#psych whump is still up there for me but i think i will always love writing smthn a lil goofy a lil tender and a lil heartbreaking
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💛Smoshblr December Asks Day 21💙
What are your top 3 favourite tropes in media and/or fanfiction? (can be as general or specific as you want)
Bonus: What are 3 of your fave fanfics? (can be smosh related or from other fandoms)
YAY FANFICTION APPRECIATION
v general category here but psychological whump is my shit. whump and extreme hurt/comfort have always been incredibly cathartic for me. i love making little guys miserable. it's great.
fake dating! encompasses miscommunication, mutual pining, being frog boiled by your feelings, awkward performative firsts, all the good stuff.
i had to think on this one but the "everyone can see it" trope, when done well, can be so cute. sort of adjacent to fake dating. i think having two people who already sort of know they can work well together in a relationship yet procrastinate on acting on their feelings, being pushed together by well-intentioned family and friends... very cute. very sweet and goofy.
and ohh i'm telling on myself with these fave fics of mine but alas the writers need their flowers!! sort of dead dove disclaimer here, these are v particular and ns/f//w at times soooo. read under the cut!
We Go Anywhere But To The Ground by geordielover (bbc sherlock, sherlock/john, mature) - veeeeeery whumpy, sad, and dark. but i love when fics actually address characters' trauma?!¿?!¿ and the writing is so top tier. i'm sure i've been peppering little things from this fic in my own writing.
Best of Three by SilentAuror (bbc sherlock, sherlock/john, explicit) - IT'S SMUT i'm sorry it's smut!!!! but i'm gonna be so honest, i probably read this as a teen and this fic sort of exposed me to the idea of dudes just fuckin down and dirty........ and various other forms of foreplay lmaoooo. the writing is so good, the pining and emotion is so good.... my aspec ass is truly not opposed to admiring smut.
Simple Math by TheMouthKing & tripwirealarm (w//atcher entert//ainment, ryan/shane, explicit) - ok i'm like SUPER telling on myself with this one lol. it's sad and horny—and written so, SO fantastically. i'm never a multi-chapter fic gal but this one caught me with the pining and whump. like i was reading this as weekly updates. it was such an experience. and this fic basically combines the elements of the last two fics i mentioned........
#smoshblr december asks#replies#fic#wallpaper-inside-my-heart#i think i have different tropes for the fics i like to write tho#psych whump is still up there for me but i think i will always love writing smthn a lil goofy a lil tender and a lil heartbreaking#time to scroll the tag again >:)
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Master Post
Hopefully there's a little something on here for everyone to enjoy.❤️
List with links for my stories and some of my art featuring Number Five (TUA)-for art only on Tumblr, hit the link in my blog for all my Tumblr posts.
-see summaries and detailed tags on individual stories once you click the links
⚠️THIS SHOULD GO WITHOUT SAYING: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, OR REPODUCE MY WORKS IN ANY FORMAT TO OTHER SITES. REBLOGS ARE THE WAY TO GO.
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Five Hargreeves Dirty Headcanon ABC's
(Rated M for sexually explicit content, 5438 words, the last one for Z is sort of a mini story for you to enjoy. This list explores Five and his relationship with 'you' while taking a small dive into his very complicated psyche and looking at some of the reasons why he is the way he is. This is written with 'you' as anyone-not male or female specific.)
He Who Holds The Power~(rated Teen and Up or General) (10,409 words)(alt season 4 story with ending)(reader insert style that lets anyone be the 'you' character as long as you don't mind Five hitting on you 👍😂)(original Five cover art painting made by me and a little photoshop story insert to make it more fun)
This one is a little season 4 teaser short story I dreamed up that gives us a look inside Five's world both before he jumped to the apocalypse and post season 3.
~~~~~~~~It all begins and ends with Five....
warnings: mild description/mention of child abuse, and signs of panic attack, potential trigger by mention of bombing a building
tags: whump, fluff, trauma, heartbreak, love, revenge, forgiveness, Mr. Pennycrumb, all the Hargreeves and some of our new character mentions from season 4, Five deserves better, Klaus is awesome, You x Five, reader insert, Five is amazing and with this one you get to imagine yourself a part of his story/future 👍
Under Your Hat~ (rated M/Explicit for sexual content but you can still read this and enjoy it by skipping those parts using the ⚠️ symbol in the story for start and stop points.) (9827 words)
You never know what kind of trouble you might find if you put yourself out there and speak your mind, and tonight, that kind of trouble is Five Hargreeves.
~Set post season three. (the 5ish years later thing) Five is older, but still struggling with life and you happen to find yourself at a party with him.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, rough sex, spanking, daddy kink, humiliation play, and Five pretty much being the sweet and sexy guy I like to think he is under that hat.
'Hargreeves Home for Wayward Boys ~(rated G since you can easily skip the sexually explicit parts and still enjoy the story. There is a clear point to stop if you are avoiding that stuff 👍) (8711 words)
~Five is your employer and he's not happy with you. As the night unfolds, you have a very unexpected encounter with him...
~This story takes place where we left off with season three, but 5 years later. The name is a nod to hints of what might be coming, though I doubt the Netflix writers are going with my little storyline I have created for you.
~This one is sort of gift to all fanfiction readers and writers. May you always keep passwords on our documents and devices, or maybe not... 😂👌
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'Free at Last' - a short, general rated, image based/comic book style story blip of Dolores and Five
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‘Bad Things’
Five Hargreeves/Reader Insert (rated explicit for sexual content)(Dark and very messed up version of Five mixed with some ideas from the comic books)(see story for specific tags) (49,996 words)
Summary:
~Psychopathy is a neuropsychiatric disorder marked by deficient emotional responses, lack of empathy, the inability to distinguish between right and wrong, poor behavioral controls, and behaviors that contradict social norms which then commonly result in persistent antisocial deviance and criminal behavior.
Enter, Five Hargreeves, everyone's favorite little psycho.
Having been left in a new world with nothing, his mental state growing more and more dangerous, Five Hargreeves finds something he feels will keep him from going off the deep end, but just like in so many things he thinks that are wrong, the fact that he thinks this already proves he has.
Full Summary and Chapter One and Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five, Six, and Seven
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‘The Anti Hero’s Pitfall of Arrogance’
Five Hargeeves/Female OC (rated explicit for sexual content-see AO3 version for the Teen and up version)(starts when the Hargreeves are sixteen so that changes the timeline from the show a bit, but it still follows cannon material fairly closely with those changed in mined)(see story for specific tags) (44,599 words)
Chapter One and Two
Chapter Three and Four
Chapter Five, Six, and Seven
AO3 Teen and up Version
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‘In The Flesh’
Five Hargreeves/Reader Insert (rated G) (5337 words) (special request based off an extended scene from 'The Anti Hero’s Pitfall of Arrogance.’)(meant to be dark and very disturbing but with a heart filled message that is very Five.)
Link to 'In The Flesh’
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'The Devil Within’
Five Hargreeves/Reader Insert (rated explicit for sexual content) (This one is the smuttiest Five fiction I have ever written so there is no way to avoid those parts) (see story for specific tags but I leave many off to keep you surprised as you read) (23,134 words)
Chapter One and Two
Chapters Three and Four
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Paramour (The Umbrella Academy 3-part series)-Rated Teen because you can skip the many sexually explicit parts or potential triggers with chapter warnings and detailed end notes for what you missed in those parts.
-If you love Five and long rollercoaster ride stories that you can get lost in than this is a great read for you.
Five’s POV and centered on him, but it has all the Hargreeves and Female OC love interest, stays very true to cannon themes and for Character’s personalities.
- See specific tags per-story on A03
Part One: 'Number Five and the Girl (227,442 words) (Starts pre-season one, age 16, coming of age angst, humor, sexual activity and trauma)
Part Two: 'Infinity’ (417,307 words) (Starts right at start of season three but not a show rewrite, and full of shockers and fun and angst and fluff and plenty of explicit fun)
Part Three: 'Oblivion’ (152,100 words) (Hurt Five and Sexy Five galore, my version season four finale)
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'No More the Victim’
(132,130 words) (rated E-🏳️🌈trans female pairing-see tags in AO3) (Five in a very dark place/hurt/comfort/redemption)
Starts after very dark post Season Three but does get much lighter, angst, first-time, finding yourself, revenge, unexpected romance, sub/dom, sexual humor, overcoming tragedy. seeing yourself and others with openness and love, Five’s time travel fix-it optional finale to the show.
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My co-authored works with Bad_Kitty
Link to all Bad_Kitty’s private works on AO3)
'The Text Mess’ (5576 words) (rated Teen and up) (Five and Klaus)
A text-based format story done with actual textboxes and phones to make it more fun. Full of hilarious images, sexual humor, Five is Five and Klaus is Klaus in this make you laugh and get the feels short story. Takes place in a blip in time post season three.
'Sharp Dressed Man’ (5514 words) (rated Explicit for sexual content)
Five and his lady love Vivian one shot based off of Bad_Kitty’s Halo Series-see link above. Humor based, sexy Five doing his sexy daddy thing. Christmas time story with a few of the other Hargreeves. Closet sexy craziness.
'When Number Five Steps out, He’s Gonna Do you In’ (8730 words, rated Explicit for sexual content)
The sequel one-shot to 'Sharp Dressed Man.’ Sexual humor, frustrated Five doing New Years things with the family. Lots of feels, sexy Five, a few of the fam, daddy Five getting it done and checking his naughty list off for the year.
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My Art Featuring Number Five (TUA)
To view my Five art features on Tumblr hit this link
For stuff not on Tumbler see Original Five art from my various works at this link (rated General)
Hand drawn sketches, graphic art in later chapters.
My Naughtier Themed Number Five art (rated Mature)
Graphic art, sexual themes but nothing explicit
#five x you#number five fanfic#five hargreeves fanfiction#five x reader#The umbrella academy fanfiction#Five hargreeves imagine#The umbrella academy number five#number 5#number five x reader#number five x oc#number five fanart#number five#five hargreeves#tua fanfic#kaybreezy-on-a03#number five fanfiction#five hargreeves fanart#number five smut#five hargreeves smut#number five hargreeves
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Oh my god, hold on! Is it wierd that I'm a girlie who loves angst (probably because I can relate to some e.i panic attacks) - so your whump!Cloud wheel made me feel things! The urge I have to pick one prompt but there's so many... The easiest route for me would be "panic attacks" but I'm craving some "sleep deprivation..." one 'cause I always have been into psyche and dreamlike stuff 🥺
Sorry this took so long, I really liked that prompt too because Cloud almost never sleeps in Remake at all! I think he gets maybe one uninterrupted nights sleep.
You're not weird, I'm a lady who adores whump and hurt/comfort and I'd say more than half of us into it are women!
Here's your story!
Cloud couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep. Hells, he’d just like to have more than two or three hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness… something twitched uncomfortably in the back of his mind, that he didn’t want that actually, nonsensically insisting he’d slept enough for the rest of his life. He’d fall asleep and inevitably jerk awake an hour later - an hour if he was lucky that is.
Rolling over, he stared at the blank wall his bed was pressed up against, eyes burning and head swimming with exhaustion. His body ached and no position was particularly comfortable as his muscles twitched restlessly. He was tired, he should be tired, he’d barely slept the day before and he’d not stopped going all day - all night he’d spent running, riding, fighting and fighting and fighting. It wasn’t as though he was soft or something, a SOLDIER First had a much more strenuous workload so he should be used to this…right?
There was nothing he could do to fight it as he curled in on himself, a spike of pain flaring at the base of his skull and shivering beneath his scalp in a way that made him cringe. He clutched at his head, the room glitching around him like a faulty television full of static and the green glow of… of…
Cloud swallowed against the nausea as the fit, whatever it was, passed. He wondered how long he’d been lying there, the room still spinning slightly. Bright light leaked in around the edges of the door, casting sickly yellow rays of artificial sunlight across the floor and ceiling. Had it been hours?
He slumped back against the thin mattress, the rickety bed frame creaking as he tried to get comfortable. For a moment, just a few seconds, he winced as the headache returned - this time followed by a sick and heavy feeling in his chest. His eyes slipped closed, a sound nearly getting trapped in his throat - a whimper, as he writhed against the bed. He felt hot, and then cold. So cold. Cold as Mount Nibel in winter.
There was nothing physical trying to weigh him down but he felt heavy regardless, his instinctive struggles weakening until his muscles relaxed. HIs hands clutched at the sweaty sheets beneath him as he arched back against the… whatever it was. Going slowly limp, a soft voice followed the feeling of ghostly hands on his shoulders pressing him deeper into the mattress.
“Sleep,” a deep, dark, voice whispered into him and he couldn’t help but chase after it. Gods, yes, he wanted to sleep.
“Please,” Cloud shuddered, invisible fingers stroking down his face. He let go, sighing, yearning towards the nothingness beckoning him to relax and give in.
“Sleep,” the word was so seductive, the need to obey so powerful, “and dream the sweetest dreams.”
A sensation like falling began to drag him under and he went willingly, desperately, and the sharp gasp of air in his lungs felt like knives as something brushed over him and pulled him awake. Fists pounded on the door, making him roll to his feet to answer. The danger lent him enough adrenaline to get up, to grab his sword, to keep going again. Always again.
He closed his eyes briefly, stumbling down the stairs more on autopilot than deliberately, and through himself into the fight. He’d sleep… sometime… he hoped.
Anyone else want to spin the Cloud Whump Wheel?
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Self Promo Sunday: “Got My Angel Now”
This week’s re-run is another that I’ve always been pretty fond of (What can I say? I’m a sucker for the hurt/comfort and emotional angst and healing that could easily have fit into canon, but which the show didn’t always take time for) I initially wrote it after 5x03 “Siege Perilous”, and though some of the events were quickly made canon divergent as the Camelot arc went on, I don’t think it’s so far off as to be ruined for enjoyment’s sake. The title comes from a line in “Halo” by Beyonce, and the lyrics included in the scene breaks are from Christina Perri. (Neither of them, nor our lovely Pirate and Princess duo are mine. I just like to give them quiet moments ;p )
Summary: A post-5x03 one shot where the Storybrooke gang learn of Arthur's treachery much sooner, and in much more painful fashion. (Some whump aftermath and definite CS hurt/comfort involved)
Also available on AO3 and ff.net, if either of those are your preference...
By: @snowbellewells
They should never have trusted Arthur so blindly. Have they learned nothing yet after meeting so many heroes and monsters of myth and legend and finding them the opposite of how they are painted in the tales of old? Oh, aye, the royal had been stealthy – welcoming them to Camelot, throwing a grand ball in their honor, knighting David as a brother-in-arms and seating him in the very Siege Perilous once held by Lancelot himself – but it had made them let down their guard…and now Emma was paying the price.
Standing surrounded in the tower room Regina and Belle use as they research and experiment trying to find a way to communicate with and free Merlin, Arthur’s treachery suddenly comes into sharp focus for all of them. An entire phalanx of Camelot knights – Dave’s supposed comrades – surround Killian, Henry, David, Robin, and Belle (unfortunately Regina is not present to wipe them all out with a wrathful fireball) with swords at their chests or throats, circled closely enough that breaking free or moving to help the last member of their party is impossible.
Arthur himself stands facing Emma, his blade drawn and pointed just above her heart, poised to pierce her chest and make that precious, priceless organ spill its lifeblood and go still. Killian feels himself practically vibrating both with rage at the betrayal and his fear for her; not to mention the bitter anger he can feel radiating off of the prince beside him. He reaches out a hand to clutch Henry’s forearm, feeling the boy nearly jerk forward to his mother’s aid. He doesn’t think these men would hurt one so young, but he is no longer certain.
“Now Dark One,” Arthur spits, his voice harsh with controlled venom, “you and I are going to the tree. Your magic and the mushroom your noble father so kindly procured for me,” here he slants a gaze at Charming, “will show me what to do to free Merlin and to trap you instead, where you rightly belong.”
Killian knows Emma now possesses enough magic in her little finger alone to blow all these men away, but she holds back, as afraid as any of them that magic use will only continue to give the darkness more footholds in her psyche. She slants her eyes from boldly staring Arthur down to seek his. He wants to tell her to fight, to disappear - escape - and he wishes to know what he can do to comfort her, but the words and the knowledge elude him. Instead, his only ease is found in knowing that Emma’s dagger is nowhere near here – not where Arthur can lay hands on it and control his love. Though he does not know where Snow and Lancelot have taken it for safekeeping, it is at least beyond this broken monarch’s reach.
There is nothing to do but watch as Arthur has two more knights bind Emma’s hands and force her none-too-gently from the room behind him, the rest of the guard linger menacingly, to be sure none of them can follow or try to help her until they are well away.
It matters not; he will catch up, no matter where they take her. Emma must only hold on, keep her faith…
I believe in the lost possibilities you can’t see
and I believe that the darkness reminds us where light can be;
I know that your heart is still beating, beating, Darling,
I believe that you fell just so you could land next to me.
So hold on, hold on…
Though naught but a quarter of an hour passes before the rest of Arthur’s men withdraw from them, it is well into the evening before Killian finds Emma in a moonlit clearing of the dense forest which encircles the kingdom. Their group had split up in the hopes of someone reaching Swan that much faster, once word spread of Arthur’s failing to trap the Dark One and how she had used her powers to vanish from his grasp in the courtyard. Killian still does not know what had been done to her before that, but he can only be glad she has outsmarted their treacherous adversary and saved herself. He practically deflates with relief at the sight of her before him, appearing hale and in one piece. He cannot be anything but glad that it is he who will have a moment alone with his love. It does not matter that it has not even been a whole day, his relief upon seeing Emma again is almost too great to bear. The vision of her before him across the clearing is like the first breath of fresh spring air to his weary soul after too long locked away in suffocating winter. The last few hours he has been struggling for breath, consciously forcing his heart not to skip beats in agony and worry for her and what she might be suffering. His joy is great enough to override caution, and he doesn’t take in the raw, unhinged look in her wild eyes, nor the way she fairly vibrates with some unknown strain or injury.
The air around Emma pulses with electricity, and she throws out a hand to ward him off – pulling Killian up short when he feels the force pressing him back. Drawing in a steadying breath and hesitating to truly study her expression of confusion and anxiety, he realizes with a sharp pang in his chest that he is not sure whether she is merely trying to protect him while out of control, or if she truly doesn’t know him in this moment.
Those mesmerizing green eyes which never fail to capture him in their depths, flit nervously from his face, to his hand and hook, to her own trembling fingers outstretched between them, to the trees that surround them, and back again nervously – clearly unsettled and pained. Their emerald depths have never appeared so dark before, as if the forces fighting within to color her very mind and spirit are attempting to spread into even the smallest details of her being. His Swan literally shakes, even as she attempts to hold herself steady, staring at him across the open space. “What are you doing here?!?” she demands, looking shaken and angry, but at the same time as if she wants nothing more than to close the gap, fall into his supporting arms, and hold on for dear life. “I brought myself here for a reason, Killian! I barely got away from them, and I had to use my powers to do it. I can’t risk something like that happening again. I’m too dangerous to be near anyone until I find Merlin – and not when Arthur is waiting. Not until I get rid of this, this…thing inside me. I feel it swirling and clawing… even when it isn’t speaking to me in Rumplestiltskin’s voice, it’s trying to break free. So…y-you can’t be here! I w-won’t hurt you…” Her lower lip trembles, but she looks so firm in her decision and determined to suffer alone in her misery that his heart constricts, breaking a bit more at the sight of her anguish.
He cannot bear to see her hurting this way, to hear the agony in her voice; the yearning loneliness made plain beneath her warning to him makes him continue to inch closer, regardless of the threat Emma thinks she poses. He had known the wretched feeling of hopeless despair she is feeling all too well himself – for years – until she came along and brought more to his life than revenge, brought back the man of honor he once was. He takes another hesitant step forward, cautiously reaching out for her with a gentle hand and equally coaxing voice. “Easy now, Love,” he practically croons. “We can be careful…but you should not – and will not – have to do this alone.”
“Please stop!” she cries out, shooting another regretful look of longing at him.
Killian shakes his head, unwilling to let her go on like this, sure that he can help her, soothe her, and ease her pain if he can only reach her. He watches as Emma continues to tremble, but she remains still, allowing him to approach, even if she does so fearfully. Finally, the very tips of his fingers graze her cloak, then his whole hand rests on her upper arm, gripping gently as if unsure that she won’t still flee.
Just as she did in that circle of stones when their whole party first arrived in Camelot, Emma expels a terribly ragged breath and deflates, falling into him and clutching his shoulders as desperately as he clings to her. Killian breathes again, having barely realized he was holding it, and smooths a hand through her hair. He is not at all deterred by Emma’s moment of weakness, her nearly unhinged power, nor her fear. He is only glad she has finally reached for him in time of need. He will not give her up; he will find a way to help her, show her he will never fear her – whatever betide – and he will not fail to fight for her against any threat or foe. Watching her battle the Darkness within allows him to see, not her faltering, but even more of her strength. His admiration for her has only grown. No one else could understand the allure of the dark and the valor needed to claw away from it as he can.
‘Cause I have been where you are before
and I have felt the pain of losing who you are,
I have died so many times, but I am still alive
So hold on, hold on….
Tenderly, reverently, Killian’s hand travels on – down from the silken waves of her golden hair to trace Emma’s shoulders, then her back, pressing just enough to draw her closer, only to release her quickly when she cries out in pain at even the slight weight of his hands on her back. She tries to swallow her reaction in the next instant – hide it away – but she cannot conceal the wince that escapes as she curls in on herself protectively, nor can he fail to see the stiff way she holds her shoulders now that he is looking for it.
His calloused fingers come to cup her strong chin, tilting Emma’s face to meet his gaze, so she cannot avoid his eyes. “Where are you hurt, Swan?” he murmurs lowly, voice rough with concern. His words might be soft, but they are taut with worry and anger that these brigands would dare to lay a rough hand on his princess. “What did they do to you?”
Emma shakes her head, pulling away from his cautious grip and biting down on her lower lip in that way she has when trying to avoid baring herself to him, especially if the knowledge he seeks might be painful. “It’s nothing, Killian. Don’t worry over it. I…I could have healed it already…if I weren’t worried about using my magic.”
Impatiently, he shakes his own head once, frustrated at her stubbornness and unconcern for her own well-being. “It is not nothing, Emma. Of that I am quite sure.” His words are clipped with the force of his emotion, accent more pronounced, and Emma feels a shiver skitter down her spine that is as much from attraction as foreboding over what he will do when he sees her injuries. Carefully, but firmly, Killian places both hand and hook on her shoulders and turns her around to face away from him.
For a moment, Emma clutches her cloak about her, trying to keep this revelation from his eyes in one last desperate effort, but when pain lances through her shoulders and she cannot bite back the whimper that escapes her, she knows it is a losing battle. Slumping forward, she releases a sigh and ceases to fight against his gentle determination.
“There now, Lass,” her pirate coaxes in that warm burr of his. His hand and hook barely skim over her form as he unclasps and pulls the cloak away. “Let us see, hmm? Everything will be…” However, his voice chokes and trails off before he can finish his gentle reassurance. A strangled noise in his throat and the sudden heavy tension in the air around them tells her without doubt that once the cloak was off her shoulders, the wide neckline and low back of her dress leave the stinging marks on her flesh exposed plainly to his eyes.
Neither of them move for several long, silent moments, and Emma presses her trembling lips together tightly, trying desperately not to let the tears that are welling in her eyes fall. She hisses when the cool metal of his hook gingerly traces the brand burned into her right shoulder, serving to mark her as a witch, and the scattered whip weals she bore rather than admit anything about where her dagger was hidden, further endangering Merlin and the rest of them. The lash marks pulse hotly along with the beat of her heart and the blood rushing through her veins. Somehow, though, the tender care in his touch soothes her a bit, and she relaxes, almost sinking to her knees in relief and exhaustion as he continues. Her eyes slip closed, and she nearly feels safe again until he whispers in a broken voice. “Oh, Love, how could they do this to you? …I am so very sorry, Emma.”
Her tears do fall silently then, and she turns back to him, wordlessly trailing her fingers across his face, up over his cheekbones, wiping his matching tears away. Shushing Killian even as his shoulders shake with silent emotion, Emma leans against his chest and tries for the first time in what feels like ages to let down her guard and catch her breath at the safety she finds in his arms.
Eventually, Killian pulls back slightly, brushing a loose tendril of her mussed hair off her forehead and resting his hand along the side of her face softly. He shifts to take her hand in his and then leads her to the banks of the small river running placidly behind them. Urging Emma wordlessly to sit on a large rock at the water’s edge, he pulls a clean black scarf from inside his long coat, bends to wet it in the cool water, then comes back to crouch behind her. Clearing his throat in a nervous way that warms her heart, Killian asks gently. “Not to be indelicate, Swan, but can you shrug out of your frock for a moment? Hold it up in the front if you wish, but I need to see your whole back if I am to clean your wounds properly.”
Emma dips her head, blushing fiercely, and does as he asks, sucking in a sharp, pained breath once more as she eases the material from her shoulders and the movement stretches the torn skin of her back. Finally, she wraps her arms tightly around her torso, holding the front of the dress up and bracing herself. Hissing as the damp cloth first makes contact with the bloody stripes sliced into her pale hide, she tries not to flinch or wince and make Killian’s task more difficult; however, she can feel Killian’s hesitance and guilt at hurting her more, even in order to help, regardless of how she tries to hold her reactions in.
Slowly, the water begins to cool the enflamed agony, and she eases a fraction, feeling a bit like his ministrations are healing her as well as any magic could. The feel of his fingers ghosting over her back and down her arm as he finishes and tells her she can pull her gown back into place remind her vividly of another time so long ago, when he used another of his scarves to bind a wound to her hand, seemingly reading her mind as he did so and seeing the attraction she had felt for him even then simmering under her skin. His care that day atop the beanstalk had made her ache to trust him, and looking back now, it nearly floors her to realize just how completely she does trust him – so much so that she would place her very life in his hands without question.
Emma feels the warm exhalation of her pirate’s breath on her neck mere seconds before he lightly rests his forehead there, seemingly needing to hold her as he draws in a shaky breath. They are silent for some time; the running water, bird calls, and scuffling of wild creatures in the brush are the only sounds around them. Finally, he eases away and speaks once more, circling to face her as he does so. “Emma, I know you do not want to put yourself at more risk – nor do you want to be forced to use your magic again to defend yourself, or any of us – but you must return with me. We can find some place for you to stay where Arthur and his sorry excuses for ‘gallant’ knights will never know of your return. You must have some salve or medicine and better treatment than I can offer for those cuts, and especially the burn. I fear it could become infected. Regina will be near enough to guard you with her magic this time, and we will not be taken unawares again. I certainly will not be making the mistake of trusting anyone else in Camelot.”
She wants to argue with him, to be strong enough to stay out here alone and in hiding, but she cannot make herself form the words. In fact, she knows with painful certainty that she cannot bear to have Killian out of her sight right now. Weakened and vulnerable, she needs his comfort and his strength, needs someone with some faith and hope that all which has gone wrong can still work out right. Not only will she worry for his safety and the rash action he might take to right the vicious wrongs done to her, but she yearns for his care just now; his steadfast love the strongest thing keeping the darkness at bay, even as her situation grows more dire.
I believe that tomorrow is stronger than yesterday,
and I believe that your head is the only thing in your way.
I wish that you could see your scars turn into beauty.
I believe that today it’s okay to be not okay…
Hold on, hold on…
This is not the end of me, this is the beginning
Hold on…
Later that night, as moonlight filters into the isolated old hunting lodge that Killian and Henry have somehow located in a far-flung corner of the castle grounds, deserted and dusty from long disuse, Emma wakes from a light doze, still uneasy enough not to sleep deeply, despite her wear and strain. Sitting up stiffly, her eyes search the room, seeking her guardian knight, even as his name escapes her lips worriedly. “Killian?” she asks, a soft, plaintive note in the single whispered word.
He stands quickly from where his lithe form had been curled up on a settee near the window keeping watch, himself bathed in dark shadows and moon glow as he steals across the room to sit on the edge of the bed at her side. “I’m here, Love. Are you in pain? Regina is just outside, I can summon her…”
Emma merely shakes her head, reaching her hand out from under the layers of warm blankets she remembers him tucking around her a couple hours before. Looking up into his fathomless blue, blue eyes, she closes her fingers around his hook, hanging on for dear life. “No, it’s not that,” she assures him, gazing up into his face, drinking in every perfect, adoring feature as he stares back at her. “I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t disappear, that you were still with me…” She trails off, looking sheepish but also honest. They might be more than she would usually say, but she cannot make herself take the words back.
He traces his hand across her forehead soothingly, then lets his fingers tangle gently in her hair, pulling her up to press the softest of kisses to her lips. “Don’t worry, Darling,” he murmurs, his caress easing her pounding heart. “It took me centuries to find you. I won’t be letting go of my saving grace now. We will put an end to this darkness and treachery. Our love story is only beginning.”
And with those words Emma is able to fall back into a healing, dreamless sleep.
Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @therooksshiningknight @cosette141 @sotangledupinit @bdevereaux @stahlop @kday426 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @killian-whump @artistic-writer @cocohook38 @motherkatereloyshipper @thislassishooked @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @xsajx @justanother-unluckysoul @drowned-dreamer @anmylica @iverna @kazoosandfannypacks @booksteaandtoomuchtv @scientificapricot @tomeandflickcorner @lfh1226-linda
#self promo sunday#ouat canon divergent one shot#cs post-5x03 one shot ff#got my angel now#cs hurt comfort#emma whump aftermath
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do u know i think about your fic drift every day 🥺 i'm v curious if you've got any dvd commentary about anything going on behind the scenes in that one
sadlkfjsdlfkj first of all please ignore how long it took me to answer this, second or all ahhhh thank you. that fic caused me an immense amount of angst to write and it was one of those "this got really close to not being posted because I kept dragging my feet about it and psyching myself out of it more and more in the end @ameliarating basically had to bully me into doing it" fics. so she deserves a lot of credit here. had it been up to me this one would probably still be living in obscurity on my hard drive.
but as far as commentary goes...I think part of why I struggled so much with this one is because it very much was not what I thought it was going to be. initially the plan was just "drugged Vegas" and then the plan was "drugged Vegas, dig a little into his issues around sex and consent" and then I was like "okay but how am I going to make this work, hmm, I know, I'll put it together with the thing I want to do where Pete meets Vegas's normal-ass college friends and has a feeling about it", and I don't know why I thought sticking these two things together would just work seamlessly but. well. it didn't.
so then the whole thing ended up taking a left turn and being more about Pete having a feeling than about the whump (which had been the original plan), and more about my headcanons on the parts of Vegas's life that aren't defined solely by his family (minimal) and what would happen bringing those things together.
I have all this headcanon about Vegas going to university abroad and just...having a great time getting to be someone else for a while, with people who only know the things about him that Vegas chooses. it's like getting to have a whole other life for a little while, but he always has to go home, and he definitely knows it's time bound.
and never quite as real. which is sort of what this fic was digging into, I guess.
anyway I think I'll have to write another fic about Vegas's issues around sex and consent since that wasn't really what this one ended up being about, but boy do I love writing Pete feeling out of place and uncertain of where he belongs, and prying into the gap between Vegas's life experience and Pete's and making it uncomfortable. good times.
#conversating#lu sn#also omg having you send me this when i'm here like#be normal be normal be normal LOVE YOUR WORK quiet excited noises#really nice. gotta say#confessions of a frustrated writer#aggressively headcanons#vegaspete#i guess for my own blog organization sorry main tag folks
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Starlight - Chapter Thirty-Three: The Fruits of Sin
Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC
Rating: Mature
Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut
Warnings: Explicit Language. Graphic Violence. Torture/Whump. Imperialism. Drugs and Alcohol
Words: 7.7k
Summary : “Mayfeld at least, finds the humor. “I guess that’s how you know it’s real love, huh? Neither of you know who the fuck the other is and you still care bout each other. Secrets be damned.”
Starlight Masterlist Here
Read Chapter Thirty-Two Here
Read on AO3 Here
The anger comes the easiest, therefore it is also the most difficult. It infects Din Djarin like a slow moving parasite, crawling up his nerves and spinal cord before settling in the back of his head. It makes camp inside his psyche, a heavyweight champion of grief.
The dark lost all its comfort. Shadows which were once an escape are filled with void.
Things don’t improve with the helmet on, orange data displays induce headaches. His beskar, reflective, repellant. It has nothing to shine for here, in whatever remains of the Mandalorian covert on Nevarro. Din confines himself to its cut stone in the early morning and late nights. He avoids what he can of stars, the vision an insult.
“I would have never looked at her if I knew this would come from it.”
In making the statement, Din believed it. How could he not? No one in their right minds would actively choose this path, this way. But with the passage of six days and the growing infection, somehow he’s always known this would happen. From the very beginning she did nothing but warn him against her. The results were always going to be devastating, they knew no other way to exist.
Din willingly gave himself from that very moment in the hangar. He wanted to, so he did. And he liked it. He wanted more than the Creed would ever allow, so he took it, accepting any excuse from himself.
He can’t think of it for too long without the on-surge of a migraine paired with sickness in his gut. He gets spacey when asked of it, any of it. He becomes irrational, on the edge of a tantrum like a spoiled child.
They all notice he’s different. Stalking Nevarro half dead and possessed. They give him attempts of disguised altruism to mask pity.
Greef Karga tried, approaching Din by the town’s square in front of the IG-11 statue. “Dune told me about your kid. Sorry to hear it. We’ve got a spare room for you and your girl at the inn… where is she?”
Fennec offered him the floor of the Slave I. Boba retracted it.
Cara has food prepared and ready for him to grab from the cantina whenever he wants. After the third day she started including a bottle of liquor. Din never considered himself a drinker, but he always takes until the last drop.
He and Fett can’t talk without an argument starting. Over nothing. Everything. So they don’t.
The Child’s absence, Grogu, is the worst. It is without debate and only experience that Din claims the loss of a child is far worse than a parent. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried the way he has.
Din’s helmet sits across from him now, the unwelcomed guest to dinner. Taking a swig of cheap beer, his hand runs over his face. He needs to shave, a hair cut, a shower.
He needs to get away from himself.
-
“Su’cuy gar.” The voice echos from behind, Boba Fett. “I was told I would find you here.”
“Nar’sheb.” Din scoffs, tension rising in his shoulders. With his back turned, he makes no move for his helmet. “What do you want?”
“Your friend, Marshal Dune. She says her clearance was approved to pick up your contact.”
“You’re talking to Dune now?”
“Fennec is.” His footsteps sound closer, two behind Din. “You know, I’ve never seen it last this long. I hate to say I’m impressed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Boba shrugs. “You’ll learn. Are you still against bringing her back?”
“I told you. She won’t come back. She’s on their side, deal with it.” Din scoffs, shaking his head. “I know you aren’t here for small talk. So why don’t you say whatever it is you want and get out.”
He waits for Boba’s punch or other threat of violence. Instead there’s a reach over his shoulder, a holoframe set by Din’s food. It powers on, edges are old and worn from frequent handling.
Din leans forward, grabbing the metal. There’s a teenager, dark hair, curled at the end, and skin overly tanned. He’s annoyed in the way all children are at the delicate age. Din recognizes the second from the photo on the ship. Now matured into a young woman, hair dyed dark with blonde roots. To the third he frowns, blinking away emotion. “Who is that?”
“Who do you think?”
“Not Lumina.”
“No?”
Din’s head shakes again, jaw clenched. “No.” His tongue clicks the roof of his mouth. “Looks nothing like her.”
Boba snorts. “I think you’re the first person to ever say that.”
“So who is it?”
“Photo’s almost fifteen years old,” Boba says. Din doesn’t think when he turns, and Boba doesn’t comment. “Take a guess.”
“Fett—“
“When my sister discovered I worked for the Empire, she cut off all communications with me. She was scared my involvement would hurt the boy.” He chuckles. “He’s the same as yours. She dedicated her whole life protecting him, just as I did with Adi.”
“He’s the same?” Din repeats, slow.
“So is she.”
“Your sister?”
His head bobs. “Her too.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Din asks. Quiet, fearful of the cave’s echo.
“When I said she was back to how she was, my meaning wasn’t of her morality. That has always been strong. If she wanted to steal your child she would have done so a long time ago. That girl has no regard for her own safety, but she cares for her own. She’ll do whatever it takes to protect the Child, you must know that.”
“That’s what I did. Sometimes, the best place to hide is in plain sight.”
“What if her intentions with them are true? What if you’re wrong, and this is just who she is? She admitted to conspiring with the Empire, with Gideon.”
“If you believe that, then your child is already dead.” Boba retrieves the frame, slapping its back to his palm. “We leave for your contact first thing. I recommend you pull yourself together before then.” He turns on his heel, walking away from Din. “K’atini.”
“Fett!” Din shouts after, Boba already down the hall. “Who was that?”
“You wanted to know what I know,” Boba calls. “That’s what you get. Put your helmet on before the rats see you as well.”
Snapping to the beskar, Din imagines it laughs at him.
---
Lumina finds herself to be seventeen again. She lands crouched, one hand pressed on the ground. Her eyes squeeze shut to ignore the pounding in her head and the ringing in her ears. Everything is suffocating, the air, the voices, the electricity.
“Again,” she hears the Machine say.
Sweat beads across her forehead, wiped with the back of her hand holding a training blaster. Deactivated droids double her size stand scattered, metal heads dropped to chests. Except one, a foot taller and—debatably—more human than the rest.
In the months since Yavin, her training increased tenfold. She grew new muscles, eating more only to make up for the extra calories burned. She preferred her hair then in these situations, shaved sides and longer at the top. Now her bun breaks and front pieces create a horrific halo. She’s lost all control.
Standing on wobbly knees, she stumbles to the only table in the room. She grabs a canteen, chugging room temperature water until the mechanical breathing fades away with the rest of the hallucination.
“Impressive,” Moff Gideon says, replacing the vision of the Machine.
Lumina bends until her head rests against the cool surface. “What was my time?”
“Twenty-three,” Ghost says. She stands beside the Moff, opposite Lumina. Her arms cross over her chest. “Fastest time yet, right Doctor?”
Pershing nods. He sits behind some computer, attachments on Lumina’s arms and chest sending her vitals. “Her performance improved by one second exactly.”
“I can do better,” Lumina says. She stands, tapping the barrel of the gun to her head. “Reset the simulation.”
As a teenager, she would have thrown her blaster to the ground; march to the Machine with the ferocity of a dragon. In his armor she would see only herself in her fight.
“You’ve gone six time already,” Ghost says.
“I have failed six times,” Lumina says, echoing him. “I’ll go until I get it right. Reset the simulation.”
“You’ll injure yourself.”
“I’m too slow.”
“Because you’re tired.”
“War, does not care for your weakness,” the Machine said to her. “You are not allowed to be tired.”
“I’m fine. Reset it.”
“Using your lightsaber would lead to faster success,” Gideon says. Its on the table, by the now empty canteen. “The dark troopers are built to withstand assault from regular men and weaponry. Not magic.”
“He’s right,” Ghost agrees. “This training does nothing substantial for you, or us. If they were fully activated you’d be dead with that gun.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t think that’s something you want to test,” she laughs. “You proved your point. You’re fast and you know how to shoot. Are we done here?”
“I don’t recall inviting you to this,” Lumina snaps. “If you’re so bored you’re welcomed to leave. You can make yourself useful for once, clean the mess hall.”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
Lumina’s lightsaber flies into her hand, marched steps stopping two feet from the Inquisitor. “Don’t test me,” she challenges.
“Stand down,” Gideon says.
“Bite me,” she answers, then and now. A patch on the back of her neck shocks, bending her to her knees. She glares upwards, Ghost stifles a laugh with the back of her hand.
“Control yourself, 318.”
Lumina’s face pinches, head twitching. “Yes sir,” she mutters. When it stops, she stands again.
“Drop your weapon.”
She does, lightsaber falling in Gideon’s hand.
Gideon nods to Pershing. “We’re done for the day,” he says. “Remove her wires.”
“I’m not—“ Lumina argues.
“You are when I say you are. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
“Return her to her quarters,” he instructs Ghosts.
“Actually, Moff Gideon,” Ghost says. She places her hand over his bicep, turning inwards to face. Her fingers lightly massage, she almost looks sweet. “I was hoping you could clear her for a little mission I have planned.”
“A mission?”
“Yes,” she answers. “I believe it would help her acclimate to her position if she could leave the ship for once.”
“Out of the question.”
“Don’t be so dull, Gideon,” Ghost drags, taking the lightsaber. “I’ll have her on my leash like a dog. Besides, where would she run? Home?”
As if it were an option at all.
---
Bass rattles the inside of Club Kasakar, footsteps stick to the floor coated in spilt liquor. Humidity comes from sweat and sex, over a hundred bodies half naked and high.
A head of spiked auburn hair bobs through the crowd. Three Trandoshans follow her, one in front, two in back. The crowds don’t part the way they should, crashing waves of rejection and lust all around. Strobe lights make vision impossible.
Coming to the back, the elevated platform holding a stained leather couch is occupied. Realistically, Relena O’Menfe should have expected the guest. Sat on the edge, legs spread. Smoke clouds her face, falling from her lips and the roll of origin between her gloved fingers.
The Trandoshans leave, taking position on the perimeter. A guard for her instead. Relena scoffs. “Who the fuck let you in here?”
The girl smiles. “Surprised?” She sounds sweet, like honey. “I was in the area, figured I’d stop by.” She takes a drag of her cigarette, dropping her head back to blow. “This place smells like shit.”
“Cleaners got sloppy.”
She looks down. “Sure.”
“You’re not welcomed here anymore,” Relena says. “So I suggest you go back to the hole you crawled out of before I make you.”
She laughs. “You don’t scare me. We both know I could turn you inside out if I wanted to, and it’s tempting.”
Relena steps forward, her hand falling to the blaster on her hip. “Last warning.”
“Or what?”
“I tell your little Imperial family where you are. They’ll be here in no time.”
“Cute. You thinking that scares me.”
“You shouldn’t have come here alone. Your boyfriend can’t protect you now.”
“Actually, it’s more a shame for you that he can’t be here.” She stands, walking until she drops off the platform. Smoke blows in Relena’s face. “Now I have nothing stopping me.”
“Back away,” Relena warns. Her blaster lifts, pointed to the girl’s chest. “You don’t want to do this in public.”
“Oh yes I do.”
“That lightsaber goes off and there’s New Republic up your ass in minutes.”
“I don’t need a saber to deal with you. We both know that.”
“Atikya, this is your last warning.”
“You know what’s funny?” Suddenly, she sounds from behind Relena. Her figure, a duplicate, steps into view from the left. She wears a uniform, Imperial, and her eyes are brown. She swirls a glass of liquor, taking a sip. “That’s not my name.”
Relena double takes. The girl in front, to the left, in front, and to the left again. Eyes widen, she steps back. “What’s going on?”
“Never has been,” Lumina continues. She steps through the one in front, its image fades into the air like it never existed. “When I introduced myself to Sully, I said my name was Adi’ka.” She hops onto the platform, sitting like the phantom had. “There’s a difference in the accent when you pronounce it,” she waves, “It’s a cultural thing, I don’t expect you to understand.”
“How did you do that?”
“It was actually Neri who said it was Atikya, but he thought it was ugly so… Ayy’Numa. Really I should have just stuck with Tracker, or Echo—that’s what my dad called me. It would easier for everyone, good branding too.” She looks at Relena, head tilted. Challenging. “Keep pointing that blaster at me and I’ll break your hand.”
It returns to Relena’s holster, wordless.
Satisfied, Lumina grabs a loose cigarette on the table, lighting it. She stares at the burning end. “I quit years ago,” she says, killing it in the tray. “Bad for the senses, smell gave me headaches.” She takes a sip. “Not opposed to a drink though. ” She looks at Relena, eyes rolling. “It’s an illusion trick, takes years to master.”
“That’s new.”
Humming, Lumina waves mid drink. “Mm, no not me.” She points across to the bar, to a figure in similar costume. Black and red. White as a ghost, staring at them. “Her. So, what was that about calling the Empire? Again, right? I mean, there’s no other way they’d end up on Daro.” She sets down the glass, leaning forward. “Or gain access to my confidential reports.”
Pink lips purse. “You went back to them.”
“Not like I had much of a fucking choice, did I?” Lumina pats down her kama, tapping the armorweave. “Got a killer upgrade out of it though. I’d take this over cargo pants any day, they never fit right.”
“Why did you come here?” Relena asks. She stands straighter. Less proud.
“I had to take a trip to the compound,” Lumina says. “My friend over there said she’d keep you busy while I checked on things. It’s nice of you to keep my room intact. Glad I got these boots back too.” She kicks out her foot, showing off the worn leather. “Imperial grade ones are uncomfortable and I don’t have time to break them in.”
“Atikya if you’re going to threaten to kill me just do it. I don’t have time for you.”
Lumina beckons towards herself, dragging Relena forward through the Force. “I should,” she says. She doesn’t stop until shins hit the platform. “Hell, I should do a lot worse than kill you. As far as I’m concerned, death is mercy.”
Lumina stands, she walks until they’re inches apart. She cups Relena’s chin and bends so their eyes meet. “You should’ve seen what I did when they found me,” she whispers over the music. “What I did to the Mandalorian. He—” She laughs. “He really got the shit end of it.”
The statement grabs attention, tangible fear making home inside. The Mandalorian? The same she herself committed danger to whomever harmed him? Surely not.
“I turned his brain to mush,” Lumina goes on to say. Though her vision stays locked on her companion. “I saw his pretty little face and took everything away from him. He has no idea who he is anymore. I ruined his life.” She tracks back to Relena, leaning in. “All because he got in my way.” Her eyes flicker back and forth, she sniffs. “All because… you got in my way.” She lets go. “Do you know where he is right now?” Lumina shrugs to her own question. “If he’s not dead, I assume… he’s back on Nevarro. Getting a sorry little team of misfits together to save his kid, from me. Except…” She chuckles, eyes meeting Relena’s again. “I have no fucking clue where he is. And the bitch at the bar thinks I’m an idiot and won’t tell me.”
“Ati, I don’t know what happened to your kid,” Relena whispers.
“I know,” Lumina coos. “But the issue with that is—well without him or his dad… I really don’t have anything to lose. Which means I could do anything to you and, I won’t care. And then it’s no longer fun for me. You’re not an accomplishment on my list.” She jumps off the platform. “In fact, you’re at the bottom.”
“So you won’t kill me?”
“No,” Lumina says. “I won’t kill you. I need you.” She walks away, towards a door in the corner and disappears inside. One of the guards shoves Relena’s back so she follows.
-
Stairs lead to the upper level, the business end of Kasakar. It’s a long decrypt hallway, wood rotten under feet. One door stands opened, across the office. It’s hers—Lumina’s.
Walls are lined with various blasters, rifles and pistols, the whole lot. Open drawers hold knives of various lengths, ropes, grapples, detonators. On one end, a small holoscreen on a dresser. Heels lined on its bottom. Across from that, a lounge chair sits by a boarded window, street lights peaking through.
This is where she sits, looking outside to the muddied streets. Her hand reaches behind, she flicks her wrist and a chair resting by the workbench covered in tools moves to the rooms center. Relena sits.
“I should kill you,” Lumina says, closing the door. It locks. “I killed Neri, blacked out when it happened though. I could do the same for you, it’d be easier.” She looks back, stands. “I was talking to the boys earlier. They say you’re nicer than he was. Better payment. Pensions. You actually give a fuck.”
“They were my friends before they were yours,” Relena says. “I’m not in the business to screw them over.”
“Aren’t I special then? Do you know what I love about Trandoshans?” Lumina asks. “You can cut off a limb and in a weeks time it’ll be like it never left. It’s a shame that’s not the case for humans. My father was a torso on stilts. Maybe if he grew back his legs he wouldn’t have done what he did.”
“Atikya—”
“I think we got off on the wrong foot Lena.” Lumina’s lightsaber ignites, red filling the room. “Why don’t we try an arm?”
“Ati, think about this.”
“I have. I’ve spent the past week as an Imperial hostage thinking about this.” Her saber swings out, inches away from Relena’s left. The heat and buzz warms her skin so she recoils. “Don’t worry. It’ll cauterize.”
“I’ll give it to you,” Relena says, a sheer layer of panic. “Anything you want. Name it. It’s yours.”
Lumina pulls back. She spins her hilt, pacing the room. “Anything?”
“Anything. What do you want? Money? A ship? One of the guys?” Her thumb juts behind to the door. “You wanna take Sully? Take ‘em. He’s yours.”
Her lightsaber powers off. “I don’t want Sully,” she says. “What I want, is for you to work that magic you have with N.R.”
“What does the Empire want with the New Republic?”
“Not the Empire. Me. Now I need you to listen very carefully. If I’m keeping you alive, you’re going to do exactly as I say. Understood?”
“Yes.” Relena nods.
“You’re going to contact that little journalist who discovered Corellia. Tell her, Red Axe has a new scoop. There’s a newly discovered base of operation on Arkanis. Underneath the old school. Tell her that you have evidence of children being held captive. Tortured. Whatever. Make it sound like hell. She thinks she’s a savior, she won’t be able to help herself. She’ll do all the investigating. After her story drops, you’re sending a message to Mon Mothma. I don’t care how. Point is, you let her know the Inquisitors aren’t dead. You give her this file.” Lumina throws a data stick to her lap.
“What is it?”
“A log of every surviving Inquisitor, save a few I have personal use for. It has everything anyone would need to know, including identification photos.”
“Including you?”
“I’m not an Inquisitor, don’t insult me.”
“You hate the New Republic,” Relena says. “Why give them this?”
“Because I don’t have enough time or resource to take care of it myself. I don’t know where they’re currently hiding, I don’t know if I will. What I do know is what they’ve done in the past, and what they will continue to do if they aren’t stopped. Inquisitors are the Empire’s first line of defense. Take them down, I only have have to deal with uninteresting, unassuming, and frankly below average men. That, I can handle alone.”
Relena spins the stick in her hand, passing it from one to another. “What do I get out of this?”
“Your arm. I didn’t come here to negotiate, I came here to tell you what to do.” Lumina takes a breath. “I know what you’re thinking. Ati, I can just go right back to the Empire. Tell them you’re doing this, I don’t have to listen to you. Wrong. You do. Because if you don’t, Sully calls the New Republic and they raid the compound, shut down the club. You get thrown in prison for the rest of your life, they get immunity for giving you up for Imperial conspiracy. They all have several copies of your dealings. You’ll be a forgotten embarrassment. The second leader to fail in less than a year. The choice is yours, what’s your legacy?”
“And when it’s done?”
“I leave you alone. We go our separate ways.”
Relena scoffs. “Don’t have much of a fucking choice, do I?”
Lumina pouts, bottom lip jutted out. “Did I? You were happy being Gideon’s lap dog, be happy you’re mine.”
Relena frowns, her head shakes. “Gideon? As in Moff Gideon?”
“Obviously.”
“Why are you working for Gideon? I thought he was dead.”
“Lena don’t act stupid. Not now.”
“I’m not,” she defends.
“You have files on files of contracts and communications about me with the client,” Lumina snaps, hands turning to fists. “Do not sit there and tell me you thought Gideon was dead when he is the one receiving every goddamn piece of information about me. When he has been the one to steal and keep my child. Do not.”
“Atikya, I never spoke to Gideon,” Relena says. “He’s an obsessive cloner who nearly got fired from the ISB. Everyone knows that. Why would I hand you over to him?”
“That’s a great question. Why don’t you answer it?”
“I didn’t. I did what I did for you. Because you told me when we met that all you wanted was to go home to the Empire. When I was contacted by them, I took the shot. They knew you were here. They knew everything.”
“Like what?”
“They knew shit about you that no one else did.” Their eyes meet. “Your numbers. They wanted to know a million more things about you, and I told them you like clones to get them off your back. Then they send over a hundred thousand credits for you to go to a run down clone bar in Ord Mantell to have fun. Corellia happens, your work is all over the news. They call again. They say you can come back, they need you. A million credits. I say deal, they say it’ll be tripled if you can do something for them first. Prove your loyalty. Sure. I get a recording of your pretty ass in a ballgown, dancing with a Mandalorian in Canto Bight. The same Mando you bitched about for months. He has a kid, they need it. And what do you know, right when I’m about to say you have no contact with that rust bucket, you actually cry over him like he meant something. I get a ping. He’s in Trask, with your card. I tell them, and they say all you have to do is go to Arkanis, keep me updated. They’ll handle the rest. And they did. Gideon was not once a part of anything.”
“Then who was?” Lumina asks. “If Gideon didn’t ask for me, who?”
There’s a stupid smirk on Relena’s freckled face, she shrugs. “You don’t even know who the fuck you’re fighting. You’re a little kid playing dress up in a grown up world.”
Lumina’s lightsaber ignites again. Without thought it presses against Relena’s arm. Screams don’t phase. It turns off. “Who?”
“I only met her once,” Relena gasps, skin charred. “You’re a fucking psycho—“
“Want more? Talk.”
“Shit,” Relena mutters. “I don’t know. It was dark, we were in the club. She was tall, my height. Thin. Whitest bitch I’ve ever seen. Looked like a goddamn ghost.“
Lumina laughs, actually laughs deep in her chest. She looks at the ceiling, her hands clap around her hilt. “We’re done here,” she says. “Get that stick to the N.R.”
“You fucked up my arm,” Relena says. “Do you know how much bacta it’s gonna take to heal this?”
Lumina quirks a brow, her saber turns on again. It spins. “Don’t worry,” she says. “Bacta won’t help you.”
---
Din can’t understand how she spent every day on the Slave I. It’s uncomfortable, empty. Decidedly not the Razor Crest. Back where it began, he’s trapped inside the ship, watching Boba and Fennec speak amongst themselves. Only now with company. Cara—Marshal Dune, and Migs Mayfeld. The joy he is. Travel to Morak was simple enough, if not for the incessant need for Din to bash his own head in.
“I figured you didn’t want to talk about it, all things considered,” Cara whispers, leaning over. She’s been good about leaving him alone, but all good things must come to an end. ”But why isn’t your girlfriend here? If anyone can get us Imperial coordinates it should be her. Would’ve saved me the trouble too.”
Din’s sigh is exasperated, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Doesn’t matter.”
Cara turns to him, her arms cross and her face etches in a concern he’s never seen. “Did she not make it? After what happened, Karga and I— we didn’t think that it was that serious.”
“No. Just… went back to work.” His weight shifts. “They needed her.”
“Red Axe?”
“Yeah.”
“Does she know what happened to you?”
“She’s got her hands tied,” Din says. “Don’t wanna worry her.”
“That’s a shame. If she were here, we could’ve left the comedian behind.”
“Are you guys talkin’ bout me?” Mayfeld perks up, lazily slumped across the way. “Cause it feels like you guys are talking about me. And if that’s the case,” he says, standing, “I wanna hear it.”
“Can we at least try to call up your girl?” Cara asks, rolling her eyes. “I don’t think I can stand Sergeant Scrapper much longer.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Mayfeld says on defense, waving his hands. “Did I hear that right?” He laughs, walking towards them. “You got a girl Mando? Boy, what kinda misfortuned broad did you have to trick into lovin’ that metal mug?”
“I don’t have time for this,” Din says.
“I’m only saying. X’ian, now that mess I could picture. You both got that radically insane schtick. But a real girl? She’s gotta be the most horrendous—“
“Hey genius,” Fennec interrupts. “His girl?” She nods to Din, then Boba. “His kid.”
“And I bet she’s beautiful,” Mayfeld says, full of teeth. “Just gorgeous. I’m jealous, I really am. You’ve got a whole Mando family,” he chuckles, hand to heart. “That’s just—that’s great, really it is. Can’t wait to see the little ones runnin’ round. Well, I guess not see.” He waves over his face. ”Am I right?”
“Someone shut it up,” Boba says.
“No, no. I’m happy for you big guy,” he tells Din. “Clearly you and dad get along, good to keep the in-laws happy. I bet she’s a real piece too. Gotta be if she’s keeping you satiated.”
In a second he stares down the barrel of Boba’s blaster, aimed between his eyes. “Last warning.”
“Yes Sir,” Mayfeld coughs. “Shutting up.”
“She’s his kid?” Cara whispers.
“Something like that,” Din mutters.
“They’re refining rhydonium,” Boba says, holstering his gun. He points around a holographic scan of Morak’s facility, speaking more to Fennec than anyone else. “Highly volatile and explosive.”
“They have anti-aircraft cannons protecting it,” she responds.
“And a platoon of security forces.”
“So we go in quiet,” Din says. “In and out.”
-
“I don’t know how you people wear those things,” Mayfeld says. Uneven terrain shakes them within the transport. Din wants to crawl out of his skin, trooper garb scratching and set-in sweat causing a stench. “And by you people, I do mean Mandalorians.”
It’s a shit plan. Sneaking into the rhydonium facility, disguised as Imperials. But somehow, it’s working. Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. Boba might have a point. Unfortunately.
“The missus wear her’s all the time?” Mayfeld asks. He snorts. “Sure gotta make things interesting. Me? Never been the type, too much work. More of a one nighter, you know? In ’n out, onto the next. Long term… Girlfriend? Nah… you know, with these guys,” he motions around the vehicle, “they grill into you that it’s a betrayal. Can you believe that? A betrayal.” His head shakes, amused. “Can’t love nothin’ but the Empire. Fuck all you want sure, but love?” He whistles. “Forget about it.”
“Juggernaut Four,” comes through the radio. “You’re running hot. Be sure to watch your cargo heat limits and speed.”
“Copy that, Three. We hit a couple bumps. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Don’t worry about the rhydonium,” Din mutters, hands as fists. “As long as you drive steady, you’ll get us to the refinery.”
The drive through a village, if that. Children run from the open road, their half deflated ball is almost left behind. They all stare at the transport. Din stares back.
“Yeah. Empire, New Republic,” Mayfeld says. “It’s all the same to these people. Invaders on their land is all we are.”
“We’re all lazy slobs to them,” Din hears her say. “They don’t care about people, they care about being right.”
He may need another drink.
“I’m just sayin’,” Mayfeld goes on. “Somewhere someone in this galaxy is ruling and others are being ruled. I mean, look at your race. Do you think all those people that died in wars fought by Mandalorians actually had a choice?” With no answer he asks, “So how are they any different than the Empire?” He scoffs. “If you were born on Mandalore, you believe one thing, if you’re born on Alderaan, you believe somethin’ else. But guess what? Neither one of ’em exist anymore.”
Right.
“Hey, I’m just a realist,” he says. “I’m a survivor, just like you.”
It shouldn’t strike a cord. Not if Din knows who he is. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says. “You and I are nothing alike.”
“I don’t know. Seems to me like your rules start to change when you get desperate. I mean, look at ya. You said you couldn’t take your helmet off, and now you got a stormtrooper one on, so what’s the rule? Is it that you can’t take off your Mando helmet, or you can’t show your face? ‘Cause there is a difference.” He looks over. “Your girl ever take off her helmet? You ever even see her?”
It’d be easier not to answer. To correct or deny. But he can’t. “No.”
Mayfeld at least, finds the humor. “I guess that’s how you know it’s real love, huh? Neither of you know who the fuck the other is and you still care bout each other. Secrets be damned.” Dirt road shifts them. “So, holier than thou. Seeing as you’re so particular on moral standings. She a good person? I mean, her dad seems like a piece of work, can’t imagine Life Day is any fun with that guy round. But she good?” He looks over again. “With your kid an’ all that?”
Din stares out the window, avoidant. “Kid loves her,” he mutters. Then, he takes a pause. “She’d do anything for him.”
“So how come she ain’t helpin’ out? What the old man could spare his time and not her?”
Knuckles rap against the door. He sighs. “They took her too.”
“What?”
“Gideon. When he grabbed the kid. He grabbed her too.”
Mayfeld looks the most human he has since pickup. “What’s she got that he wants?”
His mouth goes dry. “I don’t know. Pissed him off.”
“Why?”
Din shrugs. “Pissed her off first.”
“Yeah…” Mayfeld says, nodding. “We’re all the same. Everybody’s got their lines they don’t cross until things get messy. As far as I’m concerned, if you can make it through your day and still sleep at night, you’re doin’ better than most.”
Din thinks to ask more.
He resolves against it.
-
“…Where you from, Brown Eyes?”
It should impress Din that his list of regrets has grown substantially in the past week, yet here he is. In a failed disguised as an Imperial operative, his face shown to everyone within a thirty foot radius. Sat at a table for a drink with a general of the Imperial Army. His foot bounces under the table, looking like a kybuck in headlights.
“How ’bout a toast to Operation Cinder?” Mayfeld interjects. Not that Din would’ve said anything anyways.
They go on about Burnin Konn, some battle he’s never heard of. He thinks he should, though with his track record knowledge of Operation Cinder at all is considered a feat. Ten thousand people dead, killed with no remorse.
Mayfeld is emotional, Din can see it in his jaw. He’s letting things get personal and he shouldn’t. This is a job, a not so simple extraction, they can’t afford emotion.
“All heroes of the Empire,” General Hess says. He wears a bastardized grin, sick with pride. He believes it too. Everything done, everything that is yet to be done, all for the best. For the Empire. For order.
Lumina, he knows, would fair better here. She could talk politics and strategy, every single lie in her deck of cards ready for play. Brainwashing, that’s what she called it. From Mayfeld’s description on the transport, it seems to be universal. He wonders if they’ve met, her and the general. Or if he’s heard of her, from her, at all.
The headaches come back, he wishes to forget it all.
Mayfeld’s starting an argument. He should say something, change topics, leave. He can’t.
“All those people, the ones who died, was it good for them? Hmm? Their families? The guys I served with? Civilians, those poor mud scuffers, died defendin’ their homes, fighting for freedom. Was it good for ’em?”
“But we’ve outlasted them, son. They’re eatin’ themselves alive. The New Republic is in complete disarray, and we grow stronger. Hell, with what Moff Gideon’s got cookin’ up, they won’t stand a fucking chance.”
It wouldn’t be hard, Din decides, to hurt him. He wants to. Hell, he wants to do far worse than that.
“And with the rhydonium you’ve delivered,” he goes on to say. “We can create havoc that’s gonna make Burnin Konn just pale by comparison. And then they’re gonna turn to us once again. You see, boys, everybody thinks they want freedom, but what they really want is order. And when they realize that, they’re gonna welcome us back with open arms.” He raises his glass. “Ah. To the Empire.”
---
“Cheers,” Lumina says. Stolen shot glasses clink together, she downs liquor without so much of a flinch. She drops into the co-pilot chair, releasing her hair from it’s tight up-do. Her head drops back, eyes closing. Hyperspace rumbles around, the smaller ship overtaken in blue.
“You have blood on your foot,” Ghost says.
“It’s not mine,” she mutters.
“Did you kill her?”
“No.” She sighs. “Lena did me a favor. Don’t think I would’ve found a way back without her. I don’t know if I would’ve left that place at all.”
“I can’t believe you used to work there. It’s disgusting.”
She shrugs. “Welcome to Coruscant.” Lumina places the glass on the console, sitting up. “Your skills are impressive. I remember when duplicating rats was a challenge for you.”
“I’ve had time to practice.”
“Can I see her again?” Lumina asks. “The me you created. It looked accurate but—”
“You like looking at yourself,” Ghost teases. “I would too.” Her chair turns, hands waving in the open space. Lumina’s figure appears, two feet away. It stands mindless, dressed how she was found, only clean, tank top without blood. “I like you better with the lenses,” Ghost says. “Brown makes you look normal.”
“Do I not?” Lumina asks, standing. “Look normal, that is.”
“Not according to Pershing.”
Lumina circles her ghost, stolen stares marking it up and down. “Why?”
“He thinks you’re too pretty. He told Gideon that it’s unsettling.”
“I’m unsettling?” Lumina repeats.
“Something tells me Pershing has a lot of lonely nights. You make him nervous.”
“Good.” She looks over. “Do I make you nervous?”
Ghost snorts. “You’re not my type.”
“No, Gideon is,” Lumina says. She recognizes defense mechanisms, the posture, the hands, the jaw. All tightening. “Don’t be coy. I see the way you are with him. The way you touch him, how you speak. How he looks at you.”
Maybe Ghost doesn’t intend to snap, but she does. “And how is that?”
Lumina shrugs. “You mean something to him. By the looks of it, he means something to you too.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t know if it’s love. I don’t know if either of you are capable of that.” She turns back to herself, speaking into dull eyes. “But it is something. He’s protective over you. You’re sweet on him. It’s not for nothing.”
Ghost, she realizes, turns to insults when in a corner. “Just because you lost your boyfriend—”
“I didn’t lose him,” Lumina interrupts. She doesn’t sound like herself. More of the her that used to be before him. Like nothing. “I got rid of him. It wasn’t his choice, it was mine. I probed his mind,” she says. “I made him believe he hated me so he would move on. Forget everything that happened. It was the only way he would let me go with Gideon without getting himself killed.”
“And it worked?”
“I’m here aren’t I?”
“Did he actually care about you? I mean, genuinely love you?”
Lumina nods. “I believe so.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Mind probes don’t last forever,” Ghost says. “They only work until the probed mind is met with conflicting beliefs. You tell someone the sky is yellow, they’ll believe it until they see it blue. I only wonder… well, you tell a man who says he loves you, that he doesn’t. If he’s convinced to hate you,” she says. “The belief that he really loves you should be there regardless. The probe shouldn’t take.”
Her chair turns back to the front, adjusting micro mechanics. “If he’s so easily convinced that you mean nothing to him, I wonder if he ever loved you to begin with. You don’t have to worry about me and Gideon, it’s physical, that’s it.”
Lumina nods.
Ghost waves to the phantom. “Did she pass your test?”
Her eyes refocus, a hand passes through it’s core, waved back and forth. “I thought you could make it physical.”
“Takes more energy, but it’s possible.”
“Move her hair to the front,” Lumina instructs, circling again. The image does so, quickly returning to stasis.
Lumina stands behind it, lost. Her eyes burn holes into its skin, its right shoulder. Clean. Perfect, without any scar. She feels a twitch in her own. “It’s perfect. You’d fool anyone.”
“Even your boyfriend?”
“Especially him.”
---
“Moff Gideon. You have something I want,” says the Mandalorian. Hologram flickered in the lightcruiser’s bridge. “You may think you have some idea what you are in possession of, but you do not. Soon, he will be back with me. He means more to me than you will ever know.”
“You should have killed him,” Moff Gideon says.
Ghost responds, “I told you.”
“How long do you give it?”
“Day or two at most. If he got a holo here, he can track us from anywhere. Better to stay put, prepare.”
“She’s not ready.”
“She will be.” Ghost ignores his stare. “You have her kid, she’ll do whatever you want.”
“It’s interesting,” Gideon muses. “The Mandalorian gave no mention of her. Only the Child.”
“At least we know where priorities are.”
“Should she be brought in to see this? The revelation could assist in her attitude.”
“That’s not necessary,” Ghost says. “Something tells me she got the message loud and clear.”
-
The red fabric from Lumina’s arm ties over her eyes, knot digging into her skull. The ground feels the same as it did on Mustafar, cold, electric. Her palm, faced down grips at the smooth linoleum. A burst of energy fills her, robotic movements incased in the room.
She hears Boba in her ear as she clutches the vibroblade. He tells her he should have known she’d prefer a blade. Of course the use of a blasters wouldn’t come naturally.
“There are parts of you that don’t depend on the Force,” he told her. “Use it, ignore everything else.”
There are ten droids. Three directly in front, four on each side, three behind. Doctor Pershing stands at his computer, manning the timer, without the wires he is only an observer. He argued against her, saying it was too much of a risk. To practice while the dark troopers stood at full activation. In compromise, he holds the kill switch in a shaky grip.
Lumina senses the moment the stopwatch goes off, milliseconds flying by. She should have known what the prototypes she fought against on Mustafar would come to. That the advancements from the trainers on Kamino would have some purpose.
The Machine always said when she was ready she would practice on real men. With hearts and blood and bone.
They were never a greater threat than droids. Men have limitations, they have fear. The droids… they may have been created in Vaders image. As tall as he was, with the same shining black exterior. They don’t require thought and have no qualms of suffering.
They are designed to assassinate and rest until needed again.
This is why she destroys them so easily. They are jumbles of wire and gear and rod.
They are not alive to begin with and she has been told time and time again mechanics are no match to the Force.
They are no match for her.
The vibrations of the knife in her hand send tingles into her muscles, stimulating them. They shoot at her all at once, and she leaps over the nearest, slicing it’s forearms.
She can feel every movement before it’s made. Gears turning inside, metal joints shifting in step, integrated blasters preparing to fire.
The next three are simple. Her speed quickens, dancing on air. Chest. Abdomen. Neck.
Electric bolts have no time to consider singeing her hair or electrifying her shoulder. She kicks the head of one off and uses its body to launch herself to another.
Platforms of their exterior are her catapults into the air. The aid of the Force is minimal but necessary. With it, both now and then, only at seventeen, she is stronger than grown men. Faster.
They are no match for her.
The tenth droids falls to the ground, cut wire sizzling, a light smoke exiting. Just as it had, then and now.
Lumina stands in the middle of the room, she pushes the band up her forehead. She pants, looking at the mess of droids, half expecting to see him. The knife inches from his helmet. The eleventh machine she could never conquer.
He isn’t. And the vibroblade remains in her hand, buzzing. She shakes, filled with a rage she hasn’t felt in years.
Doctor Pershing turns the screen to her, showing the time.
Fifteen seconds.
It shatters.
---
“Mando,” Cara calls for him, waving from her seat in the Slave I. He trudges over, relishing in the missed comfort of beskar. “You might wanna call your girl.”
He should tell her, it isn’t fair for Cara to be the only one operating without the truth. And he would, were it not their competing histories. None of this would work if she knew the truth.
So he swallows his words, takes up his usual arrogance. “What?”
She raises her wrist, New Republic certified communicator stupid and shiny. “Word came in from Coruscant. It’s bad.”
He reminds himself she isn’t there. She can’t be, there’s no reason to be. He can’t worry, he can’t even acknowledge the worry.
Lumina is fine.
Even if she isn’t. He can’t care.
“Show me,” he says.
A hologram of an official, sealed by the New Republic faces him.
“A being identified as Relena O’Menfe, leader of the Coruscant’s underworld Red Axe Syndicate found dead. O’Menfe’s body appeared outside Club Kasakar with several lacerations to both head and body, making her unrecognizable. O’Menfe was only able to be identified through reverse blood print analysis found in the New Republic registry. It is currently unknown who or what could have done such a thing. All surrounding CCTV cameras were mysteriously deactivated during the time of attack…”
---
Next: The Repetition of Poetry
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Turns of Phrase
Prompt: I'd like you to consider: all the sides in the mindscape have the "way too literal" problem, like for example, Virgil actually grows taller when his anxiety is heightened, Patton actually grows wings when Thomas has a 'heart aflutter', e.c.t. But Roman just has a huge stack of negative ones. Creative block, bruised ego, shackled creativity, e.c.t. And then there's h/c when somebody (Logan) sees 👀👀
Thanks for the prompt babe!
Read on Ao3
Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, Roman whump
Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide
Word Count: 5722
This is Roman’s fault. Really. It is. He’s the one who works the closest with the Imagination, which means he’s got control over how Thomas interacts with his own imagination, which means that he’s got control over how Thomas sees the Sides.
So yeah. This is his fault.
‘Heart all aflutter.’ ‘Heightened anxiety.’ ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’ All the little innocuous phrases that are just turns of phrase, not supposed to be literal, well…they got into Thomas’s head when he was younger, and since, the Imagination has never quite gotten rid of them. Shouldn’t be too bad, right, this should be something they can deal with.
And for the most part, they do.
Patton wears the hoodie tied around his shoulders to block the chill from the slits sewn in the back of all of his shirts in case the wings decide to pop out again. When they do, everyone crowds around to make sure he doesn’t fly off into the sky or accidentally twist one. The feathers are the softest things you can imagine and work great for stuffing pillows or plushies.
Virgil’s clothes are made of stretchy, baggy material and the doorways are much, much higher than they need to be. There’s a special cupboard tucked high up in the pantry that just has Virgil’s comfort foods in them so he can reach comfortably when he’s tall.
And, well…there’s a reason Janus wears such a long cloak.
For the most part, these are just minor inconveniences. Listen, when you live in a completely imaginary world where you can summon anything you need and change anything you don’t like with a snap of your fingers, things like new clothes or snacks are easy.
Then there’s Roman.
Roman, who is tied most closely to the Imagination.
Roman, who represents not just Creativity, but romance, motivation, desire.
Roman. The Ego.
The problem with throwing around these types of phrases is how easy it becomes to dismiss them. And for Thomas, who has a creative profession, that’s good. For Thomas.
Not so good for Roman.
“Hey, you’ve been having some trouble getting ideas out lately, you doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just going through a bit of a creative block at the moment.”
Roman’s fists ache as he pounds on the door, heaving sobs trailing off into hitched gasps as he slumps against the unyielding wood. As a desperate last resort, he throws himself at the door, barely making it shudder in its frame. It’s as if he weighs nothing, not an ounce, unable to make so much as a goddamn dent in the world around him.
“Let me—let me out, please, let me out, I gotta—I want out,” he sobs, over and over, as his room grows smaller and smaller, the walls pressing in around him, blank, sterile, cold, “I wanna—out, let me out, let me out, let me out please—“
He’s not even in his room anymore. He’s in a pure white cage, on the wrong side of a door that will not open.
“Dude, like…reign it in a little bit.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. That’s…like, way too much.”
“I dunno, I think it feels weird if we weren’t doing this.”
“C’mon, it won’t kill you to shackle your creativity a little.”
Roman wakes up to the quiet clinking of metal against metal. He goes to wipe his face and a bolt of pain shoots through his arm. The shackles spread him so far his chest aches, wincing as he tries to turn just a little to avoid the rush of agony that would come from having his arm trapped in the wrong position. At least he was lying down this time, and he’s on his bed. He isn’t being forced to stand the whole time, strung up on the ceiling.
They’re so cold.
The shackles sap the warmth from his body bit by bit, draining it until the weight of the cold pressing down onto his chest is enough to make him gasp. On instinct, he pulls, trying to get a little more of himself wrapped up, warm, safe, but the chains barely make a groan as they wrench him back apart. He grits his teeth and holds still.
He learned not to try and break these. He used to rage and slam against them like a brute, trying to pull their fastenings out of some mystical holder, embodied in his wall, only to come away with bleeding and scraped wrists from his pains, rubbed raw and chafed horribly by the cruel shackles.
For the most part, he’s able to keep the others from noticing. They can’t hear a thing when he’s trapped in the creative block. He’s careful to always wear long sleeves to hide the scrapes and burns from the shackles. They don’t know the true extent of what happens to him when Thomas decides he doesn’t want his creativity.
But he can’t hide all of them.
‘Bruised ego.’
Patton knows. Patton somehow always figures things out and doesn’t tell anyone, least of all Roman. But sure enough, after the audition, Patton showed up outside of Roman’s door and knocked, quietly asking to be let in.
Roman had let him, splattered as he was with blues and purples and greens and yellows, all the colors that didn’t belong to him, and yet here they were, painted on him. He’d kept his undershirt on, letting Patton feed him the soup that was sure to end with Roman lying on his back in the bathroom, panting, until the bowl had run dry and Roman’s smile had come back.
After Patton had gone, the smile had slid off, the paint cracked and chipped. Roman had stood, leaning against the bed for stability, and made his way slowly, oh, so, slowly, to the bathroom.
Getting his shirt off had been agony. Every time he moved skin had stretched, bruises had protested, even his muscles cried out. The undershirt was soaked in sweat and a light sheen had clung to Roman’s body as he stood there, panting, wincing in the mirror. He couldn’t look.
That had been the last time it had gotten very bad. Very bad.
They only ever seemed to notice when it was very bad.
His prince costume hides the shackle marks. His undershirt hid the bruises. No one cared to look for him when he was trapped in the creative block. No one could see. No one wanted to see.
No one knew.
Roman’s been lucky lately.
They’ve all been happening one at a time. The block never has shackles strapped to the wall. The shackles are never clasped around bruises spilling beneath his skin. The bruises are never from both beating on a door and from the outside world. He can deal with them if they’re like this. One at a time.
He’s had a few close calls, though. He almost missed a meeting with Logan because the block had him trapped. It squeezed him so tight it felt as if he hadn’t any room to breathe, not until the door and opened a crack and he’d hurled himself out, panting harshly, rushing to Logan’s. He was caught at his desk recently too. The shackles had formed and dragged him over to the corner where he’d bitten his lip to try and stay quiet as he desperately tried to draw himself away. He’d accidentally made too grand a gesture and his sleeve had ridden up, exposing the edge of a mark or bruise and he’d have to pull it back down quick enough so that no one would notice. And so far, it’s worked.
No one has noticed.
And what would he say? That this is just some dumb stupid thing he has to deal with? The others know about this whole ‘taking things too literally problem,’ look at Patton, look at Virgil, look at Janus. They all understand and they receive the same amount of attention Roman does. Honestly, they’ve been receiving what they’re entitled to. Their stuff actually runs the risk of harming Thomas. Fire, wings, banging your head, sure, that’s fine, but they—look.
Having your heart flutter signifies great emotions, the potential for love, you should pay attention to your emotions!
Heightened anxiety? It’s not great! It means we should be listening to Virgil and what’s going on, what’s upsetting Thomas, how to help.
And everyone should always be worried about spontaneously combusting pants.
And even if they did find out, what is Roman supposed to say? That it’s his fault they all have these issues? That Thomas’s psyche takes certain liberties with the hard-and-fast rules of what happens to metaphysical people? It’s his fault, after all, he’s the conduit. It’s fine. He can handle this stuff. It’s all fine.
He should’ve known his luck would run out.
Roman blinks awake to feel the walls pressing in on him, tighter, tighter, tighter. His breath catches in his throat.
No.
No, no, no, he’d been doing so well, so well, they’d just had a conversation about how he’d been so good, the ideas had been good, he’d had—he’d had so many he was ready to work on, he just needed to—
Roman squeezes his eyes shut, racking his brain. He knows he has ideas. He had them a little while ago. It wasn’t that long. They can’t have vanished so quickly. Wait, what time is it? How did they—how long has he been here? What is—how long has it been? Have the others realized he’s here yet?
What if they look for him and they think he won’t come out? What if they start to hate him because they can’t find him? What if he can never get out again? What if they realized they never needed him in the first place?
He—he’s not wrong, he can’t be wrong, he has to be right, he has to—he has to find a way out of here.
Quickly, Roman squeezes his eyes even tighter, mouth making random shapes as he tries to think. If he can just think of a really good idea, he’ll get out. If he just thinks, if he just does his job, if he’s really good he’ll get out. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this. He can—
Clink, clink, clink.
No.
No!
Roman snarls as the shackles encase his wrists, forcing to his knees, still crouched in this room that is too small, too pale, too awful. He lunges for the door as he hears the chains slowly start to tighten, their long lengths slipping over and over each other in coils.
The chains pull taut and he’s suspended there, in the dank air, snarling like a mad dog at a door that is just out of his reach.
For the first time in a long time, he slams against the chains, raging and bloody as he thrashes back and forth trying to just get to the door—
Roman, you’re on thin fucking ice.
Look I don’t wanna just hate a side but roman you royally fucked up bud
Yeah I’m definitely mad at Roman
Roman barely suppresses a whine when he realizes where the comments are coming from.
His nose breaks open and blood pours down his face. His eyes swell and darken until he can only squint through it. One of his fingers breaks and the shackle pinches.
Roman I have revoked your rights.
Roman shut the FUCK UP challenge please
After one line making fun of janus is enough to be cancelled, Roman
Even without looking down, he knows red and purple are blooming across his ribs. Roman winces pain as he howls again, trying frantically to get to the door, he’ll wrench his arms out of their sockets if he needs to—
I just hate roman!!! i don’t need a deep reason to hate roman, or anyone else
oh boi did Princey drop to least favorite side REAL FUCKING QUICK
It’s not that I don’t despise Roman he’s just never been my favourite. He’s too prideful, rude and while he does have his insecurities the way he hides them makes me uncomfortable since it’s at the expense of other characters. His treatment of the other sides is so awful.
…is he really that awful? Is…does he…is this…
Is this how it’s supposed to be?
I'm gonna spread my anti-roman doctrine. Fuck Roman. Hate that man
I genuinely hate Roman so. Fucking. Much. Like, can't stand him. Fuck him, I hate him
It’s always roman-hating hours.
A dry sob chokes its way out of Roman’s throat as he curls in on himself, another bruise leaving him gasping on the floor like a gutted fish. The chains let him fall to his knees, chest bared to the merciless door. He coughs. Blood flies out of his mouth and spittle drips down his chin. He coughs again. And again. And again. It hurts. Everything hurts.
He coughs.
The room presses in on him.
The shackles trap him.
Bruises bloom over his body.
He coughs.
This is all his fault, isn’t it? He’s the one in charge of the Imagination. He’s the one who makes sure the sides exist and can interact with Thomas. He’s the one who controls how they respond to turns of phrase.
He’s the one who’s awful to the others. He’s the one who didn’t tell them the truth. He’s the one stuck in this room, in these chains, taking a beating from words and thoughts that he can’t see.
This is his fault.
And he doesn’t know if he can fix it.
Roman gives up.
———————————————————
“Has anyone seen Roman?”
Patton looks up from the floor as Virgil rolls over. “No, I haven’t. Virgil?”
Virgil sniffs and shakes his head. “You asked Remus?”
Logan frowns. “I can’t find them anywhere. Do you know if—“
“Where the fuck is my brother?”
“Nevermind, I found him,” Logan mumbles as he turns just fast enough to avoid Remus barreling into him. “I was just coming to ask you.”
“He was supposed to meet me by the Imagination,” Remus says, bouncing up and down, “we were gonna go exploring. He hasn’t been by all day. Where are you hiding him?”
“I’m not hiding him,” Virgil yawns, “and neither’s Pat.”
“Nope! No princes here!”
“Pocket Protector?”
“No, I need to ask him about tomorrow.”
“Ugh.” Remus throws himself down on the couch. “Where’s Snakey? Maybe he knows.”
“What do I know?”
“Ah.” Logan turns to see Janus striding out from the shadows near the staircase. “We seem to be unable to locate Roman.”
Janus raises an eyebrow and flicks a speck of dust from his gloves. “What an unfortunate situation. My deepest apologies.”
“So you don’t know where he is.”
“Of course I don’t, why would I?” Janus rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve checked everywhere for him.”
Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Janus…please.”
“Have any of you even tried his room?”
“Of course we have, that’s where I looked first.”
Janus shrugs. “Then I guess our little prince has wandered away. What a shame.”
Virgil rolls his eyes. “Maybe he just stepped out for a minute. Why don’t you go look again, L, we’ll check down here.”
“Oh, will we?”
“J, I swear—“
Logan quickly heads back up the stairs as Virgil and Janus start bickering. He turns the corner and is soon faced with Roman’s big red door. He reaches out to knock.
“Roman? Are you in here?”
Silence. Logan sighs and goes to turn away when he hears it.
He stops.
Goes back.
“Roman?”
He puts his ear to the door.
A soft gasp.
“Roman, can you open the door please?”
“L-L—Lo—“
Logan swallows heavily. “Roman, I’m coming inside.”
“L-Logan…”
Logan pushes open the door.
He can feel his face go sickly pale.
Roman is lying on the ground, collapsed in a pool of what looks like blood. His face is swollen, his nose broken, his mouth barely forming the shapes to say Logan’s name. His prince costume is mangled. His wrists are rubbed raw. Even from this far away Logan can see the bruises forming all over his body.
“Roman!”
There are shouts from downstairs. The others are worried. Good. Logan’s going to need all the help he can get. He just has to move first.
Oh, Roman…
“L? L, what’s going on up there?”
“First aid,” Logan gasps, then clears his throat, “we need the first aid kit! Roman’s hurt!”
“What? How’d he—he hasn’t even been in the Imagination yet today!”
“We can figure that out when we’re up there, Remus, go go go!”
By the time the others are already rushing up the stairs, Logan has already crouched down next to Roman’s head, trying to figure out the best way to get him up, off the floor, or at the very least figure out what happened.
“Stay with me, Roman,” he murmurs, petting Roman’s head as his other hand starts to carefully test where it might be hurting, “stay with me, come on…”
“Lo? Lo, are you in here?”
“No, wait, don’t—“
Patton’s cry of dismay quickly followed by Virgil’s curse means he’s too late to warn them. Logan looks up to see their faces drop in absolute shock.
“Where are the others?”
“Uh…” Virgil tears his gaze away from Roman’s crumpled figure. “Remus said he…he has some stuff that would help.”
“And I am of course more than eager to see what our favorite little prince has gotten himself into this time,” Janus drawls, still out of sight, “I’m positively brimming with anticipation.”
Patton still hasn’t recovered. Virgil carefully takes the first aid kit from his hands and rushes it to Logan. An instant later, Janus appears in the doorway.
“My, my, Patton, you look so startled, what could possibly…”
Janus trails off as he finally spots Roman. His eyes widen as he takes in the bruises, the blood, the marks of what look like prison cuffs?
“Oh, god…” Logan blinks and Janus is crouched beside them, his hands hovering over Roman’s broken form as he starts crooning to the prince.
“Oh, honey, what happened to you,” he murmurs, his hands starting to pull away the fabric cutting into Roman’s throat, “you poor, poor thing…”
“Got it.”
Remus appears in a flash, crouching down as well as Janus and Logan start to help Roman unwind from the bloody mess he’s in. Logan glances over; it’s a kit that has more medical supplies than the first aid kit. Bandages, he can see antiseptic, surgical towels…
He catches Remus’s eye and they exchange a nod.
“Where does he need to go,” Janus asks as they start to get Roman upright, “you want him downstairs?”
“Let’s get him to our bathroom, J,” Virgil suggests, carefully getting his arms around the prince’s shoulders.
“Do you think it’s safe to sink with him?”
“Presumably he had to sink out to get back to his room, but I’m not sure it would be wise.”
“So we’ll carry him,” Virgil says firmly, “all of us.”
As it turns out, Remus and Janus can help Virgil just fine. Logan snatches up Remus’s kit as Patton grabs the first aid kit, hustling down the corridor to keep up with the others.
“Lo, what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Logan mutters back, “but I…I don’t think it was…the Imagination’s been closed all day, hasn’t it?”
“That’s what I thought too. You don’t think—“
“I don’t know, Patton, I…”
Patton’s firm grip on his arm speaks volumes as they finally get to the bathroom.
The tile is already warm as the others carefully lay Roman down in the big place near the edge of the shower. Logan takes a moment to check what they might need.
The bathroom is one big open space with a tub in one corner, a large walk-in shower area at the other, and two sinks with a wide counter. Patton and Remus have already started setting up the first aid kit as Janus pulls on a different pair of gloves. Virgil still has Roman’s head in his hands, murmuring softly to him.
“Is he awake?”
Virgil shakes his head as Logan sits down. “I can’t tell. He’s looking around but I—he’s not saying anything.”
“That is not completely unexpected,” Logan murmurs, “we have to get him out of his clothes. They’re making it harder for him to breathe.”
“Someone needs to stay by his head,” Remus calls, “in case he wakes up and starts freaking out.”
“I’ve got him.” Sure enough, Janus slips two of his hands gently under Roman’s head as he unclips the back of his collar. “Shh, shh, easy, sweetie, you’re safe now.”
Virgil scoots back and starts tugging on his hoodie strings. Patton, still hovering by the medical supplies, catches it.
“Hey, Virge,” he says, shooting a quick nod at Logan, “why don’t we go make something to eat? Something small, and something to drink.”
“Yeah…yeah that’s a good idea.”
As the two of them leave, Remus kneels by Roman’s feet and curses. “We’re gonna have to cut them off.”
“You mean cut the rest of them off,” Janus mutters, “what happened?”
“You think I’m not beating myself up asking that same thing?”
“We have to get Roman stable,” Logan says quickly, “and that means we have to see what—“
“The damage is,” Remus growls.
“Quite.”
“Alright. Be careful by his wrists.”
“We will.”
“Jan if you drop his head I swear to—“
“I won’t, I promise.”
“…I know.”
“You’re worried about your brother,” Logan whispers as they start peeling the clothes away, “we understand.”
Janus keeps his promise, cradling Roman’s head as the work to get the rest of his prince costume off. Under any other circumstance, Logan admits this might actually be read as amusing. Peeling Roman out of his clothes, however, has never been less devastating.
Every inch they pull back reveals more bruises. Roman’s torso is warm, throbbing, carpeted with horrible wounds. Every so often a piece will stick and Roman winces, prompting Janus to stroke his face carefully, murmuring reassurances that they’re here, everything’s okay, Roman’s safe now.
Remus chucks bruise cream at Logan and they start, methodically applying the cream and bandages. Janus gives them an extra hand where they need it, while keeping up the constant litany of reassurances. Logan comes away confident that nothing is broken, just very badly bruised.
“So what now?”
“He has to rest.” Logan pulls off the gloves, running his hand over the ground to make sure they haven’t spilled anything. “I…I don’t know how long that will be.”
“I don’t want to leave him.”
They look around, eyes wide at the strangled whisper coming out of Remus. Remus stares down at Roman’s bruised form, thankfully clear of blood now, his hands trembling as they rest on his knees. Remus looks up at them, his eyes glistening.
“The last time I left him like this it was bad.” He swallows and looks back down. “I’m not leaving my brother.”
Logan looks at Roman. Brave, strong, sweet, kind Roman. Bruised, scared, exhausted, broken Roman. His hand tightens and without thinking he tucks a stray hair behind Roman’s ear.
“He hates it when his hair is out of place,” he murmurs as Janus raises an eyebrow at him.
“We’re not leaving our prince,” Janus says firmly, glancing back at Remus. “Would you like to come sit up here with us?”
Remus shakes his head. “If something comes through that door trying to get him,” he says in a low voice that Logan has never heard before, “it’s going to have to get through me first.”
Logan nods. They take up their watch. Remus’s hands twitch every so often, and Logan sees him lay his hand on an unbruised part of Roman’s ankle when they do with a tenderness that takes him a little aback. Janus can’t seem to stop running his hands through Roman’s hair, making comforting noises every time Roman winces as he breathes.
Logan, well…Logan is trying desperately to figure out what happened.
Roman hasn’t been in the Imagination today. Remus was waiting and he hadn’t seen him.
Roman hasn’t been seen by anyone else all day.
The last place Roman was seen was in his room.
No one else has been in Roman’s room today.
“Logan,” Janus calls softly, “Logan, you’re shaking.”
Logan looks down. Oh. So he is. He takes a deep breath and takes Janus’s offered hand. “I’m…thinking.”
“About…?” Janus indicates Roman.
He nods sharply. “I’m having trouble coming to anything but a most troubling conclusion.”
“What?”
Logan explains. Janus goes pale.
“You don’t think…”
“I don’t want to think that, no.”
“R-ro-Bro,” Remus whispers, “oh, Ro-Bro, you gotta tell us something when you wake up.”
He sniffles.
“Please wake up, Ro-Bro. I gotta…I gotta kick your ass for blowing me off and getting into a fight without me, I gotta—you gotta tell me what kicked your ass so I can go put it in the fucking ground…” He sniffs again, his whole body tense, even as his hand remains gently on Roman. “You just gotta wake up, Ro.”
After a little while longer, Virgil and Patton return carrying snacks and drinks. Remus doesn’t even look as Virgil sets his octopus water bottle at his elbow. Janus murmurs a thanks and eats a little. Logan eats and drains about half of his bottle. Virgil sits at Remus’s side, Patton at his other.
“Has he woken up yet?”
Remus shakes his head.
“He’s probably just sleeping, Remus, he needs to rest.”
“I know.”
“Do we know what happened,” Virgil asks quietly, “at all?”
Logan winces. “Well…”
“…don’t like the way you said that.” Judging by Virgil’s expression, he likes it even less after Logan’s finished explaining.
“Oh, shit.”
Everyone’s gaze instantly snaps to Patton. Listen. Patton doesn’t curse. It’s a thing. When Patton curses it’s bad.
“Patton?”
“Roman…Roman has a thing,” Patton explains, “you know like…like my wings? Or how Virgil gets taller?”
Virgil nods. “Yeah, okay, but those don’t…hurt us, why would Roman’s…”
Janus is the next one to curse. “Of course…the bruised ego.”
Patton nods sadly. “Roman takes, well, it’s not really his choice, Roman is forced to take the brunt of the negative reactions Thomas has. That’s part of his thing.”
Logan’s eyes widen. “Wait, but if this has been happening since…well, since Thomas has had an ego, and we didn’t know about this, then…”
How many times has this happened?
Remus growls. “New rule: no one is allowed to fuck with Roman.”
No one dares disagree. Logan scans over the injuries again. He frowns.
“Hold on…some of these seem…consistent with that judgment, but then why…”
A faint groaning sound snaps him out of his musings. A tense silence falls in the bathroom as Roman starts to stir in Janus’s hands.
“Roman,” Logan calls softly, “Roman, can you hear me?”
“L’gan?”
“Yes, Roman, I’m right here. Don’t try and move too much right now, you’re very hurt.”
Roman blinks up at them, his eyes focusing glassily on Janus, who smiles. He tucks another piece of hair away from Roman’s face.
“Shh, shh, my prince, hold still,” he coos, “you’re awfully banged up, sweetie, just hold still…shh…”
“J’nus? What’s…where is…” Roman’s face swivels back to Logan. “Where am I?”
“You’re on the bathroom floor, Roman, we had to see to your injuries.”
Roman’s eyes go wide and immediately all of them reach out to hold him still as he tries to move.
“Shh, shh,” Janus shushes, “none of that now, sweetie, you’re hurt, calm down…”
“I’m—I have to—“
“You’re not going anywhere,” comes Remus’s voice from behind them.
“Remus!”
“What? He’s not!”
“Yeah, but there’s no reason to scare the shit out of him.”
“I can’t see,” Logan hears Roman’s frantic whisper as he turns to glance at the others, “I can’t—let me—“
“Logan, is it safe for him to sit up?”
Logan nods. “Just take it slow, nothing too fast. It will probably be the best if he can lean against someone.”
“Jan—“
“I’ve got you, sweetie, I’m not going anywhere.”
When Roman is upright, his back against Janus’s chest, only then do Virgil and Patton relax the slightest bit. Remus doesn’t. Logan’s gaze switches anxiously between the two.
“Remus—“ Roman swallows— “Re, are you—are you mad at me?”
“A little.”
Roman shrinks under Remus’s glare. “I’m sorry.”
“Jeez, Ro, it’s not—I’m not mad at you like that,” Remus mumbles, “it’s mainly just—well, our thing is…you know, cat pile.”
“You’re—you’re mad because you can’t lie on top of me right now?”
“Yeah! It always makes you feel better! And now I can’t help you feel better!”
“R-Re—“
Remus lets out a wounded noise and surges forward, careful to avoid barreling into any of the others as he wraps his brother in a protective hug. Janus huffs lightly but stays upright. Roman’s eyes close and his head drops to rest against Remus’s.
“I’m the only one allowed to fuck with you,” comes Remus’s muffled voice, “no one else.”
“I know,” Roman whispers, “I know.”
Logan swallows heavily. “Roman,” he prompts softly, “we aren’t mad at you. We won’t get angry with you.”
“...promise?”
“I promise.”
“I promise.”
“I promise.”
“Promise.
Janus just squeezes Roman’s shoulder gently. “I promise too, sweetie. Now, will you tell us what happened?”
“I, um…” Roman’s gaze flickers over to Patton. “Have you—um…”
“I’ve told them a little, sweetheart,” Patton says when Roman can’t finish his sentence, “we’ve figured out the ‘bruised ego,’ is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”
Roman nods. He turns his head back towards Remus, his face contorted. Logan carefully reaches out to ruffle his hair.
“Take your time,” he whispers, “we’re not going anywhere.”
“I have three,” Roman blurts out after a moment.
“…three, honey?”
“Patton has…the wings, Virgil has the height, Janus…Janus…”
“Has the pants.”
Janus lightly flicks Remus’s head, shaking his head fondly.
“Are you saying you’ve got three turns of phrase, Princey?” Roman nods. “Okay. Is one of them ‘bruised ego?’”
“Mhmm.”
“Okay. Are you comfortable telling us the other two?”
Goosebumps rise on Roman’s arms and Janus carefully positions them so Logan can help rub them away. Remus growls protectively and huddles closer.
“…creative block,” Roman murmurs, only for Remus to tense. Remus raises his head slowly.
“Ro-Bro?”
“I, um, my room—my room shrinks and I—I can’t get out the door, I can’t move anything, I can’t breathe, I—“
“Shh-shh-shh,” Janus soothes instantly, “you’re safe, my prince, you’re in the bathroom with us, you’re not there, you’re not there.”
There are a few tense seconds of deep breaths.
“…what’s the third one, Roman?”
Roman looks at his wrists, turning them over as if he doesn’t recognize them. “…shackled creativity.”
Patton clenches his fists as Virgil muffles another curse. Remus follows Roman’s gaze, the line of his shoulders growing tenser by the second. Janus carefully laces his fingers through one of Roman’s hands, Logan lacing his through the other.
“Thank you for telling us, Roman,” he murmurs, “and…I do not know how much this is worth to you, but…we are so sorry this happens and that we could not do anything about it.”
“It’s okay,” Roman murmurs, “it’s my own fault.”
The bathroom falls silent.
“…Roman, it’s not your fault.” Virgil scoots closer. “How—this isn’t your fault.”
“Isn’t it? I’m the one that’s the closest to the Imagination,” Roman says softly, completely convinced of what he’s saying, “I’m the one that makes it possible for Thomas to see us…the Sides, the Imagination…isn’t that my job?”
“Not like that,” Logan says firmly, “never like this.”
“Logan’s right,” Virgil says when it looks like Roman’s about to argue, “you’re the conduit for the Imagination, but you’re not responsible for everything that this place does, let alone how Thomas interprets and internalizes stuff.”
“None of this is you, Roman.” Janus rests his cheek against the top of Roman’s head. “None of it. It’s not Patton’s fault he grows wings, it’s not Virgil’s fault he grows taller, and it’s not your fault that this happens to you.”
“You’re missing someone off the list there, Jan-Jan.”
“Remus, I swear to god—“
Remus cackles, throwing his head back as Janus swats at him. Of course, the problem is that they all try and look mildly annoyed at Remus, and yet the instant it makes Roman giggle, even a little, they all have to break character because Roman’s smiling again.
“Seriously, Ro-Bro,” Remus says after a moment, “this isn’t on you. You don’t deserve this or some other fucked-up shit. This is fucked up all on its own. You’re not responsible for this.”
“We’ll talk to Thomas,” Logan says, “about…negative feedback and internalizing things, alright? This isn’t healthy, Roman, it’s not—it’s not supposed to be like this, and it’s definitely not your fault.”
“…okay.”
“Can you say that for me, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, reaching around to cup Roman’s face, “that it’s not your fault?”
“I-it’s not—“
Roman stops. Swallows heavily.
“Go on, my prince, you can do it.”
“…I-it’s not my fault.”
“Good.”
“It isn’t my fault.” Roman’s eyes go wide and something hitches in his throat. “It is—isn’t—I—oh, god—“
They catch Roman as he starts to cry.
“You did so well, sweetheart, so well, I’m so proud of you.”
“It’s okay, Princey, it’s gonna be okay.”
“I’ve got you, my prince, I have you.”
“You’re gonna be fine, Ro-Bro, I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
“You don’t have to do this alone, Roman.”
Roman rests there, in the arms of his family, bruised and exhausted, but not broken.
Not anymore.
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I've scrolled through a lot of discourse on episode 4 of Loki and I need to talk about it
(good lord its a whole essay im sorry)
I gave myself a headache from crying while watching this. (I joined the Loki fandom post-IW so I’ve never had to see him die before while emotionally invested and boy!!! Is it doing things to my fragile psyche!!). But now I’m rehydrated and more stable and ready to party so let’s go
Right off the bat, I loved this episode — loved it loved it loved it. Silly, manic in-shock Loki is gone and shit is getting real. My thought while watching this was truly “wow this is my favorite episode so far” and damn am I in a minority with this opinion lol.
So here’s my perspective on some of the discourse flying around, and just general thoughts
On the whole ‘Narcissist’ thing:
IMO, Mobius saying this means nothing: he’s mad and he’s spouted lies at Loki to push his buttons before (see: every interaction they’ve had since episode 1).
Loki saying this to Sif-- well, Loki is and always has been an unreliable narrator on himself. The major theme of this show is that he doesn’t really know who he is, deep down, and he’s trying to figure it out. The TVA is taking advantage of this, and even though he’s trying to stay above it all throughout the series, he's still in a really impressionable spot and absorbing what others tell him about himself. (not to mention this scene is literal torture and he’s already proven that he’ll say whatever he needs to to get out of it.)
But he does admit one true thing when he says “It’s because I’m scared of being alone.” (And like wow okay same don’t mind my tears) but here’s a big brain idea!
Sif pulls him up and says ‘You are alone, and you always will be’, which is like, WOW that’s cruel after what he said, but it makes me ask wonder: Sif is sentient in this scene, but obviously it’s not really her. Who’s controlling her? And why is it so important for them to make sure Loki thinks he’s alone? I’d go as far as to wager that Sif never even said this to Loki, the big bad made this up. (he admits he forgot about this ever happening, I doubt he’d remember what she said.)
I think the nexus event on Lamentis that caused the branch was two Loki’s joining sides. Or, Loki no longer being alone. Loki insists while talking to Mobius that “she’s not my partner!” but she was, and they were partners from the moment they grabbed hands on Lamentis — right when the timeline broke off. I think Loki variants teaming up is the biggest threat to whoever is pulling the strings here — that’s why the post-credit scene is so significant. (Is Loki the only person who has multiple variants of himself who've escaped the TVA?)
And here’s where I’m gonna get salty--so I apologize but i need to rant about this-- but it’s seriously pissing me off that so many people are intentionally reading this as Loki/Sylvie and then being mad about it when that’s clearly not what’s happening and why is everyone acting like Mobius with one angry jealous brain cell and no critical thinking about the context of the characters.
If people ship it that’s chill, but for the people who are against it—it’s clearly supposed to be platonic, and it’s so upsetting that in the year of our lord 2021 we still can’t have a man and woman hold hands without people saying it’s proof they want to f*ck each other, like what in the misogyny??? STOP. This show was written by a bi woman and Tom the-most-emotionally-sensitive-man-on-this-planet Hiddleston — let them display an intimate loving friendship goddammit. This isn’t romance, this is Loki learning how to admit he cares for someone who cares for him in return — something he hasn’t experienced a whole lot of and clearly doesn’t know how to navigate.
(You have permission to personally come at me if it actually turns out to be romantic by the end of the show—but as of right now I will die on this hill.)
Him putting his hands on her shoulders to me was a clear indication he wanted to hug her, and I’d like to think he would have told her he cares about her, and that they can figure it out together. Because these are two characters who’ve never had anyone else to rely on and trust, and for the first time they’re not alone.
And I have to think about what prompted this from Loki. He just lost Mobius the moment after he called him friend. The way I see it, he’s just realized the true gravity of what they’re up against, and Loki is suddenly very afraid of losing Sylvie too before he tells her cares about her, of dying truly alone because he never told anyone what they meant to him. (Don’t think about this in the context of him also having watched his entire family die knowing he never told Frigga or Thor how much he loved them either don’t think about it—) He’s realized, finally, that he has doesn’t have to be alone, that he can choose to be close to people and have friends. And god it’s so heartbreaking that he never got to hug her or have that moment with her. I really hope they get that in the end. I hope he gets it with Mobius. I hope they have a group hug. I'm upset again.
Okay, deep breath, ANYWAY.
Hopefully this didn’t come off as attacking anyone else’s opinions.
Personally, I love this character so much, I’m just so happy to be seeing him in his own storyline that they can’t go wrong here. Objectively I think the production is amazing, and personally I love they way Loki’s character has been explored so far. (Yea yea, was I HOPING that the bad-memory loop would morph into Sanctuary and Thanos and like a full exploration of his true worst memories? Yes but let’s be honest my whump needs will never be met in canon and I have to accept that lol.)
Honestly I left all my own meta about this character at the door when the series started, because for me the opinions I’ve formed from the hundreds of (amazing) fics and meta I’ve read on this character and what’s true in canon are basically inseparable at this point, and no portrayal is going to live up to the way Loki exists in my head. Canon Loki and fic Loki are two different characters and I can enjoy both at the same time :) I’ve just loved seeing the character get given the different dimensions he deserves, and written by people who care about his story.
Also, it’s not over! If he was dead and this was it I’d be very upset, but this is the rock bottom of the storyline, and I think the whole next two episodes will be the build back up. I trust it’s gonna be worth it. SO hyped for flaming sword Loki. I would die for Sylvie, but I’m excited to see him on his own again.
My current most pressing questions are:
-what was the fallout of Sylvie’s bombing the timeline? (Have we seen that yet, am I just dumb and missing something?)
-Obviously, who’s behind it all? (Kang? Is there a head honcho Very Evil Loki at the top?)
-How much does Ravonna actually know, and to what extent is she just a pawn too? She asked Sylvie to prune her— she’s probably also been duped here.
-Is everything we learned about the sacred timeline BS? How much of what the TVA workers believe is real?
-my favorite theory so far is that the war of the timelines miss minutes talks about hasn’t actually happened yet, maybe making setting that into motion is the true endgame, leading into Multiverse of Madness?
(Side note: holy HELL im so excited for this soundtrack to drop on Spotify. It’s SO AMAZING I had CHILLS in the end credits.)
Open invitation to discuss anything with me if you feel inclined! :)
#if you read all of this please come say hi and be my friend because I don't know if even I'd read all this lol#loki#loki show#loki series#loki show spoilers#loki spoilers#loki series spoilers#loki show discourse#loki show positive#my disaster son has a show
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PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 4
Rating: Explicit.
‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. Bullying and non-explicit violence in this chapter, Peter whump.
Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!
A/N: WE'VE GOT PLOT! Peter Parker deserves better. Steeb needs a vibe check cuz he keeps failing them :( Boomers are hot but ... Boomers. KitKat, anyone? Natasha is a Brain Cell™. Enjoy, deviants.
THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @hermione-grangers-wife @downeyreads @individualistfem
Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings 👑 - titty gators assemble! 👀
I scheduled a visit to the tower two days after my "illness" episode. Most of my lows passed without any lingering, the headache was gone and so was the nausea. My mood was still somewhere between "please kill me" and "I could eat a lot of cake right now" but it was bearable. I was very much looking forward to occupying myself with the project if only to divert my focus from overthinking about my own misery.
Peter said he was going to see Tony straight after school and offered for me to tag along with him: Tony sent his driver to pick up the boy. I didn't have the heart to refuse, seeing no point in waiting for an Uber on a rainy workday afternoon. Traffic was horrendous in New York city no matter the weather but a downpour took the congestions to a new height.
When I spotted the sleek, black brand new Audi I made a beeline for it, waving to Happy as I crawled inside as fast as I could. "Don't get the seats wet," The chauffeur grumbled.
"It's wet outside," I rolled my eyes into the next dimension. Whoever thought his nickname was in any way appropriate needed a psych eval. Peter sat on my right side looking wet and downright miserable. I had to swallow a string of expletives at the sight in front of me: the entirety of Peter's right cheek was an ugly shade of blue, eye on it's way to swelling shut and lip busted open. "What in the everliving fuck happened to you?!" Breathing through my nose, I fought bubbling rage inside of me. Peter looked like he went toe to toe with a Hulk.
"Flash happened," The boy mumbled, whining and brooding simultaneously. His cheeks glowed.
"That little runt?" I took another pause to steady my breathing, tentatively reaching out for Peter's hand. He grasped it tightly in gratitude. "Well, did you at least fight back?"
"No, I... I can't do that," Peter became even smaller, curling into the seat and in himself. I was disappointed for sure as I wouldn't just stand there and take a beating, but Pete was different. He was sensitive-a total pacifist to boot.
"Do any of the teachers know? I'm guessing this isn't the first time," Sure, I've seen Parker with an occasional scrape or a bruise but I'd always figured it was just him being a teenage nuisance. Curtain of depression I had over the previous days slowly began morphing into cold fury.
"No, well, they probably do. But Flash is the principal's son so they ignore it, I guess," Peter sighed in defeat. "Mr. Stark doesn't know either. Please don't tell him," He begged.
"Abuse thrives in silence," I parroted our sex-ed teacher but otherwise made no promises. My mind raced between comforting Peter and ordering Happy to turn the car around so I could find the shitty excuse of a human named Flash Thompson and violently make it known what happens to people when they get me pissed off.
"What are you going to tell Tony?" I asked Peter as we herded into the elevator, slightly wet and mostly miserable.
"I have an idea or two," The boy answered darkly.
"You have been summoned to the common floor, I was instructed to notify you there is food to be eaten before sciencing, per Doctor Banner's orders," Friday announced, rerouting the elevator to the aforementioned destination. Peter groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands.
"What the fuck happened to you, kid?" Bucky decided screeching like a banshee and attracting at least five of his teammates to come running from the dining room was the best way to approach an obviously spooked Peter. The boy shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"Our classmate beat him up," I answered before Pete could lie. "The fucking runt that doesn't know his damn place. His two cronies probably too," The venom in my voice could've melted steel. I was genuinely furious.
"What's his name?" Captain-Steve growled. I was taken aback at the large blonde man suddenly standing up, fists clenched. My feet moved involuntarily, taking a step back from the enraged supersoldier and Pete cowered, startled.
I stepped in front of him immediately. "I'm gonna need you to chill the fuck down, Cap," The trembling in my voice persisted but I stood my ground nonetheless. "Your roid rage is going to land you in prison if you keep going," In my own rage, self-preservation went out of the window along with common sense. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, Peter was downright shaking behind me.
"She's right," Bucky darkly eyed his friend. "Off to the sparring mats with you." He grabbed Rogers by the shoulder with his prosthetic arm all but hauling the blonde towards the elevator. Thor immediately took the Captain's other side, not quite touching him but obviously giving his friend a vibe check. I could've clapped. Not that Steve resisted much, but still.
"Everyone calm down, please," The Black Widow piped up in an even tone. I can always count on a fellow woman to keep calm in a situation where men's tempers almost cause a disaster. "Now, tell us what happened," She approached Peter on quiet feet. The boy shuffled around me looking every bit as dejected as I felt about the situation. "And someone fetch some ice for that bruise," Romanoff's offhand gesture had Barton scrambling into the kitchen.
Peter sat down on the couch, looking at the floor. "Flash has been bothering me since, like, forever and today I just ignored his usual remarks because I had a calculus test, I- I wanted to make sure I knew everything, and I was sitting in a really quiet corner, and I- Ned was hanging out with MJ somewhere and I guess Flash got angry that I didn't answer," Peter rambled in his usual nervous fashion, sentences jumbling together. Natasha kept nodding, simply hugging the boy softly with one arm. As soon as Clint came back with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel Natasha's other arm pressed it gently to Peter's bruised face. The assassin frowned at the pained whine that left Peter's lips.
"Honestly, that dude is a fucking piece of shit, I'm surprised how he's not in jail yet," I piped up from where I was pacing along the large window overlooking the city skyline. Wound up and tense, I couldn't stay still. "He stole a senior's car for a joyride, last year. He routinely picks on the freshmen and I've personally dislocated his wrist from slapping me on the ass in, like, eight grade," Peter's eyebrows raised at my admission and Natasha gave me a vaguely approving hum.
I caught Peter's eye the moment elevator doors opened revealing a panicked looking Tony and a worried Bruce with Loki standing behind them, talking to a man in... Robes? And a red cape?
"What happened to my science child?!" Tony's fury rang high. The engineer rushed over to Peter, frantically checking him over and growling at the state of his face, letting out a string of expletives seeing the busted lip had started to bleed again.
I gave a tiny tilt of my lips to Bruce who had the oddest compilation of worried, confused and amused in his expression.
"You should probably get him to a doctor, I think his mouth is cut on the inside," I scooted closer to Banner, informing him quietly.
"I'm a doctor," The man in the cape announced, ... strutting (!) over to Pete. There was really no other way to describe his long, precise strides. He quickly butted Tony out of the way and instructed Peter to open his mouth.
"This is utter chaos," Loki muttered, sitting down on the furthest end of the couch.
"It is and I'm living for it," I sighed. The situation was very disorganized with Tony flailing about in blind panic, Bruce just standing there, Cap's rage quit and subsequent intervention by his buddies. Then the new strange dude... Loki was brooding and honestly? Big mood. The only person who made some resemblance of order out if this cluster fuck was Natasha.
All and all, it was quite endearing. I imagined that's what a large, close family would look like. When I said I was enjoying myself - no lie there, even despite the grim situation.
"How are you? Are you hurt?" Bruce quietly asked me, laced with concern. His shoulders relaxed somewhat when I shook my head negative. "Hungry?" I nodded affirmatively and the doctor produced a kit kat bar seemingly out of nowhere, winking at me with a boyish smile. I just about melted on the spot, tearing off a block and giving it to him to avoid any embarrassing reactions I might possibly spout in the wake of my recently acquired crush.
We munched in silence as the Cape Guy explained to Peter (and anxious Tony) that a few butterfly stitches would be needed as well as CT scan to rule out a possible concussion. At that point Tony was steadily turning purple in colour, rage and anxiety combining for a large storm that no doubt will hit sooner or later.
I felt responsible, I guess. Peter must've known Tony was going to react so strongly to his science son getting hurt and well, I hated seeing Tony so mad and helpless. On soft feet, I padded over to the engineer, making sure to stay within direct line of vision. "Tones?" He shot his eyes at me. He was furious. "Look, I'm going to make that fucker's life a living hell," Tony made an agitated noise of protest however I wasn't having it. I knew I'd be in trouble later but for now, I firmly placed my palm over his mouth, enjoying the surprised widening of his eyes at the frivolous gesture. "Listen, right now you can't do shit. You guys are super-powered individuals and Flash is just a nasty kid. You'll get in a big fat mess and he'll get to go away with a slap on the wrist," Tony sagged, visibly, bodily, and I felt it was safe to remove my hand from his face.
"I hate to say it but she's right," Bruce piped up behind me, voice soft.
I nodded. "I'm going to ruin the guy without putting a single finger on him," Tony nodded grimly and Cape Guy halted his examination of Peter's head to give me a mildly concerned stare. "My mother is a litigator, a vicious one at that. I've learned a trick or two," I winked with a grim sort of amusement causing the man to snort. Tony chuckled humorlessly. "As much as I hate to be the voice of reason, it would be a shame for anybody in this tower to end up behind bars. Even if it would be for a good cause," I finished my speech, patting Tony on the shoulder. The surprised squeak made its way out of my mouth when the billionaire pulled me tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a desperate hug.
Ignoring my skyrocketing heartbeat, I wrapped myself around him as best as I could. Whatever issues the man had, they had to be quite painful if he reacted to the situation so intensely. I was selfish, but not heartless, so I gave into the affectionate gesture despite the inappropriate feelings that blossomed within me.
"I don't know what I've done to deserve you," Peter whined, fat round tears beginning to drip down his cheeks. I could tell he was embarrassed beyond Hell but his feelings overwhelmed him enough to just spill through. I immediately made my meanest big eyes to Natasha and Cape Guy who immediately hugged the life out of Pete. There, all set.
"Now go get that scan done," I frowned, seeing Peter start to nod off. "I don't know your name, but can you arrange that? Since you're a doctor," I nodded to the Cape Guy.
"I'm Stephen Strange," he replied, effortlessly picking up a dozing Peter and carrying him to the elevator. Before I could react, he waved his one free hand in some sort of a circle and a glowing ring appeared with what seemed to be a ER room - Strange hastily stepped through, followed by Tony suddenly withdrawing and hurrying after the ... Wizard? The portal closed immediately after.
"What the fuuuuuck..." I gaped at the now empty space. Strange, indeed. Even Loki's scoff didn't put a dent in my perplexed curiosity.
"So, lawyer family, huh?" Natasha, who I'd forgotten about, spoke up, mildly interested.
"Just my mother," I replied casually. They were the last thing in the world I wanted to talk about, especially after being so upset for the past hour. Man, I needed a drink. My hands itched for a cigarette.
"What about your father?" The spy didn't relent, pushing the issue with deadly politeness - I was actually sure she'd threaten me into talking about it even if I refused to.
"He's a celebrity manager."
"Cool," Her tone perked up at that. "Know anyone famous?"
"Know? No," I thought about all the A-list Hollywood stars I've been around, the endless parade of one-hit-wonder musicians that my dad hung out with on a daily basis. "I've crossed paths with at least half the Billboard TOP 40 but that's about it. Katy Perry was really nice," I added as an afterthought.
"I see," Natasha gave me a thoughtful once-over, patting the seat next to her. "So tell me, what do you have in mind for this Flash kid?"
My smile came out sharp and vicious. People tended to underestimate the quiet, quirky loner and I was about to remind them exactly why my kind of kids usually ended up with either millions in their bank accounts or a lengthy criminal record. "I'm going to annihilate any chance he has with having a social life, a girlfriend and I'll be damned if he gets into college without his parents going bankrupt. It goes like this..."
The ominous beginning of my plan attracted everybody in the room, even Loki. If anything, he offered the most constructive advice and the smirk he wore was positively devilish. Steve, Bucky and Thor emerged sometime during the scheming and hastily joined us, identically grim expressions on their faces. We barely managed to get done with our nefarious cackling when a portal appeared once again, Stephen stepping out of it with Tony carrying a sleeping Peter. The boy's head was bandaged, he looked like a mummy.
I stood up, beelining for Tony. "Is Pete okay? Did you call May?"
"He's not concussed but he's taking the day off tomorrow. Yes, I called May. Pete is staying here tonight," Tony looked and sounded like an exhausted, worried parent.
The urge to squee appeared again and I stomped it down with a hard "Good. We made a plan. The fucker is going to choke on his own misery," I gestured to the people sitting in a circle behind me.
Strange snorted.
Furious. I was furious.
Hands on my hips, I swerved towards him, instantly recognizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Here I stood, an eighteen year old high school student, in my fluffy rainbow sweater and denim overalls, staring down a whole grown ass man with magic powers. I digress, my pride won the race against my common sense. "Ex-fucking-cuse you, Voldemort, that's my fucking friend on the line," I seethed, giving him my best death glare.
"Language," Tony barely held together his laughter, looking at the unfolding mess with amusement. Somewhere behind me, somebody chuckled, then I recognised Loki's signature "ehehe" and it kind of went downhill from there. It's a miracle Peter didn't wake up.
"I'd be careful, Strange, she holds up against Stark very well," Loki's quiet compliment only made me preen and puff out my chest in a display of dominance. Stephen's responding eye roll was more fond than annoyed. I counted it as a win.
#tony stark x reader#tony stark x y/n#bruce banner x y/n#bruce banner x reader#stephen strange x reader#Stephen Strange x y/n#bun writes#party favours#repeat after me: PETER PARKER DESERVES BETTER
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Jay Halstead x Reader Imagine
Description: You and Jay had always been best friends. How will your lives change through the years? Especially when he returns home a different man.
Words: 22,097
Warnings: Canonical Violence, Smut, PTSD, School Shootings, Whump
Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader
When Jay told you he enlisted in the Army, you weren’t sure if he was joking or just plain insane. In all the years you’d known Jay, since you were practically in diapers, he’d never mentioned an interest in the Army. It wasn’t until right after graduation that he brought it up for the first time. The two of you had been having weekly movie night at your place, your parents having gone out for the night.
“I need to tell you something,” he said softly when the movie ended. You’d nearly fallen asleep with your head on his shoulder. You didn’t turn to look at him, humming in response to get him to go on. “I enlisted in the Army on Wednesday.” That more than got your attention.
“Wha-Why?” you asked, looking up at him. He’d promised you he’d stick around Chicago, the two of you considering starting off at a community college.
“I can’t stay with him, with him constantly breathing down my neck telling me I’m a disappointment,” he answered, knowing he was talking about his dad. “He practically disowned Will for going off to college, and he’s been pushing me to apply for the Academy. And I just. I want to be my own person.”
“When do you leave?” You honestly didn’t want to know, but at the same time, you knew he was telling you this because he needed someone supportive in his life. You’d always been that person for him.
“End of the month, I head to basic for ten weeks, then more depending on my specialty.” You couldn’t believe it, but it was happening. He was going to be gone for at least four years. Four years without your best friend seemed like an eternity. “I just have to ask you for one favor.”
“Anything.” You squeezed his hand with a smile. The two of you had been through thick and thin together. He’d stuck his neck out for you so many times, and you’d always done the same. It wasn’t anything for you to ask favors of each other.
“It’s going to sound crazy, but before you freak or try to get me committed to a psych ward just hear me out.”
“I’m not sure if I should be worried or scared, Jay,” you commented before he shushed you by putting his hand over your mouth with a smile.
“Right now, my next of kin is my dad. And if anything happened to me, he’s the one that would get the payout. I-,” he took a breath. “I don’t want him to be the first to find out if something happens to me, Y/N. So, will you marry me, just for the legality. You’d be my next of kin, the one to handle my affairs. I trust you more than him, more than anybody.”
“You are one crazy man, Jay Halstead,” you said as you ran your hand through your Y/H/C hair. It took you a minute to sort through all the responses you could give, but you knew he wouldn’t ask this of you unless he was serious. It wasn’t a joke. You weren’t in kindergarten anymore with a ring pop and promises of forever. You two had been through a lot through the years. He just looked at you with hope in his eyes.
“Okay. Yes,” you agreed, a smile breaking out across his face. He pulled you into a hug, and you couldn’t help but laugh against his chest. “This has to be the craziest idea you’ve ever had, Halstead,” you added.
“Yeah? Well, at least you put up with my kind of crazy.” It was true, you always put up with his crazy. In all the years you’d been friends with him, never did you think you’d marry him.
——-
You hadn’t told anybody before going down to the courthouse with Jay, hoping you could find someone in the lobby who would be your witness. You hadn’t even told your mother, who you’d tell everything to. The reason you didn’t, though, was because you knew she’d say it was a crazy idea. She would have tried to talk you out of it.
You’d never thought you’d find yourself standing in front of a judge in a sundress, Jay in a nice button down and khakis, and a stranger standing next to you after a promise of twenty bucks. Smiling at your best friend, you listened as the judge spoke, your hands in his. This was completely insane, but you couldn’t be happier.
The two of you had agreed beforehand that this was just going to be a legality while he was in the Army. He’d repeatedly told you in the two weeks leading up to this moment that you could back out at any time, that you could still date whoever you wanted to date, that a divorce would happen when one of you found the right person. You’d agreed to all those terms for him, knowing you weren’t going to back out of this. He was stuck with you, for however long he needed you.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the judge said. You didn’t kiss, another agreement between the two of you. Instead, all you could do was smile. The two of you left the courthouse on a sunny day in June, marriage certificate in your hand and simple rings on your fingers.
“Thank you,” he said again. He’d been thanking you a lot recently, for a lot of things. This was just one of them. Another was for always being there for him. For always having his back. It seemed like he was just trying to get everything out there before he left for basic training.
“I wouldn’t want anybody else to be my first husband,” you joked with a smile, “but, you’re the one who gets to explain this to my parents.”
——-
“You two did what?” your mother practically yelled at you both as you all sat around the kitchen table. You’d asked your mom if it was okay if Jay stayed for dinner, knowing she’d never turn down that request. About halfway through was when Jay broke the news you’d gotten married.
“It’s not that big of a deal. Just until he’s done in the Army,” you tried explaining, but your father raised his hand to silence you.
“Jay Halstead. Please for the love of all that is holy, tell me this another one of your jokes,” your dad said firmly, no waver in the tone of his voice. You could tell he was mad.
“This isn’t a joke. I’m leaving for basic training next week, and I didn’t want Pat listed as my next of kin if something happens to me. Y/N and you both have been more of my family than he ever has, and I wanted to make sure something good could come of it if something does happen.” You hated when he talked like that, bringing up the possibility of being killed. At the same time, you knew it was the reason the two of you had gotten married to begin with.
“Guys, you’ve known Jay his entire life. This isn’t high-school sweethearts getting married just for it to end horribly. I married my best friend because he asked me to because he’s going off to join the Army. Right now, we aren’t expecting this marriage to last more than four years unless he re-enlists,” you remind them. Plus, it wasn’t going to be an expensive or messy divorce since you knew you wouldn’t need lawyers. It was a mutual agreement.
“The two of you are insane!” your mother said again, more exasperated than anything. “But I guess what’s done is done. And it’s not the craziest thing the two of you have done. That doesn’t mean your father and I agree with it though, young lady,” she reminds you. It was enough for you.
Telling Pat Halstead was a whole different story.
——-
You were half expecting Pat to yell at either you or Jay. Instead, he locked himself in his bedroom. Jay assured you it was okay, that his father would come around, and told you to go home, that he’d see you in the morning.
He didn’t see you in the morning. In fact, you hadn’t heard from Jay until nearly ten that next night. He came tapping on your bedroom window. This was how you always snuck him in when your parents were asleep, the first time when you guys were about eight. Now that you were adults, you knew he didn’t have to sneak in your window anymore, but old habits die hard.
You’d been in bed, about to fall asleep, so the lights were out. It took him a bit longer than usual to climb in, and you swore you heard him wince. It wasn’t normal, not by a long shot.
“Jay,” you whispered when you turned on the bedside lamp on your nightstand. It looked like he’d been through Hell and back, a black eye, split lip. He probably had more where you couldn’t see. “What happened?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he answered, taking off his shoes before climbing into your bed. You followed suit, pulling the blankets over you both.
“Do you want to change out of your jeans?” He just shook his head, and you knew it had been a bad night. It wasn’t the first time he’d shown up at your house with bruises he’d refuse to talk about, but you knew. You could piece it together enough to understand. It was one of the reasons he’d joined the Army after all.
You didn’t say anything else as you repositioned, trying not to jostle him too much. It reminded you of when you were kids, just holding onto each other. There was no difference between boys and girls back then, before the teasing started that you two must like each other. Even into high school, people always thought you were dating. It made any kind of relationship hard. But you and Jay survived, and here you were again.
Usually, he’d be the one holding you. Mostly it was because of the size difference with him being taller. But there were some nights, like that night, that he was the one that needed to be held. You didn’t say anything as his arm draped across your waist and held you close. His forehead rested on your chest, your legs tangled with his. The feeling of his jeans against the skin of your legs was uncomfortable, but you refused to say anything, your hands stroking through his hair.
“It’s going to be okay,” was the only thing you managed to say as he fell asleep in your arms.
——-
The day he left for basic training was one of the hardest days of your life up until that point. He had a packed duffle bag, the clothes on his back, and a wedding band still on his finger. And, he had you next to his side. You’d driven him all the way to O’Hare, having borrowed your dad’s car for the drive. Your parents had been warming up to the idea of why you agreed to Jay’s insane plan, but it was going to take them a while to get there completely.
The drive to the airport had been silent except for the radio. Usually, you both would have been singing along, but this was a more somber day, not really feeling in the mood for the usual karaoke. You’d parked the car in the parking garage and walked with Jay to check in. Now, he was about to get in the TSA line.
“You’re going to write me the second you can,” you told him, not giving him a choice. “And you’re going to call me when you can. And you’re going to stay safe, okay?” You knew basic wasn’t going to kill him, but you worried, tears stinging the back of your eyes.
“I promise,” he assured you, dropping his duffle bag to hug you tight. Your hands held onto his shirt tight, not wanting to let go.
“I’m going to miss you, Jay.” You’d never gone a day without seeing him or talking to him, so this was going to be a big change.
“I’m going to miss you too, Y/N,” he agreed, kissing the top of your head before pulling back. “You stay safe here, okay. I’m not gonna be here to bail you out of trouble when it comes knocking.” That was enough for you to smile, watching him walk away into security.
——-
Jay had made it through basic training. You’d been there for his graduation, and then he was sent off to his next assignment, which had been Army Ranger School at Fort Benning in Georgia. He’d told you he’d been excelling.
You thought him leaving for basic was the hardest day of your life. That all changed the day he called you to tell you he was being deployed to Afghanistan. You cried on the phone, making him promise repeatedly that he’d come home.
After that, the days turned into weeks that you wouldn’t hear from him. Sometimes it was for months at a time, for nearly two years. You’d moved out on your own, getting a small apartment, and every day you were home, you were praying that nobody would knock on the door to tell you he’d died. When those letters did come in from him, you were relieved yet so worried. He told you of some of the things he saw, the things he did, how much he missed his best friend and how he couldn’t wait to come back.
It was hard to focus sometimes, but you’d gotten your degree, getting a job as a teacher in a local public school. You knew the end of the four years was coming up soon, and you were just hoping he’d make it home.
——-
He’d called you to tell you he was heading home, opting out of reenlisting at the end of the tour. You were waiting impatiently at baggage claim at O’Hare, about to jump out of your own skin at the slightest of things. Four years. It had been four years without him in Chicago.
Your eyes scanned the crowd, regularly checking the incoming flights, just waiting for him. And then you saw him. With as excited as you were, you weren’t expecting your heart to drop. He looked different. There were bags under his eyes, the sparkle in his eyes duller. It looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
You didn’t let any of that stop you. As soon as you saw him, you ran over to him. He dropped his duffle, catching you in his arms as you slammed into him, nearly knocking both of you off your feet. Neither of you said anything as you held onto each other, trying to hold back your emotions. There would be plenty of time for that later, you knew.
“Let’s go home,” you finally said after what seemed like hours, pulling back from him. You’d agreed to let him stay with you until he figured out his next step. He just nodded, letting you lead him out to the car with his hand in yours.
The two of you didn’t say anything as you drove to your place. His hands were planted firmly on his own knees, staring out of the windshield. He looked nervous, but he didn’t say anything and you didn’t ask. It made your heart jump, though, to see the ring you’d put on his finger four years ago still there.
“Jay, we’re here,” you said, softly, wanting to pull him out of his thoughts as you parked the car. “What are you feeling for dinner? We can order in, or I can make something.”
“I’m not really hungry,” he answered. Even the tone of his voice was different.
“You’ve got to eat,” you reminded him. “That chinese place you really like still delivers. I’ll get your usual order.” He knew you wouldn’t take no for an answer, nodding in response. That was good enough for you as you took him upstairs to your place.
“It isn’t huge, but you can have the spare room.” You weren’t sure what to say with everything that was going on, remembering the box of letters. You knew it wasn’t the whole story, but you understood some of the things he saw while over there. “But my door is always open if you need me. Any time. Bathroom is right over there,” you continued, pointing to the closed door. “Your room is right there, and mine is across the hall.”
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, not waiting for a response before tossing his bag in his room, then stepping across the hall, his uniform already starting to come off.
You weren’t sure what to expect now that he was back. You’d both changed in the past four years, and you felt like you might have to get to know him all over again. It was a scary idea that he might not be the same Jay that you let walk away at O’Hare. You could hear the shower turn on, grabbing your phone to go ahead and make the food order.
When he came out again, you saw him walk across the hall with only a towel around his waist. He was more well defined since you last saw him, skin a bit bronzer, more freckles scattered across broad shoulders. You had to quickly pull yourself out of those thoughts.
You’d been in a couple relationships since he left, but they’d ended mutually. Your mind had always been elsewhere, worried about him. It wasn’t that you had feelings for him, because you couldn’t. It wasn’t allowed! He was your best friend, nothing more. But there were some nights that you would never admit happened that you dreamed it was. Now, he was back.
Finally, you heard his door open and he joined you on the couch. You’d already sat a beer on the coffee table for him, nursing your own. You didn’t even know if he liked beer. He groaned as he sat down, propping his feet up on the table, leaning his head on your shoulder.
“I missed you,” he told you, which caused you to smile. There was no way to help it, your hand resting on his forearm.
“I missed you too, Jay.”
The two of you talked for hours, late into the night and early in the morning until he was dozing off. You’d convinced him to eat when the food came, and it was as if the man hadn’t eaten in his entire life, which got you an apology.
“We should head to bed,” you finally said when you finally looked up at the clock on the wall. Somehow, the two of you had managed to talk until four in the morning. It felt like no time had passed at all.
“Yeah,” he agreed, getting up then offering you a hand to help you up. The two of you walked to where the doors met, and you couldn’t help but hug him tight again.
“Goodnight, Jay,” you finally said when you let go, Jay mumbling a ‘night’ in response before you went in your room, shutting the door behind you.
You knew it hadn’t been too long since you’d fallen asleep when you were woken by the sound of screaming coming from Jay’s room. It scared you, not sure what was going on when you jumped out of bed and rushed into his room. He was in bed, drenched in sweat, thrashing. It looked like he was in some kind of nightmare.
“Jay!” you said, trying to get him to wake up by shaking his shoulder. You definitely weren’t expecting him to grab you roughly, throwing you on the bed and pinning you down. “Jay!” you said again, much firmer.
It took him a minute to come to, fear in his eyes as he looked at you. It seemed to get worse when he realized the position he put you in, quickly backing off with apologies one after the other coming from his lips and tears in his eyes. You didn’t understand at that time what had happened, scared. Later you’d learn and understand it was PTSD.
“It’s okay,” you assured him, “I’m fine.” Though you knew you weren’t, that your wrists would most likely bruise from his grip.
He backed up until his back hit the wall, sliding down with his knees pulled to his chest. He didn’t make a sound, though, his arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead resting on his knees. It took you a minute to get up, not sure if you should approach him or not. You threw caution out the window, knowing it was Jay. Slowly, you got up and walked over to him, kneeling beside him. You didn’t say anything as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him. One hand stroked through his hair. It took him a few more minutes to begin to lean into you, but when he did, you knew it would be okay in the end.
——-
You’d managed to get him back to bed, promising him you’d stay with him throughout the night. A part of you prayed he didn’t have another nightmare, not sure what would happen if he did. Luckily, he didn’t. When you woke up, it was to an empty bed which was confusing. You didn’t hear any movement from the living room or bathroom, and when you checked, he wasn’t there.
You took the opportunity to get changed. Despite it being August in Chicago, you opted for a thin, long-sleeve shirt to hide the beginnings of the bruises on your wrists before starting to cook breakfast. You could only hope he’d show up soon, which he did.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” you told him when you heard the door shut. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw he was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, looking like he’d just gotten back from a run. You made sure to pull your sleeves down a little more as he passed by, a smile on your face. He didn’t say anything or acknowledge you as he shut himself in the bathroom again.
You were glad you’d taken a few days off work to spend time with him, but at the same time, it felt like he was starting to shut you out after the events from last night. You tried to refocus on your attention back on finishing up breakfast, setting the plates down on the table and pouring him a cup of coffee before getting yourself a cup of orange juice. You then sat down, waiting for Jay, hands resting on your lap.
It didn’t take long for him to come out in khakis and an Army t-shirt, sitting down across from you. He didn’t say anything as he began to eat, slowly. He didn’t even look up at you. You tried to understand the fact that he was wrestling with his own demons, but you couldn’t ignore the fact that it hurt.
“We need to talk,” you told him when he’d nearly finished eating. You’d managed to just push your food around, not really eating it.
“What’s there to talk about?” he countered, voice distant and cold. You’d never heard Jay talk like that, never. A chill ran down your spine.
“Last night. What happened?” You could still remember the bruising grip around your wrists, how his eyes looked through you, stuck somewhere else that wasn’t Chicago.
“Just a bad dream.” He stood up, grabbing the plates and taking them to the kitchen. You waited a minute to follow, leaning against the counter and watching him.
“No, Jay. It was more than just a bad dream. A bad dream doesn’t end with me getting pinned to the bed,” you reminded him, absentmindedly rubbing your wrist. He noticed though, and you could see a myriad of thoughts running through his head all at once. You saw his jaw clench and release a few times, the dishes long forgotten.
“I dream I’m back there sometimes, Y/N,” he told you. “That’s all it is.” You decided not to push it, letting it go for now. His eyes were still locked in your wrist though. A shaking hand reached out, pushing your sleeve up just enough to show the bottom of the bruising. Clear as day was the shape of fingers on your skin.
“It’s not your fault,” you assure him, but he wasn’t listening. You could tell by the way he pulled back and turned away from you. The thing you weren’t expecting was for him to walk out of the apartment without looking back.
——-
The bruises had faded, but the tension between you and Jay had not. It had been almost a month since he’d come back. Things hadn’t gotten better though, he hadn’t made progress. In fact, you were more worried about him than you had been. He’d come home drunk, would sleep all the time. It wasn’t until a friend of his showed up, knocking on the door in the middle of the night.
“Can I help you?” you asked the man, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m looking for Jay Halstead. I’m a friend from the Army. Greg. Greg Gerwitz. But everyone calls me Mouse,” he said quickly, as if you were going to cut him off at any moment.
“Look, Gr-” He gave you a look. “Mouse. Jay’s not in a good place right now, I don’t know.” You shook your head, not wanting Jay’s friend to see him in this kind of shape.
“That’s why I’m here. He called and left a message for me. I was over there with him. I know what’s going on,” he assured you, so you let him in before making your way to Jay’s room with Mouse trailing behind. You didn’t knock, just letting yourself in.
Jay was on his side, eyes open and staring at the wall. The blanket was draped across his torso and legs, one foot hanging out. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, beard beginning to become noticeable. You hadn’t realized he’d developed dark circles around his eyes.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” you told the pair when Mouse sat next to Jay, your friend looking up at his own. You wished it could be you that was able to pull him out of whatever abyss he’d fallen into, but you knew you shouldn’t let your pride get in the way. If Mouse could bring Jay back, you weren’t going to stand in his way.
——-
It had taken time, but Jay seemed to be his old self again. The nightmares seemed to happen less and less often. He was talking to you again, weekly movie night on Fridays just like when you were kids. He was getting back on track, and you couldn’t be more grateful to Mouse. It was a surprise to see him come around less often, but Jay assured you he was fine.
“So, I applied to the CPD Academy,” he told you as the two of you ate lunch. He’d shown up at the school you worked, bearing the gifts of pizza.
“Oh, really? That’ll be good for you.” You didn’t bring up the fact that his father had wanted him to apply to the Academy after graduation, that maybe he was following Pat’s plan for him. The difference was that you knew he was choosing this on his own and wasn’t being pushed towards it.
“You think?” he asked, the light in his eyes shining bright. You missed it, missed him. You couldn’t help but reach across the desk, resting your hand on top of his. He gave you a bright smile.
“You’re gonna be a great cop, Jay,” you assured him. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the marriage,” you added.
“Yeah? What about it?” he asked as he took another bite of pizza. He’d been home for over six months now, and he didn’t seem to plan on reenlisting in the Army.
“Well, you’re not planning on reenlisting. I didn’t know if you wanted to keep it up since you’re going into the CPD or if you wanted to go ahead and get divorced.” Ultimately you were going to let the choice be up to him. You weren’t in a relationship, weren’t looking at getting married any time soon, so it didn’t phase you one way or the other.
It was odd for your taxes and employment paperwork putting married. It may have been true, but sometimes you had to catch yourself. You’d stopped wearing your ring on your finger when he got back, not seeing the need to. Though, you wore it on a chain around your neck.
“It doesn’t matter to me. I mean, our taxes are better if we stay married. Plus, the same thing goes with CPD. I’d rather you be my next of kin instead of Pat.” That was a good enough answer for you, not bringing it up again. Instead, the two of you fell into casual conversation until the bell rang, signaling that your students would be coming back.
“I’ll see you at home,” he told you, helping you clean up. You gave him a hug and kissed his cheek as a few of your students trickled in.
“I get to choose the movie tonight, Jay!” you called after him as he left, arms crossed over your chest with a smile. You could hear him laugh from just outside your room, and you couldn’t help but do the same.
“Is that your boyfriend, Ms. Y/L/N?” one of your students asked. It was one of the great parts about teaching six year olds.
“He’s my best friend,” you answered, ignoring the churning in your stomach. Boyfriend. You were sure that ship sailed a long time ago, if even existed in the first place.
——-
The day he graduated from the academy, you couldn’t have been prouder. Where he started when he got home a year ago to this point, he’d made leaps and bounds, not just strides. He’d worked his ass off for six months in the academy, a lot of late nights that you’d fall asleep on the couch and him studying.
Seeing him in his uniform was another site. It seemed like yesterday, you saw him at O’Hare in his Army uniform looking tired and defeated. Now, he looked proud, a smile on his face when his eyes met yours. You remembered wondering if that light would ever come back to his eyes, and in that moment, you saw it in full force. His cheeks were fuller, the dark circles gone from around his eyes. He looked happy and healthy.
You’d worn your ring this day, to keep up appearances. When you met up with him, he brought you in for a tight hug before someone walked over, clearing their throat.
“Sergeant,” he said, standing up tall, formal.
“Officer Halstead,” the woman said before shaking your hand. “This must be the lucky lady. I’m Sergeant Platt.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sergeant Platt,” you said with a smile. “Hopefully Jay didn’t give you too much trouble in his time in the Academy.”
“Not going to lie. He’s one of the best I’ve seen roll through in a long time. He’s going placed. But I should warn you to keep an eye on him. A lot of the girls were eyeing him.” You gave Jay an ‘oh really’ look, not helping the giggle bubbling at your lips.
“I’m not too worried, Sergeant,” you assured the woman before she gave you a smile and walked away. You looked at Jay again. “Let’s go celebrate.”
——-
You knew Jay would be getting home late, but you were surprised that he actually came in the next morning looking like complete shit. There was no doubting that something had happened on his shift that shook him.
“You wanna talk about it?” you asked him, taking his bag from him so he could take off his shoes.
“You remember Allie Corson?” he asked. It was hard to forget Allie Corson considering she was the first person Jay loved, and she’d broken his heart. You nodded, following Jay to the kitchen where he pulled out a beer. It looked like he was barely keeping it together.
“Ben.” He shut the door of the fridge, hands shaking, dropping the bottle, shattering on the floor. He was trying to keep the tears back. “Ben was murdered, Y/N.”
Your breath caught in the back of your throat. Allie was such a sweet person, and you’d hung out with her and Jay enough to know how nice of a boy Ben was. He was the one who wrapped his arms around you, face in the crook of your neck as he cried, holding the fabric of your shirt in tight fists.
You didn’t ask any questions, letting him get it all out before taking him to his room. It was a Saturday, so you had nowhere to be. When he let you go, you saw red rimmed eyes, Jay sniffling.
“Have you gotten any sleep?” you asked him, pulling his shirt up and over his head. He shook his head ‘no’ in response, and you just nodded. Your hands then worked at his belt, getting it undone before popping the button of his jeans and pushing them down to leave him in just his boxers. This was the first time you’d ever done anything like this with him, but you knew he was exhausted and upset and would fall asleep in his street clothes if you let him. It seemed instinctual as he pulled your t-shirt off, leaving you in your tank top, then pushing your jeans down.
“What-” You didn’t know what was going through his head, where his mind was even at as he tried to find the words that he wanted to say. “What did I do to have someone as amazing as you in my life?”
“You were just you, Jay,” you answered, pulling him to the bed. You laid down first, getting situated as he joined you. Your hair was fanned out across the pillow, your eyes meeting his as he laid down with you.
He moved closer, though, his arms didn’t pull you close and it looked like he wasn’t going to. Instead, he just looked at you.
“Do I have something on my face?” you asked him softly, not sure why he was looking at you like that. He shook his head, propping himself up on one elbow as the other hand came to stroke long your cheek down to your jaw. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, anticipating what he was going to do next.
You weren’t expecting a firm grip on your jaw before his lips were against yours. It took you by surprise, there was no doubt about that. He’d been your friend for your entire life, your best friend for most of it. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but it was, and you were conflicted. Had you wanted this? Yes. You’d wanted Jay as much as you wanted to breathe. But the timing wasn’t right. Ben had just died, and you felt like this was his way of pushing that grief to the side and not dealing with it. His lips were intoxicating though, moving with him.
He pressed against you, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other holding onto his bicep. There was urgency and need, nipping at his bottom lip. He pulled away from lips, trailing down to your jaw and neck. Your nails dug into his skin.
“Jay,” you said, out of breath, not sure if this should be happening. He didn’t respond though, focused on what he was doing, which was making you want him more and more. “Jay,” you said a little firmer, getting his attention. He looked at you, lips red and a little swollen, pupils blown with desire.
“You okay?” he asked softly, thumb sliding across your bottom lip. You nodded dumbly as you caught your breath.
“We shouldn’t. We can’t,” you told him, seeing confusion take over his expressions. “Just. Now is not the right time, Jay. Ben...I don’t…” He pulled back, letting you sit up. You grabbed his hand, getting his attention back on you. “I don’t want you doing this because you’re upset, okay?”
He nodded, seeming to understand. You hoped he did at least. He laid back on the bed, and you decided to go ahead and rest your head on his chest. His arm was loose around you, but still traced unrecognizable patterns on your side.
You felt his hand stop, his fingers resting on your tank top, breathing even and regular. When you glanced up, you saw that he was asleep. Sighing, you put your head back down. Maybe you were in love with him. And that idea terrified you.
——-
Neither of you spoke about that night, but there was definitely tension between the two of you now. Though, neither of you mentioned it. He’d skirt behind you in the kitchen, hand barely resting on your back. Or you’d be walking down the street, hand brushing against his. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was some pride, you weren’t sure.
He was obsessed though, with trying to pin the guy who killed Ben. He was adamant that it was a neighbor, Lonnie Rodiger. The issue was that he had no proof to back it up, just a gut instinct. After Ben, his nightmares came back. From the sounds of it, it was a mix between Afghanistan and Ben, a luck of the draw each night. You’d just wished there was more you could do for him. He’d assure you that you being there was enough for him, all he could ask for.
——-
The day he brought a girl back to the apartment after a night out, you thought your heart was going to shatter, if it hadn’t already. You’d been grading papers at the kitchen table when he stumbled in, the sound of a girl laughing piercing the silence of the apartment. You looked over, you saw a mess of blonde hair and tan skin. The air got stuck in the back of your throat, seeing her all over him.
“Y/N,” he said with a smile, his hands already sliding up the back of her shirt. “This is…” He looked over at her, chewing on his bottom lip, seeming to be drunk enough to not remember her name.
“Melissa,” she answered for him, undoing his belt.
“Yeah! This is Melissa. Melissa, this is Y/N. She’s gonna stay the night,” he added, not giving you a chance to answer before picking her up and carrying her to his room. You’d grabbed your headphones, putting on some music to drown them out.
He’d suggested you went out with him that night, but you were behind on grading. Plus, the bars and clubs weren’t really your scene. You’d done that when you’d turned twenty-one and then for the next year while he was gone. But, you knew he’d missed out on it since he was in the Army. You couldn’t help but think it would have been you in his bedroom that night if you’d agreed. Your heart was definitely broken.
———
Jay had taken the Detective’s exam, not telling you until after the fact. He’d passed, obviously, on the first try, coming home excited with a smile on his face, and telling you he’d gotten a spot in the Gang Unit. You tried to be happy, but over the past year, the two of you had really drifted apart. Your traditions had dropped off one by one, until you seemed to be nothing more than roommates.
“I’m happy for you, Jay,” you told him with a smile, not looking up from the papers. It was another year, another group of students, and even more work it seemed like.
Later that night, he’d put a cup of tea in front of you, seeing as you hadn’t moved from your spot nearly all day. You noticed he took a seat across from you, a cup of coffee in his hands for himself. He just sat there for a while longer, quiet. That was until he cleared his throat, bringing you to look up at him.
“What happened to us?” he asked softly. You didn’t know how to answer that. There were just a million things that had happened, both big and small, that factored into your current situation. “We used to be so close, Y/N. Now, we barely talk.”
“Jay,” you said, almost exasperated, running a hand over your face before your elbows were planted on the table and your head rested in your hands.
“Come on. Where did we go wrong?” he added. You leaned back in your chair, looking at him.
You could still remember the day he came back home. He looked like he was ready to give up, a sunken face. Now, freckles were dotted across pink cheeks and the bridge of his nose. All his wounds had scared over. His muscles were more defined, his shirts fitting better. His style had also improved, wearing Hensleys and flannels with v-necks. He’d really grown into himself. And it felt like he’d left you behind.
“The day you came home after Ben Corson died,” you told him, looking down, not able to look at him. “We never talked about what happened, and I don’t know...I think that’s where it started.” You could hear him sigh before taking a drink of coffee.
“Then, you just...We didn’t talk about it, Jay,” you said again, looking at him again. “And then you paraded girl after girl through here. It hurt.”
“Like you didn’t date that guy, Richard or whoever, the science teacher?” he reminded you. That was different. You’d actually dated Richard for six months, it wasn’t that you paraded a laundry list of guys each night.
“That was a serious relationship, and I had dated him for three months before bringing him around. You parade girls through here that you meet at the bar each night,” you retorted, trying to keep a calm voice. “We’re both at fault for not talking about it, letting it get to this point.” He nodded, knowing you were right.
“Yeah. I want to fix us,” he said after a minute of mutual silence.
“I just...I want more than just a friendship Jay. That night. If you hadn’t been upset, if Ben hadn’t just died, I wouldn’t have stopped you. At the same time, I don’t know if it was just because you were upset that you even kissed me,” you answered. Jay sighed, making it seem like he didn’t want that. You were worried that you had just ruined your friendship.
“I was upset that night, Y/N. But it wasn’t because I was upset that I kissed you. I mean, part of it was. I don’t want to ruin what we have though. The girls, yeah, I know I’ve been bringing a lot through, but I thought you stopped me because you didn’t want it,” he told you.
“I want to try, Jay. Do you? If we both agree to try, and it doesn’t work, we can try to go back to what we had.”
“Okay,” he agreed. That was enough for you to flash him a smile. “I’m off tomorrow, so, I’m taking out out on a date.”
You guys knew nearly everything about each other, so this seemed more like a formality. But it meant that he was trying, that he was being honest about wanting to try. It made you happy that things might get back on track with things between the two of you, and maybe even better.
——-
The next afternoon, you’d gotten home from work, exhausted. Who knew six year olds could wear you out so much? You plopped down on the couch with a groan, kicking off your shoes, and propping your feet up.
“Long day?” Jay asked, kissing the top of your head as he made his way around the couch to sit next to you.
“Parents are more of a pain in my ass than the kids are,” you answered. You weren’t expecting him to lean forward and pull your feet onto his lap, massaging each foot. It felt nice, your eyes slipping shut with a soft moan. He knew exactly what he was doing it seemed, making all the tension in your feet disappear pretty fast. “Where did you learn this?”
“The internet,” Jay answered, which got a laugh from you.
“Well, the internet has taught you well, Young Padawan. So, what did you have in mind for this date?” You opened one eye, seeing him smile and shake his head.
“I made a reservation at the best place in town,” he answered, not specifying it anymore.
“And where’s that?” You were wondering if he’d give you an answer, and it seemed like he was.
“I might have gone grocery shopping to cook. And I just want you to relax, go take a bubble bath, and get dressed. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Everything will be ready in a couple hours.” He was the best, and you knew he knew that fact.
You didn’t want to move from your spot on the couch, but he insisted, sending you on your way to take that bath and unwind. When you opened the cabinet, you saw he bought you a new bottle of bubble bath, With Jay, he always did the small things for you, things that you might not have even noticed over the years, or that you’d just chalked up to him being a good friend. This made your heart swell, though, knowing it came from a place of true caring, if not love.
You took your time, smelling whatever he was cooking. It smelled delicious, and you couldn’t wait to eat it. When the bath started to get cold was when you got out, drying off before heading to your bedroom. Jay wasn’t paying attention, focusing solely on cooking. He looked hot, sleeves pushed up, foot tapping along to whatever song was playing on the radio.
With Jay, you didn’t feel like you had to worry about what you wore. With Richard, it felt like you had to impress him. Jay’d seen you in everything from your prom dress down to your underwear, though. You knew he didn’t care, and honestly, neither did you. So, you put on jeans and one of your college t-shirts. Your hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
“Smells good,” you told him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing yourself against his back. You felt him tense up in the moment you did it, and then immediately relax again.
“Good, because it’s going to taste even better,” he assured you.
“With all these promises, it better be the best thing I’ve ever had,” you teased back, which got a laugh from him.
Eventually, you let him go, helping him finish cooking. It was pretty easy, mostly just washing the dishes as they came. It was domestic, the two of you having fallen into a routine two years ago when he moved in.
You sat at the table, Jay sitting across from you as the two of you ate. It was mostly small talk, catching each other up on your weeks, a little bit from the past year where you’d started to drift apart. It was nice, familiar. Occasionally, his foot would brush against yours, or he’d reach across the table to hold your hand. It was hard not to blush, so you did more often than not. He was sweet, but you knew that already. He was still Jay Halstead afterall.
When the two of you finished dinner, you’d moved to the couch. The hockey game was playing, but you were more focused on him than the game. He’d glance over at you occasionally with a smile, giving you quick kisses. It wasn’t until after the game was done that you knew you had his undivided attention. Not that you couldn’t have gotten it sooner if you’d wanted.
“I’m going to go to bed,” you told him, getting up.
“I had a good time,” he told you, not moving to get up.
“Who said the night was over?” He raised an eyebrow as you smirked, walking to the bedroom. You could hear him get up, following close behind. You weren’t sure how far this was going to go, but it didn’t matter as long as you were with Jay.
As soon as you got through the bedroom door, you turned around to face him, just a couple steps behind you. You could see the smile on his face as he closed the distance, a broad hand on your lower back pulling you close as the other rested on the back of your neck. He didn’t kiss you, just smiling at you, so you took the first step, crashing your lips against his. He was just as intoxicating as the first time, your lips moving together like a perfected dance.
He pressed you against the wall, one of your legs hooking around his leg. Your hands were all over him, wherever you could reach. Eventually, you opted to scratch your fingernails along his lower back. In response, he gave a soft moan, giving you more than enough opportunity to slip your tongue past his lips, which he welcomed gracefully.
Your hands pushed his shirt up, Jay pulling back just far enough to get the fabric off before he did the same to you. He leaned back in, lips against yours again as his hand spread across your ribs, thumb teasing your nipple. Shivers ran down your spine, goosebumps erupting on your skin.
Finally, you pushed against him, moving him to the bed. His knees hit the bed first, falling back and pulling you down on top of him. Your lips found his again with no hesitation before kissing along his jaw, his stubble gently scratching your face. You didn’t care, had always liked him with a beard. Down further your lips went, sucking a hickey at the junction of his shoulder and neck. When you glanced up, you saw his head fall back on the bed, eyes closed. His hands grabbed your ass, giving a firm squeeze.
You’d never thought it was possible to want someone this badly, no way there was a way to want someone more. You’d also never thought you’d be in this position with Jay, yet here you were, lips traveling lower, nipping at his exposed skin occasionally before reaching his jeans. You pulled back to undo his belt, hands fumbling out of a mix of nerves and need. When you began pulling his jeans down, you grabbed his boxers as well, wanting nothing between you. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching you with parted lips.
You took no time in getting his pants off, discarding them somewhere in the room, not sure where they landed. Then, you were at the foot of the bed, kissing his thighs. He didn’t say anything as your eyes met again before taking him in your mouth. It was salty, but not overpowering. There was no hesitation as you began bobbing your head, hand helping please him.
That first moan you got from him had to be the best thing you’d ever heard in your life. It was needy and raw, making you eager to make sure he felt good. Quickly, his hand tangled in your hair. You couldn’t help but look up at him through your eyelashes, seeing the look of pure ecstasy on his face. He looked like a mess, but he was your mess.
“Y/N,” he moaned. You could feel his abdomen tightening under your hand. “I’m...I c…” He couldn’t get a full sentence out, but you knew he was close just by how he was acting. You got him right to the edge before pulling back, hand finishing him off so that way you could see him. His head fell back, lips parted just enough that sound could escape. His cheeks were rosy, chest heaving as he moaned, his load spilling over your hand.
“Holy shit,” he managed to say as he came down from that high. You grabbed one of your shirts off the floor, cleaning him up. Yet, you knew the night was far from over as he looked at you with unadulterated lust. You squealed as he grabbed you, reversing your positions and getting you on your back. You couldn’t help but smile.
His lips were on yours again, his hands roaming the exposed skin of your chest and abdomen. One hand teased your nipple as the other undid the button on your jeans, slipping a hand down the waistband to cup your center, the heel of his hand pressing into all the right spots. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.
“Need you,” you sighed, nails digging into his biceps as he moved the heel of his hand in small circles on you.
It wasn’t enough, you needed more. You sighed as he moved his mouth further down your body, relishing in how he made you feel. Your hands slid through his hair, scratching against his scalp with closed eyes. After pulling your jeans off, he spread your legs slightly, enough to dip his head down between them. You pried your eyes open, watching him. It was pure sin, watching him between your legs. You could feel his tongue on you, unable to hold back your own moans. Your back arched off the bed, fingers digging into whatever you could reach, let it be his hair, shoulders, or the mattress itself. When you reached that peak, you couldn’t even tell him what your own name was, between the mess that was your brain, and the moans coming off your lips.
His lips were on yours again quickly, your leg hooking around his waist. “Condom,” he mumbled against your lips. Thankfully he had his head screwed on right, unlike yours.
“Top drawer,” you answered, protesting with a whine when he pulled away to grab one. You’d never noticed the way his muscles moved just under the surface, how toned he actually was. You couldn’t keep your hands off him, sliding along his arms, shoulders, side, wherever you could reach really. When he came back to you, he was smiling.
“Jay,” you said softly, cupping his cheek. Had you asked yourself six years ago when you were barely eighteen if you’d seen yourself in this spot with Jay, you would have told yourself you were crazy. Yet, here you were, happier than ever. You didn’t realize he’d slipped the condom on until he was pressing against you. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes locked as he slowly pushed in.
It was a change, and he was slow as you adjusted, hissing slightly at the intrusion. When he started rocking his hips though. You couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped your lips before you kissed him. He started off slow, small grunts and moans coming from him, but nothing loud or too out there.
That was until you were practically begging for more, “Harder. Faster,” escaping your lips like prayer. His moans and sighs were more frequent, louder, occasionally mixing with your own. You held onto him for dear life, raking your nails down the skin of his arms and back. Occasionally, he’d capture your lips with his, too much teeth, but always much needed.
If you were being honest, nobody had ever made you feel this good. Maybe it was partly because of who it was, never nervous around Jay. He just made you feel relaxed. The other part was most likely because it had been a while, and with tensions high, your nerves were ready to light up at the slightest of touch.
You could tell he was getting close by the falter of his hips, how his hand held onto your hip a little tighter. When he finally reached that point, it was a couple more thrusts of his hips and a deep moan as he buried himself in you. Your hands stroked through his hair, panting as you tried to catch your breath.
He moved off you, discarding the condom in the trash next to your nightstand before laying on his back. Your arm draped over his abdomen, head resting on his chest. The blankets were tangled around your legs, and you reached down to pull them up over you both. Neither of you said anything for a few minutes, your own heart pounding in your ears as you tried to catch your breath again. He was the first one that spoke.
“Wow,” was all he had to say, which you agreed with. Who would think that twenty three years of friendship would lead to this point. It definitely wasn’t you.
“Yeah,” you agreed, looking up at him with a smile. This was something you wouldn’t mind doing with him again. Plus, you knew you had all night.
——-
You and Jay had fallen into a nice, normal routine. The spare room was now a shared office, and you liked that it gave you more space to grade and to have a quiet place to work. He still made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. You understood what his job was, that there would be late nights and early mornings. What you weren’t expecting was an undercover operation.
“What does that mean exactly?” you asked him, looking over at him. He’d suggested you sit down when he told you this news, glad you did.
“I’m gonna be gone for a while. They’re giving me a whole new identity, backstory, everything. Just until we catch this guy,” he explained. You didn’t know if you wanted to hear more.
“When do you leave?” He took his eyes off you, hand running over his face with a sigh.
“In the morning.” You nodded, knowing neither of you had a choice in this. Instead, you just reached over, taking his hand in yours.
“And they’ll call me?” You had to ask. It was the last thing you wanted to happen, but the first thing on your mind. He just nodded, which made you sigh. This was why you guys were still married even though your romantic relationship had just barely begun.
“How long?” you followed up. You had so many questions, yet, you were unsure how much you wanted to actually know.
“I don’t know. A few days, maybe a few weeks? I’ve heard of people going undercover for months or years at a time,” he answered. Months to years… You didn’t think you’d be able to deal with him being gone for months or years. Considering you’d gone four years without seeing him, and those were some difficult times.
“I need you to promise me something,” you finally said after a couple minutes of silence between the two of you. You looked at him with intent, not going to take no for an answer.
“Anything.” You moved closer to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you close against his side.
“You’re going to come home. Safe. I swear, there’s a single scratch on you when you walk through that door,” you warned, your voice unwavering. He couldn’t help but smile at you.
“I promise.”
-----
You knew you wouldn’t hear from him while he was undercover, and if by chance you saw him, you weren’t to say anything or even acknowledge him in any way, shape, or form. The rules existed to protect him. You weren’t expecting to see him, though. He knew your routine, your usual spots, and would avoid them to keep you both safe.
Your phone rang in the middle of class a month and a half in, your students ‘oooh’-ing with interest. You felt your stomach drop, heart pounding as you stepped into the hall to answer the call.
“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said. “Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Sergeant Thomas with the CPD. I’m calling to inform you that your husband, Detective Jay Halstead, is currently being treated at Chicago Med for injuries he sustained while undercover,” he told you. If it hadn’t been for the fact you were so in shock, you would have dropped the phone.
You hung up, knocking on the classroom door next to yours. Julia answered with a smile, hushing her students in the background.
“I have a family emergency. Can you watch the kids while I go down to the office?” Of course she agreed, the two of you having gotten along great since you started working there.
As soon as you were able to, you were on your way to Med, mind racing as to everything that could have happened to him. You’d made him promise he’d come home, without a single scratch. Now, he was at Med.
You ran from your car to the ED waiting room, Jay’s name falling off your lips before you even stopped at the desk. An officer came out, ushering you back. You had a million questions, yet you didn’t know what to ask the woman. You just hoped Jay had all the answers. The officer left you at the door to the ED room. You had to take a deep breath before you brought yourself to walk in.
You were expecting a few bruises, for him to greet you with a smile and an assurance that he was okay. You weren’t expecting for his leg to be in a cast and propped up on a pillow. A bandage covered his neck right above his collarbone, bruising just above that. His arm was in a sling, secured tightly to his chest. An IV was running medicines and fluids that you didn’t know what they were for in through his good arm. Even then, that “good arm” looked horribly bruised. You didn’t want to imagine what it looked like under the gown, his breaths shallow and seeming to be strained. Plus, his face was a mix of black, purple, and blue, barely able to see a patch of pale skin.
You didn’t say anything, tears stinging your eyes as you sat down next to him in the chair provided. He seemed to be asleep, or unconscious. You weren’t sure what the difference was.
“Mrs. Halstead?” a man asked as he stepped into the room. “I’m your husband’s doctor, Dr Lanik.”
“Yes,” you answered, shaking his hand, but not standing up. “What-?” He handed you a box of tissues as tears dripped down your face.
“Your husband was brought in after being severely beaten. He’s suffered a broken tibia and fibula which are the bones of the lower leg. His shoulder was dislocated, a broken wrist on the same side. A couple of broken ribs. He has a severe concussion, luckily. With the amount of trauma to his head, we were expecting a brain bleed. He had a deep cut to the base of his throat that required fifteen stitches. He has some minor internal bleeding we expect to resolve on its own. We have him on pain meds. I want to keep him over night, at a minimum to keep an eye on any possible brain swelling as well as the bleeding,” Dr Lanik explained to you. As the list of his injuries grew longer, the more upset you got.
“He served overseas,” you told Lanik, holding Jay’s good hand, not taking your eyes off his bruised and battered face. “I didn’t see him for four years after we got married, and I was just waiting for that knock on the door. Each day, I prayed I wouldn’t, that God would bring him home safe. He came home different, but he came home. And then he joined the CPD, and I thought I wouldn’t have to worry as much. I mean, how dangerous is Chicago compared to Afghanistan?” You let out a dry laugh, not sure why you let yourself get comfortable with the idea. “I was nervous, obviously, but not as scared as I was when he called to tell me he was being shipped out. I made him promise me he’d come home safe.”
The doctor sat down in the chair across from you, setting his paperwork down. “How long have you two been married?” he asked. It seemed like he was trying to make you feel better.
“God, since we were eighteen. Six years this June. We weren’t even in love when we got married,” you admitted to the doctor. “He’d been my best friend my entire life, and he wanted to make sure someone he trusted would be the one to find out if he died. I mean, six years ago, tensions were high. We graduated in 2002, and the Army was accepting anybody and everybody to go fight in the war. When he came back, it was hard on both of us, but we got through it. Eventually, we started to fall in love, but it took us a long time.”
“Well, it sounds like he has an amazing person next to him, to agree to do that for him. He’s going to need you even more now as he gets better,” he reminded you.
“Was he out when he came in, or…”
“We had to sedate him. He was very agitated, really didn’t know what was going on,” he answered, looking confused as to why you asked.
“He has PTSD from when he was deployed. He doesn’t...he never told me what happened over there, not in detail. When he came home, it was bad for a long time. He fell into a hole that I didn’t know if we were going to ever be able to get him out of. I just. I don’t want this to be a setback for him,” you explained, Lanik nodding in understanding.
“If you want, I can have one of our psychiatrists come in when he wakes up, just to get a feel of things?” You agreed with a nod, Lanik standing up and putting his hand on your shoulder again. “He’s probably going to be out for a while. Do you want a cup of coffee or something?”
“Coffee sounds great,” you agreed before he left the room, a promise of a hot cup of coffee before the door shut. You squeezed Jay’s hand gently. “Dammit, Jay,” you mumbled, a hand running over your face. This was not how this was supposed to go, not by a long shot.
-----
You heard him groan, the eye that wasn’t completely swollen shut fluttering open as much as it possibly could considering the amount of damage done. Your head shot up from the bed, looking at him and squeezing his hand again.
“Jay,” you said softly, his head lolling to the side to look at you. He gave you a small, tired smile, looking barely awake. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Hey,” he managed to say, sounding like he had a mouth full of cotton. With how swollen his cheeks were, it looked like it too.
“You scared me,” you admitted, bringing his hand up, kissing his knuckles. “When I got the call, I didn’t know what to expect. All they told me was that you were at Med being treated for injuries sustained undercover. I thought I made you promise to come home without a scratch.”
“I’m sorry,” he told you, his fingers tightening on your hand. “I was doing good too, until today.”
“What happened?” you asked, needing to know. He just sighed, like he did when you asked about Afghanistan early on. You knew he didn’t want to talk about it, but you weren’t taking no for an answer. Not this time. “Talk to me, Jay. Don’t shut me out this time.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but you knew that’s how he took it.
“I didn’t shut you out, Y/N,” he told you.
“Jay, that’s not what I meant.” The damage was done, but he just sighed, looking up at the ceiling.
“It was going good. They had just started to trust me. I went by Ryan, that was until a familiar face showed up. You remember Mouse, right?” he asked. Of course you remembered Mouse. He was the one that got Jay out of the pit. “Well, apparently, Mouse has hit rock bottom. And hard. He’s not doing good. But he recognized me, didn’t realize I was a cop, or undercover. Completely blew my cover. He’s the one that managed to call an ambulance and get my sorry ass here, but he bounced.”
“When did you last talk to him?” you asked, curious. You weren’t going to ask him about the attack itself, the aftermath more than able to fill in the blanks in your imagination. Not that you wanted to imagine Jay getting beaten to a pulp.
“Right after I graduated from the academy. I didn’t realize it was bad for him. He helped me, was there for me, and I didn’t do the same for him,” he answered, cheeks wet from tears that managed to slip out.
“Jay, look at me,” you said softly. He didn’t though, kept looking at the ceiling. “Look at me,” you said again, a little more forceful, but it was enough for him to listen. “What Mouse is doing, what he’s gotten himself into, it isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. What you can do. Are you listening?” He nodded his head. “What you can do is get yourself back in his life and help him. You can still be there for him, it’s not too late.”
“What if it is?” he asked you. “What if everything we went through over there was for nothing?” He wasn’t talking about his undercover assignment now, no. He was talking about Afghanistan. “We pulled each other through those trenches, dragging each other at points, for what?”
“Baby, it was for something. You fought for this country, bravely I might add, because it was the right thing to do. We were seventeen when 9/11 happened, we watched it happen, and then you went and did what so many others were terrified to do. Both you and Mouse. And I owe him everything for bringing you back home, and then helping you out of that Hell that was in your mind. It’s never too late to help him, okay? I’ll be there too,” you assured him. He nodded again, and you hoped he believed you.
-----
Unfortunately, you were unable to take Jay to the apartment when he was discharged. Your building was old, six steps up to the front door. Since Jay had both a broken wrist and a broken leg, he couldn’t use crutches, having to use a wheelchair for the time being. Which meant that you couldn’t get him up the stairs, especially by yourself. That was how the two of you found yourselves staying with your parents until one of the breaks was fully healed. The doctors were saying he’d be lucky if his wrist was fully healed in eight weeks.
“I don’t know how to thank you guys,” Jay told your parents as you helped them get the spare room together.
“Anything for our girl, and you too, of course, Jay,” your mother assured him with a smile, gently grabbing his face and kissing his cheek. “And we’re so glad to see you back. I wish you’d visited sooner.”
“So do I, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he replied, which got him a small smack on his good arm.
“How many times do I have to tell you, call me Y/M/N.” He chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Especially since you and my daughter are still married after...How long has it been honey?” she asked your dad.
“Six years?” he said, getting a nod from you. “Even though, you said it probably wouldn’t last longer than four.”
“Well, I mean with Jay and I being an actual couple now, and with how crazy our schedules are, and with his job, we haven’t found a reason to get divorced,” you reminded them, helping Jay up and out of the wheelchair, pivoting to the couch. You got a pillow under his leg despite his protests that he was fine. “You got beaten to a pulp, so you have to deal with me doting on you. And when I’m at work, my mom will make sure to do the same.”
“I already promised Y/N/N that I would. Plus, you’re looking kind of skinny Jay. Is my daughter not feeding you enough,” Y/M/N told him, Jay pleading with you with his eyes. You put your hands up defensively, knowing it was out of your hands.
It was a long eight weeks, but as soon as he was clear to use crutches, he was booking it out the door to go home. The swelling of his face had gotten better, most of the bruising gone, and whatever was left had turned an ugly yellow. You knew he was just happy to be in his own bed again, with you by his side, with no parents around. It was limited what you could do because of his legs and the stitches still in his neck, but you made it work. That first night home was the first time he told you he loved you, and there was no doubt in your mind that he meant it.
-----
Over the years, you’d made sure to tell him you loved him every morning before one of you left for work, and to tell him every night before bed, even if it was a text or a phone call because he was pulling a late night. A lot had changed over the next five years, yet, a lot was the same. You were still happily teaching six year olds. Jay was still happily putting his neck out there to keep the people of Chicago safe. You still worried. He still had bad nights.
You’d moved though, having decided a new apartment with a new start would be good for the both of you. Sure, the old apartment had it’s good memories, but it also had some of the really bad ones. Plus, it was closer to your parents in Canaryville. Sure, the commute was a little rougher, but it was worth it. Sometimes your parents would ask when the two of you planned on having children, not worried about living in sin -- still being devout Catholics -- since you two were still technically married. You’d always just brush them off with a laugh, knowing you weren’t ready for that. You never asked Jay if he was though.
It had become normal, about once a year, for Jay to go undercover. The first time after the incident, it had been tough on you. It had only lasted a couple of weeks, but you were sure you were going to get another phone call, but that he’d been dead. When he came home, without a scratch on him, you were relieved, letting him hold you all night.
So, when he went undercover this time, you were less worried. Yes, you still worried, and that would never stop. But he was smart, had picked up many tips and tricks over five years. He usually kept you in the dark when it came to what the case was, but this time was different. You weren’t sure why, but he told you all about it. Maybe it was just another milestone in your relationship, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter though, as long as he was safe.
It had been five years since you’d gotten that phone call that he’d been taken to Med. So, when your phone rang at three o’clock in the morning, you were worried. A little less so when you saw that it was Jay calling you.
“Hey, baby,” you said groggily, just wanting to go back to bed. You could hear chatter in the background. “You on your way home?”
“Not quite,” he answered, which got your attention. “They’re sending me to Med to get checked out.”
“Why?” you asked, enough of a shock to your system to wake you up, instinctively starting to get dressed.
“I got shot.” Your blood ran cold.
“You couldn’t think to lead with that, Jay!” you told him, worried and frustrated. He’d gotten shot, and acted like he was just reading you the weather. “I’m on my way to Med, and don’t you dare try to talk me out of it Jay Halstead.”
“Okay,” he agreed before you hung up. The drive down to Med, you were mumbling to yourself the entire time. You weren’t sure what you were going to say to him, or if you were just going to slap some sense into him since it seemed like he had none.
“I’m here for Detective Jay Halstead,” you told the ED desk, getting led back to his room, getting an odd sense of deja vu. This time you were less panicked at least.
Your jaw clenched as you walked in the room, arms crossed over your chest. His shirt was off, a bandage patched on the front and back of his shoulder and his arm in a sling. You could still make out the blood stains on his skin from where he bled.
“You got shot.” It wasn’t a question, a firm statement. He sighed, head falling back on the bed before lifting it up to look at you again. The more you looked at him, the more you noticed, like some bruising on his stomach and a busted lip. Nowhere near as bad as the first time, except for the fact that he’d gotten shot.
“I wasn’t trying to get shot,” he reminded you as you sat down. “I was just protecting a civilian.”
“I know how dangerous your job can be, knew it was always a possibility. But you’ve been a cop for what? Seven years? Not to mention, serving in Afghanistan. And this was the first time you got shot,” you reminded him as he reached out his good hand to caress your cheek. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch.
“I’d say that’s a pretty good track record,” he joked, getting you to smile. “You know how I keep talking about the Intelligence Unit I want to get into?” You nodded, brows furrowing, not sure where this was leading. “Well, one of the owners of the bar, her brother, Antonio Dawson, just switched to the unit. They’re looking for another Detective, and he’s putting in a good word for me.”
“It’s because you got shot, isn’t it?” you asked with a smile, getting a nod and a laugh back. “Well, despite how mad I am at you, I’m happy for you, baby. You’re gonna do great. After you’re done with your medical leave, because you’re taking time off. For my own sanity.” He knew there wasn’t any arguing with you.
-----
You brought him home a few hours later after the scans came back clear that it was a through-and-through. You were relieved, but still so upset about the situation. Neither of you said anything on the drive home, the radio wasn’t even turned on for once. There’d only been one other time in your life that you could remember a car ride being so quiet, and that was the day you drove him to O’Hare all those years ago.
You followed him inside, tossing your jacket on the couch. With a sigh, he turned around to look at you. Eyes scanned his face, seeing how different he looked. You could still remember being kids, chasing after each other in the school yard. Now, he was a man. Your hand came up, resting on his cheek as he leaned into your touch.
“I’m sorry,” he told you softly, eyes not moving off yours. You could get lost in the ocean that was his eyes.
“No. No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” you assured him. “I overreacted a little.” You knew you had every right to be upset, but you’d directed your anger at him, as if he was the one that pulled the trigger on himself.
“Can we just go to bed?” he asked softly. His day had probably taken a lot out of him, was probably exhausted. You nodded, taking his hand and leading him back to the bedroom. What you weren’t expecting was his lips on yours, soft and slow. He was in no rush. It caught you by surprise before you relaxed into it.
You were the first one to pull away, helping him out of the scrub shirt the hospital had given him, trying to be as gentle as possible. He still hissed when you tried to maneuver the bad arm, whispering apologies. Once his shirt was off, your hands were gentle, ghosting around the bandaging. You could feel how hot the skin still was, didn’t even want to imagine what it looked like underneath the bandage. He stood there, looking at you as you touched him, not saying anything.
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” you told him softly before pulling your own shirt off. His eyes broke away from yours, trailing down your now exposed skin. It didn’t take long before your lips were against his again, moving slowly, softly. There was no rush. In fact, you wanted to take your time because you could have lost him that night. You had a basic understanding of anatomy. If the bullet had hit just a couple inches further to the right, you might be planning a funeral.
You made sure to avoid grabbing onto his bad shoulder, not wanting to hurt him anymore than he already was. Your right hand, instead, rested on the back of his neck, your left on his good shoulder. His free arm looped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. As much as you wanted this, wanted him...you pushed it out of your mind. He wouldn’t talk about it, and you knew it.
The next time you pulled away was to get his pants off, making quick work of his jeans. Unfortunately, do to being down one hand, he was limited on his movement. So, as soon as his pants were off, you slid your own down. You didn’t notice he’d pushed his boxers down with his good hand, a small smile on your face as he stood there in all his glory.
“On the bed, Halstead,” you told him, Jay quickly following directions. As he got himself situated and comfortable, his back against the headboard, you grabbed a condom out of the top drawer. You grabbed an extra pillow. “Lean forward,” you told him, sliding it behind his back. It was the small things sometimes, plus, you knew the headboard would be uncomfortable against his shoulder.
There wasn’t any foreplay aside from heated kisses before you ripped open the condom and slid it down his length, getting a soft moan from him. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, though. Especially as you positioned yourself above him before sliding down slowly. You took your time with him. The sounds you got from him sending heat low, adding to your arousal. You gave yourself leverage using the headboard rather than his shoulders, lips rarely coming off his.
When your lips did come off his, you whispered assurances and praise and love. And when you both fell over the edge, it wasn’t like the first time. The first time all those years ago, it was unadulterated need and desire. This was love and adoration and fear seeped through that you almost lost him. You could have easily lost him.
“I love you,” you told him softly, fingers combing through his hair, forehead pressed against his. “I love you so much.” You just sat on his lap, neither of you moving away from each other. His hand traced along your side, goosebumps rising on your skin.
“I love you too,” he told you. It took awhile for you to move off him, but when you did, it was to only lay down next to him. The two of you held each other, your head on his chest as fingers played with your hair.
“Jay,” you said softly, not looking at him. He hummed in response. “I-” You didn’t know how to ask. “Why don’t you ever talk about what happened over there?”
“It’s been eight years since I got back?” he asked, as if his math would be wrong, though it wasn’t. “Some days, it feels like a lifetime ago. Other days…” You knew what the other days were. Anniversaries of some sort, though he’d never given you further explanation for any of them. Some of them, he locked himself away both physically and mentally. Others...It was hard to explain. All of them affected him one way or another though. “Telling you would make it more real, and I’m scared of how you’ll see me if I told you what I did over there.”
You knew that was absurd, but to him, that was his reality. It took a minute to figure out how to tell him that.
“I’d never push you to tell me, and maybe you never will. I’m okay with that. But if you ever do, no matter how big or small, I’m still going to love you. You’re still gonna be Jay, okay?” you said, turning your head to look up at him. He nodded, a small smile as he kissed you again.
-----
It had been a long time since Jay had a nightmare bad enough to wake you up, not since Ben Corson. Even then, he still had nightmares. You were able to tell when he held you a little tighter at night, or you’d wake up with him gone long before reasonable hours. That was until that night. You heard him whimpering, skin slick with sweat that wasn’t from previous activities. Usually, he didn’t move in his sleep, but you could feel his legs weakly moving against yours. It was enough to wake you up.
“Jay,” you said softly. When you pulled back, you saw his brow furrowed, a look of pain on his face. “Jay, baby.”
You had propped yourself up on your elbow, cautious when you put your hand on his good shoulder, gently shaking him. His eyes shot open, pushing himself away from you quickly, fear in his eyes.
“It’s just me,” you assured him, staying where you were at. You didn’t move towards him, but you also didn’t move away. You had no reason to be scared of him. “It’s just me.”
“Y/N,” he mumbled, his face pale. He moved back towards you, and you accepted him with open arms. There had been plenty of times before, knowing how to handle his nightmares. Usually, he’d just brush it off and tell you he was fine. But there were times, like this one, where he didn’t say anything for a while, just listening to your heartbeat and hearing you breathe for a while.
“I did get shot once before,” he finally said, not sure how long it had been. “In Afghanistan.” You never noticed a scar, confused. “We were taking heavy fire. Mouse was there. Bullet hit me in the side. I thought I was done for, but he saved me. It healed pretty well considering, but it still happened. I still know it happened. I tried to...to not put myself back there today. I wouldn’t have called you, would have just come home and told you about it. But I needed you. You are my rock.” It took him a while to get through the story, giving you more detail of how he begged to not be shipped home, that he’d be fine. Your comment at the hospital weighing on your mind, about how this was the first time he’d got shot in all these years. He’d smiled, laughed, agreed with you. And this was just under the surface.
“Where?” you asked, wanting to know how you overlooked something like that. He sighed, sitting up. It was on his right side, your fingers tracing down from his shoulder blade to the spot you’d managed to overlook for the eight years he’d been home. It was barely raised, white camouflaging on already pale skin. One mark. One simple mark.
You wondered if the wound on his shoulder would look the same way, barely noticeable. Or would it be more raised, scaring pink rather than white. You both laid back down, duvet over the top of you. And you wondered if it would ever be completely alright.
-----
The three weeks he'd taken off were spent relaxing for the most part. A lot of date nights, and lunches in your classroom. It was nice, normal. Familiar. When he was cleared to work again, he was so excited, and you couldn't help but be excited for him.
You'd decided to surprise him at work a month after his transfer. It was enough time for him to settle in. You weren't expecting to see Sergeant Platt at the desk at the district.
"Y/N," she said with a rare smile. "What brings you down here?"
"Here to see Jay, Sergeant," you answered with a bag of food in your hand.
"Trudy, please," she corrected. An officer close by looked confused, so you assumed many people didn't get to call her by her first name. "So, you're still putting up with Officer Chuckles, huh?"
"It's Detective Chuckles now." She smiled as she rolled her eyes.
"I'll buzz you up. Up the stairs, to the right past the gate. I'm glad he's still got you. He's a good kid." You weren't going to disagree with that, following the simple directions.
You were expecting more bustle, not six people seeming to be doing nothing at their desks. Nobody noticed you at first, letting yourself lean against the wall leading into the bullpen. That was, until somebody piped up that they smelled food.
"That would be me," you said, smiling as Jay looked up.
"Y/N! How long have you been standing there?" he asked, getting up with a bright smile and walking over.
"For a cop, you're so unobservant sometimes, babe." You couldn't help but joke with him. "Parent-teacher conferences finished up early today, so I thought I'd surprise you. I brought enough for everyone." Not gonna lie, you were wanting to make a good impression on the team.
"Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. And these are the guys...and Erin." They all chimed in greetings as you sat the food bags down, making sure to set aside yours and Jay's before it became a free-for-all.
"Girlfriend, huh?" A younger guy asked. "I'm Adam." You shook his hand.
"Yup. We've been together what? Six years?" you asked Jay. It was hard to keep track sometimes.
"Seven," he corrected, getting a nod from you before he kissed you. "Thanks for lunch."
"Any time," you assured him. You grabbed your food and he brought an extra chair up to his desk. "You didn't tell me Trudy was the desk Sergeant."
"Trudy?" he asked, though he knew who you were talking about. "I didn't think to mention it. I didn't even think she'd recognize you since you haven't seen her since my academy graduation."
"Well she did. Is she the only one who knows about…" He cut you off with a nod.
"I mean, my paperwork says it, but nobody ever looks at that unless they have to." You knew that was true, so you weren't worried.
You tuned out the rest of the team, focusing on Jay. The two of you talked about an upcoming weekend trip to his cabin in Wisconsin. You'd always been invited as a kid, but your parents were never comfortable with it.
"Hey, Jay," Erin said as she came to stand beside him, hand on his shoulder. You couldn't help but feel jealous, especially considering he didn't pull away from it. Instead looking up at her. "We got a tip we need to go check out."
He nodded, looking at you with some sadness and a lot of apology. "Go," you said with a forced smile. "I'll see you later." He gave you a kiss, grabbing the rest of his food to go.
"Y/N," you heard someone say as soon as Jay left, voice gruff. You turned to see a man standing in the doorway of an office. "Can I speak to you for a moment?" Adam gave you a funny look, but you weren't sure what it was for.
"Of course." You stood up, walking into his office. He shut the door behind you before motioning for you to take a seat.
"I'm Sergeant Voight. Look, it's none of my business, but I can't have Jay distracted okay?" he told you, which confused you.
"Jay had mentioned others significant others bringing lunch, I didn't mean to distract anybody," you answered, thinking that maybe you'd overstepped a boundary.
"It's usually someone's husband or wife, not their girlfriend. Not to mention, I don't need you showing up here, and then Jay's wife coming around." Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Again, what he does on his off time isn't my business. But what happens here is."
"Look, Sergeant. You've got this wrong." He didn't let you explain as he walked to the door to open it, so you just blurted it out. "I am his wife, Sergeant." That got him to stop, turning to look at you again.
You sighed, not sure if Jay would be okay with you having this conversation. But here you were.
"Care to explain?" He asked.
"Jay and I have been best friends our entire life. We got married at eighteen right before he left for the Army, and then we just never got a divorce. It was for legality, seeing as he doesn't get along with his family very well and he trusted me," you explained. "So, you don't have to worry about a jealous wife coming around and running into a girlfriend. Since our marriage was out of convenience, we don't see ourselves as married off of paper. And I know Jay would appreciate if this didn't get around." Voight nodded, trying to comprehend what you just told him.
"Does anybody outside of your families know?" he asked.
"Trudy Platt met me at Jay's Academy graduation. She knows we're married, but she's never known that it was purely for being on paper. She's just thought we've always been together. But that's it. You and her," you answered.
"Okay." He nodded again. "I apologize if I offended you in any way."
"No need, Sergeant. I need to head out anyway," you told him, standing up. He shook your hand before walking out with you.
-----
"I had an interesting conversation with Voight after you left today,” you told Jay as the two of you walked home from a local pub you’d had dinner at, walking hand in hand. He looked over at you with obvious confusion.
“What did he say?” he asked.
“He told me that he didn’t need you to be distracted. Or risk a jealous wife showing up and seeing his girlfriend there,” you answered with a laugh, which caused him to look like he was about to go into a full blown panic. “Jay, I explained it to him. He knows minimal details, but enough. He’s not going to say anything,” you assured him, his face relaxing. “You shouldn’t worry too much. Might start getting wrinkles.” He gently bumped into you with a smile.
“Have you thought about what it would be like if we were actually married?” he asked softly as you turned the corner, seeing the apartment at the end of the block.
“We’re actually married, Jay,” you reminded him. “Or do I need to pull out the marriage certificate to remind you?”
“I meant...Have you ever thought about getting married again? With an actual ceremony. Because you love me?” he elaborated.
You sighed. Of course you’d thought about it, all the time. You’d been together for seven years. Honestly, the only thing the two of you didn’t really do was introduce each other as a spouse, and you didn’t wear your wedding rings unless you had to for appearances. That rarely happened though.
“I don’t need a ceremony, Jay,” you answered. “But have I thought about what it would be like for it to not be for appearances or paper? Of course. Being with you is all I could ask for though, and you’ve been giving me that for the last seven years. Though, my parents would probably love the idea. I don’t need it. Unless you want to.” He just shrugged, and you knew the conversation was being put on the backburner.
“Before I forget to mention it, Will is coming back to town to visit in a couple months. I told him he could crash with us,” Jay told you. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You hadn’t heard from Will since graduation. He hadn’t reached out after Jajy joined the Army, or when he was deployed, or when he got back.
“Okay,” you agreed, against your better judgement. You weren’t sure if this was a good idea, didn’t want Will to drag Jay back into Pat’s life. But, Jay would make his own decisions, and it was your job to be his support system. Whether they be good decisions or not.
-----
The first thing that tipped you off that something was off was the fact Jay’s car was parked outside when you got home. He had told you that he was expecting it to be a normal day, so you weren’t expecting him home until dinner. The second thing that tipped you off was the smell of liquor wafting through the apartment. The third was Jay sitting on the couch, photos spread across the coffee table. A quick glance showed you they were pictures of Lonnie Rodiger.
“What’s going on?” you asked him, getting a grumbled response. “Use your words.” He glared at you with cold eyes, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. You didn’t sit next to him, opted to stay standing. “Talk to me, Jay.”
“Lonnie Rodiger is dead,” he told you. It was a conflict of emotions, considering you believed Jay when he said Lonnie killed Ben Corson. Sure, the man was a monster and deserved punishment, but you felt bad that you were glad he was dead.
“And that’s not a good thing?” You didn’t understand what had Jay on edge, why he wasn’t happy that Ben’s murderer couldn’t hurt anyone else.
“They think I killed him, Y/N.” Your blood ran cold, not sure how to react. The fact he wasn’t sitting in a jail cell seemed like a good sign. It meant that they didn’t have enough evidence to charge him.
You knew Ben’s birthday had just passed. He would have been fifteen. Something in Jay had snapped, and he’d become obsessed with figuring out a way to put Lonnie behind bars. You hadn’t said anything about it, figured he’d work it out of his system.
“Did you?” you asked. You couldn’t help it, plus you weren’t going to judge if he did.
“You too?” he asked defensively.
“I have to ask, Jay. Especially considering you have a restraining order from the Rodiger family. I’ve stood by your side this entire time, not doubting you for one second that Lonnie killed Ben. But it’s suspicious. Yet, I’d believe you if you said you didn’t kill him. Because I trust you,” you reminded him. He leaned back, with a sigh, signalling you to sit next to him.
“I didn’t kill him,” he told you as he looked over.
“Okay. Then find out who did. Badge or no badge, you’re the one who can figure this out.” He kissed your temple before going back to the pictures and the police reports. You sat up with him all night, going into work the next day, hoping you didn’t get a collect call from Cook County Jail that they’d found a way to pin it on him.
When you came home, no pictures or police reports were scattered on any surfaces. Jay was fast asleep on the couch, looking like he hadn’t slept in a year. You figured it was a good sign, covering him with the quilt on the back of the couch and kissing his head. He didn’t stir, but looked peaceful.
-------
“Will!” you announced excitedly, hugging him tightly as soon as he stepped foot in the door. As much as you didn’t like the idea of him staying with you guys, you couldn’t help but be excited. You hadn’t seen him in years.
“What am I? Chopped liver?” Jay asked with a smirk, earning him a light smack on the chest.
“So, what brings you back to Chicago, Will?” you asked him, needing to know, your curiosity killing you. “Thought you were some fancy plastic surgeon in New York.” The three of you sat around the table. Since Will’s flight had gotten in late, you’d made dinner so it would be waiting when they got home.
“A job offer, actually. Chicago Med was looking for ED docs, and I actually missed my baby brother.” You could understand that. “So, no worries. I’ll be looking for my own place soon.”
“Did you tell him, Jay?” you asked, getting a glare in response. “He’s gonna find out soon enough.”
“Tell me what?” Will looked between the two of you. You’d made Jay promise he’d tell his brother about the marriage, and about their relationship, but it seemed like he hadn’t yet.
“Y/N and I have been dating for seven years,” he told Will, who just laughed. You looked at him, confused by his reaction.
“You’re joking, right?” Will asked, looking between the two of you. His smile dropped though when neither of you were laughing. “You’re not joking. Why didn’t you tell me sooner, like, I don’t know… Seven years ago!”
“Well, Will. There’s more,” you added before he started going off the deep end prematurely. He looked between the two of you again, confusion and surprise obvious.
“We’ve been married for thirteen years,” Jay added. Will looked like he was doing some mental math in his head.
“You two are definitely fucking with me,” he said as he came to the conclusion. It would make sense. He hadn’t seen his brother since his high school graduation, so it would make sense Jay would try to prank him. You were prepared though, sliding a piece of paper across the table to Will before he said anything else. As he read, his brow furrowed, hand raking through his hair.
“You got married thirteen years ago,” he said, flabbergasted. “And you didn’t tell me. Why did you even-?” It was obvious that Will had a lot of questions.
“Jay didn’t want Pat listed as his next of kin when he joined the Army, and with you in New York away at college, it seemed like the best thing to do,” you told him, knowing Jay didn’t know what to say by the look on his face. Of course he didn’t want to explain it to his big brother, and that was probably why he waited until dinner to have you help break the news. “Then, it was the same with the CPD. And I’m happy I agreed, because Jay is the best thing in my life. He always has been, for our entire lives.”
“I don’t...I don’t know what to say,” Will said, handing you the marriage certificate back before putting his napkin on the table. “Dinner was good. I’m gonna.” He stood up. “I’m gonna stay at a hotel.”
“Will, come on,” Jay told him, standing up a split second after Will. “You don’t have to go.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” he said, grabbing his bag.
You wondered if he’d end up at Pat’s, since he didn’t live too far away. Or maybe, he was actually going to get a hotel. You weren’t sure, but whatever he did, you didn’t care. All you cared about was the broken heart look on Jay’s face. He didn’t say anything as the door shut behind Will, just gathering the plates in silence. His hands shook, jaw clenched.
“He’ll come around,” you assured him, but he shook his head.
“I’m not so sure.” His voice shook, putting the plates in the sink. He didn’t scrape them or wash them, holding onto the edge of the sink, looking defeated. Your arms wrapped around his middle, head resting on his back. You didn’t say anything, knowing there was nothing you could say that would make him feel better about any of it.
“I’m sorry,” was the only thing you could manage to say. You felt bad for pushing him to tell Will, but you didn’t want to keep it from his brother. Plus, questions would get raised when he saw you and Jay sharing a room. Plus, you didn’t want to try and pretend you weren’t together for however long Will would be staying with you.
“It’s okay,” he assured you, holding one of your hands. “I’ll call him in the morning. Can we just go to bed?” You nodded, walking to the bedroom with him. You just really wished the brothers would work this out.
------
“I invited Mouse to stay with us for a while,” Jay told you, Mouse standing next to him. It wasn’t like you’d say no, but a bit more of a heads up would be good. “I’m taking some time off to stay with him while he cleans up.”
“Okay,” you agreed. “It’s nice to see you again, Mouse.” It had been nine years since you’d seen him, and it had taken its toll. His cheekbones were sunken in, dark circles around his eyes. When you’d first met him, he’d been hyper, but Jay had told you that was normal for Mouse. This type of hyper, you knew, was because of drugs. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate, okay?” Mouse just nodded.
You helped Jay get the spare room set up, not saying anything. When it was ready for him, you reached out, squeezing Jay’s hand with a smile.
“He’s gonna get better, especially with you here to help him,” you told him.
The first week was the hardest, Jay practically barricading Mouse in the house to keep him from leaving. You were surprised he didn’t just cuff him, but then you knew Mouse could make the argument of unlawful detainment.There was a lot of crying, a lot of late nights. You didn’t hear most of their conversations, knowing they talked about the war a lot. It was the reason they were in this mess to begin with, both struggling in one way, shape, or form with PTSD. You knew all you could do was be there for them, both of them.
The first time Mouse wanted to talk to you and not to Jay was hard on them both. He wanted to talk about some of the things he’d done since they’d been back, things he was ashamed of and didn’t want Jay to know. “Not yet at least”, was what he said. And you listened, Telling him that it didn’t make him a bad person, agreeing that the VA had failed him. That was when he told you a story you didn’t think you could have prepared yourself to hear.
“We were in the convoy, going from one to place to another, patrolling mostly. Jay and I were in the second Humvee. We were talking about going home since our tour was about to end. We barely recognized the explosion in front of us,” Mouse told you as he leaned against the dresser, you sitting across from him with your back against the bed. It was a safe spot for him, being low. You never questioned it. “The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the sand, the Humvee flipped. My first thought was to find Jay. He was bruised, but said he was okay, so I believed him. I shattered my arm in three different spots. We were taking heavy fire, couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I thought we were going to die that day, Y/N.”
Jay had never told you this story, didn’t know if it was something he ever wanted you to know. But because Mouse wanted to talk about it, you listened.
“I was sent to Germany, and then home, an honorable medical discharge they told me. It didn’t feel honorable though, felt like I had failed Jay. For the next year, I didn’t know if he’d survived, until he reached out to me when he got back. Seeing him like that. I failed him in so many ways.” Mouse seemed to cry in front of you more often than Jay did, tears on his cheeks again.
“You didn’t fail him at all, Greg,” you said, using his real name to get his attention. “You kept him safe. Hell, you saved his life both over there, and back here. That’s honorable to me.”
“Thank you, Y/N. For everything.” That was his tell that he wanted to be alone, so you stood up with a smile, shutting the door behind you.
You found Jay in bed, reading a book. It was a nice sight, sighing as you laid down after the long day you’d had, your head on his shoulder as you read over his shoulder.
“Mouse told me about the Humvee accident that got him discharged,” you said, getting Jay’s attention pretty fast. The book found its way to the bedside table with less than smooth movements.
“I’m going to assume you want to talk to me about it?” Jay asked, looking over at you.
“You know I’m never going to push you about it, but I want to understand what you went through, Jay. It’s been almost a decade since you got back, and I know one thing about the entire time you were over there,” you told him.
“I lost two very close friends in the Humvee that hit the IED,” he told you. “And Mouse got discharged. I spent the last almost year over there with three of my friends gone. That first year, we went through a lot. And I mean, a lot. And that last year, I didn’t know if I was going to make it without them. That accident is one of the reasons I hate driving sometimes.” His voice was shaking, obvious that he was upset now.
“Jay, I didn’t mean…” You wanted to explain yourself, wanted to apologize, but he cut you off.
“I know. But there’s a reason I don’t talk about it, okay?” You nodded, laying on your own side of the bed. It took you a bit to start to fall asleep, but you recognized the familiar weight of his arm draped over your waist.
-----
You were excited for Mouse when Jay helped him find a small apartment nearby and got him a job as the tech guy for Intelligence. It finally felt like things were getting back on track in your lives. Things were good at work for the both of you, having spent many nights out with Jay and his team at Molly’s. The twinge of jealousy you felt because of Erin had disappeared when she’d found a seemingly nice guy, plus Jay’s assurances that you were the one he wanted. Will had started to come around to the idea of everything that had happened between you and Jay, but he was still very much on the fence.
“I’ve got to go to work,” you told him with a laugh, his arms holding you close, not letting go. His chest was pressed against your back, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.
“Five more minutes,” he whined, not ready to let you leave the bed. As much as you would love that, you didn’t want to be late for work. It was going to be a long day, you had a feeling.
“Jay, that’s what you said ten minutes ago,” you reminded him, turning around in his arms. He was still half asleep with adorable bed head and a smile. You kissed him softly, hand gently resting on his cheek. It was lazy, no real purpose behind it besides just kissing him.
“I’ll see you when you get home,” he told you against your lips, loosening his grip on you so that you could escape into the real world, as much as you would love to stay in bed all day.
You texted him during lunch, telling him about your day so far and the funny things some of your students had done. He seemed to enjoy the stories, telling you he loved you and that he’d have dinner waiting for you at home.
Students trickled in after lunch, sitting in their seats. You began your lesson when you heard the fire alarm going off. You weren’t expecting a drill, and glancing out the window of the door, you didn’t see any smoke or anybody leaving classrooms. That was when your class phone rang. When you answered it, you weren’t expecting to be told it was a lockdown.
In a hushed voice, you corralled the kids against the back wall before locking the door, turning off the lights, and covering the window. Then, you knelt in front of them, fire extinguisher next to you, trying to keep them calm and quiet.
The first shots that rang out sent chills down your spine, hearing screaming. It was your job to keep your kids safe, trying to stay calm for their sakes. You promised them it would be okay, against your better judgement. School shootings were nothing new, having gone over every policy and procedure in place multiple times every year in case it did happen. And now, here you were. You didn’t think of anything else other than the group of terrified six year olds sniffling in front of you.
“It’s gonna be okay, guys,” you assured them quietly. “Your mommys and daddys are gonna be waiting for you outside. I promise.”
It was false hope to you. You knew statistics, you read the stories of teachers and students dying as martyrs, they’re deaths being used for politics. You didn’t want to become just another statistic, another name and face on the news. But you would, if it meant the group of children in front of you got to live the rest of their lives.
You could hear your phone buzzing in the drawer of your desk, but you didn’t move. You knew in your gut that it was Jay, who’d probably heard the news of what was happening. It was a distraction, yet you still flinched every time you heard a gunshot echoing through the halls.
You looked up at the clock, wondering when it would be over. There wasn’t a set timeline of how long it would take police to take down a shooter, but you’d always been told it wouldn’t be long. It felt like an eternity though.
The door to your classroom rattled, and suppressing the gasp that bubbled at the edge of your lips was difficult. All of the kids were silently crying, and you made sure to shush them a little more before you stood up. You defensively held the fire extinguisher, tiptoeing your way next to the door, your back against the wall.
You froze when someone breached the door, a gun pointed at you for a split second before you realized it was a SWAT officer. Slowly, you put down the extinguisher as he motioned for you to get the kids.
You knelt in front of them, getting their attention. “Okay, these men are police officers,” you told them in a whisper. “We’re going to go with them, okay? But we still have to stay super quiet. Just like when we walk in the halls during school, one line, hold hands, and stay super quiet.” Most of them nodded as you got them up. “Okay, guys. The nice policeman is going to lead you out really fast, and I’m going to be right behind you. Okay?” The children nodded again, and that was exactly what you did.
You never thought the feeling of the sun on your face would be so relieving, but there you were, running down the steps with the kids in front of you. You kept an eye on them as each one ran to their parents before doing anything else. Jay was probably worried about you, especially because you couldn’t call him since your phone was still in the classroom.
Your hands came up, running through your hair as you looked around at the chaos. There was the media, worried and crying parents, cops everywhere. That’s when you saw Jay pushing his way through the crowd frantically, looking for someone. You assumed it was you. As soon as you saw him, your legs carried you as fast as possible to him without having to think about it. Your eyes met his a second before slamming into him. The familiar feeling of his arms around you was a safe haven for you, was the only thing you wanted in that moment. You didn’t hear anything he said over the sounds of your own sobs. It was all hitting you at once, and you could not process it.
“I’ve got you, you’re okay,” he whispered in your ear, one hand moving from your back to the back of your head, stroking through your hair. Your hands fisted his shirt, letting him hold you.
“Are you hurt?” he finally asked, pulling back as tears continued to drip down your cheeks, but the sobs dying off. He stroked your face, down your arms, still looking terrified and worried.
“No. No,” you assured him, trying to force a smile, but all that came were more tears. Especially when you saw tears in his eyes. “Can we go home?” you then asked.
“Not yet, baby,” he answered, getting a whine of protest. All you wanted was to go home. “I know, but the police have to do their jobs okay? But as soon as they’re done, we’ll go home, order some Chinese food, and watch a horrible chick flick okay?” You nodded, leaning your head on his chest again, loosely holding onto him. You started shivering, mostly because it was October in Chicago, the wind biting your exposed skin.
“Here,” he said softly, pulling off his jacket and helping you put it on. “I know nothing I can say can make this any better, but I’m here okay?” You nodded, knowing he meant it.
It took three more hours before they let you leave, having taken your statement. Jay walked closely behind you, hand on your back as he led you to the car. You weren’t allowed back in the building to get your things. They’d call Jay when you could. The ride home was quiet, Jay holding onto your hand tightly the entire way.
When you got home, you stood in the foyer, not sure what to do. That morning, you’d left like any normal day. Now, things were different. Your view of the world was different.
“Why?” you asked, not to Jay, but just out loud. You weren’t expecting an answer. There was no answer as far as you were concerned. It felt like there was no rhyme or reason for it. “They-Jay, they’re just kids,” you finally said, looking up at him, bottom lip quivering again.
“I don’t know, Y/N. Some people are just monsters.” You knew it to be true. Jay knew it to be true. He spent day in and day out looking for the monsters of the world. He knew better than anybody the kinds of people that were out there.
“They’re kids!” you yelled, not sure why. It felt right, so why not? “School is supposed to be safe for them! It’s supposed to be where they can go to get out of bad situations!” Jay leaned against the wall, arms crossed, listening to you. “How are we supposed to protect them? Kids are killing kids on the streets! Guns are in everybody’s hands! I thought Chicago was supposed to have one of the strictest gun laws in the country!”
“I know,” he said, but you cut him off.
“Do you, Jay? Do you?” you asked, not sure why you were so angry at him. “You weren’t there! You don’t know!” How could you explain it to him? How could you tell him how scared you were, how you thought you were going to die? How could you try to relive your students -- a group of six year olds -- crying because they might not get to go home? Was there a way to explain it?
“Y/N,” he said softly, arms uncrossing as he took a slow, hesitant step towards you. “I know what it’s like thinking you’re going to die.” You looked up at him, chewing on your bottom lip. “I know that fear. I understand.”
“No, Jay. That...That’s different. That was war,” you argued, shaking your head.
“It’s the same,” he assured you. “Maybe different circumstances, but that fear you felt. That fear I can tell you’re still feeling. I understand that. And I’m here. I’ll listen. Yell at me, use me as an emotional punching bag, I can handle it, okay? I was there, and you helped pull me out. And I’ll be here to do the same. If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. And if you don’t, I won’t push it, okay? Just like you do for me.”
You nodded, trying to hold back more tears. You still didn’t believe it was the same, but he seemed to think it was.
“How many?” you asked, knowing he’d have the answer for you. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at you.
“Two teachers, eight students,” he answered before you’re hand shot to your mouth, trying to muffle the choked sob that escaped.
“How old?” You needed to know. You’d convinced yourself that you needed to know this.
“Y/N,” he said, shaking his head, obviously not wanting to tell you.
“How. Old.” You spoke through clenched teeth. He wasn’t budging though, mouth pressed in a straight line. “How old were they, Jay! How old!”
“Two of them were five, and the other six were six years old,” he finally answered, unblinking as he told you. You saw your students in the back of your mind. What if it had been one of them? What if you’d failed them and it had been one of them? “Wherever your mind is going right now, bring it back,” he told you.
“I did everything right. I did everything they taught us. Lock the doors. Stay quiet. Grab the fire extinguisher." By the time you got to the last step, you were practically whispering.
"You did everything right, Y/N," he agreed. "And you know what happened?" You shook your head, needing him to tell you. "You got out of that building alive, with no injuries. And you got sixteen six year olds back to their parents today."
“Did they get him?” you then asked, not able to look at him again. This was the answer you truly needed to know.
“Yeah, baby. They got him.” You couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I want to go to bed,” you answered. Jay didn’t say anything else, following you to the bedroom. You tried to block it all out of your head, tried to not think about it. But the more you tried not to think about it, the more you thought about it. It was a vicious cycle. Jay got changed into his sweats, and you couldn’t help but just stand there, unmoving.
“It’s okay,” he assured you, grabbing a pair of your pajamas and setting them on the bed. He moved slowly, gently as he got you undressed before helping you into your pajamas. You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until he took them in his. “Let’s lay down, okay?”
You nodded again, climbing into bed with him. It took a minute to get comfortable, but when you did, you relaxed into him. Your head rested on his chest, arm draped over his waist, holding onto him like a liferaft. His hands stroked through your hair slowly, gently. It was just calming enough to help you fall asleep.
-----
You were running down a seemingly endless hallway, footsteps following close behind. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, your lungs burning with every inhale and freezing with every exhale. You could see the kids in the distance, but you couldn’t get to them before shots rang out. Each of them fell to the ground, a scream clawing at your throat as tears stung your eyes.
“Y/N!” Who was calling you? It sounded familiar. “Y/N!” Again. Someone was shaking you, eyes flying open.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Jay assured you as you started to realize that you were at home, safe, with him. He let you process it for a couple of minutes, not saying anything, looking at you with tired eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” you answered quickly, sitting up. You didn’t move off the bed, staring at the wall in front of you. Like Jay promised, he didn’t push it.
“Voight was the one to call me,” he told you softly. “Trudy had found out what was going on at the school and had told him, since she remembered a conversation we’d had where I mentioned where you worked. It had just been a small talk conversation, she’d been asking how you were. But she remembered that detail.” That got you to look at him. “I remember feeling terrified, like my blood had turned to ice. I froze until Voight dragged me to my car and told me to go. And when I got there, I asked if anybody had seen you, and they’d all said no. I couldn’t help but think the worst. Then, I saw you come out of the building, alive. I almost couldn’t believe it at first, but then you ran to me. As soon as I had you in my arms, I knew it was going to be okay eventually.”
You didn’t know why he was telling you this. Was it to guilt you into talking about it? Jay had promised he wouldn’t push it, the same courtesy you gave him, so that most likely wasn’t it.
“Y/N, I thought I lost you, for good. Whatever it is, whatever your brain is coming up with, it’s not gonna scare me off, okay?” You nodded, laying back down. It wasn’t like before though, kissing him as soon as you were close enough.
It seemed to take him by surprise before his lips moved slowly against yours. But you didn’t want slow. You wanted him to help you forget, to push it completely out of your mind, if only for a couple of hours. Your nails raked down his chest, eliciting a groan from him.
“We can’t,” he told you against your lips.
“Yes we can.” You didn’t want to take no for an answer, determined to forget. “Please, Jay.” He kissed you for a bit longer, but as soon as you tried to dip your hand down the front of his pants, he grabbed your wrist.
“Not tonight. You’re upset, like me after Ben. Not tonight.” You pressed a softer kiss to his lips, tears coming back. Would you ever stop crying? “I love you, you know that?”
“Yeah,” you agreed. He nodded, pulling you against his chest again. It was going to take you a while, but he seemed to believe that you’d be okay.
-----
You’d taken a sabbatical from work after the shooting, taking the next year off. You spent the time working with underprivileged youth. It had helped clear your mind, and it helped you move past what had happened. As much as you missed teaching, as much as you missed the younger kids, it gave you a new perspective on what your future could be, professional wise. Jay hadn’t wanted you to do it, but he didn’t stop you. Just because it wasn’t something he agreed with didn’t mean he didn’t support you through it.
It had also given you a lot of time to think about what you wanted from your life in general. You weren’t getting any younger afterall. You were almost thirty-five. You’d been married to Jay for nearly half your life, but it didn’t feel official. The conversation the two of you had a few years ago had been coming to mind more often, when he asked you if you’d consider marrying him again because you loved him, and not because he was joining the Army. It truly felt like a lifetime ago. In reality, it was.
“What smells so good?” Jay asked when he got home. You’d picked up cooking, taking some classes to kill some time. You’d found enjoyment in it, plus, Jay wasn’t one to complain. Until he had to go to the gym, then he complained.
“Making ravioli,” you answered, kissing him when he walked up to you. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” You scooped out a piece, letting him try it.
“That’s good,” he said as he chewed, earning him a gentle smack to remind him of manners. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Well, we’ve been married for almost fifteen years, and dating for nearly a decade,” you reminded him. It was always weird to say it backwards, most people dating longer than they’d been married. “I was thinking, maybe it’s time to renew our vows. Officially. In a ceremony.”
“You want to get married again?” he asked with a smug smile.
“Yes, I want to get married again. Because I love you.” His smile got wider as you used his own words against him.
“I’ll be right back.” You couldn’t help but chuckle as he quickly left the room, turning your attention back to the food to make sure it didn’t burn. When he came back, one arm snaked around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder. What you weren’t expecting was for his free hand to hold up a small, velvet box.
“What is this, Jay?” you asked even though you already knew.
“Open it.” You set down the spoon, taking the box from him. When you opened it, you didn’t know what you were expecting. It was a simple, silver band with one larger set diamond surrounded by smaller ones. It was an engagement ring.
“Jay,” you said softly.
“Try it on.” He didn’t have to tell you twice before you took the ring out and slipped it on your finger. “I know I got you a ring pop for our short-lived last engagement, but I wanted to do it right this time.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Jay Halstead. Since you haven’t asked me anything.” You turned around in his arms, your hand resting on his cheek with the brightest smile on your face.
“Y/N. Will you marry me? Again?” he asked softly. As much as you loved him, and as much as you loved the first time he asked you to marry him, this time, it felt right. This time, it was for real.
“Yes, Jay. I’ll marry you.” He smiled again, hope and love in those blue eyes. This was where you wanted to be for the rest of your life.
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BnHA Chapter 255: "Hospital”
Previously on BnHA: Aizawa and Present Mic found out their dead best friend Shirakumo was necromanced by All for One and Ujiko and turned into everyone’s favorite villain mom bartender M.D., Kurogiri! Gran Torino and Naomasa were all “hey you guys should talk to him and see if you can restore his memories through the power of friendship” and so they all sat down together to do that. Kurogiri was all “so tell me how is my son Shigaraki Tomura, I love him so much, he is so emo and I must protect him” and Aizawa and Mic were all “THIS GUY HASN’T CHANGED ONE IOTA” and Aizawa started crying and was all “SHIRAKUMO LET’S GET MARRIED AGAIN AND BE HEROES TOGETHER LIKE WE ALWAYS WANTED.” Oh and also we found out Aizawa only fake expelled his previous students and it was just so that he could PREPARE THEM FOR LIFE!! and afterwards they got to go back to U.A. again and live happily ever after. And so basically I’ve lost track of how many hugs Aizawa needs here now but it’s a lot.
Today on BnHA: Shiraguri’s brainwaves start going all wonky and everyone is like “OH SHIT IT’S WORKING” and Aizawa and Mic decide it’s time to shift this drama into overdrive, so they get right up against the glass and start shouting “YOU’RE OUR FRIEND!!” and stuff over and over until IT FINALLY WORKS!! and Kurogiri’s face shifts into Shirakumo’s. Somehow the effect is incredibly sad and moving rather than terrifying as fuck, but unfortunately all Kumo can manage to get out is “hospital” before his mind overloads and he passes out. Fortunately for our heroes, “hospital” is actually an awesome clue which can totally lead them to Tomura and Ujiko’s location if they play their cards right, probably! Or at least Hawks seems really psyched about it, idk. Anyway so the chapter ends with Ujiko going FULL MAD SCIENTIST and wreaking havoc on Tomura’s body in order to -- I’m pretty sure, anyway -- turn him into some kind of fully sentient ultimate high end Noumu. Welllllll shit.
so that sure was a fun little wrinkle last week, huh. the two biggest scanlators deciding that in the spirit of the holidays, they were going to stop translating WSJ series and instead support the official releases out of the goodness of their hearts and definitely not at all because Shueisha was eyeing them threateningly and making little throat-slitting gestures. that was a ride. these are interesting times lol
but at any rate, if this is how it’s going to be for now then I’ll adjust! it is nice to have everyone support the official release, and obviously the image quality is way better, and Caleb’s translations are by and large pretty good. and obviously we’ll get used to reading the chapter on Sundays instead of Fridays (hell, I remember when the SJ leaks still came out on Wednesdays, so it’s not like we haven’t done this same old song and dance before lol). but Friday did happen to be a more convenient day for my schedule personally, so it might take a bit of adjusting for me to figure out what my posting schedule is going to be moving forward
anyways so I’m sorry this recap is so ridiculously late, but here we go at last!
so the Tartarus guard, who by the way is very clearly Seiji’s dad (WHEN ARE THE SHIKETSU KIDS COMING BACK), is tapping frantically at his touch screen even though it’s not doing anything, and he says he’s detecting unusual brainwaves. omg
WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK IT MEANS, OBVIOUSLY THEY UNLOCKED THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP, MAN! THEY DID IT
omfg. the guard just says “he’s agitated.” I’m going to need you to have more hype than that my good sir. please
holy shit Nao
attention everyone, HAS ANYONE SEEN NAOMASA’S FUCKING CHILL, BECAUSE HE SEEMS TO HAVE FUCKING MISPLACED THAT SHIT. someone please explain to this man that there is a time and a place to play good cop bad cop and this is not it. “oh, Shirakumo is starting to recover his memories? well then [busts into the prison cell and grabs him by the collar and slams him against the wall] WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR!?”
(ETA: so apparently Nao’s detective instincts are cleverer than mine. he saw that Kumo was potentially going to emerge, but probably not for long, so he gave him the most important question so he could focus on answering that. good job! still not a lot of chill but hey.)
meanwhile Aizawa is all “if what they said is true I’m looking at my friend’s corpse”, while still crying by the way, and yeah, so MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE. this year Santa decided to change it up and just make everyone real sad. happy holidays
lord he’s leaping to his feet and shouting “WHO DID THIS TO YOU”
meanwhile I can’t stop staring at Present Mic with his tongue sticking out. why are you sticking your tongue out. why are anime characters like this. you know, Stain also used to stick his tongue out. Present Mic U.A. traitor confirmed
also!! so many people have beef with Ujiko, though! pretty soon they will have to take a number and get in line
oh no Kumogiri is malfunctioning
Aizawa’s all “ANSWER ME SHIRAKUMO” and OH MY GOD LOOK AT THIS
I HAVE NEVER SEEN AIZAWA SHOUTA SO INTENSE AND I CAN’T TEAR MY EYES AWAY FROM THE SCREEN AHHHHH
so there’s some more of “WE WANTED TO BE HEROES TOGETHER” and “YOUR NAME IS SHIRAKUMO OBORO” and all of that other “SNAP OUT OF IT ALREADY” stuff, and you’re damn right I am eating ALL THAT SHIT right up, hell yes. IT’S A TROPE FOR A REASON PEOPLE
oh my god
bwo...hh...?
(ETA: I feel like I should explain that although I have a subscription to Viz, I really hate how their chapter viewer is set up, so I read the chapter on one of the vertical scroll-to-read sites instead. I prefer scroll-to-read for a lot of reasons, but the biggest one is so that I can read the chapter slowly (since I’m writing as I go) without spoiling what’s in the next panel. that being said, this next page is one of the few where Viz obviously got it right, so I’ll be posting the full image.)
SDFLSDLFKHSDLKJGOISDJFOSK
（┐° o ° ┐） ( ｣｡╹o╹｡)｣
feelingsfeelingsfeelingsFEELINGS
(ETA: on a reread I am fascinated by the fact that that bandage on his nose actually seems to be A PERMANENT PART OF HIS FACE APPARENTLY lol what.)
READ THE FUCKING ROOM, DUDE. also look how tiny Gran Torino is. he thought we wouldn’t notice through all of our tears. but we did. would you like me to fetch you a box
ha ha ha so now back to the drama
heh so anyway, the fact that this smoke Shirakumo face still looks like a child is straight up destroying me. how are you guys. how is everyone. feliz navidad
FKSLDJSLK HOLD UP
IS HE TRYING TO SAY “SHOUTA”, I CAN’T, I’M?!?!!!!
ADSLFKJALSKDJW
(ETA: I think you can see Shirakumo’s eye rolling back here as he fights against the brainwashing omg. this chapter’s fucking art, though.)
YESSSSSS you keep on ticking off that checklist of clichés, Horikoshi!! I’m so weak for this shit it’s not even funny. actually that’s not true, this plotline is usually hit or miss with me, but I’ll tell you what though, if there’s one guaranteed way to have me freaking the fuck out rather than sighing and rolling my eyes, it’s to have AIZAWA FUCKING SHOUTA be the one pounding on the wall of glass and screaming at his former lover to fight the layers of conditioning waging war on his mind. ohhhhhh god
lol the brainwave detecting screen is losing its fucking shit also and beeping like crazy. this tension is so thick you could plant a flag in it yeesh
is this Kumo remembering stuff??!
(ETA: thank you to the anon who pointed out I posted the wrong image earlier lol.)
why do shounen characters always recall events from a third-person camera view. curse this ambiguous flashback
AHHHHH
HOSPITALLLL ahh what??? “SHOUTA, HOSPITAL.” oh my god. Shirakumo I commend you for not having your first words after dying and being brought back to life and brainwashed for 15 years and then waking up in a straitjacket in a prison cell be, “FUCK ME OH FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK.” you and I are very different people but I respect that
HOLY SHIT HIS HEAD EXPLODED
so now everyone’s freaking out and we’re zooming in on Kumo’s eye again. by the way this is going to kill me when it’s animated oh god
OH NO THE PANEL WENT BLACK AND IT GOT ALL SILENT
(ETA: hmm I don’t think Caleb Cook knows what “whump” means nowadays. whump is what I wish we had here. instead it’s just lots of hurt but very little comfort. JUST LOTS OF PAIN AND SADNESS.)
Horikoshi please have mercy oh lord. also I see their hands touching, you. they honestly should be gripping each other fucking white-knuckled, this is all very traumatic. I think that if Shouta was holding Mic’s hand while his other hand was pressed against the glass I would probably start sobbing for real
what the fuck
did they knock him back out?? they seem really calm and optimistic about all this lol
oh godddddd
HE’S NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING SHUT UP. GOD, MIC, WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST GIVE HIM A HUG ALREADY??
so now they’re bidding farewell to Nao and Gran -- and HOLY SHIT --
okay hold up -- I just realized -- Kumo was trying to give them a hint about Ujiko’s location. holy shiiiiit. PLEASE START INVESTIGATING HOSPITALS, NAO AND GRAN. holy shit the Noumu arc is heating uppppp
Aizawa’s asking what’s happening with Kurogiri now, and I feel like he maybe should have asked that immediately after the fact rather than as an afterthought while they were getting ready to leave but okay
Nao says he kind of “short-circuited or something” and yeah that tracks with what we saw. though it sure does make that “THAT’S ALL FOR TODAY FOLKS, GOOD JOB BOYS, YOU GET A GOLD STAR” business just SUPER WEIRD though, but let’s be real, Nao has been swinging and missing with striking the right tone all day today
and now Gran is apologizing to Mic and Aizawa for the exquisite emotional torture he just put them through, but he says something is bound to come from it. WELL YEAH NO SHIT IT HAD GODDAMN BETTER
Aizawa apparently hasn’t run out of sad/tired/haunted expressions yet, if you can believe it
pretty soon everyone is going to be sad, tired, and traumatized! heh. it’s going to be so fucked up hahaha crying smiling emojiiiii
oh hey and we’re cutting to another flashback of AFO doing what he does best, being callously dismissive of human lives!
this guy. right here. is a rat bastard. for real. also Horikoshi sure picked a hell of a chapter to go all out on the art again, jesus. this is probably the first time I’ve looked at AFO’s fucked up face and actually thought “yep, that’s a mutilated human man” rather than “shouldn’t you be out floating in space with your asteroid friends trying to smash the Millennium Falcon?” so anyways yeah this panel is a big NOPE from me, thank you
but on the other hand, when Horikoshi uses those art powers for good, such as carefully penciling in every last individual hair of Aizawa’s perpetual five o’clock shadow, that I don’t mind so much!
yes. yes good
so now they’re vrooming off, and we’re hanging back with Gran and Nao for a minute
YESSSSS GOOD JOB NAO!!
looooool it’s ringing up the head of the HPSC and her phone’s buzzing and she’s giving it this hella dramatic look. like this is some patented Todoroki-level dramatic whooshing right here
that’s just how dramatic this entire arc is going to be, hopefully
WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW
IS THAT A CODED MESSAGE FOR HIM TO GO CHECK OUT THE HOSPITAL. AND HOW BUSY ARE YOU, HAWKS. ARE YOU THE “I AM IN SOME DEEP, DEEP TROUBLE” KIND OF BUSY, OR JUST THE STAYING-IN-CHARACTER KIND OF BUSY. YOU CASUAL BASTARD, WHO CAN EVEN TELL WITH YOU, I’LL JUST HAVE TO SCROLL DOWN TO SEE
oh hh my go
“LITTLE LATE TO ASK ABOUT THIS STUFF” so he comes from the Bakugou Katsuki school of tutoring, eh
I love that he actually followed through on explaining the PLF’s philosophy to Twice. and Twice is such a good boy. he’s studying so diligently. look, he didn’t ask to join a doomsday cult, it just kind of happened so now he’s just doing his best to figure it all out
and it definitely was a coded message, then. smoooooth, HPSC lady, smooth. so I wonder if the fact that she gave him a specific hospital implies a time jump. because I don’t think she’d have him investigate just any old hospital until they had a better lead and/or a more solid idea of what they were looking for
lol what the fuck
well I sure do not have any idea what this man is talking about
-- HOSDFLKJDLY SHIT WE’RE CUTTING TO UJIKO WE ARE CUTTING TO FUCKING UJIKO RED FUCKING ALERT!!!
HE’S TALKING ABOUT TOMURA I’M NOT CALMMMMMMMM AHHHHHH
FUCCKLKL FUCK THE WHAT HOLY SHIT WHAT DID HE DO
oh my god oh my god oh m
he made Tomura a Noumu. holy fucking shit that’s what he did. of course. so he’ll be able to possess multiple quirks, but because he benefits from Ujiko’s years of high end Noumu research, his sense of self will remain intact
AND DOESN’T THIS PROCESS JUST LOOK EVER SO PLEASANT. jesus christ. he’s not even allowed to lie down, for some reason this procedure can only be done while he’s hovering over the bed Exorcist-style with his mouth locked open in a silent scream (ETA: or is that actually his laughter we’re seeing?? because this panel wasn’t raw enough already I guess??) while random spurts of blood come chucking out all over the place. well that’s just
and Tomura fucking volunteered for this. how many scores of others didn’t?? holy fucking shit Ujiko. it’s not easy to be the most evil man in a chapter where a foil-wrapped potato with eye holes started waxing poetic about all the children he harvested and killed like some kind of bloodthirsty sommelier, but YOU FOUND A WAY. dancing a fucking jig while your so-called masterpiece is being gruesomely tortured in the foreground. man if there’s any justice in the world, we’ll find out in this arc that Ujiko used science to make himself immortal so that once he’s finally captured they can just keep killing him over and over again. I do not like him!!
so that’s it! we really are doing this thing, holy shit. Noumu arc here we come. see you guys next decade har dee har
#bnha 255#aizawa shouta#shirakumo oboro#present mic#daruma ujiko#naomasa tsukauchi#gran torino#hawks#boku no hero academia#bnha#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#makeste reads bnha#list of people who want to kill ujiko and just don't know it yet:#aizawa#mic#bakugou#deku#dabi maybe if it turns out he's a similar deal to kurogiri#and endeavor and shouto too. all the todorokis#and probably tomura too if he ever realizes how badly ujiko and afo messed him up#and once tomura and dabi want to kill someone the rest of league will have their back#and for that matter pretty much everyone in u.a. will rally behind their friends too#anyway so yeah#that's a pretty long list
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I Think I need a Doctor
Fun fact, I started this whole month out with a mini bucket list and this fic was one of two things on there. I really wanted to do some Karen whump since she is so underrated and this idea spawned during a convo about Deez Nups with the psych discord. It's a little different from my usual but I hope y'all enjoy it nonetheless!
Summary: Fun fact, I started this whole month out with a mini bucket list and this fic was one of two things on there. I really wanted to do some Karen whump since she is so underrated and this idea spawned during a convo about Deez Nups with the psych discord. It's a little different from my usual but I hope y'all enjoy it nonetheless!
Warnings: hospitals, miscarriage, nausea, blood
also on ao3 (recommended cause this gets long)
___
Karen sighed. The women’s restroom in the police department wasn’t the most ideal place but it had been an extremely long day and she needed answers. All week she had been feeling tired and nauseous- frankly, she would have chalked it up to sickness but then she remembered that she had also missed her period which caused her thoughts to go elsewhere.
That was at 8 am and since then, she had been called down to a murder scene, the victim turned out to be an old police chief, had to deal with two ex-cops butting heads with her consultants, and comfort her detective after some sexist remarks. So she shoved the thought to the back of her head- or at least tried to. But the curiosity remained growing bit by bit. Eventually, the anticipation became too great and she had used much of her break running to the drug store and waiting in the women’s restroom.
Glancing at her watch for what felt like the millionth time, she took a deep breath noting that the three minutes were finally up. Her hands shook as she picked up the small piece of plastic, stilling herself for what answers it might hold. Her eyes widened as she saw the results.
Two clear pink lines.
She was pregnant.
Naturally, she’d have to confirm it with a doctor first but judging by all of her other symptoms, she was pretty sure it was true.
Leaning heavily against the stall door, reality started to sink in. A smile began to spread across her face, her breath coming out in huffy laughter.
“Holy crap, I’m pregnant.” She breathed, staring at the results, her heart beating rapidly. Her smile had turned into a full out grin, joy rising in her chest. She and Richard hadn’t exactly been trying but they weren’t being safe either. They had always wanted another kid but due to both of their ages, had never really thought it would happen. But now…
She resisted the urge to jump up and down. She couldn’t wait to tell Richard.
___
Walking through the front door, she barely paused to throw her keys in the bowl and shed her heels before seeking out her husband. She found him tucking Iris into bed and paused in the doorway to watch them. He was reading the four-year-old a story- If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, her favorite- but the peaceful atmosphere was short-lived as her daughter saw her.
“Mommy!” She yelled, reaching out with grabby hands and Karen smiled, pushing off of the doorway to sit on her bed beside her.
“Hello sweetheart, I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Isokay.” Iris shrugged before giving her a gap-tooth smile. “Did you catch any bad guys?”
“Tons of them.” She leaned forward, placing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Did you have fun with daddy?”
“Mhmm,” She nodded vigorously, “We went to the park and had hot dogs and I fell off the swings!”
Karen raised an eyebrow at her husband who smiled sheepishly, “It was just a small fall, she’s okay.”
“I got a Wonder Woman bandaid, wanna see?” Karen didn’t have time to blink before the covers were pushed back and her pajama pants leg was rolled up, revealing a red bandaid on her knee. “Can you kiss it better?”
After exchanging amused looks with Richard, she bent down, pressing her lips against the wound. “There… all better.”
“Thank you,” Iris beamed, settling back into bed. “You can read more daddy.”
Richard laughed, “Sure thing pumpkin.”
After two more books- because of course, Iris needed her mom to read also- she and Richard gave their daughter one last kiss. Bidding their goodnights, they shut the door a little behind them, finally alone. Karen was suddenly very aware of just how nervous she was. It was big, life-changing news and while she was excited, it still made her stomach clench with anticipation and anxiety.
They made their way into the bedroom, out of earshot of their little one, before Richard turned around, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the bed. “So, how was work, really? I mean, obviously, you had to work late.”
“Yeah,” She sighed, shedding her suit coat and tossing it in the hamper. “An ex-police chief got murdered and now he’s suspected of laundering drugs. You can imagine the kind of PR nightmare this is gonna be.”
He frowned nose wrinkling, “That does not sound fun. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged, “Well hopefully our detectives and consultants come up with something.” She shook her head, giving a little wave. “But enough with work, I have something I need to tell you.” Shifting a little, she bit her lip.
Sitting up straighter, he raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on her mood. “Yeah? What?”
“Well…” She started, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the pregnancy test that had weighed heavily there for most of the afternoon. “I’m pregnant.”
His jaw dropped, eyes going wide and she thought for a brief second that he may have been upset. But his face quickly broke out into a smile, leaping off the bed and pulling her into his arms.
“Holy crap, we’re gonna have another kid.” He gasped, burying his nose into her hair.
“Yeah…” The tears of joy that had been threatening to fall all afternoon finally did fall, slipping down her cheeks to land on his shirt.
They were going to be parents again, their family was going to grow. It was amazing and wonderful and she just couldn’t wait.
___
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of babies and cases. An appointment with her doctor confirmed that yes indeed she was pregnant, putting her at about four weeks along. She half-listened to his warnings about overexerting herself since miscarriage at her age was so common but she waved away those doubts. There was no use worrying over something that hopefully wouldn’t happen.
Shortly after that, they sat Iris down and told her the news. She was elated at the idea that she was going to be a big sister almost instantly berating her parents with an onslaught of questions about the baby. For the next two weeks straight, all her drawings were of her and her brother or sister.
As for her and Richard, they were thriving. They both decided to not tell any of their coworkers or extended family until the second trimester, not wanting to get any of their hopes up in the off chance that something went wrong. But they didn’t have any fear. Keeping the knowledge just to their little family made the whole experience feel more intimate. Sure they did have a few slips ups- especially since Iris couldn’t keep a secret- and she noticed her detectives giving her a few odd looks every now and again, particularly when she left early for a doctor’s appointment- but for the most part, the knowledge stayed between the three of them.
Between pulling Iris’ old baby stuff out of the attic, taking vitamins, working, and getting morning sickness, it felt like Karen’s life had gone to a new level of crazy. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t love it. The idea of having another baby was exciting and fun and caused her to seek Richard out and steal a kiss or two on several occasions. Of course, some days weren’t as great, like when she’d feel sick all day or wouldn’t get home until late or Richard had to travel for work, but regardless, she was still happy.
Truth be told though, she barely had enough time to focus on the baby or any preparations due to her job. It seemed like lately the crazies were just getting crazier. Not only did she have to deal with a hostage situation- on a boat of all things- two convicts wound up escaping, launching a manhunt. Then after that, there was a serial killer who was picking off people from a liver donation list, her consultants started acting weird, and somehow they wound up implicated in aiding an enemy agent. Of course, the Feds had to be called in which was a nightmare in of itself, and then her detective asked for two weeks off- which she was more than happy to give to her considering everything O’Hara had been through as of late- which was shortly followed by a retraction and a request to aid her partner in extraditing a convinced criminal back to the states.
So to say life was crazy may have been an understatement. It was downright insane.
On top of all of that, she had started feeling worse and worse and she worried for her unborn baby, fearing that getting sick could cause problems. But, luckily, she had a rare Saturday off and she was insistent on using it to relax and spend time with her daughter and husband.
And she did exactly that.
Sitting outside in the warm fall Santa Barbara air, she smiled, watching Iris run around the yard. Her daughter was playing her new favorite game, doggy princess, which basically was her running around and doing dog-like things. Laughing, Karen sent a content smile at her husband who exchanged the look and reached out a hand to cover hers.
“I can’t wait for Iris to have a sibling.” He squeezed her hand and her smile grew.
She glanced down, her hand rested on her stomach, fingers brushing the very small bump. “Me too, it’ll be good for her to have a playmate.”
He hummed in agreement, picking up her hand to press his lips against it. “I love you, dear.”
“I love you too.”
Turning back to their daughter, she frowned as her stomach clenched for what felt like the hundredth time that day. She had felt crampy pretty much all morning and well into the afternoon but had shaken it off. She worried that it would turn into morning sickness- after all, it had been a few days since she last got sick and she wasn’t looking forward to that again. She was never one to feed into her worries though and figured that if it continued into the next day, then she would call her doctor.
She turned her head, looking at her husband through tired eyes and he frowned. “Still feeling bad?”
She nodded lazily, “I guess I forgot how much being pregnant can suck sometimes.”
He gave a short laugh, leaning forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’ll all be worth it though.”
“You bet your butt it will.”
She closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her. She wasn’t planning on taking a nap- after all a four-year-old made that particularly difficult- but resting her eyes seemed like a good idea. With a sigh, she relaxed, letting her stress and worry ease away.
She didn’t get very far into her quiet time before she felt a warm wetness between her legs. Groaning, she stood up and started walking towards the house.
“Where are you going?” Richard asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I think I wet myself.” When his eyes widened, she rolled hers. “Remember? It happened all the time when I was pregnant with Iris. It’s just my luck that it’d happen with this one too.”
He frowned, “I’m sorry darling.”
“It’s fine,” She shrugged, “I’ll meet you inside for snack time?”
“Of course.”
She sighed again as she headed into the living room and snagged a clean pair of underwear from the laundry basket- thankful for once that she put off doing chores. Wandering into the downstairs bathroom, she stripped out of her pants and peeled back her panties, blood running cold. They were stained with a dark red.
She quickly changed, hands moving of their own accord as her mind raced. Exiting the bathroom, she made wide-eyed contact with her husband who paused his trek into the kitchen, picking up on her distress.
“What’s wrong?”
Swallowing heavily, her hands gripped the doorframe, knuckles turning white. “I think I need a doctor.”
___
The wait in the ER had been quick- only lasting about ten minutes- but to Karen, time crawled by. Waiting for the test results was even worse, the nurse had hastily taken blood, asked a few questions, then rushed off. Iris had been dropped off at her nephew’s house with little explanation which left the two of them to their thoughts and worries.
She wrung her hands, a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. It felt weird sitting on a hospital bed, after all the last time she had been in the hospital was when Iris was born and those memories did little to quell her nerves. Richard stood behind her, hands working her shoulders and she was grateful for his presence. If he had been on a business trip… she shook her head, now wasn’t the time for what-ifs.
“It’ll be okay.” She heard him say, though she wasn’t sure if it was to her or himself.
She didn’t have the heart to reply nor did she need to as a knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” Richard called and a doctor walked in, holding a clipboard close to his chest.
“Chief Vick, Mr. Vick,” He greeted with a nod of his head. “My name is Dr. Phillips, I’m sorry for the wait.”
“It’s okay,” She replied, “Thank you for seeing us so quickly.”
“Well with something so-” He waved his free hand, “Serious, we wanted to get you in fast.”
Her stomach clenched. “Serious?”
He nodded solemnly. “Yes. I’m terribly sorry for this news but your blood work- and symptoms described- indicated that you’re having a miscarriage.”
Even though she had her suspicions, the words still hit her hard, knocking the air from her lungs. Her blood ran cold and she felt like she might throw up. Their child- the kid that they had been so excited about- was gone.
“In addition to your miscarriage,” He continued and she glanced up, barely registering his words, “Due to your age, I’m afraid you won’t be able to have any more children without serious complications. I’m very sorry.”
It felt like a punch to the gut, except she had experienced those before and this was so much worse. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. The world was falling apart around her, crashing to pieces. Her fingers found Richard’s, holding his hand as if her life depended on it- right now it felt like it did.
“Do- do you know the gender?” Richard spoke up, his voice sounding distant and shaky.
Dr. Phillips nodded, “While it’s not one-hundred percent accurate, the results of some blood tests indicate that the baby would have been a boy.”
“A boy.” He whispered, and her heart twisted again. They could have had a boy.
“I’ll give you two a few minutes.” The doctor said, though she barely registered his words.
Once he left the room, Richard climbed onto the bed, legs on either side of her, and wrapped his arms around her stomach, burning her face into her neck. She couldn’t even relax into his touch though, her body too stiff, too shocked to even move. Numbness felt all-consuming aside from the constant ache in her abdomen, stomach cramping with broken dreams- a signal that what they had longed for had officially come to an end.
She didn’t even realize she was crying until he wiped at her tears with his thumb and suddenly, all her emotions couldn’t get out fast enough. Her face crashed into her palms as sobs wracked her body. Behind her, she felt Richard tremble, his own tears beginning to fall. Her chest ached, lungs heaving as she grieved- because that’s what this really was, it was grieving. Grieving the loss of their unborn son, grieving the opportunity to have another child, grieving the joy that would have come with it.
They sobbed for what felt like hours until tears no longer fell and her cries turned to dry heaving. Her sleeves and back were wet, soaked by their combined tears but she didn’t care, too focused on the ache inside her chest. Leaning against him, she took a shuddered breath and he wrapped his arms across her chest, her hands coming up to grip his forearms.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I lost our baby.”
She could feel him shake his head. “Absolutely not Karen.” His voice was scratchy from unuse. “You didn’t lose anything. It happens.”
“It happened to us.” She took another shaking breath. “We were going to have a son.”
He sniffled. “I know.”
The pain increased as a thought crossed her mind, “How do we tell Iris?”
His breath hitched, “I don’t know… oh gosh this sucks so much.”
Nodding mutely, she closed her eyes, letting stray tears slip down her cheeks. “How are we going to get through this?” She mumbled.
“I don’t know,” He repeated, “but we’ll get through this together. We always do.”
Swallowing roughly, she nodded. “Thank you for being here… I love you.”
“I love you too. For better or for worse remember?”
“For better or for worse.” She echoed.
___
Two years later and the pain had faded, though not completely. Some days seeing mothers with new babies or families with lots of kids brought her back to that hospital- to pouring her emotions out on that bed and feeling that pain. But time had gone by, Iris was 6 now having recently started first grade, she was still chief and loving it. Life was still moving forward, and definitely for the better.
Her head detective was getting married and she sat in a dressing room, watching his bride-to-be get ready for her big day. She talked about how excited she was to be marrying him and Karen smiled, reflecting on her own wedding day all those years ago. She knew first hand that marriage had its ups and downs and she didn’t hesitate to tell the woman exactly that- about her occasional dreams of running away to the South of France, about Richard’s failed attempts to make eggs florentine or how he knew exactly what she needed on a stressful day. Her heart twisted and she yearned to tell them all about her miscarriage, that even in the hard times, it would all be worth it but she stopped, knowing that now wasn’t the time.
Instead, she began talking about what might have been. About her dreams of Richard being there for the birth of their child- about their son. “Oh, or that day when he walks into your hospital room holding your newborn son, and he will lay him gently on your chest, and he tells you that you look beautiful, even though you know you look like hell frozen over…” They chuckled and she smiled fondly, “And it all will be worth it.”
The moment was cut short as the maid of honor began complaining about her parole officer but she didn’t mind, jumping on the opportunity to help out- and thankful for the distraction. And later, when her detective cornered her, asking about why she said son when Iris exists, she didn’t hesitate to share what happened, reminding her that all relationships had pain but often the pain was worth it.
Watching her detectives dance and party, she smiled. Yes, she didn’t get to have more kids but her family wasn’t small. While the pain was still there, there was also hope. She had found her family and while it was unconventional, she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
#whumptober2020#no. 29#i think i need a doctor#emergency room#psych#karen vick#chief vick#richard vick#iris vick#hospitals tw#miscarriage tw#blood tw#nausea tw#fanfic#psych fanfic#skipps writes
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Episode 2: Annihilator
Here we go again. My thoughts with approximate time stamps for episode 2.
SPOILERS AHEAD
0:45 - I really wonder how he sanitizes that mouthguard. I mean he spits it onto the floor a lot. Also - being able to watch Tom Payne workout is a gift.
1:15 - I feel you my dude. Rip up that affirmation. Some of them are more triggering than helpful. Also - he takes so many pills. :(
1:46 - Why didn’t Gil ever have kids of his own??!? He’s SOOO good with them and this world needs more GOOD parents.
2:25 - Poor Malcolm. Between his nightmares and his overbearing (but well-meaning) mother - he never gets a break. He somehow manages to look both exasperated and resigned in this scene.
2:55 - The way Malcolm’s eyes light up at the mention of a murder is mildly concerning.
3:04 - What was Malcolm writing here?!? Why was his note pad out?
3:30 - Shaky hand. :(
3:50 - Bro you totally just sold yourself out. Mom definitely knows you’ve been seeing your dad now.
5:08 - “Sometimes it’s just a tragedy to be endured.” I’ll be honest. This line resonates with me. Chills.
5:30 - “City boy.” First of all - love the nickname. It’s adorable. Secondly, I want the whole history of that nickname. Seriously - when did it start and why?
6:00 - Gil’s relationship with Malcolm is truly a thing of wonder. He somehow manages to be kind, professional, and lighthearted with Malcolm while simultaneously exuding an air of concern. Plus there’s usually this look in Gil’s eyes when Malcolm tells Gil he’s fine. It’s a look that says “I can smell your lies kid but I’ll grill you about them later.”
6:15 - “Oh HELL no.” JT makes me smile almost every time he’s on screen. Also - Malcolm’s smile in this scene is hella manic. It’s very concerning.
7:35 - This interaction between Malcolm and Edrisa is very uncomfortable. The awkwardness of their early interactions is why I can never ship Maldrisa. It feels too much like a teenage girl crushing on her high school math teacher. It’s borderline creepy.
8:47 - Seriously? If he was too close to the body a minute ago he’s definitely too close right now. Also - the wires sewn into that man’s mouth are horrifying.
9:40 - Dude. Why are you picking up an unknown phone call in the middle of a work meeting?!? If it’s not a family member (who knows you’re at work) do not pick up. If it’s important they’ll leave a message.
9:47 - Better question is “How did you get my number?”.
10:00 - The best part of this scene is how Gil looks at Malcolm while Malcolm is on the phone. The concern there is palpable.
10:07 - *sigh* that hand shake. Martin makes him so upset.
10:20 - Martin always makes everything about him. It’s infuriating. Fathers shouldn’t do that. Especially when they’re talking to their children.
11:15 - That. Is. So. Screwed Up.
11:50 - That’s not reassuring Malcolm. “They’re very poisonous.”
12:15 - This is why I have a hard time getting behind the “Malcolm is also a killer/he helped his Dad kill people” theories that some fans have. Look at how he treats Edrisa. Watch how concerned he looks. His eyes. You can’t fake that level of sincerity.
13:50 - JT has really nice arms. Like dang. Those are fine.
14:28 - I’m sorry but last episode you flipped at the FBI board because your Dad is a sociopath not a psychopath....now he is a psychopath? Furthermore, you will never refer to him as a sociopath again (as of April 7/2020) so why was he a sociopath in the pilot!?!?
14:40 - Malcolm uses humour as a defence mechanism. Something about that makes me really sad.
15:30 - Gil knows and Gil is concerned. I love this.
15:50 - Mr.David needs a raise. I love how this scene really shows the second side of Martin though. The angry killer. The one who loses control.
17:00 - Dang. Liam’s kind of cute.
17:30 - Very blunt Bright. Maybe not the best approach to break the news. But I get that you were trying to catch him off guard and see his reaction.
19:30 - Liam’s not that cute anymore. Don’t throw poisonous snakes at someone man. That’s not cool.
19:50 - So apparently there’s something wrong with me because watching Malcolm suffer from that snake bite warmed my cold, dead heart. I am a whump whore.
20:50 - Poor Malcolm. He’s so disoriented. :(
21:35 - Gil. You don’t just have a guy in the ER. You have a son in the ER.
22:40 - The sibling interaction here is everything. It’s authentic. It’s sweet. It’s how real siblings who have been through trauma together act. I love everything about this scene.
25:10 - This conversation is so interesting to me. Martin doesn’t deny that he did something to Malcolm. But he does deny drugging his son. Which really makes you wonder what happened to Malcolm as a kid. Because from Malcolm’s memories/flashbacks Martin did drug him. What else did Martin do to him?
26:30 - Martin will say anything to keep Malcolm in the room with him. He’s desperate for company. Really makes you wonder how much of the truth we hear from Martin. How much of what he says is just fodder that Martin thinks will prolong a conversation?
26:40 - No. No. This I won’t believe. Martin didn’t love his children or his wife. If he did he wouldn’t still purposely be causing them emotional turmoil.
28:20 - Gil’s concern for Malcolm just multiplied by about a million. Holy crap. So did mine. Malcolm looks positively manic here. I want to give him a hug.
29:00 - “You know that.” That line breaks my heart. It implies that Gil and Malcolm have had conversations about how hard it is for Malcolm to make and maintain friendships.
29:07 - JT gives Malcolm a look here. You can tell that he cares about Bright. And he is so annoyed that Bright wormed his way into his heart.
30:30 - My mom has this theory that people should be forced to get a licence before having kids (to get this licence you must go through training and pass a psych eval). At this very moment I agree. Men like this dude shouldn’t be allowed to have children.
32:00 - Why isn’t JT in this scene? Where did he go?
32:40 - STOP STANDING AROUND. GO HELP THOSE CHILDREN.
34:00 - Another reason I believe Malcolm isn’t a killer. Look at his face when that little girl regains consciousness. Just look. That is relief. The way he interacts with the kid indicates that he likes kids. That he’s good with kids. .....also side note Dani hugging that little girl is precious <3
35:00 - The Gil and Malcolm sit down I wanted the WHOLE episode. Gil’s face. Malcolm’s honesty. My heart is full.
36:30 - Malcolm really can’t seem to take care of himself. Yikes. Don’t drink if you’re on meds buddy. Also the little shoulder rub that Gil gives Malcolm fuels my soul.
37:30 - “Don’t make it weird.” I don’t think she can buddy. She’s already watching you strap yourself into the bed.
37:40 - Malcolm’s explanation for his restraints + his panicked assurance that he has had sex + his soft spoken question to Dani (”Is this the craziest thing you’ve ever seen?”) is so freaking perfect. You can see how desperately he wants Dani to like him (friend or more, you choose I’m not having that debate) and you can also see that Dani isn’t judging him for his coping mechanisms. It’s the kind of friendship we all deserve.
39:10 - I think that Malcolm’s flashback/memory/dream here is important. It shows us that a) Martin was manipulating everyone, even his wife and b) although Jessica can be brusque, overbearing, and a little cold she genuinely cares about and loves her son.
.....this got really long. Yikes. I thought I was restraining myself too. I honestly could’ve gone into a LOT more detail but I was trying to be brief (which clearly didn’t work).
Anyways, I’ll try to post some more of these over the weekend but it’s Easter so I make no promises (hahaha not that anyone is waiting eagerly for these posts)
If you read any of this - thanks and I’m sorry for the rambling, poor grammar, and statements of the obvious.
#prodigal son#jess-rewatches-prodigal#malcolm bright#ainsley whitly#jessica whitly#martin whitly#gil arroyo#jt tarmel#edrisa tanaka#dani powell#i love this show#whump#rewatch#spoilers#annihilator#1x2#s1
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Author Interview Tag
Tagged by @aelaer a week or two ago, thank you!
Name: Tanya (among family I'm Nan or Auntie Nanny)
Fandoms: Sherlock, MCU, Psych, Prodigal Son, and a goodly collection of others
Where you post: For a number of years I posted on FFN but between the really shitty reviews and extremely cumbersome posting process I finally quit. I posed on Psychfic while still an active part of that fandom but that, too, has pretty much ended. I put a few stories on Wattpad but found it to be pretty meh. I now post exclusively to AO3.
Most popular multi-chapter fic: It's a tossup between “Fury” on Psychfic and “All Nighter” on AO3 – one based on comments and the other on Kudos. Frankly “popularity” is really subjective because there's also stuff like read count and with comments, at least nearly half are replies from me and read count also includes re-reads as well as every time I clicked on the damn thing to edit so....
You know I'm just really not sure how to properly answer this??
Favorite story you’ve written so far: Like others have stated you can ask me this on three different days and get three different answers and there will be more than 1 fic mentioned every time so.... Because I write in different fandoms I just absolutely can't list a single fic. The best I can narrow it would a fic from my top 3 fandoms.
Psych: Paint it Black. I had read a fic where Shawn was gradually going blind and had really been enjoying it and the challenges it presented. Sadly it was never completed. As has happened before I decided I would write my own damn fic if I couldn't get a completed story so that was the primary motivation to start this. What I most love about this is writing from Shawn's perspective as he navigates being blind and not knowing whether or not his condition is permanent. I did my best to honor the experience of blind and partially blind people and tried to look beyond the cliché.
MCU: I have so much fun writing these stories! In spite of the dumpster fire the film canon became I do so love this sandbox and employing various forms of unfucking it. So I'm gonna cheat a little and pick two for my faves here since one is a WIP. Sed Diabolus. I don't need to have completed it yet to know this will be my all-time favorite. This is the first fic that has been entirely plotted out and OMG I'm so excited for iiiit!! The second is Simple Math which seems like an odd choice given there's zero action – mostly just one character – hell, not even any whump. But there is something about that deep dive into Tony's mindset that keeps this as a fave even though it was the first thing I ever wrote for the MCU. I learned about Tony as I wrote this and I also worked my way through those motivations that bothered me regarding Stane. Even years later I still mentally go back to this fic whenever I write Tony because I feel encapsulates the essence of how I see him as a character.
Sherlock: Compared to other fandoms I'm still quite new to this fandom so I don't have nearly as many fics. But I still have a favorite! And, like with the MCU, it's the first story I ever wrote for this fandom; The Tiger and the Shark. Returning to a plot device I've employed in other fics, this one is built around a sexual assault and taking the character on a journey from that terrible event to the point where they rediscover themselves. PTSD ever being my favorite form of whump I employ that fairly a lot in this story and employ some kinda radical methods for coping with those memories.
Fic you were nervous to post: I mean until I start getting comments I'm a world of anxiety with every story I post. But grabbing a specific fic that hit my nerves – that Sherlock fic I'd said was my fave certainly qualified. Not only was it my first Sherlock fic – it also was charging out of the gate with a very heavy topic so yeah – I wasn't sure if people would absolutely hate it or find my characterizations totally off or what.
How you choose your titles: It varies a bit. In some stories, like Sed Diabolus, I actually consult friends on various ideas. Other times I'll consider songs or lyrics and my favorite thing is if I can alter the known title just a bit to make it more relevant to the fic (I did that a LOT with Psych fics which was the method the show also employed for its episode titles). One of my favorite Psych titles is “The Wizard Was the Wicked Witch and the Scarecrow Lost His Courage”.
Do you outline: Almost never – not until “Sed Diabolus”. That story, though, is so astoundingly complex that without an outline I'd be hopelessly lost. I am, though, trying to make a practice of outlining more because it helps SO much!
Complete: If we count every one-shot collection and challenge collection it likely is over 200 stories. Of course a lot of those are one-shots. My total completed chaptered fics number maybe around 34?
In progress: 16 – between Psychfic and AO3. All Psych stories are on long-term hiatus for the foreseeable future (some, honestly, I will never finish as they are many many years old and I've lost the inspiration for the plot). Several MCU stories are also on the back-burner while I focus on “Sed Diabolus”. I admit I get LOTS of story ideas and staying focused on a single fic is not something I've ever been greatly successful with.
Coming soon/not yet started: I meaaaan.... lots?? I have probably several hundred ideas and partially started fics across many fandoms. As to “imminently coming soon...” I don't think I currently have an active story that I haven't already posted at least a first chapter. Sadly I have zero patience for developing something for months before posting which is why I have so many WIPs. That said I DO have a Sherlock au that has been poking at me now and then involving the witch trials that started in Denmark and, eventually, made their way to Salem. The idea would be that Molly Hooper is accused of being a witch. She, of course, is innocent but cause this unfortunate attention due to her “uncanny” ability to heal the sick and injured (not so much uncanny as opposed to employing methods that aren't so reliant on superstition and folklore).
She is scheduled to be tortured and executed but is saved by Sherlock – a strange recluse primarily ignored and given a pass as he solves mysteries for people. He and his friend John save Molly from this awful fate. The twist is that Sherlock is a sorcerer (bit of marvel crossover-ish) and able to transport them to safety.
Do you accept prompts: I wish I could cause I love ideas but I don't have the time/energy to always work on what I already have and I'm awful at follow thru. Like I will never turn away an Ask wanting to share ideas but I can't promise that I can actually write anything.
Upcoming story you are most excited to write: As was the reply to a previous query – I have lots that are ideas that will linger in partial stages for sometimes years. If it's “upcoming” I've already posted the first chapter lol! But, again, I have several story ideas that whenever I poke through my folders I get excited about someday actually writing them. Here is a teaser for an MCU fic involving Tony Stark and Obie (I still feel this was never explored enough – certainly not in fic):
They were doing a retrospective, ten year anniversary kinda... whatever. Unofficial, of course. Certainly nothing Pepper would have dreamed up even at her most drunk (which, honestly, was never her scene. Tony had sorta owned that space well beyond the time it had started owning him). Whose idea it ultimately had been? Frankly Tony couldn't give a fuck. That he was asked to be one of the speakers was slightly more... awkward. Awkward was the right word, yeah? Nauseating was certainly another and possibly a bit more accurate.
Dead for a decade and Obadiah Stane still managed to fuck with his life.
But... it hadn't always been that way. At least, not as he'd believed back when the Walkman had been on every kid's Christmas list.
He'd thought it was bonding; at the time. His dad had never been one for just hanging out; shooting the shit; telling tales out of school. No, Pops, when he bothered to interact, led with questions. “You keeping your grades up?” “You still seeing that floozy?” “When are you going to pull your head out of your ass and grow the hell up?” “You do realize it's my name you're disgracing every time you go on a bender?”
With Obie it was just, easy. Obie might ask about school but it was always with approval and pride. He would discuss Tony's conquests as though Tony had climbed Kilimanjaro wearing nothing but underwear and a cape.
Obie was there when his father wasn't. Which meant that Obie was always there. The first time he got astoundingly drunk on his father's scotch, Obie was the one to help him hunch over the toilet and vomit expensive, aged booze into the toilet. Obie was also the one to replace the depleted bottle to keep Howard in the dark. For a fourteen year old kid still trying to gain his dad's favor, that had meant everything.
He saw his first porn with Obie; sex education ala Traci Lords, three months shy of his fifteenth birthday. That was the same time he was introduced to weed. Obie had cautioned him to use it sparingly; didn't want to fry that genius brain, he'd say, and ruffle his hair. The porn had made him uncomfortable. Obie had turned it off and told him they could watch whatever Tony wanted. They'd ended up changing the station to Knight Rider; smoking and munching Cheetos and laughing over their orange fingers.
It was Obie who was there, arm around his shoulders, after his parents died. He desperately didn't want to sob in front of the man. Things were so complicated with his dad that all he felt was blinding guilt... as though some part of him had caused this. But Obie had filled him with bourbon until the emotions got soft around the edges and he'd sat beside the older man, head tipping gradually to the right until he was held up by Obie's shoulder. Obie had just slung an arm around him and let Tony pass out while he rubbed a broad hand up and down his bicep.
It was strange, now, looking back with adult perspective. A perspective that included Afghanistan and his intended execution while Obie talked about legacy and responsibility while Tony's lungs slowly seized. He'd taken the time to sit there – arm around Tony's shoulders while one broad hand traveled up and down Tony's bicep – just like when he was a kid and Obie was the whole world.
He'd tried to remember if it had felt so... tainted... at the time. Or if he'd always believed it was love.
Obie had never quite crossed that line. Though hindsight offered a peek into that possibility with enough clarity Tony had fought with his cramping gut for nearly thirty minutes. He'd staved off vomiting though he was fairly certain his dignity had still been in tatters what with Bruce wandering in on his misery.
Upcoming story you are most excited about (this is basically a repeat of the above question so I decided to change it. Do you have a future story idea you'd like to write that is not yet beyond the vague idea stage? I love stories that put Molly in some sort of jeporady and I have a barely formed idea to someday write a “stalker fic” of some sort and not I don't care that this trope had been done on repeat – I still love it lol! I have a smidge of writing for it:
“I need your help.”
As afternoons at Baker Street went, this was a mundane request heard so often that Sherlock's typical reply, “Obviously, or you wouldn't be here”, could have been printed on flash cards. The detective had actually made the suggestion after a particularly full day at the flat and having heard the statement no less than twenty times.
Today, however, Sherlock merely blinked for a moment. Then, with an awkwardness rare to a man with a lethal sort of grace in his movements, Sherlock gestured to John's chair, JOHN'S CHAIR, before taking his usual seat.
Molly didn't exactly smile but her lips edged up a bit before she sat.
John cleared his throat before pointing a vague hand towards the kitchen. “I'll just go make some tea, shall I?”
“No, please, I...” The stammer in her speech was not uncommon; though John couldn't recall such obvious fear. Forgoing the kitchen he, instead, took the hard wooden chair facing the other two.
“Molly, what's wrong?”
Tagging: @kitcat992 @mizjoely @sgam76 @ariaadagio @hanuko @ceruleanmindpalace
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Broken Pieces Pt. 4: Beth’s Answer
Beth knew something was wrong as soon as Jay didn’t walk through the doors of their apartment building at exactly 5:37 pm.
She imagined what always happened at time, what should have been happening then: Jay would check their mail, draining the last drops of soda from a Grape Crush can. Condensing the aluminum, they would smile to themselves and deftly toss the can into the recycling bin while humming a wordless tune. They would switch their mail to their left hand before heading up the stairs to knock on Beth’s door and tell her the stock market index. Beth didn’t know why Jay did this. To her knowledge, neither of them owned stocks, but it made Jay feel better, so Beth always smiled and wished them well.
That was their routine. That was safe. This emptiness was not.
“Calm down,” Beth muttered to herself, sipping herbal tea from a hideously orange discount mug. “The kid could have a night out with friends. (On a Thursday?) They could work late. (Despite their painstaking precision) They could...have a date?”
Beth shouldn’t be worried about them. Not when they were just a few minutes late.
But then Jay didn’t show up to the apartment’s lounge the next morning to help Beth with her crossword puzzle. They didn’t tease her about ignoring the Sudoku or make faces at her mug of tea. Beth grit her teeth and shut her eyes. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to act, to do something, to try to right this wrong in the world.
“What’s the name?”
“Jay. Well, technically Jonathan Anthony Young. Junior. Their dad died a few years ago and they’ve gone by Jay ever since.”
Beth knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. The police station made her nervous and the cop behind the desk just wouldn’t seem to listen.
“Age?”
“26. Maybe 27? They don’t talk about their birthday much because they hate being the center of attention and never want folks to make a fuss.”
“And you are?”
“Their neighbor.”
“Just a neighbor?”
“A friend.”
Beth squeezed her hands together. She needed more caffeine.
“Look, are you sure he didn’t just go out of town for a few days without telling you? I mean, it’s not like you’re family,” the cop said, fake sympathy dripping from her voice.
That was it. Beth had had enough. She slammed her shaking hands down on the desk in front of her.
“Look, the kid has OCD, okay? They don’t break their routines, not for anything or anyone. So when I say Jay didn’t meet me for tea and crosswords this morning I’m not saying that I miss them. I’m saying that they’re MISSING. If you don’t let me file a Missing Person’s report whatever happens to them is on you.”
***
72 hours.
Beth cursed under her breath as she left the precinct. 72 hours before the police would do anything. 72 hours before anyone else would even care. Beth tried to hold out half a hope that Jay’s fancy-pants computer job would notice when he didn’t show up in the morning, but she was too angry to think straight.
Jay was in trouble and she couldn’t help him. All she could do was wait.
Months passed. Beth had never felt more useless. Somedays her godawful mugs were filled with more whiskey than tea.
Then there was a knock on her door in 342 B.
“Elizabeth Martinez?”
The man in the suit eyed Beth warily, but remained professional. Whoever he was expecting, it obviously wasn’t an overweight 38-year-old secretary. His hands were full of papers and he was backed by stiff security guards.
Beth straightened her posture. She wouldn’t intimidated without a damn good reason.
“Yes,” she said, parking her body in the middle of her door.
“You were listed by Morgan Security as Jay’s emergency contact.”
The words almost made her knees buckle.
“What happened? Did you find him? Is he..?”
“He’s alive.”
Beth breath wooshed out of her in a rush. She felt something like relief for the first time in months and it terrified her.
“We’d like to discuss the details,” the suited man continued. “May we come in.”
Beth stepped back from the door.
***
Torture.
Beth’s hands gripped her mouth and her chest as they told her. Jay had been TORTURED. Apparently they’d held up well, hadn’t given up anything. Beth couldn’t care less about that. She just wanted to spare him that pain. That agony. Jay was just a kid. They didn’t deserve…
She shook her head and turned back to the conversation. That train of thought would take her nowhere. She couldn’t help Jay then, but she could as hell help them now.
Morgan Security didn’t want this to go public. Their clients’ trust in their company was paramount. The business didn’t want it shaken by a scandal like this. They offered to pay for all of Jay’s medical bills, rent for a house out of the city, a generous stipend for Beth so she could take care of Jay full time.
Remuneration, they called it. Thanks for Jay’s hard work and loyalty.
Beth called it Hush Money.
She still signed on the dotted line.
“Jay’s mother?” She demanded before the deal was done.
“Excuse me?”
“She’s sick. Lives in a psych ward at Felicity General. Jay always spent a considerable amount of their salary to keep her cared for and comfortable.”
“Certainly,” the suit said. “We can continue those arrangements.”
“Good. Now when can I see Jay?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Beth squared her gaze and prepared for a fight.
“Jay’s parents are out of the picture. Their father is dead and their mother can’t tell a hawk from a handsaw. What do you want to bet that Jay put me down as primary carer on his medical forms too? Wait, I bet you already know that. So if you want to try to stop me from tracking that kid down and ramming 12 lawsuits down your throat, be my guest. I think it would be easier if you took me to him. Now.”
The suit straighten his tie and cleared his throat. He nodded.
Beth grabbed her purse to follow him out the door when she heard a soft murmur from the security guard behind her.
“All this trouble for one broken computer tech…”
Before she knew it, Beth was at the man’s throat, finger pointed firmly at his nose.
“You will never call Jay broken again, you hear me? They may be hurt. Hell, they may be hurting for the rest of their life. But they are a person, not a thing you can toss on the ground and just leave. They gave everything for you and even if they didn’t, they would still deserve your respect.”
She spit in the guard’s face. No one else moved.
“Now come with me,” she said darkly. “I’ve got a job for you.”
***
A flurry of activity met Beth and the suit as they walked into Jay’s spacious hospital room. Guards were stationed at every entrance. Beth wasn’t sure if they were supposed to make Jay feel safe or to protect Morgan Security’s investment.
“What’s wrong?” the suit said.
“Jay’s asking again,” said a nearby nurse, walking by with a used IV. “We’ve tried telling them that the operation took 8 hours or that they slept on and off for 3 days. They’re still agitated. We don’t want to sedate them until after the doctor has examined their ribs.”
Beth breezed passed the conversation until her eyes found the hospital bed. Immediately, her hands went to her mouth and chest again.
Jay was hardly recognizable. Even at 6’2,’’ they looked small. Starvation had withered them down to a bean pole. The parts of their skin that was visible above the blankets was purpled with bruises that seemed to sink into their body like they were still being beaten. Their hands were suspended above them, encased in white plaster casts with splints everywhere that Beth could see.
Jay was clearly exhausted and disoriented. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed in the wildness within. They thrashed against their restraints, trying to meet the gaze of everyone around them.
“How long?” they asked, voice cracking. “How long?”
“7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” Beth said loudly. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. She kept her eyes planted firmly on Jay’s.
“You’ve been gone for 7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” she continued, motioning the security guard she accosted in her apartment to bring over a formidable cardboard box. “And we noticed, Jay. We missed you every second. We would never let you fade away.”
The patient’s struggling ceased. Jay looked back at Beth, still lost.
She went to the box and lifted newspaper after newspaper out of it, bringing all she could hold in her arms to Jay’s bedside. She held them up one by one so Jay could see the dates, the tangible proof that time existed outside of whatever cell he was held in, proof that they were out of there and that this, this was real.
“That’s today’s date, Jay-bird. That’s the date you are free.”
Jay, however, just kept scanning the page until he found the Sunday crossword.
“You didn’t do it,” they whispered.
“Of course not. I didn’t do any of them.” Beth said, gesturing to the box of papers. “I couldn’t. Not...not without you.”
She brushed curly blond hair back from Jay’s forehead as it tightened into a frown.
“But, I can’t...I can’t help you,” Jay said miserably, gesturing with his head at his splintered hands.
“Pfft, as if I ever let you write on my crosswords anyway!” Beth said gently. “Now will you settle down and let these doctors do their job? I don’t know about you, but I need a nap. Then you can help me with 12 down. It’s a stumper.”
For the first time sense the Faceless Men jumped them, Jay smiled. They settled back against the pillows, fading quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.
@dragonyoudownwithme requested Anger Born of Worry. I’m pretty darn sure this counts!
I really wanted you all to meet Beth and (hopefully) love her like I do. Please let me know what you think!!!
Tagging the Broken Pieces Crew: (If you want to be added or taken off this list, just let me know!): @stoic-whumpee, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall, @straight-to-the-pain, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @0idril0, @fallingstormphoenix, @whump-fantasies, @imagination1reality0, @whumpback-wail, @whump-tr0pes, @untilthepainstarts, @captivity-whump
#Whump#Hurt/Comfort#Broken Pieces#Bad Things Happen Bingo#Anger Born of Worry#Original Characters#Beth#Jay#quirkykayleetam writes#Hospitalization#Broken Bones#Aftermath
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Ivory Runs Red: 5/6
First off, massive thanks to the @cssns, my beta @demisexualemmaswan, and my artist @cocohook38. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!
This part is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.
I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)
Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .
Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …
Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)
Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
Also on Ao3
Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling
Chapter Five: Run
“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded.
Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours.
“They won’t believe me.”
Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”
“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”
“But you’re a cop!”
“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”
“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question.
Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”
“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”
Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.
“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath.
*************************************************
Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped.
“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him.
His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake.
“You’ve got to stop this!”
Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”
Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car.
“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat.
“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside.
“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”
*******************************************************
“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”
Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward.
“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”
“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.
“I told you the truth.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”
The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”
“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”
The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”
Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.
“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”
“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”
The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”
“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”
“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”
Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”
The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”
Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break.
“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”
The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”
“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”
“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”
Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now.
“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.
Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”
A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won.
************************************************************
They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on.
Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home.
Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.
The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps.
And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind.
Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep.
“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”
Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”
His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb.
“But not if you keep holding onto me.”
His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”
She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position.
“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek.
He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual.
“I won’t let you see me again.”
“No, Emma, please! I love you!”
“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.”
She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes.
“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”
Then she was gone.
#cs ff#captain swan ff#cssns21#captain swan supernatural summer#ghost story#horror#strange lieutenant duckling#lol trust me#happy ending of sorts
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