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random-thot-generator · 8 months

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Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 8

Frenemies/Tenderness AU

EIGHT: Lost and Found

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: As Simon desperately searches for you, his darker nature emerges. Beside himself with the state he finds you in, his only thought is to get you to safety, but it's not long before his plans for vengeance take precedence. Meanwhile, you are struggling to cope with what's happened, too shaken by the night's traumatic events to comprehend what lengths Simon is willing to go to in order to keep you safe.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Allusions to Violence, Allusions to SA, Minor Character Death, Simon goes full-Ghost, No Detailed Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Blood, Protective Simon, Traumatized Reader, No use of Y/N

(Notes: I didn't go crazy with the violent details, but you'll definitely get the gist of what went down. Reader is obviously traumatized by what's happened, so I tried to keep that in mind while writing for her. Our girl has had a rough night, y'all.)

[image via TENOR]

Word Count: 4464

Chapter 8

“The shadow is dark and the woods are cold, but they are not endless. No matter how lost you are now, you are not lost forever. You are findable.

Love just keeps on looking.

Love forever tries.” ― Anna White, Mended: Thoughts on Life, Love, and Leaps of Faith

Simon was quietly losing his mind.

He began losing it the moment he answered your call, and the longer it took him to find you, the closer he danced to the edge. If he could just call you, hear your voice, it would ease the chokehold his anxiety had on him, but he couldn't risk it. Your phone's battery power was already low when you had called for help.

It had pained Simon to do it, but with no time to mince words, he had to tell you to hang up and sit tight, that he would be able to track you through your phone's GPS, but you had to conserve what power it had left. He didn't miss that little beat of silence after he told you that, but he'd ignored it. He could worry about explaining that later. Finding you was his only priority, now.

"Don't worry, doll. I'll find ya. Stay in place and stay hidden. I'll come to you."

That had been almost an hour ago. An hour for him to process everything you had told him, an hour to fully comprehend the danger you had been in the moment your walked out of the White Dog with Jerry Finch. The danger you were still in, because Finch was in the wind, and for all Simon knew, could be tracking you down himself right now, slipping up on you at this very moment.

Simon growled, the feral sound echoing in the high vault of the trees.

He glanced down at the receiver, watching the moving blue line that traced his path to you grow shorter. He was close, but he wasn't moving fast enough; the terrain wouldn't allow it. He couldn't curse it, though. The thick foliage that was holding up his own progress was the same foliage that had thwarted Jerry's attempt to catch you. The bastard probably never considered that he would have to chase someone through these woods when he chose this location.

That thought alone had Simon teetering on the very brink of a rage-fueled tantrum, even as it spurred him on. A shortcut to Banfield, is what Jerry had told you.

That had been a fiendish lie.

Simon had been so relieved when the tracker had first pinpointed your location, but it was the location itself that almost gave him an aneurism. The gravel lane Jerry had taken you down was no backroad into Banfield. It was a service road that cut through a protected woodland, which then terminated a few kilometers further along at a series of stream-fed ponds surrounded by marshland. It was a nature preserve for native waterfowl.

It was a bloody dead-end in the middle of nowhere with no one around.

As he followed your path through the woods, his mind conjured up all the horrifying images that could have been your fate tonight. The bright beam of his torch stuttered erratically over the foliage, his hands shaking with fury, as that one terrible question kept playing on a loop in his brain.

Just what the fuck had Finch been planning to do to you?

The answers Simon came up with only served to fuel that rage already burning like a furnace inside him. When he got his hands on Jerry fucking Finch, he would take immense pleasure in getting those answers out of him.

And Simon was a master at extracting answers from reluctant subjects. He would take his time with Finch. That sick bastard would curse the day he ever laid eyes on you before Simon was done with him.

When the tracker indicated that he had reached your location, Simon turned it off and shoved it inside the pocket of his coat, shining his light around the area. The tracks stopped here, but you were nowhere to be seen. "Doll!" he barked, eyes searching.

The sound of crackling leaves drew the beam of his torch to a large oak on his right. You crept around the tree, keeping a stabilizing hand on the trunk as you used the other to shield your eyes from the bright beam of light shining in your face. "I'm here," you replied in a wavering voice, and Simon almost completely lost it.

You looked like hell, your hair a wild tangle, clothes muddy and torn, face smudged with dirt and tracked with tears. You were covered in scratches, bruises and abrasions, your eyes huge in your face, glassy and fevered.

Without thinking, he rushed forward with a snarled, "Fuckin' hell!" and took you by the shoulders, eyes blazing with fury. He was so incensed by the state you were in that he failed to notice the utter panic that registered on your face at his aggressive approach. It was only when you let out a gasp and stumbled back that he realized how he must look and loosened his grip.

"It's alright," he muttered. "I'm jus' so..." Seeing you this way had him seeing red. "Nnngh!" he growled, his fingers tightening on your shoulders. You stiffened under his grip, wide, teary eyes directed up at him as your chin wobbled.

"Please don't be mad, Ri. 'M sorry. I just couldn't think of who else to call," you warbled out, the last word pitching up before hitching on a choked sob.

Your words caught him off guard. Bloody hell, you thought he was mad at you?

"No, doll. No. I'm not mad at ya, love. I... fuck..." He pulled you against his chest, his hand pressing your head against his pounding heart. The relief that washed over him was profound, making his hands tremble as they cupped your face. He took a step back to look you over, brushing the hair from your face as his dark eyes darted over your form. "Are ya hurt? Did he hurt ya?"

You shook your head, but you looked confused, dazed. "N-No, I don't think... I..." Your eyes drifted to the side as you struggled to find the words. "I just want to go home," you whispered as two fat tears slipped down your dirty cheeks.

Simon swiped them away with his thumbs. "It's alright, love. I got ya now. I got ya. C'mere."

He took you under the arms and picked you up as he would a child, his throat constricting when he felt you wrap your limbs around him, clinging to him like a lifeline. He said nothing, only clutched you tighter to his chest as you sobbed into his neck the entire walk back to the truck.

You were silent as Simon drove back to Banfield, staring out the window, hands laying limp in your lap. He kept glancing over at you, worried. You were obviously in a state of mild shock, should probably be checked over by a physician, but when he had mentioned taking you to the A and E, you'd shaken your head and muttered a low but fierce, "No!" clenching your hands into fists. "No hospital, no police."

He didn't know what to make of your vehement refusal, but didn't push, worried about upsetting you further. However, he gave you no such consideration when he bypassed the road leading to your flat. You frowned, confused. "I thought you were going to take me home."

Simon shook his head. "'S not safe, doll. That cunt could be waiting for ya, fer all I know. 'M not riskin' ya gettin' hurt again t'find out."

You hadn't even thought of Jerry lying in wait for you at your flat. The thought of it terrified you. You shrunk back into your seat, feeling helpless and unmoored. If you couldn't go home, then where the hell were you supposed to go? "But I don't have anywhere to go," you replied, your voice high and tinged with anxiety.

"Yer stayin' at my place until the threat is neutralized," was his quick response, his tone brooking no argument as he directed his truck towards his street.

You could only stare back at him, dumbfounded. Riley wasn't the type to have house guests over. He once told you he could count on one hand the number of people who had been inside his home and still have a couple of fingers left over. "Ri, you don't have to do—"

"Dee, do not fight me on this," he snapped, his gaze piercing when he shot you a warning glance. They softened as he gazed at you. "Not this," he muttered, the muscle in his jaw ticking beneath his mask. "Yer stayin' with me. End of discussion."

He looked you over, assessing you, then took out his phone. Making a call, he stuck the phone inside his hood and pressed it to his ear. You knew the moment the call connected, Ollie's distinctive voice growling an angry torrent of words you couldn't quite catch. He said something about a door and called Riley a greenie, something he did only when he was joking or angry. He didn't sound like he was in a joking mood at the moment.

"Captain," Simon barked into the phone, interrupting Ollie's tirade. "Listen t'me. We have a situation. I'll brief ya on the particulars later, but right now, I need ya to ask Fiona if she minds stayin' wif Dee at my place fer a few hours."

You shook your head, but he just shot you another warning look. "Ri, no..." you pleaded in a frantic whisper, but he ignored you.

There were a few seconds of silence and then Ollie said something in a lower register of voice that you couldn't hear. Simon's brows furrowed. "She's banged up, but she's sound," he said, casting a quick glimpse over you.

There was another pause, then another brief reply. "Yessir," he growled, then ended the call.

"What's going on? What are you doing, Ri?"

Simon put his phone in his pocket then replaced his hand on the wheel. "Don't worry 'bout it. I jus' need t'make sure yer taken care of, doll. Everythin'll be fine."

He pulled up to the curb in front of his row house and parked, telling you to wait until he came around and helped you out of the truck. Keeping a protective arm around your shoulders, his head panned back and forth as he hurried you along the walk to his front door. He shielded you from the street as he unlocked the door, keeping your back to his chest as he hustled you inside.

His entire demeanor was changed. He reminded you of a shark, his movements quick and aggressive, eyes dark, flat and predatory. He was in full soldier mode, his body tense, senses on high alert.

"Stay here while I do a quick check," he muttered lowly, creeping on silent feet through his own house. He checked the main level, then the downstairs, and then finally the upper floor. When he returned, he motioned for you to follow him into the kitchen. "Drink," he ordered, retrieving a sports drink from his fridge and setting it on the island between you.

His sharp tone grated against your already frayed nerves. "What the hell is wrong with you? You've been barking orders at me since you found me."

He whipped his head around, eyes dark and intense as he pinned you with a glare. "Until I know where the hell tha' bastard is, 'm not takin' any chances, understand? Who knows what he's capable of right now? He's got t'be off his fuckin' nut t'try what he did with ya, in the first place. He could be out there even now, tryin' to figure out a way to get inside so he can get at ya again, an' I'll be damned if I let tha' happen. You might not give a damn about yer own bloody safety, but I do! Tha's what the fuck is wrong with me!"

You flinched away from his harsh words, tears welling despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. This was all too much, too overwhelming. Throwing up your hands, you turned and hurried out of the kitchen, not knowing where you were going until you entered the guest loo under the stairs and locked yourself inside.

Turning on the tap, you glanced up at your reflection in the mirror, shocked at your own appearance. Twigs and dead leaves were caught in the tangles of your hair, your face dirty and scratched, eyes bloodshot and wild. "Bloody hell," you whispered to the mirror, raising a shaking hand to your face to examine the extent of the damage.

A knock at the door made you jump. You blew out a breath, in no mood to argue with him. "J-Just give me a minute, Ri. Please?"

You heard a thunk on the door and knew he'd dropped his forehead against it. "'M sorry, doll," he muttered lowly through the door.

Why could he only apologize through a bloody door? You took a deep breath, dropping your head, and exhaled slowly through your nose. "I know you mean well, Ri. I just..." You sniffled and huffed out a breath. "It's just a lot, ya know? And I'm— I'm struggling, okay?"

There was a pause, the shadow of his boots shifting before the crack under the door. "Ya know yer safe here, doll. I swear I won't let nothin' else happen to ya. I'll— leave ya be. Take yer time."

You sighed, unable to ignore the contrite tone in his voice. "Ri?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"Thank you. For— everything."

There was another pause. "I'll always have yer back, doll. No matter what. Understand?"

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Yeah, Ri. Me, too."

You heard his weight shift. "I jus' heard somebody pull up. Prob'ly Fi an' Ollie," he spoke through the door, then you heard his footsteps move away.

You opened your eyes and looked at yourself in the mirror again. You couldn't go out there looking like this. Grabbing the little wastebin by the sink, you began plucking the dead foliage out of your hair.

When you finally emerged from the loo, you could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. Pushing through the swinging door, you stopped short as three sets of eyes turned toward you at once.

"Oh, my God," Fiona whimpered, hurrying to catch you up in a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, Dee," she sniffled at your ear. "I never would'a thought he would do somethin' like this."

You saw Ollie grip Riley's shoulder as they exchanged a look, the tension in his body putting you on edge all over again. "What's going on?" you rasped out.

Fiona drew back and glanced over her shoulder, then back at you. "I'm goin' t'stay with ya while they try t'track down Jerry."

You shook your head, frantic. "No! Can't you just leave it alone? Don't you understand this will only turn out bad for me if you threaten him? He could go to the police, tell 'em we got in an argument, that I attacked him. It'll be my word against his, and who do you think they'll believe?" you demanded, looking between the three of them.

It was Ollie who stepped forward. "Love, I get it, I do, but somethin' has to be done. We can't just leave him be. He's too dangerous. Think about it, love. Do ya think yer the first bird he's done this to?" he asked. "We can't just let him get away with this, because he'll think he can jus' keep doin' it, and the next lass might not be so lucky."

You knew he was right, but it didn't change the fact that it was your neck on the chopping block. "If you threaten him, he'll come after me. He won't be stupid enough to try something physical again, but he'll fuck with me in other ways, get the police involved. I could be charged with assault."

Simon rounded the island and took you by the shoulders, peering down at you with an earnest expression. "Doll, listen t'me. Me an' Ol are just after intel on him right now, alright? Ol has some mates that can help us. That's all we're goin' t'be doin'. Finch won't know owt about it. If we get the right intel, we can use it against him, yeah? Stop him from doin' this again. It won't come back on ya, doll. I won't let it."

You reached up and grasped his wrists. "Promise me you won't don't anything crazy, Ri."

He sighed. "Everythin' will be fine, doll. I promise."

You stared up at him for a long moment, then cast your gaze at Ollie. "Don't let him do anything that will get him in trouble."

"No worries, love. I can keep him in line," Ollie replied, sounding confident.

You returned your gaze to the big lug in front of you and blew out a resigned breath. "Fine."

The two men exchanged another look, then Simon placed his arm around shoulders and led you back out of the kitchen, Fiona and Ollie trailing behind. "I want ya t'get some rest, alright? My room's upstairs, second door on the left. Take a shower an' have a lie down, yeah? We'll be back a'fore ya know it." He grasped the nape of your neck and bumped his forehead against yours. "We'll fix this, doll. Ya got my word." He looked over his shoulder. "Take care o' her for me, Fi."

Fiona bobbed her head, looking between the two of you. "I will, Riley."

Ollie stepped forward and patted your shoulder. "Don't fret, love. Everythin' will be fine. I'll keep an eye on him for ya," he promised, nodding at Simon.

You watched the two men ready themselves to leave, Fiona standing next to you, taking hold of your hand. Before they left, Simon came forward and took your hands.

"Don't worry, doll. I'll take care o' this. Get some rest. I'll see ya when I get back."

He then stepped back and nodded, before ushering Ollie out the door. As soon as it closed behind them, Fiona darted forward to relock it, then punched in the code for the security system.

"There," she muttered, turning to give you a forced smile. "Safe as houses," she intoned, then took your arm. "C'mon. Let's get ya in the shower."

You let her lead you up the stairs but glanced back at the front door. "You don't think Riley was lying, do you? He wouldn't just go after Jerry, would he?"

Fiona patted your arm, shaking her head. "'Course not," she lied.

Simon was driving, headed towards Blackheath, while Ollie was finishing up a brief conversation on his phone. "Right, then. Thanks, Seamus. I owe ya one, mate." He ended the call and nodded to Simon. "Got an address. Seamus is onboard and willing to help out, whatever we need. Think Finch is smart enough to go to ground?"

Simon grunted. "Maybe, but it's hard t'say. After what happened, he's got t'know I'm comin' for him. Or he bloody well should."

Ollie hummed as he peered out at the dark landscape. "I want t'get this bastard as bad as you do, son, but if Dee finds out..."

Simon gripped the wheel. "She won't." He glanced over at his old captain. "Ya saw what he did, Ol. Tha' cunt put his fuckin' hands on her. Hurt her. Would'a done much worse than tha' if she hadn't fought him off an' got away. If tha' were Hillary he'd done tha' to, what would ya do?"

Ollie didn't even hesitate. "I'd kill the bastard."

Simon grunted.

They rode the rest of the way to Blackheath in silence.

It was near dawn by the time Simon made it home. He found Fiona asleep on the couch, so left her to her sleep. His only thought at that moment was to find you, make sure you were alright. He climbed the stairs on silent feet and eased down the hallway, slipping into his bedroom.

He found you sleeping in his bed, wearing one of his old T-shirts, head buried in his pillow. It was about the best damn sight he'd ever seen. He shoulders went slack as he sighed and leaned back against the wall, taking you in for a moment.

This was how it was supposed to be. This is what you deserved. This, he realized, was what he could give you. Safety, security. A proper home. If only your pride would allow you to take it. He huffed a breath.

You and your bloody pride.

Simon could work around that, though. A plan began brewing in his head, a plan that would help to greatly relieve your financial burdens as well as ensure your safety, all at once. He just had to get you to agree to it. He considered the best approach to take with you as he gathered some clean clothes and stepped into the loo to shower.

He peeled off his dirty clothes, the coppery smell of blood wafting up from the dark clothing. He crammed them into the hamper, then tossed his ruined gloves along with his soiled balaclava into the waste bin and tied up the bag. He didn't want to risk you seeing them. You never needed to know what really happened to Finch. As far as you would know, Finch was going to be a fugitive on the lam, suspected of leaving the country.

Simon and Ollie had discovered what a truly depraved bastard Finch really was when they searched his flat. The incriminating images and videos they had found on his laptop, along with his activity on a particular dark web forum were enough to put the bastard away for years. All of that would come out, of course, once the police followed up on the information they had received from an anonymous source.

Simon paid no mind to the pink swirl of water at his feet, too busy scrubbing the rusty stains from his nail beds. He studied the bruised ridge of his knuckles, flexing the sore hand. He couldn't recall how many times he hit Finch after he confessed what his plans had been for you, but Simon did remember running a reverent touch over the bruise you had left on the bastard's cheek where you had kicked him. He had smiled at the sight and murmured, "Tha's my girl."

When he exited the bathroom a few minutes later, he saw you stir, your eyes fluttering open. You pushed yourself up on an elbow, squinting at him. "Ri? You just get home?"

He came to sit beside you on the bed. "Nah. Jus' got out o' the shower. Sorry if I woke ya. Go back t'sleep, doll."

You laid your head back on the pillow, peering up at him with a sleepy, hooded gaze. "Did you find what you were looking for? The intel?"

He nodded, taking your hand to rub his thumb over knuckles. "We did. Once we use what we've learned, he won't be a problem anymore. Ya got nothin' to worry 'bout, love."

You nodded, then sighed. "You look tired. You should lie down."

He shook his head. "'M fine. Was gettin' ready' t'do some work in my office. Jus' wanted t'check on ya first."

Your brows puckered as you regarded him. "Will you stay with me? Just til I go back to sleep?"

Simon blinked. You wanted him to stay with you? He swallowed and gave a slow nod. "Sure, doll."

You shuffled back in the bed and rested your head on the other pillow, looking up at him expectantly. Simon sighed, then turned and brought his legs up to stretch out on the bed beside you. He felt your hand creep into his, squeezing it as you sighed and closed your eyes. "G'night, Ri."

"Night, doll."

Simon laid beside you, listening to your breathing even out and deepen as your hand grew slack in his. He scooted down to rest his head on the pillow so he could see your face better in the dark room. The tension slowly seeped out of his body as he watched you sleep, his eyes tracing over the soft lines of your face. He would do anything to keep you this way, safe and at peace.

His eyes began to grow heavy. He should get up, leave you to sleep, yet when he went to pull away, your fingers curled around his hand and a frown puckered your brow again. He eased himself back into the mattress, not wanting to disturb you further. He could wait a few more minutes, then try again. He let his eyes drift shut while he waited, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing.

A few hours later, Simon stirred awake to find you nestled into his side, his arm wrapped around your back, hand resting on your hip. You had flung your arm over his waist, your cheek smooshed against his chest, one leg thrown over his. He laid there, letting himself grow accustomed to the feeling. He hadn't slept like this with anyone in years, couldn't bear the thought of it, yet he found he liked how your soft, feminine form felt pressed against his. Your warmth permeated his body and lulled his mind like a soporific drug, tempting him to stay in bed and enjoy this brief moment of peace.

You should get up, he told himself, but then he felt your arm tighten around his waist. He couldn't help but wonder if this had been your plan when you'd asked him to lie down with you. You wanted him to get some sleep, and lo and behold, here he was. He sighed, peering down at you. You always knew how to get your way with him. Every fucking time.

He tilted his head until his masked face was pressed into the crown of your head and breathed you in. Pulling you closer, Simon closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

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fortheloveofwonderland · 8 months

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Rusty | Chapter 2 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - As you arrive at Spencer’s ranch, an intrusive look around his home offers some insight into the stranger. Meanwhile Spencer has his injuries seen to whilst taking a nostalgic glance down memory lane.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - antidepressant medication, smoking, hospitals, mentions of Spencer’s past canon injuries, pain relief, bisexual Spencer and talk of sexuality, a rundown of Spencer’s past sexual encounters, brief mention of past drug addiction and Maeve, mentions of casual sex, talk of prison, broken bones.

WC - 6.5k

Chapter 2 - Take Me Home, Country Road

As promised the large creature led you to the strangers ranch, but at her slow gait it had taken almost an hour to travel four miles. It was a pain to drive so slowly, feeding her slices of apple and carrot out of the car window every five or so minutes.

By the time she led you off the main road and up a dirt path, your hand was almost black from feeding her.

You travelled a little further up the path until you came to what you assumed was the lodge Spencer had told you about.

You slowed the car to a stop and cut the engine, opening the door and sliding out before giving Willow the final piece of fruit from the bag.

“I have to say, I’m impressed.” You nodded at her, tentatively reaching up and patting the side of her face.

She mewled and nuzzled against your hand in appreciation. It might have been the first time you let your guard slip a little.

She was huge and imposing, terrifying from the offset to someone who had never spent any time around horses. But now as you looked at her, really looked at her, you saw her beauty.

She was a stunning greyish blue, with slight dappling in her coat. Her mane was nearly black, long and sleek. Her large eyes were a deep brown, almost as intense and alluring at her owners.

She was broad and tall, intimidating yet graceful. She made a soft snuffling sound as she slowly turned around and started trotting in the direction of the lodge.

You quickly followed her, making a grab for one of her reins in case she wandered off somewhere she shouldn’t. She led you passed the old lodge and further up a slight incline to where the ground levelled out again and you caught sight of where she was heading.

Up ahead was the stable Spencer had told you about and she took you right to it. Upon reaching it you unlatched the large barn doors and heaved one opened, Willow already making a move inside.

As told there were two more horses inside, one brown and one jet black and both slightly smaller in size than Willow. They eyed you up as you passed by and you tried to keep your head down.

There were three empty paddocks, two of which you could tell weren’t in use. Willow knew where to go and led you to her own.

She was content in being motioned inside and once her whole body was in, you closed the fence behind her, latching it like the others.

She headed straight for the trough of food - despite the snacks you’d bestowed on her - and happily started munching away at her dinner.

The black horse was near his own fence, eyes boring into you as you offered Willow another pat on the side of her back.

The darker horse seemed wary of you, making little grunts of disapproval at your presence. The auburn horse didn’t pay you too much attention.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me to be here.” You held your hands up in surrender. “I’m leaving, don’t worry.”

You backed out of the stable, keeping your eyes on the dark stallion as you went. Once outside you were quick to close the doors and fix the latch in place.

Spinning around, it was too dark to make out the extent of his land. Given that he had at least two lodges, a stable and he’d mentioned cattle you assumed had must have a reasonable amount of acreage.

You padded back toward the lodge you’d passed earlier and fished out the keys. You really should hit the road, you could drive down to Mexico before Spencer was even released from hospital. When they inevitably rang you, asking after the fake name you’d given, you could tell them they had the wrong number.

Or simply ignore the call.

Staying in one place for too long could be dangerous. However Spencer’s ranch was certainly secluded, no other buildings or claimed land for miles you would ascertain. So if you had to lay low somewhere for the night, this was probably the best place to do so.

You climbed the creaky wooden stairs to his lodge and located the largest key on the loop before slipping it in the lock. You pushed the door open and fumbled for a light switch.

Finding one and flicking it, the room was suddenly awash with light and you had to blink a few times at the onslaught.

Adjusting to the light you glanced around the small quarters. The floor and the walls were all the same wood as the outside and it was furnished minimally.

There was a single leather couch beneath the back window and a small coffee table in front of it stained with coffee rings. A newspaper sat folded neatly on the corner, upon closer inspection you frowned curiously at the copy of The Washington Post dated today.

Next to the couch was a large bookshelf that spanned from floor to ceiling and books were packed in so tightly it looked fit to burst. Another stack of books was on the floor next to it, unable to stuff a single extra hardback on the shelves.

You run your fingers along old, cracked spines. His collection covered everything from War and Peace in its original Russian, an extremely old and battered copy of a book titled The Log of a Cowboy, to poetry anthologies and books on behavioural profiling.

Eclectic and diverse, neither things you expected from a cowboy.

The key to his second lodge hung by the door like he said and you should take it and leave. But you’d always been a little too curious, couldn’t stop yourself from continuing around the small abode.

To the right of the door was a kitchen, if you could really call it that. It was essentially a small breakfast bar separating it from the living space and another counter that held a microwave and an stove top that looked as though it had never been used.

On the breakfast bar was an empty mug of what you presumed had once held coffee judging by the smell and an extremely outdated cell phone. There was a book next to it, closed with a sliver of paper sticking out you presumed to mark his page. There was a fridge which you couldn’t help but peer into - he did tell you to help yourself - but it was mostly baron.

It held a half empty glass bottle of milk, a small tub of butter, two sad and lonely looking microwave meals and a couple of half eaten tubs of Chinese take out.

Closing the fridge you dared breach beyond, stepping past the fridge towards a closed door. You opened it and stepped into his bedroom, switching on another light.

His king sized bed took up most of the space and was made with near military precision with an olive green bedspread. The pillows were neatly fluffed and the sheet tucked crisply over the top.

The bed on one side was pushed up against the large window with its blinds tilted almost fully closed. Without opening them, you peered between the slats but given the darkness outside you couldn’t see much of anything.

The side of the bed that wasn’t cast against the wall had a nightstand next to it with another six or seven books piled up on it, almost entirely obscuring an old alarm clock.

There was a wardrobe in one corner which you pushed forward to and swung open its double doors.

Most of the clothes were reminiscent of what you’d seen him wear today: various cuts of jeans in different washes, multiple plain t-shirts in a variety of colours, several more denim shirts in both blue and black and an array of flannel shirts in all kinds of colours.

Rifling through them a little, you did come across something more curious.

At the back of the closet hung several knitted sweater vests, a couple of crisp button downs and two pairs of black slacks. You found them to be out of place in this man’s closet, and given their proximity, hidden away at the back you found it a little strange.

There was something soft and plush on the floor, kicked towards the back but you ignored it. Shaking your head you closed the closet and turned back into the room.

On the other wall was a desk with a small stool tucked underneath. On the desk was yet another stack of books - you didn’t peg a cowboy to be as big of a reader - and two framed photographs.

The photographs were the only personal touch in the place. You picked up the first one and studied it. The man in the image was most certainly the injured cowboy but he looked to be at least ten years younger you would surmise.

His hair was a little shorter, still messy and curly. He had his arms wrapped around an older woman with short white hair you could only hazard to guess was his mother. It was just a head and shoulders shot but you could vaguely make out he seemed to be wearing a sweater vest similar to one in his closet.

The other photograph was of a group of eight people, four men and four women. Spencer was in the middle, one arm slung around the shoulders of a blonde woman dressed in bright, garish colours with thick rimmed glasses and his other around the shoulders of an older man with grey hair and a grey beard.

Aside from the grey haired man, they all looked to be around a similar age, and they were all smiling brightly at the camera. In this picture you could see Spencer was wearing a pale pink button down, tie and black slacks. It looked to be fairly recently, maybe no more than a few years old.

You scanned the faces and your eyes narrowed on the man on the end who had a large goofy smile on his face and an arm slung around the shoulder of a woman with raven hair.

He was latino, with jet black hair swept off of his face. His large dark eyes were expressive and his smile reached all the way to them. You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, brow furrowing as you took in the details of his face.

There was something about him that caused a knot to form in your stomach but you couldn’t place it, couldn’t put a name to what you were feeling.

Shaking your head again and replacing the photo on the desk you glanced around again.

It was clear he lived here alone. There were no feminine touches, nothing to point to the idea that he shared his home with someone else, woman or man. The bed even dipped a little on one side, a clear indicator that it was only slept in by one person.

You carried on through to the bathroom but it wasn’t until you started going through his medicine cabinet that you realised what an invasion of privacy this was.

This man had been nice enough to give you a place to stay for the night when you’d been belligerent. He’d offered you his home while he was in hospital and you were repaying him by snooping in his life.

And now you stood in his bathroom with a half empty orange pill bottle, the label of which read Paroxetine.

Returning it to the cabinet and closing it, you couldn’t ignore the curiosity that was pulsing through you and without really meaning to, you pulled out your phone and googled it.

Paroxetine - Brand Name: Seroxat - is a type of antidepressant known as a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI). It’s often used to treat depression, and sometimes obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), panic attacks, anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

You read the words in your head, hand gripping the phone tightening. Now you felt guilty. You should not have been rummaging through his things like this, unearthing secrets about a man you barely knew.

But now you did know he suffered from some kind of mental health issue and you would have to see him again and pretend you knew nothing of it. You couldn’t imagine living out here on his own like this was helpful to his mental health. But it wasn’t your problem, not your concern.

You forced yourself to leave after that, the guilt clutching at your chest for snooping in the first place. You grabbed the keys to the spare lodge, switched the lights off and exited this stranger's home.

You stepped out onto the porch but before you could get too far you lowered yourself to the top step. Your firearm which was still tucked into the back of your pants shifted a little as you did so.

You pulled out a packet of cigarettes from inside of your jacket. You weren’t a regular smoker but on occasion you enjoyed the relief that came with having one.

You lit one and took a long drag on it, staring out at the quiet expanse of land rolling out into the darkness.

This was so far removed from anything you’d ever known, this way of living was so out of the realms of normal to you.

You’d been born and raised in the city, surrounded by people and tall buildings and a constant swell of traffic on the roads. Your life was always bright and loud, chaotic in a sense. But this place brought about a certain peace.

You watched the smoke dance up into the still air and as you followed it, your eyes landed on the sky. Out here, away from all the light pollution of the big city, you had an uninhibited view of the stars.

You felt your chest tighten in a kind of whimsy. You’d never experienced the sky in such a way, unhindered, uncensored. You’d never had a chance to just sit and watch the sky, take in the beautiful pin pricks of light that decorated the dark blanket above you.

It was so quiet. The only sounds you could discern were the tiny crackle of the cigarette paper as you took a drag and the occasional snuffle coming from one of the horses in the stable.

In a sense, you could understand why people choose to live like this. It was tranquil, soothing. You almost felt yourself cleansed as you sat there.

Maybe you could put Mexico on the back burner. Perhaps this place was the perfect haven for you to remain hidden away and maybe you’d even get some clarity and peace of mind while you did so.

That was to say, if Spencer was okay with you hanging around. He seemed to be a loner type, living out here alone with his horses and cattle. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate an uninvited guest.

But you had saved his life in a sense, didn’t he owe you?

Being out here in this sleepy sanctuary, the quiet and the pull of nature were only part of the appeal. The injured cowboy who had opened his home to you was not at all hard on the eyes, quite the opposite in fact.

And on top of that he intrigued you. There was something in his eyes when he looked at you that told you he’d seen some things. There was a slight crack in his foundation, a chink in his armour which was further proven looking around his home.

There was a reason someone had such few personal items, causes for a person to live so far off the grid like this.

You dragged on the cigarette as your brows furrowed in contemplation. Perhaps he was running from something just as you were. Maybe the two of you weren’t so different.

He most certainly had a story to tell and for some reason, unbeknownst to you, you wanted to hear it. You wanted to bury yourself deep in the tale of this lonely cowboy by the name of Spencer Reid.

You finished the cigarette and dropped it to the floor before descending the stairs and stamping it out with the heel of your sneaker. Returning to your car you popped the trunk and grabbed out the small duffel bag before heading back up past the stable to the other near identical lodge.

Somehow this one was even more sparsely decorated than his own. There was a single couch, no coffee table and no bookshelves bursting at the seams. The kitchen layout was identical minus the microwave and upon further inspection the fridge was empty and unplugged from the wall.

The bedroom had a small double bed, but much like his own it was made with precision. This one wasn’t pushed up against the window like his own but in the centre of the room. There were no nightstands, no desk, just a small chest of drawers in the corner.

You dumped your duffle bag on the bed and kicked off your sneakers before padding through to the bathroom. As he said there were clean towels hanging on the back of the door. It only occurred to you then that you’d been driving for days and hadn’t showered since the day you jumped in a car and left everything behind.

Making quick work of stripping out of your clothes, setting your gun down next to the sink and switching on the shower, you were soon standing under the flow of warm water. You inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling the breath through your nose as the water coursed around you.

The water pressure left a lot to be desired but it was a decent temperature and it would at least clean you. There were little bottles of what appeared to be hotel shampoos and body wash lining the bathtub which you helped yourself to.

You washed your hair before turning your attention to your body and cleaning yourself thoroughly after days spent inside your car. You massaged the aching muscles of your neck and shoulders, lathering up the body wash as you did so. You stretched your back and your limbs, only really now taking heed of how sore you were from being confined to your vehicle for so many hours.

You supposed you couldn’t complain, imagining what Spencer was going through in the hospital.

You finished your shower and got dried before changing into a pair of shorts and tank top from your duffel bag. You carefully untucked the sheet from one side of the bed and slid beneath it.

Your eyes closed as soon as your head hit the soft pillow. You sunk into the mattress, the smell of clean linen wafting around you.

You were asleep within minutes of crawling into the strange bed.

***

Given the late hour in which he’d been admitted, as Spencer suspected he was required to spend the night in the hospital.

He was taken for x-rays of his knee, back and arm and pumped with fluids via an IV to combat his dehydration.

It had grown awkward rather quickly when a nurse tried to offer him something for his pain and he’d had to explain that he didn’t take opioids without actually having to explain why.

The pain was manageable at least in comparison to some other times he’d landed himself in hospital. But if he could refuse morphine after being shot in the neck, shot in the knee and whilst suffering from anthrax poisoning, he could go without now.

He accepted a couple of Tylenol to help him rest while he awaited the results of the x-rays and honestly it did help. It eased the aching in his back and the pain in his extremities enough for him to close his eyes and drift a little, although he didn’t quite reach the allusive REM stages sleep.

With his mind more at ease he was consumed by thoughts of you, the stranger that had saved him from being eaten alive by desert critters and potentially his own animal companion.

It was only really now he allowed himself to dwell on just how breathtaking you were. He’d told you he thought you were pretty, but that was doing you a disservice.

It had been more years than Spencer could count since he’d last been so taken by another person. His history when it came to physicality or matters of the heart was painfully thin, more a pamphlet than book.

Ethan had been the first person he’d ever had romantic feelings towards when he was just a teenager. It was also with Ethan that he’d first explored sexually.

Up until his kiss with Lila Archer in her pool he’d assumed himself to be only interested in men. She was the first woman he’d ever been attracted to and their kiss had certainly sparked something within him.

Years later, after Gideon left, after his battle with dilaudid, somewhere between accusing his father of murder and getting shot in the knee, he reconnected with her during the course of another case in LA. After a few drinks and some not-so-subtle flirting on her part, he found himself in her bed.

She was the first woman he’d been with sexually and still to this day there was only one other woman he’d been with in that way. After Maeve’s death he’d been in a bad way and had ended up in the bed of a woman he met in a bar. It was nice, maybe more perfunctory than anything, but then again he’d felt the same with Lila.

He was certainly attracted to both of the women and had been towards other women over the years - he’d thought Elle Greenaway to be beautiful and as much as he hated to admit it Cat Adams had a certain allure. And of course there had been Maeve, who he’d been consumed by without even seeing her face.

He often wondered if they’d had a chance to meet if their intimacy would have been different, perhaps because they had a deeper attachment with one another. But in his limited experience he’d never quite connected to a woman the same way he did with men.

Again, it wasn’t to say he had a wealth of experience with the same sex either. After Ethan there was a long gap in Spencer’s sexual history, the next time he was with another man was long after Lila. It was a casual thing, he supposed it was a booty call kind of arrangement that never really did sit right with Spencer, yet he continued it for almost half a year.

And then more recently he’d been involved in something more serious with a man for the first time. They’d started dating prior to his arrest and the relationship had continued after his release.

However, Spencer’s time spent on the inside had driven him into the dark recesses of the human mind. What he’d experienced in prison caused him to view sex and intimacy in a different light.

Even after months of therapy and medication being prescribed, Spencer was unable to allow himself to be intimate with his boyfriend and as such the relationship had ultimately ended. They managed to remain friends, more out of necessity than a true desire to do so, but things had never been the same.

Since his incarceration, the idea of relationships of a physical or emotional variety, regardless of gender, had been off the table for Spencer. Part of the appeal of moving out to Bandera in the middle of nowhere was the social isolation.

For years he’d been content on his own, not happy but honestly he wasn't sure he’d ever really been happy per se. But it was entirely probable, if he allowed himself to dwell on it, that he was incredibly lonely.

Since moving to Bandera two years ago he’d barely had any interaction with anyone, let alone anything meaningful. He went to the store once a week for groceries and exchanged pleasantries with the kindly elderly lady that worked the check out line. He had encounters with other ranchers in town when he saw them, mostly conversations pertaining to cattle rearing and farming.

He spoke to the old members of his team on the phone from time to time although the longer he was gone, they calls became few and far between. Penelope called him more than the others, usually once every few weeks and they would spend a good amount of time talking about everything and anything. Jennifer called once a month, sometimes there was longer between the calls and Emily and Rossi phoned him once in a blue moon.

He had the rare text exchange with Matt and Tara and, even less frequently Luke, but it had been a long time since he’d heard any of their voices.

So for the most part, he was alone, his horses and cattle his only company. But that had been by design, Spencer intentionally shut himself off from the world to save any further disappointment in his life or the having to explain why he was such a damn basket case to anyone.

And then you appeared on the side of that abandoned stretch of road and saved him from uncertain death. You had ignited something in Spencer he thought had long ago been burned out. And now maybe the idea of being alone didn’t appeal to him quite so much anymore.

But of course he inevitably would be. You’d made it clear that you were in a hurry to get somewhere and certainly wouldn’t be sticking around longer than you had to. Perhaps it was for the best, he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of sharing his neuroticism with you.

He was awoken from his drifting by a young doctor with friendly eyes. She introduced herself as Doctor Rhodes and offered Spencer a cup of water which he gratefully took despite his IV fluid intake earlier.

She had a folder under her arm which she opened now, he could see the x-rays peeking out from within.

“You should consider yourself very lucky, Mister Reid.” She began.

There was a time when Spencer would have corrected her misuse of his title but since relocating to Texas he’d left his honorific behind in an attempt to feel more normal.

Internally he was screaming, Doctor Reid, it’s Doctor Reid, not Mister! Externally he remained silent.

“The swelling in your knee is already subsiding and it doesn’t appear that you’ve done any muscle or tissue damage. It may be sore for a few days, but it should get better over time. Your spinal x-rays didn’t show any damage either, the radiologist did note some bruising on your lower back but again the pain should ease up.” She informed him with a smile.

“Thanks, it’s easing up already a little.” He nodded stiffly.

“As for your arm, you have a hairline fracture in both your ulna and radius at the farthest distal end of the bones.” She held up an x-ray of his left arm and Spencer squinted, making out the small area in which his arm had broken thanks to the wild horse. “Again, this is a very favourable outcome, I see a lot of injuries of this nature due to the number of rodeos and ranches nearby and I have to say this is very minor in comparison to what could have happened.”

“Okay, that’s good.” He nodded again. “So, what, I need a cast or something?”

“Had it been more severe you may have needed surgery to fix the brake but in this instance a cast should suffice. I imagine six weeks in a cast at most and you should be good to go, Mister Reid.”

Doctor, Doctor Reid.

“Can I still ride? I don’t have any other form of transport other than my horses.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“That would really depend on how competent of a rider you are. If you think you’re safe to ride one handed then that’s really your call. I would suggest, given the fall and the residual pain you might be feeling in your patella and lumbar, to give it at least a few days before you attempt to get back in the saddle, literally.” She chuckled at her own bad pun.

Spencer’s own lip quirked a little at the corner.

“Okay super.” Spencer nodded.

“I’ll send in a nurse to get your arm set and then I don’t foresee any reason you can’t be discharged. I’ll write you a script for some more Tylenol,” she glanced at her notes with a small brow furrow. “I understand you turned down anything stronger?”

“I, uh, I have a history with opioids. I’d rather not go into it.” He shrunk down a little in the bed. He didn’t need to go further into detail, it was clear what he meant.

Doctor Rhodes offered him a slightly melancholy smile and a nod of her head, closing the folder and slotting it back under her arm.

“Say no more. I’ll send a nurse in as soon as possible and then barring any complications you should be able to go home.”

“What time is it?” He frowned. He’d lost all sense of time, had no idea how long he’d been drifting on the cusp of sleep for.

Doctor Rhodes raised her left arm, shirked her lab coat out of the way and checked her watch.

“A little after six am.” She spoke as she glanced back at him.

“Oh man,” Spencer pulled a face feeling suddenly disorientated. “I had no idea I closed my eyes for so long.”

“Dehydration can have that effect. You should be feeling much better now we’ve pumped you full of fluids.” Rhodes smiled once more, giving a brisk nod of her head before turning on her heels. “I don’t want to see you back here after another botched animal rescue okay?”

Spencer chuckled lightly to himself, nestling his head back against the pillows.

“I make no promises.” He yawned as he spoke.

A small titter met his ears and seconds later Doctor Rhodes was gone.

***

You were rudely awoken from an extremely peaceful night’s sleep in a ridiculously comfy bed by the sound of your phone ringing.

You had to drag yourself out from between the soft sheets to locate your jeans where your phone was cradled in the pocket.

You pulled your legs under your body on the cool hardwood floor and blinked a few times at the device before answering the call.

“H-hello?” You croaked, eyes heavy with sleep and your head spinning in unfamiliarity.

“Miss Parker?” A female voice assaulted your ears.

You frowned, closing one eye and inhaling deeply.

“Uh…sorry I think you have the wrong number.” You grumbled, rubbing at your forehead to ease the confusion.

Light swarmed the room through open blinds and you took in the neutral decor trying to ascertain where you were. The last few days had been a blur, you couldn’t quite bring to memory where you’d ended up.

“Oh…” the confusion was evident down the phone. “My apologies. I have you listed as an emergency contact on a patient discharge form.”

Emergency contact? Discharge form? What was she…oh…oh!

“Oh right, sorry, yes!” Your brain started to lift from the fog that was surrounding it. “Cowboy dude, uh, Sp…Spencer?”

“You do know Mister Reid?” The voice sounded even more befuddled.

“Yes, yes, good friend of mine.” You lied. “Sorry I just woke up, I’m a little disoriented. Has he been discharged?”

“He’s just filling out his discharge papers and said you would be collecting him.”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded sleepily. “Uh…what hospital is he in?”

There was a short stretch of silence, you ran your free hand through your hair while you waited for confirmation.

“University Health in San Antonio.” The voice replied.

Right, no help at all.

“I’ll, uh, be there as soon as I can.” You nodded again, mostly to yourself.

“Very well.” The clipped female voice replied. “I will have him wait in the main lobby once he’s completed his paperwork, Miss Parker.”

Soon after the woman hung up and you dropped your cell phone to your lap. You rubbed your eyes and stretched out your legs.

Signing a fake name on the patient form last night had been a force of habit. You were trying to run away, trying to fly under the radar and it would have been a potentially disastrous oversight had you given the EMT’s your real name. Giving over your phone number had been risky enough, but hopefully not damning.

You picked the phone back up and almost googled the hospital for its address before cursing under your breath. You couldn’t risk leaving an internet paper trail, even though you doubted it would put you in harm's way, it wasn’t worth it. Hopefully you could find the route the good old fashioned way, with the use of the paper map in your car.

Pushing yourself back up to your feet you remembered Spencer mentioning the nearest hospital being about forty five miles away and you groaned to yourself. You’d appreciated the decent night’s sleep you’d gotten but at what cost?

You found your duffle bag and dressed in clean underwear, the same black jeans you’d been wearing yesterday, a clean tank top under an oversized blue and black checked sweatshirt. You collected up your belongings, firearm and Spencer’s keys included, before padding your way to the door.

You grabbed a quick glass of water before leaving the lodge, wondering if you may entertain the idea of staying another night in this safe haven or if you would never step foot inside that cabin again. You locked the door behind you and took the steps down, bag slung over your arm.

You exchanged his keys for your car key and drew a cigarette from its packet as you walked. You opened the car and dumped the bag on the backseat, returning your firearm to the glove compartment and starting the engine.

You lit the cigarette cradled between your lips whilst rolling down the window, picking up the map from the passenger's seat and scrutinising it. Holding the cigarette out the open window, your other hand drew a path on the map towards your destination.

It was a good job you had a decent sense of direction otherwise this would have been made impossible without a GPS system.

You tossed the map aside and took a drag on the cigarette as you cranked up the radio. You slid the car into reverse and turned around until you were facing the dirt road that led out of Spencer’s ranch.

Once you hit the road you slammed your foot on the accelerator and sped along through the isolated desert with your hand out the window and the breeze ruffling your hair.

***

Spencer limped almost comically towards the open car door whilst you leant against the side of the vehicle offering no help whatsoever. His purple casted arm was cradled against his dirty t-shirt.

“Probably should have asked you to bring me some clean clothes.” He grumbled, noticing you eyeing his dusty attire.

“Hmm so you could further exploit the kindness of a stranger?” Your lip twitched into a small smirk.

“Oh I’m sorry, did you not enjoy spending a free night at my ranch?” He scoffed, hobbling closer and wincing a little as he did so.

“Eh, it was okay.” You held open the door for him.

Spencer rolled his eyes and slowly lowered himself into the passenger seat, trying to avoid putting any unnecessary weight on his sore knee. He groaned as he swung his legs inside.

You closed the door behind him before rounding the car to the driver’s side and quickly starting the engine. Spencer removed his stetson and laid it in his lap, cradling his arm closer to his chest.

Soon you were pulling away from the front of the hospital and heading back towards the memorised route.

“So, broken arm, huh?” You asked as you drove, sending him a sidelong glance.

“Apparently I was lucky. Don’t feel very lucky if I’m honest.” He grumbled again.

“You’ll be fine, big tough cowboy, like you.” You smirked to yourself.

“Big and tough?” He turned his head to face you. “I can categorically say no one has ever referred to me as big and tough.”

“I thought it kinda went with the territory. Rangling cattle, riding horses.” You teased in a fake southern drawl.

“Hmm.” He simply responded, clearly unamused. “So you’re names Elizabeth? Elizabeth Parker? I saw it on the intake form.”

“Indeed.” You nodded, keeping your eyes focused on the road.

“Huh.” He mused, narrowing his eyes on you.

“What?” Your forehead pinched into a frown.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Just heard that name before.”

“I’m sure it's a very common name.” You shrugged.

His gaze on the side of your face was making you feel a little uncomfortable and you tried to ignore it but his eyes bore into you heavily. You gripped the wheel tightly, hearing him shift slightly in his seat.

“You know where I think I‘ve heard it?” His tone held a thinly veiled hint of amusement.

“Where?” You sighed in frustration.

“Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Elizabeth Parker of Bonnie and Clyde fame.” He noticed the way your back straightened in your chair, how your grip tightened on the wheel.

You huffed out a breath and rolled your eyes.

“Fine, you caught me. My name is not Elizabeth Parker.” You confessed in a slightly irked tone.

“So what is it?”

“Does it really matter?” You grumbled.

“Well, seeing as you know my name and you’ve stayed at my ranch, it would be nice to know your name.” He shrugged, shifting again in his seat and struggling to find a position that didn’t ache his back.

“Y/N.” You spoke under your breath, half hoping he wouldn’t hear you over the radio.

He did.

“Y/N…?”

“Just Y/N. Consider me like Cher or Madonna. No last name.” You murmured.

To your surprise, Spencer chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He brushed his hair back off of his face with his good hand and sat back against the chair.

“Okay, Y/N. I guess it’s nice to meet you. And I suppose a thank you is in order, seeing how you kinda sorta saved my life.” His laughter subsided and he glanced at you seriously.

You offered him a brief look before focusing back out the windshield, your lip tugging a little at the corner.

“Kinda sorta?” You cocked an eyebrow. “Dude, I totally saved your life. You’re forever indebted to me now.”

Spencer smiled to himself, the sound of your laugh alleviating his pain momentarily. He turned his attention out of the window as you sped down the road. He wouldn’t at all mind the idea of that, he’d take any excuse to keep you close.

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @measure-in-pain @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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h0nkch0c0late · 7 months

Text

Tommy Slater

The long awaited last part is here!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part four (you're here!)]

Summary: Y/n and the group finally come face to face with the Shadyside killers and Nick.

Warnings: blood, death, it's the endgame now, swearing, Y/n being a badass, grief finally ends, angst

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Then, the bells that Ziggy hung up on the entrance doors rang out, indicating that someone had entered, causing the three to scamper away to a nearby counter, hiding behind it and going absolutely silent, the only thing they could hear was their own breathing.

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Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she tried to block out the pounding noise of her heart from her ears, adrenaline pumping through her like a drug as she prepared herself for what was going to happen next.

She knew exactly what she wanted to do to nick. She wanted to make him suffer, make him feel the same pain she felt when she lost her boyfriend and her best friends.

But that wasn't the plan that she, Ziggy, and the teens had planned and she knew that. And as much as she wanted to, she couldn't stray from it.

So she sat there, nerf gun full of Deena's watered down blood still in her hands, clutched tightly to her chest as she waited for the perfect moment.

"I don't see anyone." Deena whispers, gasping.

Josh's eyes widen, furiously tapping Deena, gaining the attention of the two women, "I see Martin and Ziggy!"

Y/n eyes Ziggy and Martin carefully as they run across the mall to their desired location, hiding behind a wall.

Y/n flinched as a voice rang out, catching Ziggy and Martin, "Police! Hands up! Hands up!"

As Martin and Ziggy's voices merge together as they both frantically try to explain the situation (well, Ziggy was, Martin was trying to get him to leave), the police man scoffs as he realizes the man in front of him was Martin.

Meanwhile, there was another police man, his radio going off.

Y/n could hear it, clear as day, as he began to creep closer to the three. Whilst Josh and Deena were looking one way, she was looking the other, spotting the flashlight before the man stopped in front of them, frantically telling them to freeze as Deena and Josh turned around.

All three of them put their hands up in defense, waterguns still in their hands.

"I got three more over here!" He yelled, most likely to his partner (obviously).

Y/n was calm, well, minus the frantically beating heart due to the current situation they were in that involved them ALL dying.

"Drop your weapon!" He yelled at them, pointing his gun towards them.

"Sir, if you could just let us explain-" Y/n tried, but he ignored her, continuing to tell them to drop their weapons.

Making final glances at the two kids with a nod, they put their waterguns down in sync, keeping one of their hands up in the process.

"Slide it to me." He ordered, to which they did immediately.

Everything was stopped when they heard screaming from the direction of Ziggy and Martin, and the other police man began to run in their direction, leaving the other three behind.

The culprit of the murder was the Milkman, and he had just killed the other police officer as Y/n, Josh, and Deena ran to their next place for the next phase of their plan.

Once Deena told Josh to be careful, Y/n returned the gesture to the girl before splitting up, Y/n making her way to her own door.

This entire time, she hadn't taken a single breath, her eyes moving between the different places of Ziggy, Josh, and Martin. She hoped that nothing would go wrong, but something in her gut told her otherwise.

She eyed the killer tbay was going towards her door, it was Ruby Lane.

And, just like clockwork, each door went down, trapping their individual dead serial killers, tying the ropes, and running.

When Y/n looked over to Ziggy, she quickly noticed the door that didn't close all the way.

Her eyes widened when she realized which one Ziggy was dealing with, and quickly ran over to help her.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Y/n mumbled under her breath as she began to tug and pull at the door along with Ziggy. They finally got it down just as The Nightwing Killer got there, hitting the shutters.

Ziggy ran almost immediately, but Y/n couldn't help but stand there, staring at the dead man with a bag over his head.

The man she used to call her lover. The man whose name used to be Tommy Slater. The guy who used to be sweet and caring, and wouldn't hurt a soul. Turned into a ruthless serial killer all because of Nick Goode.

Part of her was tempted to reach inside, thinking that if she just touched him, maybe something like a miracle would happen, and her Tommy would come back to her.

But that wasn't the case, and she knew it. Her Tommy was gone. Dead. Thrown away. Replaced by a soulless dead murderer.

So, she tore her eyes away, finally deciding to run and join Ziggy.

As she caught up to the redhead, Ziggy noticed the distant look in her eyes, "Hey, are you alright?" She whispered.

Y/n shakes the thoughts of Tommy out of her head and looks towards Ziggy, "Other than the fact we're dealing with multiple dead serial killers due to Goode and his bloodline? Yeah, I'm fine." She sighed.

Ziggy knew better, but she didn't pry. She knew exactly what was on Y/n's mind, and she felt horrible.

All those years, blaming the witch, blaming Tommy for her sister's death, when all along it was the man she thought she could trust.

What she didn't think about was the pain that Y/n had been all these years. What Nick had done to her by turning her boyfriend into a monster. All these years not blaming her, but resenting her. Having conversations over the phone like none of it happened and then suddenly not talking at all.

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

"How many is that?" Deena asked her brother, along with him replying as Ziggy and Y/n entered.

"Five." Y/n responded simply.

"We have five." Ziggy followed.

"Skull mask,"

"Nightwing."

"Ruby."

As they continued to talk, Martin quickly shushed them with a series of loud "Yo"'s.

"Why'd it get so quiet?" He asked, eyes wide.

They all looked at each other before abruptly standing up, staring over the counter of the pizza place, looking towards the tree in the middle of the mall.

As they all hid behind the counter again, Ziggy began to breathe heavily, "it's him."

"You don't have to do this." Deena informed the woman, Y/n butting in with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Not alone, at least. I can go with you." She told, a reassuring glint in her eyes.

But Ziggy knew better. She knew that if Y/n were to go with her, she would deviate from the plan, make things worse.

Ziggy's eyes moved to Deena, "Yes, I do." She then looked to Y/n, "and no, you're not going with me. You know that's a horrible idea."

She then stood up and crawled over the counter, Y/n tempted to follow her, but Deena held her back as they all watched.

"Mount up." Deena asserted, getting up and going to her place, Sam grunting in zombie-like anger.

For a moment, Y/n had almost forgotten Sam was there, and one by one, the group began to disperse into their places.

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

Well, the plan was completely fucked anyways. No fault of Ziggy, or Y/n, or anyone.

Nick now had Ziggy in his grasp, threatening Deena to get the killers away from him as they began to surround him, pointing his gun towards them, though he knew it was pointless.

The only reason the plan was fucked was because he got a hold of Ziggy, but that was quickly dealt with when Nick was stabbed in the back by Skull Mask.

Then, the Milkman had managed to grab Ziggy as she was running away, due to the fact that she now had Deena's blood on her.

Y/n's eyes widened as Josh pointed out the obvious reason to Deena, telling her that her blood got on the redhead.

"Shit!" Y/n cursed as Deena rushed over to help.

Before she knew it, Deena was cutting open her palm, causing a distraction for the monsters to come get her.

Unfortunately, that meant that Skull Mask's attention was ripped away from Nick, which let the horrid man escape.

"Deena!" Y/n yelled, "go after him!"

Josh was also yelling at his sister to go after Goode, "we got him!"

As Deena ran towards Nick's direction, the other three went into a random store, Ziggy throwing her shirt towards the grifter, who was getting closer to them as they closed the shutters.

As much as Y/n was trying to be brave, she could feel her entire body vibrating with fear as she watched the killers closing in.

"Ok," Martin began, "we need a plan B, like, now."

He said as they watched the Grifter pick up the bloody shirt.

"No." Josh said, "we just need more plan A!"

Y/n's eyes followed the Nightwing Killer. If more of the "Plan A" was that they all ran out there and distracted the separate serial killers more, she knew which one she was gonna go after.

Half of her was worried about Deena. She was alone down there with Goode, and with the lack of Ruby Lane being seen now, she was terrified that the dead girl would be going after the very much alive girl.

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

As they all ran out and reached for their waterguns, they each chose a serial killer to spray.

The grifter, by Ziggy, Skull Mask by Josh, Milkman by Martin, and the Nightwing Killer by Y/n.

They all hid in another store, hiding behind the window as they huddled together.

"I got that creepy perv motherfucker in the bullseye." Martin smirked. "This is gonna work, right?" He said slightly more worried as the milk man was walking towards them.

Before they knew it, Milkman was getting thrown by Grifter, then the Grifter was attacked by Tom-Nightwing, who was getting attacked by Skull Mask.

The group stood up, looking at the fight with wide eyes as Nightwing's axe was flung to the front of the window they were at.

The plan was working. They were killing each other.

"Guys?" Josh uttered, staring at deathly Sam running in the direction of where Deena and Nick had gone.

Ziggy and Y/n looked at him as he spoke again, "we lost Sam."

"Oh. Fuck." Y/n replied as they watched the doors close.

---------------------------------‐-------------------------

"Right now they're dead, but that's not gonna last. We don't have a lot of time. We have to get ready to fight." Josh ranted as he opened the shutter door.

"Wait." Ziggy said, pulling Josh back, "what is that?"

Y/n swore for the millionth time that night as she looked in the direction of where Ziggy was looking. There, walking and banging his baseball bat against the ground, was Billy Barker. Another dead serial killer. Great.

He then began to bang on the candy machines, and suddenly they heard Ruby Lane's distant singing. She was back.

Y/n was thankful she hadn't gone after Deena after all.

"Ok. OK. You know what?" Martin began as he backed up, grabbing his watergun and pumping it, "at least we still have magic blood." He went to spray it, but nothing came out. He sighed, "I'm tapped."

Ziggy and Y/n went after theirs, both trying and failing. "Me too." Ziggy replies.

"Motherfucker. Really?" Y/n groaned as she threw down her empty watergun.

"No, no, no!" Josh began frantically, "we can find other weapons! W-we can use the delivery hallway, outflank them!" He stuttered, "W-We-"

He was cut off my Martin suggesting to wait it out.

"What?" Josh replied in disbelief, "No, no! No, we're too close! Too many people have died, and I'm not letting them take my sister, too! We have to protect her."

Ziggy and Martin looked away from him as Y/n stared, heart breaking at the kid's pleads. He even said please.

Y/n looked around at the other two adults in the room, who seemed to have given up.

She shook her head, taking a deep breath and moving to Josh's side, putting a shaky hand on Josh's shoulder. "The kid's right. We can't give up now. There must be some other thing that we can do to stop them. I'm not letting anyone else die today, not when we're so close to the finish line. So, either you help come up with an idea, or you stay here like cowards whilst I run out there like an idiot to be a distraction. Your choice."

When the two stayed silent, she made her way out of the store, picking up Tomm-Nightwing's axe and gripping it tightly as Josh and the other two followed her, standing near the store entrance.

She took a deep breath, glancing at Josh and nodding at him before standing up and beginning to walk.

She knew it was stupid. She could get herself killed by doing this, but she had to. Someone had to be the brave adult and sacrifice, and she wasn't about to let Josh do it.

She could see the eagerness in his eyes when she had picked up the axe. She knew that he wanted to yank it from her grasp and do it himself, but she couldn't let that happen. Because if Deena survives, Josh has to as well.

She's not letting another kid grow up without a sibling. She can't stand there and watch helplessly.

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

She spotted Ruby Lane first, her breathing unsteady as her heart began to beat fast in her chest once more, her grip on the axe as tight as can be.

Josh watched, repeating the ultimate cheat code under his breath. Though he had only spent a short time with the woman under deathly circumstances, he wanted her to come out of this alive. After everything she had been through, she deserves a good ending. One where she doesn't have to grieve, or worry, or get angry over.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n swings the axe into Ruby's shoulder, knocking her down and spraying blood everywhere.

She swings again, but misses and hits the wall, giving Ruby a chance to turn around and swing her blade into the woman's side, slicing it and making her cry out.

Ruby had gotten the hold over her, grabbing at her face trying to tear it apart.

Thats when Josh rushed over without a thought, grabbing the abandoned axe and swinging it into Ruby, making her let go of Y/n.

Unfortunately, it meant that Ruby's attention was now on Josh, and she got a hold of him, doing the same thing to her.

She wanted to help him, but Josh yelled at her to run, so holding her side, she began to limp away, forgetting about the discarded axe.

As Josh was yelling "get off of me!" And trying to avoid Ruby's blade with a now injured shoulder, she was shot through the head.

As Ruby fell, Y/n and Josh looked to see Ziggy holding a gun, and Martin beside her.

"That's one." She pointed out.

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

The three were now standing side by side, Y/n holding her side whilst Josh held his shoulder, Ziggy pointing her gun towards the enclosing killers.

Ziggy shot Billy twice, though it had no affect due to his mask being in the way, and as she went for her third shot, all the gun did was click. She was out.

"I'm...that's it!" She cried out, and Billy began walking towards them again, banging his bat against the ground as he did so.

Meanwhile, Ruby was finally getting up, glaring at the group as she slowly raised from the ground.

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

Suddenly, Y/n found herself being tackled by Nightwing, the others distracted by the other serial killers.

She struggled under him, he had his axe back.

As she looked at him, she could see the faint outline of his face from behind the mask, his axe raising to hit her.

She felt herself pleading to him, begging him not to do it, as if he'd listen.

She called him by his name over and over, "Tommy. Tommy please!", "Tommy don't!", "Tommy, this isn't you!"

She knew he couldn't hear her. He was long gone, nothing but a puppet made for Goode's terrible intentions.

But still, she called him by his name. She cried, and screamed, feeling her throat getting raw.

And for a moment, she swore she saw him pause, like for that singular second, her boyfriend had returned.

Or maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her due to the adrenaline and fear running through her veins. Even so, the axe began to swing down.

So, she closed her eyes, waiting for the searing pain of the axe slicing through her flesh, waiting for darkness to swallow her whole for eternity.

But, it never came.

And suddenly, she heard cheering.

As she opened her eyes, Tommy Slater, the Nightwing Killer of '78, was no longer on top of her. And the axe, no longer a threat to her life.

Deena had done it. All of the killers were gone, and so was Nick Goode.

She shot up, slightly disoriented as she looked in the direction of Ziggy, Martin, and Josh.

They all had gigantic grins on their faces as they quickly moved to her, Ziggy helping the woman up and immediately hugging her.

"She did it." Ziggy cried out happily as she gripped onto her old best friend. The girl she relied on when she couldn't rely on her sister all those years ago.

Y/n smiled, hugging the girl back as she pretended she wasn't in a huge amount of pain, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Some part of her felt a tinge of sadness, though, at the thought of never seeing Tommy again.

But the other part of her was relieved. And happy, and that feeling of guilt began to wash away.

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

Y/n entered her home with a sigh of relief, excited about the fact she could finally take a shower after the stressful (and almost deathly) night she had.

As she walked into her room to gather her first aide kit (she didn't want to bother going to the hospital) as well as some new clothes, she spotted the photograph that she had abandoned on her bed.

She smiled as she walked over and picked it up, staring at the blurry photo of Tommy, hugging it close.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, opening them as she exhaled, and walked over to her dresser that was littered with several similar photos from her days at camp.

She placed it between the photo of her, Ziggy, and Cindy, and the photo of her, Alice, and Artie. Completing the collection.

She stepped back, a fond and gentle smile replacing her normal one as she finally looked at them without feeling grief.

As she turned to go dress her wound, she could've sworn she felt something cold touch her shoulder.

She shrugged it off as just blood loss, and closed her bedroom door.

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

YOUVE REACHED THE END!!! YAY!!!

After years of me putting this fic off, it is finally done. And yes, it's a little long, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Also, I'm aware I kinda made Y/n steal Josh's thunder near the end there, but I needed to for plot reasons 😃👍

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and if you'd like to see more of this type of stuff in the future, please please PLEASE like, comment, reblog, and maybe even invade my ask box!

Love you all, bye-bye <3333

@pixla I'm throwing you back into the Fandom I apologize ilysm

#x reader #imagine #fear street #angst #fear street 1666 #tommy slater #fear street 1978 #fear street x reader #tommy slater x reader

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ionlypostmymeemocs · 2 months

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This is what the AU is about!

5 Medics work together they just work just like other Medics. These Medics are very close friends, and they would do anything for each other. Their names were Johnny, Chris, Lane, Dieter, and Eberhard. Johnny was like a big brother to the others and treated them with respect. Chris is a hard worker, and he was the second Medic. He is also known for being strong by his friends. Lane was the third Medic that joined with Johnny and Chris. He was known for being very talkative to others. Dieter is known for being the one who always does the dissecting of the bodies that they always get from Miss Pauling, but he always keeps the skeletons. Eberhard is the caring type of friend and always takes care of his friends when they don't look after themselves.

One day, Chris found a mushroom that he had never seen before, but he grabbed it and wanted to give Johnny because he knew that Johnny's favorite plants were mushrooms. Johnny accepts the gift. Soon, the day became night, and they heard sounds outside of their base. They all went outside because it sounded like an animal, but at the same time, it didn't. What they found behind their base was a deformed dog, and some of its bones were poking out. But it didn't attack them instead it wagged its tail happily and demanded belly rubs. They took the dog in and started to check it out and see how it transformed. But Johnny was the one who wanted to see it first. Meanwhile, the others were trying to make sense of what just happened outside. Chris was the one outside again behind their base to see what was the dog even doing.

He found chewed-up mushrooms, but he soon saw the mushrooms were the same mushrooms that he gave Johnny. And, he started to wonder if the mushrooms were the thing that changed the dog and started to worry. Soon, there was a scream heard from Johnny's lab, and the rest of them started to run toward his lab... They found Johnny, but his body was all contorted, and you could see some of his flesh...

He started to yell! I am in pain... Please don't leave me... The rest were shocked... Chris started to freak out more and yelled, "I-I think it was the mushrooms! I am sorry! I AM SO SORRY!!!"

Everything changed... They found out the mushrooms can also infect people by spraying out spores, and Johnny inhaled... Even Chris inhaled it when he gave him the mushroom... It seems that the transformation works differently for people. Chris was infected, but he was slowly changing... It was hell for him. He first got sick... he started to bleed out of his nose and eyes... His body slowly turned skinny. If you are wondering why the others didn't go out or do anything else. It's because they want to spread the fungus. Unfortunately, Lane and Dieter were infected too because there was the day that they both were Johnny's lab because they both needed something...

Eberhard was the only one who wasn't infected... He found that the only that someone can be infected is by eating or inhaling the mushroom. And if the infected ones bite you. He also found even though if you transform into something... You are still you... You don't act like a mindless monster... He also found out that... There isn't a cure...

Oh! And, they also kept the dog, and Eberhard is the one who takes care of his friends.

#tf2 medic #tf2 #tf2 medic oc #tf2 ocs #team fortress 2 #medic tf2 #medic #tf2 au #tf2 infection au

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autumnrose11 · 9 months

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"For a moment Anne’s heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face. It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

Then the veil dropped again; but the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before. The page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness.

Gilbert wisely said nothing more; but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne’s remembered blush. Four years of earnest, happy work . . . and then the guerdon of a useful knowledge gained and a sweet heart won.

Behind them in the garden the little stone house brooded among the shadows. It was lonely but not forsaken. It had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life; there were to be future summers for the little stone house; meanwhile, it could wait. And over the river in purple durance the echoes bided their time."

~ L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

#I adore the ending #and I remember the first time I read that bit about love blossoming into a friendship #this is the bit where she really turns from girl to woman and ready to fall in love #Gilbert and Anne are such a lovely couple!#Anne of Avonlea #Anne of Green Gables #Anne Shirley #Gilbert Blythe #L.M. Montgomery #favourite books

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space-blue · 2 years

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hi! so, since you write some arcane meta, i was wondering: why didn't sevika betray silco? we've seen that she's been willing to switch sides before (when she betrayed vander), why didn't she with silco? she betrayed vander because he refused to stand up to the enforcers because he cared too much about his kids. when sevika had the opportunity to betray silco, he was acting similarly to vander (refusing to give up jinx, even if it meant not gaining independence), so why didn't she go along with finn?

Hello Anon! Yes, I love interesting meta asks. This is a neat one too actually. Casual warning that this is all my opinion, not necessarily the strict canon, even if I can sound like I'm preaching gospel.

Let me answer the very end question to clarify things up.

I don't think Silco, in the end, is doing what Vander ever did. Not as far as Sevika knows or is concerned. She never gets to know Silco got an offer of peace from Jayce, or that he thinks of refusing for Jinx's sake. He gets abducted before that. At no point does Sevika see Silco give up anything for Jinx, or not take action because of Jinx, the way Vander did.

Quite the contrary: Sevika is tasked by Silco to hunt down and kill Vi when she returns to the Lanes, as we see Sevika come back to the office to report failure. Eventually when Vi is found, Silco goes to see her killed in person. He's proactive and not shy of killing Vander's kids. No other kids are in the equation.

Sevika may hate Jinx, but Jinx works for their cause, no matter how she may dislike it. She's building the bomb, she does take care of the blockade (again, even if Sevika disapproves of her killing Marcus). No one is refusing to hit on Piltover because of anyone else.

Why is Sevika so loyal?

Silco, unlike Vander, is acting out a masterplan. It's also a very different plan from his act I idea of handing out monsterification vials to Zaunites to raid Piltover. We can very easily assume that Sevika, his closest lieutenant and occasional advisor, would know the details of this new plan inside out. Heck, it seems even the Chembarons know what the deal is.

Meanwhile, Vander's goal was to not make any waves and to suppress uprisings from his own people. Sevika, under Vander, was impotent. He was getting in the way of vengeance, and in the way of progress for the cause of Zaun. The fact he did it for his children is irrelevant. He was an unbreakable status quo.

Going to Silco, she finds herself working for someone who has ideas, drive, a ruthless streak she clearly shares. Someone who'll break many eggs for the omelette he feels they've long deserved. Even if it ends up taking years to get there, act II takes great pains to show us how much richer and united Zaun is.

Sevika has clearly been kept busy. She may have serious beef with Jinx, and with Silco's reliance on Jinx, but again, Silco isn't protecting her. He's putting Jinx to work for the cause, even if she shows no signs of caring about it. She isn't being coddled and Silco isn't stalling because of her (though it's an idea I've seen in fanon, in canon we simply don't know what his win conditions are and why he's still faffing about playing the industrialist. We see him bemoan how the hexgates make Piltover leave Zaun "further behind", hinting at the idea he's struggling to catch up to some goal).

So the situation is simply different from Vander.

But then there's also the fact that Sevika clearly knows where she shines. She's a great follower. That's not an insult or a fault. Not everyone is suited for the top dog position. I think Sevika reached the place where she can utilise her skills best, and doesn't have to carry the burden of leadership—and she knows it. Funnily enough she gets on Silco's ass after he gives her a little too much to do lol

Seriously though, regarding Finn. Why didn't she go with him?

Not too hard, I should think : because he's a self-serving idiot without any sense of vision.

He doesn't understand Sevika's loyalty. He appeals to her ego, to her "want" for more, something I think he's 100% projecting and not realising Sevika just… doesn't want more. Finn never mentions the cause. He never talks of Zaun, just of petty power plays.

I think Finn completely misses the fact Sevika is a true believer.

She betrayed Vander when it he wouldn't stand up against Piltover, and then proceeds to be loyal to a fault to the one man whose entire reason for breathing is to create the Free Nation of Zaun. I think Sevika is way more devoted to that cause than she's often made out to be.

And Finn is all bling, all wealth and power and no politics, no brains and no future.

She uses him to remind Silco to stop fucking around (and maybe negotiate a raise lol), but it's clear she's never considered Finn seriously. Worse, she manipulated Finn by making him confident she was on his side. He shows up with his one supporter, and Sevika turns this into a way of cleaning up house. It's a master stroke of multi tasking. Finn was right. She is a scary lady.

I conclusion, I don't think Vander's motivations for doing what he did matter to Sevika at all. I believe she sticks to Silco because she's a true believer who has been doing a lot of satisfying work under him. We have to not forget that act II and III are a glimpse over 3 days of pure crisis, at the end of 5 to 10 years of work where they clearly got along enough to still be working together. And finally, Silco coming so close to getting what he wants is no known, and only Jinx, Vi, and Cait know about Silco wanting to drop the offer for Jinx's sake. Not a thing he even has a chance to do.

Hope that answers it x'D

#Sevika #Arcane #Silco #Vander #Meta #Jinx #arcane meta #anon ask #thanks for the ask!#sevika arcane

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papirouge · 1 year

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the fact that the same rightoid looking down on Black hood gang violence, while enthusiastically entertaining anime/video game celebrating foreign gang culture (Tokyo Revenger, Yakuza gaming serie) is everything you need to know that those people don't have a problem with violence or crime, but rather WHO perpetuates it

To them, Black men with gun will always somehow be a bigger problem than an actual mafia (laundering money, trafficking human, selling drugs...) and I think it says A LOT about what criminality well "branded" can do

The Italians did the same with their own mafia (tbe Godfather trilogy)

On a whole different lane, I think it's the same with women desirability

Stats show that Asian women are the most desirable women transcending all races of men, and I can't help but thinking that generations who grew up with anime & manga has something to do with that. Anime & Manga is a fantastic promotional asset for the East Asian woman. She's shown as submissive, cute, sexually available... It comes off as no surprise that east Asian women are so prized among Millennial and Gen zenners.

And let's not forget Latina women, who got an intensive promotion through the whole romanticism/eroticism of Latin music. It's also interesting how Latina women are elevated for being hot blooded and their "attitude" is sexy...when for the same reason, Black women are looked down and lay at the bottom barrel in term of dating desirability accross other races.

This is not a doom post (lol) but I want to tell every Black woman reading this that none of this comes out of vacuum. Personal branding comes a long way, and that you are not undesirable because of your Blackness.

Never forget that Italians and Japanese managed to promote their most violent criminals as cool and iconic....EVERYTHING can become attractive when properly branded.

Black women just need an actual decent promotion and image boost to grind back to the top.

I should had that men actually have a huge responsibility in that branding : male mangaka are those who pulled out this whole culture elevating a whole myth about the japanese girl, Latino did the same about their women.... But since Black men never bothered doing the same, Black women never got access to the same prerogative.

I think Slavery and Colonization fucked Black men beyond repair , because instead of elevating their own (women), bagging 'other'/lighter women got ingrained into their psyche as a social come up. Meanwhile, Black women are left with dust.

Hence the whole resentment of Black women against Black men preferring non Black women - while being gaslighted about other (non Black) men never wanting to date them. So they're fated to be "faithful" to Black men (by refusing to date out) while Black men don't have any issue with interracial dating.... This situation frustrates A LOT of Black women and it's painful to see.

Our only solace is:

Learning to properly brand ourselves

Open our dating option and stop looking for being accepted by men whose preference is elsewhere

Not paying attention to usual gaslighting (black women are undesirable therefore have to settle down with dusties, etc.)

Get comfortable with the idea of remaining single for a long time because the availability of quality men is getting lower

VET every single potential romantic partner. Don't let anyone approach or touch you without being SURE that both of you have commitment in your mind

#sorry for the random rambling lol #I just had it in my mind #female dating strategy #black feminity #black dating #hypergamy #random thoughts #papi watch

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vegaseatsass · 1 year

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GAP the Series ep 3 thoughts (spoilers!!)

I had a horrible week so I'm deeply grateful to this episode for being so freakingggg delightful.

Laura and I were delighted to realize Sam's candle fetish is about WARDING OFF GHOSTS. She is scared of the dark. It's not a hot girl thing it's an uwu girl thing

It is really refreshing that Mon is just so unflappably secure in her feelings* for Sam! She has this incredibly solid foundation of self-knowledge when it comes to loving her, like knowing her own heart gives her this strength and motivation, not pain or insecurity. Meanwhile we have Sam in the position of authority AND object of infatuation, just flailing around at every corner LOL it's beautiful and really fun. *Her fangirl/devotion feelings at least. I'm v eager to see Mon get more flustered as she realizes these have grown into something else, something new and differently vulnerable. But I love seeing her crush make her nearly invulnerable for the time being.

MON'S PARENTS OH MY GOD. What a sweet counterpart to Sam's terrible grandma. They were so eager to wingman for her, it is maybe the cutest thing I have ever seen in my life??? Lol imagine asking the father of the girl you secretly wanna date for his blessing as like, a dumb crushy injoke w/ yourself to stave off the :( of thinking you can never ask her out, and he's just like YES! YES I GIVE YOU MY BLESSING FOR ANYTHING YOU WANT TO DO WITH MY DAUGHTER SHE LOOOOOOOOVES YOU.

Lol Sam meanwhile of the "Haha you like me! That's soooooo embarrassing for you" school of dumbassery. "Haha you want to come over to my house for the night and sleep in my bed to protect me from ghosts! (Right? Right? WHEW OKAY GOOD) That's soooooo embarrassing for you" But again so incredibly charmed that Mon just seemed delighted to get exposed and teased as Sam's no. 1 fan! She is unbothered moisturized happy in her lane.

Really love that it took one Kirk intervention last week for Mon to be able to decode Sam in any situation. Now she can figure out her ice queen boss wants her to follow her into her bedroom because she's scared of ghosts, without Sam doing more than like. Awkwardly hovering. Like it's funny but it's also really sweet, that understanding Sam as she is now matters so much more to Mon than needing her to be the way she remembered her. This isn't actually a story of Sam falling off Mon's pedestal, but of the two of them liking the real person they get to know more and more and dangerously more.

"Why do you sound like my friends?" maybe the cutest line of the entire episode wtf. Everyone who knows you Sam - really knows you - just wants to tease you!! It is a sign of affection and closeness!! I don't think I'd be able to resist teasing Sam either, not for all the promises of being stepped on or whatever in the world

ok this is way too long so just running through a few last points. You know how there are work spouses, work husbands, etc: Kirk is a work malewife. No I will not elaborate.

Want to read the fic that's just Sam's fantasy of Mon as a sexy spy sent to seduce her and steal her corporate secrets (her corporate secrets of. making a page about cafes....)

Want to see Sam wear more chokers please. Collars under suits! Let's merge the two looks 👀

Ep 1, Ep 2

#gap the series spoilers #gap the series #i actually have even more notes I jotted down but I'm like please girl stop #classic nop though being told to his face that mon is staying over at sam's #and then going what??? why hasn't she come home yet tonight????#truly just ignoring the carefully explained facts that are right in front of his face #for the sake of his own entitled homophobia #also i didn't talk about bad grandma but the fact that sam is carrying around a belief #that disobedience (and deviance) = death #is legit tragic #idk i think they're doing a great job peppering in the backstory of why she is the way she is without hammering in the revelations #the grandma scenes just sort of linger ambiently amid all the cute shit #sam #mon #dear diary

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awakenthemusic · 2 years

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Suptober 2022 Day 6 - Parody

Destiel, Short fic, 1,371 words, Fluff, Humor, Rated T for language

Gabriel's back, Baby! And he won't let Cas and Dean rest until they sort some things out.

Under the cut or on Ao3

Parody

“You wanna remind me why bringing Gabriel back from the empty with us was a good idea?” Dean asked as he decapitated yet another Pattinson-esque sparkly vampire.

Cas shot Dean an annoyed glance as he fought off his own vamp, but didn’t try to defend his brother.

“Seriously,” Dean yelled at the sky, not expecting an answer. “What is the point of this?”

Wings flapped behind Dean as Gabriel suddenly appeared. He pulled a lollipop from his mouth and said, “The point, Deano, is that you two are trapped in this screwball parody of your lives, and you’re going to stay trapped until you work your shit out.”

“What ‘shit’ do you expect us to work out?” Cas asked, complete with air quotes.

Rather than wait for Gabe’s response, Dean growled in frustration and brought his machete down on his neck. The blade bounced harmlessly off with a cartoonish ‘B-Boing’ sound. Because of course it did.

Gabe raised an annoyed eyebrow at Dean and deadpanned, “Really.”

Dean shook the vamp blood off his machete, shrugged, and said, “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Gabe looked thoroughly unimpressed. He sighed and said, “Alright, just because I’m even more bored with this whole mishegoss than you are… Why don’t we cut to the chase.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and Dean immediately found himself behind Baby’s wheel… while doing about 80 miles an hour down the middle of a deserted highway.

Dean swerved and swore before he managed to bring Baby safely back to the middle of her lane. A glance in the rearview showed… Was that a Beverly-Hillbillies-style truck full of werewolves behind them?

Dean exchanged a look with Cas and called out to the whole lotta nothing nearby, “Cut to the chase, Really?”

The radio kicked on and the chorus of "Werewolves of London" blared out of Baby's speakers at full volume. Baby swerved again as Dean tried to block his ears and steer at the same time while Cas dove for the controls.

Cas had just gotten the volume down to a reasonable level when Gabriel suddenly appeared in the back seat and announced like a gameshow host, "This can all be over for the low, low price of digging your heads out of your asses, fellas."

Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as glorious fantasies of wringing Gabe’s neck filled his mind.

Meanwhile, Cas actually growled, then said, “Enough, brother. Just tell us what we have to do to end this.”

Gabe rolled his eyes and muttered what sounded like, “Spoil-sports.” He sighed dramatically and said, “Fine. Everyone knows that the older Winchester is an emotionally constipated wreck, so this is all on you, Cassie. All you have to do is confess your undying love for Deano here and you two can drive happily off into the sunset."

Cas tensed, then turned his face toward the window, but not before Dean caught the flash of pain that crossed his face.

Dean had never felt more like ripping Gabe's intestines out through his nose than he did at that moment. He glared daggers at Gabriel in the rearview mirror and said, “Hey, dickwad. You maybe wanna butt the fuck out of other people’s business?”

Gabriel froze. His mouth dropped open as he stared back and forth between Dean and Cas. The manic playfulness had drained from his face completely as he asked, “You knew?”

Dean glared back, beyond done with dick archangels and their stupid games. He said, "Yeah, so if you'd just let us get back to our lives, that'd be great…"

"Why haven't you said it back?" Gabe demanded.

"What?"

“If Cassie here spilled his guts, then why aren’t the two of you a slobbering pile of feelings, emoting all over each other, Dean?”

Dean felt his face flush all the way down his neck. He spluttered incoherently.

Gabe grinned like a shark sensing blood in the water. He grinned and sing-songed, “Why, oh why haven’t you said it back, Deanie?”

Dean felt his blush deepen as his hands went slick around the steering wheel. He shot back defensively, "Well, maybe if you'd leave us alone for five fucking minutes…"

Gabriel’s eyebrows rocketed upward as Cas spun to face Dean. Dean stared resolutely out the windshield as he blushed so furiously, he felt it burning in his ears. This was not how he'd wanted to do this.

After what felt like a small eternity, Cas breathed out a shocked, "Dean," at the same time that Gabriel said, "Shit," and snapped himself right out of the back seat.

Silence descended over the car like a physical weight. Dean idly noted that Gabe had taken the crazed bunch of hillbilly werewolves with him.

Dean slowed the car to a more reasonable pace but didn’t dare pull over. Dean needed the solidity of Baby's wheel beneath his hands to keep him from shaking apart.

Cas gaped on the seat next to him, clearly struggling to find words.

Shit, Dean should pull over while he said what he needed to say. He pictured the sweet agony of looking Cas in the eye, maybe even holding his hands, while he poured his heart out all over the asphalt. He kept driving.

There were so many things he needed to say, so many feelings Cas deserved to hear him actually say out loud. As usual though, the words became static in his ears and formed a solid mass in his throat.

“I— You— I—” I love you, how fucking hard is it to say three fucking words?!? Dean thumped a fist into the steering wheel and silently cursed his own inability to talk.

Cas whispered gently, “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

The words loosened some of the tension that had gripped Dean’s chest. How did Cas always know what to say? How could he just say things like that and make everything better?

‘Cause he’s not Dean fucking Winchester, that’s how. Most people aren’t all (what did Gabe call it) emotionally-constipated, or whatever.

Damn, he was an idiot. Cas deserved so much better. He deserved someone who could make speeches like the one he’d made to Dean. He deserved someone who could say all the things that Cas needed to hear.

After all these years, Dean couldn’t even tell Cas the one thing that had become such a bedrock foundation for him that the thought of Cas being gone had sent him into a tailspin so bad, he almost hadn’t made it back out.

All Dean needed to do was say three measly little words, words that he should have said a long time ago. All he had to do was open his damn mouth—

Dean gasped as an idea suddenly occurred to him. He yanked the steering wheel over, squealing Baby's tires as he pulled over to the side of the road before he could overthink it.

Dean’s face flushed impossibly warmer as Baby’s engine ticked in the silence. He pried his shaking hands off the steering wheel, stared resolutely out the windshield, and raised his hand toward Cas, clumsy fingers slowly fingerspelling in ASL. “I L O V E Y O U"

All the world fell silent and Dean drowned in it. It mocked his inability to speak. How could such a pitiful excuse for words ever be enough? Cas had poured his heart out to Dean, such amazing words that still resonated behind Dean's sternum. Words that Dean would carry with him for the rest of time. How could his clumsy inability to even speak come anywhere close to meaning the same?

“Dean,” Cas choked and Dean’s eyes flew to Cas’ automatically. He found such love and awe staring back at him that it stole his breath away. Tears stood in Cas’ eyes as he smiled and said, “Thank you, Dean.” No trace of irony or sarcasm tinted the words and the strangeness of the response was just so Cas that Dean laughed in relief.

Somehow it was enough. Somehow the world kept on spinning. Somehow Cas was still by his side.

And maybe somehow, someday, Dean would be able to say the words out loud. He reached out and shyly tangled his fingers with Cas’.

It was enough.

#suptober2022 #suptober22 #destiel #fanfic #fanfiction #spn #supernatural

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ramonahblog · 11 months

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3x10 Superman&Lois Spoilers

Season three, episode ten Superman and Lois spoilers. Also negative about the series except for one scene.

Ironically this was probably the most understandable and reasonable Clark-is-Superman reveal in this show since they moved to Smallville.

But I would not be surprised if it got pushback because it came from three rather unneeded reveals in season two with its terrible “privacy is bad actually” message. Or wonder why Clark didn’t knock him out which would be dangerous but again, this is after three people who didn’t...really need to know nor did the show bother trying to establish that beyond the “privacy is bad actually” message season two ended up with.

Kyle doesn’t need to know either but at least they decided to show exactly why it ends up with him knowing. Like Kyle was not budging, he wasn’t backing down. He was refusing to get off the property. He managed to narrow the suspects down to the Kents meanwhile people were screaming in pain and Clark was trying to get Kyle away. But Kyle was absolutely refusing and people were screaming in pain. The choice was either keep trying to get Kyle to go away, letting a lot of people - one who is Lois Lane - be hurt and killed because Kyle was absolutely refusing. Or fly off in front of Kyle to save the people crying out in pain. No contest, of course Clark is going to choose the latter. Imagine if this had been the first Clark-is-Superman reveal of the show. The absolute twist and shock it would have been near/at the end of the episode. But after three - frankly unneccessary and poorly-done although tbf at least Sarah discovered in the middle of a fight - reveals, it simply doesn’t land. It’s expected, not shocking. Treating it like a twisty cliffhanger doesn’t work when everyone saw the twist coming because you’ve done it three times very clumsily already. Which is a shame because take this scene out in isolation and it’s executed really well. Imagine if this was the first reveal outside the family in the show. The things that could have been.

#superman and lois cw #s&l #spoilers #season three spoilers #3x10 #season three episode ten #negative superman and lois

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a-cats-travels · 1 year

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Name: Xabby

Birthday: February, 23

Gender: Female

Blood type: N/A (It's not blood for starters)

Home: Metaverse (Cyberverse, digital world, etc)

Occupation: Detective?

The beginning

Xabby wasn’t the detective nor a humanoid catgirl. She wasn’t called Xabby either, as her original name was Junko. She was once an ordinary girl with a mother and father and four childhood friends.

She didn’t want to be a detective at first; she wanted to be an actor. The father wants her dreams if it makes her happy, but the mother says otherwise, saying she should be a hero by becoming a detective, not some actress in Hollywood lane. As much as she wants to please them both along with her being afraid of disappointing her mother, she ends up listening to what her mother says. This ends up making her empty in the long run. When her father notices something wrong with her, he tries to set her up with a therapist.

However, the mother canceled the appointment without his consent as she believes having her go to therapy will make the family look weak along with the fact she thinks she’s fine. This resulted in her thinking that she was fine despite what others have said otherwise.

Meanwhile, her childhood friends of her noticed something wrong with her, so they tried to get her to explain what was going on to no avail. They decided to confront her on the school rooftop so they can know what was going on. Sadly, the consent asking if she’s okay, the stress of pleasing her mother all while the implications that her mother was the cause of her being empty has driven her mad, and ended up murdering them. However, she left one injured as she decided to commit suicide while telling her last words to one of them.

The moment she shot herself, all she felt was consent burning and agony. She wants this neverending painful feeling to stop. Since she was focusing on getting rid of the pain she felt, she unintentionally caused The Metaverse Sky Gazing Incident, where she unconsciously caused damage around til she was in too much pain to even move. Unaware to her at that time was a human with cat ears and a tail, who appears to notice the poor girl and rushes to her. They decided to sacrifice their life by using the ring around the tail to ease her pain. It was at this point she lost consciousness.

Cat's first travel

The next thing she knows is that she woke up in the hospital as a catgirl with no memories and has forgotten her name. The doctors nor the nurses have no records of her, mostly due to the fact she didn't come from the metaverse. So, they ended up calling her as patient codename Xabby.

This ended up being her name and once she gets out of the hospital, she ended up deciding to become a detective after she heard about the incident that happened a few weeks ago. During that time, she befriended someone, who used to work with another detective, who sacrificed their life in exchange to save another's life. So, they ended up working together to try and solve the case.

However, as they’re closing in on what caused it, Xabby was about to be killed when her friend she befriended took the bullet and died as a result. The incident has caused her to not befriend anyone as she declares this case, to her, “solved” while others indicate this case has gone cold. Because of the unexpected reactions from everyone, Xabby decided to travel a lot more than a detective should as a detective should stay in one area instead of going to other areas.

Regardless, it's how she copes; to go to other places to see what's out there in the metaverse, while unconsciously expecting someone to help her remember who or what she truly is; an spirit who is eternally burning due to her wanting to died, yet she wanted to live to undo the mistakes she made.

Present Day

Xabby has become a well-known detective in the metaverse. Her agency just so happens to be the house she lives in, which makes sense since her transportation is usually a portal. However, she appears to travel a lot lately and no one knows why. Some theorize that some cases need a detective from elsewhere while others point out that Xabby doesn't talk about her cases. Regardless, her frequent travels are what cause the portal to lead her to places that aren't in the metaverse. This annoys her as she doesn't want to be in places that aren't located in the metaverse. Little did she know, this could change everything for good, or for worse.

Main Verse: The Metaverse This verse is where all fandoms, Fandomless OCS, and OCS can interact with her. The tag is ~》Cats Travels

Xabby lives at the old landlady's house, where she may or may not fuel her love of drinking espresso. However, she appears to travel a lot as a detective. There's a reason why she's been traveling a lot, but no one has been able to find out why. She is also slightly agitated for unknown reasons, but she won't reveal them.

~- Art and VRchat Pictures below the cut. Includes pictures taken from VRChat prior to the model update on January 15th-~

#~》 useful information #~》 xabby

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purekesseltrash · 2 years

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Young and Menace Chapter 3 is out!

Shouta frowned into his noodles, unable to argue with the logic. Silence spread between them again, the ambient sounds of the 7/11 and the sound of rattling wrappers and chewing becoming the background. “Do you remember the time that Oboro called the radio station while you were interning and pretended to be your mom?” He asked, unsure why that thought had come to him then.

Hizashi choked, leaving Shouta to eye him warily but the other man had a grin on his face before taking a swig of his chumai. “Everyone was so fucking confused who he was talking about, ‘My sweet Hizashi is so smart, you must let him have airtime’, everyone was like ‘who the hell is Hizashi?’ Meanwhile I’d been bringing ‘em coffee and shit for months.”

Shouta let out a snort before he returned his focus back to his ramen, taking another bite of the still chewy noodles as Hizashi said, “Remember when he decided that it would be funny to drench the fire portion of the USJ?”

“I thought Sorcerer was going to have a seizure.”

“How was I supposed to know water would ruin it, they told me to figure it out and I did,” Hizashi said, bordering on a painful impression of Oboro’s voice.

Shouta sniffed, clearing his nose from what he told himself was the effect of the spicy broth on his sinuses. Hizashi nudged his knee against Shouta’s, his face surprisingly open when Shouta looked over. “You going down memory lane or something?”

“I always think about him,” Shouta admitted, not seeing the point in trying to downplay it, at least not to Hizashi. Oboro had never left his mind. He wasn’t sure if he ever would. “I don’t know if that’s normal. I don’t really care if it is or not.”

He kept his eyes on his noodles, not reacting to the way that Hizashi sucked in a shaky breath. “I don’t know if it is either,” the normally bombastic man muttered, “but you’re not alone in that one.”

More thoughts under here:

- So I think that mutant quirks in BNHA are really interesting as a way to play with the issue of visible vs invisible disabilites. Both are rough, both are debilitating, no question. But being visibly disabled is really, really goddamned hard. I have Tourette’s but you generally wouldn’t know if you were talking to me, not unless I was tired, stressed or comfortable with you, or a combo of all three. My medication has really helped and my tics are very subtle. This did not used to be the case and let me tell you this very plainly, it is much easier to be able to ‘pass’ as neurotypical than to be visible.

In this chapter in particular, I really like the idea of Shouta having to deal with the fact that, while he has faced quirk discrimination that has legitimately been unfair, he can at least still go into a store and buy a soda without being noticed. I’ve noticed a LOTTTT, especially in fanon, that people tend to really focus on people with difficult/problematic emitter quirks and kinda tend to treat them like the pinnacle of awfulness but uh, they can still hide. (this is also why I lose a lot of patience with Shinsou, both in canon and especially in fanon. Sure he hasn’t had it great but like... he isn’t covering his face because he thinks he’s a monster or looking like the legit embodiment of a villain, dark shadow and all)

- Get ready for lots of bits where I play with how society handles its mutant population and the issues therein. I love thinking about this shit. I LOVE IT, it’s so interesting to me.

- You might be wondering about the ‘seeing sound’ thing. I’ve decided in my head that Hizashi’s parents had these two quirks that, when combined, have created a mutant with a voice quirk and also a weird set of eyes that indicate a visual quirk in his ancestry, while also not expecting that Mic would have a dangerous quirk at birth and not have earplugs in just in case. One parent had a quirk called ‘Subtitle’, which basically makes it so they can see words that are said, kinda like how we can see the ‘YEAAAAAH’ in Mic’s screams and can amp up their voice to a certain extent. The other has a Mimic quirk, a mutant quirk where they can mimic any sound at any frequency, though they never used their power quite to the extent that Mic does. They just think that they can mimic things very well, they had no idea that their power was actually that they had incredibly good control over the sounds that they could make.

- Murcielago is a fun character and I have so much backstory, y’all.

#erasermic #my writing

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years

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HEART'S BLOOD - CHAPTER 31

*Warning: Adult Content*

“Who is this?” Julian Hart demands a cold prickle of fear itching it’s way up his back.

“What have you done to Grace?”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence as if the speaker is considering what to say.

When he continues his voice has a detached, emotionless quality.

“Never mind who I am. We’ll get to know each other, soon enough. As for your friend, she’s not hurt, but that could change though, so I suggest you do as I say.”

Julian’s heart feels like it’s trying to beat out of his chest but his voice sounded strangely calm when he answers.

“I’m listening.”

“Good. Go on down to the street and stay on the phone. No calling for your lover to come and save you. You have one minute. Take longer or disobey me and your pretty friend pays the price.”

“Let me talk to Grace first,” Julian begs. “I want to know she’s alright.”

The voice sighs.

“You need proof? Alright then.”

Julian blood freezes as he hears Grace scream though whether in pain or pain he can not tell.

“Fine. Fine. Don’t hurt her. Please. I’m going.”

“Forty five seconds,” the voice says.

There is no time to do anything but run. In desperation, Julian grabs Dane’s cell-phone from the table, seeing that Agent Marsh is still connected.

He turns the call volume all the way down and stuffs it in his back pocket, hoping that the mic might still pick up something useful and then sprints out the door.

Julian doesn’t even stop to put on shoes.

Racing down the four flights of stairs to the ground level Julian bursts from the building breathless and shaking.

“Okay. I’m outside,” Julian says into his phone.

“Now what?”

“See anyone familiar?

Julian looks up and down the sidewalk but the street is deserted except for a few parked cars.

“No.”

Even as Julian speaks, Ian Foley’s red truck rounds the corner and pulls up beside the curb.

“Yes,” Julian whispers.

“Good. Get in the truck and give Ian the phone.”

Julian walks forward as if in a dream, feeling numb and cold despite the warmth of exertion burning in his chest.

Ian Foley leans over and opens the door for Julian.

“Ian. What are you doing?” Julian says, staring up at him.

Ian Foley shakes his head.

“He’s got my dad, Julie,” Ian says, his voice cracking with strain.

“I have to do as he says or...”

“Give him the phone,” the voice says...

“Or I’ll make her scream again.”

Julian holds out his cell-phone to Ian and he presses it to his ear.

“I’m here,” he says.

“Yeah. I’ve got him.”

Ian beckons to Julian, a pleading look on his face and he has no choice but to climb into the cab and shut the passenger door.

Ian puts the truck into gear and drives away, driving one handed and blinking rapidly through fresh tears.

“I said I’ve got him. I’m coming,” Ian says.

“No, please... that’s not enough time. I can’t...” he cuts off and Julian hears something that sounds like a man’s scream coming faintly through the speaker.

“Okay,” Ian begs.

“I’m bringing him. Please don’t...”

Ian cuts off again this time because the call is disconnected.

Shoulders shaking he lowers his window and before Julian can do anything to stop him, he tosses the cell-phone to it’s doom.

“Ian. We could have used that,” Julian yells, hitting the side if his arm.

“No,” Ian sobs.

“He told me to. He said he’d kill my dad if I don’t listen. He’s already hurt him pretty bad. I can’t...”

“We could have called someone," Julian agues.

“He wouldn’t have known.”

“He said he’d know. I had to toss it or he’d know,” Ian says, shaking his head.

Julian sighs in exasperation.

Julian: ‘Ian is just enough technophobe he probably believe a whole lot about cell-phones that aren’t true.’

Julian decides not to tell Ian about the one he is sitting on and hopes Agent Marsh is still connected and able to hear anything at all through his ass.

Meanwhile Ian is driving fast and reckless cutting across lanes as he makes turns and sailing through red lights like a colour- blind drag-racer.

“Jeez, Ian. Slow down. You’re going to get us killed.”

“I can’t. He only gave me thirty minutes.”

“Getting killed or stopped by the cops isn’t going to get us there any sooner,” Julian argues.

“The cops are busy,” Ian says miserably.

“Another bomb threat.”

“That was this guy?”

“Yeah. Distraction. Only this time it’s real.”

“Shit. Is Grace okay?”

“I think so. Last I saw she wasn’t hurt,” he nods.

Ian swerves through an intersection narrowly missing a head-on collision with another vehicle and guns the engine as they race towards the edge of town.

A chorus of angry horns fades behind them as they go.

Unfortunately, given Ian’s vehicle and appearance, anyone he offends is likely to assume he’s just another drunk red-neck and not a man made irrational and driven with fear.

Julian: ‘Still someone might get his licence plate number and report him and somehow word will be to Dane...’

Thinking of Dane, reminds Julian of Agent Marsh and he tries shifts so the cell-phone in his pocket has a better chance of picking up sound.

“Who is this guy?” Julian asks as they hit the last straight stretch of road before the highway.

A tremor passes over Ian’s body, shivering across his shoulders and down his arms.

“Henry.” Ian says, so quietly Julian almost couldn’t hear.

“He’s my uncle.”

“How can that be? I though...”

As Julian had explained to Agent Marsh, Ian Foley never told the young psychic anything about this fratricidal past.

Then again now is not the time to practice being sensitive.

“I thought your uncle was dead,” Julian finishes bluntly.

“Yeah. Me too.” Ian admits, shaking his head and sniffing.

“I always knew my old man had secrets, stuff he didn’t tell me. I figured he just thought I wasn’t ready to know or was too dumb to understand.I never guessed it was because the family had my psycho uncle locked up this whole time.”

“Locked up?” Julian asks, startled.

Ian Foley nods, recovering a little of his composure

“Yeah. My dad said there was always something wrong with him. He couldn’t shift properly always ending up as some freakish monster, halfway between man and beast.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Julian says, remembering the awful creature he had seen.

“It drove him crazy or crazier. He thought it had to do with power.”

Ian shakes his head.

“The shape you take when you shift had nothing to do with power. I mean my dad is powerful and his shape is a coyote. It’s about who you are on the inside, your true nature, not how powerful you are.”

Ian’s voice goes quiet, as if someone might overhear.

“My dad told me how, this one summer when they were boys, he and Henry were sent up to stay with some cousins in Colorado.”

Ian shutters.

“That family is not like us, Julie. They practice some dark shit up there. Henry got the idea from them that he could get power by eating the heart of the gifted.”

He grimaces with disgust.

“He went mad with the idea, tried to kill a local kid to test the theory. My dad stopped him but there had been too many witnesses for the family to just sweep it under the rug. Still, they ran or controlled enough of the town to get their way in most things. They arranged to cover it up, pay off anyone who had seen more than they should have and agree to keep Henry contained. As far as the rest of the world knew, he was dead.”

By this time they were out of town and heading in the opposite direction of Julian’s house, following the old highway that winds up and over the mountains through endless acres of empty forestland.

It’s a region of high ridges and deep wide valleys, crisscrossed by mazes of old logging trails.

Unless they know where to look nobody will find them out there.

“Okay. So what happened?” Julian prompts, hoping he might say something useful.

Ian shrugs.

“He got loose or was let loose. Killed a lot of people back then, when your dad...”

“My dad?”

“Yeah. Henry was sort of... obsessed with him,” Ian admits uncomfortably.

“Dad said he had been in love with him when they were boys, before the crazy took hold but your dad wasn’t like that. Henry never had a shot but he couldn’t get over it either.”

An uncharitable part of Julian’s mind wonders if it was a trait that ran in the family.

“Okay, and...”

“So once Henry got the idea about eating power, he fixated on your dad. Figured the only way he could really have him was to kill him and take his Gift. I don’t know why but he was convinced your dad was something special.”

“He was,” Julian says, watching powerlines and trees whip past.

“He was Fey.”

“Shit. No way.”

Ian stares at Julian long enough that he drifts across the center lines, earning a loud ire of a logging truck heading in the opposite direction.

He corrects sharply and the larger truck rushes past with an angry blast of horn.

Ian returns his attention back to the road, breathing hard.

“Shit. That means you’re...”

“Yeah,” Julian says, loosening the death grip he had on the seat with an effort of will. “Just found out myself.”

“Shit,” Ian swears again, a note of wonder in his voice.

“Maybe my uncle’s not so crazy after all...”

“What? Why not?”

‘Julian: Human or otherwise, eating hearts qualifies as crazy in my book.’

“Shit,” Ian face twists with pain and regret... a now familiar expression.

“I forget you are all new to this. God, Julian. Do you know how much I wanted to tell you about me... to share all my secrets when we were together? But I didn’t. Because I couldn’t. And then that God damned werewolf shows up and tells you everything when you barely know him from Adam. Do you have any idea...?

As Ian Foley speaks, Julian has been trying to angle his body so Dane’s cell-phone wasn’t trapped between him and the seat.

He shifts a little too far and the phone slips free, sliding into the middle of the bench in-between them.

Ian stares at it for a moment like it’s some sort of alien artifact he’s never seen before.

“What is that?” Ian asks.

Julian notes with dismay that the screen is dark.

He has no idea if Agent Marsh heard anything or has any idea what was happening to him.

“It’s Dane’s cell-phone,” Julian says, grabbing for it.

Ian is faster and snatches it from Julia's reach and starts to lower his window. Julian grabs for Ian’s arm, wrestling for the cell-phone.

“Ian. No. It could be our only chance. Listen. Please. Henry won’t know. Phones don’t work like...”

The struggling is messing with Ian’s ability to steer and the truck fishtails wildly.

He stomps on the brakes and brings the red pick-up truck to a screeching holt.

Ian frees his arm from Julian’s grasp and strikes the young psychic across the face with the back of his hand.

The blow lands hard and Julian falls against the door and stares back at Ian, stunned.

The red-haired man looks back at his ex-boyfriend, horrified.

“Julian.”

Julian tastes blood and his breath becomes shallow and quick.

Then the young psychic looks at Ian and decides he’s not worth being afraid of anymore.

Instead a cold colourless anger seizers and suddenly all his fear is gone, replaced with something hard and bright, a sharp metallic feeling in his chest.

Julian holds out his hand.

“Ian. Give. Me. The. Fucking. Phone,” he says, in a slow, steady voice that hardly sounds like his own.

Ian looks at Julian in shock and hands it over obediently.

The young man examines it.

“Shit. It doesn’t matter anyway. There’s no service up here anyway.”

“Julian.”

“Shut up, Ian. We have to work together for your dad and for Grace,” Julian thinks quickly, knowing they haven’t time to waste...

“Listen to me, your uncle doesn’t know about this. We just have make sure it stays that way. So I’m going to give you the phone and you are going to keep it safe, okay? And when you get a chance, you’ll use it to get help.”

Ian Foley nods eagerly.

“And Ian... if you ever hit me again, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born. Understand?”

Ian nods again, looking sick. Julian hands him the phone and he promptly zips it into a pocket on the inside of his vest.

“Good,” Julian settles back against the seat.

“Now take me to your psycho uncle,” he adds.

“I think it’s about time I meet this ass-hole.”

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