size and all. His height, his built, his set jaw, the blue eyes, the blonde hair; as far as looks went, the perfect impersonator. It was the way he carried himself that set you off though, proud of himself and his own privilege. And you had barely any interaction with him aside from watching him perform in front of cameras, and, well, now.

“I’m very sorry gentlemen – but I should get going. This detour of my vacation is already on borrowed time.”

Hoskins nodded solemnly, but Walker took another step towards you. “I know about your previous work with Steve, it would be nice to have you on your side too.”

“Like I said, I’m off duty. Try not to make a mess out of it.” The lie slips off your lips easily, and you offer them an apologetic smile before turning to leave.

“There’s some Avengers on the hunt for the Flag Smashers too.”

Hoskins’ voice stopped you in your tracks, and you studied the two, wondering just how much they actually knew.

“Just think about it, okay? If you’re gonna help someone, make sure you’re helping the right people.”

That’s exactly what you were doing, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“Hoskins. Cap. Have a nice day.” You nodded at them, not looking behind you as you take off to the cobblestone streets.

---

Sam and Bucky turned to watch you when arrived back at Zemo’s condo, closing the door gently behind you.

“Nothing.” You answered before they could ask, shaking your head slightly. From the defeated way they were sank on that couch, you assumed they were met with dead ends as well. “And Walker’s here, so expect things to get complicated.”

“You met with Walker?” Bucky asked, his jaw tensing up as he looked up at you.

“More like he met me. Offered me a job.” You chuckled humorlessly at the irony of it. Apparently you were now known for getting Steve out of trouble, and not for getting into it with him. How the tables turn. “He’s lacking intel as much as we are though.”

You threw your coat on the coffee table, and watched it slip down to the floor unimpressed. Bucky dipped to pick it up, draping it over the back of the couch while shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. Sam giggled, earning himself a glare.

Zemo approached your group with a tray of steaming tea. Bucky focused his glare on him.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, a taunting tone to his voice.

Zemo paused, and his eyes jumped from Bucky, to Sam, to you, and the ground. The mood is restless, charged with tension, ready to spark like an open wire at the edge of water.

The Sokovian visibly relaxes his posture when he bends down to serve himself tea. “The funeral is this afternoon.”

It wasn’t not surprising to you that he was withholding information, though it was bold. His confidence was baffling, if anything.

“You’re on thin ice, Zemo.” You narrow your eyes at him, and he offers you a small, lofty smile.

Bucky looked at you and nodded before reminding Zemo of the Dora Milaje and demanding he kept talking.

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli.” He retorts to Bucky and hums, shaking his head. “There’s still much I want to know, including why an American diplomat is tagging along for an altercation against a group of Super Soldiers.”

Zemo looked at you, inspecting your form as you leaned over a tiled column. He lingers on, but you know you have the higher ground. You don’t look the part of super soldier, in the way like the Flag Smashers don’t also. It’s advantageous, it gets you to blend in with the rest of world. You were aware that Zemo has been suspicious ever since you walked through the heavy wooden doors the first time, though, and he was trying to carve information out of you through veiled threats.

“I prefer to keep my leverage.”

This seemed to spur Bucky on. He got up from the couch, stalking towards Zemo in a casual gait, only to grab the teacup from the other man’s grasp and throw it violently at another column.

Your breath hitched.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?”

It sounded almost alien to you, the venom that dripped from Bucky’s words. You definitely hadn’t kept that in your memories of him, and you remind yourself that Bucky was no longer just that gallant boy from Brooklyn, he had more wars and baggage than anyone should carry.

So did you.

Sam got to Bucky before you could get your legs to move. “Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

As if on cue, Zemo tilted his head upright.

Sam retreats to make a call, whacking Bucky on the shoulder as he left the room. The sound makes you shift, and you walked forward to put yourself between him and Zemo.

“Thin fuckin’ ice.” You snarl. Bucky disengaged by leaning on his heels.

“Want some cherry blossom tea?”

You huffed and nudged Bucky’s waist to prompt him to follow you, wanting nothing more to get him – and yourself – away from Zemo before disaster ensued. He still held the information you needed, though his bargaining chips were running out.

You had the distinct feeling that he knew that too.

“No, you go ahead.”

The room you found yourselves next is small, but just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, with thick embroidered cushions littering a daybed and stained glass on the windows, casting colorful rays of light over the floor.

“You won’t go home if I ask you to, will you?” Bucky asked, and you chuckled.

“Absolutely not.”

A pained little sound left Bucky’s throat, and you sat down on the daybed to face him. He was leaning against the wall, eyebrows knitted.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all, Buck.”

“I do. That’s why I’m worried.” You rolled your eyes at him, making him look away from you, jaw clenched.

You sighed. “Bucky. I’m a highly trained super soldier.” Retired, too, and probably rusty, but you decided to not put that thought on his head. “I have more field experience than you, I bet. Don’t trouble yourself too much.”

His shoulders sagged, and you raised your hand to smooth the collar of his jacket, like you’ve done a million times before, back when you were still only a girl, and he was only a boy. The familiarity in those acts of intimacy covered you like a warm blanket, and you caught yourself wondering if Bucky felt the same.

“I worry about you too, you know. Why I’m here.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you, eyes roaming over your face. “How much did Sam tell you about Madripoor?”

“All of it, I think.”

There was torment in his eyes, that he tried concealing by looking at the floor. He nodded curtly, and the gesture propels you to leap forward and hold his face in your hands.

“Not worried like that.” You knit your eyebrows together, speaking firmly at him. “Worried about you throwing yourself into another fight. And losing you to it, again. So here I am, James, and stop trying to get rid of me.”

He either crashed into you or you into him, you’re not sure, but it barely mattered. Bucky had his arms firmly around you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. A hug that came eight decades too late, making you have to blink tears away.

“Don’t wanna lose you again too.” Bucky mumbled into your hair, and you squeezed him just a little bit tighter.

“You won’t. M’ here.”

I’m here. I’m here. You believed it, because you knew yourself. Keeping away this long, because you knew that once you were with him, you wouldn’t be leaving.

You hoped Bucky believed it, too. You’d tell him over and over, just in case.

The moment was short lived, though, coming to an end the when Sam knocks on the door. You pry yourself apart from him like a band-aid, and the door opens, leaving you and Bucky to compartmentalize and get ready for the next steps in your mission with your backs turned to each other.

“You guys good?” Sam asked, looking from you to Bucky, and you groaned internally at the sight of the slight curl at the corner of his mouth.

It’s not like that, Sam.

“Yeah. Are you?”

He quirks his brow. You quirk yours. His smirk is more out in the open, now.

“C’mon, old guard, we have a funeral to attend.”

You and Bucky shoot him a double glare and follow him back to the living room, then out to the cobblestone streets. Sam specifically said no weapons, no doubt intending to keep things civil, but you strapped a knife to your boot anyway.

Bucky smirked at you when he caught you red handed and showed you the handle of his own knife secured at his hip. It’s funny, how among so many things that haven’t changed at all, remaining intact as if eternized in marble, so many other things did.

It’s the caution. Having a plan B, C, D, up to plan Z. It’s knowing every possible exit points when you enter a room, and it’s strapping a knife to your body even if you’re going on a mission of peace.

You wanted to think that the years made to fade most of your scars, but the smallest things reminded you that faded didn’t mean gone. The weight of the blade on your left foot was doing that, as you walked through the streets of Riga beside Bucky, Sam and Zemo.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.”

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins jogged down the steps in your direction. Bucky opened his arms in irritation.

“Ah! How’d you find us now?”

It wasn’t really a question.

“Come on. You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Hoskins questioned rhetorically back, and his eyes land on you. You raised your eyebrows at him. “Y/L/N.” He didn’t sound terribly surprised.

“No more keeping us in the dark. You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” Walker’s voice nearly overlapped Hoskins’, and his eyes traveled from Zemo to you.

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky quipped, and shifted to your side slightly.

“I thought you were on vacation.” Walker sneered, making you shrug. You waved idly at the buildings.

“What? I’m sightseeing.”

“Oh, this better have an unbelievable explanation—” He raised his arms, taking a couple steps in your direction, but you didn’t budge.

You were resigned to simply rest your hands at your hips and wait for his temper tantrum to be over, but Sam clapped him on the chest and commanded him to not make things weird. Walker simmered down enough, which makes you beam proudly at Sam.

“I know where Karli is.”

You’d never be caught dead saying that out loud, but thank heavens for Zemo.

The new Captain America insisted on leading the action and turning it into a hostile one. You couldn’t stop staring at the shield on his back while he strutted ahead and turned, arguing with Sam about whether or not attempting to reason with Morgenthau was a good idea. She was indeed dangerous, but the echo of Sam saying that she was only a child earlier filled your ears.

It was risky, but Sam wasn’t reckless. You believed in him wholly.

“Is that why you roped a diplomat into this? There’s still time to change sides and save your job, Y/L/N.”

You didn’t doubt John Walker could and would get you to lose your job position, but you were aware of that possible outcome the minute you flew yourself to Latvia. That was the kind of inconvenience your future self would have to deal with. Sam looked at you for a brief second, forehead creasing with worry.

“Don’t threaten her, Walker.” Bucky warned him, and it was like you were fighting off a gang of bullies in an alleyway back home again.

“You’ll let him do this? Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier, alone?” Walker pressed on, holding Bucky’s stare.

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.”

You highly doubted that. These men were as hard-headed as you were, but you didn’t buy into the whole we-aren’t-friends thing. It was evident, in the way they checked on each other from time to time, and had each other’s backs.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.” Sam stepped forward, and Walker was quick to resume the argument. He was desperate for a win, any win, and you caught yourself wondering if he was truly ready for the role he was given.

Hoskins seemed to be the voice of reason he lacked. Walker gave in, reluctantly, and motioned at Zemo.

“We’ll deal with you later.”

You tapped your feet impatiently.

“Boys, there’s no time for this.”

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.”

There was a small girl waiting by the building in front of you. She guided the group to an abandoned factory of some sort, and Zemo announced that Karli was inside, and not long after he was being handcuffed to an iron vault door.

Sam stopped himself in his tracks while Walker manhandles the man, and you and him shared a look.

“You wanna come with?”

“No. It’s two against one, might set her off.” You shook your head, turning to look at Walker as he paced around. “You got this, Sam.”

Sam nodded at you and went in.

Ten minutes. You listened attentively for any signs of struggle, hoping things would go smoothly. Your knife felt heavy inside your shoe. Bucky seemed to be focused on the same task next to you.

John Walker grew more anxious by the minute, and you stopped listening to watch him pace around.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Bucky sighed.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.”

Rich, coming from him, who seemed keen on doing just that to everyone else. Walker squared his shoulders and marched on, Bucky having to stand on his way to stop him. You got off your post on the stairs and blocked the rest of the way. Walker glared at you, then at him.

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.”

Of course, he would consider the serum more of a blessing than the true curse it was. You exhaled sharply, struggling to keep your emotions in check, watching Bucky’s back as Walker continued.

“Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

You could almost see Bucky’s resolve wavering.

“Bucky, don’t.”

“You really want a casualty that big, Ambassador?”

“You need to cool down, Walker. Sam is—”

You didn’t get to finish, because Walker is barreling his way through you and towards Karli Morgenthau. Hoskins is pushing you and Bucky back as you try to get to Sam and the girl before things blew up even further.

“Walker you can’t—”

“Karli Morgenthau, you’re under arrest.”

Karli knocks Walker down, and Bucky managed to shove Hoskins away to run after her.

“Y/N, ten minutes!” Sam said as the both of you ran off to join the pursuit.

“I know, Sam! There’s no reasoning with this guy!” You groaned. “I’ll go this way, cover more ground.”

Sam nodded, his concerned expression mirroring yours.

You split up as you take off to your right, passing through archways and enclosed cubbyholes, finding nothing but old industrial machinery and junk.

Gunshots.

You counted four, at least.

You managed to pick up the source of the sound after the third discharge, somewhere at the lower level of the building. It would take you forever to find your way down the traditional way.

You landed on the ground floor with a soft thud, and couldn’t help but grin as you look up at the window you had just jumped from. Not bad, though the impact was unexpected and almost knocked the wind out of you.

The sound of smashed glass prompted you to snap back to reality and run into the basement of the factory, the place holding massive iron pipes and boilers. Zemo had his back to you, gun in hand.

A flash of red curly hair poked from behind the last pipe. You tiptoed your way to Karli, crouching next to her. She was clutching her side, blood seeping through her fingers. The receiving end of the shots.

Karli looked at you with terrified eyes, then up, and your gaze followed hers to a man you didn’t recognize, but one of her friends without doubt.

“Get out of here, kid. Go.”

She wasted no time, clambering up the stairs and disappearing through a metal door.

Faster than you and Zemo could acknowledge each other’s actions, he was hit on the heat with flying metal, sending him unconscious to the floor. John Walker stepped into the light.

“Morgenthau?”

“Gone. I was too late.”

Walker appeared to believe you, or he didn’t care, eyeing with interest the shards of fine glass littered on the floor. Zemo had smashed every single vial of serum before being hit with the shield. You kneel next to him and check his pulse.

“Is he…?”

“No. Just out.” You breathed. Walker let out a disappointed hum, leaving you to attempt to waken Zemo by yourself.

Bucky and Sam entered through the door that Karli had escaped through, and Hoskins through the doorway you came in before.

“What did we miss?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #will reblog w taglist

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

New York High Rise {1}

Chapter summary; During all your years as the most successful mob boss of New York, no-one have ever dared to seriously battle for the crown with you. Up until now. Steven Grant Rogers, son of the infamous mob boss Joseph Rogers, has suddenly chosen you as his rival. Who will be winning in the end?

Pairing: Steve x reader  

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 1/5

Word; 5.9k

Warnings; swearing is standard in my works, mentions of canon-type violence 

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: I actually started this series on a whim and all of a sudden ended up having four chapters. I really love it for some reason, maybe because it such a powerplay and I’m a hoe for that trope, especially when it’s a enemies to lovers story. Anyhow, enough of my rambling, I hope you guys enjoy this little mid week update! PSA: If you want to be tagged in the series, jus send me an ask!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Golden chains and champagne. Fancy watches and whiskey on the rocks. Whatever related to the word expensive you were associated with. Although, unlike many others in your business, you hadn't grown up in this world of luxury, nor had you inherited the empire you now were the boss of, enabling you to live the extravagance life you did. No, you were one of the few who'd worked their ass off to earn every last thing you owned.

By most, your efforts looked like a great business mind and some luck. How else could you've become a multi-millionaire on investing in stocks? But to others, those knowing the flipside of the coin, they knew your success in capitals was nothing but a cover for your stealthy work in the shadows. It was a dance, one with feline grace, that you'd performed to reach your position. A status meaning you were one of the most famous mob bosses in New York City.

When hearing mafia, most would think of the old Italian image of people smoking cigars in fedoras, with some moustache that looked similar to pencil lines on their upper lip. Those who owned cities and the whole country knew of it but could do nothing about it.

Perhaps some of these stereotypes suited the older godfathers of New York, who sat proudly on their pedestals and watched the world pass by. But you were different from them. You didn't just watch the world continue and progress by itself. You moved along with it.

You were the new generation.

Compared to the godfathers, who every last person in New York and the bordering states knew off, you had two faces. One you showed the public and one you ruled the underworld with. To society, you were spotless, a name associated with nothing but a sharp mind and benevolence to the public. But you were at the top in the underworld syndicate, the biggest of the biggest. Yet, you didn't rule with fear, simply that of uttermost respect and earned trust. In other words, your reputation or connections weren't bought. They were deserved.

Thus, compared to the older generations, your face could be recognised by a civilian or someone from the underworld, none thinking about calling the police or betraying your trust. You owned the city without it even knowing it.

It was from the way you'd reached this top in stunning silence, together with the grace you played everyone with, that you and your empire earned the alias felines. Like a tiger cub who grew into an adult, your empire was once the smallest but now the biggest. Like a lion, you evoke respect and awe no matter where you went. Like a cat no one cared about, you could cross the streets without an issue in public.

Some of the elders, at least those who were your allies, had expressed their concern of your brassiness. 'Why play cat and mouse with fate?' they often said. But you always answered the same 'I am the cat'. And it was true. Despite some of those opposed to your methods, or just you in general, took the chances they could at picking you off the map. No one ever succeeded. Solely for one reason.

Now, you deemed agreeing to one of your first ever business deals the best choice you ever made. Although it meant you financed some of the worlds leading underground tech corporation with quite some substantial coin, the panthers were nowadays always watching over you. They lingered in the shadows, disarming every try at putting a bullet through your skull.

Albeit not as famous as yourself or the organisation you ran, the Black Panther Operation the sibling pair T'Challa and Shuri operated was, in no shape or form, not impressive. They'd established themselves as the leading organisation, even if not known by half of the people in New York, in the tech area. Not only were they invaluable to the numerous politicians wanting them to work under the radar to get the upper hand on sovereign states, but they also were to you.

They hadn't only supplied you with their physical protection of their elite bodyguards, the Dora Milaje or in common-tongue known as the shadow panthers, but their tech as well. Although, compared to anyone who would've been in your position and chosen the weapons or impenetrable bodysuit that Shuri, ever the genius she was, had invented, you'd chosen one of the other assets. The cloud, the internet.

Hackers were the way forwards compared to warriors. They were the weapon of keeping you one step ahead of anyone by supplying you with the information needed to be able to hold someone's life in your hands.

It was only to look back at the countless occasions anyone tried to persuade you into a business deal you would do nothing but lose at. Thanks to Shuri having dug out the facts that could bring any of your rivals down in the dumps, you'd walked victorious away anyways.

You were certain any of the other godfathers would've killed someone for even thinking, no less trying, to propose a disreputable arrangement with them in the first place. Yet, you knew how much one ever could make a death look like a self-caused accident, that in the end, people would start to wonder why it happened to people of the same background, connected to one and the same empire. However, the former generations didn't really care about bad publicity anyway, so why would they care about lining the street with dead bodies? But the difference was you weren't them.

By all means, some would say your ways was far more torturous than a bullet between the eyes. You wouldn't agree or disagree, only say it was just. Involving a legal and judicial battle was the new way of handling conflicts, after all. It was more efficient than having to wash the blood of your name all the time, according to you. Not only that, you gained a lot more than just a dead body.

You were in somewhat of partnership with most bosses around the city. Those you weren't, rather those you'd only settled a deal with that said "as long as you kept to each of your own territory nothing would happen", did try to bend the rules and use the terror tacit. Either they targeted you personally or something equally as important in your part of the city. It could be anything that would get to you, really. But, no matter what they did, they tried to not do it themselves. Instead, hire a hitman or someone equally as bad. The problem with this was that these people's records were far from innocent, something you used to your advantage.

If you tasked Shuri to find anything and everything these people had done, it was easy to find a person they'd wronged and who sought revenge or justification. The only thing you did was play your hand well, usually meaning you pulled some strings and supply the money. While T'Challa, as the expert he was on it, handed out the information his sister had gathered to reliable sources. Your collaboration made the person you hunted sit opposite someone from their past in a courtroom. Most of the times, they also lost the case.

Choosing to do this rather than go rampage and fire your gun aimlessly meant you settled as a second, or sometimes even third or four-hand source to what went down. So not only did your name remain clear despite answering a rivals offence, your involvement was nearly impossible to track as well. Thus, you could take down five of a rivals' men while they only took one of yours.

Despite one could call you out on hypocrisy, saying that the shadow panthers protecting you didn't own the same benevolence and were quick and silent in their killing, there was one reason you didn't care about the fact. Currently, they may be under a shared command, but their never-ending allegiance was always towards the founders of the Black Panther Operation. If either Shuri or T'Challa said stand back or decided to cut their deal with you, the shadow panther's protection would disappear. The same went if you chose to rip the contract.

However, it was a slim chance that either of the siblings or you would terminate your arrangement. Seeing how now, years later, you still were the sole person working a continuous agreement with them. That was why nowadays, your and theirs organisations were nearly associated as the same by most in the underworld.

Your style of ruling New York and living such different lives in the light and dark made others in your profession joke you were the sole one with an ordinary life. That you were no traditional mafia, simply a highly functioning business-orientated company that invested in stocks. However, both you and everyone around you knew that wasn't true. The reason? You weren't afraid to use every last of your assets to remain in control of your empire. Whatever it took.

And that was a promise someone the last months had put up to the test.

You don't know what set it off, perhaps the old saying of cats and dogs never working well together. Or that because you were at the top drew enough confidence out of someone to try and knock you down. For whatever reason, someone decided to start a ruckus with you.

It had begun small enough you had no idea that someone was behind it. Connections or deals with companies connected to your empire backing out of contracts in the last seconds, saying they got a better offer. The word secrecy, frequently used for ones own safety in the world you lived in, was a term you'd heard enough times by now to grow tired of. It was no significant agreements, seeing how you were well enough to not care about money, but it was plenty bothersome for your pride.

The next step in the escalation had been dealings slightly more important than a question of money, which was your territory and thereby also safety. You still had some meetings with a few godfathers, had fore some time actually. It was mostly those who once had opposed you in the days you weren't a threat or those who just tried to live secludedly enough that they died by natural causes rather than in a cell or from rivalry.

Each of those conferences had been about securing your grip on Manhattan. Primarily to obtain some neighbourhoods closest to Harlem Park and the northern part of the Inwood neighbourhood. Both of which currently was in some sort of grey zone. Meaning neither owned by them nor you. Although those areas were still not written as yours, concerning how those old bosses abruptly didn't seem to want to seal any deals that they weeks ago had agreed on.

Then you'd entered the third stage. The one that made you understand all these cancellations wasn't merely coincidence, but somebody working against you. People from both your closest crew and the Black Panther section had been disappearing. It wasn't uncommon. Your business was nothing but personal feelings and wants most of the times. However, concerning how few men and women you'd lost under your watch, this sudden increase was off-putting.

Closer to the truth was something like this had never happened to this extent before. You hadn't had people close to you or anyone associated with you abducted. However, the worst thing was that the bodies of those disappearing were never not found bloody or in a morgue.

Money or failing to persuade old godfathers wasn't something you took personal, but when people started dropping like flies around you, that you took personally. Hence, you, Shuri and T'Challa worked endlessly on finding who was behind it.

Almost every time, you found the culprit of the act, but not the big boss behind it all. Disabling you from taking more than one person out of play. That your jaw hadn't broken for how much you'd clenched it in frustration, or your teeth shattered from the amount you gritted them was a mystery. You hunted the person ordering these things, yet with no success.

Although one day, when one of the subordinates in your very own team had been missing for a week returned, barely clinging to their consciousness, you'd gotten to know who this new rival of yours was.

Steven Grant Rogers.

The canines, an alias for the Rogers family, were equally known as any of the old US President in the underworld in New York. If one hadn't heard of them in your profession, it was more likely that you already were dead or not in it all because they were notorious.

They'd ruled Brooklyn with an iron fist and was probably the crown specimen of the reputation that accompanied the word mafia. There was a grace in their affairs and killing. But compared to your work, which was performed in shadows and silence, they flaunted it, not scared of running from the police because they already knew they never would be caught.

From what you knew, they'd fallen off somewhat after Joseph Rogers, the head of the Canine Empire, died in one of the rivalries between mobs. His death had been years before you were even born, close to an age it was as high of a chance he could've passed from natural causes. Still, the commotion and continuous dispute following his disappearance and the unclear leadership had served as a fall for the Canine Empire. There was no doubt your rise to the same amount of power as the former union possessed would've been as easy if you'd had them as your opponents.

However, now, it seemed like the past would haunt you down in the form of Joseph Rogers son.

Albeit you never met the new boss of the Canines, there was no doubt you considered, for the first time, to personally put a bullet through someone's head. Steven Grant Rogers was as ruthless as stories told his father had been. He'd even been labelled the golden boy of Brooklyn, rumoured to restore the brutal power of the Canine Empire. Yet, the spot he was reaching for with old alliances regrouping to boost him to the top was a position you currently occupied.

This is where the difference between if you'd had a regular business organisation and the domain you now did, settled in. You went on total offense.

You contacted T'Challa and Shuri, calling them in for a meeting. Even though the pair knew of what had happened so far, they were your partners and thus, you would discuss the actions you would take with them, even if your deal said nothing of that sort. But you knew, compared to your rival, it seemed, how important it was to hold onto your closest allies with other methods than fear and the threat of death. And thus, you also received the help of a friend rather than a business partner.

It must've been the bloodiest month in the last decade from the rivalry that blossomed up between the Felines and Canines the second you started to answer the new top dog's advances. You got reports that the shadow panthers watching your back had cleared more people putting you up as a target than in a long time. As well, did more of the people under your name end up red in back allies.

Then it shifted. As soon as you started getting trails of more people than just the executioners, you were suddenly able to take out divisions of his minions. And while the killing went on, you started winning the big battles. In other words, while Steven continued to play it hard, you started to play smart.

You cut off deals he could do in Brooklyn, much harsher and unforgiving than his initials ones on your side of the East River. It was everything from supplies, to money, to the extra set of eyes. Everything to limit him to sources you knew he wouldn't be happy with having to resort to. While handling this, with the help from Shuri, you also broadened your search to find every little dirty-worker under the mob boss's command. Thanks to those now operating for you on the Brooklyn side, you helped people who'd had a past with Steven's men tip police of and capture them.

Pawn by pawn, you lessened the number of ways the Canine boss could run in taking down your empire. You had him cornered, already several moves ahead of him whatever he chose to do. Only, it was one step you thought he never would do that, in the end, made everything come to a skidding halt.

He'd requested a parley.

"Y'know I don't really like the idea of you meeting him", you didn't look up from the papers you currently were reading to look at Shuri where she lounged on your office's couch.

Though it felt like you should examine the folder that rested in your handbag     -the one containing the event plans for the charity event you would host for the many high society individuals and governors, or anyone with money really, in two weeks- those documents weren't the ones you were looking through now.

It was five days ago since Steven had asked for the parlay. Ever since then, you'd worked on the deal you would offer him. You had no desire to sign whatever he would hand to you. And you knew he would propose something. The Canine boss was the challenger, after all. Even more so, the one requesting a meeting from the start. Thus, he, for one, would offer something to cease your continuous confrontations and two, he would try to drag you down while elevating himself. That you couldn't have.

"I know", you finally responded when having read the side you were on in the contract you had put together for your rival. "Still, I want to hear what the man has to say so I can stop losing resources, time and people", you turned to the next page as you said this.

There came no response immediately despite that you felt Shuri was looking at you. You'd gotten good at noticing this, someone observing you. Hence, even though the best of the panthers always were safeguarding you somewhere in the crowds, it never hurt to not solely depend on others for your own safety. Because that was what your constantly high attentiveness was for anyways. To always be keen on your surroundings and try to detect someone's move before they did it.

"It's almost interesting to see someone challenge you for the position of being the big boss, Lekati", it wasn't only at the reserved nickname Shuri used that caught your attention. The rest of what she'd said also made you pause mid-turn of the last page, eyes automatically shifting to her.

Now, instead of sprawling across the piece of furniture the women occupied, she sat upright with a smile ghosting her lips. Your eyes narrowed as you noted this.

"Oh, stop imagining using your sharp claws on me".

"I wasn't".

"You're a bad liar when you want to be", the tech mogul pointed out with a finger directed towards you. Your features stayed indifferent despite the fact that her remark had been correct.

"When will your brother be back?" The dark-haired women cocked a brow at your sudden change of topic.

"Any minute, I suppose, why?"

"He's more pleasant to have around while I try to work, less chatty", an incredulous snort left Shuri as she crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch's backside. Her reaction made your stoic facade drop somewhat, causing the side of your mouth to tug upwards. It was an act she caught and couldn't help but shake her head at.

"I never get tired of not knowing whether you're about to send half of the city after me or simply are in a playing mood", your repressed smile bloomed into a fully-fledged one, amused by Shuri's comment.

"Opt for the latter for as long as those couple of hundred thousand dollars are rolling into your account". Averting your eyes from the women you were speaking to, you once again inspected the bunch of papers before you. 

Having worked on them for days and ever since this morning re-reading the contract, you knew it was worded to perfection. There were no loopholes nor any unnecessary losses for either part. So, for as long as Steven didn't belong to the old saying of 'it’s hard to learn an old dog to sit', you knew his signature would decorate the last page. 

"However, you should worry about the day when the money is missing", you hummed while stacking the papers orderly, putting them back into the same folder they'd been stored since you'd gotten the paper copies of the transcript.

"Would that be my sign to start running?" You looked up again, instantly meeting Shuri's humoured look.

"It would probably be too late", you shrugged nonchalantly, placing the folder you would have to the meeting in your handbag in a swift motion while swivelling your chair to face her, rather than your desk as you'd done previously. As a chuckle was heard from the dark-haired woman, you crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in your seat.

"It's good that I'm your ally and not your foe".

"Good to hear you view yourself as a friend. Was fearing you would switch sides to my challenger's", you mused, arms coming to prop up against your armrest to support your head when you tilted it.

"I never would, even if I knew he had a chance to win", even though feeling somewhat relieved - because this world and one's alliances could change fast, no matter current contracts or friendships- when Shuri said this, you wouldn't show it. Therefore, instead of smiling at her belief that Steven had no chance of beating you at a game you had been the best player at for years, you simply kept observing the woman as she stood from the couch.

The young tech mogul started to make her way closer to you, a slight sheerness in her step that impersonated the glint in her eye. And you understood why for when she opened her mouth to speak.

"But you can't deny it's interesting someone is seriously trying to take you down", you rolled your eyes while you let your hand fall to tap against your thigh.

"Seems like you're more excited about it than me", you started, spinning your chair slowly to follow Shuri as she settled partly on the empty edge of your desk. She looked expectantly at you, waiting for an answer despite your deflection of it initially. For once, purely because of the topic, you complied. "But no, I definitely do not find it interesting", you sighed out.

"Oh, come on, Lekati...".

"Stop with the nickname", you cut her off with a roll of your eyes. However, instead of earning the quick nod of confirmation to follow your exasperated order, the dark-haired women grinned. Perhaps if it was anyone else than Shuri, you would've been irritated and sent them out of your office, but concerning you viewed her more as a friend than a simple job partner, you did neither when her teasing continued.

"Has the dog really gotten that much under your skin?" She chuckled. "Must be the first one... ever. Or correct me if I'm wrong?" You simply dropped your head and shook it. The young women were right and she knew she was. Steven was the sole one able to make you nearly lose your footing ever since claiming the crown of the underworld.

"Why couldn't he just stay put?" You mumbled under your breath, thumb smoothing out the wrinkles having settled between your brows. "We'd never heard of him before. Why decide to make himself known now all of a sudden? After years of silence?"

"Some men seek the satisfaction of bringing entities down, especially if they ruled it before and now it's overtaken by a woman", you looked up at Shuri. But instead of meeting her gaze, your eyes fell to the piece of paper she held up. Evidently, she'd plucked your Cartier pen and a sticky note from the stack always resting on your desk and written three letters on the piece of paper while you spoke. You, it stood on it.

"Thank you for the flattery", you replied, reaching forward to snatch the note from her. "But I would've prefered if Rogers hadn't, would spare me the task of crushing his ego", the brown-eyed women chuckled at that.

"Maybe he needs to take yours down a step or two too", you stood from your chair as she said this, dropping the slightly crumpled note you'd taken from her into the bin under your desk, then starting to head towards the mirror you had in your office.

"I don't have an ego. I simply know my self-worth".

"Sounds a lot like you're bordering on narcissism", she said in a sing-song voice. "Maybe you and his pride can go on a date. I bet they would rule New York happily ever after", you couldn't suppress a chuckle at Shuri's words, whether you wanted to show how absolutely hilariously unbelievable it was or not.

"Can't your brother come and save me from your antics?" You muttered, spotting the smile the genius behind you sported in the mirror. It was meant for her to hear, so you weren't shocked when she responded to the banter.

"I actually prefer his absence. The two of you together nearly drown me in the seriousness", Shuri complained dramatically. You amusedly rolled your eyes before settling to look at your chosen attire.

Compared to how far away you stood from tradition in the godfather's senses, it was one custom you fulfilled like the rest of them. You believed that the clothes made the man. And, for a meeting like the one you soon would go to, you didn't hesitate to strive for that effect.

You knew Steven was old fashioned. Everything he did cried it. So, of course, you would try to throw him off at every point you could. The skirt and dress were switched out for a suit, midnight black. It was a loose fit and probably matched the high-end fashion more than traditional meeting standards, but you didn't genuinely worry. You were here to show you are the new generation and wouldn't budge because you were the sole women in New York running a syndicate. Doing the best job at it as well.

However, if the man you would meet would frown upon women in a suit, the lace bodysuit, black as well, you wore instead of a dress shirt would probably give him a heart attack. It covered enough but were in no way domesticated and left the upper part of your chest bare. It was a great way to show off the two thin chains of gold decorating your neck.

For some reason, your eyes lingered on the golden metal shining from the light trickling into your office. You started to fiddle with the necklace then, concentrating on how they weren't cold but rather heated up from your body temperature.

You became lost in your own world, fingers splaying over the hollow in your throat to absentmindedly play with the chains there while you thought about the meeting that was rapidly coming closer.

The action, together with the far-away look you stared at your movement in the mirror, was something that caught Shuri's attention.

"Relax", instantly your eyes flickered up to watch her in the mirror's reflective surface as if snapped from a daze. She'd shifted, so she now sat on the front of your desk, head turned in your direction. "It'll go good".

"Wasn't it you who said that you didn't want me to meet him in the first place?" You began to challenge her words of reassurance, hand falling from your skin to instead hang by your side. Not until you'd turned and cocked your brow at her did you continue. "That must insinuate you don't think it will go good", she simply shrugged when you said this.

"I did say I don't like his sudden call for a conference and that you accepted it in the first place", she began, crossing her feet at the ankle and looking down at the movement momentarily before her gaze found yours once more. "But that doesn't mean I don't think it will go good. I know it will. You're good at your job", you smiled at that. You already knew that you worked great under pressure, or else you wouldn't be standing on top of the empire you ruled. Although, it was always comforting to hear it from someone else.

Fittingly, in the next second, a knock on your door echoed in the room, effectively putting an end to your previous conversation with the women perched on your desk.

"Enter", you called without hesitating, as soon as both your and Shuri's attention also turned to the entrance. The guard stationed outside of your room didn't need to inform you of who'd wanted to enter. You already knew it was T'Challa. And as the guard opened the heavy door to your office and held it open for whoever had requested it, indeed it was Shuri's brother stepping through the doorway.

You didn't more than slightly tip your head to acknowledge the guard's nod of respect your way before he closed the door. Primarily because you spotted the slate grey folder the older of the children of T'Chaka held. It was the call about the seemingly insignificant object being completed that had interrupted the earlier discussion you, Shuri and T'Challa had. Your assemblage hadn't been much more than some minor last discussions and to wait for the folder the man now walking through the room held. Thus the portfolio contained a report, the ultimate attempt of finding anything that could aid you in the meeting with Steven.

"Anything good?" You skipped the unnecessary greetings as you gestured to the portfolio in T'Challa's hand while walking closer to your desk, which also was where he was heading.

"Look for yourself", when he said this, the brown-eyed mad held out the folder for you to take. You did but didn't open it until you'd rounded the counter and sat down in your chair again.

You didn't know what you'd expected to meet you, but a photo and a single sheet of paper weren't it.

For a moment, you stared at the picture resting on top of the report underneath it. Presumably, it should've been a photo of Steven sitting in some club. Although it was blurry and had no great exposure, which made it impossible to tell much about his appearance. Still, you knew it was him or else the picture wouldn't be here. However, it did nothing to help you paint a picture of the man which name so far seemed to be faceless.

Putting the picture to the side, you quickly started to eye the document. You scanned it, finding it contained random facts citing what properties the Canine boss had invested in, even owned. Apparently, Steven managed several clubs, which would explain why his first suggestion of a meeting place had been just that. Other than that, he owned some other businesses that wasn't much to cheer for. All infected by alcohol and drugs by the looks and names. Classical.

"This all?" You finally questioned after turning the sheet over, finding the backside blank. When glancing up, you saw T'Challa nodding. You clenched your jaw and looked back down at the paper.

Ever since Steven had asked for an official meeting, between your eyes only, as his message had been clear to state, you'd requested for the siblings to find out whatever they could about him. You wanted the advantage you knew he couldn't get over you. Thus, what was publicly known of you wasn't anything to hide. And frankly, he was more than welcome to read the articles that had written things about you. Yet, every secret of yours, or anything you'd deemed unfitting for anyone to know, had been wiped. No one could ever find something about you that you didn't want on the internet. Though, it seemed you weren't the only one sitting on resources like that.

Albeit the "new mob boss" was discussed in several articles, Steven's name had no face in any of them. In general, there was no picture of him or much information to track him down by either. So, despite your best efforts, now it seemed you didn't have much more than your hunch to go on during the meeting.

"I do not think it's wise to meet him", T'Challa said, much like his sister had earlier. With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, fingers releasing the paper you'd gripped to pinch the bridge of your nose instead.

"Neither of you wants me to meet him, do you?" At first, silence met you, which made you look up the sibling pair. They shared a glance before Shuri turned slightly to look at you and her brother crossed his arms.

"No", they said simultaneously, which made you huff.

"I may like it as little as you two, but it put a temporary pause to the conflict. And if he comes to accept my terms, maybe that will remain".

"And what if he doesn't?" T'Challa inquired, receiving a frown from his sister, while you simply tilted your head down to look at your watch. "What if he refuses to tuck tail?" He continued to push.

"He won't", you stated, rising up from your chair, handbag now in your grip. It was three minutes until your driver would be here, so you needed to start heading down to the spot he would pick you up in. Yet, you were stopped in your tracks by a hand gripping your upper arm lightly.

"But what if?"

"T'Challa!" Shuri hissed at the unrespectful way her brother insisted on having his questions answered. She'd shot up from where she up until now had remained seated but before she could drag the man staring down at you with insistent eyes away, your raised the hand of your free arm. It stopped the younger women's movement, merely making her watch you and T'Challa.

There was a reason the siblings were able to run their tech operation as smoothly as they did. They complemented each other. What one lacked, the other possessed. For example, Shuri may own the belief everything was possible, then naturally, her brother would be more cautious. As in this instance. Hence, you didn't take any great offence to the dark-haired man's action, despite that your aloof tone could imply such a thing.

"What if he doesn't accept my deal after having me listen to whatever godawful settlement he offers me? Then I've kept my promise on meeting him for the parley he requested and one, which in the end, unfortunately, didn't establish an accord. Henceforth, our war will continue", you said, instantly feeling how T'Challa's hand fell from holding you back. Yet, you didn't pursue your track to the pick up you already was late for. Not until you assured him of one last thing. 

"Let me remind you that he was the one that asked me for a meeting, not the other way around. He asked me for a temporary truce and a chance to negotiate. In the end, that shows who's the most desperate to settle an agreement, no matter the terms".

Translation:

Lekati = Kitten

#Steve Rogers #steve x reader #mafia!steve rogers #mob boss steve rogers #mob!boss steve #enemies to lovers #mafia!Steve x mafia!reader #mafia!au #steve x reader angst #platonic relationships #t'challa #mcu shuri #Shuri #fanfiction #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #MCU fic #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mob!boss au #mob!boss #mob!boss Steve Rogers

[weasleypogues]

written in the stars (f.w. au) pt. 3

thanks for supporting guys it means sosososoososos much!!!! i love this little fic sm so this is so much fun! this is the final part!!! again requests are open <3 

taglist:  @daddystevee @nojamsonmytoast @thebadassbitchqueen @hogwarts-babe

hope you enjoy!! xx :)

masterlist. part 1. part 2. 

unironically, you felt the need for a towel for a quick second because of the sweatiness of your palms. you were walking towards the gryffindor common room with malia, jada, and cedric. excitement and anxiety were bubbling inside of you the closer you got towards the party. 

“are you sure theres a party? it sounds quiet?” jada asked malia, somewhat nervously. she had her eyebrows furrowed and didn’t want to make the mistake of four random hufflepuffs walking into the gryffindor common room.

“yeah, i’m sure hermione granger put up some kind of charm to keep out the noise. plus, (y/n)’s soulmate confirmed it anyways.” malia responded, sending a playful wink your way. a smile crept onto your face and it would’ve been your wand that you grasped your hand around in excitement but instead it was the marble and slightly cold pen. 

“balderdash.” cedric spoke to the painting. the fat lady looked at him and rolled her eyes, acknowledging that he wasn’t a gryffindor but if she heard the password she would let him in. the fat lady made a mental note to change the password on her own terms. the portrait swung open and you walked through a slight haze as if someone turned on the heater and you could see it in the air. as you passed that hazy barrier, the bass of the music vibrated through your body. the lights were turned off but charmed bright red lights took it’s place and the room was crowded.

cedric and malia broke off to say hi to a couple of friends. you made your way over to ginny weasley with jada by your side and tapped her on the arm, eager to say hi to your friend. there was a time during the triwizard tournament that you got on the same boat as her to go to the second task. you watched as she scolded her two brothers for being too mean when trying to sell their pranking candy and chuckled. you hopped on the boat with jada and another roommate and she was shy but wanted to hop on as well.

“(y/n)! happy birthday!! im so happy to see you!” she exclaimed and didn’t hesitate to pull you into a hug. you returned the hug and had a small conversation with her. however, you felt somewhat bad when she started a conversation and you couldn’t help but let your eyes dart around the room, as if there would be a bright sign and an arrow pointing over someone’s head that read “(y/n)’s soulmate!”

ginny noticed your distracted eyes and caught your attention again, “looking for your soulmate?” she asked with a smirk and her eyebrows raised. you felt your cheeks get hot and nodded before letting out a deep breath.

“i think he’s in gryffindor. seems to be somewhat forgetful of the common room password.” you announced and she laughed, playfully rolling her eyes.

“i know way too many people like that in this house. you’d think people would learn by now.” ginny joked. her next sentence was cut off by the unison yelling of two redheaded boys standing on the table with two bottles of daisyroot drought. they both shook them very hard and popped off the caps, spraying the crowd below them as if it were champagne, leaving everyone soaked. most students opened their mouths or cheered along. you laughed and rolled your eyes playfully, pulling out your pen and writing on your arm.

will definitelyyyyy need a towel after the stunt the twins just pulled

you laughed to yourself and stuck the pen inside your pocket and glanced back up at the twins, ready for another shower of daisyroot drought. while george had a giant smile on his face, fred had the bottle in his right hand and was using a free pointer finger to lift up the sleeve of his shirt on his left arm.

you felt a lump in your throat and intently watched him read it. you grabbed jada’s arm next to you as you were frozen watching fred read the sentence to himself and smirking.

“jada.”

“what’s up?” she replied, a little loudly over the booming music. 

“fred weasley.” you said loud enough so she could hear but in a good enough volume that people may not look over. this, weirdly enough, didn’t include ginny.

“what about him? did he get too much drought in your eyes?” ginny joked and laughed, but her smile turned into her eyebrows furrowing as she stared at your shocked face.

your eyes were still upon fred who was deparately patting around his shirt and pants, trying to find the pen he realized he must’ve misplaced. he looked frazzled and hopped down from the table.

“is fred- you know?” jada replied, eager evident in her voice and her eyes basically sparkling for you.

“wait, fred is your soulmate?” ginny basically yelled and you covered her mouth with your hand to get her to shut up. if you were wrong, that would’ve just been embarrassing. 

“i think?” you said, chuckling and your shocked face soon came to the realizaiton of how happy you were. you couldn’t stop your fingers from tingling and bringing the hand that was once on ginny’s mouth, back to yours. ginny was beaming and wrapped her arms around you.

“ugh i hope so! my future sister in law!” she exclaimed and you laughed.

“don’t get too excited, i haven’t confirmed it yet.” you reminded her, your face feeling hot at the thought of marrying fred weasley.

“let me go ask him for you!” ginny said, basically on her way to confront her older brother. you grabbed her arms, your eyes wide and shook your head.

“don’t! because if it isn’t and you ask him about it, that would be so embarrassing.” you stated, worry filling up the tone of your voice. you saw george getting down from the table acknowleding the disappearence of his brother and spotted some fellow gryffindors to talk to. although, you couldn’t spot fred.

“no, (y/n), you don’t understand! it makes sense! he mentioned to george today that he just started talking to his soulmate!” ginny reassured you and grabbed ron’s arm as he was innocently passing by.

“bloody hell, ginny! do something about those claws of yours!” ron whined and exasperated, glaring at his little sister.

“(y/n) is fred’s soulmate!” she said, her smile emitting towards his direction and his annoyed face turned into shock.

“wait! we aren’t totally sure yet!” you said, your heart rate increasing at the fact that at this rate, ginny would tell the entire weasley lineage before you could confirm it with fred himself.

“go up to him now! i don’t know how much longer i can hear of him talking about not knowing his soulmate, five months of talking everyone’s ears off. worst case scenario, he’s not.” ron said, basically screaming over the loud music. you laughed in response but took what he said in, everything was really making sense.

“what are you guys up to?” you heard a deep and familar voice ask from beside you. you looked up and your heart dropped for a second but slowly fluttered up as you identified that the man infront of you wasn’t fred, but george. you admired the similarity in features for a second before ron’s voice snapped you out of it.

“(y/n) is fred’s soulmate!” ron exclaimed and your hands lifted to your face in stress in an instant.

“merlin’s beard, are all the weasley’s this terrible at keeping secrets?” you inquired, your face going hot, for what felt like the 100th time since coming into the common room. ron’s face looked sheepish but you felt george’s eyes on you.

“are you serious? thank god, he never stops talking about you! let me get him, he can’t find his pen!” george said but you grabbed his arm before he could go on his journey to find his frazzled twin looking for his pen. you let out a stressed breath and paused.

“wait, he talks about me?” you asked, a gleam of hope sparkled in your eye. george smiled and rolled his eyes, “yeah, i never hear the end of it.”

your nerves felt calmer and you looked around. “fuck it, i’m going to look for him.” you stated, feeling a sudden gryffindor courage. fred’s siblings all had similar happy expressions and you chuckled, realizing fred didn’t only have an identical twin but basically an identical family. you glanced at jada and she gave you a thumbs up before you took off. 

it didn’t take long to find fred, seeing as he was above six foot and had vibrant hair. you saw him rummaging in open spots of the common room and under pillows and chairs. “lost something?” you asked, trying to sound unknowing. 

he glanced up immediately at the sound of your voice and a smile formed on his face at the sight of you. “to your surprise, i actually enjoy spending my time organizing furniture and making sure it looks up to par.”

you laughed at his joke and rolled your eyes, feeling as if your heart was going to beat out of your chest. “here, take my pen since you lost yours.”

fred reached out to grab it for a second before putting it together, “how did you know i lost my pen?” 

“kind of put it together that you could be a forgetful person. first the gryffindor common room password, than your pen...you have a track record, weasley.”

a smirk formed on his face and he was putting the pieces together. the smirk soon transformed into a softer smile and a sparkle shone in his eye at the sight of you. you drew a tiny heart on your wrist to see if it would show up on his, to prove your theory right. you saw glitter light from his wrist and your eyes met.

“i guess that settles the mystery.” fred stated, a giant smile on his face as the black ink disappeared from both of your wrists. “can i?” he asked.

he walked towards you slightly learning in before you smiled and nodded. he let his hands make their way to cup your face and pulled you in for a kiss. you felt yourself slightly on your tippy-toes and let yours hands make their way to his torso, deepening the kiss. you suddenly heard cheering and the both of you pulled away, calmer than before. you glanced over at the sound and saw cedric, jada, malia, the weaselys, and most of their friends cheering and clapping, excited for the two of you. 

your face went hot and you got slightly embarrassed at all the attention before letting your head burrow into fred’s chest, laughing. you felt his body vibrating at he laughed too, wrapping his arms around your head and pulling you somehow closer to his body warmth. 

“i knew it would be you.” fred whispered into your ear before planting another kiss on the top of your head. 

“it was written in the stars.” you responded with before leaning in for another kiss.

#fred weasley imagines #fred weasley #fred weasley x #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x hufflepuff!reader #george weasley imagines #george weasley #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #ron weasley imagines #ron weasley #hufflepuff reader #hp writing #hp imagines

[shihalyfie]

02′s influence on Adventure

You’re probably reading the title and going “...what? Isn’t 02 the sequel to Adventure? How would a series be influenced by its own future sequel?”

The thing is, assuming that Adventure was written in a vacuum and everything in 02 a retrofit runs very contrary to how both series were produced, and how this kind of anime is produced in general -- Adventure and 02 share almost identical staff members, and were separated only by a real-life single week in airing time. 02′s existence was not a sudden last-minute decision that was tacked on at the end! In fact, Adventure being extended to a second series was decided seven months into its production, right around the end of the Tokyo arc (sometime around the third cour). Despite it being a rather tonally different series, 02 is really just Adventure’s staff...writing more.

This means that by the time production had moved to Adventure’s final arc, the staff was very aware that they would be on for another year writing a sequel to this anime -- which thus likely became the fuel behind many of its creative decisions, made specifically to pave the way for 02.

The ending

Yeah, so, this ending. You know this really famous ending? The one that’s had such an impact on franchise history that a lot of later things have even tried to imitate it in some form? The one that everyone cites as one of Adventure’s most famous scenes (for good reason)? This ending only exists because of 02. You know what actually would have been Adventure’s ending if 02 hadn’t existed?

The 02 epilogue.

The ending that we now know as the “02 epilogue” was actually decided on before recording for Adventure had even started. (They weren’t even sure about finalizing the character personalities yet!) All of the most substantial details about that epilogue -- the series actually being the adult Takeru’s novel, everyone in the world having a Digimon partner, and, as it seems, even Yamato and Sora getting married -- were decided on before 02 was even in the picture.  Most likely, the only material difference would have been that the four characters introduced in 02 (Daisuke, Miyako, Iori, and Ken) and their partners wouldn’t have been involved, but everything else would have roughly been the same as the “epilogue” we know now. (This especially makes sense when you consider that one of Adventure’s major influences was the movie Stand By Me, which is extremely culturally influential in Japan as a “childhood summer adventure story”, and involves a similar timeskip epilogue with one character growing up to chronicle the story as a writer.) All of this was basically intended to tie into Adventure as a narrative of “a story of humanity’s evolution”, so this ending was envisioned as the “natural conclusion” of the story of Adventure as a whole. If anything from the original Adventure ending would have been retained in this hypothetical scenario of only Adventure existing, perhaps the sentiment of “parting” at the end -- but then it would still be followed by a timeskip epilogue 28 years later and everyone in the world having a partner.

But then it was decided that a second series would be made, and at some point they decided it would be a series set three years after the first, resulting in: this.

What this means is that Adventure’s ending was only ever intended as an ending for a single chapter in the overall Adventure series narrative. A lot of people like to pose 02′s existence or epilogue as something that “undid” Adventure’s ending, as if it was supposed to be some “ambiguous bittersweet” ending about whether they ever met their partners again, but...that ignores the real-life context of Adventure and 02′s production, where Our War Game! (which depicted an easy reunion with their partners, went out of its way to cameo Miyako in advance, and, for all intents and purposes, practically spoiled Adventure’s ending by depicting them as separated at all) screened before Adventure’s last episode aired, and there’s also the Adventure mini dramas that depicted more incidental meetings (and despite the constant fourth wall breaking and absurd crack content in them, yes, they’re intended to be taken as canon).

Again: in real life, the first episode of 02 aired one week after the last episode of Adventure. Even the real-life audience was likely well aware that this wasn’t going to be the end (and if they weren’t, they certainly would be when the promotional trailers for 02 started airing right after Adventure’s last -- and that’s assuming you missed all of the promotion appearing in real life beforehand, including at the end of Our War Game!’s screenings). The production staff all knew, because they’d already been working on 02 for months now -- they postponed their originally intended ending just to make this new one, after all!

So yeah, this line isn’t supposed to be just a vague “oh, maybe they’ll meet again” in an abstract poetic sense -- it’s completely literal, because it’s hinting at said gate opening again one real-life week later.

From both a story perspective and a real-life audience perspective, this ending was never meant to be seen as ambiguous.

Takeru and Hikari’s character arcs

02 often gets an accusation of being lacking in the character development department (one that I seriously disagree with and have been working very hard to counter), but this accusation especially gets levied often at Takeru and Hikari, who are often said to be “flat” or “kind of just there” in 02 (which, again, I object to; more on this below). This is often rationalized as a theory that the writers didn’t know what to do with them because they’d already been in Adventure, but...this, again, assumes too much that Adventure was written in a self-contained vacuum and anything in 02 was just an addition done after the fact.

There’s actually quite a bit of evidence that the last cour (or at least a significant amount of it) was written with the idea that Takeru and Hikari were going to be starring in the next series in mind.

This is especially pretty apparent when you get to the last episode, where Takeru and Hikari are conspicuously the ones to leave off on the most confident “we’ll meet again” notes, compared to the other six. Of course, they do it in their own respective ways (Takeru and Patamon resolve to make it happen, while Hikari cryptically acts like it’s already bound to happen, borderline prophetically), and maybe you could chalk it up to the fact that they’re the youngest and therefore most naive of this group...but, again, remember: 02′s first episode aired one week after this one, where we would immediately be treated to Takeru and Hikari following up on this. Given that, you can basically see this as a wink and a nod: “yeah, these two have a story that’s not over yet.”

And as much as I may sound like a heathen to the fanbase by claiming this, I would actually say that it’s the opposite of the above claim: Takeru and Hikari both have pretty unresolved arcs by the end of Adventure compared to the rest of the other kids, and in fact are fleshed out more in 02. It’s honestly kind of a stretch to say that they “already got development” in Adventure -- Takeru still has a ton of unresolved issues with his family and trauma and emotional behavior that aren’t properly addressed to nearly the same degree as how the older kids have their core issues brought to the forefront, while Hikari really was only around for less than half the series, and not only is her main problem of emotional suppression told purely from Taichi’s mouth and not her own, we also get no real follow-up on how she intends to work past that.

Those are some pretty huge things to leave unresolved at the end of a series that’s known for its focus on individual character development, and considering that the premise of 02 involving an older Takeru and Hikari was likely finalized around the middle of the last arc of Adventure, it’s easy to believe that they decided to deliberately hold off on resolving Takeru and Hikari’s issues in full so that their story could be told in the next series. And, indeed, while their characters being built on “being difficult to read” makes their development not quite as visible as some of the more eccentric personalities in the 02 cast, their respective Jogress partners (Iori and Miyako) more openly discuss and get to the bottom of their issues that had been lightly displayed or hinted in Adventure but never truly been addressed.

A lot of things that were not in Adventure

Adventure was admittedly kind of written as they went along (they didn’t even originally plan to have Hikari as the eighth child at first), so it’s hard to tell exactly what was planned and what was a later addition (and at what point things were added), but considering that the 02 epilogue was one of the first things planned in the entire series, as part of “a story of humanity’s evolution” and tying into a really long theory about partners doubling every year, it’s probably at least safe to say that a lot of the worldbuilding and lore was determined very early.

02 added a lot of lore dumps about Digital World mechanics and things related to the overall state of Chosen Children, which have been said by many to be retrofits to justify a buildup to the 02 epilogue, but, again -- the 02 epilogue was supposed to be for Adventure, so it’s very likely that these lore aspects were intended for Adventure as well! This is especially because it’s been outright confirmed that there were at least certain things originally intended for Adventure that ended up in 02, or at least were in 02 because they felt Adventure didn’t sufficiently cover it:

The kids’ home lives. As famous as the Tokyo arc of Adventure is, it only covered about a quarter of it -- the rest of it was the kids stranded in another world, separated from home! It’s specifically 02 that went into all of the things like school life, family life, daily life in Odaiba, and everything closer to the real world -- basically, everything related to family backgrounds that was very likely to have been in the planning documents for Adventure but never made it.

The (in)famous 02 episode 13 (or, at least, something like it) was intended for Adventure. As much as there’s common speculation that this episode was intended to be some giant subplot that got canned, from what we’ve heard from the staff, the truth actually seems to be a lot more mundane -- Adventure was a series very big on “oddities about the Digital World that have no real explanation” (see: phone booths), and when you reframe it in Adventure’s context, it’s likely that Dagomon and the Dark Ocean were intended to be yet another of those as part of its wider lore about the multiverse, to make you think “the heck was that?” but never get any real answer to. (And while it’s unclear whether the original theoretical Adventure version of this episode would have still involved Takeru and Hikari, if you want to put a tinfoil hat on and entertain that theory, it lends even further credence to the idea that their respective character arcs were deliberately held off for 02...)

Given that, and thinking about the 02 epilogue as the eventual goal for the series, you can also easily imagine a lot of 02-introduced things leading up to it as probably also having been baked into Adventure’s lore:

You know how 02 had a subplot about Chosen Children proliferating all over the world, as a lead-up to everyone in the world eventually having a partner? This was part of a “doubling every year” formula that’s been referred to a few times in background staff testimony. If you inspect this formula, this means that there were eight other Chosen Children besides Taichi and his friends, chosen between 1995 and 1999. Now, remember how Adventure episode 52 briefly touched on the bombshell of Chosen Children existing before Taichi and co., before never addressing it again? Considering all of the above facts, it’s very likely that’s intended to tie into that formula -- and, perhaps, had 02 had not existed to continue the subplot about “more Chosen Children”, Adventure would have taken more initiative about explaining the concept of Taichi and his friends not being the only humans with partners, and led it into their originally intended epilogue.

02 episode 33 involves Miyako visiting Kyoto and learning that there may be certain similarities between Digimon and Japanese youkai, to the point where they might be related somehow, despite predating digital technology. (The concept is revisited in Mimi’s track in Two-and-a-Half Year Break and the Adventure BD drama CD, both of them having been written after 02.) The thing is, the idea that Digimon and other similar entities actually existed prior to digital technology, and that said technology only allowed it to manifest physically in the real world, also is heavily tied to the original concept of Digimon partners being a manifestation of a part of the human’s soul, and therefore having a partner being a part of human evolution -- which is, again, heavily tied to the original intent behind the epilogue. So it’s very likely that this, at the very least, was one of the original lore points behind Adventure -- and if 02 had not existed, it’s possible that Adventure might have tried to cover it as part of a lead-up to that epilogue, rather than ultimately deferring it to 02.

This is, of course, speculation -- I’m not a member of staff, so I can’t speak for them -- but I do think it’s important to consider that while 02 was a tonally different series, it wasn’t just a sequel tacked on at the last minute, and rather just (mostly) the same staff learning three-quarters of the way through that they would have more time to continue this narrative, and reorganizing things to figure out what they wanted to do now and what they wanted to touch on if they had more time. Really, this whole narrative of “02 being a bunch of random additions they came up with and retrofit” seems to almost be the opposite of what actually happened -- while some of the ideas behind 02 were certainly created later, it’s less that Adventure was some ideal perfectly crafted story and 02 an addendum, and more that they had so many things they wanted to do in Adventure that couldn’t fit and used 02 to vent more of those out:

One of the concepts behind the prior series was for us to pack in as many interesting things that we’d seen, heard about, or read about as we could into it, so for 02, we thought, what else could we put in beyond even that?, and so we looked over what we needed to have, and put in all the things we could so that they wouldn’t be left out, and the story became a multi-layered one, overlapping and accelerating. It was to the point that, after we’d gone through 02‘s story, the scriptwriters told me that they’d worn everything they had out to the ground. In any case, we put everything we had into it back then.

Which means that understanding 02 is actually very retroactively important to understanding Adventure -- Adventure’s own writing was influenced by the knowledge that 02 would be part of its story, and 02 itself carries a lot of vital facts and story points from Adventure’s narrative that didn’t fit in the first 54 episodes, and, in real life, they were both written continuously as one story over the course of over two years. It’s also because of this that I seriously warn against seeing either series in a vacuum too much -- because both series are very deeply tied to each other, perhaps more so than a lot of people want to admit.

#digimon #digimon adventure #digimon adventure 02 #shihameta

[imaginationintowords]

Folklore [song series]

peace

Modern Day AU! Steve Rogers x OC!Reader

Plot: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s new album Folklore. The story follows the timeline of Bucky and Elizabeth’s life throughout the years

[word count: 2265]

[a/n: sorry for the wait. it was my birthday last weekend so i was just chilling. but here it is, just in time for the anniversary of folklore's release. the final chapter of my folklore song series. i started this last fall, and it's now the end. thank you to all who read the story and commented and showed it love. you don't know how much that means to me, that people liked it so much. thank you for joining this journey with me, and I hope the ending is a nice little bow to finish it off]

Series Masterlist

Age: 27

Year: July 2021 [two weeks after engagement]

Location: New York

Two weeks after their engagement, Steve and Elizabeth were still living off of the high from their engagement.

They were currently spending some time in New York. Liz had just graduated from law school that spring, while Steve was still working at the same architect firm. That was actually also why they were in New York.

The company was opening another branch in New York. Steve was offered a promotion, but it would only be available at the New York office.

In the few years since Steve graduated, he's been excelling in the architect world. He's really made a name for himself. Last year he was named the "hottest" up and coming architect. Ever since then he's been very busy. His boss gave him the month off, to propose to Liz, and to take a tour of the new office.

Steve told Liz that they'd only move back if that's what she really wanted. Especially since she just finished law school, and she still needs to take the state bar exam. She would need to figure that out soon, because the NY state bar exam date was closing in on her.

She and Steve decided a month in NY would help them both decide if moving back would be best. If they did decide to move back Steve would already have job waiting for him. Liz on the other hand might not.

Luckily for her, Loki was currently working at a law firm in NY. He was able to get her an interview while she was in town. He couldn't promise her a position, as there were a lot of people up for the job, some had even interned there. But Liz still went to the interview giving it her best.

Loki and Scott moved to NY two years ago, both their jobs taking them there. They ended up eloping right before their move, two years after Thor and Wanda got married.

Thor and Wanda had officially been married for four years. They were also considering the move over to the east coast. Both of their families lived out there and it just made more sense to them, especially with them trying to start a family.

Family was a massive pro for Steve and Liz as well. Moving back would mean seeing their loved ones a lot more. Especially now with Poppy about to turn six, part of them felt like they were missing out on their goddaughter's life. Steve also missed Bucky.

Bucky was doing really well in his career. He's currently working as a sound engineer for a movie studio. A big step up from the local recording studio he started in.

He was currently looking for a place to move to in Manhattan. Now that Poppy was about to be six, and she was already going to school in the city, it was time they officially made the move.

Actually he's no his girlfriend had decided to move in together.

Dr. Jane Foster is a pediatric fellow. She was in her first year of fellowship at a private practice in Manhattan.

Bucky and Jane met three years ago, through Sam Wilson. Bucky was hesitant at first to date, because he's a single father, and his main priority has always been Poppy since the day she was born. But

Sam had convinced Bucky to go on just one date. One date was all it took. Bucky was immediately hooked. Same went for Jane.

Jane was incredibly understanding of Bucky's situation. And it also helped that she loved children.

Jane met Poppy four months into the relationship and since then everything has been going great for the three of them. Jane instantly fell in love with Poppy and Poppy loved Jane a lot. Bucky had truly never felt happier. When he was alone with his girls he felt complete. When Bucky brought up the idea of officially making the move, he and Jane made the decision to move in together. They were practically already living together at that point. They were all very excited about this next step in their relationship.

Steve and Elizabeth were watching Poppy for the day while Bucky and Jane worked. They decided to spend their day in the city, walking around what could possibly be their new neighborhood. Poppy was loving having them around, and talking up their ears about school and all the friends she has made.

Around lunch time Poppy started to get hungry and sleepy. They decided to stop at a café and get some lunch.

Liz went inside while Steve and Poppy sat outside. Poppy ended up falling asleep on Steve while they waited for Liz. Steve found himself thinking about the possibility of living there.

Truth be told part of him did want to move back. He genuinely missed the New York City way of living. As he relaxes into the sounds of the city, he hears his name being called out. He looks straight ahead, looking for whoever called him, or if they were calling another Steve. As his eyes scanned the crowd, he met the eyes of the last person he would ever think he would see again.

He was completely shocked.

"Peggy?" Steve questioned, as the woman stopped in front of the table.

"I thought that was you," she smiled, "Wow. You most certainly aren't 17 anymore."

Peggy checks him out, as he stayed in his seat. She wasn't being subtle about it either.

Steve cleared his throat, noticing the way Peggy was eyeing him up and down, "Well it has been a decade wince we've last seen each other."

Peggy glances at the sleeping Poppy in his lap.

"Is this your daughter?" She asks pointing at Poppy, then glancing at his left hand noticing there wasn't a ring on his finger.

"Oh, no. This is my goddaughter. She's actually Bucky's," Steve tells her.

"No way," she gasps, surprised by this information. At that moment Elizabeth walks out of the cafe with a number plaque for the table.

"Oh my gosh! Elizabeth?" Peggy greeted.

"Peggy?" Liz asked confused at this older version of Peggy Carter.

"Yeah," she smiled.

Elizabeth put the number plaque on the table, Peggy catches the shimmer of her engagement ring.

"Oh wow! Congratulations," she says grabbing Liz's left hand, "You have a really beautiful daughter. I'm so happy for you and Bucky. High school sweethearts, making it til the end."

Liz was confused, she looked at Steve, hoping he could get them out of this awkward, and slightly uncomfortable situation.

"Um actually, this isn't her daughter, and she's not engaged or married to Bucky," Steve says, "We're actually the ones engaged."

Peggy was taken by surprise at this brand new information, not expecting to hear those words come out of Steve's mouth.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. My mistake," she apologizes, embarrassed.

"Well Congratulations," she awkwardly says, glancing at her watch, "I better be on my way. But hey here's my card. I moved back a couple of months ago. But we should all get dinner and catch up. There's clearly a lot I have missed."

She hands Liz the business card and walks away.

"Well that was random," Steve awkwardly laughs.

"What are the odds," Liz says sitting across from Steve, "Didn't even know she was back."

Liz cleared her throat and tried to focus on the city around her.

Con: Peggy Carter.

Steve and Elizabeth continued on with their day. At the end of the day, they dropped Poppy off at Jane's apartment and headed to their hotel.

Throughout their day there was a slight tension between the couple, it didn't go unnoticed by the both of them. Neither could figure out what the tension was. They both knew it had to do with the sudden appearance of Peggy Carter.

They laid in their hotel bed, each with a book in their hands. Their nightly read.

Elizabeth had a hard time focusing on what she was reading. She tried to force away thoughts of Peggy Carter out of her head. She flipped the page and stopped when she noticed her engagement ring. She took a long stare at it.

"Do you regret it?" She asks, turning her head towards him.

"Regret what?" He asks putting his book down and turning to face her.

"You and Peggy breaking up," she says, "Do you regret it?"

Steve is taken back by Liz's question.

"No," he shakes his head, "I don't regret it."

"Do you ever wonder what you're life would've been like had she stayed?"

Steve ponders over the question, "Truthfully? No. Once we said our final goodbyes in London, that was it. I never once gave it another thought. I closed that chapter as soon as I boarded my flight. Not that the breakup didn't hurt. Because it did. I just knew then that she wasn't my future. I never thought I would see her again."

"But you did," Liz quietly says.

"Yeah, which was weird," he says.

"I wouldn't blame you if you wanted out of the relationship to be with her," she says tearing up.

"What? No," Steve quickly says, sitting straight up, "I don't want that."

"I just mean, if you wanted to. I would completely understand. She was your first love."

"Yes, she was. But I don't love her," he says, "I know this is only coming up because we saw her today, and there's been this out of awkward tension in the air ever since. But I don't want to be with Peggy."

Liz glances down at her engagement ring again, trying to hide the tears of insecurity rolling down her face.

"Look at me," he softly says, placing his hand over her's, "I love you and only you. I asked you to marry me because you're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. You and only. Peggy doesn't mean anything to me. I haven't even thought of her since high school. You mean more to me than anything in this world. Especially more than some high school ex-girlfriend. You, Elizabeth are my entire world."

"Why would you even think that?" He gently asks

"Just seeing her and the way she looked at you before she realized we were engaged," she says, "She wanted you. Then my mind started to wonder if maybe that was a sign for you two to get back together. And maybe you'd realize you regret proposing to me."

"There isn't an ounce of regret in me that makes me feel like I'm making the wrong decision," he assures her, "There is no one else for me. You are it. Proposing to you wasn't for confidence. Proposing to you was the only thing I've ever felt so sure of. It was the only thing I've ever done that I didn't second guess. You are the only thing I've ever felt so sure of."

"This," he grabs her and and gestures between the both of them, "Is where I want to be for the rest of my life. This brings me a peace like no other. You are my peace."

Age: 27

Year: May 2022

Location: Somewhere in Upstate New York

"You are my peace," Steve sniffles, as he holds Elizabeth's hands, tears flowing down both of their faces as they stood up in front of their closest friends and families, reciting their vows.

"I don't think I would be where I am today without you and your continued support. I meant what I said years ago about following you wherever you went. All I ever want is to be by your side. Nothing else has ever meant to me as you do. My future doesn't exist if you're not apart of it. Nothing matters if I don't have you. Since the day we met, twenty years ago, I knew you would play such an important part in my life. We clearly aren't the same people we were then. Yet over the many years you haven't strayed away from being this kind supportive, understanding person. To know one day our future kids will have that as a mother, overwhelms me with joy and love. They will be the most luckiest kids in the world.

"You are it for me. You are my world. I know everyone says weddings and getting married is the start of a new chapter, but it doesn't really feel lie that for us. It just feel like our story is continuing. There's no end in sight. And I'll make sure of that, by being supportive, kind to you for the rest of our lives. There won't be a time where you ever have to question my love for you. Because Elizabeth Sanchez, you are love."

Elizabeth has tears streaming down her face. She didn't' care how she looked. The only person that mattered was the man standing before her, professing his never ending love for her.

The pastors signaled her, that it was now her turn to speak.

"I figured I'd try and keep it short and sweet, because you know exactly how I feel about you Steve," she begins, "There's only one thing I want to say, more so I want to thank you. Thank you for giving me love. An unconditional love that never seems to fade. Since day one of our relationship. You've been patient. You always say I'm the supportive one, but you fail to see that you are too. Even more than me. You've always been willing to drop everything, not just for me but for all the ones you love. Anyone who has Steve Rogers' love, should count themselves as being incredibly special. I am the luckiest pet one out of them all because I get to be the recipient of your love every single day. I am the one who gets to spend the rest of their life calling you my husband. My partner. My life. You've shown me a love like no other. So thank-you Steve, for loving me."

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[scorsoneamelia]

oh my god ok so i decided to write a little smth about my girl amelia because i love writing and i used to do it all the time but i stopped and i rlly rlly wanna get back into it

so i wrote smth that takes place at the end of s17 after the amelink proposal 

TW: mention of drugs/addiction/death

                Sometimes --- more often that usual, it feels like the world is ending, like life will never slow down, no matter how many times she wishes and she prays that she'll be able to wake up and it will feel like a breath of fresh air; to be able to wake up and have the rays of the morning sunshine creeping it's way through the dark curtains, hitting her boyfriend's face at an angle that made him look absolutely breathtaking, an angel sent from God himself, so beautiful that it'd take her breath away, and maybe even her heart would skip a beat-- literally. And then his eyes would flutter open so delicately and the rays would make his blue eyes sparkle, looking even more blue than she ever remembered.

             But instead, she woke up with the alternative.Alone--oh, ever so lonely. He had sprung up the big question, getting down on one knee and pouring his absolute heart out, even giving her four rings because the boy was worried and conflicted on exactly what he wanted the ring to look like. It wasn't like she didn't want to, or that she didn't love him because oh my god, she loved him. Loved him so much that sometimes it made her chest feel tight and it made her want to understand what she did to deserve someone like him, someone as amazing as him.

             You challenge me... you-you.. thrill me. You.. impress the hell out of me.

              On top of the world-wide pandemic, Scout-- Meredith's kids, her mind is going a million miles a minute and for once she wants to take a step back-- out of her own mind, her own life and just breathe.

           And there's definitely nobody on Earth like you.

            She can't get the image out of her head, the heartbreak that spread across his face, the absolute sadness and pain that washed away the big big smile he had previously been giving her. She didn't mean to just blank and stare at him with no words, no expression-- she just froze.

            So now, she woke up alone, her boyfriend not beside her. She felt like she couldn't catch her breath and maybe it was because life sucked or maybe it was because of the nightmare that kept flashing through her head, in bits of pieces like a flash on a camera. Appearing back into her mind for a second before she completely forgets what the dream was even about. It was about her father-- it's always about her father. But this time, it was about her father-- Ryan, Derek and even Christopher. Four of the most important people to her; gone. The curtains were closed, the rays couldn't peak their way inside, or maybe it was because it was ten o'clock at night-- the room so so dark, almost as dark as her mind as been lately.

        Meetings had been harder to attend, the pandemic had only been allowing them to do meetings over a computer screen, in the same atmosphere that is making her feel like she's going crazy. Scout takes all of her free time away-- actually all of her time. She loves him, more than she loves herself but for months now she hasn't been able to breathe, especially with her nieces and nephew also needing all of hers and Link's full attention. She's doing this because they're her family and Meredith is on a vent, the world trying to take even more away from her.

        A day or two at work is what she needed this week to feel like she was alive again, cutting into someone's brain to give her some kind of feeling, even if it was just adrenaline. Sometimes, Amelia wishes that the adrenaline was enough. Was enough feeling for her to keep going-- god, she wants to give up so badly.  

        So, that night instead of waking to her boyfriend's beautiful blue eyes, she woke up to an empty room and an empty house because her sister was nice enough to take the kids for a day, the day after her wedding because hell-- she was that nice. She broke down, tears staining her cheeks and she was worried she wasn't going to stop.

         You're loud and fearless and it scares the crap out of me. How am I supposed to call you up and tell you that I've been shot? I can't tell you about my pain-- I don't want you to know that pain exists.

          Derek--- she missed her big brother more than she has ever missed anyone. Her father being an exception but Derek, her favourite person in the entire world was taken from her too soon and once again it felt like her world was crashing down around her. His voice was repeating in her head like a broken record and it was loud--- so loud, was she crazy? 

         You're my favourite sister.

         She couldn't breathe, it was like she was reliving the news all over again. Her chest felt like it was caving in and Derek's voice was still ringing in her head, like he was haunting her. 

          "We did that." Amelia nodded, standing next to her older brother after a successful brain surgery that saved the mother of her friend's son. 

           "We did that." He agreed. "We gotta publish." She joked, Derek looking over at her and replying with, "Oh hell yeah we do... You ever think about doing drugs again-"

           "Remember this?" Amelia interrupted.

           "I was gonna say call me and I'll fly down to Los Angeles to knock some sense into you." He joked, causing them both to laugh. "But okay... remember this. But that doesn't work,"

         "Yeah, you can totally kick my ass." She joked, extending her arm to shove him in the arm gently, both of them laughing while he pulled her into a tight hug. "Done. I love you." Derek said softly while he tightly held onto his little sister, and she was hugging him back as if she never wanted to let him go.

        Her favourite person in the entire world was gone and she didn't know what to do anymore, grief comes in waves and it never goes away. It's true what they say about grief-- it gets better with time...  because it does and she knows that better than anyone else. But what they don't say is that when it does come back, it's like a wave hitting you when you least expect it and then you're drowning, trying to catch your last breath before you're suffocating.

       "You didn't kill Ryan," the girl with the dyed red hair had stated, someone that had became her friend after her first night at the treatment centre.

       "Excuse me?" Amelia asked, mostly taken by surprise because it was in front of a group of people, a literal group of people.

        "You didn't kill him. You might've wrote the prescriptions but he took the drugs himself." Everyone was listening now, her secrets now out in the open. Secrets she never shared with the group.

          "Shut up, Hayley." Amelia snapped. 

           "And that guilt-- that's gonna kill you. That's what killed my best friend, it was guilt. Cause her mom was so freaked that she had a breakdown and her dad left-" It was like it was just the two of them, direct eye contact with each other. It was like everyone else that was in the room disappeared. 

          "Hayley... you don't know what the hell you're talking about, you're a child and you need to shut up." She cut the girl off, getting frustrated that she was even sharing her own personal secrets with everyone else. She could feel the pain rising in her chest, a tight feeling stuck at the bottom of her throat. She didn't believe that.. she did kill him. 

         "You didn't.. kill him!" Hayley tried again, the girl clearly wanting to get her point across. "Okay? He took the drugs himself, you didn't make him take them. He took them himself! You gotta get that, before I left here.. you have to get that. Because if you don't-- you're not gonna make it," Amelia's vision was blurry now, the tears drowning her sad blue eyes. "And I need you to make it. I know you loved him, and I know he loved you. But he took... the drugs... himself."

         Amelia finally broke down, sobs taking over her body. They were loud cries, cries of pain, cries for help. There was pain all over her body, rushing throughout her body like waves crashing against the shore. Burying her head into her hands, pulling her legs onto the chair and pulling them against her chest, trying to make herself feel small because that's how she felt--- small.

         It was cold in the room, and she was numb. Memories were flooding in, Derek, Ryan, Christopher-- her father. The room was cold, almost as cold as the hotel room was when Ryan died. He died-- right beside her. Her boyfriend died right before they were going to get sober, be happy together.. he died. He didn't make it. And no matter how many times she thinks back to that day in rehab when Hayley reminded her that it was not her fault, it was her fault and not a day goes by where she doesn't blame herself. 

         She wasn't crying anymore, she was just sitting in her bed with her legs pressed against her chest, no emotion and no thoughts other than the faces of everyone she has ever lost. The short moments she spent with Christopher, her dad getting shot and Derek holding her so tight that she couldn't move, Owen telling her the news about Derek dying. Link hadn't checked in, he hadn't called, he hadn't texted and she didn't blame him. He was hurt, like he deserved to be and she couldn't be mad at him for not showing up at the house to see her. But she did need him, she needed someone, but her one sister was in a hospital bed with machines breathing for her, and her other sister was with her husband and the kids--- her kid. 

          After she ended up forcing herself out of bed, her mind still loud and her entire body numb, a lump constantly sitting at the bottom of her throat--- she was walking through the front doors of a quiet, dark and small bar. Not many people were there, just a few people eating some food with their friends, some had a beer in front of them. Amelia doesn't know how she got here but she was sitting down at the bar, blue eyes heavy and sad, old makeup from earlier in the day staining her cheeks. 

         "You look like you need a drink," The bartender spoke as he made his way over to her. He was tall, sandy blonde hair with green eyes, he definitely didn't hurt the eyes to look at. "What can I get ya?"

         Her sad eyes slowly glanced up at him and she didn't answer. She didn't know what she was doing-- a drink? She hasn't a drink in a few years, the last time being when Meredith was in the hospital for being attacked. It's been a while and she thought she was doing good-- better. She thought about Link, and Scout, who needed him. Scout needed her, more than he needed anyone. It was almost enough for her to stand up and leave the bar until her mouth opened and she was ordering a drink. "Vodka tonic."

         "Coming right up." The boy winked, moving to the opposite side of the bar to mix her drink. Amelia thought she'd feel some kind of regret, but instead she continued to sit there; numb.

           The glass was placed in front of her and her hands were reaching for it, as she lifted it to her lips and took a sip, the feeling of the Vodka burning her throat. Memories continuing to flood her mind, only causing her to drink back the drink faster, which only caused the bartender to place another drink in front of her. 

-----

             Five drinks; she already drank five drinks and at this point she could feel the alcohol in her bloodstream, already making her feel much more calm and more relaxed. The feeling of being drunk again was a good feeling; scary good. Scary to the point where she was worried about slipping again, which is what she already did. She's at a bar, five drinks in, almost onto her sixth with a young male; attractive male sitting beside her making small talk. She already slipped.

            She had eight missed calls from Maggie, none from her boyfriend. Her state of mind was making her more and more angry, angry that he hasn't checked in. Sober Amelia would be telling herself, it's not his fault, you said nothing to his proposal. Give him space. But drunk Amelia, is angry, pissed, hurt--- angry that he stopped checking in. He told her he'd check in, he promised her he'd check in but instead he went to his best friend, Jo's house and she hasn't heard from him. 

          "Where are you headed to after this?" The green eyed boy was moving closer, his eyes trailing down her body as she sat there, body feeling like she was floating. 

           "Nowhere with you," she answered. "I have a boyfriend." Would Link be still considered her boyfriend even though she never responded to his proposal? 

           "That's unfortunate," he sighed, pulling his drink up to his lips. "Where's your so-called boyfriend?"

           Jo's, is what she wanted to reply but it's not like the boy would know what she was talking about, nor did he even care, he was just wanting her to come home with him. "Just at home." 

           Her phone was buzzing on the table again, and she was already six drinks in. The memories that had previously filled her head were now gone and all she felt was dizzy. Dizzy, numb--- great. She felt great, amazing. Maggie was calling again and she was about to decline the call before she remembered why she might be calling. Scout.

          "Maggie, hey," Amelia answered, trying her best to sound sober. "So sorry, I was asleep." She was hoping that Maggie would believe her, despite her words slurring together.

          "Amelia, where are you actually? I just came by the house to drop the kids off and you're not home and I don't know where Link is, are you with him?" Fuck fuck fuck. She's so stupid, stupid for showing up to a bar knowing damn well that she'd have to take care of 4 kids by the end of the night. She had a debate with herself, debating on whether or not she should tell Maggie the truth or lie.

            "I was asleep, I had to run to the hospital for a consult," she lied. "I'm on way back." Amelia thought the lie was good, even though she was slurring. But Maggie didn't sound too convinced but she agreed that she'd see Amelia at the house before they both hung up the phone. 

            One more drink she told herself before she was dialling a cab so that she could get home safely because even though she slipped she can't be responsible for someone else dying.

-----

           It was late. Almost one in the morning when Amelia walked through the front door, stumbling is the right word to describe it. She assumed Maggie and the kids would be asleep but she was greeted with Maggie, her arms crossed in front of her chest as she stood up from the couch. 

           "It has been a long day," Amelia started, so obvious she was drunk. "My bedroom is calling my name."

           "Amelia," Maggie said, with so much sadness in her voice. Maggie was far from stupid, she was brilliant, a genius, she could see right through Amelia.

           "No questions, just bed." Amelia headed towards the stairs, swinging her bag over her shoulder before Maggie walked up to her, stepping in front of her to stop her from going up the staircase. Maggie made a face, a you smell like vodka face and then she was putting her hands on Amelia's shoulders and pulling her into a hug, a tight hug, so tight that the hug itself almost made Amelia break down into a puddle of tears. A hug is exactly what she needed, especially right now. "I'm sorry..." Were the only words Maggie could form and she just held her. One hand was pressed against the back of Amelia's head while the other was wrapped around her, it never seemed like she was going to let go. 

          Amelia was dizzy, and she was sad and she could barely stand so she used Maggie to hold herself up. "No," Amelia cried out, a single tear dripping off of her soft eyelashes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I did it again. I'm a mess, I did it again." 

          "No, no, no," Maggie said, pulling away from Amelia before brushing a single strand of hair out of her face and pushing it behind her ear. "You're not a mess."

           Amelia just stared at Maggie, her eyes heavy, her blue eyes drowning in a puddle of tears and Maggie could see the pain in her eyes and it made Maggie sad, she cared about Amelia so much. Before the two could exchange any other words, Scout was crying from his crib upstairs.

         "I'll get it," Amelia slurred, dropping her bag to the floor and stumbling backwards as she grabbed onto the railing of the staircase.

          "No," Maggie said sternly. "I'll do it, just go lay down, I'll join you after." Maggie helped Amelia up the stairs because honestly--- she thought she was going to fall down, the girl could barely walk. 

          Amelia was already laying in her bed, the room spinning around her and before she had even a minute to rest, she was running to the bathroom to empty out her stomach into the toilet. Six drinks didn't seem like very many but maybe it is for someone who hadn't had anything to eat because she forgot to and she hasn't had a sip of alcohol in a long time. She was doing so well, dammit.

          She wasn't alone for long because while Amelia was gripping onto the toilet bowl, knuckles turning white her hair was being pulled up and out of the way. Maggie was rubbing her back in a comforting way, trying anything that she could to help the girl.

         After puking, she stayed sat on the floor, sitting with her back against the wall and the room was still spinning. Maggie slid down the wall to sit beside her, pulling Amelia into her side. 

         "You're going to be okay," Maggie said, pulling Amelia closer to her and since the room was spinning so fast, she had to rest her head on Maggie's shoulder because she needed to sleep. "We'll start fresh tomorrow."

         She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths and even though the alcohol made her feel good, she also felt regret and shame. So much shame. She hated herself, she hated that she did this to herself again. 

          She did this to Scout.

          And to Link. And to everyone she cares about.

          Everyone she's ever lost would be so disappointed in her, she knew they would be because that's what she was. Disappointed in herself.

          But maybe she was right, one day at a time and even though she got to this point again, she'll try again tomorrow and hope and pray that she doesn't start spiralling.

          The last image in her head before she started to doze off was Derek and her dad, the most important people in her life. 

#ameliashepherd #gresyanatomy #atticus link #link and amelia #amelink #amelia #drshepherd #meredithgrey #duncan shepherd #link

[lilyharvord]

OKAY WAIT I LOVE YOUR CORIANE THOUGHTS!! i never really put much thought into marecal kids besides reading the epilogue or fanfics and being like okay cute. but your headcannon about the political impact of calore children with red blood is so interesting and i 100% agree with you. if you have any further ideas or writing i would love to hear it! the way the world world and silver succession would adjust/react to cal’s abdication and marecal’s relationship post broken throne is so fascinating to me.

🥺 NONNIE, I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

First of all, Cal's abdication is the biggest slap in the face to the Silver Secession (particularly Larentia who I headcanon leads the whole thing like a shadow puppeteer. Her husband died trying to keep that Calore brat on the throne, you can bet she's got two bones to pick with him even though she wants him on that non-existent throne just so they can go back to the "old ways"). They took him abdicating personally. They send him letters almost weekly, and they are all super passive aggressive comments about his birthright, and how denying it is akin to spitting on his father's grave, and later akin to pissing on it when Cal just burns all the letters and refuses to reply.

Anyway, the political impact of Cal and Mare's marriage. Ho boi, that one is a dousy. There's a reason they have a small wedding with only their very close family and friends. They try to keep it hush hush, for a little while, but of course the Silver Secession finds out because they find out everything. They bother the living hell out of Anabel until she sends one very threatening letter back after which the letters come far and few between (she never tells Cal what she put in that letter but she always gets a wicked gleam in her eye when he asks). But the political impact of their marriage is heard round the continent. Lets be real here: Cal is no longer a prince, but he is still a very high profile figure in the Nortan government (now the States). Mare is both a prominent Scarlet Guard figure and Montfort one. There are very LOUD whispers saying that Montfort forced them to marry to create a permanent bridge between the two countries. That Montfort is using Mare as a leash on Cal and the States to dictate how they function etc. (Which may or may not be the actual truth)

They dont want kids at first. Cal's a little heartbroken about it of course. He wants kids, has always wanted them. But Mare is right, and their children would be in danger from the moment Mare conceives. Then Mare says fuck it, I want a baby. They try and she gets pregnant. The Silver Secession finds out. Those letters that stopped coming for a while come back, but with a fury from hell. It gets so bad (after Mare is actually almost kidnapped at one point) that they have to go underground and hide until the baby is born. Dane and Carmadon offer the cabin in Paradise valley because it's location is actually incredibly secret and isolated and safe. So they go there, and Coriane is born a few months later. Cal cries in relief because her blood is Red. There is no way the Silver Secession will come after her now, but they try and it is the most hellish three years of Mare and Cal's life. It puts them off from having any more children. There are eleven kidnapping attempts before Coriane is even a year old (one for every month she is alive and breathing air)

Then they just stop. The letters stop coming, the kidnappings stop. Mare and Cal walk on egg shells, Coriane toddles along, growing by leaps and bounds and making them proud every second of every day. She's loud and proud and walks around saying: My name is Coriane BARROW Calore. When people try to call her Coriane Calore. They find out that the Silver Secession is not happy with Coriane being Red. And People whisper when they go to the States. Some people who are not exactly part of the Silver Secession but who still whisper "Long Live Tiberias the Seventh" when Cal passes in the street with Coriane on his shoulders and Mare at his side are not happy either. They sneer at the giggling toddler at his side reaching to touch the pretty things in the market. They jeer at her Red blood when she laughs so hard her cheeks burn bright, cherry apple red. They frown when they see Mare nuzzle her neck and press kisses all over her face. They especially dont like when Cal glares at them until they pull back into their stalls or shops or go back to their coffees and newspapers. Around this time, (In my headcanons) Coriane meets Nikolas Samos (second born to Wren and Ptolemus) and they become instant friends. A dangerous thing of course... for obvious dynasty reasons, and this fuels the Silver Secession for a little while.

Then Mare gets pregnant again. Shade is the definition of a Whoopsie! Baby. They immediately go into hiding this time. They take Coriane, Cal takes a leave of absence, Mare takes one too, and they dont tell ANYONE where they are going. The reason? The nurse who did mare's check up told someone it was a boy, and that person had some nefarious connections to a certain Silver Political group that was running on fumes up until that moment. The first letter that arrives at their little house in Ascendant is written in beautiful court handwriting (Larentia's unmistakable tact in every word of that letter) and swears fealty to Tiberias Calore the Eighth who isn't even born yet. Cal torches that letter with his bare hand before Mare can even read it. Coriane doesn't like being taken away from her cousins and her grandma and grandpa and her aunt Farley, but they go in the dead of night and don't look back.

Shade is born in the middle of a storm like Clara, and Sara is the only person to see Mare or Cal in six months. They come back to Ascendant two months after Shade is born with a healthy baby boy, and everyone looses their minds. There are six kidnapping attempts in two months. Mare and Cal dont sleep for weeks, there is one dead Silver Secession member who got halfway down the street before Mare used Brain Lightning for the first time and liquified his insides. She is so horrified by it she cries herself to sleep for three nights because Coriane saw her do it, saw what her mother could do, and won't come near her out of fear.

But that too passes after a few years, because it gets around that Shade is a Red baby that looks more like Mare and her dead brother than Cal. Then it's back to Coriane, who by now is old enough to begin to understand what is going on around her. She starts to notice the whispers, the pointing, the stares when she goes out with her dad to train. (She accidentally set her bedsheet on fire after a nightmare, and that is where the trouble begins again). The letters start coming again, but they're addressed to her instead. She's only ten, so when she gets the first one with her name on it in pretty writing, she opens it before Mare or Cal notice, and is so confused by what is in it that she shows them it for clarification. Mare takes it and rips it to pieces, and Coriane cries about it, because that was HER letter. They have to sit her down with a very young Shade then and tell her a story about brothers, crowns, and mutations, death, war, and pain, and sorrow, and love. Then she understands. She's eleven when she does her first broadcast to denounce a throne that doesn't even exist anymore. She shakes with nerves in front of a camera, and has to hold a notecard with what she has to say on it. She mispronounces five words, and almost cries when she stumbles over a phrase she doesn't even understand, something about ever and always and crowns being broken. Cal stands behind her the whole time, squeezing her shoulders in reassurance. The nightmares begin after that for him, because there is a letter sent telling him of a distant Calore relative who is very interested in Coriane and would like to meet her. When Cal looks into him, he finds out he's 45 years old. And when I tell you he packed a bag the moment he finished that letter and drove to the airfield to take an air jet himself and kill the man, I tell you that Mare stopped him by standing in the middle of the runway and refusing to let him take off without going through her. "You give them what they want if you go after him." she tells him when he breaks down and kneels before her while she sits on their bed holding his head against her stomach. They NEVER tell Coriane about that, but there is two more letters that come like it.

Coriane and Nik becomes very close, dangerously close. There is one fic I will write at some point where both of them are taken and they actually get them away from Montfort and to a secondary location. There is man hunt led by Cal and Ptolemus and they do not keep those children for long. There is no record of what happened at that dilated mansion in the middle of the woods in the upper States, but Cal comes back with Silver blood under his nails and Coriane in his arms four days later.

When she gets older, much much older, into her later twenties, three different people send requests for her hand in marriage. She burns those letters and doesn't even deign them a response. Shade gets similar requests, and he throws the letters away. The Silver Secession goes out with a whimper, and eventually Coriane and Shade are safe. But inbetween their childhood and those years, people start whispering different things. "The word is changing, it's really changing" they whisper, and then say, "A Calore had two children, both Red, and they are kind."

#(*ask lily*) #(*shut up lily*) #red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #coriane barrow calore #shade barrow calore #It's a long post I'm sorry!!!! #I just have a lot of thoughts and feelings on them #especially the political implications of their birth #and Mare and Cal's marriage

[politalysis]

# What has happened to JK Rowling?

Growing up in the early 2000s immediately made Harry Potter a huge part of your childhood. Even if you never read the books or watched the films, you can probably name the three main characters. Even if you weren’t interested in Harry Potter in the slightest, you probably know your Hogwarts house. It’s incredible what Harry Potter did for our generation all over the world. Children would stay up on their eleventh birthdays anxiously awaiting a Hogwarts acceptance letter, knowing full well that owl was never going to come. Our imagination kept the dream of going to Hogwarts and learning magic alive anyway. Even now at the age of 23, I can for the most part keep a conversation flowing with anyone who has read the books or even just watched the films. You could even go as far as to say it was our generation’s Lord of the Rings.

JK Rowling came from very humble beginnings. She suffered with depression in her childhood and early teens, and lost her mother to multiple sclerosis in 1990. These struggles inspired her a lot when writing Harry Potter. She channeled her grief and pain into her writing. In 1992, she married a man she had met whilst living in Portugal, but Rowling suffered domestic abuse at his hands and the couple separated a year later. She lost her job and moved to Edinburgh in Scotland, where she had to sign up for welfare benefits, which left her a poor and depressed single mother spending her time writing in coffee shops. When she finished writing Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, twelve publishers rejected the opportunity to publish the book. Once someone finally agreed to publish the book, it became the best selling children’s book of the year.

We all know how the story goes from there. Rowling wrote six more Harry Potter books, eight films were made, and Rowling went from a poor vulnerable single mother to a multi millionaire in the space of a few short years. Harry Potter is now a global brand estimated to be worth about $15 billion. The last four books have each consecutively set the record for the fastest selling book in history. Rowling is now the richest author in the world, with a net worth of $92 million. But as well as money, JK Rowling has over 14 million followers on Twitter. This gives her massive influence as well as money. Rowling seemed to initially use this influence for good, spreading mental health awareness, LGBT inclusivity, interacting with fans and creating a website for all us Harry Potter fans to determine our houses and let our wands choose us.

I remember being 8 years old when Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince was released, and I was attending a religious school where some parents complained and called to ban Harry Potter over the controversial decision JK Rowling made regarding Dumbledore’s sexuality. Rowling had made the claim that Dumbledore was gay. Looking back, the controversy was ridiculous and I can only imagine how embarrassed some of those parents must be. I also remember as I got older, re-reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows I noticed more that the emotion behind Dumbledore’s relationship with Grindelwald was one he held with a romantic love. So years later, when several members of the LGBT community attacked Rowling for only deciding Dumbledore’s sexuality after the books were written, I publicly defended her with my knowledge that that simply wasn’t true. I had this image of Rowling in my mind, that she had always been on the right side of this debate. She had always been inclusive and supportive of LGBT people as far as I could see, and I just didn’t understand the issue. Rowling had always expressed a centre-left political perspective, and although I didn’t agree with all her views, they seemed relatively uncontroversial.

When Harry Potter and the Cursed Child was released, I hated it. It was a literary disaster, completely disrespectful of the original book series, the characters were a shell of the characters we had grown up with, the plot was almost deliberately ridiculous and overly elaborate and I immediately dismissed it as not canon. I have never forgiven JK Rowling for publicly stating the book was canon. She almost destroyed a whole two decades of her own hard work and the franchise that she’d built that had been like a home for a whole generation. All because she wanted to grab a few extra quid for a terrible book she didn’t even write. To this day I can’t help but wonder if she has even read the book. If I had written the masterpiece that is Harry Potter, I would view the Cursed Child as an insult. Perhaps I’ll even write a review one day, just for fun. Rowling also annoyed me by going back on her story, regretting pairing Ron and Hermione together and not pairing Hermione with Harry. Ron and Hermione are my favourite couple from the story, and their relationship had so much meaning. I couldn’t believe that the author who wrote such a clever and consistent relationship between two beloved characters could ever regret it. At this point in my life, I was beginning to wonder if perhaps Rowling was losing her mind. It was almost like she was trying to destroy her legacy.

As more years passed, the Fantastic Beasts films were released. The first film looked promising, but the second film was yet another disaster. Again, it was inconsistent with the franchise as we knew it, for some reason Hogwarts was full of people wearing 3 piece suits instead of the robes they wore in the Harry Potter series and Minerva McGonigall appeared as a teacher despite the fact that canonically there is no way she could have been old enough. The film was a disaster with both fans and critics hating it. Amongst this mess came controversy in December 2019. Rowling lost all respect she had once held amongst the transgender community when she made a public statement supporting Maya Forstater, a British woman who lost her employment tribunal case against her employer who fired her over transphobic comments. Six months later on June 6 2020, Rowling criticised the term “people who menstruate” and stated: "If sex isn’t real, the lived reality of women globally is erased. I know and love trans people, but erasing the concept of sex removes the ability of many to meaningfully discuss their lives." Rowling’s views on these issues were heavily criticised by GLAAD and even by the actors from the Harry Potter movies including lead actors Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson.

Rowling published a 3,600 word essay in response to the mass criticism of her views four days later. The essay did her no favours, as she wrote: “When you throw open the doors of bathrooms and changing rooms to any man who believes or feels he’s a woman then you open the door to any and all men who wish to come inside.” She seemed to be suggesting that trans women are often just men disguised as women in order to trick or even harm other women. This obviously angered the transgender community even more, and women’s refuge shelters that allow trans women were reporting no rise in violence as a result, children’s charities that support gender non conforming children were criticising Rowling, she was being made to give back awards and ultimately Rowling was labelled a Trans exclusionary radical feminist, a term often abbreviated to TERF.

JK Rowling is the perfect example of how money and influence can make someone forget their roots so easily. For someone who survived poverty, domestic abuse and sexual assault, she is so lacking in self awareness and how the things she has said and done can be harmful to transgender people. It is widely reported that transgender women are at more risk of harm in female restrooms than cisgender women. With acceptance becoming the norm, transgender people are feeling more safe to come out now than ever before, and so the rise in numbers of the community is huge, especially amongst our generation who grew up with Harry Potter. For a young transgender teenager to grow up wondering how Hogwarts would accommodate them, only to hear the author who gave us Hogwarts in the first place disapprove of equal rights for transgender people, must be very disheartening. However, JK Rowling has proven that she has no idea how powerful the legacy her books created really is. She was tasked with following up the Harry Potter series, and what she gave us was inconsistent and very poorly written screenplays. I have read better sequels on tumblr. Lots of them. Hogwarts doesn’t belong to JK Rowling, it belongs to the fandom. And I’ll be willing to bet my last penny that if Professor McGonigall witnessed any bullying of transgender students in her classroom (or indeed the girls bathroom!) she’d absolutely defend the victim without a moment’s hesitation. Hermione would decorate the Gryffindor common room with little blue, pink and white flags in support of a transgender first year who’d just been sorted into Gryffindor. Luna Lovegood would sit and befriend any trans student who looked lonely, and Ginny would dish out a bat bogey hex to anyone who dared pick on them. No matter what JK Rowling thinks, Hogwarts is not hers to ruin. It is ours. Regardless of what makes us different, Hogwarts is our home.

#jk rowling #harry potter #hogwarts #gryffindor #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #slytherin #gay dumbledore #trans rights #edinburgh #professor umbridge #fuck rowling #cursed child is not canon #ron and hermione #lgbtq #lgbt representation #writing

[popculturebuffet]

Scottrospective: Scott Pilgrim Vs the Universe or So Sad So Very Very Sad

Hello all you happy Scottaholics! And welcome back to Scottrospective, my 8 part look at Scott Pilgrim: all 6 volumes of the comic as well as the game and movie just in time for their respective 10th Anniversaries. If your just joining us or needa  quick refresher, here are links to the other four parts, in order: Precious Little Life, Vs The World (Comic), Infinite Sadness, and last month’s look at my favorite volume Gets It Together. And if that’s not enough to fill your belly with Scotty Goodness, hop over to my patreon, patreon.com/popculturebuffet.  There you’ll find reviews of all the content I didn’t have time for in the retrospective proper: Free Scott Pilgrim, The Wonderful World of Kim Pine, Monica Beetle, Style, and the bonus comic strips. It’s only a dollar to get access to the bonus reviews, and every bit you can give not only helps me make these reviews int he first place, but gets me closer to my stretch goals, the 25 and 30 dollar ones including looks at O’Malley’s Other Works: Lost At Sea and Seconds for the former and Snotgirl for the latter. 

But more than plugging my past and paid works, there’s something else far more important I need to get to before I get into this one: Thank You. No Seriously thank all of you who have been reading these, liking them. My Precious Little Life Review is easily one of the most liked things i’ve ever had on this blog, getting more viewers every day, and last month’s look at Gets it Together is STILL racking up likes. Given most of my non-duck reviews, paid for and on my own time, tend to be ignored half the time, this just warms my heart. It shows me two great things: that even after a decade Scott Pilgrim still has a huge following and given how young this platform tends to skew that it’s gaining more fans every day, and that people care about what I have to say about htis wonderful comic. It really touches me to both know my voice matters and that something I truly loved as a teen and still do now is STILL picking up more and more fans. What i’m saying is you guys are the best and I wouldn’t be doing these reviews without your support of my very hard work. These are some of the hardest reviews i’ve done at times, but seeing you all enjoy them makes it all worth it. 

As for the Volume itself there’s something I just gotta get off my chest right away: I HATED this volume when it came out. To understand why you have to consider my mental state: I was a teenager at the time, in my junior year of high school. Scott Pilgrim was my goddamn world: while I was picking up comics monthly at the time this was honestly the first north american comic I loved and obessed over and Scott and friends were like family to me. To an awkward teen who couldn’t talk to girls, struggled to keep the video game club a friend founded together in a way that in hindsight was wholly unecessary, and getting messed with due to my anger issues by friend, foe and frenemy alike, Scott was my port in the storm. A sunny version of Tornoto where I could retreat to to feel at peace.

So yeah this shattered the fuck out of that peace and was essentially one long slow motion kick to the balls to a younger me: Hollie gets derailed and horribly betrays Kim, runing my faviorite characters life and leading to her LEAVING, Scott and Ramona’s relationship crumbles, the band breaks up , and the volume ends with Gideon still gunning for our hero because life hadn’t punched him in the face enough for one month. I was livid, not stopping the series, obviously, but upset that everything i’d grown to care about was basically gone in a flash and couldn’t understand WHY O’Malley would fucking do this to me. This volume was also what kept me from re-reading the books for as long as I did as while the rest had fond memories all the ones I had of this one were pure misery.

But by the time i re-read it in december of last year I had two important things in my hands that helped me truly enjoy this one: The first was Volume 6 itself: knowing things would work out, that most of the bad stuff would be undone and in a truly awesome and satisfying way helped.

The other thing was the perspective that came with growing older: For one as an adult while I still like Scott as a character and find him intresting I no longer look up to him, nor put stock in his hapiness for his own. Sure I still care about characters and relate to some, but Bojack Horseman taught me the hard way you CAN’T put all your hopes in a character’s fate or them getting better for you to get better. 

The other is that while this volume again is pretty bleak after a while.. it’s also NECESSARY. Part of the series charm is i’ts realisim and a sad part of real life is people can drift apart from you, and things can change seemingly all at once. And things moving the way they do is necessary for the ending: every step and move here puts things where they need to be for the final chapter.  The pain our heroes go through is necessary so they can all grow.. except Stephen and Wallace. Stephen sucks and Wallace dosen’t need to change. He does need his own spinoff. But for Scott, Ramona and Kim the trials to come are necessary to make them into their best selves by series end. 

So join me under the cut as we get sad so very very sad, this is Scott Pilgrim vs the Universe. 

Precious Little Life:  We open with Scott’s Birthday! Hit it MC Chris!

But yes it’s septmeber and Scott is now 24 years old. Also Julie is there because presumibly Stephen dredged her out of her swamp for the evening despite Julie likely not wanting to be there and Scott sure a shell not wanting her there.  He vows that he will be the best 24 year old ever...... yeah let’s take a brief look into the future to see how that pans out

But we have a full volume and more metaphorical rakes to whack Scott in the face before that paticular one. 

A MONTH AND A FEW DAYS LATER

It’s the day of the dead, whoa ho way down in Tornoto. It’s hosted by Satan Herself, who dosen’t realize the holiday for hags was yesterday. This is for remembering the dead and rising out of the grave to go resuce your young wards by ramming a bunch of guys in butterfly costumes with your car or stealing your children’s kidneys.  This is Rat Girl’s new place, a fancy loft she and 3 other girls went on to throw the best parties beaause of course. She’s also a bitch to our hero and heroine because of course. 

But Scott soon has more important things to worry about: Ramona spots his next two opponents.. the twins hinted at last time, Kyle and Ken Kataynagi, Perfect Jerk and Handsome Asshat respectively.

Kyle and Ken are easily the least intresting of the 7 exes. With the other 4 so far having been a loveable ham, a stoic movie star whose suprisingly nice and dies via skateboard, a gloriously douchey and dumb psychic evil version of our much more loverable dumb douche with personal connections to both him and Ramona, and Roxy who was genuinely sympathetic, held back by her own selfishness and anger.. we get.. two smug assholes who use robots. Their not UNINTRESTING, the robots have cool designs and the fight with them is genuinely exciting.. but they just don’t have the charisma or personal factor. Their jsut two assholes ramona dated at the same time who happen to know more about her well guarded past than the other exes and are more liable to bring it up.. and even then it’s not anything new as Envy pulled similar tactics far more intrestingly in volume 3. THey don’t ruin the volume or anything, thier fine, but I just wish O’Malley had done more. Especially since he clealry had more intresting ideas with them: the sound battle we saw in the movie was an early draft of this and one early draft had Scott’s previously unseen brother Laurence working with them. I don’t knowWHY he scrapped that as it raises the stakes and makes this far more personal for Scott. Which at this point is what the exes SHOULD be: Todd and Roxy BOTH were more personal threats, Todd being his ex’s boyfriend and first love and Roxy being a genuine competior for Ramona. These guys again are just two douchers who show up because we need 7 douchers to complete the doucher circle. 

So the twins declare their not going to fight scott.. and instead send a tiny robot to fight him. Awww. But for this fight O”Malley does something really intresting and creative.. he dosen’t focus on it. No really Ken and Kyle are dicks to Ramona so Kim wisely gets her out of there, and the two have a casual talk on the balcony while Ramona smokes. It’s some fun banter between the two that both shows why their shipped to all hell. The two just play off each other really damn well. Though we also get Craphole asking people if they want to come watch Scott get beat up because the worst. 

Something important character stuff comes up though: As was shown last time at her rightful rage that Stephen HAD an opportunity to book a gig and kept refusing it for his fecking album, Kim is still fairly salty about the whole recording an album bullshit. The biggest part of it..

It’s something you really DON’T expect to here coming out of kim: that she really LIKED the band. But beneath the pillar of salt she puts out daily... these were her friends, this was getting to do something creative and passionate, and it was a break from the daily grind. Even if her job isn’t TERRIBLE, getting to watch movies and hang out with her best friend Clerks style.. it’s still a retail job and those still weigh on you.. though frankly i’d take one of those over food service but sadly tha’ts what i get most of the time. This was fun.. and Stephen ripped that away from her for his own selfish reasons. No one else in the band really cared about making an album.. if Stephen REALLY wanted to find a more professional band.. then he should’ve just told them so Scott and Kim could find someone else to do guitars for them. Instead he forced them into doing something they don’t want to do and refuses to actually play shows, which COULD help both perfect songs for the album version and get them new fans for said upcoming album and provide them recurring venues to SELL said album,  because he really just wants to be with Joseph and fuck anyone else. Stephen is really just an inhernetly selfish git and i’ll get more into that in a bit. But first Wallace has a text for Scott. 

Now I COULD have just skipped over this.. but I didn’t want to. Plus we dont’ se Wallace for a while in this story so i’m taking what I can get. 

So back to Stephen being a repugnant ass. I’ve been waiting for this scene for the entire retrospective. I”ve hinted at it, and largely blamed it for why I hate him so damn much. The time is nigh to explain WHY. 

Stephen is with Knives, as the two are close friends and such. Stephen expalins Sex Bomb-Omb isn’t playing because he and the personfication of bitchiness broke up. Which knives points out is for...

But it’s clear from context this was the LAST time. Why he still got invited I dunno, plot convience. So far so normal.. until Stephen picks up that Knives is STILL hung up on Scott. Which is understandable crushes can last a while but i’ts equally understandable that Stephen is utterly baffled by it. Which I get,  I didn’t make an entire tom lucitor retropsecitve because I liked that his relationship with Star ended with him stepping aside due to what the show thought was “true wuv” but what comes off instead as his self loathing casuing him to blame himself for a realtionship that’s crumbling for reasons that aren’t his fault. 

And his actions here are incredibly well meant: He bluntly gives Knives the wake up call she DOES need: Scott cheated on her, he dated her because she was easy to date, strung her along for a bit while seeing someone else, then dumped her with not one care for her well being. That is stuff she NEEDS to get into her head so she can move on. She needs to see him for what he IS and not for what she’s built him up as in her head. And while yeah his rant DOSNE’T take into account the fact Scott geninely tried to make up for his actions in volume 3, Stephen wasn’t there for that and Knives probbably didn’t tell him about it.  So from his point of view scott broke her heart and did nothing.. and evne IF he knew that, Scott still hasn’t tried to do anything since despite Knives still being obessed with him nor come clean to her or Ramona at any point. Scott deserves this call out and the consequences that come with it. 

So your probably wondering WHY I hate Stephen because of this scene when he’s you know, RIGHT. Well it’s simple: being right dosen’t save you from being a MASSIVE hypcorite. He’s railing on Scott for cheating and hurting someone.. when he cheated on Julie and would’ve hurt her if she had the capacity for human emotion, empathy, or self awarness. The ending of the last volume and how bad, even for them, their relationship was implied the hell out of it, with him nervous when she brings up being paranoid over knives.. as if he WAS cheating. on One Face just not with a teenage girl but a grown ass man who hates everyone as much as BLARARARGAGAG does. 

Not only that.. but he was with Julie for the SAME DAMN reasons Scott was with Knives: it was easy. Now I WILL grant Stephen some sympathy: he’s a queer man and as one myself, bi for the record, I GET how fucking hard it is to come to terms with that, that what you thought you were isn’t ENITRELY true or, if Stephen is gay and not bi or pan, ENIRELY FALSE. So I do have some care that it was hard for him to sort all this out. I do and that Jospeh could’ve seduced him or what not. We don’t have all the context here. But he STILL cheated at the end of the day instead of telling her he was queer until MONTHS later.  And why yes the fact I have to feel bad for JULIE does make it that much worse. And yes their relationsihp COULD simply be that toxic or she could’ve gaslit him, but it seemed more like their relationship was messy breakups and getting back together over and over. While Julie IS vile, she’s not a domestic abuser mental or physical as far as I can tell. She’s a bitch and their relatioship is unehlathy but there was no indication their relationship involved gaslighting or evne phsyical violence: it was just fucked from minute one. So yeah he stayed in an awful relationship beacuse it was easier than coming out, when he should’ve broken it off as soon as it was clear he and Joseph were actually going somewhere. Waiting while he figured out who he was is one thing, tha’ts fiar, but cheating on someone just because you don’t have the nerve to break it off with them when their genuinely awful to you and your only hurting them as much as they can be hurt by dragging this out... yeah that just makes you an ass. 

Another point of contention is that he NEVER called Scott out on this. Never. Not even after this scene. Never encouraged him to tell Ramona or apologize to Knives, again he didn’t know Scott already had tried that. Never gets on him.. he just ignores Scott’s shitty behavior like eveyrone else and unlike Kim, whose still got unresolved feelings and is at the very least clearly bothered by his shitty behavior, and Neil, whose young and thus like me likely looked up to Scott at the time, he dosen’t have an excuse other than “Well I don’t want to ruin our friendship by actually calling him out when he does something objectivionally awful.” Especially since Wallace DID actually take action: he didn’t break up the relationship or say anythign to Ramona, which is wrong... but he did tell scott flat out after his first date with Ramona to break up with Knives. And when Scott chickned out of that, Wallace gave him the ultimatium, may it live in empathy, to do so or he WOULD tell Ramona. And at least Wallace has a motive for not telling Ramona other than “I don’t want to risk my friendship with a guy I really don’t care about and think is shitty”. He wanted to see Scott recover from Envy, something Stephen never gave ONE. SHIT. ABOUT. He saw Ramona was good for him and knew telling her, while the RIGHT thing to do, would severely harm Scott, and by volume 4 leave him homeless. Plus Wallace frankly enabled him for some time anyway, letting him live at their place rent free and paying for all his food and frequently letting Scott steal his credit card. WIth Wallace at least while it’s not the RIGHT move, it’s understandable and complicated vs Stephen who really dosen’t seem to like or get along with Scott after volume 1, suddenly cares what happens to his relationship. 

And what proves this... is this little exchange that ends the conversation. 

Knives despite her issues, despite blinding herself to how Scott treated her, despite everything... thinks Ramona should know. And she’s right. And Stephen KNOWS THIS. He knows it was the right thing to do and just.. takes a swig instead of admitting he’s a fucking hypocrite or explaining himself in any way.  He NEVER cared about Ramona’s feelings or how this would effect her or saw her as important in any way shape or form. Kim at least clearly feels guilty. Wallace clearly is only doing so because it’s better for both her and Scott that their together and is a flawed human being. Stephen.. just dosen’t do so out of some masculine bullshit code of not ratting out your friend and his own cowardace. He clearly COULD go walk up to Ramona right now and tell her, but he won’t. And again I don’t buy he honeslty cares enough about Scott for their friendship to TRULY be enough of a factor to stop that. Fuck. Stephen. Stills. 

So Scott wins naturally, but is bummed there’s no reward.. but Stephen points out there’s tons of free food over yonder so he noms before he and Ramona leave. 

We get some cute domestic bits with Scott and ramona: Scott playing games on her phone all day, the two cooking dinner, and Scott admititng he hasn’t thought of envy at all. “I have you now”. Though through it there are some signs of unease: Scott finds a letter to Gideon, and Ramona asks about her hair and stares out into the window. Nice little hints that even before the big bomb abotu to drop she’s not at ease.. she loves Scott.. but it’s hard for her to let herself BE happy. It’s easy to wager she wasn’t for most of her life. 

Can’t Face Up

So next we find Sex Bomb-Omb working on the album. Or rather Stephen and Joseph are. Scott and Kim are praying for death but death won’t come and Kim wonders why the fuck this isn’t finished. Joseph wants her out of his house... forgetting that Kim lives in said house. 

Still his expressoin implies he’s going to do a murder on her if she stays in the room and since Drummers are hard to come by Stephen spirits them to kim’s room for a band meeting. Turns out they do have a gig but naturally Rosemary’s Baby booked it... and they haven’t practiced in months because Stephen’s a moron. He theorizes it’s Freddy’s Revenge, which is admitely probably valid though Kim can TELL something worse happened Stephen won’t cop to because he’s a piece of shit. I spent several paragraph’s establishing that. They try blaying and two sucktacular minutes i’ts clear their fucked sunday. 

So after a scene of Knives trying HARD to justify Scott’s actions and blame htem on Ramona, to no success, we get one of my faviorite parts of this book: Scott rambling on for god knows how long about the x-men while Ramona gets dressed and is presumibly barely listneing. 

I relate so hard to this it hurts. While not this era I wll GLADLY go on and on about X-Men and anything X-Adjacent at any goddamn opportunity and anyone who reads my blog on a regular basis and you know this. I need to tlak more x-men outside of my slowly failing New X-Men retrospective (Which is on the back burner because no one seeems to genuinely care after chapter one). If I did have a signifgant other, they would probably end up in a situation like this quite a lot and i’d have no shame about it. 

I also love this scene even more as while I DID love x-men at the time, I wasn’t quite the mega fan I was, nor as familiar with Claremont’s long, epic and often fucking weird in the special wonderful way only comics can run. Given I OWN over half his run at this point, that has changed. Though oddly not this part. So not only do I get Scott’s talking about x-men I Know what SPECIFICALLY. 

And for the unitatied, a quick explination of what the fuck Scott’s going on and on about: In the late 80′s, the x-men fought a reality warping malevolent trickster god named the Adversary. IN order to beat him their friend forget had to perform a cermony to lock his ass away that required willingly given life forces. The X-Men did REALLY fucking die.. but the Goddess Roma, daughter of Merlin and enemy of the advesary brought them back to life. With their deaths having been broadcast on live tv, and with tons of dangerous enemies at their heels, the X-Men choose to let the world continue to think they were dead so they could hit said enemies where it hurt.

SO this is where Scott’s story comes in:The X-Men’s first mission was clearing out the reavers, a bunch of racist cyborgs, from a ghost town which they took over as their base. As Scotty said they traveled all over the world, fought aliens, more racists, and then went to New York as it literally went ot hell. it’s a LOT and I haven’t read most of that era. I just know about it. I have read that last part though: the x-men were ambushed while wolveirne was away by said racist cyborgs so Psylocke shoved them through the siege perilous, a gate thingy romana gave them that would give them a new life and amnesia and such, leaving wolveirne to get crucified till Jubilee, who’d been hiding in their base gary busey style, freed him. The two would travel the world, find psylocke body swapped which is why she was asian for several decades, and get into general stuff for a few years real time till the X-Men slowly reunited. And you probbaly dind’t need to hear all of that but your life is better for knowing it. 

As you can tell Ramona’s discontent is mounting. And probably not because of Scott rambling about x-men. Last night he told her about the time Magneto beat them all because they stupidly rushed him one at a time then forced them into high tech chairs while a robotic nanny babbied them and then esecaped because shut up before fighting magneto, getting surrounded by lava and having beast ASSUME they were dead because fuck actually coming back and searching just in case like a rational human being because magma or no the x-men have surivived worse, including the depths of space, and restoring all of reality from scratch.  I may of just read those issues tonight. 

She procedes to make things worse for our hero as when he asks fo rher advice.. she reveals she dosen’t like his band.. and while she means nothing BY that, she’s nice about it, telling him his band sucks days before a sudden show where you guys eat a lot isn’t something you do. Wallace is naturally even less helpful and maybe his not liking the band is why we barely see him interact. Maybe he just figured Stepheen was on the fence sexuality wise but wasn’t willing to put up with Julie to test that. I dunno. 

So at the restraunt Stephen’s a dick, refusing to help Scott with his problems. WHich for once are legitamte as he worries abotu Ramona keeping secrets. He just wants to talk about hte band.. but 48 or something hours after this he has no real plan. 

Scott mopes to Kim about Ramona and she has some sage advice for him...

Also thing one and thing two are at the bar with a remote. This cannot end well... granted givne our heroes are not at all prepared and are playing two diffrent songs, this was never going to end well. 

And things only get worse for Scott in the bathroom.. he’s not there.. but his girlfriend and his ex are. Knives tries to work it out.. but Ramona being a bit short with her, which is fair given Knives tried to stab her a bunch a few months back and never apologized, leading to a quick fight.. but with Knives heart not in it this time and Ramona pissed and this time NOT confsued as to what the hell ihs going on, it ends with Ramona slamming knives into a wall... and Knives sadly revealing the truth to Ramona...

The scene hits like a truck with both devistated.. Ramona not having realized Scott with this shitty.. and Knives FINALLY accepting that he is. Finally letting her obession with him drop and realize what he was and what he did and let the full impact hit. The last part also hits hard “No One Else Would’ve Told You’.  It’s a sad hard truth and it’s CLEARLY something that hits both women hard.  For Knives it’s realizing Kim and Stephen, who she’s increidbly close to at this point, both don’t have the stomach to do the right thing, and thus hid this from her and Ramona. Stephen DID tell her.. but he still didn’t have the guts to tell RAMONA nor the actual care. It’s the realization the people she looked up to truly let her down and that she had to do what they couldn’t, even if it tore her apart to do it. For Ramona it’s realizing her closest friends outside of Scott could’ve told her and never did. No matter how close she’s gotten to Kim and Wallace, neither gave a fuck about her rights or her need to know. 

So Ramona is rattled and barely speaks while Scott has been fighting anothe rrobot and ends the gig accidnetly smashing his bass. Stephen is pissy with him and blames hi mfor runing the gig, which turned out to be a trap anyway complete with fliers. 

Ramona decides to gently throw him out as he forgot his keys while his other friends won’t house him leaving him with the one friend he has who dosen’t hate him right now. WALLACE!

The Glow:

So at Casa De Welles, Wallace has some buddy time, not making any bones about the fact Ramona clearly threw Scott out for the night and wearing a neat robe. Scott mopes about the fact he hasn’t met mobile whose apparenlty on the astral plane. I wonder if he has any buisness with Emma.. I mean the x-men did live in san fran sicsio but given decimation didn’t have many psychics. Might’ve been tryign to get another one. THey didn’t have a whole island that walks like a man yet.  And while Wallace wasn’t in much of a coaching mood last time he is willing to help. He couldn’t get bupkiss on the twins since Scott can’t even remember their names, but he did pull off a miracle. Despite their being a million Gideons in New York.. Wallace found THE Gideon. Granted all he got was his full name, Gideon Gordon Graves, and a few burry photos, one with Ramona confirming this is our douche, but given he had only a first name and an ex to work with this is some damn fine work. Wallace asks scott about his future with Ramona but he just.. has no earthly idea because of course he dosen’t. He hasn’t REALLY thought about what comes after beating the exes because he never thinks anything through. Interesting stuff The next day Scott meets up with Kim at No Account Video and we get our first, and I mean literally first, indiciation things are falling apart with her and Hollie. Scott wants to say hi, Kim refuses him and gives a smart ass comment when he asks if them being roomates isn’t working out. He wasn’t even being a dick it’s just clear SOMETHING bad’s going on she won’t talk about because she puts up walls around hrself on a GOOD day and this clearly isn’t one.

It gets worse when they stop by Stephen’s place only to find Neil whose both taken up a combination of smoking and moping in a dark room. Never a good sign. Nor is Stephen apparenlty being at band practice.. meaning either he lied to Neil about where he went.. or he already started the band we’ll see him with next volume and is already stabbing his friends in the back. There wasn’t much to like about the guy to BEGIN with, but his behavior just gets worse with every volume and it’s reached it’s apex here. The speech was shitty enough, I spent several paragraphs explaning why, but the rest of his behavior isn’t much better. He abandoned two people who were, for god knows what reason loyal to him and abandoned the band because of some bearded asshole probably encouraging him to. 

We also get some telling behavior on Kim’s part. Whlie she’s usually morose around Scott in the face of this both just hang out, it’s plesant. She even smiles when she asks if it’s going to be a regular occurance when he stays with her that night. Granted she brings back her frown soon after, but as has been clear her feelings for him never really went away entirely, and this is the closest the two have been in volumes, just enjoying each others company. It’s also telling that Scott trusts kim with a favor.

We see the favor the next page: Kim hangs out with Ramona.. and Scott marchs in completely on purpose soon after. Granted Kim probably didn’t know THIS was part of the plan, and it’s mildly stupid.. but it DOES show progress for Scott. Keep in mind his usual tactic is “avoid the fuck out of it and hope it goes away’ So ACTUALLY wanting to talk about things and find her again, and not doing it in a creepy way but simply drawing her out with a friend, shows SOME maturlity. It’s still not the most mature.. but with Ramona clearly not wanting him at their place, her work not having a set location as she just picks stuff up and drops it off (And even if she’s picking up packages at the post office we don’t know which one or if there’s multiple and even if we did scott sure as hel l does not), he was out of options. It also WORKS, with Ramona breaking her mopeynesss to laugh and Kim stunned it didn’t just piss her off further. 

So we find out what happened with Hollie when Scott brings up jason. She points out they were dating but... welllllllll

Yeah... as you could probably tell I do not like this plot point at all. For one thing we never really got to KNOW Jason, and with him and Hollie getting a little too cozy at the end of the last volume...

It’s clear his ONLY roll in the story was to be there so Hollie could betray Kim in some way. And look I get a LOT in this series happens while we’re not looking, ti’s part of it’s charm. Things not pausing for the side cast is a trope I enjoy: it allows some things to progress faster and allows for some intresting stories when the main cast catches up. Steven Unvierse and Ducktales both used this well as does Scott Pilgrim but all three weren’t immune to someitnes goofing up and taking it too far. 

This whole situation is that: Hollie is a character I got attached to: She had a great report with kim, they were really close and she offered her a place to stay when it was clear she was miserable with the four horseman of the bitchpocalypse she lived with. So while having her suddenly heel turn is realistic... it just feels thorughly unsatisfying. We do not see Hollie again after she’s sudeenly derailed, so we never get to see what she’s apparenlty REALLY like or get any explination why this happened. Suddenly Kim’s best friend is a douchebag even though it makes no sense for her character. Just because in real life people can turn out to be really shitty on a dime dosen’t mean it’s a neat thing to READ in a story and it feels like a waste of what was one of the series best side characters. And granted i’ve been through FAR worse treatment of side characters, trust me but this one still blows to this day and if there is a netflix adaptation this either needs to not happen or have actual depth. Seriously Netflix your adapting everything else, get on the bus already. 

Scott is GENUINELY apologetic, we’ve rarely seen him this nice but he genuinely feels bad for her.. and unlike Stephen’s thing it’s okay to feel shitty someone got cheated on even if you were a cheater in the past. As I said Stephen wasn’t wrong about how Scott treeted knives.. he just also was trying to take moral high ground which Knives proved he absolutely did not have in seconds.

This triggers Ramona’s glow, the squggly line thing that shows up over her head ocasoinally.. and while Ramona grills Scott... Kim just finally asks what the hells up with her head. Scott’s reaction is “OH good you guys see it too”. Kim does try to show it to ramona but it’s gone by then and she drops it for now and outside encourages her to come to Julie’s latest shitty party.. I mean their miserable but at least it gives thems omething to do

So we get another instalment of “Scott rambles about the X-Men” or New Mutants in this case as we’re talking about Magik, Aka Illyana Rasputin 

So for the long version: The X-Men were staying at a creepy temple that Magneto had been working out of beause the mansion was being repaired. Colossus, everyone’s favorite Russian and Deadpool co-star, had his kid sister Illyana with him as Arcade, a ginger maniac assasian whose gimmick is creating elaborate murder theme parks, kidnapped her in a plot to get the x-men to fight Dr. Doom for him. Given this was during the Cold War they coudln’t exactly take her back, so she stayed with the X-Men and her beloved big brother. 

So naturlaly the spooky temple decorated in Cthulu’s had a portal to hell in it and  an evil and genirc looking fucker named Belasco kidnapped her to a hell dimension known as Limbo>  the X-Men went after her as you’d expect and things got WEIRD as due to some complicated and weird time dialition stuff I sitll don’t quite understand there ended up being two copies of the x-men: ours who came in right after, and a second batch who stayed there for about 7-8 years and got warped by Bellsaco’s magic as he killed or changed most of them. As a result Storm became a sorcerer to fight back, Kitty Pryde became some sort of cat creature and Kurt became a creepy evil version of himself. Illyana stayed htere, learned magics from both storm and asshole, learned to fight from cat kitty, and eventually escaped after a lot of horrible bullshit, hardnered and with her soul scarred from it, now a teenager. She joined the New Mutants, the training class of x-men in the comics, soon after. She’s a member agian in present day, one of the great captains of Krakoa, and one of the two co-leaders of Krakoa’s younger mutants, i.e. 20 something to teens and kids. 

This is the best of the two scenes as the narrative , or at least Scott’s versions parallels Ramona’s own; Getting taken in by an evil man and feeling tainted by that. 

So at the party Ramona runs into Neil whose a dick about it and with some girl. She WAS going to be fleshed out more in the original draft but Brian ended up scrapping it for time, but does regret it. It’s here we get Neil’s face punchingly dickish comment that’s also a massive hint as to Stephen’s sexuality. 

Yeah even if Stephen’s been an UTTERLY shitty friend to him.. this was uncalled for even for the late 2000′s. What a prick. I do like the arc of Neil slowly falling apart though getting more and more bitter as his old friends abandoned him casually, especailly Stephen. While his comment was still HORRIBLY unwarranted even with Stephen being a dipshit. 

Speaking of assholes we get our last major with Julie who berates Scott for grabbing some booze and brings in the twist. I’m.. i’m not even bothering to give her an insluting and weird nickname. She’s still a HORRIBLE piece of shit, as she brought Scott’s enemies there to try and beat him to death for her own amusment and berated him for getting booze at a party she CLEARLY expected him to come to, but she’s ALMOST gone. Seriously after this she’s GONE for the volume and barely in the rest of the series. So i’d rather celebrate FINALLY having earned my freedom over worrying about her any more than i have to. Cue the music!

So with that Kyle.. or is it Ken. 

But the blonde one needles ramona, giving her her faviorite booze and telling her “this is all just temproary”

So Ramona gets all glowy.. and Kim gets her phone out....

The Universe Fights Back So in a random bedroom Ramona gives up the ghost: SHe DOES know what that is she just can’t tell Kim. Kim accepts it and they share some drinks. Scott, after beheading the douche bros latest science project, joins them and we get a lovely scene of the three drinking and bonding and geneuinely just having a good time. Though Kim DOES mention that she wants to go back to school.. This will naturally be very important. 

What’s more important is this scene is ENITRELY while I poly ship these three dum dums. I mean while part of thier hapiness here is their blasted out of hteir heads, it’s also just Kim’s wall sbeing down. She tells the two she loves them, and I think MEANS IT. Not to mention this...

Okay maybe it’s just the two of them but they also love Scott. And again I get htier VERY obviously drunk.. but given Kim and Ramona are clearly actively supressing any bi parts of themselves most of hte time this is telling. The fact Ramona asks kim to sleep in THIER bed, likely with them, is ALSO very telling and Kim only dosen’t because their using sub space. No really that’s the only reason this volume didn’t end VERY diffrently with the three of htem having a three way before the argument coming up.. and possibly fixing said argument by having kim to mediate. I mean I get Scott’s not a big part of this so if you don’t want to ship him with them and just leave them alone that’s fine, ut I like the idea of them as a throuple: they ballance each other out.. and frakly with Scott’s irresponsblity and Ramona’s emotoinal issues they need someone to call them b oth out in the relationship, while these two are two of the only three people in the work i’ve seen Kim take her walls down for. Not even Jason got that, but Jason was also a carboard cutout. 

Things take a turn from Kim.. from an almost threesome where she CLEARLY would be getting most of the attention... to two assholes kidnapping her. Now while I don’t like the twins that much their plan for the final act IS actually clever: their the first ones to think to actually use the people Scott cares about.. or anything resembling strategy really. Matt just charged int here, Lucas coudln’t give less of a fuck, Todd just used brute strength like a teletkentic juggernaught, and Roxy DID use some but it was less to actually fight scott and more to get into ramona’s pants again. The twins see Kim clearly still loves Scott, and that while he acts aloff to her sometimes she really is one of his best friends. No really, think about it. Wallace is his BEST friend.. but Kim sticks by him even when he’s shitty, calls him out when needed, and despite her grumpiness is the one who has the most faith in him out of ANYONE. It’s a large point of the volume: she dosen’t bother watching the fights.. because she belivies he’ll win simply because he’s Scott. That’s love right there. The kind of love that gets you kidnapped as part of an elaborate scheme but love nonetheless. 

So we then get the scene that’s been coming for five volumes... after having sex, Ramona confronts Scott. While Scott admits he didn’t cheat on her with knvies, the other way around, that’s not better. He admits he’s been trying to forget about it.. and she calls him a bad person. And that. .hits him hard. While he DESERVES scorn for what he did... as he puts it next he’s been trying to change for her. To BE better. And all she sees, and outright confirms is another evil ex in waiting with Scott DESPERATE to prove her wrong and wrongly thinking beating the next three exes will fix this. It’s a VERY hard sceen to watch as while Scott does deserve this.. it’s also hard not to feel bad for him too. It really sums up the character: He is a dick.. but he’s TRYING to be better. He WANTS to be, he just dosen’t know how. And MAN can I relate to that.  It dosen’t help that Ramona is clearly projecting her own insecurties about this lasting, about actually being happy and about this really being her life onto him, using this as an easy out after having a month of doubt. Yes Scott did something unbelivibely shitty.. but both are trying to take the easy way out of it instead of genuinely discussing why it’s shitty, what he did was wrong and geniuinely unpacking if this is the end. Ramona clearly wants to bail, and Scott clearly just wants to punch a few guys to make it better. Neither thing will work. They need to work thorugh their issues to work... but neither is capable of that right now. They both want to run from the problem. 

This volume is in part about Ramona herself.. and showcasing her OWN flaws.. and like Scott her biggest is that she runs. She wants to escape her past too and both assumed the other would be an easy fix, that by having a good partner they’d be better.. when really their both mildly shitty people who need to make peace with their past and repair the bridges they’ve burnt and flip off the ones not worht reparing instead of running from it all the time. But sadly before both can.. their just gonna run again. Because sometimes fixing yourself is just not that easy. 

So the next morning Scott’s heart stops fo ra second when Ramona is seemingly gone.. only for her to instead be in teh shower. But Scott gets a text telling him the twins have Kim and TRIES to tell Ramona.. but she’s in the shower. As a result she’s worried he just ran off... and makes a decision , her hair cut back down after growing it out this volume, a sign of her hapiness.. now gone. 

The Glow Part 2 So at an abandoned wherehouse the fight is on. The twins have the advantage in part because Scott is hung over.. something they take offense to.. even though they were THERE last night. He was at a party. They don’t know he teatotles. What state did they THINK he’d be in this morning?

We also find out their origin: as Scott correctly guessed at the end of last volume, Ramona dated them both at the same time and pit them against each other. They found out and vowed to always fight as one.. which means Scott is not only fighting two equally powerful opponents at once, but two who work as a perfct team and double hurricane kick him. They also mentally break him down, pointing out her previous job and how she’s a runner and she’s here to run from her past working for Gideon.

They aren’t but I already went into that so let’s get onto more pressing issues: Scott is not only hung over but now doubting himself and his dumbass plan to beat gideon and magically fix things, while Kim is naturally not happy about being stuck in a cage all night. And while at first she’s genuinely just grumpy as always as it becomes clear Scott has lost hope and the twins are going to win this one her expression is heartbreaking...

After EVERYTHING she still loves him and can’t bear to see him in so much pain... and can’t loose him.. so she gets desperate and claims Ramona texted him to give him hope. 

This is one of Kim’s definting moments, the other coming next month. When faced with the person she loves possibly dying.. she lies to him.. so he can surivive. So he can have hope and make it through this.. despite how much it’s CLEARLY KILLING HER to not only tell him someone else loves him but to clealry lie that person loves him, knowing it’ll hurt him more.. but knowing if she DOSEN’T he’ll die. It’s one of the most painful, heartbreaking and beautiful moments in the entire series. It’s why I said earlier while I don’t like the brothers their climactic fight his excellent.. because it is. Their verbal breaking down of Scott is hearbreaking and Kim’s sacrifice equally so. 

And before stomping them into coins SCott shows further growth.. by showing he CAN give off a good one liner now...

So Scott beats them and gets Kim out of the cage, worried about her.. but despite having a chance, Kim lets him get on his way to ramona and morsoely wlaks off... while ominously the sign points out this will soon be the Chaos Theater. There’s still one left to go. 

But.. it’s sadly not enough. While Scott gives her a heartfelt speech... even if he quotes the song as long as you love me... he dosen’t care who she is.. but Ramona does.. calling herself a bad person.. as she vanishes.... and I cry my eyes out again. God two really heartbreaking scenes in a row sweet jesus this volume will be the death of me.. and not just because i’ts taken so damn long to write this review. And on top of tha the looses the cat and ends up locked out. 

World of Ruin:

So yeah if you thought those bits weren’t easy.. it only gets roughter as we see Scott in the aftermath of the breakup. His dream world is now desolate and he’s alone. Now to his creidt as much shit as i’ve given him Stephen didn’t ENTIRELY abandon Scott: he put him up fo rth enight (though he kicks him out after work) and offers to take him to after work drinks. We also see a nice side of Scott’s intimdating boss as she offers her symaptheties at him crying... while he says it’s the onions... he’s transparenlty lying. 

Next up is Kim. Though she dosen’t have a couch because Hollie sold it.. which as dickish as she suddenly is it IS her couch as Kim points out.. so yeah Kim and Scott end up sleeping awkardly in the same bed facing away from each other.. and to add another emotional guttpunch at the worst possible time: She’s going back home. 

Stacey is even lesss helpful as SCott continues to ask about cats and is unsypantethic about her leaving despite you know,  him REALLY not being at the shit talking her stage yet bud. At least we do get to see Stacey in this one I genuinely forgot she was in it. 

So at Wallace’s he’s no help either pointing out she might be with someone else because he’s wallace and we meet a guy with Glases.. and in his bad state Scott assumes i’ts gideon. it’s not though. WE finally meet Mobile!

He’s exactly what wallace needs.. a fellow sarcastic asshole. 

So next up is Kim’s goodbye.. which once again is really emotinal..a nd not just because  my faviorite character is leaving and again, younger me didn’t know this wasn’t forever.. or that she’d be back for a rather huge role next time. But still it’s a damn good scene that shows how far Scott’s come...

While the first part is standard... the second is Scott realizing that she still had feelings for him, clearly given her actions during the fight, and he’d been a right dick this whole time never dealing with it or apolgoizing for his past. Granted he still has a way to go to REALLY apologize for it... but he’s trying and means it. And with her possibly never seeing again.. she needed that. Also her coat is damn cool. I’d say I want one like that btu i’d really prefer one like Scotts complete with x-men patch. Pax Krakoa bitches. 

We get a really nice scene after where we meet Scott’s parents! Their also really kind helping him get a new place and move on... and runs into another glasses guy. But this time it’s Laurence! Who he drop kicks.. and then gives a broken bass back to. Eh... i’ve seen worse relationship with siblings honestly. He didn’t murder scott’s friend or plunge a whole galaxy into war or try and murder his daughter. Other Scott’s weren’t so lucky. 

So after that awkardness SCott finds the note to gideon which is a break up letter... she never sent. However there’s something more pressing as he gets a call... and you can probably guess given his luck lately who that’s from. 

Eh it’s not that murderoius creep but another one. 

The end.. is in a few weeks.

Final Thoughts: 

As I said I hated Vs the Universe on first read but re-reading it with hindsight and maturity.. it’s damn good. It’s depressing as hell.. but the things it does need to happen to push scott into a bad enough place for the next volume to work, and are natural: Ramona and Kim leaving, The band  breaking up, Scott kicking his brother in the face.. all natural things. It hurts, this was a HARD one to write and I only feel the next one will be harder because it’s way longer with less slice of lifey stuff to skim through in my recapping. 

But it’s a damn good one, with fantastic art, really gripping scenes, x-men refrenes and a spotlight shone on my girl kim. Even it’s weak spots dont’ hurt it: the twins are only weak by comparison, and still work well enough for the story, pushing ramona into the bad mental place she needs to be for the story to work. Hollie’s thing DID Need to be written way fucking better... but it does push kim into leaving which is CRITICAL for next time. So they aren’t GREAT elements, but they work. The only real other problem I have is knives just.. vanishes after her scene outside of one bit with Stephen, but that I can understand as the book is pretty tightly packed and she gets a fitting sendoff next time anyway. All in all another amazing entry and the perfect warm up for one of the best endings in comics history

Next Time: I said it and I meant it: one of the best endings in comics history as Scott hits on some exes, fights himself and betters himself as he prepares for his finest hour! Will Ramona Come back? Will Kim? Will Julie?... to answer your questions yes yes, and god dammit. Thank you all for reading, see you at the next rainbow. 

#scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim vs the world #scott pilgrim vs the unvierse #kim pine #ramona flowers #julie powers #julie power #steven stills #stephen stills #joseph #wallace wells #kyle kyatanagi #ken kyatanagi #gideon gordon graves #gideon graves #stacey pilgrim #mobile #laurence pilgrim #knives chau

[sodone-withlife]

one sentence

i saw sumayyah‘s answer to an anon’s ask (so all credit for this idea goes to them) about that scene in Omnivore where Rossi is offering Hotch his gun and this thing pretty much wrote itself (which is exceedingly rare lmao), so here is something that i thought would be just a few hundred words but ended up being a really long interpretation of the Foyet arc with hurt/minimal comfort with a good amount of pre-Mortch (or you can see them as platonic, i think it’s up for interpretation). 

also, just a quick heads up, i love Papa Rossi, but for the purposes of this fic, it might seem a little bash-y towards him

warnings: quite a bit of suicidal ideation, (almost) attempted suicide, implied/referenced suicide, canon-typical violence, canonical character death

word count: 7.9k words

The highlighted words stared back at Hotch as Shaunessy’s words echoed in his mind.

A deal with the devil.

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” he told Garcia.

“Because I found it, do I get to know what it’s about?” the analyst asked, unrepentantly curious. Hotch sent her a look.

Might as well. Shaunessy’s not going to last much longer, and we’ll be called in…  “The Reaper,” he said simply.

“Like—the Boston Reaper?” Garcia lowered her voice as she named the notorious killer. Hotch nodded. “I didn’t even know the BAU worked on that case,” she remarked. 

“1998,” Hotch informed her, remembering caffeine-fueled sleepless nights and the palpable fear on the streets. “It was my first case for the BAU as lead profiler.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we don’t have a profile for the Reaper in the system, do we?”

Not in the system, no. “That’ll be all Penelope, you can go home now,” Hotch told Garcia, turning to the bottom drawer of the shelf behind his desk as the analyst nodded and left. Pulling out a worn folder bursting with papers and photos, he placed the newspaper clipping and the evidence bag protecting the contract into it. He left it to the side and refocused on the folder in front of him filled with sheets of old handwritten notes filled with annotations and crossed-out sections. 

There will be no sleeping tonight.

Early September, 1998

“You’re sending me?” Hotch was sitting ramrod straight in surprise, blindsided by Gideon’s sudden decision.

“Yeah,” Gideon answered simply, leaning back in his chair as much as he could in the cramped space and looking supremely unperturbed. “Do you not want to go?”

Hotch shook herself out of his shocked state, scrambling to gather his wits. “No—I mean, I’ll go, but—”

“But?”

Hotch carefully evaluated his words. “I’ve only been here a few months, and you’re sending me to Boston—alone—to help with the Reaper case? The case that has been going on for three years, longer than I’ve even been an agent, involving a killer that could probably put the Zodiac to shame?” 

The older agent shrugged. “I have to stay and hold down the fort since we are severely understaffed, but I’ll always be a phone call away, and you’re mainly there just to act as eyes for the both of us. You’re not working on this alone.”

Hotch stiffened as a sudden—but careful—warm touch on his hand pulled him out of the spiral of self-doubt he had been teetering over and grounded him. He brought his eyes back to Gideon and was surprised to see complete openness and no signs of deception or maliciousness that he had been forced to learn long ago at the hands of his father. 

“I’m not Dave,” Gideon began seriously, “I wasn’t the one who pulled you over here or the one you started out shadowing under, but I do talk to people. I know about your record in prosecution, in Seattle, and in SWAT, and it is very telling. You never doubted yourself before, and I have no doubt that you can handle yourself, so why are you starting now?” 

He leaned back, clearly done with the impromptu pep talk that Hotch, still frozen, figured happened once in a blue moon based on what Rossi had told him about the unit before he retired. The cramped room was silent as Hotch felt Gideon watching him struggling with internal strife. Slowly, he released some of the tension that was coiled within him, and Gideon turned back to his stack of consults with an air of satisfaction. 

“Start packing, Agent Hotchner. Boston awaits your presence.”

Late November, 1998

“Do you know what the hell is going on?” Hotch immediately asked when the call went through, pacing around his hotel room.

“And a good evening to you too.”

“Gideon.”

“What is it, Hotch?” his tone changed from dry to worried in a heartbeat, hearing the uncharacteristic urgency in his agent’s voice and the lack of nervousness that usually showed his agent’s discomfort towards using the less-formal form of address.

“Shaunessy, the lead detective,” Hotch spat out, throwing the case file that was in his hand on the bed. “He closed the case.”

“And that warrants a phone call at eleven PM, why?”

Hotch bit back a sharp retort, letting out a sharp breath. “You know I’ve been re-interviewing the victims’ friends and family, going through everything they had and lines of investigation that may have been dropped, working the profile along the way, but there have been no viable suspects, even with the accelerated killings,” he said quickly, a mess of emotions swirling inside him. “Gideon, no arrests have been made but he closed the case, just like that.”

“Remind me, when was the last victim?”

“Just over six weeks ago, a month after I got here. I know what you’re thinking,” Hotch said when Gideon didn’t respond, “that the case just went cold, but there were still things I had people following up on. It’s not cold,” he insisted.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it, Hotch. I know you don’t like it, but the locals have point on this.”

Hotch sighed, but it did nothing to calm him down. “I know,” he said, annoyed. “I’m catching an early train back to DC, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

January 2003

“The Reaper?”

Hotch slammed the folder shut and looked up from his desk, startled. He sent Gideon a glare, glad that no one else was there to see his composure slip, but he only looked vaguely concerned. 

“It’s been just over four years,” Gideon commented neutrally. “You’ve had that folder at the bottom of your third drawer, and you’ve pulled it out at least forty different times since ‘98.”

Hotch stared up at him in a challenge. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Gideon shook his head. “Just be careful. Don’t get too drawn into the chase.”

~~~

Sighing as he rubbed the familiar ache on the back of his neck that always appeared during paperwork days and especially stressful cases, Hotch closed his battered folder of notes and opened it back up again. It was almost compulsive at this point, repeating every twenty minutes and each time with the hope something new would catch his attention.

Hotch shifted, the bedsheets suddenly feeling unbearably scratchy and coarse even through his slacks. The case details buzzed around his head incessantly, distracting him from feeling the physical exhaustion and strain caused by the lack of proper sustenance and the stress of a day filled with dead ends.

The sudden ringing shattered the silence of the room, knocking him from his focus. He got up from the bed and warily walked over to the source, picking up the hotel phone and bringing it up to his ear. 

“Hotchner,” he said out of habit, only to freeze as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in reaction to the sudden, heavy breathing. “Who is this?” he demanded, throwing the folder he was still holding back on the bed with dread rising within him. 

“If you stop hunting me, I’ll stop hunting them.” His question about the caller’s identity went unanswered, though the cursed words of the contract spoken by the same distorted voice that was heard on the 911 calls from ten years ago was confirmation enough.

Anger flared inside him at the audacity, and he snapped back, “You think I’d take that?”

“It’s a good deal,” the Reaper replied flatly.

“I’ve misjudged you,” he said, some distant part of him wondering how Shaunessy felt when he himself got the offer ten years ago. “I thought you were smarter than this,” he was unable to help the derisive tone.

The silence was long enough for him to wonder how much he had caught him unawares with his response. 

“You should take it.” 

“And you’ve misjudged me.”

“This is your last chance,” he warned.

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “I don’t make deals. I’m the woman who hunts guys like you.” That got the reaction he was hoping for.

“There are no guys like me,” the killer growled, anger bleeding into his tone.

He scoffed. “You all think that.”

“You’ll regret this,” he warned.

It was said with such certainty that a chill shot down his spine, but it was overshadowed by his anger. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised, promptly hanging up without another word. He walked back around the bed, feeling a sudden need to put as much distance between him and the phone as possible. It was with some hysterical hilarity that he wondered if the next people to stay in this room would know about what had just happened—that a serial killer tried to threaten an FBI agent into surrendering in this room.

Those feelings faded away when a terrible feeling suddenly came over Hotch as he realized the Reaper knew which hotel—which room—he was staying in.

It wasn’t unusual during their cases for an unsub to contact another person in the midst of their crimes, but the memories of Elle in the hospital bed and Morgan in the interrogation room had been seared into his brain. 

Both times, unsubs directly went after members of the team.

Unable to remain in the room any longer, he went around unceremoniously throwing his things inside his bags before leaving the hotel room. Paranoia quickly crept back into his consciousness as he quickly made his way down to the parking garage with a hand near his gun, intent on heading straight to the field office.

Only half an hour later, Hotch was staring at the glinting gold ring on the bus driver’s hand, feeling oddly detached from the situation as he was confronted with the consequences of that cursed phone call.

“6 bodies, not including the driver,” Rossi said from the back of the bus. “He put them down with a gun—or, more likely, guns—and finished them off with his knife.” 

The call had come straight to the field office, just minutes after Hotch walked into the empty conference room that the team had taken command of. A beat cop had heard a series of gunshots and went to investigate, only to see the macabre painting of blood on the side of the bus with its occupants slumped over inside, unmoving. “Arthur Lanessa’s wedding ring,” Hotch heard himself say for the other agent’s benefit.

“What’d he take?” Rossi made his way down to him in the front. 

He snapped back into the present with a sudden surge of anger. “Does it matter?” he asked bitingly, turning and storming away from the crime scene for the relative privacy of a nearby alley.

“Hey,” Rossi called in worry, taken aback by the brash response. “What’s going on with you?”

Hotch stopped some way into the alley and took a deep breath, taking his time before turning to Rossi, who had followed closely behind. “He called me tonight at my hotel room and offered me the deal.” 

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him,” his eyes burned with the sting of tears—whether out of anger at the Reaper or himself, he wasn’t sure. “And then he does this.”

“So you think this is your fault?”

How could it be anything but? He looked away, trying to hide just how shaken he was. “It is.”

The familiar sound of the safety of a gun being released pulled his attention back to the man in front of him. “Well, here, use mine,” Rossi said, holding out his gun to him. “You convinced me. No, no, you hung up on him,” he pushed as he waved him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You practically killed them yourself—”

You practically killed them yourself.

You practically killed them yourself.

Killed them yourself.

Killed them. 

Yourself.

You.

You did this.

You should have made the deal

Hotch flinched away from the touch of cold metal against his head only to freeze in his place, ice settling in his bones as he processed what was happening. Barely seeing the horror on Rossi’s face, he stared at the other man’s empty hand before he focused in on the gun that was resting against his own head, tilted at an angle. There were five things he knew:

I have a finger on the trigger. 

My hand is trembling. 

I am still one of the best shots of the agents that are not in a tactical team.

Make one move, fire the gun, only the hearing in my right ear will be gone and the darkness continues to creep towards me.

Make a different move, fire the gun, I’ll leave Jack the legacy of a coward and Haley the knowledge that her efforts back in high school and college were for naught.

You did this, a malicious voice in his head said, sounding oddly like his father. And suddenly, he recalled the memory of the blood droplets hitting him and the ringing in his ears the first time he witnessed a gun go off when he was nine.

Slowly, deliberately, Hotch met Rossi’s horrified and guilt-filled expression and lowered the gun from his head. Carefully measuring his steps, he moved forward and pressed the gun into the older agent’s hand, which dropped down to the side, the weight of the gun now accompanied by something unseen, something much heavier.

Not sparing him another glance, Hotch turned and walked back out of the alley.

This isn’t the time nor place to break. 

But in the end, he didn’t have a choice. 

“Foyet escaped.”

Hotch’s blood ran cold as he processed JJ’s words before he roughly placed his mug onto the desk and stood up from his chair, following JJ outside to the bullpen that was full of noise and movement.

“Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing, they rushed him to the prison hospital,” JJ explained quickly as they made their way down the catwalk. Hotch twitched as he heard Rossi’s office door open behind him, the man coming out to see what the commotion was about.

“Get me the US Marshal’s Office,” Hotch ordered, making the executive decision to ignore the older agent in favor of getting down to business. 

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance, he said they’d call us if they needed it.”

Prentiss rushed to the trio, holding a phone up to her ear. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet’s house,” she reported.

Reid approached the agents gathered in the middle of the room, holding out a printout of what looked to be a set of blueprints. “They’re schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.”

Hotch looked at him blankly. “He had the schematics.”

“And not just for Woburn—for every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And ten years to plan,” Rossi added, a heavy silence following as everyone turned to the TV.

Finally, Garcia turned around. “They’re going to find him, right?” she asked worriedly.

Eyes still trained on Foyet's mugshot on the TV, Hotch was completely certain in his answer. “No, they’re not,” he said, just as the memory of Foyet’s words rose to the forefront of his mind, unbidden.

If you know me so well, how come so many had to die to bring you here?

I’m going to be more famous than you realize.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, trying to get a hold of the wave of nausea that suddenly overcame him. He brushed past the team, purposely heading out of the bullpen for one of the bathrooms that was further away for the sake of keeping the team and their concern off his back.

Within minutes he was throwing up bile and the small amount of alcohol he had drank back in his office into the sink, thanking the god he never believed in that the bathroom was rather secluded so there wouldn’t be anyone catching him in this moment of weakness. His eyes burned for the second time in less than twenty-four hours—only this time, a few traitorous tears managed to escape from underneath his eyelids. 

The taste of bile was strong as he turned on the tap and splashed his face with cold water, stiffening when he heard the door swing open and closed. Looking up to the mirror, he was both relieved and unsurprised to see Morgan locking the door behind him. 

“You’ve been avoiding Rossi,” Morgan commented quietly. Hotch huffed a sardonic laugh, straightening up and turning around to face him, leaning against the sink for support. It was a familiar situation, one first started years ago when it was just them and Gideon, and stopped after the team started growing. Then New York happened and Hotch had to de-stress in a gas station they stopped at on the drive back to Quantico, and their secret rendezvous started happening again, when cases hit too close to home for either of them.

Somehow he always knows what the root problem is. “Was I that obvious?”

Morgan shook his head. “You know you hide it well. I’ve just known you far longer than any of the others, besides Rossi, of course.” He didn’t go on, waiting on the other to decide the direction the conversation would go. 

Deciding to go for complete honesty, Hotch swallowed, tilting his head up and avoiding Morgan’s eyes. “He called me at my hotel room and offered me the deal.”

To his credit, Morgan only stepped closer, face creased in concern and a hint of knowing. “I said no, and he shot up a bus,” Hotch continued tonelessly. “I lost it in an alley near the crime scene. Dave had pulled out his gun and was trying to make a point about self-flagellation, but—” he cut himself off and shook his head frustratedly.

“I don’t know what happened. One moment I was just angry, and the next moment I was aiming a gun at my head,” he met Morgan’s eyes desperately, stern facade completely gone. “I don’t know what I wanted to do—I don’t,” his voice cracked as he sagged against the sink and his trembling became more pronounced. He quickly covered his mouth as a sob tried to escape his throat, prompting Morgan to move.

It was surprising to both him and Morgan how willingly he melted into Morgan’s body when the man reached out to stabilize him, but the sensation of the embrace was oddly calming for both of them. Neither spoke as they stood in the bathroom, not even as Morgan felt his shirt getting wet from the tears that Hotch finally let fall, and not even as the crying became more audible. 

Now, they would stay in the bathroom and soak up the comfort that they offered each other. They would talk about Foyet’s taunts and what Hotch confessed later. 

But later never came, because life never waits, and neither do unsubs.

Soon, they were racing against the clock as Reid got infected with an engineered strain of anthrax

Soon, they were investigating one of the worst, stomach-turning crimes they had seen. 

When they got back from the pig farm, Hotch only asked the team for a bare-bones report of the investigation and let them leave to the comfort of their homes while he stayed behind and dealt with the rest of the paperwork and red tape that was involved because of their foray into Canadian jurisdiction. 

It was past midnight when Hotch finally left the office and entered his apartment with the intent of pulling out a glass of scotch and staying on his couch with a book, knowing there was no way he was going to fall asleep that night.  

But Foyet was waiting, and Hotch was weakened by the exhaustion and stress of two all-nighters in a row.  

That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world while he was slowly bleeding out and floating in and out of consciousness in his own apartment, he could only take comfort in the fact that his death sealed Foyet’s fate. There was no way Morgan the team—hell, even Strauss, or anyone in the bureau—would stop hunting his killer to exact their revenge. 

He faded into unconsciousness with the expectation that that was it.

He slowly regained consciousness to the sharp smell of antiseptic and the unpleasantly familiar beeping of a heart monitor. Fatigue settling heavily over his whole body was the next sensation that registered in his foggy mind, and then the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Where am I?” he forced out through a dry throat, eyes still closed.

“In the hospital,” Rossi, his mind told him. He opened his eyes only to close them again when he was met with blindingly bright lights, letting out a pained breath. 

“How did I get here?”

“Foyet drove you.”

Morgan. He drew in a shaky breath as dull, pulsing pain finally made itself known through the painkillers.

“Can you remember what happened?”

That’s Prentiss.

He vaguely felt his head loll to the side before the memories rushed back into the forefront of his mind. Foyet’s words, the same exact words he remembered thinking back in that alley echoed unpleasantly,

You should have made the deal.

Hotch swallowed again and forced his eyes open through the heavy fatigue. “What did he take?” he asked quietly, unwilling to delve deep into what he remembered and deciding to mentally run through the details about the Reaper case instead.

“What do you mean?” Rossi asked, uncomprehending.

“The Reaper always takes something from his victims.” you’re one of his victims now—shut up and think about that later “Do we know what he took?” 

“There was a page missing from your day planner,” his eyes flew open and he looked over at Prentiss as she continued talking, “in the address section, the Bs.” 

No— “What did he leave?” Hotch asked, eyes slipping shut as a trickle of fear went down his spine and his brain screamed out in denial. 

“I don't know,” Prentiss said, floundering.

“He also leaves something with his victims,” he trailed off in a breathless whisper, unable to sustain the volume he had been speaking at as the throbbing grew stronger.

“I looked over your whole apartment,” Prentiss told him helplessly. “Nothing felt out of place.”

A thought came to him. “Where are my clothes?” Hotch asked, slowly trying to force his eyes open again. He turned his head, watching Prentiss bring a plastic bag over to the hospital bed. Careful to avoid looking directly at his bloodied clothes, Hotch managed to pull the bulging manila envelope closer to him on his chest. 

His hands froze as his credentials slipped out and he noticed a folded paper tucked inside. Slowly, shakily, Hotch pulled them out of the envelope and carefully flipped it open. 

He sank deeper into the bed as the breath he had been holding was almost punched out of him by the sheer terror that pulsed through him, the treasured picture of Haley and Jack staring back at him tauntingly. That’s my blood, he thought blankly, staring at the red streak he knew was deliberately painted over his family’s smiling faces.

“Haley’s maiden name is Brooks,” he finally said, almost numb to the implications. “I always listed her in the Bs in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands.” 

Some kind of precaution it turned out to be. 

“He knows where they live.”

And that was that. As Hotch was stuck in flashbacks and lied to Prentiss about what happened, Morgan led the SWAT team in sweeping Hotch’s old house and picked Jack up from his playdate. As Hotch talked with Haley and failed to not think about that night in the alley with the cold metal against his head, Morgan played with Jack outside and failed to not think about Foyet using his credentials so he could continue to torture his friend boss. As Hotch remained confined to the hospital bed, Morgan watched through an upper-story window as Haley and Jack were driven off into the distance to a location unknown to anyone but a select few in the Marshals service. 

Nine stab wounds, thirty minutes down time, and six days in the cursed hospital.

The numbers circled through Hotch’s mind when he stepped back into his apartment and had to work through the panic that rose within as he stared towards the place where he knew Foyet had been hiding. 

In the end, what brought him back from the edge was when his eyes caught the new security panel that had been installed over where he knew the bullet had made a hole and the sticky note with what he recognized as Morgan’s handwriting that was stuck over it, concisely written instructions on how to use it. If he looked around carefully enough for other signs of Morgan’s presence, he could see where the section of bloodstained carpet had been replaced, and that was only because there was the tiniest spot that had been missed. 

The tiniest reminder was enough to send Hotch into a panic, but he knew there was no way he could tell Morgan about it. 

Is this what you felt like, Elle? Unsafe in your own home, having to sweep each room for fear of another one of the monsters we hunt lurking in the shadows?

Slowly, numbly, Hotch worked his way through medical leave and physiotherapy, during which everyone in his team came over at least twice, Prentiss and Morgan the most often to help change his bandages. He knew they worried, but he couldn’t summon the will to care nor the words to thank them for keeping him company and preventing the darkness in his mind from taking over. 

And maybe it was a good thing, because there were things they didn’t know, things that he lied to them about. He lied and he lied, and he knew that if he had the words, they would all come tumbling out, and what little of himself that he had left would be exposed for all to see. 

Even if Morgan had tried to take everything he might be able to use, there was still his mind, and so if he had the words, they would all know how many times he envisioned holding cold metal against his head just as he had back in that alley.

On the thirty-fifth day after he was discharged from the hospital, when they were discussing Darren Call on the plane, they came close to finding out. 

So why hasn’t he killed himself yet? Sprees usually end in suicide. If he's got nothing to live for, why hasn't he ended it?

It was much later, after a day of being on the receiving end of careful, worried glances, and overhearing Morgan’s firm declaration from inside his office that he realized his slip. 

“I’m not going to stand by and watch this man kill himself,” Hotch had heard Morgan snap towards Rossi. Moments later, Morgan passed in front of his office window and made eye contact with him, making it clear that his choice of words was deliberate. 

Suddenly Hotch was back in the alleyway with the gun pressed to his head and managed to talk himself off the ledge he didn’t know he was standing on while Rossi stood there, frozen and horrified that his brazen attempt at making a point had backfired so disastrously. His own words on the plane came back to him, then thought about what others would have seen when he walked into that house unarmed, and he understood. 

He hadn’t been thinking at all when he went in to try and talk Darren Call down, but though he didn’t have a background in psychology, there were some things that didn’t need expert opinion to be said, and so he knew exactly his action could be classified as. 

Don’t lie to yourself, you know exactly what that was.

Hotch swallowed convulsively and broke eye contact with Morgan, turning back to stare at paperwork until the other man walked back to his desk in the empty bullpen. As much as he tried, he couldn’t forget Morgan’s impassioned exclamation nor the depth of the worry that was present in his eyes when they made eye contact through the window.

Maybe that was the day when things shifted. It wasn’t a complete change—the team still hovered around Hotch in uncertain worry, his thoughts never completely disappeared, and he nearly broke down in the bathroom the day Jack turned four in witness protection after seeing what footage of his child on a playground Garcia could enhance. 

There was, however, a different air to his and Morgan’s interactions after that case. Perhaps it was a long time coming, stemming from the painful understanding that was formed that day in the secluded bathroom when they found comfort in each other.

It wasn’t news that the higher-ups were watching him again, but then he walked back to his office after helping JJ triage consult requests to see Strauss fixing him with a stern stare. The next few days he spent trying to work through the frustration of recording and justifying every decision while trying and failing not to antagonize Morgan. And so while he waited for Morgan to come into his office, he could only hope that he hadn’t managed to destroy the strange friendship that had been built between them based on their shared knowledge of just how close he was to the ledge sometimes.

I should give him more credit, I don’t know how he puts up with me sometimes, and he has more than enough reason to report me to Strauss.

“Come on, Hotch, nobody's gonna replace you,” Morgan said, incredulous at the notion of Hotch getting replaced. “Fight Strauss. I'll go to the mat for you, so will everybody else. You know that.” 

“Morgan, it won't work,” Hotch spoke over him, trying to get him to understand. “Decisions like this have their own momentum. Unless I step down—”

“Step down? What are you talking about?”

A foreign feeling Hotch recognized with some surprise as amusement wriggled its way into his consciousness as he anticipated Morgan’s reaction to his coming announcement, “I'm resigning as unit chief at the end of the week”

“What? No!” Hotch couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching as his feeling of amusement grew slightly stronger at the visceral reaction. “Hotch, look, yeah, ok, sometimes your actions, I may disagree with them, but it's not enough for you to leave this team.”

“I'm not leaving the team, I'm just no longer in charge,” Hotch corrected, continuing before Morgan could get in a word. “You are.”

He watched as Morgan’s jaw dropped in shock, before finally asking, “Me?” Detecting no deception from Hotch who had nodded, he continued. “Look, I had the chance to be unit chief in New York, and I said no. I turned it down because I like this team. Strauss can't just fire you like this.”

“She can reassign me, and we can avoid that if I promote internally.”

Unable to come up with a counterargument, Morgan was silent for a moment. “This is wrong,” he finally said. 

A strange thrill went through Hotch at the confidence Morgan had in him—their relationship, while slightly different now, ultimately had been built on unstated respect and the ease with which both were able to call each other out on their bullshit; it wasn’t built on such blatant declarations of trust and confidence. Hotch opened his hands, shrugging helplessly. “It's the only way to keep the team together.”

Morgan nodded consideringly before carefully eyeing Hotch. “So all of this,” he gestured between them, bringing up the tension that had built up between them in the last case, “this is why you've been pushing me so hard, huh?”

“I haven't been pushing you that hard,” Hotch denied, only to get a disbelieving look from the other man. He let out a faint smile before regarding the other with a serious look again. “Morgan, I need to know right now. Will you do this?”

He couldn’t articulate the relief he felt when Morgan finally agreed and continued to feel for the rest of the night as he introduced Morgan to the other parts of the job. Just like every other positive emotion he had felt over the past few years, however, it was short-lived, as Hotch had freed up time to dedicate to the hunt, even as he often stayed later to help Morgan get adjusted. Within months, they were called into a family annihilator case and Hotch was confronting Karl Arnold, one of the few unsubs that had continued to haunt him even after the case was closed and they were killed or incarcerated.

Of course, Arnold had to get in the last word, and oh, did he get it in. 

The cursed eye of providence, now drawn over a newspaper article about the attack months ago, never failed to create a surge of anger and fear within him, but never had it created such a storm of emotions before now. One torturous night of waiting as the envelope the taunts were sent in went through the lab, and the whole team was in the throes of the hunt, and in the process, fell victim to tunnel vision.

What if they had slowed down and remembered that Foyet worked with computers? Would they have managed to catch him at the apartment unawares? Would they have been better prepared for what Foyet had planned to do?

But there wasn’t anything Hotch could do except try and talk Foyet out of going through with his plans while trying to maintain as level of a head as possible.

“Your mother tried to protect you from your father, but she wasn’t strong enough, and you hated her for that, didn’t you? So, you decided that all women were weak,” Hotch suddenly brought up, hoping to catch him off guard as he vaguely wondered if the team was on the line, listening. 

“Those are your words, not mine,” came the grating, annoyingly blasé reply.

“What were you, nine when you killed them?

“It was a car accident. And, now that I think about it, our childhoods are eerily similar, don’t you think?” 

Caught unawares, Hotch jerked the steering wheel, barely managing to avoid crashing the car as Foyet continued. “But it was only your father who died, whereas your mother remarried.”

How—? He turned cold at the show of Foyet’s obsession, which was clearly much deeper than he or anyone in the team could have predicted.

“No response?” the killer taunted.

“My father swallowed a bullet because he couldn’t live with his self loathing or the cancer,” Hotch finally snapped, quickly directing the subject back towards Foyet. Even with the pit in his stomach growing as it became clearer that he was being toyed with, he couldn’t help but use every negotiation tactic he knew and taught at the Academy, desperately but futilely trying to dissuade the killer. 

“Haven't you gotten what you wanted?” Hotch tried, somehow having regained his composure after the unpleasant bombshell. “You've set yourself apart from anybody we've ever dealt with. You're not just a famous serial killer, you're the Reaper. We're going to study you and your methods for years and years.”

“You know what I've been thinking?” Foyet finally asked after a few moments of silence, his next words sending his heart pounding in fear. “Haley looks really good with dark hair. She’s lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her. Where's the little man?” No, don’t you dare— “Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?” 

Hotch gripped his phone tightly as he heard the ringing of another phone. “That's your wife. Hold, please—Mrs. Hotchner,” Foyet took on an accent, tone turning jovial. “Open the gate and I'll drive in.”

Open the gate? That son of a—of course.

“Aaron?” the malicious glee was back, cutting right to Hotch’s core. “I really gotta go.”

Almost frozen with fear, he pushed the car faster, heading straight towards the old house and praying to whatever deity he could think of that he could get there in time. He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he got Morgan’s call, which was confirmation that the team had indeed been listening. He didn’t dwell on it and only continued to push the car, disregarding speed limits and almost hysterically glad that it was the middle of the day and the streets were relatively empty. 

When his phone rang, it was with numb, mechanical movements that he answered, fully prepared to beg and bargain for his family’s life if he had to, only to sharply inhale at Haley’s dearly missed voice, which turned shaky with fear when she realized the danger she was in. As Foyet undercut their exchange with his maliciously satisfied taunts, telling Haley all that he could never bring himself to confess about the case, Hotch could only think about how he was just too far away, Haley, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for lying to you about everything, I’ll never forgive myself—

But then Jack was on the phone, and the pure innocence and eagerness with which his son greeted him after months of no contact was enough to send a fresh wave of tears coursing down his face.

“Is George a bad guy?”

“Yes, he is,” Hotch answered, wanting to scream at him to just run away, get as far away from him as you can when an old memory was suddenly brought forth from his subconscious. “Jack, I need you on this case with me. Do you understand?” he tried to keep his voice steady, hoping with his whole being that his son would remember. “I need you to work the case with me.”

“Ok, Daddy.”

“Jack, hug your mom for me,” he requested, voice cracking and desperately trying to contain the sobs that were steadily building. He could only imagine the warmth his son was feeling from his mother now, potentially the last memory he would ever have of her. Hearing his son’s too-inquisitive question about his mother’s mood left him viciously biting down on his bottom lip, trying to maintain some modicum of control over himself.

“Is he gone?” Hotch finally asked, nausea joining the storm of emotions within him at the nickname Foyet had given his son.

“Yes,” Haley confirmed, letting her fear shine through now that Jack wasn’t there to see it. 

Each shaking breath was a stab straight to his core.“You’re so strong, Haley, you’re stronger than I ever was.”

Her response nearly sent him shattering into the pieces she had so carefully helped him put back together back in high school after his stepfather died.

“You’ll hurry, right?”

I can’t lie, I’m so sorry, Haley. I can’t lie to you. Not after everything I’ve already done, “I know you didn’t sign on for this.”

“Neither did you.”

Why does it have to be now that we finally talk about what caused the divorce?

“I’m sorry for everything.”

There was a short pause as Haley inhaled sharply, before leveling out into shaky breaths. “Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh.”

No, please— “Haley,” Hotch trailed off, unable to continue and almost paralyzed at the knowledge that these might be her last words because he’s too far away, I’m not going to—

“He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron. He needs to believe in love, because it is the most important thing, but you need to show him. Promise me,” she ordered him forcefully.

“I promise.”

The sound of three gunshots tore straight into his soul. 

And then he was finding Haley’s body, trying not to let the seams break when renewed rage roared to life within him at the extinguishing of the light that had been inside her and lit up every room she walked in. Minutes later, he was straddling the demon that had haunted him for over a decade, the demon that he finally caught up to but at a terrible cost and then he was punching—

I’m going to kill that bastard son of yours and I’m going to tell him it was all your fault— 

and punching—

You practically killed them yourself—

and punching—

You should have made the deal—

someone yelled his name—

Promise me.

“—dead. He’s dead,” someone was shouting as Hotch tried to lunge forward away from the person pulling him back and towards the man who killed my wife HE KILLED HALEY—

But all the fight that had been inside him suddenly disappeared, and he was left staggering backward, mouth open in a silent, rage-filled scream as someone—it’s Derek—kept a careful grip on his body, holding his shattered pieces together just long enough for him to gather his tattered seams close to his chest and fling himself away towards the stairs. 

Hotch collapsed to his knees in front of the chest, seeing no indication of any taunting messages and daring to hope that his son was—

And the sight of his son, unharmed and blinking at the sudden change in brightness, nearly sent him into a mess of relieved tears that were also tears of unadulterated grief because I got his mother killed—

He held himself together and lifted his son out of the chest, seeing all the features he got from Haley—her his hair, her his eyes, her his inquisitiveness—and struggling to maintain his weakening control as he told Jack to go to Ms. Jareau, who was waiting with open arms in the doorway to the room that had once been his office. 

Hearing their footsteps fade away and shaking with suppressed sobs, he slowly stood up, injuries that he sustained in the fight finally making themselves known as he made his way across the hall to the room he knew Haley was lying in—

He saw Morgan taking her pulse and for a moment he couldn’t help but hope that she was still—

But Morgan was pulling back and he was gently placing Haley’s right arm back on the ground and he wasn’t yelling for medics and—

“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” Morgan said softly as Hotch knelt down, his trembling becoming more palpable by the moment. 

If he looked past the unseeing eyes and the blood that pooled everywhere and her lying on the floor and—

He could almost convince himself that she was sleeping. For a moment, he was almost afraid to touch her, afraid to disturb her in her sleep, but in the next moment—

He was pulling her cooling body close to his chest and burying his face into the crook of her neck, gut wrenching sobs escaping his lips as a wave of grief shattered the flimsy show of control he had put up for Jack’s sake, his son who just lost his mother because his father was addicted to the chase and I broke my promise, Haley, I’m so sorry—

She’s gone. 

The solemn silence weighed heavily on the team as they waited for Hotch to finish testifying before Strauss and the brass. They had all expressed their outrage when they got the orders to come in for their statements, only two days after their leader nearly lost everything, but there was nothing they could do.

It had been painful to watch the man who had been a protector for so long, since childhood through his teenage years and into adulthood, try to maintain the post, disregarding his own health in favor of being the earliest in the office and last to leave, spending every free moment trying to get rid of the threat to his family. It was worse having to listen over the phone as his control started to slip while he tried so desperately to save his family from a madman. 

With the sight of him savagely beating Foyet’s dead body into the ground, all vestiges of the infamous controlled facade gone, they all hoped for Hotch’s sake that Jack had found safety and were beyond relieved to see him in JJ’s arms. Reality caught up to them, however, when they watched as Morgan had to physically wrestle Hotch away from Haley’s body so she could be transported to the ME’s office.

When they got the full autopsy, they could only be glad that Hotch wasn’t there to find out all that Foyet did to his first love.

And within a year, Hotch’s family had been ruthlessly snatched from his desperate, flailing grip and torn into broken pieces before being shoved back at him, misshapen with pieces missing. 

The faint sound of a door swinging closed had them all straightening up in their seats, turning to look into the bullpen where Hotch was walking up the stairs in front of his office, only to freeze right in front of the door with his hand just in front of the door knob. 

They watched worriedly as he let his outstretched hand fall back to his side and slowly backed up from the door, almost as if he were in a trance and startled when Morgan suddenly jumped up and ran out of the room and through the bullpen towards the man.

Their confusion cleared up when they realized that Hotch wasn’t stopping as he backed up, somehow unaware that the stairs were right behind him and stumbled, only barely catching himself on the railing. For Jack’s sake, they forced themselves to stay seated but watched out of the corner of their eyes as he tried to stand back up, only for his knees to buckle underneath him. 

Before he could hit the ground, Morgan quickly grabbed onto his arms, almost collapsing himself under his dead weight but managing to lower them both onto the ground, holding onto him in a way eerily reminiscent of what he had done when he pulled Hotch off of the barely-recognizable body of George Foyet. 

Hotch was still staring at his office door as if he had seen a ghost, and it was with heartbreak that Morgan realized what it represented to him—it was the source of so much passion and temptation that had gotten the love of his life killed. Looking back at the conference room and seeing the eyes focused on the two men, Morgan carefully pulled Hotch up from the ground and slowly guided him out of the bullpen, knowing that the team had Jack taken care of.

They walked through the winding hallways and into the bathroom that he followed Hotch into the night it all started to go horribly wrong. This time, it was different and yet the exact same, and after Morgan locked the door behind them, he pulled Hotch towards him, mindful of his bruised ribs. 

Surrounded by the four walls that heard so many of their small talks and witnessed their vulnerabilities, it wasn’t long before Hotch’s eyes began to burn as he finally melted into Morgan’s protective hold when the dam finally broke, letting out a wave of pain and anguish that was only made the slightest bit more bearable by the warmth of Morgan’s his friend’s care.

But even that couldn’t make that one sentence disappear.

You practically killed them yourself.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #hurting Hotch is so fun #aaron hotchner whump #hurt aaron hotchner #mortch #george foyet #haley hotchner #tw guns #tw suicidal ideation #tw suicide #tw character death #sodone one sentence