#three teenage ghosts are just more children to love

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DP x PC prompt where Batclan ship “Pitch Pearl” or as they say, “We’ve connected the two dots”. 

Batclan has been watching the Phantom and the Fentons, especially their son. They were able to find some information but for some environmental reason the tracking devices are working in Amity Park with such terrible sound interference...it is difficult for them to understand a word.

~~~~

Fenton kid's Audiotape: I hate..Phantom..threat..destroy.

Original: I hate that my parents think that Phantom is a threat and want to destroy me.

~~~~

Audiotape of the Phantom: cause me trouble..Danny Fenton’s..guns..pointed at my back.

Original : Why everyone wants to cause me trouble? I don’t have time for Danny Fenton’s homework with all those guns pointed at my back.

~~~~

Batclan arrives personally and is going to offer to rescue the ghost from the Fenton child. But. There is a problem.

They see the Phantom calling a Ghost Girl, very much like him, a daughter. The next day the girl flies to the son of the Ghosthunters without fear, calls him father and turns into a human girl. And the teenager hugs her.

Batman thinks their situation is similar to Lex and Superman but unlike them they both really love their "Conner".

~~~~

Tucker hears this reasoning from the tracking device he planted on the Batman’s cloak.

Danny: Good news. They want to help Phantom and don’t think he’s a bad guy. They also fail to understand that Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom are the same person. Bad news.They think I, Fenton, am the villain. How can I dissuade them without revealing my identity?

Tucker: Well, you have a lair with weapons and instruments for diss and vivi in the basement.

Dani*feral half-ghost teen*: Say no more. I have an idea.

~~~~

The same evening, Batclan sees Tik Tok video from the Fenton lab.

*Miike Snow's Genghis Khan plays in the background*:

The Phantom is tied to the autopsy table and Bruce wants to ask the children to look away, but Dick stops him and says he knows the song, so they should see it.

The video has a happy ending. The heroes like it and they go home with a calm soul.

~~~~

An hour after there’s a comment from DashHereForSlash: Cool cosplay, guys! I’m happy that someone knows about this ship! The equipment looks so real! Where to send a donat for a kiss in the next video?

GhoticPlant: Glad you liked it! Here’s a link.

~~~~

Three hours later, the Red Huntress shoots a duet:

~I get a little bit Genghis Khan

Don't want you to get it on

With nobody else but me.~

Yes, they used Fenton Ghost Catcher and Tucker, Sam and Jazz played henchmen.

~~~~

Tucker sits at the table with Fenton and Phantom.

Tucker: So, Danny, what’s more important..self-esteem or easy money?

Double Dannouble: Money

Tucker: All right, here’s your $50. It’s all fair. But next time you need to use a little more touch. And we change the platform to post the videos.

Danny: Suspicious..And I want $100. Double job means double salary.

Jazz: Danny, no more videos! You’re 15!

Tucker*with printed photos of the kiss the next day*: Remember, don't let people manipulate you to do things you don’t want to do. But we’re doing it to better cover up a little dirty deadly secret, money’s just a bonus. And Danny is narcissistic enough to be happy that now Paulina has his pictures in frames.

Part 2

#dc x dp crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #red huntress #valerie gray #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #pitch pearl #Dash Baxter #dani phantom #dani fenton #danielle phantom #elle phantom #dp x dc prompt #batclan

[wordstome]

i’m here to encourage you to please elaborate on singledad!könig

also, do any of their kids have any scuffles with each other? how do the parents and children deal with it?

This ask was sent 10 minutes after the dream daddy post went up. Anon, I adore you.

I was going to put single dad König in this same post, but then it started to go on and on, and I want to take my time with the second half of your ask as well, so all my König thoughts will go in a separate post. Thank you for enabling me :3

(also this is the post I lost 3 paragraphs worth of writing on. It was literally all of Price and Ghost's sections, so forgive me if they're not up to par).

Price: With three kids, there are bound to be spats. Brianna taking something of Alice's without asking, Clara ruining one of the older girls' possessions, etc. etc. People see Price with all girls and remark how peaceful his house must be, but Price (and anybody who has a sister) knows that is NOT true. The Price home is chaos interrupted by periods of peace. Luckily, their dad is a literal military captain, so he's able to whip them into shape. All manner of crying, yelling, and shrieking can be silenced with one singular "GIRLS!" from the man himself. Then after that comes the soothing and the stern talking-tos.

Ghost: I think Simon was great with kids pre-Roba, he had Tommy and then his nephew Joseph. But post-Roba and his work in the special forces, he's much more rough around the edges. Like I said in the main post, Caden is a pretty quiet kid, so I can't see him starting or getting into any trouble. But he is still a 10 year old, so I can see him throwing a fit when he's frustrated or uncomfortable. If this happens in public, Simon will pull him aside and talk to him quite sternly, especially if Caden is making a ruckus as an emotional outlet. In private, he gives Caden space to let it all out, and then talks to him afterwards. However, if Caden can articulate what's upsetting him, he's very gentle and understanding. One way or another, I can see Simon getting help with his PTSD, so he uses a lot of techniques that his therapist taught him with Caden.

Soap: I imagine Elodie as about 6-7 years older than Thomas, who is a literal baby, so I can't see that they get into any fights. Mostly Elodie getting cranky about Thomas getting all the attention, at which point Johnny has to reassure his daughter and give her some love as well. When they're older, Elodie is a classic older sister who fucks with her little brother. She's never truly malicious, but there are definitely times when Johnny's standing in front of them sighing and pinching his nose because Elodie's played a nasty prank on her brother. Johnny's a very picks-his-misbehaving-kid-up-like-a-doll-and-gives-them-a-noogie kind of parent. He's never raised his voice at his kids, but instead has an "if what I think is happening is happening, it better not be" tone that instantly strikes fear into his kids' hearts. I can hear it in my head. I know you guys can hear it in your head too. 'Nuff said.

Gaz: It's hard to say what it's like when Kyle's kids fight: I can see Violet being the sort of girl who is quite close with her younger brother, so I can't really imagine a lot of scenarios in which they would fight. But Elliott is a younger brother and Violet is a growing teenage girl, so there have probably been a few times when Violet got mad at Elliott and screamed at him or said something that she regretted. Kyle and Emily will both scold the kids when they step out of line, and they both do their part when it comes to discipline. Kyle in particular is a very "I'm not mad at you, I'm just disappointed" sort of parent. He expects a lot of Violet, but sometimes that pressure can get to her.

König: This man is overwhelmingly soft for his daughter. The calmest, most gentle giant. I think out of all the dads he's most susceptible to spoiling her, which obviously could become a problem. He's incredibly lucky though, because Ava is an angel. She is spoiled, being an only child on her daddy's colonel salary, but she gives more "kind rich girl" vibes than "inconsiderate little brat". I'm going to elaborate more on this in the upcoming König post, but he's got this deep sadness to him because he lost his wife. Ava is a pretty perceptive child, so she doesn't act out unless she's having a really hard time, in which case König is nothing but soothing and reassuring.

Horangi: If Ryujin (Hong-jin's daughter) has beef with you, he's kicking your ass right alongside her. When she was young, she was fully capable of both starting and finishing fights, and Hong-jin was an incorrigible enabler who was more likely to double over laughing than scold his daughter. Her mother usually had to be the disciplinarian. Hong-jin and Ryujin have a complicated relationship, but in adulthood, they're pretty even keel, and have grown even closer since the death of Ryujin's mom.

Keegan: Jason and Cecelia have been through a lot together, so they don't really fight. When they do though, it's nasty, and Keegan serves as more of a go-between than a disciplinarian role. Both of them will seek advice from him, but he understands that they know each other better than he does. Not for lack of trying, of course, but it's inevitable with older adoptions. His role comes from having more life experience, and he's got a kind of impenetrable chill that makes everybody a lot calmer.

#ghost x reader #König x reader #john price x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #keegan x reader #horangi x reader #price x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #keegan russ x reader #konig x reader #cod ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap cod #john price #kyle gaz garrick #König #König cod #konig #konig cod #horangi #horangi cod #kim horangi hong jin #keegan #dream daddy au

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

The Linda Harrington that Steve had known in his 22 years held herself like a skyscraper. She was tall and pristine, glistening with expensive jewelry her husband had bought her instead of saying sorry. She dressed in beige and creme, and in an especially formal occasion she’d maybe find herself in navy. Her eyes were cold and dark. As a child, Steve found her terrifying and he’d spent countless hours imagining those eyes melt, tried picturing her with the same soft looks other moms had at school when picking up their children. He never quite got it right.

She smelled like soap and Chanel No. 5, and Steve couldn’t remember what the touch of her skin felt like. It was probably smooth and pristine like everything else about Linda Harrington, but he hadn’t felt her arms around him since he was a child, and he couldn’t remember what it felt like — if it had felt cold like her stare, or clinical like their whole damn house did.

She held herself high, with a dignity that didn’t include stooping down to Steve’s level to look him in the eyes, or kneeling by his side when he scraped his knee. Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen his mother kneel. He’d never seen her with delight in her eye, or shock, never seen her with tears.

Her hair was always wound tight at the crown of her head, kept off her shoulders to display her long neck and the necklaces that adorned it. He’d never seen her hair down outside of a precisely planned formal event where it cascaded perfectly over her shoulders.

But the Linda Harrington of the world he’d found himself in was everything his mother was not. She stood at the threshold of her own house, pink blouse gently tucked into a worn pair of jeans, hair blown and curled into a more modest version of Farrah Fawcett’s. She had laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, and tears welling up like a dam was about to break. She held her hands over her mouth, staring straight forward at Steve like she’d never seen something so amazing or breathtaking, like he was the eighth wonder of the world and she’d just found herself in front of him.

He felt himself squirm under her gaze, the weight of it heavier than any look he’d caught in her eye previously. He’d spent hours, so many hours, imagining her eyes full of love and he’d never once seen it until this moment. He didn’t know she could make that face. And all it took was a different life, a different world, a different Steve. This look didn’t belong to him.

The three teenagers were losing it just behind her, yelling and talking over each other, asking questions Steve couldn’t move to answer.

Robin moved instead, shuffling in behind them and shoving them through the door so she could close it. She yelled at them to sit in the living room and they’d explain everything that had happened that morning.

Linda moved closer, cautiously, as if Steve could blow away to dust at any moment. He'd done the same to Robin just that morning, thought he'd blink and she'd disappear. His mother would have rather died than show anyone that kind of weakness, including her son.

This Linda, however, stepped forward again. She was just a foot away from Steve, and she looked so small. It didn't matter if Steve had grown six inches or six feet taller than his mother, she'd always seemed to tower above him, but the Linda he looked down on now seemed like he could pinch her and she'd break.

"Hi," he whispered, the words almost swallowed in his throat before they touched the air. He was at a loss for anything else to say.

She seemed to almost crumple in on herself, collapsing against him and holding on tighter than anyone ever had. He thought of all the times he'd been dumped, lost a game, or failed a test and craved his mother's comfort like water. He'd been so thirsty for it, so desperate, and all he'd received in return was a barren wasteland of disappointment. The desert sand of familial love had kicked up dust and dirt and choked him for decades, starved him of any attachments this Steve seemed to have in spades.

"Oh, Stevie," Linda sobbed against his neck, tears sharper than the blade Eddie had cut him with. He'd heard this sound before. Though he'd never seen his mother cry, he remembered a time when he was little — somewhere around fifth grade maybe. It was the first time his mother had found out about his father's cheating, the last time she'd stayed home while he was away on a business trip. Through his parents' bedroom door, he'd heard these same sobs. Her gasping, hitching breaths had seeped through the crack in the door like a creeping fog, rolling through the halls and pitching the whole house in an eerie quiet.

These sobs were different, though. He could hear her smiling through her gasps, felt her warm hands cling to the back of his shirt like she never wanted to let him go. His throat burned and he felt like he was drowning, the dry desert sand he'd swallowed over the years flooding with a sudden downpour.

He lifted his hands to her back and held on tight, memorizing the feeling of her in his arms. Slowly they untangled, his mother taking his hand in hers and leading him to the sofa, sitting as close as she could and still staring at him with endless amounts of wonder swimming in her eyes.

He, Robin, and Nancy took turns recounting the events of that morning. Steve described how he woke up, how Eddie found him; Robin pitched in about their banging on the door thinking Eddie was in trouble, and finding Steve standing in the kitchen.

“He had no idea how he got there. I think he really freaked Eddie out,” Nancy said, glancing at Linda. Steve saw her nod in understanding, though he still couldn’t figure out why Eddie was reacting like this compared to everyone else.

“So what exactly do we think is going on?” Mike cut in. He and Lukas were sitting on the armrests of the other couch, Max, El, Dustin, and Will taking up the cushions.

“Parallel universes!” Dustin blurted, excitement still dancing in his voice. He went on to recount the same explanation he gave earlier, dramatic clap and everything (though Steve didn’t flinch this time).

“What does this mean, then?” Linda asked quietly, squeezing tightly onto Steve’s hand. He didn’t quite feel comfortable leaning on this version of his mother yet, but he couldn’t help thinking over and over that this was still his mothers hand, that this was what it would be like if he’d ever held it for comfort, for support, to feel her warm hand squeezing back. He couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet.

Instead, he turned just slightly to look her in the eye, and said the same thing he did earlier, “I’m not your Steve,” though this time he was much more scared of the reaction. She could loosen her grip, drop his hand all together and let him fall untethered. She could be scared of him, of this stranger with her son’s face. She could yell, tell the room that she was furious they got her hopes up only to crash them to the ground because this wasn’t her Steve.

She did drop his hand.

Steve’s heart dropped with it for just a moment until her hands came up to cradle his face. She held him, gently, like a porcelain doll she was afraid to crack, or perhaps like one that had already been cracked and she was scared to damage any further. He felt her thumb stroke delicately across his cheekbone, and he swallowed around the tightness stabbing at his throat.

“You are Steve Harrington,” she whispered, tears in her eyes once more, “and any Steve Harrington is my baby.”

His nose pricked as any words got caught in his throat, her face becoming blurry. This felt like a dream, like every wish he’d ever made on a candle or a shooting star or an eyelash on his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and felt her thumb wipe away the tears that followed, the lump in his throat constricting his air. He tried to breath in as best he could, though it came out like a strangled sob instead. He could hear her shushing him, felt her pull him toward her chest and he felt so small next to her again.

Not in the way his mother always made him feel small, but in a new way. He felt like a small child being cradled to his mother’s chest, held tightly against all the sorrow and the fear, held gently like being swaddled to sleep. Even if he does go back, if he has to leave when they close the gates, he hopes this Linda Harrington will remember him. Maybe this one wouldn’t have sent the nanny to find him. Maybe this one wouldn’t have left him behind. Maybe she wouldn’t have even let him hide in the first place. The Steve Harrington of this world was either the luckiest Steve, or the most pitiful for losing it all.

He kept his face buried in his mother’s shoulder while Dustin and Nancy explained the theory about potential open gates. El chimed in again about helping to check, to figure out which one was open or if there were multiple. In the meantime, Steve tried schooling his face back to normal, wiping the tears from his cheeks as discreetly as he could. He didn’t want to completely break down in front of a room full of people, didn’t want the kids to see him like that.

Once he’d collected himself, he pulled his head up and joined the conversation once more. Robin slipped her arm around his waist and squeezed while his mother gripped his hand. He’d probably break down again — take the time to let the emotions of the day take over and wash themselves out — but for now he just put his own arm around Robin and squeezed his mother’s hand.

It took a while for the group to come up with a few plans, organize a few teams, and suggest days where they’d be able to go out and check gates. The sun had begun to get low on the horizon, and Steve’s eyes stung with exhaustion. His head pounded in his skull from everything that had happened — the information, the crying, the stress, the lack of any alcohol in his system — and he kind of wished he could wash it away with a glass of something strong. He didn’t want to miss anything, though; he didn’t want to scare the kids, either. Today was worth remembering.

When the house thinned out (Linda doing an exceptional job at handling the kids arguments and promising they could come around first thing tomorrow), Robin excused herself to one of the guest rooms and his mother hugged him one last time before she slipped into her own room.

He wanted to reach out to Robin, ask her to stay and sleep in his room, but he wasn’t sure what the dynamic was with his mother here. Did she know about Robin? Were they allowed to share a room? He couldn’t really sleep without someone else there, hadn’t slept sober in quite a while, either. Maybe he’d ask later, but for now he’d just watch Robin walk into a room two doors down, catching his eye one last time before she slipped away. He’d see her in the morning, he promised himself, she’d be there in the morning.

When he opened his bedroom door, he’d half expected to see Eddie sitting on the edge of his bed, startled by the company and nails half chewed to oblivion. Instead, he found a room with navy blue walls and a large selection of posters, no plaid to be seen. He’d always wanted navy walls. The posters were of bands he’d mostly never heard of; maybe a few of them he’d seen on Eddie’s jackets. They covered one wall entirely, though his world only had one framed picture of a luxury car. This room looked lived in, customized and comfortable, another difference to his.

He laid down in his bed, much more relaxed and broken-in than his own expensive mattress. Everything in this world seemed to cradle him, like it was holding on to something it didn’t want to let go. Maybe that was the trick, maybe this really was a trap designed to keep him here. He shook his head against the soft pillow; the wrinkles at the corners of his mother’s eyes and the age on the kids faces were proof enough that this was real. He had to remind himself that they were real. This was real.

Though the house was dark and quiet and Steve knew he’d been lying down for quite a while, he still couldn’t feel sleep creep up the edges of his mind. He was so tired, so exhausted, and still he was wide awake, unused to comfortably falling asleep on his own.

Instead of staying in bed, he got up and waded across the darkened bedroom to the door. Steve slipped quietly down the stairs and back out to the pool. The water gently sparkled in the moonlight, the blackened depths twisting into memories of a cold lake and a bright red gate. He sat down again, not really sure why he kept coming out here instead of going somewhere else to collect himself. Old habits perhaps.

It had been years since his pool had been filled. He let it fall to ruin when his parents hadn’t come back, let the tiles crack and the paint peel, and the lounge chairs be weathered by dust and dirt and precipitation. Maybe this pool reminded him of what his life could have been like, full and sparkling.

Steve shivered against the cool night air, the not-quite-summer breeze rustling through the trees and right through his thin t-shirt. He probably should have grabbed a sweatshirt or jacket but he couldn’t quite bring himself to rifle through OtherSteve’s closet. The room itself already felt like someone else’s, it felt wrong to look through what didn’t belong to him.

It was quiet out here, with the woodland animals all asleep like the people tucked in upstairs. The water lapping against the side of the pool filled Steve’s mind with a calm concentration; he wondered briefly if this was what El felt when listening to static, if the gentle hum of electricity calmed her mind of other thoughts like the water did for Steve in this moment.

He startled when the glass door slid open, half expecting Robin to slide in next to him like she’d done earlier in the day, but he was surprised to find a hesitant Eddie standing by the door instead. His dark curls were tossed up in a messy bun, a few strands poking loose like he’d been tugging at it.

Even though he’d seen Eddie that morning, everything that had happened that day made it feel longer, like he really had been in California and only just arrived. Steve nodded in his direction, turning back to the water to try and keep from making Eddie uncomfortable. He didn’t know why the man had avoided him all day, but Steve didn’t want to make it worse. He had every right to be skeptical and cautious.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice echoed against the pool tiles. Eddie spoke softly in the dark, hesitating to make much noise, but the whisper was deafening nonetheless.

Steve shook his head, sparing a side glance at Eddie before looking back at the black water. “Not really good at sleeping anymore,” he said back, just as soft.

He listened as Eddie’s footsteps on the stone tile came closer, stopping a few feet away. He sat down, farther than Robin had earlier in the day but still closer than Steve had expected. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he say something? Or let Eddie be the first to talk? Should he apologize? Steve didn’t know what for, but he still felt like maybe he should.

“I’m sorry-,”

“I’m sorry-,” they both started at the same time. Steve glanced over to catch Eddie’s eye, saw the startled look and felt bad for not waiting until Eddie had spoken first. This was already weird, Steve didn’t want to keep making the situation awkward at every turn, though he still wasn’t sure why it was more awkward around Eddie than the others. He may have a hunch though.

Eddie swallowed, eyes seemingly calculating every question in the universe before he blinked and looked away, down to the water that Steve had been watching for who-knew-how-long. An owl hooted in the distance.

Steve waited for Eddie this time.

—

This part and the next part are two of my favorites

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou

#stranger things #steddie #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #parallel universe au #robin buckley #max mayfield #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #stobin #helpimstuckwriting

[neverinadream]

I P I C T U R E M Y F U T U R E W I T H Y O U - T H E T E A S E R

Summary: Whilst out on his boat, you and Christian talk about a possible future together.

Notes: this is a BIG TEASER mainly because i will be working tomorrow, friday and saturday, so i'll be mostly writing and finishing this in the evenings so you could get this weekend at some point. anyway, how do we feel about it so far????

He casts his eyes in your direction, the ghost of a grin printed on his lips and a playful glint in his eyes. "My hands are right where they need to be," he replies, chuckling as he catches you rolling your eyes. You mumble something under your breath about him being cheesy, but he doesn't quite catch it. He's too distracted by his wandering eyes.

He sighs happily. This was all he had wanted since the start of your relationship a little over a year ago. You and him, together, in a place that made him happy. He wanted to bring you to Jupiter on his last summer break, but you were hesitant about meeting his parents and the rest of his family so early into your relationship. And he respected that. But now his family loved you; you were close with his sister, his brother asked more questions about what you were up to than he cared to ask about Christian, and his parents regarded you as one of the family. He almost didn't like how well you got on with his dad, mainly because he was the target of many, many jokes.

"Eh, eyes front and centre, buddy," you jab your finger softly into his side, causing a low 'oof' sound to fall off his lips. He had been taking not-so-subtle glances at your chest since you had changed into the bikini. It was a new piece purposely purchased for your first time staying at his place in Jupiter, so seeing you for the first time in this new cobalt blue set was driving him crazy. He wanted his hands on every single part of you. "I don't want my first time on a boat to end with us capsizing because you've got the hormones of a teenage boy who has just discovered the ancient art of wanking," you joke, shaking your head.

"Oh, I love it when you speak dirty to me," he counters, chuckling once more as you give him a not-so-amused stare.

He leans over to you and presses a kiss on your cheek. "You look fucking gorgeous, by the way," he whispers into your ear, slipping his hand out of your pocket to cheekily squeeze your bum. You jump a little, gasping as you do. There must have been something in the air because you had never known him to be so handsy. And you were more than well aware that you weren't far enough away for his neighbours not to see. "I always love seeing you in blue," he continues, all movements of the boat ceasing as he takes his hand off the wheel.

"Forget it? Baby, that's a hard thing to forget," you tell him, sitting yourself down on his lap, your legs straddling either side of his thighs. Looping your hands around his neck, you brush your thumbs soothingly against his jaw. "You think about having kids with me?" You question him, giving him a small smile as he nods. "How many?"

"Three, just like my parents," he answers almost instantaneously, "but the opposite way around: two girls and a boy." He holds onto your hips, dragging you further up his lap until the end of your knees have hit the backrest and your chest is pressed against his. "I know we've only been together for a year, but these are the things I've been thinking about," he confesses, waiting anxiously for you to say something. Anything. "When I think of the future, I can only picture a future that has you in it."

"And what would their names be?" You ask, still inquiring about the imaginative children he had come up with inside his head.

"Whatever you wanted them to be."

Your cheeks burn with cheerful warmth as you crack a bright smile. Suddenly and all at once, you had fallen in love with him like you were falling in love with him for the first time again. Your grip on the back of his neck tightens, pulling him towards you as you leant forwards to crash your lips upon his. He kisses back, letting a hand drift away from your hips and cradle your face. The love you had for him poured its way into the kiss, leaving you both feeling light-headed and needing to take deep breaths as you pull apart.

"Do you have any idea of how much I love you?" You ask, your cheeks beginning to ache from all the smiling.

"I might do," he chuckles, tracing soft circles against your cheek.

"I'm gonna need more than three kids, though," you lean back, letting your hands drift onto his shoulders and down onto his biceps. He gives you a look that says, 'oh yeah?' "Of course," you nod your head, "I'm one of seven, remember?" Of course, he remembered. He almost didn't believe you; the thought of you having four brothers to impress and two sisters to win over frightened him. But luckily, they love him. He surprisingly fitted in with your often hectic family. "I want a house full of little ones."

"You're not joking, right?" He asks, a flicker of doubt plaguing his happiness.

"You said it yourself, Christian; I can only picture a future that has you in it," you reply, kissing both of his cheeks, "it just took for you to say it for me to see the picture clearly."

F O O T B A L L E R T A G L I S T

@shanoontje @maseandkepa @theblxefox @blueathens  @ofxinnocence @1-800-benji-chilwell @mrschilly @geek-and-proud @in-my-body-bag @laurasstufff1 @mountchilly @spicysainz @greykitkepa @thoseboysinblue @breakablehcaven @dinonuggiesforliferz

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic one shot #christian pulisic fanfic #christian pulisic fic

[nonbayanary]

ES21 x ROTTMNT AU Masterpost:

Teenage Mutant Mystic DEMONS

a.k.a: TMMDemons AU

Trigger Warnings: death, child trafficking, demonic rituals, ghosts, dehumanization, human experimentation, child abuse, demons, mentions of cults Characters: Sena, Hiruma, Kurita, Musashi, Doburoku

SUMMARY:

Child trafficking is the one thing that brings Sena, Hiruma, Kurita, and Musashi together.

Sena and the Maou Trio (who i will now be referring to as "the four kids") are four of the hundreds of children who were kidnapped by traffickers, and sold to an organization led by a cult.

The facility, known as "Deimon," is located in a forest within the countryside. This organization buys trafficked kids, and uses them for human experiments. And of their dozens of experiments, only two bear fruit: "Project Maou," and "Project Ghost."

Project Maou is the organization's main experiment. The cult leading the organization has one main goal: to summon the king of demons, should it truly exist. And to do that, the experiment's aim is to use mystic energy to insert the soul of the demon king into a child, to make the child easy to control and influence.

And of the kids, Hiruma, Kurita, and Musashi are the three most promising subjects of Project Maou.

Sena, meanwhile, is the sole survivor of the succesful Project Ghost. This experiment was far simpler than Project Maou. Its aim was simple: to give a human child the abilities of ghosts. This experiment was a pioneer project, which paved the way for Project Maou.

The last stage of Project Maou is a ritual; an attempt to summon the king of demons unto this human plane. Kurita, Hiruma, and Musashi are dragged into the middle of a summoning circle.

An hour into the ritual, something goes wrong. Due to miscalculations in the amount of mystic energy, the demon king's soul splinters into pieces, and some fragments of his soul embed themselves onto the three screaming children.

The ritual fails. The whole area explodes, and decimates all life within a one-mile radius.

Everything is gone. The the scientists and staff are all reduced to ash. The buildings, trees, plant life, and animal life have all become nothing but dust. And all that remains is scorched earth.

Nothing is left. Nothing—except for four genetically enhanced children, who crawl out of the rubble after regaining consciousness.

The Maou Trio now find themselves with newly-mutated bodies. Bat wings, clawed hands and feet, markings, tails, and horns.

Sena looks different from the other three. He does not have those physical traits, which sometimes makes him feel like he's not one of them.

The kids venture out of the forest, and meet Doburoku, a yokai hermit who lives on the outskirts of a town.

Eventually, Doburoku adopts the little rascals. And after years of companionship, they come to see each other as a family.

As a yokai, Doburoku has mystic powers. Upon learning that the kids actually possess mystic energy, he starts teaching the four kids how to use their mystic powers.

CHARACTER SHEETS:

SENA • HIRUMA • KURITA • MUSASHI • DOBUROKU SAKAKI (coming soon)

Maou Trio

MEMES:

• Every Found Family's got...

• Snitches get stitches

NOTE: In this AU, the Sena & the Maou trio are raised together under one roof, like siblings. As a result, the kids are more playful, and they sometimes have rivalries with one another. They trust each other, and they are physically affectionate with one another. As such, it's common to see Hiruma hugging Sena, or even Musashi sleeping on Kurita's back. This AU is just a lotta Maou Trio + Sena puppy-piling on each other to cope with trauma.

Browse this AU's Tags HERE

Please feel free to write or make art of this AU. But please credit me, and send me the link to what you've made! I'd love to see it!!!

To my fellow TCEST fans, please feel free to ship the characters! (I gave the Maou trio cloacas for this very reason eyyyy!) In this context, I'd call it Mutant-cest or MCEST.

This AU was based on Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (ROTTMNT), and further inspired by RWBY, The Locked Tomb, Honkai Impact 3, Fullmetal Alchemist, Solo Levelling, and Genshin Impact.

#tmmdemons #teenage mutant mystic demons #tmmdemons au #eyeshield 21 #eyeshield21 #yoichi hiruma #hiruma yoichi #hiruma #es21 #hiruma youichi #youichi hiruma #kobayakawa sena #sena kobayakawa #ryoukan kurita #ryokan kurita #kurita ryokan #gen takekura #takekura gen #musashi #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #au #es21 au #eyeshield 21 prompt #eyeshield 21 prompts #eyeshield 21 au #es21 prompt #es21 prompts #maou trio

[lesbian-books]

Lesbian Historical Fiction

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters

Victorian England, 1860s. A con artist hires a London pickpocket to help him obtain the fortune of a naïve heiress.

Beyond the Screen Door by Julia Diana Robertson

Washington, USA, 1945. Two best friends grow up together and start to fall in love. One of them can see ghosts, but this is not a scary book.

Cantoras by Carolina De Robertis

Uruguay, 1977. During the military dictatorship, homosexual people were persecuted, imprisoned, and tortured. Five women (three lesbians and two bisexuals) manage to find each other and cultivate a friendship that will last for decades.

Club Storyville by Riley LaShea

Virginia, USA, 1944. A girl raised to be a “proper lady” falls in love with a nurse who comes to care for her sick grandmother.

Belladonna by Anbara Salam

Italy, 1950s. An insecure teenage girl develops a toxic obsession with her beautiful and popular best friend. As the girls graduate high school and attend an art school, their relationship becomes complicated by sexual lust and secrecy.

Lies We Tell Ourselves by Robin Talley

Virginia, USA, 1959. Sarah is one of the first black students to attend her previously all-white high school. She becomes acquainted with a white student named Linda, whose father is a major opponent of desegregation.

Shaken to the Core by Jae

California, USA, 1906. Giuliana, a working class Sicilian immigrant woman, goes to work as a maid for a rich American family. The daughter of the family, Kate, is expected to marry a rich man and have children, but Kate wants to be financially independent and be with a woman. This book is set in the time period of the real life 1906 San Francisco earthquake, one of the deadliest natural disasters in U.S. history, which killed over 3000 people and destroyed most of the city.

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malina Lo

California, USA, 1950s. A Chinese-American girl has a lesbian awakening, makes friends with another lesbian at her school, and discovers the vibrant nightlife in lesbian bars.

Matrix by Lauren Groff

England, 1150s. A young French woman named Marie is forced to go to an English convent to become the new prioress. The nuns are living in hunger and squalor when Marie arrives, and when she takes charge she transforms the fate of the convent and the lives of the nuns into something better and more successful than they could have imagined.

Click “Keep reading” for content warnings. Minor spoilers ahead.

Content warnings for Fingersmith: abuse, including child abuse

Content warnings for Beyond the Screen Door: child abuse, domestic violence

Content warnings for Cantoras: abuse, child sexual abuse, corrective rape, marital rape, suicide

Content warnings for Lies We Tell Ourselves: racist abuse. Additional note: This book does not hold back from depicting the racism and homophobia of the time. It has also been criticised for its portrayal of an oppressed person falling in love with their oppressor, and rightfully so because that aspect could have been done better, but at the same time I don’t think that lesbian relationships in books have to always be written as flawlessly healthy and morally pure, just as hetero relationships often are not. If Linda had abandoned all her racist beliefs immediately and rededicated her goals to supporting black civil rights, then the book would have been criticised for being too unrealistic, imo.

#book recs #historical fiction #lesbian fiction #books #lesbian books

[localplaguenurse]

Yk that one tiktok trend where we meet the younger versions of ourselves and we say a few things

What would wifey say if they ever saw their younger self because of a leyline disruption or something.

Me @ the prompt and also the art

Man you got me when I'm trying to put my writing powers to something else and I'm torn between if I want to fully write this out or keep it short and sweet

I'm kinda going off of what I can find on both the genshin wiki and actual articles about ley lines for this but unless I'm reading it wrong, my understanding is they recreate/repeat memories, and I can't find anything really about how interactable these memories are so 1. fuck it, we ball, and 2. if literally anyone knowledgeable about ley lines sees this and I get something wrong, help me

It's a familiar sight at the monastery. The fan shaped leaves, still green, gently rustle as the wind flows through them. Small wildflowers pop up in the grass, adding more colour to the greenery.

Crumpled to their knees, sobbing into bandaged hands, sits a young bride. Their dress is striking silk red, tailored to fit them alone yet it has never felt right on their body. The fear, the anger, and the utter grief over losing all they have ever had radiates off of them like heat from a flame. They were a caretaker once, but after today, they are property, a sacrificial virgin offered up to a god for the protection of their loved ones. Their loved ones who so graciously tossed them at the feet of this god the first chance they saw.

The memory is painful enough as is, but to actually see your younger self in front of you is surreal, and the sight causes a deep visceral dread in your body.

When your youngest son had come to you, pale as a sheet, saying this nonsense about how he saw you crying in the orchard, you almost wanted to laugh. That's impossible, you've been in the courtyard all day catching up with some old friends. Still, that disturbed demeanor, that level of fear and worry in his eyes, is not an expression that can be made up on a whim. No one makes that sort of face unless they have genuinely seen something bad. Regardless of what he truly saw, your son saw something upsetting, and it is your job as his mother to help him.

You sent him away to go eat lunch with the rest of his siblings, promising you will fix it by the time they are done. You walked through the monastery until you had reached the orchard. You walked beneath the towering ginkgo trees, looking around for any sort of intruder. There shouldn't be any monsters about, so what did he see?

Near the very edge of the orchard, you spy the colour red. Your heart rate stutters, but you try to steady yourself as you cautiously approach. With each step, you can hear the faintest of sobbing, and the exact voice, each hiccup and sniffle and cry, it all becomes so familiar. Your mouth fills with saliva, your stomach twists, and your chest feels tighter.

And here you are.

Or is it there you are?

It has been... goodness, almost thirty years since you've been in that exact dress. You have hardly aged since your bond with Morax was put in place, with the only passing of time on your body being the growth of your hair, the fading of scars, and stretchmarks and bit of leftover weight gained from past pregnancies. Still, this young woman is so, so young. They've hardly even begun adulthood, only just having shed their teenage years. Their sobbing is childish, quite literally immature, for they are still practically a child.

The memory of you makes your heart ache for so many reasons. That day was a very upsetting day, and you don't understand what you're doing here. Why are you seeing this memory, this ghost of your past life, despite the fact you are still alive and breathing? Not to mention that this version of you is only a couple years younger than your oldest daughter, and with how your youngest three children all resemble you, it really does feel like you're watching one of your children crying on their wedding day.

What mother wouldn't console their daughter when they're this upset?

You carefully approach, and you sit on the ground next to them. They are still crying when you do. With unease on your mind, you lift a hand up and touch their back. There's warmth in their body, and you can feel silk on your fingertips.

They stop crying when you put your arms around them. You pull them close, cradling their head against your shoulder. You hold them like that, waiting to see if something will happen, like the figure disappearing from your hold, or reality suddenly breaking.

"... You're going to be okay," you whisper, "we're going to be okay."

They're shaking a little as they try to hold in their - your - sobs.

"You have every right to be as angry and as scared as you are," you tell yourself, "it wasn't fair. He's truly wonderful, and loves you so much, but it wasn't fair to you." You run your fingers through your younger self's hair. "He will make it up to you, and you do not have to forgive her for giving you away. I still haven't, and I don't think I will, but what matters most right now is that you will be okay."

"... Thank you."

You let yourself go, and you're gone. You feel tears in your eyes, and you quickly wipe them away. It's... odd. You feel like there's a weight off of your shoulders, despite the fact that this experience should rattle you to your core.

You do not know if they understand who you are. You do not know if what you did will have any affect on them, if they'll remember it or if they'll have been completely reset if you ever see them again. You think you would do it again, though. You think you would tell them all of that over and over again, say the words you wished you had heard that dreadful day.

You take a deep breath, stand up, and head back to the monastery.

#ask #as gold as the ginkgo trees #my writing #genshin morax #genshin impact #idk if i should tag this as morax x reader #he's only mentioned by name once and it's not even really about him #second person pov

[crossdressingdeath]

I really hope that TSatS features Nico and Will having so many issues around being complicit in Octavian's death, and Nico in addition having so many issues around killing Bryce. On Octavian's end these are children complicit in a gruesome death; necessary or no, that sort of thing's going to stick with them! Especially since as far as we see they never tell anyone about it (Nico might have told Dionysus during their therapy sessions, but as far as I can remember that's not confirmed), which means the only people they can discuss the whole thing with is each other. ...Or I guess Michael Kahale—assuming he's still alive post-ToA, since that's not actually confirmed—but I feel like the understanding between him and them is probably that they Do Not Acknowledge It, assuming they ever see each other at all. Anyway. I'm sure being able to share the weight of what they were part of between the two of them would help, but... well, sharing the burden of being a teenager traumatized by your part in a brutal death with another teenager traumatized by their part in said brutal death is only going to do so much. And I feel like more specifically the fact that Will is a healer would make the whole situation so much worse for him; knowingly standing by and letting someone die knowing he could easily save them would be hard for any hero, but for someone who's dedicated to healing people? Yeesh.

And of course on top of that... Bryce's death is a really cool and dramatic scene that goes way harder than I'd expect a children's book to go, but it's also absolutely horrific. Partially because Nico turns him into a ghost with zero sign of hesitation and that is so much, but I feel like for Nico partially because he doesn't remember it. Like, the fact that he has no memory of killing Bryce gets glossed over in BoO, but he turned a guy into a ghost with no hesitation or mercy and he doesn't remember. He was really angry at Bryce for threatening Reyna, and the next thing he knew the guy was dead (and he'd been knocked out for three days). He has no idea how he did it or even what he was thinking at the time! He was either out of control of his own actions or he wanted to kill Bryce, and he has no way of finding out which. That would be a terrifying thought: either he's a willing murderer (while him killing Bryce was to save Reyna and Hedge and I fully agree with it, it was absolutely murder in a way Octavian's death isn't, Bryce was completely powerless and begging for mercy by the end there) or his powers can hijack his body and push him into doing things that he would never do of his own free will, and he'll probably never know which. Which does beg the question of if anything could set him off like that again, which I feel like is something that would weigh on Nico. I'd love to see him admit that he's actually really scared that something will push him over the edge again and either he'll lose control of his powers and kill someone else or (possibly worse) discover that he was in control when he killed Bryce and did it because he wanted to. Now, I don't think Nico could turn someone into a ghost just like that, my theory is that it was only possible in Bryce's case because Bryce was threatening someone he loved using a closely held secret (which Nico understandably took rather personally) and, more importantly, he was halfway faded out of the living world already; I doubt he could've done it if he hadn't been mostly full of darkness already or if he hadn't been overwhelmed with protective fury at the threat to his dear friend. But whether or not Nico knows that is unclear; I can see him being terrified at the very thought that it's possible that he could snap and kill someone again.

Basically given how TSatS seems like it's going to be largely about All The Trauma, it would feel like a huge failure on Rick's part to not go into how being responsible for Octavian's death absolutely would've fucked Will and Nico up, and also how directly killing Bryce absolutely would've fucked Nico up. If I'm remembering right, setting aside Luke's death—Percy and Annabeth supplied the weapon he stabbed himself with, but I wouldn't call them complicit in it the way Will, Nico and Michael are complicit in Octavian's death since it was entirely Luke's decision in the end—Will and Nico (and Michael Kahale but he's not important currently assuming he's even still alive) are the only protagonists knowingly and willingly complicit in another demigod's death, and Nico is the only protagonist to actively kill another demigod! I can accept them not talking about it in ToA, since "Hey, we're super fucked up from the deaths we caused/played a part in and we don't know what to do about that because we're kind of sort of murderers before the age of eighteen and that's really not the sort of thing you just tell people" isn't something to drop on Will's suddenly-sixteen-and-mortal godly father without warning during a serious crisis situation and I can't see anyone they might have told about it off-page spilling the beans without permission either and when it happened Apollo was already in deep shit and so probably not paying a lot of attention to what his kid was doing, so our POV character wouldn't know about it and wouldn't find out (I know he's aware that Octavian's dead, but unless I'm forgetting something—which is. entirely possible, I should reread ToA—he doesn't know the part Will and Nico played in it). But if it doesn't come up at all in the book told entirely from their perspectives, I'm... honestly gonna be pretty pissed!

#tsats #heroes of olympus #nico di angelo #will solace #if there isn't a moment in tsats where one of them snaps and just goes 'we are MURDERERS!' #(preferably in response to the other or both of them having moral qualms about something) #and they're both suddenly forced to contend with this thing that they've been trying SO hard to bury #then what is even the POINT #...actually if it doesn't happen i might have to write it because my GOD the angst potential #like you KNOW that even aside from bryce they both consider their part in octavian's death murder #(i don't know if it would count legally but they definitely THINK of it as murder. nico explicitly refers to it as such in boo) #(i guess it's possible will doesn't but i'm pretty certain he does even if he does seem to understand why they had to do it) #and who can they tell about that? how do they even BEGIN to raise that topic? #how do you tell your friends that you knowingly and willingly killed someone even indirectly? #ESPECIALLY given the greek demigods generally seem to frown on killing even enemy demigods #or at least it's not the Generally Done Thing #oh god i'm having so many emotions about the boys thinking they're murderers for their part in octavian's death #send help

[ghosts-of-love]

only a hundred words i'm afraid x( but i really really love this passage and would love to get your commentary on it :D hope your holiday is off to a good start!

And amongst that, the three of them always meet for lunch every Friday at Kitty’s Café. The Captain makes sure to maintain his façade of careful neutrality when listening to Pat’s stories, not reacting to them with any more or less emotion than a good friend would. It’s a tough line to walk, but he manages it. 

It’s often not just a Pat thing. For example, it is important to him that he doesn’t let any of his friends know how humorous he finds them, except for the eponymous Kitty of Kitty’s Café, and that’s only sometimes, in his moments of weakness. 

Okay so! I know this is a short bit so I'm not going word for word or anything but I've somehow still got a lot of thoughts about it! apologies for what is definitely the most rambling and incoherent response i've ever achieved 😅😅

I think the thing here is that, in the same way that in the Ghosts Archive book the Captain reveals he thinks he has bad posture - this Captain thinks that he must have a very expressive face - it is something he realised as a teenager and tried his best to get rid of going into adulthood. And honestly, yeah he's right, people can tell when he's annoyed or bored quite easily - teachers would call him out on it in class, which is how he realises. It's not a problem as he grows up until he gets closer friends (ghosts gang whoop whoop) and Pat.

I feel like at some point in the past, the early days of their friendship, Pat told a story and the Captain let out an uncharacteristic 'my god, that's outrageous!' and it was so surprising to everyone that he saw them all exchange confused looks - he took it to be a negative thing, whereas they were all just like, 'woah hey, this guy can be expressive??'. I know I didn't mention the other ghosts in this fic but they are there and all friends - I'd hoped mentioning Kitty was enough to show that haha. Anyway later in the bathroom mirror at home and he imagines then studies his own face and thinks 'oh god, i look ridiculously enamoured, everyone must know'. and it's at that point that he knows he's gotta try harder to hide it (at this point Pat is still married and he doesn't want anyone's pity about being in love with a married man, and then Pat is getting divorced and he doesn't want anyone's judgement for being in love with a soon to be divorced man, it's all very complicated, and there's never a good time to admit anything to anyone).

and then whenever he puts on his neutral listening face, he's sitting there nodding and thinking 'i am getting a good grade in friend' etc until it becomes second nature to him after so many years.

it's also like. if he reacts to everyone with the same level of emotion (or lackthereof) then he can never be accused of favouring anyone. but also, they can all definitely see through him. they see the little smiles he does, they see how careful he is around Pat, they might not fully understand why, but they share looks and in the early years they talk about it behind his back (not in a bad way, just in a slightly concerned way) until they forget a bit too and becomes normal for them all.

And along with the being-in-love-with-Pat bit, you've also got that kind, fatherly side to Cap - which we also see when they're hanging out with Joanie's children over Christmas but yeah - that he doesn't want to show to his friends because he thinks it makes him vulnerable. man's not really got a father figure to speak of, so...

Not to be cringe but I actually based this small passage (and all the thoughts and feelings behind it) on specific people in my family and how we all interact - my mum, uncle and granny. they just. idk how to explain it. but the bit about not letting his friends know how funny he finds them is basically what i can only assume is going through my family's heads too. it feels like it's always a competition to be the funniest person in the room, but it can't be loud, outrageous humour. it's like a quiet, dry, clever wit and you've won the family gathering if you get a sensible chuckle out of everyone else who is otherwise pretending they don't find you funny. this makes it sound like i don't like them - they are the better side of the family and i love them so much. but yeah, i often base a lot of the Captain's family dynamics on my own because i think it fits well with his character in a modern au.

I also think in this fic (and all of my fics to be honest) the Captain spends a lot of time trying to make Pat laugh in a similar sort of way (a bit like he does in the show, a bit like my family does) and then quietly (proudly) smiling a little to himself, but only after checking that other people are laughing too so that he can pass it off as laughing at his own joke.

And then, obviously you've got Pat's perspective which is that they're best friends and they're very close and he's met his family and they love him and they have weekly lunches (with Humphrey but still) but the Captain always seems tense in a way he's always had to explain as anxiety or autism or something he can't understand and may never. Ironically the only times he doesn't seem that way are when they're alone together, because the Captain is thinking less about how he's being perceived, and he's able to relax and be more himself.

crikey that was a lot of words and i don't think that any of it actually makes sense haha! i hope that you got something from it though and if you want me to explain anything else more then i can definitely try!!

also my holiday was BRILLIANT thank you for asking!!

#ask game!! #the captain #mutually beneficial arrangement #bbc ghosts #patcap #bbc ghosts fic

[nrdmssgs]

Child Game

Riot belongs to @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot Zhar is my girl from A heart full of pity

Masterlist (with more Riot stuff) This is an AU, I guess, because Riot actually didn't have DnD amongst her other hobbies in original story. This happens in the future, long after Darker matters and ongoing series about Riot.

A.N. This is a one shot about great friends. Good friends comfort you. Great friends help you deal with some demons. Thank you for letting me be ugly and angry and sad and disappointed and still being out there. Warning: this is the most inaccurate description of DnD, because I never played it.

"C`mon, didn't you have fun back in Tul- ehm, Tulski ob-" Riot stumbled once again, trying to pronounce the name of the place where Olga was born and raised.

"It's just Tula, love. The city of sweets and guns*. And of course we had many different games. Like 'Zarnitza' or 'the sheet lightning', where 20-40 kids in 2 teams practically imitate an infiltration operation and fight for a flag. But without guns, and with a little less blood spilled." As Zhar walks, she unfastens and takes off her helmet. A shock of hair immediately falls on her face, and she doesn’t have time to see Christine’s face. However, she is quite sure, she scared or grossed her friend out.

But she has yet much to learn about Riot. Because in a few seconds, Olga hears her enthusiastic voice.

"My fucking god, how lucky you are. The most fun thing, I got to do with my friends was playing DnD! Not that I'm complaining, it was fun and everything..." Christine goes silent, noticing, how drastically Olgas face changed after her last words.

"You've been playing DnD?" Zhar asks with a tone of someone, who has just overheard, Riot was eating lobsters on a daily basis back in her teenage years.

Although at first Christine doesn't understand her friend's excitement about that - she very soon learns, Zhar always dreamed of trying to play DnD, but never had a chance.

"I mean, with Nikolai, every day turns into a little campaign with a teammate, who always rolls persuasion to 20, even when you don't need that. But I kinda sometimes wish, there was a dragon to slay..." Zhar murmurs, almost just to herself, as they both reach the base barracks and head into a store department, to hand over their weapons.

It never actually escapes Christine. This enigma coming from another world, raised on unkind children games, is actually dreaming of sharing some quiet cozy moments. That fascinates Riot, so she proceeds with a proposal.

"How about a game?"

Olga freezes for a moment, smiles to her thoughts, and continues getting out of her gear.

"Love, I've grown too old for that. Seen so much drama, I don't believe, a round of DnD could awaken anything in me now." Zhar hopes to sweep the topic under the carpet. But once Christine got an idea - she doesn't let it go so easily.

"Drama, you say? Be careful what you wish for, Lieutenant, you may receive it." When Riot wanted it - she could say anything in a plain tone, that given none of her intentions or emotions. But right now her voice is full of playful menace and mischief.

***

Zhar didn't believe, it was possible in the first place. Yet here they sat with Riot, Soap, Gaz and even Ghost around the desk. Two and a half hours of a game session, that started with so many laughs, Olga teared up multiple times. At first Ghost was hesitant to join, but when Kyle said 'wait guys, I think, I have a plan, dumb af, but it's gonna be hilarious' and Johnny and Olga grinned in approval for the third time in a row, Simon lost his last remains of patience.

"I know, I missed the opportunity to start together with them, but may I please save these three miserable fiddleheads?" He towers over Riot as she silently passes a character list, she filled specifically for Ghost, knowing for sure, he will join sooner or later. And so the party is formed.

Two and a half hours of laughs, surprises, fictional brawls, heroism and recklessness.

The first one, they lose in the final fight, is Johnny's character. As a Dungeon Master, Christine sees, the guy had it coming as he was too concentrated on keeping his familiar safe and forgot about the team. But she does not advertise her observations, keeping them until the end of the game so as not to spoil the moment.

Then it's Kyle's character turn. And he meets the same fate. Riot tries to not describe death of his character too colorful, but she still notices, how Zhar clutches a pen in her hands until her knuckles turn white.

Well, someone wanted drama.

"Simon, turn and run, now! Out of all of us only you did something actually useful for the party. Let's save at least your character! I can hold that thing for some time." Olga points to the stapler, that Christine used to portray the final boss.

"With a holy prayer, that doesn't do shit or with one of many bottles of rum, you stashed?" Ghost smirks.

Zhar tries many things, to save her last party member in game: from persuasion to intimidation and brute force. But Simon looks Christine in the eyes and says three words quietly.

Bring. It. On.

As Riot helps them picture the last minutes of Ghosts character, Olga hides face behind her character sheet. One doesn't need many details to imagine someone's death, when they have military background.

"So, that's it? I guess, next turn of the monster would be to end my cleric? I think, I'm supposed to pray then for the sake of roleplay." Zhar pats Ghosts shoulder apologetically.

Christine doesn't interrupt, letting Zhar come up with some kind of speech imitating a prayer. Only when Gaz stands from his place and hugs Olga from behind, helping her to calm down and collect herself, Riot makes a remark, that they are not yet done.

"The creature hears your prayer and freezes. It hates every word, you drop, yet it can't ignore you. You see, many hundreds of years ago, this creature was sworn to protect one of the temples dedicated to the deity you just prayed to. However, a terrible war razed that temple to the ground. Since then, the creature has made a new oath: it will give a precious artifact, gifted to it by the creator, to the first cleric it meets."

Christine takes an apple out of the bag, she brought with her, and places it on the desk before Zhar.

"This artifact, 'the fruit of eternity' was made to bring one soul to new life. Among its many known and even more yet undiscovered traits one may interest you especially, my godly friend..."

"Wait, you don't..." Olga starts suspecting something, but Christine goes on.

"When fed to a recently fallen being, it can bring them back to life. However, the fruit of infinity cannot be divided into parts. You either eat it completely or don’t touch it at all. This is, of course, unless you decide to refuse the gift and accept death from the claws of the creature bending over you."

A tense silence hangs in the room. The others look at Zhar, and she keeps her eyes fixed on the apple.

“But I... I can’t choose just one, knowing that the others won’t come back.” She smiles, yet her voice is barely audible.

Gaz feels, It's not about not being able to play like that again - they were already told, they can always come up with new characters. It's more about Lieutenant nature kicking in: protect your people at all costs, or die trying. And Olga can play an alcoholic cleric for forever, but at the end of the day - Lt is her very core.

"C`mon, its obvious: give it to Ghosts knight and you two will maybe manage to escape. Great game, good old Lts are free to-"

"Are you fucking kidding me? I`m not going back there, you better give it to Soap or his... how is it called, again?" Simon cuts Kyle out, but speaks friendly and sounds relaxed.

Apparently, Soap too has his thoughts on this topic, which he hastens to share. And now three men are arguing loudly, not paying attention to the girls.

"Many undiscovered traits, you say? And what exactly happens, when someone, who is yet alive, eats it?" It seems like a few years by Nikolai's side, taught Zhar to bargain at every opportunity.

Christine hooks her fingers at the top edge of the mask and lowers it, flashing a predatory smile for a moment. "New life. New benefits. New skills. New... perspective on the whole world."

Olga looks up at the men, still arguing. "They are so skilled, so clever, you know? Even in this game they actually did something, they fought, while my character just... drank excessively and cast a pair of blessings. And they all have hearts of gold. I don't think, I'll ever be able to become as good as them."

Christine just watches her, enjoying every second of guys coming to some arrangements and Olga clearly formulating some plan.

"Well, if my cleric can never become as good as them..." Zhar takes an Apple and brings it to her lips. "She`ll become so much worse."

#cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mv2 #cod fanfic #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #mw2 fanfic #cod x oc

[drawer-ghost]

tell me about ur papyton fankids. are they named after fonts? are they part ghost or part robot or both? what age do you typically imagine them at? who's more like Papyrus? who's more like Mettaton? how were they created/born? how do Papyrus and Mettaton feel about raising them, did they have any reservations before they were born? sorry for the barrage of questions, just wanted to give you some ideas in case you didn't know where to start :]

First of all: Anon I am giving you a big smooch on the forehead as a thank you cuz I needed to talk my ideas!

So, the children are three and all of them are adopted, so no ghost-robot-skeleton hybrid sadly (I wanted to do it but Mettaton doesn't strike me as someone that would want children at first, so all the kids are obtained through adventures and shenanigans and he decided to keep them)

They are from an AU I like to call "Monsterling AU" (basically my post pacifist+UT general headcanons but the characters have kids and there are new ocs)

Explanation of the children under the cut cuz the post would be hell to scroll down:

(if you have some criticism about the design or ideas for them please feel free to tell me about it I wanna get better at writing and designing characters)

The first is a robot that I haven't named yet. Their story is that they were a virus that infected one of the mini Box Mettaton he uses during the fights but became sentient and with a mentality of a 10 years old. Not wanting to get rid of it nor knowing what to do they just adopt them. They are the first of the bunch and have Mettaton's personality but cope by having Papyrus's fashion style. I see them being teenager, like, mentally 14 years old when they and their family find Jaine Doo.

The second is Jaine Doo, a zombie of a young sick girl that centuries ago was buried in the dump of Waterfall when humans lived in the Underground too. During Asriel's fight he also stole her soul and when he broke the barrier he basically created a loophole reviving her as a memory-less zombie (there's a deeper reason behind why she has no memory but I need it to cook it more). I need to cook her story more but I wanna make it happen in some Big City For Rich people just for fun. Papyton found her while she was hiding in a garbage can and saved her. She is the "sane man" (I put it in brackets cuz she is also goofy, just not in the same way her family is) of the situation. She also stays "silent" most of the time for comedic reasons (think about Erma). She is technically older than Robot Dude but she has the Curse Of The Middle Child. I would say that she was the one most similar to Papyrus mostly for her perfectionism and desire to befriend everyone but it's a big stretch.

Ivy is kinda the newbie both in the story and in irl so her story isn't very cooked. She is a cursed puppet that took Life out of nowhere. Her backstory will mostly depend about how much tear-jerking or "what the frick-ery" I want it to be but at some point she was one of the puppets of a famous puppeteer friend that secretly hated Mettaton's guts for his popularity. So he gifted her knowing it was alive and very angry with humanity and monsterkind but thought the power of friendship and love she just gave up at killing them and just became one of their kids. She is like Damian from Batman Wayne Family Adventures: can kill you but wouldn't like to do that and develop social skills instead.

#long post #monsterling au #undertale #papyton #ivy the kind puppet #jaine doo the zombie #calling the eldest robot dude makes me think that it would be hilarious if they were effectively named Dude #what kind of rich people Papyton would be if they didn't have a child with a terrible name? #fankid

[allyriadayne]

do you have any thoughts or headcanons about lyonel's daughters?

yah of course lol

their names are lucinda and alysanne strong. @elcctra and i came up with their names. lucinda for lucinda broome, lady tully during the first years of jaehaerys' reign. lyonel might have wanted to honor his overlords as a sign of peace after harrenhal changed hands to the strongs, from a minor vassal house to one of the most powerful. alysanne well obviously for the queen. more or less the same thought, because it's my headcanon lyonel is low key a social climber and would want to honor the targs that gave the family his seat.

under the cut babyyy

they are very close in age, i would say something like 18 months or around. from the same mother, lyonel's last wife. while they weren't a disappointment, everyone expected more sons that could go over larys' claim but alas. in general the girls are very happy and healthy and inseparable. many think they are twins but not really. i think of them as being older than rhaenyra by two or three years max but to her they feel younger because they are very carefree and girly and giggly. like every annoying teenage girl who laughs at you on the streets. rhaenyra has Responsibilities and she always liked alicent better of course so the girls are only there to entertain the princess and so on. not for serious stuff.

to me they are the opposite of the harwin - larys - alys trio. while they are looking at the horror and experiencing complex dynamics, the girls are making friends with every ghost in harrenhal. the are also very friendly so nobody cares if the cook finds them talking to a third person in a dark cellar <3 this also happened because there is a big age difference between the siblings. not very close. harwin and larys disliked their stepmother, larys hated the girls on principles because he knew they were meant to be his replacement, and alyn doesn't hate them but has complicated feeling about them just like with any strong child she takes care of in the nursery. lyonel also named one of them alysanne to add insult to the injury lol

they loved their dad because lyonel only asked of them the bare minimum and rhaenyra's household is pretty cool and the princess is nice to them. they do wish they were more prominent in there but they don't mesh well in general. they are normal girls in harrenhal but in real society are a justtt a bit off putting. what else???? hm they cried when lyonel and harwin died of course. they went to the funeral with larys' (/larys/ they can't believeeee) leave and they acted as his representatives. they love harwin's children to bits but are gutted none of them know they are family.

very codependent but not in the weird way lol just in the way they don't have a distinct personality from the other. they probably had a double wedding or something and dragged their husbands to dragonstone. felt very betrayed when larys stayed in the capital bc they never understood why he would hate harwin/harwin's children. they feel like it's their duty to continue their house esp after aemond killed the other strongs. larys sends them perfunctory letters here and there like "come here this instant" or something but it obviously doesn't work. he doesn't care about them personally but he's a control freak and can't let them go. they don't care about him /either/ so goodbye.

for one of the girls i have claudia jessie in vanity fair. with darker hair (not in bridgerton...not with those stupid bangs) but for the other i'm still blank. i just liked claudia because i thought she looked A LOT like matthew needham and that was fun. i want the other to have brown eyes because all of lyonel's children have blue yes (fight back lyonel!!) but i haven found a fc yet.

#ask #Anonymous #valyrianscrolls #house strong #unnamed strong daughters #maybe i should tag them with their names.... idk #i thought i didn't have many things to say about them but when i started typing a lot came out. i guess it's because i am defining them thr #the space the main children left

[bluestar22x]

Jane Doe

The Rockford Files - Jane Doe

Summary: A teenager's remains are found in the woods and it's up to you and Tim to solve the case.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader (Both in their late 40s)

Rating: 18+ Series

Word Count: 17,400 (ish)

Warnings: Lots of reader backstory, descriptions of a kidnapping that could be triggering, mentions of human trafficking, violence, murder, spooky ghost children, brief smut, fowl language, fluff, angst, and a gunshot injury.

Author's Note: With autumn ending, so does this story. It's given me some serious writer's block at times, but I really like the finished product. I hope you like it too. This ended up so much longer than I expected. Also, I almost cried while writing the end so prepare? (Don't worry, it's a happy ending for Tim and reader).

xxx

November 23, 1997 (Sunday)

I love you. As far as you were concerned that sentence was overused and all too often empty, the words spoken out of compulsion, out of the belief it had to be vocalized, rather than truly heartfelt.

Your parents had uttered those three little words to each other every morning before going to work without fail. It hadn't saved them from divorcing when you were twelve.

They'd said those words to you every time after you'd woken from a nightmare. Every time you mentioned having seen someone who was dead standing in the living room. Every time they left you in a child psychiatric ward to be treated for a mental illness you did not have. No amount of medication kept the spirits at bay. Your parents' disappointment, the grief that shined in their eyes over not having a normal child was far more honest.

Your past lovers had been a mixed bag, but since most of them hadn't taken your gift seriously even after you'd become an official couple, or you'd hidden it from them the whole time, those words had often just made you scoff.

You only love me because you don't truly know me.

Your best friend in high school had been more honest, had used those words more sparingly, when the world felt more cruel than kind, and you only had each together to hold onto. But people like that were a rare breed in your experience.

Tim Rockford was one of those people. More apt to show his care than to speak it. Much more likely to mean it with every fiber of his being when he did say it.

That morning was only the third time he'd spoken those words to you. The first having been four months after you'd become a couple and one month after you'd let everyone in the office in on your secret, including human resources. Having just witnessed you beating the whole department in a game of darts at Liquid Alchemy and how your face lit up with the victory. The way you'd looked, so bright and full of life, so proud, the way you'd kissed him after he dropped you back off at your rental, had the words spilling from his lips.

The second time he had walked in on you in his kitchen back in August, dancing to a song playing on the radio as you cooked up omelettes. So enamored by your unusually carefree spirit in the moment that he was saying the words before you even realized he was there.

He was lying on top of you this time, spent, breathless, but still inside you, his nose nuzzling against your cheek after he'd murmured those words into your ear.

It would be easy to assume it was something said in the heat of the moment, because that's what you were supposed to say to the person you'd just had sex with, who you were supposed to be committed to, but you knew him better than that. Knew he only spoke it when the feeling truly overwhelmed him.

You wondered what had done it this time as you tilted your head so you could kiss the bare patch in his beard. Was it the morning sun on your face? The way you'd refused to close your eyes, to miss a single change in his expression as he moved above you, as he thrust into you over and over? Or was it how you'd softly kissed him after, whispered his name like he was everything to you?

"I love you too," you told him sweetly, meaning it as much as he had.

Thirteen months. That was how long it had taken you to be sure that you had finally found your soulmate. Not the kind that a god or fate had chosen for you. The kind that you chose because of the time you'd spent together, because of the trust you'd built, and because of the honesty between you. The kind that was real.

Meow. Meow. Meow.

You craned your neck to peer over Tim's shoulder at his closed bedroom door. Your closed bedroom door, since you'd officially moved in two months ago.

You could just make out the flash of a tiny, tawny brown paw as it darted in and out of the thin gap between the door and the floor, demanding attention.

You giggled and Tim groaned at both the friction caused by your shaking and being interrupted.

"Damned cat," he cursed, clenching his jaw.

You glanced at the alarm clock on the night stand. "She has the right to plea. It's nearly seven-thirty. I'm a half hour late feeding her."

"She could survive longer," he grumbled.

You grinned up at him, gently pushing him away from you as you did so. He released you hesitantly and rolled away from you to curl up on the left side of the bed. "I'll be back in no time," you promised.

You tugged the oversized t-shirt you'd worn to bed down over your torso and opened the door to beam down at your latest fluffy companion, a tawny short haired tabby cat who had appeared half starved on your back porch five months ago. You'd fed her and she hadn't left. By the time you had decided you were going to move into Tim's house you'd trapped her and locked her up in your garage while you tried to gain her trust, put weight on her, and apply flea medication to clear her of the nasty parasites. She was spayed on moving day after a clean bill of health by the nearest vet and you'd both found yourselves living in a new space by the end of the day. Thankfully she'd taken it in stride, much more than most cats would, especially one that had so recently been a stray.

"I should've named you Missy," you said to her. "Though Lucky fits your past well, Missy would've fit your attitude more."

Lucky stared up at you with her beautifully eerie pale green eyes and mewed again impatiently.

"Yes. Yes. I'm coming."

You patted barefoot down the hallway after the cat, heading straight for the cabinet where you kept her wet food, plucking one of her metal bowls off the kitchen floor on your way there.

You used a handheld can opener to slice the lid open and scraped the contents out into the bowl with a reusable plastic spoon. Lucky stuck by your feet the whole time, meowing anxiously as she weaved between your legs, rubbing her face against your ankles at every opportunity.

"Suck up," you huffed, though you were amused by her overwhelming affection. She was never that cuddly with you unless food was involved.

You returned her bowl to its spot in a corner of the room and after refilling her water bowl, made your way back to the bedroom.

"I'm all yours again," you announced as you strolled into the room. You halted mid stride when you noticed Tim was up on his feet and pulling on a fresh pair of black suit pants.

"Sorry, honey, Bronson called," he explained. "Someone hiking in the park five minutes from here stumbled onto a body. Rather, a skeleton. The hiker's dog dug it up. Bronson wants us on the case."

You sighed, unable to hide your disappointment. "I'll jump in the shower. Ten minutes and we're on the road."

You were tugging your shirt back off and making a beeline to the master bathroom before Tim could react, grumbling under your breath.

Sometimes you really wished you'd gone with a nine to five job.

x

It was a fairly bright, sunny day for late autumn, but it was colder than it typically was for November in Portland, fitting for what your eyes fell upon at the base of a leafless, scarred tree in the park, only a half mile from the busy hiking path.

Protruding from a pile of orange leaf litter that had been blown against the tree was the top of a skull and what appeared to be a humerus bone. The bones seemed lightly weathered and completely cleaned off, a sign they'd been out in the forest for at least a couple weeks, likely much more. The cold weather likely would've preserved the body longer than typical.

"We've got a Jane Doe on our hands," Joe declared as he stood next to you and Tim, watching as Katie snapped photos of the bones. "No ID on her and she's been out here a while, best I can tell while out in the field. So Weston's team is going to be in on this until we get her real name."

"Her." You hesitated. You'd been around bodies long enough, seen enough to know that the skull was smaller than most adults.

"Yeah, her," Joe confirmed. "Probably an older teenager. Her growth plates aren't completely fused yet. Best guess is she's also of African heritage, judging by her jaw structure."

"Poor girl," you murmured. You didn't know exactly what happened to her yet, but teenagers didn't usually just die out in the forest peacefully.

"Does it appear her death was caused by foul play?" Tim inquired, placing a hand on his hip as his jaw worked. His face was bare, the glasses he'd been wearing tucked away in one of his coat pockets.

"Hard to say for sure yet," Joe answered as he squatted down and pointed to her front teeth. "But you see that cracked incisor? It's possible a hit caused that."

You frowned. "You think someone punched her?"

"Maybe," Joe replied. "It doesn't look like there was any attempt to fix it and it would be painful to keep a tooth in that kind of shape. That crack runs along the entire tooth. It had to happen right before she died. It could've been an accident too, like banging her head into something during a fall, but that's unlikely considering where we are."

You understood what he meant. Parks were fairly common body dumping grounds for murderers.

Perfectly timed, a chill coursed through you after the thought, followed by a raven's sudden high pitched screech, making you jump and spin towards your right, where the sound had come from.

You wandered a bit away from Tim and Joe, spotting a pair of them squabbling over a scrap of trash a couple yards off, hopping around on the forest floor as they dodged each other's beaks and talons.

You had been so startled by the noise that you'd forgotten the sudden arctic blast you'd felt the instant before it, and flinched when you turned back to find a little girl standing in between you and your path back to the crime scene.

She was maybe four years old and had light golden skin, like she'd been in the sun the whole summer and the tan had never faded. Her blonde-brown hair was mostly pulled back into two pigtails with barbie pink hair ties, except for some stray baby hairs that curled wildly alongside her heart face. She was wearing a solid ocean blue dress over white leggings that were smeared with mud. She was staring at you intensely with deep brown eyes, but the expression on her face was more gentle, curious even.

"Yeah, I can see you," you confirmed what you assumed she was curious about. It wasn't every day a spirit was seen by a mere human, after all. "Who are you?"

The little girl's expression turned into suspicion, one that a child taught about stranger danger would have, and her narrowed eyes felt familiar.

You realized a lot of her physical features and micro expressions looked a lot like a certain someone you knew. She could've been his cousin, or daughter, or...

"Madison," you gasped. "You're Madison Rockford, aren't you?"

She blinked at you in surprise and backed off a few steps, nervous that a stranger knew her name.

"Don't run," you pleaded with her right before she did exactly that, bolting behind the nearest tree.

She didn't show up on the other side.

You covered your mouth with both hands, shocked by your startling revelation.

You'd just seen Tim's sister, you had no doubt in your mind. She had too much in common with him for it to be a coincidence and the spirit had been the same age as Maddie had been when she'd disappeared. When she'd been taken.

You'd never asked Tim about her, because he'd never brought her up and you hadn't wanted to trudge up any painful memories unless he was willing to. Even one year into your romantic relationship you'd kept yourself from asking him about her or even digging up old newspaper articles.

"Psy, you okay?" Tim called out from several yards away, just far enough to have been out of hearing rage when you'd spoken to Maddie, thankfully.

You nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay. I just heard some ravens battling it out over what I think was a piece of jerky."

He chuckled. "Jerky is good enough to fight over. Sometimes. Maybe I should join in."

You did your best to flash him a genuine looking grin. "If you want one of your eyes pecked out, go right head. They were not messing around."

He shook his head and became serious again. "You ready to head to the department? Joe and Katie are about to bag up the body. Nothing more for us to do out here."

"Okay."

Tim dived in to sneak a quick kiss to your temple, a habit from the time period before you'd revealed your relationship to HR, then led the way back to his unmarked car.

The entire stroll out of the forest and on the hiking path you couldn't stop thinking about Maddie.

What was she doing here in these woods, in this city? Why was she just showing up now after decades? Why had she run away? Could a spirit ever stay sane after being in this dimension this long? Or had she come back from the beyond? Stirred from peace for some reason? She must have a connection to the victim somehow, right? Otherwise she wouldn't have just appeared. If she'd been latched onto Tim all this time, you would've surely seen her before, right?

But what kind of connection could she possibly have to a teenager murdered in Portland many miles away from her hometown?

More questions surged in your head as you stared at Tim's trench coat covered shoulders and back.

Should you tell him? Yes. But when? It wasn't going to be an easy conversation to slip into. The last psychic who'd claimed Maddie was around had been a fake and had caused Tim to be standoffish with you when you first met. You didn't want to go back to that. You needed to make one hundred percent sure she was Maddie and figure out what you could use to prove to him you were seeing her. He'd come to believe in your abilities, in ghosts after Elliot had attacked you, but that didn't mean he wouldn't back pedal if you brought up Maddie. She was clearly too sensitive of a topic for him, otherwise he'd have mentioned her within the last couple years you'd known him. Tim wasn't big on keeping secrets.

You had a lot of questions to answer before you sat him down and admitted the truth, but you did know one thing with certainly: you weren't going to do it that day.

x

If Tim was the best Detective in the state, Weston was the second best, as far as you were concerned. You'd never seen a missing persons unit work as fast as he and his team did, even for a person who they knew was dead.

Jane Doe did not stay identified for long, Weston and his team working hard to dig up files on black female teenagers who had gone missing in the last twenty years (a disgusting amount, though even one was too many), working backwards from the most recent cases to the oldest. You and Tim had assisted, but it was ultimately Weston himself who found a match, who found a file on a seventeen year old girl named Cassie Jackson whose dental records matched the victim's teeth, save for the crack in one.

Weston had taken it on himself to call her parents into the department and talk to them about what he'd found. They didn't have much proof yet, the Forensics team still had a lot to test, but the dental x-ray was enough to be certain they had the right body matched to the right missing person. She had some unique identifying features to her teeth and they all matched up perfectly.

You and Tim had been watching in the observation room when he interviewed her parents but you had to step away from the glass after Cassie's mother broke into a sobbing, devastated mess. Cassie had been missing for a little over two years, having disappeared at a public swimming pool, but her parents had remained hopeful that maybe, somehow, their little girl was still alive. You hated seeing their hopes and dreams about their daughter returning to them alive being dashed. You would never get desensitized to the senselessness of youth being taken away from their families so ruthlessly.

You knew Tim was in the same boat. As soon as you both left the interrogation observation room he was back to work in the office, studying all the photos Katie had taken and all notes he'd made while at the crime scene with one hand wringing out the other.

Occasionally his right thumb swept over the bullseye tattoo on his left hand, between his thumb and index finger as he pondered deeply over how Cassie might have ended up in the forest. Who might have done it. There wasn't a whole lot to go on yet.

Your eyes were drawn to his anxious motions and curiosity eventually got the better of you. "Last time I asked you about that tattoo you said it was a reminder to keep your focus. But I get the feeling that it means much more to you than just that."

He threw you a glance as you stepped up alongside him to also study the cork board, then stared down at the small black inked tattoo before he spoke. "You know how my sister was kidnapped when we were kids, right?"

You were shocked he'd brought her up so easily, but were able to recover quickly and nod solemnly. "I heard a while back."

"I got into this job because of her," he admitted. "Back when I was in my late teens I thought the police sucked at their jobs, after all they couldn't find one little girl after having almost a full decade to do so. So I trained to be a detective as soon as I was of age. Went through all the courses, was a beat cop for three years, before I finally got to do the job and finally got my hands on her missing case files."

"Did you figure out what happened to her?" you inquired. You figured if her case had been brought to justice Helen would have told you but maybe Tim had solved the mystery of her disappearance without having enough evidence to take it to court.

He shook his head sadly. "Never found anything more than the detectives did all those years ago. I won't stop keeping an eye out, I owe her that, but it turns out those detectives did their best. It just wasn't enough."

You wanted to kiss him, to hug him, but since you were in the office you settled on comforting him by placing a hand on his right shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Nothing anyone can do without evidence," you reminded him.

He nodded and motioned towards the board. "There's evidence here though. This I can help solve and will. This tattoo..." he trailed off, pointing to it with his right index finger, "I got it not just to remind myself to keep focus but to also never forget why I joined the department."

Once more your heart hurt for the young boy whose little sister disappeared on his watch and for the man who had made a whole career out of making up for it, because if he couldn't get justice for Maddie, he could for many other children like her.

You chewed your bottom lip as you thought about Maddie. If she appeared only when Cassie's body was found, did that mean they were connected somehow? But how? Their kidnappings were nearly forty years apart.

"What are you thinkin' about?" Tim questioned, frowning at the troubled expression on your face.

"Just wondering what we can do the rest of the day," you replied, trying to think as you spoke. What was next?

"We won't have much to do until Forensics gets more test results and Weston comes back to us with more info on the family and close friends," Tim said, "But we can start coming up with some theories."

"Like her killer likely living close to the park?" you asked.

"It's a start," he answered, sighing. "I'm going to get coffee in the lounge before we really dive in. You want any?"

"Sure," you said. "Thanks."

One corner of his mouth curved up. "Any time."

"I'll hold you to that," you shouted after him as he slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

You turned back to the board and heaved a sigh.

You were really at a lost of what to do the rest of shift with Weston's team sharing the case, though technically you and Tim were on lead this time since Cassie was dead and no longer a Jane Doe.

You couldn't wait for the day to be over.

x

That night, sometime after one, you woke up with a start, bolting into a sitting position and sweating like you were sprawled directly under the Georgia sun in the middle of July instead of on a bed in Portland during one of it's coldest autumn nights yet.

You'd had a nightmare, but the memory of it was fuzzy. All you could remember was a deep seated fear and panic as unfamiliar arms reached out for you and hauled you into darkness. For all of its vagueness, it had felt real. Your dreams very rarely ever felt that way, unless...

"Maddie?" you whispered under your breath, scanning your bedroom as best as you could with the lights off. You couldn't see anything out of the usual.

You warily glanced over at Tim, who was laying beside you with his back to you, still sound asleep under the thick throw blanket you'd added to the bed after November had begun, and you relaxed. The last thing you had wanted that night was for him to have been awake when you'd spoken his sister's nickname. You were no more ready to have that conversation than you'd been when she'd showed up in the woods earlier.

You slipped out from under the blankets silently and tip toed out the room, headed for the stairs and then the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen you poured yourself a small glass of water from the sink and made your way to Tim's personal office that was tucked away by the door to the basement.

The house office was small, just big enough for a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet, albeit decently large ones. When you'd moved in you'd managed to squeeze your desktop computer onto the surface of the desk and that was what had your attention as soon as you sat down in the rolling chair.

You pressed a button to wake up the computer and logged in, tapping your left foot on the hardwood flooring as you waited for it to load and for you to be able to dial up so you could use the internet.

From there you researched anything and everything you could about Maddie, wanting to have the full picture of what happened to her and needing to find the connection between her and Cassie, a reason for why she'd only show up after Cassie's body was found.

There wasn't much information to go on. The only connection you saw was that they were both girls, underage, and seemingly had just disappeared with their family members close by, with no obvious evidence of foul play. Everything else was different. Maddie was four, Cassie was a teen. Maddie was of Latin American heritage and Cassie was of African heritage. Maddie was kidnapped in Hood River an hour away, and Cassie was kidnapped at a public pool in the city. Cassie's body had been found, but Maddie's hadn't.

You'd been searching the internet for almost an hour when you gave up and powered down your computer, more than ready to get back to bed so you wouldn't be dead tired in the morning (pun not intended).

You stood and pivoted towards the door, ready to leave the room, but you froze when you spotted a small figure in the doorway, blocking your path.

You startled and your heart pounded from the unexpected sight of Maddie standing there, staring at you like you were an animal at a zoo. That fact that a picture in one of the articles you'd read had confirmed that she was who you'd suspected her to be didn't make her expression any less spooky.

"Maddie," you hissed between your teeth, a hand flying to your chest. "What are you doing here?"

She frowned as she seemingly contemplated an answer, but she didn't find it and her face twisted into a scowl fit for someone four decades older than she'd been when she died. She used one hand to impatiently gesture at you to follow her. Come on.

You nodded and obeyed, cautiously letting her draw you away from the office, into the mudroom, and out the front door, after you'd thrown on a fleece jacket and sneakers.

She was waiting by the bumper of your car, face unreadable. You approached cautiously. "What is it?" You tried to reassure yourself that this was a kid, Tim's sister. You didn't have to be wary.

Then again, who knew how long she'd been wandering around? Insane spirits were not like their living counterparts. You'd learned that lesson harshly with Elliot. If Maddie was insane, it didn't matter if she was a Rockford.

She glanced between you and the driver's door expectantly and you raised your eyebrows. "You want me to drive somewhere?"

She nodded fervently and motioned at the door again.

You shoved your right hand in your jacket pocket and pulled out the set of car keys you'd left in them the last time you'd driven your car. You reached for the door handle and as your fingertips grazed it the world spun. You swayed and balanced yourself against the door, a hand outstretched, as a vision overtook you.

x

You could only see darkness, but it felt like you were moving, rolling along at a high speed like you were in a vehicle. You were confused, wondering why it was so dark if you were out on a road. You should see something or else whoever was driving you couldn't see anything either.

You tried to shift in your spot to relieve your stiff neck and knees, and realized you were laying on your side, will carpeted walls surrounding you.

But only trunks of cars were completely covered with carpet...

You felt your heart jump in your chest, and panic start to set in. Something wasn't right. Wherever you were, you weren't supposed to be here. Last you remembered was running into the forest to try to find a hiding spot. You had to find the best one possible. Your brother was really good at finding you, annoyingly so.

You'd been ducking under a fallen log when...you felt your eyes widen as the memory of someone ripping you out of your hiding spot by your legs flashed before your eyes, followed by a grain bag being pulled over your head.

You began thrashing around in the trunk, terrified. You pushed against the walls with your feet, unable to do so with your arms since your wrists were bound together with what felt like rope.

Whoever was driving the car must've heard you because it had stopped moving, and you could hear footsteps getting closer and closer.

You were breathing heavy, and your mind was scrambled from the intensifying terror you were feeling with every crunch of shoe on gravel. You tried to recall what your father had once instructed you to do if a stranger approached you when you were alone.

Never take anything they offer. Never leave with them without telling us first. And if they try to take you, fight, run.

You had been scared when he had that conversation with you and you hadn't understood why anyone would want to hurt you, but he'd compared it to Snow White. Sometimes people acted like the Evil Queen and destroyed lives they had no right to. He had assured you that the Evil Queen wasn't real and that it was extremely unlikely anyone would try to put you under a spell or worst, but in case, you needed to know. He had assured you that you would be safe if you did as told in that scenario.

You had listened, but your fear had faded, your father's assurances and time working together to serve you peace.

Peace was far from you now and you shrieked when the trunk lid lifted and you saw your captor above you. You were blinded by the bright sunlight outside, but you could tell the person was a man, shorter than your father, but just as broad shouldered. He was wearing a plain brown t-shirt and jeans, but you didn't wait to let your eyes adjust to see his full face.

You sprung up, throwing all your weight at him instinctively, causing him to stumble back with a startled grunt, and gravity dropped you to the solid dirt road below. The impact drew tears to your eyes, the arm pinned underneath you suddenly throbbing with pain, but adrenaline had you on your feet in a second, bounding into the woods that surrounded the road, your tied hands out in front of you.

You didn't make it more than a few yards before he had one of his arms wrapped around you and had the tip a sharp kitchen knife pressed against your throat. You froze in horror. You didn't know much about knives, but you knew this kind would hurt you if it touched your skin and you moved. Your mother had warned you never to touch the ones in the block in the kitchen. "Don't hurt me," you begged.

"I won't if you get back in that trunk," the man promised you.

An adult had never lied to you before, but he was a stranger. "You swear?"

"I swear."

You didn't want to get back in, but you also didn't want him to hurt you. Every muscle in your body was screaming at you to run as your father had told you to, but you'd already tried that and failed.

Heart in your throat, you let him lower you back into the trunk and bind your legs with a new rope. He then put something over your eyes and shoved a cloth roughly into your mouth so you could not speak.

You were helpless to stop him. You could only hope that he meant what he said, but deep down a part of you sensed he was lying, just like the Evil Queen with the poisoned apple.

You sobbed as the car pulled back onto the road.

x

There were tears tracking down your face when you snapped out of the horrifying memory.

Maddie's memory.

Your eyes shot up to meet hers and hers flickered away, as if she was ashamed. Your heart clenched.

"You did what you could," you assured her, breathlessly. "It wasn't your fault he was faster. I'm so sorry he was faster, Maddie."

Moments flashed through your head, Maddie not done with you yet. The man peeling the blindfold off her face and telling her not to look back, to keep walking and Maddie obediently doing so, entering a forested area that was less dense with brush than the previous one had been. You were separated enough from the scene this time to conclude that the forest was familiar to you but not the girl. You recognized a few landmarks while she recognized none. You could still feel her fear as if it were your own though.

Thankfully Maddie spared you from seeing and feeling her death, maybe she didn't even remember it, as traumatic as it probably had been to her mentality. Maybe as far as she was concerned everything ended when her kidnapper shoved her to the forest floor and took out his knife again. "Sorry, kid," he murmured into her ear from behind her. "Apparently nobody's interested in taking on another kid your age. And I can't just let you go after seeing my face. Shame. But that's a risk of the business." He almost sounded like he meant the apology. Almost.

Fresh tears streaked down your face and you felt your blood boil like it had never before. It wasn't the first time a spirit had shown you their last moments, but they never failed to fill you with rage, especially when it was kids, and in this case, especially because it was Maddie. Tim's sister. If not for the man who'd taken her, you would've probably met her before this, like you'd met their parents last Christmas when Tim had brought you with him to visit them in Arizona, where they'd retired to. You'd never gotten the opportunity, and she'd never gotten to grow up, all because of one sick mind.

"Psy!"

The shout of your nickname made you jump and you were pretty sure one more surprise that night would send you to the hospital the way your heart was battering against your ribs.

You glanced over your shoulder and noted Tim stepping off the porch, headed out to join you by your car in the driveway. When you turned back to look for Maddie, she was gone.

But she'd given you all the information you'd needed from her and more. Too much more. You definitely would not have gone back to bed after that, even if you could've.

"Where are you going?" Tim inquired, eyes falling to the key ring in your hand.

"Back to the park," you stated. "Where we found Cassie."

"Why, at this time of night?" He blinked at you, confused. You gave him a few seconds to think. "You saw her in a dream?" he guessed.

"A waking nightmare, really," you said, not correcting him on who you were talking about.

"What did you see?"

You gritted your teeth, the vision still too fresh. "There might be more bodies out there. I have reason to believe we're dealing with a serial killer."

He gave you half a minute to give him a further explanation, but you didn't. He frowned at that, used to you telling him everything since you'd started dating, but he thankfully did not press. "I'll get a shovel."

In a few minutes you were on the road, Tim in the driver's seat, having switched spots with you when he noticed your hands shaking as you put on your seat belt.

The whole way you tried not to think about anything. Not Maddie's memories, not your lies to Tim, not the forested location off the path you were headed to. You'd have to face them when you got to your destination, but as long as your ass was on the passenger seat, you could pretend like none of it was real.

If only.

x

As soon as Tim pulled into a spot in the park's mostly empty lot you ripped open the glove compartment to snatch up the emergency flashlight you always kept in there and slid out the passenger side, heading for the trail without waiting for him. He would easily catch up, and he did, way before you reached the location where Cassie's body had been found.

You glanced over to Tim and without a word he got to work digging around what had been her resting place, turning over the surface soil, moss, and dead plant debris. Meanwhile you observed the ground carefully under the light, not wanting to miss any evidence he might turn up.

He was fifteen minutes into cautiously turning over the earth when a flash of white caught your eye. You raised your arm and made a stop gesture at him with the palm of your hand so he'd pause.

He gave you a nod and backed off as you squatted over where you'd seen the white thing. Putting on gloves from your jacket pocket you began to delicately claw at the ground with one hand, eventually revealing what appeared to be a human humerus bone.

"We should call this in," Tim said, immediately pulling his cell phone out of his trench coat.

"Definitely," you agreed, placing the fragile, worn bone back on the surface of the earth it was found in. "I have a feeling we've found a dumping ground."

x

You were right. As soon as the Forensics team joined you back on site and you all got to work digging up all the ground within a few yards of Cassie's burial site more and more bones started surfacing until two more mostly complete skeletons had been collected to study and identify.

"Are these kids too?" you asked Joe.

He shrugged. "Hard to tell in the field, especially at night. But their heights are similar and they are female remains."

"Can I touch one of the bones with my bare hands?" you inquired. "I want to see if I can get something off of them."

"You've already touched victim A's left humerus, go for that one," Joe suggested. "If you think it'll give us key information."

"It might." You weren't going to promise it would when nothing was a guarantee.

He nodded at you to continue and you hesitantly bent to lay a few bare fingers on victim A's arm bone, trying to prepare for the worst. You were still shaken up from what Maddie had shown you earlier.

Everything came in flashes, like the second memory she had shared with you. You were wriggling out of a binding finally too loose for you because your wrists had practically become made of nothing but bone. You were starving, and desperate to escape. You sneaked silently up the basement steps, away from where you'd been held captive for weeks and carefully twisted the door knob to enter the house. Then the next thing you knew you were staring into a hallway decorative mirror, shocked by how hollow and pale your face appeared. You were barely recognizable. Another flash, and you were racing out of the house at full speed and down the driveway, your heart thumping loudly in your chest with the knowledge that if you glanced back you were most definitely dead. He was behind you. You only made it halfway to the mailbox, purposely eying the number on it as you approached, before something ripped through your abdomen and you crumpled to the dirt as searing hot pain filled you. The last thing you saw was red blooming on your ragged shirt before you were you again.

"She's maybe thirteen years old, of Asian, probably Korean descent," you informed Joe as you opened your eyes back up. "She escaped, made it halfway down the driveway before he shot her. The house is in a thickly wooded area. The black mailbox had the number fifteen on it. Must be the address. But I didn't catch a name on the box."

Joe gaped at you. So did Weston, who'd been a yard away from you helping Tim dig up more ground to make sure there weren't more bodies.

"You been holdin' out on us or what?" Joe questioned. "You never told us you could see their memories just by touching their bones."

He'd become much more open minded about your abilities after Tim had admitted to him that he believed you. Funny how that worked.

"I usually can't," you began, "Usually they have to be..."

Something caught your attention to your right, in front of a large, barren bigleaf maple tree.

Maddie was standing there next to the girl who'd been shot in their murderer's driveway, observing you like a creepy set of twins in a horror movie.

"...Nearby," you finished, breath catching. Why did spirits have to act this way? It was unnerving.

"She's here too?" Tim guessed, having seen you focusing in on nothing and recognizing your unsettled expression.

"Yeah."

You watched the girls as the teenager reached for Maddie's hand and Maddie grasped it, eyes peering up at her for a brief passing. Then they were simply gone.

You had no doubts you'd see them again though.

"Hey, I found something over here!" Katie called out from behind you.

You twisted around and ambled over to her, all three guys following.

She passed you fresh gloves and you tugged them on before she transferred an item in her gloved hands into your own.

It was a frayed black corded necklace with a silver flower pendant attached to it. The flower seemed to resemble a daisy.

"How would this get buried so far away from their bodies?" you asked her.

She shrugged.

"Let me see," Tim requested, and you turned to offer up the necklace to him. He didn't grab it from you, but he studied it hard for several moments, his expression shifting from curiosity to shock to anger.

"You've seen this before," you murmured, chest tightening. That could only mean one thing.

"I haven't seen a necklace like that in nearly forty years," he stated, confirming your suspicions.

Weston gaped at him. "Are you saying that could be your sister's?"

Tim narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "It can't be a coincidence. The odds of one of the other victims owning one like that or a lost one getting buried that deep in the soil on its own are too low."

"Shit," Joe said under his breath as he stared at the piece of jewelry. "I won't be able to confirm whether or not you're right. If she was here, there'd be nothing left of her by now. I'm sorry, Tim."

"We don't need to confirm it," Tim told him. "We just need to catch this bastard. And now have a partial address."

With that he charged off, headed for the car, and you passed the necklace back to Katie for her to bag as evidence before chasing after him. "Wait up!" you shouted several times, but he did not halt until he was in the parking lot.

"Did you not hear me?" you asked in frustration as he twisted in spot to face you. You were confused by his behavior. He hadn't ignored you like this...well ever.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" Tim snapped, anger burning in his dark eyes.

You were stunned, having never had that level of aggravation pointed at you by him. He typically reserved that for the bad guys.

"What do you mean?" You winced. You didn't even sound remotely convincing.

"You know what I mean," he huffed, putting a hand on one of his hips and meeting your shame filled eyes. "You're a bad liar, Psy. You've always been easy to read. I know you've been hiding something from me since we found Cassie's body. It's my sister's spirit, isn't it? You've been seeing her, not Cassie."

You should have known better than to lie to Tim. Out of everyone in the world, even your old partner back in Georgia, he knew you best, in every way, and his greatest talent was observation. There was no use in denying it. That would only make him more upset.

"I have," you admitted. "When Cassie was found and last night by the car. It's her. I'm certain of it. I saw her picture in a newspaper article after I saw her the first time."

"Did she show you anything?" Tim inquired. He sounded so professional about it, but his eyes gave away the hurt he was feeling.

You nodded, biting your lower lip, wondering how much you should go into detail. This was his sister. You doubted he'd want to know the full details, but he also wouldn't want you to sugar coat it either. "She showed me a few things. She didn't see his face well, or more likely, is blocking it out. But she remembers his voice and I do now too. I'd recognize it."

"What else?" he prompted.

"He must've been driving her to his house," you continued. "She woke up in the trunk and was trying to kick her way out. She nearly escaped him when he opened it up, but he caught up to her. Forced her back in. Later he brought her here, saying something about not being able to find anyone interested in her. I think...I think he stabbed her. To get rid of her."

You noticed him clenching his fists after your retelling. You wanted to comfort him with at least another hand to his shoulder, but you stopped yourself after taking a step forward, not sure if he'd want to be touched in that moment, especially by you.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" he repeated, less angry this time, more disappointed.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I was going to tell you, but I wanted more evidence first, so I had proof."

"You don't need proof with me," he told you, a different kind of pain seeping into his voice due to your mistrust. "I know we didn't start out on the best of terms, I know I haven't talked about Maddie enough, but I'd have thought after all this time, after everything that's happened between us, that you'd trust me to believe you. Especially on this. I know you wouldn't lie about something like this. How many times do I have to say I believe you, that I believe in your gift, for you to believe me?"

Tears blinded your eyes. His words were bigger than any I love you you'd ever heard. Trust had been a hard commodity to come by before him. Too few people in your life had given you theirs, and you'd failed to return it to the person who meant the most to you.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, eyes darting away from his to study the ground. "I thought I was protecting us both. I wasn't sure at first who she was. But I didn't have an excuse after I saw her picture online."

His face softened sympathetically and he reached out to cup your jaw gently. "I have no idea what it's been like for you dealing with all the suspicion towards you all your life. Dealing with your parents and therapists all telling you it's all in your head. I understand why you have a hard time with trust. I understand why you'd be hesitant to tell me about Maddie for my sake too. But lying will never protect me in the long run, Psy, and we won't last if either of us keep secrets like this from one another. It's the simple truth."

You nodded and covered his hand with yours. You knew this. You knew all relationships relied on trust. It was why you hadn't talked to either of your parents in over a decade, because you couldn't trust them.

"I promise I won't keep anything like that from you ever again."

"Good."

He let his hand slip out from under yours to fall back at his side and tilted his head in the direction of the car. "Ready?"

That ready could've meant a multitude of things. Ready to get back to work? Ready to get back to being a team? Ready for the rest of our lives?

In any case, the answer was the same for all of them.

"Yes."

x

It turned out there weren't a lot of addresses in the city that started with fifteen that were also located in a densely wooded area, so you and Tim were able to narrow down the most likely addresses before your shift ended on the same day.

Wasting no time, Tim had driven to the first address to scope it out and to see if you'd recognize it. He'd barely pulled the car into park when you stared at the house across the street and sucked in a deep breath.

It looked exactly like the home in your vision. The overgrown bushes, the dirt driveway, the log home, the barely-hanging on garage, and the black mailbox with fifteen written on the side. The last name Simmons that was written alongside the number was new to you though.

"First and done," Tim mused, having read your reaction correctly. "We're never this lucky."

"You've probably jinxed us now," you remarked, gesturing at the front porch. "How do you want to play this?"

"We'll knock on the front door," he answered methodically. "We'll pretend to be a couple interested in buying the home. Take off from there. Keep close to the truth, but do not tell them our real jobs."

You gave him a nod. "Pretty straight forward." You voice betrayed you, a tinge of nervousness to them.

He arched a brow. "You going to be alright doing this?"

"Yeah," you said, trying to sound confident. "Of course. It's not my first time talking to someone I know is a killer before they get the cuffs."

You could count the number of times on one hand though, and no matter how often you did, it never made you any more comfortable. So much could go wrong.

Tim checked to made sure his main weapon, a glock, was in his left holster for an easy grab if he needed it then buttoned up his trench coat, pushed his glasses higher up on his nose, and exited the vehicle. You were on his heels as he strolled up to the house, eying the surrounding trees suspiciously the whole way. Something told you that you had to be on guard about it. The girls' murderer seemed to love the forest, after all. It would be just like him to hide in it to spy on you both, wouldn't it?

Tim knocked on the door as you stepped out from behind him to lean into his side, and hand falling onto his lower back. It wasn't something you'd typically do if you were at work, but you were an actual couple acting as a couple, so you went for it. He responded immediately, moving to loop an arm around your waist almost instinctively and a smile flitted across you face. Tim was strict about acting professional while on the job, whether there were eyes on you or not, so you savored every moment he slipped even when it was just responsive.

You heard light footsteps approaching the other side of the front door and your breath caught for a moment as it was ripped open.

"Please tell me you're not trying to sell something," begged the woman who was standing in the doorway. She looked a lot like Cassie, if she had lived long enough to be thirty.

"We're not," you promised, faster than Tim could react. "My boyfriend and I were just wondering if this place was still for sale."

The woman frowned. "Nooo...as of nearly a year ago."

"Oh?" You were genuinely surprised. If the house had been sold within the last year, then the suspect you were after likely wasn't around anymore. It seemed that Tim had indeed spoken too soon.

"I probably got the address mixed up with another one we saw in the newspaper then," you continued, "Sorry."

"That's alright," the woman said politely, though there was a tinge of annoyance in her tone.

You chewed your lip and shifted awkwardly in place for show. "We should go -"

"Before we do," Tim interrupted quickly, meeting the woman's eyes. "Do you remember the name of your home's previous owner?"

"Wes Langer," she replied, appearing baffled. "Why do you want to know?"

"He used to live in the area," you explained, trying to hide your excitement over getting a full name from her. Your luck had changed once more. "He's been looking for an old friend of his who stayed behind when he moved out to Georgia after graduating high school. Wants to see how his old pal is doing, you know? And he doesn't know his phone number, but he knows he might still be living in the area."

"Try checking the phone book," she suggested, and you could tell you'd lost what little interest she'd had in you both.

"We've already done that," you told her. "But thanks for the suggestion. I'm sure we'll find him eventually." You tugged on the sleeve of Tim's coat. "Anyway, we'll get out of your hair."

She nodded and Tim nodded at her back before turning and heading off the porch with you. You heard the door slam shut behind you as soon as your back was to the woman.

"One step back, one step forward," you declared. "We have a name!"

"When we get back I'll inform Bach," Tim decided.

Bach was one of the lead missing persons detectives, Weston's replacement when he wasn't on duty at night.

"But...," you began to protest.

He shook his head. "It's almost seven, Psy. And you're lying to me if you say you couldn't use some shut eye."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snapped, shooting a glare at him, daring him to say something bad about how you looked.

"Nothin'," he answered with a sigh. "Just it's been a long day. Let Bach and his team find Langer's new address. We can go to the location tomorrow night during our normal work hours. You hate research like that anyway."

That was true, and he was right. It had been a long day and you both would be better off rested when you did actually face off with Wes.

"Okay," you agreed. "Let's stop by the office to do that then head home. Lucky's going to be upset if she gets supper late anyway."

"Wouldn't want that," Tim said, a corner of his mouth turning up.

"No, you definitely wouldn't," you said, imitating a cat clawing at the air. "She gets violent sometimes."

Tim chuckled, having been around your cat long enough to know she didn't have a mean bone in her body. "No she doesn't."

"No, she doesn't," you agreed. "But she will mew her complaints all night long even after she's fed if we're too late."

"Maybe we should stop by home first."

x

Next shift Weston was waiting for you and Tim in your shared office. He appeared anxious, maybe even a little excited, and you knew that Bach had been successful even before he opened his mouth.

"Got the address," he informed you both, waving a scrap piece of paper in the air. You could see an address on it written in pencil lead, a street that was familiar. It was the closest suburb to the park where the bodies had been dumped. "Figured you'd want to stake out the place yourself, Rockford."

Your partner nodded. "Thanks, Weston." He snatched the paper from his friend and studied the address, memorizing it.

"Apparently Mr. Langer moved to the suburbs several months back to take care of his ailing mother," Weston stated. "She died a month after, leaving his childhood home to his name and he stayed. It's closer to his legit workplace. He has a small tool shop seven minutes away."

"Oh, so he got the shovels, ropes, and tarps he uses for his illegal business from his legal one," you muttered. "No wonder no one batted an eye. Perfect way not to gain any attention driving that stuff around all the time."

"I wonder what came first, the child trafficking or the tool shop?" Weston mused darkly.

"That's what we're looking at, isn't it?" you asked sullenly.

He shrugged. "We haven't confirmed it, but from what you've told us, it makes the most sense, no? He mentioned needing to find someone interested in the girls to keep them alive in one of your visions, right?"

You gave him a nod. "Yeah, he implied he only killed them if there was no interest. Or if they escaped."

"Maybe you'll luck out and one of them will try to run while you're staking out the place," Weston said.

You huffed and rolled your eyes. "Like we'd be so lucky."

You'd have to be if you wanted a warrant or a good reason to storm the house without one to look for any girls he was currently keeping. You and Tim couldn't legally enter and arrest Wes otherwise. There wasn't enough evidence yet to connect him to the kidnappings or the murders and your visions would never hold up in court.

"You should head out now," Weston suggested. "He gets back from work at eight tonight. You have time to get there and watch his place all shift long and then - "

"Then we can go home before he gets up and notices that we're still there," Tim finished for him. "Six o' clock I'm guessing?"

"Five," Weston corrected him. "He's an early riser. He doesn't arrive home at eight every night. Just a couple weekdays."

"We'll be there," you said, already shrugging your jacket back on and turning to Tim. "I'll be in the car when you'd ready."

You didn't wait for a reply before you were out of the room.

x

Within ten minutes of Tim parking his unmarked car in front of one of Wes' neighbor's houses you both spotted a black Lexus LS 400 turning into his driveway at a crawling speed.

Wes stepped out a minute after shutting the car engine off. Silver hair, deathly pale skin, long skinny fingers and a nose to match you thought he looked like the representation of death, not just the bringer of it. He appeared to be solidly built though, his body shape similar to Tim's own, though he was probably a few inches shorter.

You noticed Tim's grip on the steering wheel tightening and twisting as he observed the man making his way towards his home and unlocking the side door so he could slip inside. It didn't loosen until well after Wes was gone and you had squeezed Tim's right arm gently to get his attention.

"We're going to get him," you'd assured him. "We just need to be patient."

You sure had ate your words that night, becoming restless after only an hour of watching Wes' home. The light was on in the living room, but the blinds were closed and you couldn't see or hear anything through Tim's cracked open window that would indicate that anything important was happening anywhere around you.

You were fidgeting, tapping your fingers on the arm rest built into the passenger door and bouncing a foot slightly. Tim as usual was putting on a way more patient and stoic front about sitting watch than you were, but eventually he reached a hand over to still your leg. "Psy, please."

"Sorry."

"Maybe tomorrow night you should bring something with you to keep your mind occupied?" he suggested. "Unless you don't want to be here."

"What?" You gaped at him, shocked he'd think you wouldn't want to help him take down his sister's killer. "Of course I want to be here," you rushed. "I'm just impatient. I hate sitting around doing nothing. You know that."

"It's not my favorite pastime either," he grumbled. "But this is all we've got."

You nodded. "I know. I'll bring a crossword or something like that to solve by flashlight tomorrow night when I get antsy."

Crosswords and word finds ended up being your saving grace the next night and the night after that, and the night after that. You took to solving one page every other hour, taking your time, glancing up at the house and Tim often until it was four in the morning and you both reported back to the station.

You and Tim both became more and more disappointed as the week continued to progress without either of you witnessing any suspicious activity on or near Wes' property. It was frustrating for you both, but it was much worst for Tim, who was having a harder time with every passing day to keep his anger contained. He was managing, but you sensed it was only because Chief Bronson trusted him to be professional about it and because he didn't want to chance Wes walking free due to something he'd foolishly done in the heat of the moment.

Friday rolled around, and your time was suddenly limited. Bronson had finally set a deadline. If you and Tim hadn't seen anything by Sunday night he was going to have to call you off your nightly stakeouts and hand you another case. It was just the way of the job. The department was too busy to have their best team sitting in a car all night in hopes that a criminal did something bad right in front of the street. Eventually you'd both need to move on and hope that more evidence would pop up later.

The case turning back into a cold one was the worst thing you could imagine. Of all the cases you and Tim had been involved in, this was the most important one to solve for your sakes. You weren't sure you'd ever sleep well again knowing Wes was still on the loose while you worked on solving other murders. Tim certainly wouldn't.

It seemed like Friday night might be your big break when Wes returned from work six hours later than he should've at eleven o'clock at night. He climbed out of his driver's seat and walked over to the other side to open the passenger one and you and Tim were on the edge of your seats, watching to see what or whom he'd pull out.

But the person seated on that side of the vehicle slid out of it on their own accord, without any bindings on. She was wearing a lacey red top far too skimpy for the weather, a black leather jacket, a skirt that barely covered her ass, and high heels you'd never dared to even try wearing when you were in college. It was hard to see her face at a distance, but she was slim and way more youthful looking than him. If you'd had to, you would have bet she was at least half his age.

You twisted your face in disgust when he leaned in towards her for a kiss. "She could do so much better than him, whether she's a prostitute or not," you declared firmly, feeling your stomach turning.

"She could be in the know," Tim said quietly as you both watched Wes and the mystery woman stroll over to the side porch and enter the house, one of Wes' arms around her waist. "He's selling girls after all. She could be the middle person who collects them."

You hadn't considered that. If that were the case, she definitely deserved Wes and even worst things. Bad enough some men thought they had a right to act like they owned women, literally selling them like livestock. They did not need a woman helping them do it.

But then, if that was the case, she could still be a victim. Another trafficked woman forced to do her buyer's bidding.

You gnawed on your lip. There was no use continuing down that rabbit hole of unknowns.

"Think she might leave with a girl tonight?" you inquired.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Tim rumbled, "But she's not leaving with a girl."

You understood his meaning. He wasn't going to let her. If she tried, this was ending tonight. You loaded your personal handgun you'd brought from home and stored in the glove compartment (you'd finally gotten a concealed weapons license) and flicked on the safety. It stayed on your lap though, ready to go. If this was the night, Tim wouldn't be going in alone.

Though it made you anxious the whole next hour you waited, you were disappointed when the woman left the house alone, Wes not even leaving his home to tell her goodbye. She leaned against his car as she ran her fingers through her messy blonde hair and got picked up by a cab a minute later.

"Well, there goes that theory," you muttered.

"Maybe," Tim said, not completely convinced yet.

"They were in there for an hour and she called a cab looking more than a little disheveled," you said pointedly. "Pretty sure all they did was fuck."

Tim shook his head instead of replying and focused his attention on the house once more. You took that as your cue to shove your gun back into the glove box and start working on another word find. You were more than glad to not debate the topic any farther.

x

"Psy!" you heard from a hazy place, your vision so blurry you couldn't tell where you were. Someone was shaking you though, and the voice you had heard was Tim's.

You gasped and lifted your head to look outside your window when you realized you'd fallen asleep sometime during the night. You were able to note that the sky was just barely starting to lighten, a sign dawn was closer than not, before he shook you again. "Psy, he's pulling up."

"What do you mean?" you questioned, utterly confused, even as your mind cleared. You sat up straighter in your seat, away from the window you'd been resting your head against.

"Wes left at one am, not long after you dosed off," Tim explained quickly. "It's just after four. He's getting out of the car now. Shhhh."

He pulled out the gun that was in his left holster and you ducked down to snatch yours back up from the glove compartment. "Shit, you should've woken me up," you hissed.

"Might not be anything," he said.

Oh, it definitely was something. You could sense it in your bones as you watched Wes drive his car slowly past his driveway, onto the little patch of lawn out back. You could barely see anything from where you were parked, but you saw the trunk pop up and got a glimpse of Wes carrying the limp body of a girl no more than twelve years old out back, probably to the bulkhead that opened up into his basement from outside.

You felt your eyes widen with your disbelief. This was really happening. You'd caught him in the act. "What's the plan?!"

"I'm going to go in by the side door," Tim told you. "Should be easy to break into if it's even locked right now."

"I'm going with you," you declared.

He shook his head. "This is not part of your job, Psy. You don't have the training. Legally you have to stay here."

And I don't want you in danger. You could read him well enough to tell he was thinking something like that. You couldn't blame him. It was the same reason you wanted to go in. To give Tim back up since you knew there was no way he was going to wait for anyone else to arrive before charging into that house.

"Call Bronson," Tim ordered firmly. "Let him know what's going on. Get me back up." He was already out his door before you could get another curse word out.

As he crossed the street you scrambled for your phone and called Bronson's office. He picked up on the second ring and you did not let him get out his full greeting before you began to speak. "We're still at the house. We need back up. Wes has a kid and Tim's going inside."

"Shit!" Chief Bronson exclaimed. "We'll be there. Stay put outside. You hear me? You don't -"

You hung up on him and chucked the phone onto the top of the dash. There was no way you were listening even to him. You grabbed your gun again and followed Tim's path into the house as sneakily as you could, your breath caught in your throat the whole time.

He'd been able to get inside without having to break the glass window, but you couldn't tell if it had been unlocked or if he'd picked it. In either case, the door was still slightly ajar and you were able to squeeze through without making the space wider.

You clicked off your handgun's safety and kept it in front of you, pointed down to the ground, as you crept through Wes' nearly pitch black kitchen, into the hall, nearly bumping into Tim's back.

He flicked on the flashlight in his hand at the same time he pointed his gun at you. His jaw dropped. "What are you doing in here?" he hissed under his breath. "You need to get out of here before he comes up those steps."

"I'm your back up," you whispered back.

"Stubborn woman," he huffed, half rolling his eyes.

"You like that," you countered defensively.

He pressed an index finger to his lips and you obeyed. You were stubborn, but you weren't stupid. You knew when to listen.

He turned back to the door, far enough away from it that Wes couldn't make a grab for the gun once he stepped into the hallway. That would have been extremely unlikely since Wes had to open the door first to get into the hallway, but safety precautions never hurt.

You waited over Tim's shoulder with bated breath. And waited and waited. The minutes ticked by.

Eventually you dared a question. "Do you think he knows we're here?"

"It's possible," he murmured. He nodded back at the kitchen door. "Let's back off. Get up against the outside of the house."

You carefully made your way towards the door with Tim behind you, guarding your back.

You were so focused on the door and he was so focused on the hallway neither of you considered looking left or right. He wouldn't be there unless he'd stuck in after you had, after all.

Which was exactly what Wes had apparently done, you realized, when he charged out of the darkness of the living room and knocked Tim down to the ground, banging his right hand aggressively against the floor to force him to let go of his gun.

Tim was forced to use his left hand and legs to fight the man on his knees above him, who was trying to knock him out with both his fists.

In the vagueness of twilight, you could not see well enough to dare trying to shoot Wes, but even after you found the kitchen light and flipped it on both men were moving around too much for you to take the risk. You kept your gun trained on them and prayed for an opening as you repeatedly yelled at the man bawling with yours and using every dirty trick he could think of. "Stop! You're under arrest! You're not getting out of this Wes! You hear?"

He ignored you, maybe he couldn't even hear you, the fight intense enough that a person might block out all else.

You felt helpless. You pointed the gun to the back of his skull, trying to gather the courage to shoot him in the one place that would instantly stop him in his tracks, the one spot that you thought you could shoot him without also killing or maiming Tim in the process, but just as you were about to pull the trigger Tim got the upper hand and flipped Wes over so he was the one on his back.

"Fuck!" you screamed in dismay as your chance was lost.

The lights flickered then, and several bulbs busted, leaving the room dimmed as the cupboards and doors started slapping open and closed around all three of you. The signs drew your eyes away from the fight for a moment and you spotted Maddie at the beginning of the hallway, a fury in her eyes that shouldn't belong to any child.

Wes glanced in her direction and gasped. "No! No, not you again!" he shouted between punches that Tim threw at him, so frightened that he was taking them without return. Both his and Tim's faces were startlingly bloody from open cuts and broken noses.

He threw Tim off him with a surge of adrenaline and bolted for the kitchen door but it slammed shut inches from his face and refused to budge for him no matter how hard he tugged on the doorknob.

In blind fear he ran for the living room but Maddie manifested there instantaneously, sending him stumbling for the hallway like a sheep blocked off from escape by a Border Collie.

You watched in shock, having not expected Wes to be like you in any way. You'd run into a few psychics in your lifetime "out in the wild", but you'd never been able to confirm if they were the real deal, their gifts all seemingly paling compared to yours if they were.

You had no doubt Wes was the real deal.

Tim gave chase to Wes, unable to see that Maddie was already doing a pretty good job at that.

Everything after that happened so fast you could barely register it. Wes found himself trapped between Tim and Maddie in the hallway and he chose to face the living rather than the dead, turning back to face Tim, a gun raised in one hand. You hadn't had time to look to check the spot Tim's gun had slid to during the skirmish on the floor, but you knew if you did it wouldn't be there anymore. Somehow Wes had managed to snatch it up on his way into the living room.

Before anyone could react he was firing the gun and Tim was crumpling to the floor as you and Maddie both screamed, hers as silent as yours was piercing.

Outraged, Maddie reacted instinctively, using all her ghostly strength to throttle Wes through the cellar doorway she'd opened earlier upon her arrival, and he tumbled down the stairs in a blur of limbs.

You heard a sickening thud when his skull hit the concrete at the bottom, but you did not check to confirm if the fall had killed him or not. You let Maddie do that while you knelt next to Tim and helped him into a sit against the wall.

He was clutching at his chest, trying to put pressure over his right half, exactly where the top of his lung would be. There was a lot of blood. You couldn't tell how much of it came from the chest wound and how much from his still bleeding face.

You felt a surge of panic and dread. What if the bullet had punctured his lung? How much time did he have?

"Keep that pressure on," you ordered as your hands desperately prodded his open trench coat for his phone. You knew he had it on him but not where. You were still relieved when you found it in one of the huge front pockets. You immediately turned it on, dialed 911, and rattled off the address, informing the operator of Tim's condition after. You even had the thought to tell her to contact Chief Bronson at the Portland Police Department.

As soon as you hung up you added your right hand over the one Tim was using to try to slow his blood loss.

"Help's on the way," you assured him, hoping he had the six to eight minutes it would take for the paramedics to arrive. At least you could finally hear a police car approaching with sirens blaring.

Tim grimaced at the extra weight you were adding onto his gunshot wound but did not try to push your hand away like many people typically would. He knew it was what he needed if he wanted any chance of surviving the wait.

"Psy," he rasped.

"Yeah," you stuttered out, trying not to cry, but the pain in his voice, the weakness in it, had tears springing to your eyes.

He lifted his left hand to hold you by the chin. "You know you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, right?"

You felt a tear spill from the corner of your left eye. "Don't say goodbye, Tim. You're going to be fine."

He had to be. It wouldn't be right for it to end this way, so soon. Thirteen months. Twenty-six if you counted to way back when you'd first met him, but you hadn't known his touch in those months. You hadn't known what it was like to wake up with him every morning, to hug his side and just enjoy the moment.

"I'm not," he promised. "I just want to make sure."

In case. You still didn't like it.

"I know," you said, "I know cause you are my best thing too. You weren't the only workaholic who was way more concerned with the latest case than if anyone was waiting at home for them."

A grin spread out on his busted up face. "That's the only reason I kept you around at first. You were dedicated. You closed cases. Or so I thought. Truth was a part of me always liked you. Your determination. Your strength."

He coughed and fell into a painful fit, his hand going from your chin to his mouth. He spat up blood. You prayed it was from the nosebleed and not from something more serious.

He started gasping and your heart nearly stopped. "Tim? Tim!"

He couldn't reply back to you, too focused on his struggle to breathe.

"Rockford!" called someone at the side door. It was Bronson.

"Over here!" you shouted anxiously.

He followed your voice, eyes widening when he took in the shape Tim was in. "Shit."

"He's having a hard time breathing," you informed him.

"He was shot?" Bronson questioned.

"Yes," you confirmed, your free hand cupping Tim's face. You turned back to him. "Keep breathing, the paramedics are close." You could hear their truck's alarm blaring in their blazing approach.

"Could've hit his lung," Bronson guessed as he glanced to Tim's face. "Hang on, Tim. I can hear the ambulance in the driveway."

You could too.

Twenty seconds later a pair of them, a man and a woman, rushed into the hall with as much gear as they could carry. The young, no longer in training detective Pete Woodward was just behind them helping them with their gurney.

"I'm going to let them work on you," you told Tim, needing to will yourself to give them the space to do so. You didn't want to pull away from him but you had to. "I love you," you said in hopes he heard.

You watched them work, but your eyes glazed over as everything that had happened in the last half hour truly settled into your mind for the first time. It was the first time you thought to check your surroundings for Maddie, but when you did she was unsurprisingly absent. She'd used a lot of strength to shove Wes down the stairs. You had no idea where spirits went to recover from energy loss, but wherever it was you were sure she was there.

You were lost in thoughts about Maddie and what Tim had said before he couldn't talk anymore that it took Bronson shaking your shoulder to snap you out of it.

"They think he has a collapsed lung," he informed you. "They got air out of his chest with a needle. We're all heading outside. You want to ride with him?"

"What do you think?" you nearly snapped. There was no way you weren't going with Tim.

He nodded at the side door. "Better hurry. And don't worry about anything but him. Weston, Pete, and I will make sure the girls downstairs get home."

"Girls?" you quizzed. You shouldn't have been surprised there was more than one in the basement.

"There's three in a secret room," Bronson explained. "They'll be fine. Pete called in another ambulance but he told me over the two-way that they're all talking and don't appear to be harmed in any way. Now, get out of here. Tim needs you."

You nodded and mouthed a thank you to him before darting off, just in time to bound into the ambulance before they closed the doors.

x

He'd have looked so peaceful if it wasn't for all the lines and machines hooked up to him. If not for the cuts on his face and the angry bruises that were still forming over his facial features, especially around his eyes.

That's what you thought after settling into the chair by Tim's hospital bed.

He'd made it through a surgery to repair and reinflate part of his right lung, and he was looking much more healthier after the nurses had cleaned him up and he'd received a bag of blood, but he'd fallen unconscious during the trip to the hospital and nine hours later he still hadn't woken up yet. Two hours after the surgery the doctor had told you he was most likely in an coma, but he should wake within a day or so.

Of course that wasn't a sure thing, and neither was what shape he'd be in when he woke up. He had lost a lot of blood and gone into shock. There was a possibility of brain damage from a lack of oxygen, but the doctor who'd completed his surgery was hopeful about it not being anything he couldn't have a full recovery from. Again, the doctor had said there were no guarantees. The only way to confirm was for a neurologist to exam him after he woke up and you hated it. Not knowing was the worst part, like landing a spot in Limbo after your death. At least if you landed in Hell you knew what you were dealing with.

You'd been sitting alone with him for nearly three hours when Weston quietly knocked on the door frame to the intensive care room Tim had been set up in. You straightened up in your seat when the sound caught your attention. "James."

You almost never called him by his first name, but for some reason that had been the name that first sprung to mind when your eyes fell on him.

"Sorry if I startled you," he said softly.

"You didn't," you assured him, turning back to study Tim's face briefly. If only he had been. You've have taken any reaction from him happily.

I can't stay long," Weston informed you regretfully as he entered the room. "I'm still on shift. But I wanted to check in. See how he was doing."

"No change," you said, heaving a sigh. You'd texted him and Bronson earlier with an update when the doctor had declared him comatose.

"And you?"

You flashed Weston a pathetic attempt at a smile, grateful that his concern extended to you, but too tired to get it right. "I'm worried but otherwise okay. I'll be better when he wakes."

He nodded and glanced out of the window at the afternoon sunlight awkwardly. You'd never been alone together before, typically having spent any down time together at Liquid Alchemy with Tim sitting between you. Neither of you had any idea of what to say to each other in this situation.

"Did the girls reunite with their families?" you inquired eventually as you reached for Tim's bandaged left hand and began rubbing the target tattoo absentmindedly with your thumb.

"They did," Weston replied. "All three were headed home when I left the department fifteen minutes ago."

"Good."

You could hear Weston shuffle his feet and from the corner of your eye you saw him scratch the back of his head. "Did you know Tim and I go way back to training?"

You nodded, though you were confused as to why he was bringing it up at that exact time.

"Did he tell you that I'm the reason he messed up his upper back?" he questioned.

"I don't know the details," you answered honestly, "He just told me he probably tore a muscle between his shoulder blades during academy training and it didn't heal right."

"Oh, he definitely tore it," Weston proclaimed. "Our instructor had the brilliant idea of having our class play tug of war as a team building exercise one day and I naturally made a bet with Tim. If his team won I owed him a meal. If mine won, he owed me. He refused to let the latter happen. He knew I'd order lobster."

You both chuckled at that. You weren't sure what had made him decide to tell you that story but you were glad he had. Tim had never kept anything from you, but he wasn't big on storytelling. You however, did enjoy stories of the past, at least the ones people looked back fondly on anyway. Each time a friend shared a memory they had with Tim was a gift as far as you were concerned because each one pieced together the history of how he came to be the man you loved.

"Is there anything I can get you before I leave?" Weston offered. "Water? A sandwich from the cafeteria?"

You shook your head. "I'm fine, but..." You checked your watch as you remembered that you hadn't seen your cat since yesterday night. "Shit. It's so late. Poor Lucky didn't get her breakfast. Do you think you could stop by the house and feed her?" You knew that Tim had given him a spare key to the house ages ago for emergency use, way before you'd entered his life.

Weston's lips curved up slightly. "Of course. I'll gladly feed her for however long you and Tim are here. Where's her food?"

"Bottom cabinet next to the food pantry," you informed him. "Give her a couple cans."

He tipped his head at you. "I'll get on that right away."

"Thanks," you said, though the word was not enough to express how much gratitude you had for him. As much as you loved Lucky, you couldn't bare the thought of having to tear yourself away from Tim that day to take care of her. You didn't want him to wake up alone.

You and Weston shared goodbyes and you were once again without conscious company for another two hours before Helen strolled into the room and raised a Chinese food takeout bag in front of her face.

"You need to keep up your strength," she declared as she threw a paper plate a you.

You couldn't help but laugh as she began dumping piles of food onto the dish. "Okay! okay! Slow down. I'm never going to eat all of this, El."

"Chow down," she demanded, narrowing her eyes at you before beginning to fill a plate for herself.

You did as told even though you weren't that hungry, and she passed you a bottle of water to drink when you decided you were getting too close to being overstuffed.

"Thanks for that," you said after you twisted the cap back onto the bottle.

Helen waved at you dismissively. "It's no big deal. I always have way too many leftovers when I eat Chinese so I rarely buy it unless I'm able to share with someone. You did me a favor."

You sighed heavily. "If you say so." You weren't in the mood to argue.

"I heard he had a collapsed lung," she finally said, nodding towards Tim.

"Partial," you corrected. "But the surgery went well and it shouldn't affect his ability to work."

She nodded again. "That's good."

"Did you just get out of work?" you asked, placing your bottle on the moving table behind you.

"I did," she confirmed. "It's one of my shorter days."

"How is it at the department?" you inquired. "Weston was here earlier but I forgot to ask."

"Hectic," Helen replied as she made a face at you. You snorted. You weren't surprised. With big cases like this one, there was always a lot to do, especially paperwork. Especially since Wes had died during a confrontation with one of their detectives.

"I don't envy you," you told her.

"And I don't envy you," she countered, eyes flicking over to Tim's face. "I can't imagine how hard it's been for you to sit here all day without anyone here to support you. We would've if we could but - "

"You all had to work," you said, shrugging. "I understand. And I don't need someone to hold my hand."

"It doesn't hurt though."

Helen was right of course, the little time Weston and now she had spent with you had helped, but you wouldn't admit that. You'd spent too much of your life depending only on yourself to be willing to say that out loud.

Her eyes darted to the clock mounted on the wall. "I hate to leave you alone again, but I've got to do groceries before the local shop closes tonight. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Of course."

You stood with her and she reached out to bring you in for a bear hug that nearly squeezed out all the air in your lungs. "You call if you need anything."

"I will," you promised, knowing that she'd be hurt if you didn't mean it.

And with that another friend was gone.

You were by yourself once more until seven, when the rest of the team got out of work and they all took turns visiting you and Tim. First Katie, then Joe, and finally Bronson. They all entered the room with concern etched into their faces, asking how you and Tim both were, and giving you details on what had happened at Wes' house after you'd hopped into the ambulance. All straight forward stuff you could've guessed or had already been informed about. Wes had cracked his skull on the basement floor and Joe said he died instantly. The girls had been released from a hidden room, checked over by doctors, and reunited with their families all within a few hours. And charges weren't going to be pursued, but you would have to confirm on paper that Wes had fallen down the stairs himself. The last bit of info had come from Bronson, who reminded you that just because a spirit had actually pushed Wes down the stairs, doesn't mean it didn't count as an accidental fall. Any other wording would make a judge question whether your testimony could be trusted or worst, if you were actually guilty. Not that any judge would try you in court. No matter which way anyone looked at it, his death had been a result of something along the lines of self defense.

Bronson surprised you by sticking around even after he ran out of things to say about the case. He was a good boss but you weren't used to him staying for chit chat, yet that's exactly what he did until the nurses herded him out of the room as visiting hours came to an end.

You were allowed to stay however, the nurses wise enough to know that they would have a fight on their hands if they didn't let you. Besides, you weren't a bother. You kept quiet and whenever they entered the room to check on Tim's vitals, give him medication, or change his IV fluid bag, you stayed clear of their work area.

You were never more thankful for people who were willing to bend the rules for the greater good than when it allowed you to be there when Tim began to stir.

It was just past midnight, and you'd been sleeping on a cot a kind nurse had brought over to you before ending her shift for a couple hours, your hand still over his left one when you felt his fingers twitching.

At first in your sleep haze you thought you'd imagined it, and then you thought maybe it was just a reflex, but when he groaned in pain you knew that wasn't it either. He was waking up.

You sprung to your feet and raced out into the hallway, beckoning the nearest nurse over frantically, trying not to yell when other patients on the floor were still asleep, and told her what was happening. She nodded and waved down another nurse and then they were in the room, flicking lights on and checking on Tim again while you pulled the cot out of their way and slipped your hand into his after finding a place to stand on his right side.

"Hey," you said as you noticed his eyes lifting slightly, like they were heavier than bricks. "Hang on. The nurses are going to get you comfy."

That meant more pain medication injected into his IV line and sitting him up further in the bed. He was still out of it as they worked on him and a doctor was flagged down to check on him as well. It wasn't until twenty minutes had passed and Tim was able to answer a few yes or no questions that they left you and him alone for a little bit.

You sat on the edge of the bed with his left arm resting on your lap, your hands laced, and brought his hand up briefly to kiss his tattoo, feeling incredibly fortunate that he was awake and seemed to have all of his mind. "You feeling better?"

He gave you a nod and grunted. "You've been here all day, haven't you?"

Though he sounded tired, he still mustered up enough energy to inject disapproval into his words. He lifted a brow when you didn't immediately answer and you rolled your eyes. "Like you wouldn't have done the same for me. You needn't worry about what I've been doing. Our friends made sure I had company and was well fed. Weston even offered to take care of Lucky for however long I needed to be here."

"That doesn't sound like him," Tim rasped, one of the corners of his mouth tugging up. "He hates cats."

"Well, he promised to keep her alive, not become her new best friend," you clarified, smiling at his joke.

He coughed then, and you winced at how painful it sounded. "You okay?"

"I'll survive," he responded, as vague and honest as ever. You didn't push him though. Stoic is as stoic does. You did fetch him a cup of water resting on the table nearby and he accepted it.

"Is the girl with her family?" he inquired after he took a sip, looking up at you expectantly.

You nodded. "So are two other girls who Langer was already keeping in the basement. I don't know the details on them, I didn't think to ask, but the important part is they are home."

He agreed with that and pressed on. "Is he dead?"

"As much as anyone can be," you answered. "And because Maddie caused it, because through his eyes it probably felt like an accident, I am certain he won't be coming back for any revenge."

You hadn't considered it much until right then, but you weren't lying about being sure that Wes wouldn't come back as a ghost. Everything had happened too fast and another spirit had been too involved for his dark soul to linger. You were convinced if that wasn't the case Maddie would've kicked him through the mythical door to the great beyond anyway.

His eyes grew wide. "Maddie caused it?"

You had assumed he'd know she'd been there, but because he couldn't see her and everything had happened so fast you realized that he'd had no clue.

"Yeah," you confirmed, hesitating before you added, "She pushed him down the stairs supernatural style."

Tim frowned at that. "I can't imagine her doing something so violent," he admitted. "She was four. She spent her days playing outside chasing butterflies and playing with her model horses."

"Death changes things," you reminded him gently. "Especially when a spirit lingers. But if it makes you feel better, I don't think she intended to be malicious. I think she just wanted to protect those other girls. I think she'd been trying to scare him off the way he was talking yesterday morning. And when he shot you, well, she reacted the only way she could. She pushed him away from you. She defended you."

"She shouldn't have had to," he growled, frustrated. "I'm the older sibling."

You gave him a rueful smile. "You know as well as I do that's not how life, or the afterlife works. It may not be fair, but even big brothers need their little siblings' help sometimes. And sometimes big brothers can't help their little siblings no matter how hard they try."

Tim's eyes darted away from yours to stare out of the window but you didn't miss the moisture in them and how hard he swallowed after.

"You did though," you told him, squeezing his hand. "You helped her save those other girls. You helped solve her murder because you remembered her necklace. You helped her find peace."

"Is she gone?" he asked as he met your eyes again. They were still watery, but he'd managed to get his emotions back under control.

"I don't know," you said honestly, drawing random, invisible shapes onto his palm with the tip of your index finger as you spoke, eyes still trained on his face. "I didn't see her go, but I also haven't seen her since."

"If you do," he paused, thinking, "Tell her...tell her goodbye."

You reached out to cup his jaw. "I will. But you know you can say that yourself anytime." In your experience it was the living who needed goodbyes much more than the dead.

He nodded in understanding and you ducked your head down to cover his mouth with yours, pouring all your love into the kiss, and he quickly reciprocated, deepening it, his right hand reaching up to cradle your left cheek.

"You scared me," you confessed when you parted, foreheads still touching.

"I didn't mean to," he promised. "I would never."

You curled your arms around him then and pressed your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and taking comfort in his strong arms as they embraced you back reassuringly.

You'd taken pride in being an independent woman for the longest time, needing nobody else to survive the harsh edges of the world, but you didn't want to live like that anymore. Not when you could have him by your side instead.

"I love you," he said quietly, with such warmth and meaning that your heart fluttered joyfully.

"I love you too."

You clung to each other the rest of the night.

x

January 12, 1998

It was an unusually chilly morning in Portland when you returned to the park where Maddie's body had been buried and returned to the earth. Where others had been removed, fated for marked graves.

It turned out it did indeed snow in Portland every once in a while, and it had been lightly doing so on and off for the last three days. The snow that lingered on the ground was deep enough to require ankle high boots, which you and Tim were both sporting as you trudged the familiar path to Maddie's final resting place.

You found it even though it looked just like every other part of the forest, surrounded by barren trees and covered in white, the only obvious marker the scarred tree that hung its bare branches over the site.

You rubbed your gloved hands together and blew into them to warm your nose as Tim placed a fair sized rock under the tree. Painted on it in yellow - Maddie's favorite color - was her full name and her birth date: January 12, 1953.

"She would've been forty-five today," Tim stated mournfully. "It's hard to believe it's been so long. I still feel like I remember so much about her." He tipped his head down and switched from talking to you to talking to her. "I wish I could find exactly where you are buried, Maddie. I wish we could place you in the empty coffin our parents bought you all those years ago, after everyone accepted you were most likely dead. This stone will have to do as a memorial instead. But that's not my gift for you today. That's for me."

He shoved his hand into the front pocket of the wool coat he was wearing and pulled out Maddie's old daisy necklace. He hid it under the rock. "That's for you. In the spring I'll bury it here. Promise."

He glanced at you and you looped your arm through his as you nodded at him, encouraging him to continue.

"I love you, Maddie," he murmured. "And I'll always miss you. But I hope you're at rest now."

As he spoke that last word you felt the wind pick up seemingly out of nowhere and you looked up. Just off to the right of the tree and a few yards away Maddie was there, watching, her eyes calm, her face neutral. You nodded to her and she met your eyes for a moment, like she was trying to convey something to you telepathically. When her eyes drifted back to Tim, you understood.

"I'll take care of him," you swore, lifting a pinkie finger at her.

A little smile escaped from her and you grinned at the glimpse of the sweet little girl who had followed her big brother around like a puppy. Who'd managed to time and time again convince him to play hide and seek. Who once had surely been as bright as the sun.

"She's here, isn't she?" Tim discerned, voice low.

"She's saying goodbye too," you replied simply, sure of it.

He directed his eyes towards the general area you were looking and nodded. "Bye Maddie."

She allowed another smile to form on her plump little lips and turned away, walking behind a cluster of evergreen trees. As you'd expected, she did not reappear on the other side.

The wind calmed back down and a song sparrow roosting in a nearby tree began to sing cheerfully loud, as if a storm had just broken.

You knew with every fiber of your being then that she'd finally moved on.

"She's gone," you informed Tim, molding yourself to his side, something you tended to do often when you were sure no one else was around.

He sighed and kissed your temple firmly as he latched a hand onto your hip from behind. "Thanks for bringing up your marker idea. I didn't realize how much I needed to do something like that for her and say all of that."

"Do you want to stay a little longer?" you asked, trying to stifle an inappropriately timed yawn as you spoke. You and Tim had just come off of a busy Sunday night shift.

He chuckled, having noticed your failed attempt to cover it up. "No, I'm good. Let's go home and get some sleep."

He guided you back to the car by your shoulders while you continued to hang onto his arm and you couldn't help but grin as snow began to drift softly down from the sky again.

You'd never get tired of those words. Let's go home.

You hoped you would get to hear him say them every day for the rest of your life. It was the only amount of time you'd be satisfied with if forever wasn't possible.

But if it was, you'd take that too.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist (check out my 2 one shots for these two)

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Tim Rockford Fanfic (Mine) #Merge Mansion Fanfic #X Reader #The Rockford Files Series

[dcpamines]

[ quintessa swindell, non-binary, they/he ] - was that HUNTER KING i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the TWENTY-EIGHT year old who has been in nightrest for TWENTY YEARS and works as a/an PARAMEDIC has a reputation of being SHARP, but also DISTANT. they reside in LOW POINT & people in town usually associate them with flirting on the edge between life and death, finding comfort in chaos, not knowing who you are anymore but trying to find it, and missing a person so much you pretend it doesn’t exist. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next. 

full name — hunter king nickname(s) — hunny ( only by their brother and it’s to annoy him )  name meaning — one who hunts, pursuer age — twenty-eight date of birth — november 3rd place of birth — bronx, nyc star sign — scorpio sun, scorpio moon, aries rising  current location — salem, massacusetts  gender — non-binary pronouns — they/he sexual orientation — bisexual religion — atheist  occupation — paramedic/firefighter  education level — paramedic school  family — roscoe king ( father, estranged ), marianne tinley ( mother, estranged ), janine king ( aunt ),  jordan king ( brother ) finances — could be better spoken languages — english, spanish

inspos: rue bennett ( euphoria ) , tk strand ( 911 lone star ) , meredith grey ( greys anatomy ), jo march ( little women ), evan buckley ( 911 ), jeremy gilbert ( the vampire diaries ), steve harrington ( stranger things ), hayley marshall ( the originals ), nick miller ( new girl ), ian gallagher ( shameless ), sarah ( palm springs ), shawn hunter ( boy meets world )

tw: npc character dies on the job, non descriptive

“don’t go where i can’t follow you,” it’s the saying that jordan and hunter have been pinky promising each other since they were kids. hunter was raised by his brother and aunt janny, the three of them thick as thieves, and nyc was hunter’s playground. jordan taught him how to ride a skateboard when he was four, jordan holding onto their small arms, hunte’s legs never hit the ground but it was like they were gliding on the pavement, by ten hunter was skating circles around their brother with janny on her bike trying to keep up with her two children. 

janny was well loved in the community, a mother to many who needed it, always serving home cooked meals, jordan and hunter often bringing home some kind of stray ( whether it be a friend or an animal, all were welcome ). 

when hunter is eight they move from nyc to salem for a job opportunity. it wasn’t an easy thing for hunter to pack of up the only place they’ve known and live somewhere else, while it was phrased as a job opportunity their aunt thought that the two kids needed a change. 

it’s only really when hunter becomes a teenager does the woes of identity crisis start to hit, on top of wishing that you had a mom or a dad to teach you certain things. he’d never tell jordan or janny that — in many ways they knew that jordan probably felt it too. but janny was home and love and comfort. it didn’t mean that it fixed everything. 

hunter was hot and destructive and their teachers not understanding how hunter can be so smart but make such stupid decisions with their life, like it was some sort of gamble. they could never sit still for long, they had to be going somewhere, could never sit still and it would be the downfall, that kind of impulsiveness. hunter made a lot of wrong choices. 

jordan and janny loved them anyway. it wasn’t love that saved them, but the willingness to not become the ghosts of their parents. ( hunter thinks its funny how ghosts work, their parents were still here, just never… here. )

hunter becomes a firefighter after high school, then becomes a paramedic, either way — they see the firehouse more than they see their own apartment. it’s good for hunter, they’re good at what they do, their recklessness and impulsivity will always be their own downfall, but in the end it wouldn’t have mattered. it would take months of their own investigation, friends and family saying, it wasn’t your fault. you did the right thing. 

hunter and their partner got a bad call while on the job, it seemed off at first, hunter had been the one to say that they should wait for backup, its what they train for – scene assessment. scene size up. scene safety. it didn’t feel right, and hunter was usually correct when it came to their gut feelings. it didn’t matter. their partners funeral was days later. and their feelings for their partner would be buried with them. 

jordan moves in with hunter for the first couple of months, janny wants him to come home but he never does. on the outside they’re okay, they try to heal. 

hunter gets a new partner. life goes on.

more fun stuff:

ok look their story is sad but like on the outside they are very chill and act like everything is fine its called repression baby and they are living proof of it !!

v much loves their brother he's their bffl and probably comes as a duo most of the time

looking for best friends & possible roomie , hunter needs a ride or die fr

lowkey a slut ngl !! but they're hot so its ok asdkfnlsd

honestly just needs a hug

hunter still keeps the post cards that his parents send him, in a little box that's kept under his bed. is it healthy?? no !! but they're secretly sentimental and a softie at heart

#nightrest:intro #━━ ❛❛ // HUNTER KING ! ¦ i remember when your head caught flame . 「 about ! 」

[mxharleyhua]

Harley Hua ~ Task Thirteen: Short and Sweet

What is your favorite book from childhood? I was just talking to Elliot about this the other day, but I loved Watchmen. I know it's not really for children, but my parents didn't. I also had a more age-appropriate book I loved, because the art was so beautiful in it. I remember it took place in the woods, but not what it was called or what the plot was. But it was so detailed, and colorful, and had a unique art style.

Do you own an item that comforts you when you’re sad? Do my art supplies count?

What makes you happy? I seem to have a one-track mind tonight but after a long day I love to go home, take off my cochlear implants, light a candle, and spend hours painting. I do my best work in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep. What are three things you like about yourself? I like almost everything about myself. That sounds like a cop-out, but it took me a really long time to learn self confidence. So maybe that's the first thing I like - that I'm a confident person. I also like the discipline I have to eat right and work out every day so that I can have the body I always dreamed of. And I love my sense of fashion. It's so much fun to dress up for all the events we have here in Merrock.

Which season is your favorite? Summer, easily! I love the heat, getting to spend a lot of my free time at the beach, and how much brighter everything feels; literally and emotionally.

Do you believe in the supernatural? What are we defining as supernatural? Ghosts and witches? Or are more religious symbols such as Gods, angels and demons also supernatural? Being raised both Jewish and Chinese, I got a lot of mixed messages as a kid. Parts of my Chinese culture are clearly against Jewish law. But I didn't grow up orthodox, so I've always taken it with a grain of salt on both sides anyways. I was generally discouraged from things like magic, or ghosts and demons, unless it was coming from a Chinese family member. I think my parents disagreed with how to raise us in that regard and tried to compromise, but it just made any of it being taboo feel nonsensical. Anyways, both cultures say not to mess with ghosts but I really want to go ghost hunting one day. Name a song that has a deeper meaning to you You've activated my Deaf card. What do you think about social media? I think it's great! Obviously, there are some drawbacks. But it allows people to connect in a way we couldn't have just a couple decades ago, and connects vulnerable people to resources that they need. How many queer communities have thrived on websites like tumblr? I remember being a teenager and seeing people like myself online when I didn't know there was anyone else like me in Merrock. It was lifechanging! What would be your dream job? Illustrator. Specifically, illustrating comic books but I also really want to do childrens books too. Name three things you don’t leave the house without My keys, obviously. And my phone. Normally I have my wallet or my cochlear implants on me, but not always. With so many places having tap-to-pay now, you really only need those two things. What is your favorite comfort food? My grandma is an amazing cook and she does this delicious lamb hot pot. It's a good thing she lives so far away, because I could not stick to my nutrition goals if I had the opportunity to eat that every week. Are you an active person? / What do you do to stay active? Is water wet? Technically not, but that's not the point. When I'm not painting or instructing a class, I'm almost always on the move. I try to spend two hours at the gym every day, although that's not always realistic with my busy schedule. I get a lot of steps in, walking around and giving tours at From Brush to Canvas. And I grew up doing gymnastics and cheerleading and try to practice so I don't lose my ability to do some of those stunts. Even as I've transitioned, I've managed to keep a lot of the flexibility I grew up with. I also live in the ocean in the summer, whether I'm surfing or swimming. Name your three biggest inspirations (people-wise) My brother and my grandma are easily my first two. Leaving my family for the third one, I think Gerda Wegener was amazing and pushed boundaries on sexuality and gender with her art in a way I really admire. What is currently your favorite airing show? I don't watch a lot of TV. When I'm at home, I like to take off my cochlear implants and enjoy the silence. And after a long day, the last thing I want to do is read captions for an hour straight. But I'm really excited for Echo to come out in a couple months. If you had to go anywhere right now, where would you go? If I had to? A warm, tropical beach that has complimentary cocktails and crystal-clear water.

#merrocktask #(task 013.) #(about.)

[dummerjan]

Tag 9 people you want to get to know better!

tagged by @theoryofarson – thank you <333 Three ships Kim/Chay is my main one right now, they make me feel so much. I've listened to some Sterek podfics recently and yep, Sterek is still eternal. Never letting them go, no way. KP is just a momentary distraction. Sterek has everything I also love about other ships. Martino and Niccolò from Skam Italia, it's been four years since I first watched their season and they still make me just as happy.

First ever ship I think the very first one I've read fanfiction for is Brian/Justin from QaF US. I must have been 14 and it was a nearly 500k post-canon fic, though I doubt I read all of it. I still have the link but there's no way I'll read smut in German. I was also really into the gay storylines from soaps from all over the world. Maybe one of those came before.

Last Song

And for once I am actually listening to it on a Friday night - that's what the song is about.

Last movie I can't remember, I rarely ever watch movies. The next movie, though, is going to be Two and One with Paolo Pangilinan from Gaya Sa Pelikula. I've wanted to see it since it came out but couldn't legally. I finally found a file for the English subs and a download for the movie, though. So I guess piracy it is? I wanted to give them money, okay? The site just wouldn't let me.

Currently reading Whatever fanfics I am subscribed to and in theory also Buddenbrooks by Thomas Mann, I like it but it's been a year and I've managed less than 1/3.

Currently Watching Gannibal - I've only got one episode left but I am being a bit of a baby about it. It's scary, ok? I am fine with eating children once a year, I am less fine with keeping them in a cave for years until it's time to eat them. Word of Honor - It took me six months to watch the second episode so who knows how long it will take me to watch the next one, but I like it so far, even though I have no idea what is going on. Just a lot of flirting in front of teenagers, that I got. I am also rewatching the third season of Druck even if that is a slow process.

Currently Consuming Consuming what? Why so unspecific? Food? None. I've eaten too much and now my stomach hurts. Does music count? I am listening to AnnenMayKantereit.

Currently Craving Again, so unspecific. Food? None. Though lately, I have been thinking about dubu-jorim a lot, or rather my spin on it. Maybe I'll make that tomorrow. And once I've eaten fried tofu, I won't stop craving it for a couple weeks. Media? I just want to see Kim one more time, okay? Just once, please, I am begging. I am so unwell about him. Existentially? Hope. A direction in life. Ways to do what I want to do. A win, I could really use a win. Creativity but also the inspiration and energy to follow through. Tagging: @skamskada @scattered-stardust @booksnchocolate @sauerland-2001 @whirling-ghost @stalkerpoetess1995 @caffelattedellequattro @silviakundera @hedgewyse I know that's not nine people but I already get anxious about tagging a single person. I made it! Nine people! I just needed to look at my followers/following lists.

#meins #edit: and here i thought hey! for once you will not spend hours on something like this #let's not obsess noone else but you actually cares #and guess what? half-finished sentences and typos everywhere #that's why i obsess #i just can't let it be #even if it means i overthink and end up rambling at least i make sure i finish my sentences and have gotten rid of any typos i can catch #the tumblr editor is driving me insane it keeps messing up what is bold and what not #playing tag