#and no matter what his future or recovery may or may not look like

[tangledinink]

Your latest Swanatello comic hit me like a truck…. That bit about forgetting and crying and being useless? The way Donnie feels he used to me smart but isn’t anymore? THAT’S ME. I went from being physically and mentally able to disabled overnight (literally, went to sleep one day, couldn’t wake up the next day, they still don’t know what caused it). Memory problems, comprehension and cognitive problems (I could not write my own name), unable to physically get out of bed…. I’ve gotten a lot better, but your comic just summed up those feelings of frustration and guilt PERFECTLY. It was like looking in a turtle shaped mirror. The whole thing is like looking in a turtle shaped mirror…. Swanatello is kind of a brilliant disability allegory actually… Donnie is trapped by circumstances he didn’t choose, his body and mind and abilities are affected…. <3

It makes me really happy to know that this story resonates with people and can speak to other peoples' experiences with memory loss/cognitive disability/etc. I will keep on doing my best with it and I appreciate y'all's support ; w ;

[shini--chan]

May I request 2p allies making their s/o mute as a punishment for trying to run for help.

⚫〰️⚫ Thank you

Alright, as the ask indicates, it is not a never family friendly post that awaits you up ahead. Excluding 2p Canada this time, since I had difficulty coming up with another form of mutness other than those described via the other characters.

This came out later than planned due to time management issues on behalf of the author. Nevertheless, enjoy!

Trigger warnings: body horror, physical abuse, emotional abuse, mutilation, misuse of medical procedures, drugging, malnutrition, dark magic

Yandere 2p! Allies - Silence is Gold

America

Allen would loathe to admit it, but he had come to like you when you were quiet. Aside from that, you looked so cute with your neck bandaged up. And those glares and petulant expressions you made! Oh, if he had known how agreeable you’d become after losing your voice, he would have done this far sooner. 

That being said, it had been an accident - he hadn’t wanted to punch you in the throat, but you just had to jump in the way, when he was busy teaching that bastard a lesson. Therefore, he had had no choice but to cut open your throat to ensure you could continue breathing. 

When you leaned down to take his plate, you purposely bumped his shoulder. Yes, you were still very upset with him about what had happened. However, the feeling was mutual. He slapped your arse when you straightened up again. 

It caused you to perform a little jump and then glare at him. 

“If I had known that you’d look so sexy with something around your neck, I would have bought you a set of chokers long ago, dollface. Don’t worry though - you look good with the bloodstained gauze as well”, he slyly complimented you. Oh, how it infuriated you. 

You had tried to talk a few times these past days, causing the wound on your neck to reopen and weep plasma and blood everytime you did. As it was, you were lucky that you had gotten antibiotics, or else Allen would have been far stricter with you. 

Petty as you could be, turned your back on him and flipped the bird as you marched back to the kitchen. At this, Allen could prevent himself from laughing. 

Allen actually wouldn’t want to rob you of your voice, since half the fun in having you is that you talk back. However, he would discover the benefits of muting you after he would have to do it in some shape of form. Once doing so, he would find this experience refreshing and seek to replicate it multiple times in the future. Here, you would really be in danger of losing your voice permanently if you aren’t able to curb his … preferences. 

The problem here is that he would find your muteness and the injuries connected to it to be unbelievably arousing. In ways, your life would biome harder than it already is thanks to that.

China

Could you really be blamed for panicking in a situation such as this? The rush of hysteria made the binds tying you down to the table seem even tighter than they were, and you felt like you were suffocating, no matter how fast you breathed. The air was too hot and your clothes too scratchy, with the latter made all the worse by the fact that you were coated in grim and your own dried sweat.

To your left, you heard Zao approach you. Since your head was fastened to the table, you only could see him once he appeared in your periphery. There was a horrid grin on his face, that stood in complete juxtaposition to what he said.

"My heart, this is really something I don't want to do, but you leave me with no choice."

You wanted to retort, but thought better of it just in the nick of time. He had a brown glass bottle at hand, and you didn't like all the warning labels on it, nor how close it was to your mouth. 

"But give in and swallow, I promise to help you with your recovery if you comply", he told you in a sickly sweet tone as if he was talking to a child. As much as you wanted to shake your head, you couldn't. By now, you were trembling. 

Two fingers pinched your nose firmly. After a few seconds, you started to become lightheaded and you heard and felt your blood pounding. Opening your mouth wouldn't be an option, since the bottle would immediately be emptied into your mouth if you did that. So instead, you opened the corner of your mouth and tried to breathe as discreetly as possible. 

To no avail. The fingers that were on your nose went for your mouth and pried your lips apart. As valiantly as you struggled, the bottle still went in. The fluid caused your throat to burn, and when you accidentally breathed some of it, you let out a hapless scream of pain. 

His method of muting you would be more permanent - rendering your vocal cords and throat useless by forcing you to drink acid or poison. This would either be the response to a multitude of transgressions, or him being particularly ticked off by an escape.

A side effect of this would be that you would be unable to swallow food or drink. But he would be there to help you, either by feeding you through a tube, an IV or by supplying you through your back door (i.e your rectum). This would serve as an extension of the original punishment. Additionally, you would be helpless and reliant on him. 

England

When you finally woke up, you felt groggy and heavy, each of your limbs made of lead and your mouth full of cotton. Sleep drunk, you opened your eyes and eased yourself to a more upright position. 

Not that it was more comfortable - there were kinks and knots in your back that only a professional massage could relieve you from. Why the hell had you fallen asleep here of all places? You were seated in an old dentist car, the once royal red faded. The contraption creaked ominously whenever you moved.

This was getting weirder and weirder by the moment. The twilight of the room you were in didn't help.

Your mouth felt dry and slightly numb, and your lips subsequently cracked. You parted your lips and wanted to run your tongue over the dried skin only to discover that you didn't have a tongue anymore. 

Cold shock made you bolt upright and all at once, the world shifted into sharp clarity. Once again, you tried to stretch your tongue out only for nothing to move, not a stump. That was when you started to panic.

Lungs heaved as you tried to explain the situation to yourself. There was absolutely no pain, you weren't feeling weak. The taste of blood was absent, and the bitter sting of iodine or saline solution wasn't present either. 

In your panic, you opened your mouth and stuck your fingers inside to feel for your tongue. It had been completely removed down to the root. There wasn't even puckered skin where the muscle would have begun. Tears started to leak from your eyes and you tried to force a few miserable sounds out of your mouth. 

"Now, now don't engage in self-pity. You did bring this on yourself, my rose bud."

The blood in your veins turned to ice, and you halted your frantic movement. Despite the dim lighting of the underground room, you could clearly see Oliver Kirkland. He was seated on a red satin loveseat, and in the jar he had balanced on his knee was your tongue. 

Oliver would use magic to completely remove your tongue from your mouth, aiming to insite as much panic in you as possible. As such, you'll only find out what he has done after completion of the procedure. 

Instead of helping you to deal with the situation, he would mock you relentlessly. Furthermore, he would place the blame on you - it was you that ran away, it was you that forced his hand; everything that went wrong is your fault. The jar with your tongue in it would be placed in a spot that you'd have a hard time overlooking. A taunt, and a reminder that the amputation is only temporary. You just have to play being a good spouse for long enough and then he'd give you your tongue back. 

France

Putrid pus stained the sheets as he pulled them away. Yesterday the colour had been yellow, but now it had a slight green tint to it. Francois brushed his fringes out of his face and tied his hair back to a sloppy ponytail. 

With a soft sigh, and placed the bandages and tincture bottles on the bed next to you and tilted your head towards him. Sickness and the corresponding fever made your sleep deep, unlike it usually was. You didn't even stir when he lifted your head onto his lap. 

At this point, it was up for debate what was sealing your lips more - the rough stitches or the infection. The swelling had distorted your mouth, so much so that it was beginning to block your nose and hinder your breathing. 

Cursing softly under his breath, he set out to drain the pus from the needle wounds. He shouldn't have used the expired saline solution, yet you had given him no choice. You had been so busy thrashing and screaming around when he had sown your mouth shut. 

Francois still didn't understand why you had put up such a fuss. The punishment was deserved and it made your resistance all the more pathetic. Seriously, had you really thought he would take you escaping lightly? How could you delude yourself into thinking he wouldn't take all those vile words that you had uttered upon being brought home to heart?

The pus drenched bandages were thrown into the bin, and he proceeded to down the injured tissue with iodine. You groaned in your sleep, and tried to open your mouth. A noticeable tremor ran down your body, and you stopped straining against the stitches. 

Perhaps it was better that you were lost in a haze. It gave your captor more time to think and calm down. 

Francois would elect to make your muteness temporary, but with some caveats. You'd wear scars around your mouth for the rest of your life and the mental and physical trauma would haunt you for years to come. Such a situation would have a high potential of arising if you poured your heart out to somebody else and incited them to help you escape. 

Russia

This was getting more tiring by the hour. Slowly, you were asking yourself if this really was a punishment, or if it was one of Victor's loathsome social experiments.  loathsome social experiments. They both tended to be alike, so it was hard to tell on a normal day. 

“If you keep glaring at me like that, your face will distort to a permanent frown”, the man in question remarked. The knife repeatedly scraped over the wood in his hand, causing shavings to fly with every stroke of the blade. He didn’t even look up from his whittling when he said that. How rude. 

Feeling petulant, you knicked a stone in the river. It was a nice day to be outdoors - the spring air was filled with the sweet smell of flowers, and the sun was shining through the birch tree. Though, you couldn’t bring yourself to be happy, not when he had brought you to the spot where he had captured you a mere week ago, picnic basket at hand. 

You had difficulty swallowing every other bite, and also keeping it down. Now that bastard even insisted on staying a bit longer to enjoy the alleged peace and quiet that the forest offered. 

With how frustrated you were, you opened your mouth in order to say something, only to receive a smack to the face with the flat side of the knife the second you opened your mouth. In shock, you quickly closed your mouth again and looked at him aghast. 

This time, he was even meeting your eyes. 

“You know the agreement, so don’t break it by talking now.”

Mutness wouldn’t even be the intended punishment at first - it would be offered as a second, milder option to a harsher punishment. Victor would have a habit of giving you an option of choosing between two or more punishments. It would be to give you an illusion of power over your own fate and an opportunity to assuage your character. Mind you, he would never give you the full details of the punishments that you can choose from. 

In this case, he would enforce a “voluntary silence” upon you. You would have to refrain from speaking for a certain time interval, or else suffer a harsher punishment. This is one of his games with you, that would be designed to mould your personality to his liking. Also, this would be a form of discipline training for you. 

[agirlwithdemonblood]

Through The Shadows: Chapter 3 - Under the Stars

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Series Summary: A hunter's Journey through despair and recovery is guided by Dean Winchester's unwavering love, leading her to reclaim her strength, voice and hope for their shared future.

Chapter Summary: Open air, alcohol & an understanding is exactly what is needed for Dean to get to know Y/N in a whole new way.

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, depression, anxiety, mentions of being hurt, swearing, heavy topics.

A/N: I wanted to just add/mention that this Dean Winchester is how I picture him, some may not agree that he's a huge softie down under but I would picture him being one, so if you don't like it you don't have to read it! <3

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

The next morning, Dean walked into the kitchen where Sam was pouring over maps and lore. Dean grabbed a cup of coffee and sat across his brother, contemplating how to approach the topic while avoiding any chick flick moments.

"Sammy." he began slowly, "I talked to Y/n last night. About why she's been so distant."

Sam looked up, eyebrows raised. "Yeah? How did it go?"

Dean ran a hand over his face, still processing everything he learned. "She told me about how she has severe anxiety and depression. I had no idea."

Sam's expression softened. "I'm glad she opened up to you. It's not easy for her to talk about that stuff."

Dean nodded, feeling a weight in his chest. "I want to understand her better. You're close to her, Sam. How did you get her to open up?"

Sam leaned back, thinking for a moment. "Honestly?" Getting her out in the open air helps. And whiskey doesn't hurt either. Mostly, you just have to ask questions if you're curious, show her you want to understand without judgments."

Dean considered this, then nodded decisively. "Alright. I'll take her for a drive tonight. See if we can talk more."

That evening, Dean approached Y/n, who was quietly reading in the library. "Hey." He spoke, trying to keep his tone light. "Feel like getting out for a bit? Maybe we can go for a drive and have a drink or two?"

Y/n looked up, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and anxiety. She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the book. "Um... sure," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dean gave her an encouraging smile. "Great, we will leave in ten."

The drive was quiet but not uncomfortable. Dean took them to a secluded spot overlooking a wide-open field, stars dotting the sky like pinpricks of light. He parked the Impala, turning off the endgine and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the backseat.

He hopped up to sit on the hood of the car, motioning for Y/N to join him. He moved cautiously, her hands trembling slightly as she settled beside him, her body tense.

Dean's concern grew, but he tried to keep his tone casual as he handed her a drink. "You okay if I ask you some questions about what we talked about yesterday?" She nodded and fiddled with her glass as she waited.

“How long have you had anxiety for?” He questioned softly.

Y/N took a deep breath, looking out at the dark horizon. "My anxiety... I've had since I was a kid. I remember being in elementary school and feeling terrified all the time. Like the world was too big and I didn't fit in."

Dean listened quietly, his heart aching at the thought of a young Y/N feeling so alone. "What about your depression?"

She took another sip of whiskey, her hands shaking slightly. "That started in middle school. I was... bullied, badly. I guess it snapped something inside of me."

Dean's jaw tightened, "Bullied how?"

She swallowed hard, her voice shaking as she spoke. "Every day, they'd call me names, throw things at me, push me. One time, they pushed me down the stairs. I broke my leg." She looked down, her eyes glistening with unshed tears at the memories of her life. "I felt worthless, like I didn't matter."

Dean's heart bled for her. He reached out, almost touching her arm but hesitated, not wanting to scare her. "Y/N.... I'm so sorry."

She nodded, blinking back the tears and offering a small smile, "It's okay, it's in the past now. I'm working on it."

He took a deep breath, feeling his anger simmer at those who had hurt her. "How bad is your anxiety now?"

She looked down at her drink, her voice a whisper in the quiet night. "Sometimes I get panic attacks. My body just... shuts down. I can't breathe, and sometimes I pass out."

Dean's chest tightened with empathy, "Has Sam seen this happen?"

She nodded. "Once. He had to take me to the hospital after a hunt because I wasn't breathing."

Dean felt a lump in his throat. He'd never admit it, but he's had his share of panic attacks, just not to that extent. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Y/N managed a small smile. "Thanks, it's okay."

Dean took a sip of whiskey, gathering his courage to ask the question he was most curious about. "How bad has your depression ever gotten."

Her eyes widened and she bit her lip, looking away. "That's... a conversation for tomorrow's drink."

He nodded, understanding her need to take things one step at a time. "Okay. I get it, and I'm really sorry for how I acted before, I didn't know."

She shook her head, "It's fine, I don't expect pity because of this, but I'm sorry for how I made you feel."

Dean gave her a gentle smile, "I don't pity you, I have respect for you, I can't imagine how hard this would be to deal with."

She nodded, her eyes meeting his with a vulnerable openness. "It is. But... this helps. Talking about it."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the night air cool against their skin. Slowly, they began to take more feely, sharing stories and laughing together. Dean found himself drawn to her strength and resilience, admiring the way she's handling everything she had been through.

As they talked, he felt a warmth growing in his chest, an undeniable pull towards her. He remembered her warning not to fall in love with her and now he understood why. She was more than her struggles; she was a person with a depth he was only beginning to see. And despite himself, he could feel his heart leaning towards her, caught in the web of her quiet courage and unspoken strength.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 4 coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[jtl-fics]

Time After Time:

Math Nerd AU

May 19th, 2020 (in the past future [before the reincarnation])

Math Nerd AU | Unusual Fic Asks

Neil was coming to accept that he wasn't going to die of old age as the doctors told him the recovery time for his twisted knee. He would need to do physical therapy before he could even have the surgery and then additional physical therapy afterwards.

It would take too long.

The Moriyamas would cut him as a useless thread. "Mr. Josten, you'll play again." The Doctor assures, "You will just-"

"Thank you Doctor, yes I understand." Neil interrupts. "Let's schedule a time to start the physical therapy." he says because a part of him feels spiteful. He knows how Ichirou works, knows that his death will look like a suicide.

People who are committing suicide don't make plans right? Maybe his death would be just enough to topple it all to the ground and save Kevin and Jean. He makes his appointment and hobbles out of his doctor's appointment to find Andrew in the waiting room.

He wonders how much longer he'll get to look at him.

He'll never actually be ready to stop.

Andrew's gaze snaps to him and Andrew has always been able to read him like a book. "It's too long?" he asks.

Neil laughs because, as usual, there was no point in hiding things from Andrew. "I've had my will ready for a while. I'm leaving-"

"Stop." Andrew raises his hand, "you aren't dying. Not before me. I'm older." Andrew argues.

Neil smiles and wishes to say the three words that bubble up in him but he wants them to be the last ones he says to Andrew if he can manage it. Saying them now would only make Andrew upset and possibly leave.

"Let's go home. I wanna see the cats." he says instead. It doesn't matter too much, his will spells out where everything is supposed to go. Andrew helps him into the car and puts his crutches in the backseat. They drive in silence and Neil finds himself looking at every black car with out of state licenses.

He looks at his phone because there's no point in worrying. His fate was sealed the moment that Ohio player rammed into him. He hopes Andrew likes one of the options he listed in his will. He hopes he stays close to Andrew, hopes he can protect him from beyond.

He prepares texts for all of his friends as he goes. Most are just I love yous and some thanking them for being especially kind to him. His text to Matt a long note on how sorry he is that he won't get to watch his god daughter grow up. His note to Aaron to make sure that his daughters take after Katelyn when they're born.

They get home and Neil is glad to see that there are no cars in their driveway. It does not mean that Ichirou isn't there, but it gives him a bit more time to look at Andrew.

Andrew's jaw is tight as he pulled into their garage.

"I've had arrangements made and paid for Andrew. It's going-"

"Shut up." Andrew hisses and gets out of the car.

Neil's phone rings and he sees a familiar area code he looks as Andrew shuts the door as he enters the house.

He hits accept. 32 wasn't bad considering he never expected 20.

"Hello?" he asks.

"Wesninski." Ichirou greets and Neil lets his eyes close. "I hear you will not be able to pay me." he comments.

"It will be quite some time before I can work on the court again My Lord." he doesn't lie or try to hide it. "I understand what this means for our deal. May I-"

"I wish to strike a different deal." Ichirou interrupts and Neil blinks.

"You...wish to strike a different deal?" he asks.

"I am in need of someone with your certifications Wesninski." Ichirou says.

Neil's jaw tenses. He can't do his father's work. He'd rather just have Ichirou shoot him and let it be done.

"You have kept up to date with your CPA certification from what I understand?" Ichirou continues.

Neil blinks.

What?

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Traditionally, I Love You ~ Bakugou Katsuki x Reader ***

Summary: A small, soft and very fluffy story where Katsuki falls in love with a girl from a traditional upbringing who learns about the modern life for the first time when she’s forced to get into U.A. Their relationship develops beautifully, and they take a step further, under the guidance of Katsuki, who shows her that being intimate is for pleasure and connection, not just for heir-making as she was taught.  ( It’s going to be mainly female-pleasure focused, and an extremely soft Katsuki x )

Bakugou always prided himself with being the absolute best at everything, the future #1 Hero, and though he didn’t get in U.A. through recommendation like those privileged extras, he rightfully got the highest score at the entrance exam.  He played it cool all the time, though even he had to admit, his enthusiasm may have gotten the best out of him at times - He wasn’t going to show his happiness though, of course not, he was above fawning over heroes and being in a hero academy - Unlike that dumbass Deku, he was so ridiculous, he couldn’t only laugh in his face. It was humiliating even knowing they were from the same class, let alone that he considered him a ‘friend’. Ha! As if Bakugou would befriend a Quirkless nobody like him.

Still, after a few weeks in U.A., on one morning when Aizawa was supposed to come over for homeroom time and say his good mornings, he brought over a girl around their age. She was dressed in a traditional outfit, and her hair, too, was long, worn and pinned with a pretty flower accessory, and her make up was white, with a little bit of red around her eyes, highlighting an almost cat-like look. She looked like a traditional porcelain doll. Bakugou didn’t even want to look at her - Too soft, he thought. Why was she here anyway? Surely, there was no way she wanted to be a hero, not someone like her.

But Bakugou’s ears perked up, as though he was some kind of animal - She was their new transfer student classmate. This girl who looked like she was being an actor ripped from a movie set in the 16th century sengoku era... She was supposed to be their new student. What a load of bullshit. There was no way she could have a proper Quirk... Unless she had a healing Quirk? Perhaps so - Apart from Recovery Girl, there was no one in U.A., or at least that he knew, who could heal others. Surely, for healers, there must be better schools, aren’t they? So why was she brought here to begin with?

“My name is L/N Y/N. I am going to be your classmate. Please, treat me well.” the girl bowed deeply at them, so soft-spoken that Katsuki couldn’t even hear her. Was she the shy-introvert type, or was this her whole persona, of a pretty, traditional girl? How clichee. Bakugou already hated her, though he couldn’t stand the overly loud and obnoxious kawaii-bullshit girls either; Their forced, high-pitched voices grated his brain to the point of over-bleeding. It didn’t matter though. Bakugou wasn’t in U.A. to get in a relationship. He was there to learn and train to his body’s limits, and far beyond.

Aizawa then informed them that Y/N was from a village with strict, traditional views, and she needed to be integrated in their society, as she doesn’t even know how to use her phone. The school was gracious enough to provide her with a good enough cell-phone, but there was only so far she could go, all by herself.

Of course, all those stupid extras fawned over her like months to the flame, they were talking to her, all at once even, and they all tried to explain to her things, different things, of different topics. Katsuki didn’t want to bother with her, or with all those fuckers, it was far too much of a drag, and he had more important things to be doing; Though, his eyes wondered of their own accord, lingering from the corner at the girl being ganged and chatted up by more than half the class. She looked overwhelmed having so many people around her, but she tried to keep a polite smile on her face. What a weakling. Yes, he could sympathise with being uncomfortable around people like that, but he would retaliate immediately and fuck them up real good, so they’d know never to bother her again like that.

The classroom was so unbelievably loud that Katsuki’s senses found themselves overwhelming - And they weren’t even in his ear! “SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY YOU FUCKING EXTRAS! YOU’RE TOO FUCKING LOUD - TAKE IT THE FUCK OUTSIDE ALREADY!” the boy slammed his fist into his desk so hard that the others thought it was going to break. Though he was glaring at them, the class now deathly silent, he unintentionally spotted a grateful smile, small yet tender, on the girl’s face. It was addressed to him. What, did she think he did it to save her? What an idiot! Stupid, old-school girl! She better not think they’re friends now or something stupid!

Katsuki slumped back down in his chair, and thankfully, as the class was about to begin, Y/N left, as she was to properly start her curriculum at the beginning of the next week.  Of course, the only topic of conversation during the week was the new girl, and how everyone tried to text her, only to get ignored and wonder why. Did those idiots completely forget the new girl was technologically challenged? That she allegedly didn’t even know what a cell-phone was? Maybe that dumbass had no clue how to turn on the damn phone, let alone write and reply to their stupid-ass texts?! What’s so hard to comprehend, for the love of --

Bakugou was so over the whole mess with the new girl, that he hoped she’d never come back to U.A. But no, she did, and now she was wearing their school’s uniform. She had long and slender legs, beautifully sculpted, and the black stockings made them look even prettier, Katsuki noted, and the white shirt with the tie looked good enough on her. Her hair was done just as before, but she wore no makeup anymore, though her nails was rather sharp and painted black, as though she was a cat or some kind of predator animal. Katsuki’s ears widened slightly - Did he really associate ‘pretty’ with this girl? What was wrong with him?  Gah, he had to do an active effort to avoid her now, who knows what other stupid things he’s going to think about without realising.

He spared her a quick glance, watching her take the empty seat two spots to his right - Her gaze was down on the floor, and her cheeks were red as her hands were trying to keep her short skirt down. Was she... Embarrassed with the outfit? Coming from a traditional background and having to wear only dresses that cover you fully, and now, a short skirt and a short sleeved shirt... Yes, that made sense, he realised. How was she supposed to focus on classes if she’s fixated on her insecurities. Even worse, that stupid grape dumbass had to fluster her up even more by flipping her skirt and commenting on her behind. Though she remained silent and got herself seated with no comment, Katsuki noticed small tears forming in her eyes. How annoying - She should have made wine out of Mineta. Why isn’t she defending herself? Why isn’t she beating that fucker up? Was she unable to? Did she really have such a stupidly weak Quirk that she couldn’t even fight that worthless fuckass?

Bakugou, and everyone else; They were all going to be left speechless soon. They were all wrong. They needn’t coddle Y/N, they just needed to help her integrate. She didn’t require pity by all means. She just wanted to be a normal person, around many other normal people. That was made fully understood, or at least, she hoped so, once, out of all the people in 1-A, Y/N chose Bakugou to pair up with for the 1v1 exercise.

“Y/N-chan, you shouldn’t choose Bakugou, he doesn’t hold back!” one of them said. “L/N-chan, don’t fight against Kacchan, he’s very, very strong!” dumbass Deku exclaimed in fear. “Y/N, he’s going to kill you!” another one of those damn extras warned her.

Instead, Y/N, now wearing the U.A. training clothes, the jacket zipped up fully, up to her chin - She walked up to Bakugou and bowed deeply at him. “Will you please be my partner today, Mr. Bakugou Katsuki?” The blond boy couldn’t only look down at her, scarlet eyes wide with confusion - Why the hell was she being so overly polite with him, he wasn’t 40 years old or something, what the fuck? “Yo, extra, stop calling me that. One same is enough, no lame-ass honorifics or something.” he grunted, though everyone seemed surprised that he didn’t yell at her at all. His tone wasn’t even raised, as usual, nor was his voice gruff. It almost felt as though he tried to keep his voice at an acceptable level, as to not overwhelm her senses. Was Bakugou being... Considerate?! “Yeah, sure, we can pair up, whatever. But I’m not about to go easy of you, get it?” “Thank you very much, Mr. Baku... U-Uhm... Katsuki...?” the boy found his cheeks warming up slightly, looking away. She was the first girl who called him by his first name like that, how annoying. Still, it was his fault for being so vague, and he didn’t want to confuse the girl more than all these new things already were - Might as well get used to this and suck it up. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” he muttered, shoving his hands deep in his pants pockets and walked away, to the side of the court, where everyone else was standing.

Aizawa had some pairs fight between each other - First, without Quirks, then, with them. Sero with Mina, Kaminari with Kirishima, Jirou with Yaomomo, Tokoyami with Tsuyu, Koda with Sato, Ojiro with Shoji, Iida with Todoroki, Uraraka with Deku, Aoyama with Hagakure; And no suprise, nobody wanted to fight against Mineta, but eventually, one of the winners would have to volunteer to fight him also. What a drag.

Katsuki’s match against Y/N was the last one, but also, the most anticipated... And feared. He unzipped his jacket and threw it on the ground, doing a little warm up. He liked fighting in a tank top only, gave him the mobility he needed. Y/N, also, though she looked incredibly bashful, took off her jacket. “No weapons, Y/N.” she nodded in acknowledgement at the teacher; Katsuki could only look quizzically at her, though he hadn’t the time to question her supposed proficiency in weapons. Perhaps a conversation for later on. “Have a fair fight. No Quirks in the first round. Go.” as with all the other matches, Aizawa spoke the drill, and the two students stepped away from each other.

Bakugou watched as Y/N’s demure visage turned completely blank and cold, and she was staring him dead in the eyes; She hadn’t taken any pose or stance, instead, her hands were held in her pockets, waiting leisurely. He wasn’t going to wait around until Y/N attacked, he hated waiting at all. Despite the gasps from the other idiots, he rushed in a blitz attack, like a bull at the matador, attempting to ram into the small, frail girl that was pathetically standing there - One punch was going to settle it all, no need for an overkill, he thought. The momentum was catching up, and it was time to strike.

But Bakugou found himself flying away, slamming into the ground and rolling pitifully. What happened, he wondered, looking at the girl who was returning back to her laid-back pose. He had to attack again and see what happened - This little idiot was tricky, and he had to learn her patterns. He needed only grab her, and it was over. No matter how tricky she was, her strength was lesser than his - The laws of physics dictated that truth. What he hated though, was that everyone was cheering her name, praising and encouraging her. How annoying.

He lunged at her from behind, only to get surprised once more, as she threw herself to the ground, backwards, and rolled into his feet, making him stumble and fall to the ground with yet another great thud, and watching with blurry eyes as she nonchalantly stepped away.

This time, he actively engaged in a veritable exchange of jabs - She was flawless in dodging each of his fists; And worse, her accuracy as she punched all of his vital points seemed to affect him; Bakugou grunted, his body instinctually stepped away from her. Y/N leapt forwards, kicking his thigh so hard that it made him kneel with a pained growl - She then used his knee as a stepping stool and used her elbows to hit hard on her opponent’s head, followed by a powerful blow to the temple.

Bakugou Katsuki was on the ground.

“YOU GO, Y/N! YOU’RE THE BEST!” Katsuki wanted to shriek with rage at all the praising and the cheers, none of them addressed to him. It was driving him into an unfocused anger, only to hear Y/N’s voice, washing over him like a cool, soothing river. “Please, do stop your unnecessary cheering. I and Katsuki are in a fight, and it is disrespectful and rather unprofessional to meddle with one’s morale. We are doing our best. Please appreciate our efforts and be considerate.” though her voice was soft, her words seemed to have enough of a harsh edge that it made the others stand up. She then stepped in front of him and crouched to the ground, extending her hand for him to take and get up. “Katsuki, let us continue our honorable match, please. I am truly honoured that you are fighting me with all that you have, and I respect you dearly.” Y/N smiled as she felt the boy roughly grab her hand and helped him up. They shared a few brief seconds of eye contact, and she smiled tenderly at him. It almost felt as though they’ve connected, understood each other perhaps. He didn’t know why he hadn’t felt compelled to yell at her, scold her for taking pity on him or making him feel lesser, weaker - Hell, he didn’t even slap away her hand. Why wasn’t he feeling as angry as before? He truly couldn’t understand it, but he found the fog of anger dissipating slowly, and finding his focus again.

Once back in position, Bakugou ran into her close area circle and engaged in another barrage of jabs, lefts and rights, roundhouse kicks and sickles; Still, she somehow managed to predict the moment he tried to charge at her with a more powerful punch - She blocked it with her arm, so well that she only slightly slid backwards. He was able to notice the exact second her face twisted in agony, for just a split second, though she didn’t even whine or cry from the pain - She was silent as a lake.

Katsuki took a step back and got in another stance, making the girl mimic him. Ever since he was in school, he trained himself, following various routines online - Of course he was familiar with fighting styles. He always thought Aiki, the style Y/N seemed to be an expert in, was for weaklings. In a way, he was right. In another way, he was proven wrong, considering how well she was able to counter him thus far.  Still, he knew a little bit of everything; Surely, he could trick her into thinking he knows Karate just as well. His fists were tightly held in a basic karate stance, whilst she had a similar pose, though her hands were open. It was the perfect example of a Karate vs Aiki fight, a battle of Strength vs Softness. He almost thought it ironic, how well it described even them as people.

Neither of them move, analysing each other, every tweak of their body, every breathing, every blink of their eyes; Y/N’s foot was sliding forward, inch by inch, and he mirrored her move. Seeing as he, too, was approaching, the girl lunged at him, and he did the same. In a split second, Y/N redirected his own move against him, making him fly backwards, once again. “To think you would fall so far away... As expected of the strongest student in class 1-A. There is no one else with such incredible physical prowess.” Y/N praised him; If they weren’t fighting, he was going to blush furiously, but he couldn’t afford that during a fight. Later, perhaps, when he could blame it on the work out he was getting with this fight.

Once again, Y/N maintained no stance, and awaited Katsuki to lunge at her - He threw what seemed to be a hundred thousand hits her way, all of them at such speed that the others could barely differentiate them; Y/N didn’t flinch. She knew they were all fakes. Instead, as Katsuki attempted a real kick her way, she grabbed his shin, making him lose balance - He must have been expecting that though, as he twisted and ended on his feet. Such flexibility, fascinating for someone so tall and buff like himself. Praise-worthy, Y/N thought.

But L/N used her own hand to roll at the back of his ankle whilst he tried another kick, only for her to slam the heel of her foot into his chin, making him stumble backwards with a grunt. Everyone seemed to be greatly enjoying the fight, it was fascinating and far better than any of them was able to manage - Though they were still internally cheering for the underdog to win, they had to agree that they both were doing fantastic.

"I’ve analysed all your attacks, dumbass. I know your strategy and all your Aiki moves. You need a strong opponent, so you can counter with a move that equals their power, with yours attached to it. You don’t need to be strong yourself. But what would you do if I were no longer an opponent? I'm not going to attack anymore. Let’s see what you do when your weak-ass fighting style gets obliterated." Y/N held her hands in her pockets, watching as Bakugou kept standing tall. She chuckled, stepping around him. "Well! I suppose there's no need to do anything against an opponent who does nothing!" she grinned leisurely. "As a result, there will be no fight! I have nothing to lose, spending the whole match waiting and doing nothing - But you do! You want to win, don’t you? You know, if there is no victory, there is also no defeat. What an idyllic world we live in!" though she spoke, Bakugou had no other word to usher. He wasn’t going to respond to her provoking, especially as he knew she meant none of it. "... However, I suppose this is still a match, in the end. You're trying to come up with a battle of stubbornness. I guess you can say I'm proud that I could make even you come up with such an impertinent strategy, against some weak, inexperienced opponent such as myself. Truly, I'm flattered! Thank you for taking me seriously, despite my physical weakness." she continued. "Your techniques and mine - I'm far too young to say it doesn't matter whose are superior, or that strength doesn't matter." as soon as she found herself behind her opponent, she sprinted at great speed, hoping to reach his spinal cord;

Before she could incapacitate him, however, Y/N felt a pressure in her stomach, strong enough to send her flying a crazy length, and she stumbled over the sand, rolling pitifully on the ground. No amount of damage that she chipped from the boy felt equal to this single punch that connected. She had gasped like a fish on the land, trying desperately to get air back in her lungs. Her hair tie had broken, and her hair cascaded almost gracefully in elegant waves over her body.  

As soon as he stepped by her side, Y/N instantly shot to her feet, long hair dancing beautifully around her, almost bewitching the boy with her natural beauty; though she leisurely managed to catch his wrist and throw him away, sending him off with a temple punch also, watching him slam his head into the ground. The girl was panting with exhaustion already, many minutes having passed indefinitely. “It takes a lot of energy for you to pull off such stunts, huh? Throwing me like that only makes you lose strength and stamina. I must be weighting twice your own.” Bakugou let out an amused breath, smirking, though he himself was sweating and needing some air. “You are correct. I am really exhausted. I have never fought anyone so equally before, especially without a Quirk. It is most fascinating. I doubt I could kill you.” the tired smile was enough to charm the boy, though he was confused at her later statement - What was it about killing she said? No matter, he frequently threatened to kill his classmates, it didn’t matter.

With both opponents standing, both taking their stances, Y/N slowly, but steadily inched forwards towards her opponent until their toes were touching each other; Bakugou readied his fist to punch Y/N's face - She managed to dodge, and with her cleavage, shoulder and arm, she was able to redirect his blow, making him stumble before he was punched down into the ground once more.

“Are you done playing around? I ain’t feeling shit from your kitten punches.” Bakugou scoffed tauntingly, and with a well-aimed punch, Y/N was sent flying across the court painfully hard, looking like a discarded ragdoll. The boy continued walking towards her, watching as she was stumbling and struggling to get up; She had a pained expression on her face, holding her head - She must be feeling very dizzy. “Lost your balance, huh? I’m ending it now. You fought better than those fucking extras.” he praised, readying another strike to finish the match, only to find himself stumbling forward as Y/N threw herself at his feet to trip him once more - In detriment of her feeling the vertigo twisting even faster. “What did you accomplish with that anyway? Are ya afraid of losing or what?” 

Their classmates were yelling at them to stop fighting - Both of them were covered in scrapes, bruises and blood - But when Aizawa asked if they wanted to declare an end match, they both snapped at them all, a negative answer firmly rasped. Neither was going to take away from the respect they held for each other after such a fight.

Y/N was barely able to turn and flex her arm to receive another one of his powerful punches, though she couldn’t take it anymore. Her body felt broken, and she was barely able to get up and stand properly. She was clutching at her arms and hands, she was hurting dearly; Her eyes were glassy also, no doubt, wet from the pain she was enduring. 

Even in that vertigo state however, she was able to dictate the flow of battle, slapping her palms over the opponent’s, and stumbling about, keeping the boy at bay, unable to move further - If he tried, she’d easily evade his move and counter - She even clinged to his wrist, stomping her foot flushed against his own, pushing onto it and making his trip. With the little energy she had left, she used his knee to grapple him, this time, more accurately, with her leg over the back of his neck - She pulled herself up in one move, grabbing a fistful of his hair and jumping behind him, grabbing him down and slamming him into the ground - The boy yelped from the excruciating scalp pain he was feeling, though his body could barely feel any other pain.

Y/N brought him to the edge of his patience, though he couldn’t deny he had been enjoying this fight dearly, but it had to end soon. Even he was feeling exhausted, his muscles aching for some relief.  She lunged at him and tried to hit him at the same time he tried to deliver another powerful punch, only for her to somehow evade the hit - He needed a few seconds to realise how she was able to seemingly disappear for a single blink of an eye - She was smart and shrewd, she managed to evade his monstrous hit, simply by shifting her joints just a little bit, yet fast enough to create the illusion of not having moved. But the second hit, she was unable to parry or dodge, and she was on the ground - Y/N saw spots in front of her, and her vision had gone to shit. She was clutching at her head, her arms visibly trembling as she tried to get up from the ground, only to repeatedly fail and fall down. It looked far more difficult than any plank exercise, Katsuki thought, but she hadn’t given up. He was almost shocked, seeing the beautiful porcelain doll girl being so resilient and unbending, though he hated being the one to get her in this state, be the one to bring her such suffering.

Wait - Why was he pitying his opponent? She was worthy of fighting him, she was above those extras - He was praising her, not pitying her. He was strong. Stronger than most.

Once she was finally on her feet, hoping her head would stop spinning already, and struggling to keep standing; One of her knees was hurting so bad, Katsuki could see her leg repeatedly giving up; Despite all her agony, she found some place to muster up strength, and as Bakugou lunged at her, she got in a low stance, leaping at him, grabbing his wrists and pulling him forward, aiming for a barrage of hits at his vitals - When he was too busy blocking her hits, she side-stepped and tripped him, making him stumble backwards. 

How much longer was she going to drag this on, when she had already fallen off the shelf and shattered? Had she no regard for her body and health? Hell, he could kill her on the spot, yet she was still fighting.  His face must have looked almost demonic to her - He was going to use all of his strength on this last punch; The only way to win this was to knock her out, he realised, her resolve was far too powerful.

Just as they got in each other’s territory however - He stopped, just before his fist touched her face. His eyes were wide and lips parted slightly in shock, as the girl’s body completely gave up, and she fainted in his arms, just as she tried to hit him. She looked so small, so frail, so... Cute? He found himself wiping the dripping blood going down her chin from her busted lip, before picking her up bridal style - His arms were shaking like crazy, though somehow, he still found the strength to carry the flower-like beauty. “Bakugou wins.” Aizawa declared, nodding at the blond to go to the infirmary.

The whole walk to the hospital wing, Katsuki looked down at the peaceful face of the doll-like girl. Who knew she was able to fight so well, resist so long, even faced against someone as strong as him. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what her Quirk was, and he was almost upset he couldn’t fight her properly either. Perhaps another time; Next time they were to go on a 1 on 1, he was going to choose her, the same way she chose him.

“Did I do well, Katsuki?” an almost broken voice, yet surprisingly sweet, called out. “Hella.” his whole body rumbled with a chuckle, earning a lovely smile from the girl. “I am happy.” the boy hummed in agreement; The sentiment was shared.

That evening, when they were done with classes and Y/N was in a good enough shape, Bakugou offered to walk her back home. He wasn’t all that great at socialising, and definitely, neither was Y/N. Though the walk was rather awkward, they still found each other’s company seemingly comforting, and the tender smile she gave him when she said farewell...

Katsuki found his heart beating weirdly fast, and this time, it wasn’t from the cardio workouts he was doing. During their weeks at U.A., Bakugou had the two idiots sitting between himself and Y/N fuck off and change desks, urging the girl to stay next to him, under the pretext that she needed to be showed how to use a phone and what not. Of course, that was just silly, but he had no clue how to get closer to her, without looking pathetic.

It was shocking how with her sweet voice, she was able to sooth his nerves, lessen his rage and frustration, hell, with a simple touch on his arm, she was capable of making him stop yelling at those other extras, especially the dumbass, 1-braincell ‘BakuSquad’ as those idiots liked to call themselves. He hated them so much, it was unreal. He couldn’t understand - Honest to God, he couldn’t - She was just another girl, a classmate, a person just like any other, so why the hell was he always thinking about her? She was his first thought waking up, and his last, falling asleep.

Love, his parents teased him. Love, his friends teased him. Love, his own heart teased him.

Why the hell was everyone making him feel like such a fool, for having feelings for someone? To hell with them all, damn extras. He deserved better than this. Despite all the humiliation he felt whenever someone taunted him with what he felt, despite his mind yelling at him intently to run away and sever any kind of friendship he had with Y/N... He simply couldn’t resist her charm. She was so pretty, blushing as she had to show so much skin in the U.A. uniform, and even her Hero outfit, it resembled that of a priestess, yet instead of hakama, she had a lovely skirt with large splits that allowed for mobility and agility, giving the impression of being covered, yet when she moved, her legs were beautifully on full display. Her blouse also seemed to highlight her most graceful curves, and her sleeves were technically long, and could be used as pockets - Very practical, she loved that feature the most.

The first time Bakugou saw Y/N wearing her Hero outfit was during the USJ incident - She was so beautiful, he was lost for words, but annoyingly enough, so was Mineta, who continued making her uncomfortable - Of course, until he blasted that fucker all the way to the flooded area, hoping he’d drown.

But what was supposed to be a fun activity, playing as heroes, turned to be most worrisome, and Bakugou felt a spike of anxiety being teleported away and forced to wonder where Y/N was, if she was okay, if she could handle the natural tragedy landscape she had to go against, or even the villains. He had to get the hell out of there and search for her, make sure she was alright. Those worries proved ignorant however, as by the time Katsuki was out of the collapsing building, he, Todoroki and Deku were there, watching Y/N unleashing blue flames and... Killing villains with a long spear. She was aiding Aizawa, though not as anyone would expect. Y/N was definitely not the sweet little angel everyone depicted her as. Instead, she looked as though she was wielding the onibi spiritual fire of a fox spirit - And she looked like a malevolent Goddess doing so. She was ruthless, with no mercy. Bakugou felt a shiver down her spine, seeing all that blood - Only villains killed, that’s what they were all told... And seeing the girl he was crush on doing what villains did, it made his mind spin a little.

That worry completely dissipated once a blue haired freak and some huge-ass beast attacked them. His mind was running a thousand times per second, though his body was simply frozen, watching the small flower being crushed with such brutality, that he felt physical ache, as she laid there, in a pool of her own blood, yet still struggling to get up and save frog girl, grape boy and useless Deku from getting decayed by that freak with zombie hands groping him. Perhaps, if it weren’t for All Might coming over and saving everyone, they wouldn’t have made it out alive. It was completely maddening, thinking that, no matter how much they work, they weren’t anywhere close to beating the villains. How incredibly depressing, just like seeing the mummy-like bodies of both Y/N and Aizawa, as they came to school literally the next day, as though nothing had happened. Nothing changed for them - But it did for him. 

How could anyone pretend nothing happened, when they had to be stronger and stronger and even stronger than the strongest, just to get even with those fuckers and ensue the peace of the country. It was pathetic, all of it, and since then, Bakugou began overworking himself to the point of physically collapsing daily.

The occasion to rise up and show how much he improved was given to him when the Sports Festival was announced. He tried to get Y/N not to compete, afraid that her body wouldn’t cope, still damaged - But her dismissive smile managed to convince him without much arguing. He could never say ‘No’ to her, for whatever reason. But he should have. Oh, how he hated himself for being unable to convince her out of it. She pushed herself hard enough with the first task, using the fire boost to get to the finish line, and then, he chose her in his team, to make sure she was fine - They didn’t exactly win, much to his dismay, but they got in the last task of the festival, which was the most important one - The 1v1 fights.

He fought Uraraka and he fought Todoroki, and in the end, he had to fight none other than Y/N, whom he had no idea how was able to get so far. Before the match, he cornered her. “Give up. Your body is failing you.” he trapped her on the wall, but that fox-like smile of hers shattered his resolve. “Don’t worry about me, Katsuki. I want to give you another honorable fight, this time, with out full potential.” he could feel his heart trembling with emotion just by hearing that lovely voice of hers. “What the hell potential, when you can’t even properly stand up straight?!” he protested, only to feel a hand on his face, gently caressing it. “Don’t worry.” that warm smile, and her touch... He couldn’t help but lean into her hand, grunting, his face flushing with love. “I know you will respect me and my strength. Fight me as your equal.” “Don’t go around blaming me if you won’t get up after I defeat you again.” he huffed, pushing her forward toward the fighting court.

Unlike in the match he had with Uraraka, he wasn’t going to be called a villain anymore. Not only Aizawa himself defended him, but even she yelled at the public. She had run on the pitch so shamelessly and started scolding the audience! If Katsuki weren’t so flushed up from the fight, he was going to be from the way his heart was beating at being portrayed as a strong hero. But now, he had to fight for the #1 spot against the girl he was crushing on. It would have been a privilege, were it not for her collapsing body. He hated that he couldn’t properly fight her, and he could see the bitterness she was hiding, hating her own vulnerability. They formed an indestructible bond from that fight - They value fighting, sparring, practicing together, it felt like their hearts connected indefinitely... Alas, there they were, with no choice. Neither of them could disrespect the other and give up, but it was oh so painful, fighting this way.

Still, Y/N fought him with everything she had, no matter how much she was hurting. She fought, and fought, but her mystifying blue flames didn’t even burn the boy - They felt like a warm caress at the sea side; But Bakugou’s explosions were so painful, so destructive, that he blasted the girl into oblivion.

This wasn’t a win. Bakugou didn’t deserve the #1 spot, not in this condition. He didn’t want to see Y/N laying on the grass, motionless.  To hell with the Sports Festival, and to hell with everyone else. He ran to her side, holding her in his arms, brushing away her beautiful locks from her face, and picking her up, for the second time. It seemed to have become a rather amusing pattern for them - Fighting to the point of unconsciousness, and carrying her to the infirmary.  Y/N smiled, nuzzling into his chest so cutely. “You smell like sugary caramel. I love it.” his breath hitched in his throat, unable to respond properly to such a compliment. “Sh-Shut up, stupid.” his face was even redder, and if the girl would see how she was making him feel, no doubt, he’d have said some pointed word to fluster him even more. Though she never said anything hurtful or teasing, she was honest to such a degree that it made him lose his mind with adoration.

The whole year, Bakugou found himself courting the girl - In his own way, of course - Everyone was making fun of him for dating, but he hadn’t the guts to ask her out yet. He got her flowers, and they hung around often; He even cooked for her at some point, and would buy her some pretty accessories - They weren’t expensive by any means, he was just a normal boy with some pocket money - But whenever he’d see a cute hair pin, or a bracelet, he couldn’t resist. Flowers were his favourite accessory on her though. She was very pretty - Pretty beyond imagination - Pretty enough to drive him so crazy that he’s unable to ask her out.

The situation only got worse when they had to move in the dorms, and they were basically together for so long, day and night, they were together. Hell, at some point when watching a movie on the couch, Y/N fell asleep, cuddling into his side, her head lulled on his shoulder, and he was unable to move the whole night. He guided her head to comfortably rest on his thighs and had Kirishima bring over a blanket to make sure she stays warm. He tried staying awake the whole night, playing and caressing her hair - But his sleep schedule didn’t allow him such a luxury, and by the time the clock showed it was 10 PM, he was long asleep also. Of course, the adorable imagery fell prey to their classmates photographing them and using the picture as blackmail material for Bakugou - Y/N seemed completely dismissive, even going as far as to say they look very cute when sleeping - But he couldn’t do it. He just wanted to blast those nasty fuckers to hell and back. 

Katsuki wanted to ask Y/N out, honest to God, he did! He was just so embarrassed out of his wits that, every time he tried, he blurted out something completely random, and gave up. That is, until later in the year when they got attacked by some villains on the street, and Y/N received an almost-fatal wound for shielding him. 

He hated her.

Only Heavens know how much Bakugou hated Y/N.

How DARE she do something like that?! He didn’t ask her to sacrifice herself to him - Can’t she understand what he’s feeling?! If she dies, he’s going to hate himself forever, blame himself for her death - How can he live, knowing that he killed the girl he fell in love with?! It was unfair - SHE was unfair! Stupid! Stupid! INCREDIBLY stupid!

He held her hand the whole day and night as she rested on the infirmary bed, and he shed fat tears, generated from the myriads of overwhelming emotions he was feeling. He was dying inside, and he wanted to rip his hair out; Open his rib cage and tear his heart out; He wanted to screech into the skies blasphemies and other foul words, blaming every living and unliving thing in this world, and any other universe, all for bringing this lovely girl into his life, making him fall in love with her, only to have her taken away from him like that. He couldn’t take all this worry and fear - Not at all.

“Fuck, Y/N - Don’t die... Please, don’t die. I haven’t gotten the chance to make you my girlfriend... To tell you how much I love you... Fuck... Please... Don’t do this to me. I can’t take it - I can’t do it without you.”

For three days, Bakugou was a mess; He couldn’t function properly, he couldn’t think straight. All he wanted was to hold Y/N in his arms and tell her everything that he was unable to before, he had to be strong, mentally, emotionally, physically - She saved him, she was there for him, she always cared and cherished him, helped him with his emotional instability and what not - And what did he do? He wallowed in self-hatred for not being strong enough to defeat Quirkless Deku, and now, to be the hero that Y/N needed. Pathetic, that’s what he was.

“Katsuki? Why are you crying?” Bakugou’s mind went blank, hearing that groggy voice that sounded gorgeous, even in this state. “You are too pretty to cry. Please don’t cry.” Y/N struggled to get in a sitting position, cupping his face and placing a sweet kiss on his forehead. “Your tears are breaking my heart. Please, don’t cry. Not for me.” she tried to comfort him, her thumbs wiping away the tears, only to be startled by his emotional outburst yell. “IF NOT FOR YOU, THAN FOR WHOM?!” he cried out. “I FUCKING LOVE YOU, AND I WAS TOO MUCH OF A FUCKING COWARD TO TELL YOU! YOU ALMOST DIED FOR ME! YOU ALMOST DIED IN MY ARMS! I THOUGHT YOU WERE NEVER GOING TO FUCKING WAKE UP, DAMN IT!” still sitting in the chair besides the bed, his arms wrapped around her waist, crying in her lap; His body was violently shaking with each sob. “SO DON’T TELL ME NOT TO FUCKING CRY! I CAN’T - OKAY, I JUST FUCKING CAN’T! I WAS SUPPOSED TO PROTECT YOU, AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED! IF I CAN’T EVEN PROTECT THE GIRL I LOVE, WHAT THE FUCK CAN I DO RIGHT?!” he wanted to release all the bottled up feelings he kept hidden, but he was unable to. Y/N rose his face up, and kissed him. Y/N kissed him, right on the lips. Fuck, he must taste like salty tears, how pathetic of him, the boy thought. Still, those deprecating thoughts disappeared, as soon as he saw that beautiful yet tired smile of hers. “I am happy that you reciprocate my feelings, Katsuki.” he thought he was flying on clouds. “You can do anything you set your mind to. You are incredibly intelligent and strong - And I have all confidence that you are going to become the strongest hero out there.” with a tug on his arms, Y/N had the boy lay down with her on the bed, pulling his head to rest on her chest as she snuggled and pampered him as though he was a spoiled kitten. He started tearing up pathetically, holding her tightly, forgetting that her body may still be aching, and he cried into her soft chest, completely unaware of how it might be thought of as intimate. He was simply drowning in an ocean of emotions, and he needed to tire himself up by crying to sleep.

From then on, Y/N would tell him things about her - How she was raised up to be the defender of the village, and kill if someone was threatening them; How she had to act like the perfect princess and smile at everyone, no matter how tiring it was. She admitted to being so happy that someone was treating her like a normal human being, not the new student, or some pretty girl, clueless to the world - And fighting was always a common tongue spoken by the strong.

She didn’t care about becoming a hero, she just wanted to be in control of her overwhelming, untamable Quirk, and be strong enough to protect what she held dear to her heart - And Katsuki was included amongst those few things she cherished above life itself.

He, in turn, would admit to feeling inferior to Deku, especially after All Might visibly favoured him so much, and how he hated himself for not being strong enough yet to do everything that he set himself up to. He had such a borderless vision that he often felt too slow to achieve those things, and it was driving him crazy.

With time though, the two love birds learnt how to not only take care of each other, but of themselves also. They knew each other so well, and they were so close to each other, that it would put everyone else to shame. The BakuSquad would take random pics of them in all the cutest states - Be it that they fell asleep cuddling each other, or they were holding pinkies, that they were kissing each other’s cheeks, or fixing an item of clothing - Sometimes, even with sillier things, like using two straw to drink from the same drink, or sharing a cake together and one of them is feeding the other. Everyone loved this new iteration of Bakugou - Easy to get an outburst out of him, but he wasn’t outright threatening everyone anymore, and he wasn’t blasting them to death as often either! It was an amazing win!

Katsuki and Y/N were U.A.’s IT couple all the way to their third year, and they enjoyed continuing to stay in the dorms all the same, to the point that they wanted to move in together after finishing school - Well, money might be an issue at the beginning, but they both wanted to work hard enough to afford a little piece of heaven for themselves only, and no family to bother them anymore.

Until then, however, enough time was going to pass, and there was much Katsuki still had to teach Y/N, including how to play video games, or properly operate a laptop. He had some help in showing her about modern fashion and many other things on the side. There was something, however, that only Katsuki was allowed to teach her - Not that he was an expert by any means, but he was a boy, and even he had some needs; Having a pretty girl like Y/N by his side only served as fuel for his desires, but never once did he try to do anything with her - With a traditional upbringing like her own, he was well aware of how intimacy would be viewed, and he wanted her to get used to it at her own pace.

Still, one evening, she was idly tidying up some things in his room, and a conversation arose after the movie they were absent-mindedly watching; Or rather, just played in the background; Depicted some rather interesting scenes. “Why would one want to have a child with a man she just met? Surely, she would want to get married first - How unrealistic.” she spoke casually, seemingly amused at the scene. “Nobody wants a child.” the boy scoffed blankly, playing around some phone game. “Then why are they sleeping together?” she spoke as though she was challenging his knowledge. “People don’t get intimate just to have children anymore, Y/N. Hasn’t been that way for a while now.” he muttered, his cheeks flushing at having to say such words out loud; His heart was pounding hard against his chest, and he quickly changed the channel to something unrelated, like the weather. “Really, now? Then why?” she looked at him with such a cute, confused face, that made the boy want to smash his lips onto hers. “... Pleasure.” the boy coughed, trying to hide his burning face with his phone. “Pleasure?” Y/N’s surprise was great. “No, that can’t be right. Grandma said only boys feel good. Girls feel pain.” “What?!” Bakugou’s eyes seemed to be wide like hers, the shock making him jolt up. “No, that’s bullshit, what the fuck.” he almost looked startled. “Really? Are you sure? She seemed certain. The other women from the village said the same thing too.” Katsuki wanted to drag his nails across his face at the complete nonsense he was hearing - Instead, he was standing in front of Y/N, so close to her that he could feel her heartbeat. He wrapped an arm around her torso, her back secure, her head resting against his palm; He leaned in to kiss her - But unlike the cute, innocent kisses from before, he deepened the kiss, to the point of forgetting how to breathe. “What do you feel when I kiss you?” his low, raspy voice spoke into her ear. “I-I...” her breathing felt heavy, just from this. “I feel like I want you to kiss me more.” the boy complied - He kissed her until her mind went numb, his free hand picked her chin, his thumb trailing her bottom lip dearly as he leaned away just enough to tease her, but not far enough that he couldn’t feel her picked up breathing anymore. His rough hand went down, holding her supple throat dearly, and went down to her chest, to her abdomen, and down on her thigh, and up her skirt.  “Tell me what you feel now.” he kissed her again, as his fingers found themselves caressing her clothed womanhood, up and down, again and again, across her slit. He could feel her heart beating so fast, and a small whine escaped her throat as he started circling her clit, each time, applying just a little bit more pressure. He had her propped against the wall, his arm holding her supporting her depleting weight as she was quickly succumbing to the unknown feeling overwhelming her. “What are you feeling?” his lips still brushing against her own, the boy teasingly asked, triumphant at seeing his girlfriend with glazed eyes - Her hands gripped painfully tight on his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. “I-I don’t... I don’t know what this is.” her voice sounded to almost morph into a sweet mewl. “I can’t - I can’t name it. I’ve never... Felt like this before.” “Don’t think much. Just say if you want me to continue or not.” unconsciously, she seemed to be pulling him closer to her body. “Yeah... I want you - I want you, ‘Tsuki.” whether or not she knew perfectly well the way she was teasing him with her words, he wasn’t sure, but the effect she had on him was unreal. He kissed her with more fire, drinking in her first climax; Those sounds she let were so cute, he wanted to hear more; He was so greedy for her, for her body, he almost felt ashamed with how much he was in love with her. “Did you like it, Y/N?” the boy asked, his lips trailing down her jaw, and to her neck. Y/N whimpered a positive answer. “Do you want more, my greedy little kitten?” “Tsuki, don’t tease me like that!” she pouted, only to feel that overly adventurous hand pull down her panties, cupping her private part - Gently, he his fingers touched her folds, exploring around her soft, warm skin, and inside her wet cavern - One finger, inside and out, whilst he abused those sweet spots on her neck, earning gasp after gasp, all from how good he was making her feel.

The boy couldn’t grasp his mind around how incredibly how she was, or how wet he made her already - He was ecstatic, so proud of himself, he wanted to see the full extent of her reactions, all the sounds and expressions he could make her have. Another digit added, her spine arched suddenly against his arm. “Ts-Tsuki... If you go on... I can’t stand up...” she breathed out so enticingly that it drove the boy crazy. “You can, just a little more.” the boy had to place his lips over hers to cover a whine of his name as he curled his fingers just right - Her sharp fingernails dug into his flesh, desperately trying to keep herself upright, but he felt like a melted puddle in his arms. She felt flask, her wetness leaking down her thigh shamelessly from all her arousal, and another climax, more intense this time. “That’s my good girl.” he smirked down at her, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking her juices shamelessly that the girl covered her face and looked away. “D-Don’t do that, it’s lewd!” she exclaimed, only to hear him chuckling and guiding her to lay down on the bed. Making sure the door was properly locked and changing the weather channel to some music, he sat down between her legs, leaning his chin on her knee, and looking down at her with those beautiful crimson eyes of his. “I have many other lewd things I want to do to you.” he admitted, his hand over hers, squeezing it with comfort. “If you want me to, I can show you, there is pleasure in love-making.” in a swift move, Bakugou was positioned on top of her, leaning on his forearms, on either side if her head. He kissed her deeply, his teeth gently grazing her lip, pulling on it playfully. “Do you want me to go on, my love?” In spite of her embarrassment, and how it went against everything she was taught, Y/N nodded her head. “I need you to tell me. Say it. Out loud.” “Don’t tease me like that.” she pouted at him. “I want you to love me, ‘Tsuki.” “I will love you any time you want me to, Y/N.” the vibration of his voice sent shivers down her spine, as the boy dripped down to her torso, his hands roaming up and down her body, taking off her blouse and skirt. She was so beautiful, laying down in all her glory, naked, and blushing so hard.

His finger gripped on the plush of her thighs, pulling them apart just enough to get close to her dripping cunt; He placed kiss after kiss on the inner skin of her leg, and in between, to her overly stimulated bundle of nerves that made her body twitch with each flick of his tongue. Y/N had to put a hand over her mouth to stifle an unconscious whine, the weird feeling of his wet tongue licking all the way up her sleeve, and down to her entrance - It was so weird, but she didn’t hate it - It wasn’t a bad kind of weird, it was rather pleasant. Pleasant enough that she was losing her sense of ration over the way he was making her feel. The way his hands were holding her, how his mouth was kissing and sucking and pulling.

With the way Y/N was unable to properly keep her body under control, Katsuki knew she was close again - She was so precious, and he didn’t want to let go of her the whole night - And every other night also. He wanted to see her, to hear her, to kiss her every day and every night, for the rest of their lives. Suddenly, Katsuki stopped, and he quickly took off the tank top he was wearing, making Y/N whimper softly. Though she wanted to protest, her body feeling about to explode, she placed her hands on his chest, trailing down to his abdomen, before quickly pulling him down on her body, his whole weight unsupported - But she loved the proximity, and how intimate it felt, being so close, kissing him, feeling his body like that. Y/N loved his body, she wanted to see him shirtless like this more often, she wanted to hear him go crazy with pleasure, the very same way he made her feel.

But not now - Katsuki had other plans for the night. “Still want to continue? Are you ready?” the boy asked, sucking on her neck. “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop, once I begin. I’m addicted to you. I’m addicted to everything about you.” he sighed, his chest heaving up and down from excitement. “Yes.” she breathed out. “I want you. I don’t want you to stop.” Y/N spoke again. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.” “Another time, angel.” Katsuki chuckled softly, a hand reaching into the drawer and quickly taking a condom, putting it on. “Tonight, it’s all about you, sweetheart.” 

Once again, he hoisted her up with one arm, the other hand holding her own, fingers intertwined. He felt her squeezing him as he entered his tip inside her womanhood, slowly going in. Though the music was loud, Katsuki kissed Y/N deeply, afraid he sweet mewls might be heard from outside; Fully sheathed, he let out an exhale, trying to keep himself composed, but he was failing miserably. The way she felt around him, how tight she felt, clamping down on him, it was killing him in all the best ways possible.

Again, he went pulled out almost fully, before going back in, long strokes, maddening, so full of passion, full of love, hitting and scraping at her sweet spot - His hand felt as though it was being crushed, and his back might as well be bleeding, or at least held the marks of her nails - He loved it. He loved this feeling, it heated him up, it made him feel nirvana approaching fast.

“I love you.” he mumbled, kissing her again; Her body soon started twitching, stiff; He felt his member being lovingly held captive inside of her as he rode her sweet release, and soon, he found his own. He wanted to stay like that inside of her, to be connected to her. “I love you, ‘Tsuki.” her voice was so delicate, so euphoric, that it made the boy bite his lip and pull away, before he’d be tempted to tire her out even more. He knew, however, that next time, he might be teasing her more - It felt too good, seeing her so glazed with pleasure, pleading for him to continue and be good to her. And it felt even better, having her say she loves him. It was the best feeling in the world.

Katsuki grabbed his tank top back, giving Y/N one of his larger Tshirts to sleep in, and brought over a pack of baby wipes, some water and snacks. He got the volume of the music down, and changed again to some movie, as Y/N cuddled dearly into his side, her head resting on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. It didn’t take long for him to play with her hair, that she fell asleep, that beautiful smile ever painted on her face. “You have no idea how much I love you, Y/N.”

[selective-insomniac]

Rottmnt fics i found, ao3 edition. Join me in my misery

Updated: March 14, 2023

Key

word count guide:

🟣 - long finished (70k+)

🔵 - long unfinished (70k+)

🟢 - short finished (70k-)

🔴 - medium unfinished (20k-70k)

🟠 - short unfinished (20k-)

🟡 - comic

Subject:

🐢 - Future Leo

🐬 - Crossover

🐙 - Recovery/Aftermath

🌈 - LeoSagi

🦍 - Trapped Leo

📦 - Seperated Au

🐆 - Different World

🌂 - Donnie Centric

🦊 - Mikey Centric

🍓 - Raph Centric

🐊 - 2012/other iteration

💧- Major Character Death

Ottherwise, it’s Leo-centric lol

🟣📦Red Rover Red Rover Send My Brothers On Over! - Theserpentsnight

🟣🧢🐢🐆His World - SkylerSkyHigh

🟣🌂👾The Dawning of the Hour - Faiakishi

🟣🌂🤕Causa Scientia - urlocalllama

🟣🐙🧢Aftershocks - Katiemonz, McBethins, octolingkiera, theashemarie, this_kills_the_man

🟣🧢🐢💧Dead Man’s Deal - loneAnonon

🟣🐬🐊Dagger From the Mirror - TotallyNotASecretAO3Account

🔵🧢🐢Mutant Ninja Midlife Crisis - a_platypus

🔵🐬A Tale of Spirits - unorthodoxx

🔵👓🧢I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good - Dandy

🔵🧢🌈Worlds Apart - ash_kunoichi1925

🔵🐙The Aftermath - Starcrossrose

🔵🧢Change of Perspective - characcoon

🔵🧢🐬Shredder’s Vendetta - Cass_Phoenix

🔵🧢🐬Two Souls - Virgilisspidey

🔵🧢Like Father Like Son - eternalglitch

🔵📦Blood is Thicker than Ooze - mybrainisacandywrapper

🔵🧢🐬💧Tattered Remains (the sequel to Frayed Knots)

🔵🧢🌂🐙Brother Dearest - Wardenov

🔵🧢🐢Trial and Error - ApatheticRobots

🔵🍓🐬The Eldest Brother - dEBB987

🔵🐙Power Up - pickledcarrotsandradish

🔵🦊A Mystic Connection - rytheoneandonly

🟢🧢🌈🐙Rest With Me - sometimesimakebadchoices

🟢🧢🐙The Call Back Home - Gooselnsurance

🟢🦍🐙What Happens After - Fandom_Brat

🟢🧢🐆The golden flowers of life - Fandomnerdfrogs

🟢🐬Recoil - unorthodoxx

🟢🦊Empathy Amplified - Filsamek

🟢🦊🐬The Fight for Mikey - hinacu_writes

🟢🌂 Unmaking - corvidown

🟢🧢🐬Of Leo’s and Leonardo’s - Toothlessbored

🟢🍓First Words - less_depresso_more_espresso

🟢🧢Would It Really Matter? - Angelpuns

🟢🐢Remember Me - VanillaVengeance

🟢👾👓🐙So Many Different Ways To Say It - CupidsAroAce

🟢🐢🧢🦇if i don't make it back from where i've gone, just know i loved you all along - purpleturtle9000

🟢🌂With (Internet) Friends Like These - StormFireGirl

🟢🧢🌈Paper rings - lydiasgrace

🟢🧢Games We Play - NewFallenLeaves

🟢🌂Dial Tone - SleepyCyborg

🟢🧢🐬Frayed Knots - renawaywithme

🟢💧Fading Memories - HellsTrojanHorse

🟢🐊B.E.A.S.T - skylerskyhigh

🟢💧🌂🦊Quiet Your Mind - daedelweiss

🟢Bed bargain - VeryCoolKid69

🟢🌈🐙give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around - taizi

🟢🐙🐬waiting on a miracle - lydiasgrace

🔴🧢🐢Odd man out - cosmoscrow

🔴👓🐬Behind the Scenes - catboycamdotcom

🔴🐢🧢At My Worst - teainthesnow

🔴🐢🧢Yesterday (it was so far away) - Midnight_Duel

🔴🦍🧢Never Do That Again - DiscowingSuit

🔴🌂Carapace - SkeletalConstellation

🔴The Same Little Faces - awkwardusagi

🔴🧢🦍Adrift - Zanrelle

🔴🧢🐬Neon - characoon

🔴🧢🐢We’ll meet again, soon - chiangyorange

🔴🍓📦We Share Blood - Clovrtree

🔴🧢🐆Rotten Reflections - Nicoforlife

🔴🐊Fusions - AmevelloBlue

🔴🐊🐬The hogwarts remix aka screaming and magic at all times - cxlesstial, HeyAssbuttImBatman

🔴🌂🐙Do The D. A. N. C. E. - Pariscite

🔴🧢🐢Last Grain Of Sand In The Hourglass - TjLockticon

🔴🌂📦Nothing Left To Lose - halfwayzone

🔴🌂Donatello’s guide to overanalyzing things - LasciviousEnby

🔴🌂🐬👓Ghost in the Shell - AmevelloBlueb

🔴🦁Fracturing Time - ofdogsandwriting

🔴🐬🐊🌂Arcadia - SkylerSkyHigh

🔴🧢🌂👓The Old College Try - theashemarie

🔴🦁Too lucky to count - iooiu

🔴🧢And… We’re Off!! - SailorSaysAhoy

🔴🧢🐢🦇In The Bottom Of The Bottle (I See Your Reflection) - BeeCeit

🔴🦁🐢Just this once, everybody lives - TheDragonTribes

🔴💧🦊Mystic Hands - characoon

🔴🧢🤕Every Night the Longest Day - ashtreelane

🟠🧢🐢🦁🐀Not quite kintsugi, but close - katterv

🟠🧢🐢Three-Sided Coin - Willow_Wept

🟠🧢Let’s Make A Deal - BeeCeit

🟠🧢🐢To See Another Day - teainthesnow

🟠🌂🤕Young Root, Old Rock - SirryGray

🟠🐢🦇Traveling Memories - Camiliero

🟠🧢🦍💧Ghost with the most - Moth_mutant

🟠🐢I think I would prefer the prison dimension - PurpleCatGhost

🟠🐬💧Different Places, Different Faces - RoyaltyStudios

🟠🌂🦊🐬The Purpleest Man Alive - Cloud_Hater

🟠🧢🦍Krang Graveyard - Blue1Pheonix

🟠🧢🐢Wrapped in Regret - Vallmo_05

🟠🐙🌂Seven Times - Fastern

🟠🐬Is This A “No Way Home” Reference? - ShadowOfFandoms

🟠🐙🧢In Time, We’ll Be Alright - MetamorphicRocky

🟠👓Brotherly Snippets - Secret_Universe

🟡🍓🌂The Brains and the Brawn - jadethestone

One shots:

Shellshocked - redhairedmuses

On Understanding Caring Hearts - ParvumAutomaton

Lined with gold - mad_and_thick_as_thieves

Catch - Annkey

Promise? - TechnicalMachine

Indigo Sunset/Indigo Sunrise - TheObsidianSun12

Bar the door - ApatheticRobots

A Throbbing Headache - DiscowingSuit

Someone just as inspiring - mad_and_thick_as_thieves

🦊Angelo - daniartonline

Leonardo's Secrets - ofdogsandwriting

Patterns - FanGirlFreak16

🐊In The Aftermath - sccredhead

Nothing to Say - morning_sun

It’s About the Peace of Mind - characoon (sequel to Neon)

🐙🦊Hold him tight (and never let go again) - ItzZaira

Somehow It’s Worse - Filsamek

🌈Fifty Cents - emiartse

🌂Switch 404 (dead man's error) - VeryCoolKid69

💧Meteor Shower - Surmie

Lay It All Out - NicoleAW

💧🐀A Ninja’s Greatest Weapon - get_scrambled

🐢🐙Chiquitita (Or, The Complicated Act Of Forgiving Yourself) - Bubbly_Kandy

💧🌂🍓Rocks fall, everyone dies - Tenka

💧🌂Forget-me-not - TheArchetypeArchives

Feel the Colors in Between - GalacticDreamer

🐙Electric Blue - MidnightDuel

😷Who’re you hiding - sunflowerstarfruit

🤕Sword and Shield - The_City_Kitty

🤕👾This heart of mine that’s guilty, not remorseful - strawberryfwog (karamarinara)

🤕🌂🧢I Feel You - GriffinStone

I guess this is my life now

[lollytea]

Okay I wanna write down a few thoughts on that part of the climax in Thanks to Them that has garnered some mixed opinions. Specifically Hunter’s possession and the subsequent death of Flapjack. 

I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m defending this scene, as people are perfectly within their rights to be uncomfortable with it and criticize everything from its execution to its inclusion at all. Whether this whole thing was objectively a terrible writing decision for Hunter’s character, his arc, and the overall message it sends is....a discussion starter to say the least. Rather, what I wanna do is maybe try and dissect the reasons why these scenes might exist in the first place. From a writing perspective. 

I’ve been thinking about it a lot, trying to figure out just what angle the crew was going for and I think I might have some vague idea. And I’ll admit, I think there’s something poignant in here somewhere. Maybe they fumbled the bag a bit and didn’t consider just how troubling some of these implications could be. Writing gets clunky sometimes. But that’s up to every individual viewer to draw their own conclusions. But personally, I don’t believe that these scenes were intended to be gratuitous. I don’t believe that they were added solely because the crew are sadists who enjoy wringing Hunter dry like an angsty dish cloth. As flawed as they may be, I think I can understand why they were written. Possibly. 

So, I’m gonna try to give an objective look at the themes, storytelling and symbolism at play here and how all of that relates to Hunter’s overall character and the big climax of his story.

We’ll start with the very understandable hurt viewers felt when Hunter’s road to recovery was abruptly relapsed by Belos. The thing many people are vocalizing their feelings about is how the episode made sure to demonstrate just how happy Hunter was. That’s what devastated them the most. Hunter was in the process of healing, which hits close to home for many, making what Belos did to him all the more disturbing on a personal level. 

However, every single one of us knew that Belos was alive before we watched the episode. Hunter did not. Hunter believed that Belos was dead and this was the only reason that he felt safe enough to make such progress in his recovery. So now matter what way you twist it, we all knew Hunter was set up to relapse the moment he realized Belos was in the Human Realm. 

So what was the point of showing this sixteen year old abuse victim experiencing safety, warmth, happiness, confidence and self exploration just to cruelly rip it all away from him? 

Put simply, to establish just how much Hunter now has to live for. Just how much Hunter has to fight for. His motivations for living and for fighting are sprinkled all throughout the episode. This boy has such a hopeful future laid out before him and he knows it. So when he finally gets his moment to tell Belos exactly what he wants for himself, you understand exactly where this passion and determination is coming from. It means something. 

And then there’s the possession itself, which everything comes down to. We saw the leaks, we hated them, some of us talked ourselves into believing they were fake but we all kinda knew deep down. It was a very fun very terrible week. ANYWAY. 

I think that Hunter’s arc would have felt incomplete if he didn’t get a final confrontation with Belos. That’s the popular opinion. However, many are also in the opinion that Hunter getting possessed was very unnecessary and violating and it should not have been done in the first place. And I’m not gonna argue with this view. It’s legit. But again, here’s what I believe the crew might have been going for with this.

The possession of Hunter’s body is a symbolic manifestation of everything Belos has always represented in his life. It’s a final culmination of all sixteen years under that man’s thumb and all the damage he’s done to Hunter’s body and psyche. 

Ever since Separate Tides, Hunter has been Belos’ puppet. And honestly, though the specifics of the arrangement have shifted, this was still the case throughout Thanks To Them. Between Separate Tides and Hollow Mind, it’s pretty simple. Perfectly obedient Golden Guard who does everything his uncle tells him to do, without much say in the trajectory of his own life. 

However, after Hollow Mind, Hunter was no longer that. But that didn’t mean the puppetry stopped entirely. He was a nervous wreck for the rest of the season. The mention of the Emperor’s name paralyzed him with fear. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t done directly. Belos still had an alarming amount of control over Hunter. 

So long as he was alive, Hunter knew he wasn’t safe. And once Hunter starts to realize that he’s still out there, it becomes obvious that he will never fully recover until he’s certain Belos is dead. 

Everything about the possession is an encapsulation of what Belos’ years of abuse and manipulation have been like to Hunter. How powerless he’s always felt. But this time, it isn’t done through words or threats of violence. It’s worse than that. It’s physically invasive. It’s desecration. It’s having his very self taken away from him and nothing is more sacred than a person’s autonomy. The weight of what’s happening to him is palpable. 

This is the worst thing Belos has ever done to him. 

But what does Hunter, the boy who spent his entire life petrified of this man, do about it? 

He finds it in himself to rebel against it.

Because, though Belos’ abuse and the negative effects of his upbringing have always been such a crucial aspect of Hunter’s sense of personhood, it’s not all that defines him. 

A long time ago Hunter was given orders from the Emperor to slay a selkidomus. Instead he passed the job off to somebody else because he didn’t want to do it. 

Hunter self-sabotaged his own mission and allowed Luz to escape with the palismen he was ordered to recover. 

Hunter studied wild magic against his uncle’s wishes. 

Hunter went to Eclipse Lake even when he was told not to. 

Hunter had a secret palismen named Flapjack. 

Hunter assigned himself to the Hexside mission without getting Belos’ approval. 

Hunter owned a secret scroll. 

Hunter refused to roll over and die in the mindscape even when Belos decided that he was no longer useful. 

Hunter has a rebellious heart. Had one from the very beginning. He was definitely in denial about it back then (Happily declaring just how much he loves “Authority! And rules!”) but it was there, clear as day.

But this is the moment where Hunter embraces that rebellious heart. And in doing so, he finds the willpower to regain control of his body. To Hunter, this moment is a reflection of everything he’s always wanted to do. To break free of Belos’ power. To speak his mind. To choose his own future. To choose himself. 

And all that genuine joy we saw him experiencing earlier in the episode is what strengthens his resolve to grit out his final words to Belos.

Hunter releases years of pent up frustration that he was too brainwashed to ever let himself think about. 

Hunter openly expresses desire after desire, fully aware that every single one of them will boil Belos’ blood. 

Hunter outrights demands that he be allowed happiness. 

He’s proving, not only to Belos, but to himself that you can hurt him, you can scare him, you can manipulate him, you can even possess him, but you will never own him. Nobody will ever own him. 

So, yes, absolutely. There are valid criticisms to be had of the concept of Hunter being possessed. And it’s likely the writers didn’t really think a lot of the ramifications through. 

But I believe the idea it’s trying to portray was how the intensity of that moment and how violating it was to Hunter further emphasized just how powerful Hunter’s final act of defiance was. It wasn’t just one last fight between the two of them, it was a visceral way of having Hunter confront everything Belos has ever put him through, allow his resentment to bubble over and finally understand that he has the right to reject who he was “supposed” to be, whether Belos likes it or not. 

One thing that came from the possession scene that I believe is genuinely a good and healthy thing is that Hunter’s perspective of Belos has changed for the better.

This was the worst thing Belos could have possibly done to him. And Hunter did not only survive it but he was capable of resisting it. Something he’s never been able to do before. He has officially endured the worst Belos can inflict on him. So, with that in mind, Hunter has no reason left to be afraid of this man anymore. With this, all remaining control Belos had over him has been shattered. 

I have to acknowledge that, though this experience was truly godawful, it did provide Hunter with the closure he needed. It was necessary to how he proceeds forward. With all that fear out of the picture, Hunter’s current feelings towards Belos consist of righteous fury and contempt. Which is cathartic to say the least, as Hunter’s hate can finally be directed at the person who hurt him, rather than himself. In the case of a victim struggling with their trauma, allowing themselves to be angry at their abuser can be a very therapeutic thing. 

This is huge for Hunter. While many have expressed the opinion that the after effects of this moment will be detrimental to Hunter’s overall arc, I honestly think it’s a massive step in the journey to recovery. It’s not the nice peaceful part he experienced while in Camila’s house but not everything about an abuse victim’s healing process is pleasant. Sometimes it’s ugly. But progress is progress. 

And then there’s the matter of Flapjack’s sacrifice which is a doozy of a subject. 

Anyone who follows me is aware that I was very vocal in my belief that Flapjack would survive, because surely they wouldn’t take something so precious to Hunter away from him. Surely. 

(Well I’m Stan and I was wrong, I’m singing the Stan Wrong Song, okay fuck you.)

But once that episode was over and the credits were rolling, I started to think about Flapjack as far back as his introduction in Hunting Palismen. And honestly, I feel like his death was planned from the start. The kind of friend who comes into your life, changes you for the better before inevitably having to say goodbye. But even if it’s temporary, that doesn’t make their presence in your life any less impactful. 

While Flapjack had plenty of personality, he wasn’t so much a character with his own arc, as he was a tool in progressing Hunter’s. His role in the story was to guide a lost and lonely boy into the light and show him that he’s worthy of being loved. 

And with Flapjack’s influence, Hunter let himself meet people who don’t make him feel worthless. He has never felt more loved in his life. 

Flapjack officially imprinted on Hunter when the boy expressed a longing to figure out his own future. Flapjack decided that he would try to lead him in the right direction. 

And in his final moments, Flapjack watched the boy he had been guiding adamantly proclaim everything he wanted his future to be. It was safe to assume he had figured it out. 

Flapjack’s existence in Hunter’s life also represents the link to Caleb along with Hunter’s complicated “relationship” with this ghost of a man that he’ll never know. Caleb is not Hunter and Hunter will never be Caleb. However, they’ll always be connected by the strings of terrible, terrible destiny that Belos tied together. And though Hunter didn’t know it, Caleb lingered in his life in the form of the bird he left behind.

And in all that time where Hunter figuring out his own identity, Caleb’s bird was helping him along. It was when Hunter was finally certain exactly who he was (Not a witch hunting accomplice of Belos) that Caleb’s bird was ready to move on.

With all these ends tied up, Hunter did not need Flapjack anymore. 

But Flapjack still had one more job left to do. And that was to make sure Hunter got to stay with the people who loved him and Hunter got his chance to experience the future he had decided for himself. Figuring it out is useless if it’s all a hopeless fantasy. Flapjack wanted it to be a reality. 

It must have been a relief to the little bird’s heart that his witch had grown so much and he could leave knowing Hunter would be okay without him.

(There’s also the interpretation that Flapjack is an analogy for a service animal/disability aid. But that line about learning to carve could not set it up the future any clearer. Hunter will not be without a palisman forever.

Obviously, it might take him some time before he’s ready to begin again. But he will make a new palismen. As a boy who’s spent his entire arc learning how to let new loved ones into his life, it would make absolutely no sense whatsoever if he didn’t.)

Anyway, my biggest fear when I saw the leaks which showed Flapjack sacrificing himself for Hunter’s sake, was how much something like that could completely destroy all of Hunter’s healing progress. Because why wouldn’t it? He not only lost his best friend but Flapjack died to keep him alive. How could he possibly live with himself after something like that? 

I think this is one of the main talking points over why people are upset about Flapjack’s death. How it’s going to effect Hunter. I’ve seen the belief that this devastating loss was detrimental to his recovery journey and it’s rendered all of the lighthearted scenes of enthusiasm and confidence from earlier in the special obsolete. But I honestly feel like it’s the exact opposite. 

Hunter’s reaction to Flapjack’s death was different than I imagined it would be. And not in an objectively bad way. It’s quite telling of how far he’s come. Compare it to Hollow Mind where Hunter also experiences a traumatic loss which results in him having a complete meltdown. He cries, he hyperventilates, he runs blindly into the woods. It was borderline apocalyptic. And it’s completely understandable. At this point in life, Hunter lost what he believed to be his entire world. 

After Flapjack’s sacrifice, the first thing Hunter did when he regained consciousness was smile, softly greet his remaining loved ones and ask if they were alright. It’s revealed seconds later that he already knew Flapjack was gone. But he still had it in him to smile. Because even in the devastating aftermath of losing the creature who changed his life and introduced him to real happiness, he’s relieved to know his friends and family are safe. He knows he’s not alone. 

Flapjack was deeply important to Hunter. It’s impossible to even articulate just how much he adored that little bird. When he lost his former life, Flapjack was all he had.

However, by this point, Hunter’s life is flourishing with hobbies and interests and ambitions and friends and family and love. Flapjack was no longer everything Hunter had. And being surrounded by so many people who cared about him in his moment of grief is a powerful thing. 

Hunter is quiet about Flapjack’s death. He’s weak, he’s exhausted, he’s utterly gutted. But there’s nothing that implies he blames himself. Judging by how he was aware of the sacrifice despite just waking up, I believe they did get one last goodbye via their mental link. 

And I think this is why Hunter seems so accepting of what had just happened. Whatever Flapjack said to him, he had successfully made Hunter understand that this was just how it had to be and that it was not his fault. And with all the love and optimism Flapjack has instilled in him since they met, Hunter decided that what he needs to do now is try and lead the most fulfilling life he possibly can. He has to. This life had been a gift from Flapjack after all.

But as mentioned way up above, Hunter can never have the life he wants until Belos is permanently out of the picture. I think this is where his new lease of life comes from in the final moments of the special. 

Hunter has changed significantly throughout this episode. While in his opening scene, he was completely clueless on how to comfort Luz properly because he equates the guilt she feels to his own and that link between their similar feelings sabotages any attempt at clarity on his part. His words of comfort were basically “If it helps, they’ll hate me more.” 

But before he steps through the portal, Hunter has a new perspective on the self-loathing that has been corrupting both himself and the girl he now calls family. It was never them. It was Belos. It was always Belos. Hunter is able to tell Luz that it was never her fault because he finally understands that it was never his fault. And he’s telling her all of this because she’s important to him and she always will be. 

Hunter still has Luz.

He then expresses his new motivation. To fight back. To regain control of his life. To get some justice for all the damage his abuser has done to him and so many others. To protect the world that he cares about. 

Hunter still has Willow and Gus and Amity. 

Hunter still has Camila and Vee. 

Losing Flapjack did not kill Hunter’s fire. It did not render all of his prior growth in the Human Realm null and void. Hunter has experienced a loss and his grief is palpable but he still has so much left.

In fact, I think if Hunter hadn’t had these experiences, hadn’t built these relationships, hadn’t realized just how much life has to offer to him, he wouldn’t be taking such a defiant stance. He wouldn’t be the first one to march into the portal, taking Flapjack home, determined to end Belos once and for all. And he’s standing on a strong foundation of mourning, experience, wisdom, love and support. 

I keep thinking about that very infamous line by Dana that was misinterpreted to Hell and back. 

“Dana doesn’t like happy endings.” 

That line never bothered me much, even when I didn’t know what the exact context actually was (Dana doesn’t like happily ever after.) Like, I watched the Owl House, I know the kind of stories Dana liked to tell. So, the way I always interpreted that opinion was the simple message that we can never have it all. 

Life is tumultuous. There are ups. There are downs. There are gains. There are losses. And I feel like that’s an accurate summary of Hunter’s development throughout the special. 

Hunter had been mistreated. He now has far more scars than he started out with. He lost Flapjack. These are all devastating blows to him physically and emotionally. 

But please, don’t allow the suffering Hunter went through distract from all of his positive growth in this episode. Hunter spent months making happy memories. He strengthened his bonds with his friends. He now has somebody who genuinely loves him that he can call family. He’s discovered all these brand new hobbies and interests. 

He likes who he is now.

That hasn’t changed. I promise you that it hasn’t changed. 

And most importantly of all, Hunter is no longer ruled by fear of the man who hurt him. He is no longer under Belos’ control. 

Hunter is grieving right now but he is not in ruins. 

This is not rock bottom for him. 

I feel that Hunter’s gains and losses were pretty evenly distributed throughout the episode. However, because of the attachment people have towards him, as a teenage abuse victim who’s steadily recovering, it’s easy to only see his losses. Because it hurts to see, it really does. 

But I promise you all of those happy Hunter memories meant something too. Those are what’s him pushing forward right now. 

Anyway, those are my two cents on that whole thing. Again, I don’t think these scenes are immune to criticism. However, I did want to take a moment to examine them a bit because I truly believe that there was a team of passionate writers attempting to create something profound with this.

I like to write myself and I understand that a lot of the time I miss the mark and don’t always execute the point I’m trying to make. So, at the very least, even if things aren’t handled perfectly, I’d like to try and dissect the message that they were attempting to send. 

It’s absolutely fine if you don’t agree with a word of this. I understand that these scenes have hurt quite a lot of people. But thank you for reading. I appreciate it. 💕

[jeonkooki]

Warnings: none

Jungkook looks after his girlfriend after she brakes her hand.

Immediate Support:

Jungkook rushes to her side as soon as he hears about the injury, canceling his plans and making her his top priority.

He helps her get to the hospital, staying by her side throughout the check-up and offering comforting words.

Setting Up at Home:

Jungkook ensures their home is safe and comfortable for her. He rearranges furniture if necessary, clears clutter, and makes sure everything she needs is within arm's reach.

He sets up a cozy station for her on the couch with pillows, blankets, and her favorite snacks.

Meal Preparation:

Jungkook takes on the role of chef and prepares easy-to-eat, nutritious meals that don't require much cutting or use of her injured hand.

He makes an effort to learn her favorite dishes and surprises her with them from time to time.

Assisting with Daily Tasks:

Jungkook helps with everyday tasks like brushing her hair, tying it up, and even assisting with dressing if necessary.

He patiently opens jars, bottles, and packages, not minding when it takes a few tries.

Entertainment and Distraction:

Knowing she might get bored during her recovery, Jungkook plans movie marathons, game nights, or reading sessions to keep her entertained.

He introduces her to new hobbies or helps her continue with existing ones that don't require her dominant hand.

Medical Care:

Jungkook takes her to follow-up appointments and makes sure she's following the doctor's advice for a smooth recovery.

He keeps a close eye on her medication schedule and any physical therapy exercises she needs to do.

Comfort and Emotional Support:

Jungkook is an expert at providing emotional comfort. He listens to her frustrations and fears, offering reassuring words and cuddles.

He knows when she needs space too and respects her boundaries.

Encouragement and Motivation:

Jungkook is her biggest cheerleader, always motivating her to stay positive and reminding her that this setback is only temporary.

He leaves inspirational notes around the house and surprises her with small, thoughtful gifts.

Adapting to Challenges:

Jungkook goes the extra mile to adapt their daily routines to accommodate her injury. He may even learn to do some household chores he's never done before.

He becomes an expert at using voice commands for smart home devices to make her life easier.

Late-Night Talks:

Jungkook cherishes their late-night talks when they're both relaxed and vulnerable. He shares his own stories of overcoming challenges to remind her that she's not alone.

These conversations often lead to deep bonding moments that strengthen their relationship.

Celebrating Small Wins:

Jungkook celebrates every milestone in her recovery, no matter how small. Whether it's regaining a bit of hand strength or accomplishing a task on her own, he's her biggest fan.

He may surprise her with a mini "graduation" ceremony for when she's cleared by the doctor.

Exploring New Ways of Intimacy:

Recognizing that physical intimacy may be limited during her recovery, Jungkook explores new ways to connect emotionally and intimately.

He learns to give relaxing massages and showers her with affection and compliments.

Planning for the Future:

Jungkook takes this time to plan exciting adventures or future goals they can work towards together once she's fully recovered.

He assures her that he'll be there every step of the way, no matter what challenges they face.

[intotheelliwoods]

Bunch of asks! Sorry for no drawings this time around ive been pretty burnt out as of late whoopsies.. would appreciate it if you guys could give me some time with the next 2AL update!!

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@snipersiniora Oh for sure! He is still Leo after all! After the whole situation after the invasion calmed down he would so crack a ton just to help lighten everyones moods! And yes, at multiple occasions would make fun of his own age, and throw in dad jokes!

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@wraenata FLASHBACKS TO THIS ASK if you cannot ask me MY favorite kind of cheese, then you cannot ask ANY OF THE LEOS THEIR FAVORITE CHEESE impossible question. the answers have no end. cheese is delicious and every type is so valid.

But listen listen, Leo, no matter the age, is an incredibly cheesy fella.

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@cartoonfan (this ping might not work oops) Waa thank you!!! I am turning this ask into an opportunity to say that having your own version of future Leo is so awesome because since we have only seen him for like 5 minutes, you can give him whatever personality you want and it fits no matter what you do pfft.

Like damn I want to make the most fluffy and kind peepaw imaginable? no problem 👍 no one can stop me and im so happy lots of people are enjoying my take!

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@allynabie Hello!!!

Everyone else feels great about it~ Yes, it may be weird having an extra Leo, but if that said Leo somehow manages to help your Leo generally have better coping mechanisms then theres really nothing to complain about here. I can guarantee you if future Leo was not here, Leo's recovery would have gone wayyy different, as in it would have taken him longer to accept his loss, and it would have been way more bumpy and harmful of a ride.

If you were to ask me about what the comic is about overall, my answer would be self love and how to accept reality by being open with yourself.

As for being aware of their future deaths, they are aware that they have died, yes! I actually plan on covering that a little bit soon but shhh you did not hear that from me~

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AAa the amount of support I get from having the Leo's being supportive of eachother is amazing, said it so many times before and ill say it again, so glad people are enjoying this take! Happy I can provide this fandom some comfort between the two!

Though I should also use this ask as a chance to mention: I do not dislike or look down upon any version of future Leo where he hates/despises his future self!!! I apologies in advance if some of what I have been saying would lead people to thinking this of me and I just wanted to be a bit clear with that! Honestly the two not being very fond of each other can lead to so many interesting storylines so who am I to complain.

Anyways, all takes of Future Leo are amazing, thought I should just through that here :)

---

Such a great sidejoke ngl~ Though I should mention, while there may be a tracker inside Leo's prosthetic, there is no recorder!

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Hakai Magazine:

In March 2024, about a dozen scientists and crew members ventured into the Gulf of Mexico armed with an underwater rover, crab traps, and other research kit. Led by Craig McClain, a deep-sea biologist at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, the team set out to study the site where, on April 20, 2010, the Deepwater Horizon oil rig exploded, killing 11 workers and setting off one of the worst environmental disasters in US history.

It was McClain’s third trip to the disaster’s ground zero, and despite the 14 years that have elapsed, he found that wildlife surrounding the exploded wellhead was still suffering. The absence of life is noticeable, says McClain, and what is there doesn’t seem healthy.

Unlike other wrecks, which tend to become habitats for marine species over time, the sunken Deepwater Horizon has remained comparatively sterile. Organisms that typically inhabit the Gulf’s seafloor—such as sea cucumbers, giant isopods, corals, and sea anemones—are simply missing, says McClain. Perhaps more concerning are the crabs. Naturally red, the crabs McClain and his team pulled up in their traps were tinted an oily black; many were also missing legs, while others had lesions.

When disaster first struck, scientists and locals couldn’t help but notice the mass die-offs of dolphins, pelicans, oysters, and other marine species. But as the years have rolled on, many of the remediation efforts meant to clean up the spill—which coated the Gulf in four million barrels of oil—have been focused on land.

“When we have a disaster like this,” says Mark Benfield, a Louisiana State University oceanographer and participant in the recent expedition, “it’s easy to look at the beautiful clear blue water—it was gorgeous out there—and say everything looks good.” On the seafloor, however, the improvements have been incremental at best.

For those who embarked on the most recent expedition, the dire sight has them questioning how the Gulf will fare in the future. “We may not actually ever see recovery,” says McClain. Each trip to the wellhead comes with “a lot of mixed emotions,” he says. “It’s always sobering, no matter how productive the trip is.”

[historicalfightingguide]

"I have worked on this article on and off over the past half year or so. I started it right after my club’s tournament Revolution Rumble, because I was fascinated by the variance of skill in the tier of almost all unrated fencers, and also how that shook out in terms of HEMA rating. This led to a bit of a deep dive into how HEMA ratings works, what it’s good for, and what it isn’t. Because of that, I have decided to make this the first of a three part series about HEMA ratings. The second part will be about why HEMA ratings is not the best system for a world ranking, and the third part will be about how the pandemic affected the ratings. I’m sure I will talk more about HEMA ratings beyond this, but that’s all I have in the immediate future. 

HEMA Ratings Series:

Part 1: Tiered Tournaments and Unrated Fencers

Part 2: World Ranking

Part 3: Covid Recovery"

An interesting piece on how to approach tiered tournaments and why. Not relevant to every historical fencing practitioner, but a useful read for any tournament organizer looking to consider the various relevant factors.

For anyone who hasn’t yet seen the following links:

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Some advice on how to start studying the sources generally can be found in these older posts

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Remember to check out  A Guide to Starting a Liberation Martial Arts Gym as it may help with your own club/gym/dojo/school culture and approach.Check out their curriculum too.

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Fear is the Mind Killer: How to Build a Training Culture that Fosters Strength and Resilience by   Kajetan Sadowski   may be relevant as well.

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“How We Learn to Move: A Revolution in the Way We Coach & Practice Sports Skills”  by Rob Gray  as well as this post that goes over the basics of his constraints lead, ecological approach.

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Another useful book to check out is  The Theory and Practice of Historical European Martial Arts (while about HEMA, a lot of it is applicable to other historical martial arts clubs dealing with research and recreation of old fighting systems).

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Trauma informed coaching and why it matters

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Look at the previous posts in relation to running and cardio to learn how that relates to historical fencing.

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Why having a systematic approach to training can be beneficial

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Why we may not want one attack 10 000 times, nor 10 000 attacks done once, but a third option.

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How consent and opting in function and why it matters.

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More on tactics in fencing

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Types of fencers

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Open vs closed skills

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The three primary factors to safety within historical fencing

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Worth checking out are this blogs tags on pedagogy and teaching for other related useful posts.

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And if you train any weapon based form of historical fencing check out the ‘HEMA game archive’ where you can find a plethora of different drills, focused sparring and game options to use for effective, useful and fun training.

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Check out the cool hemabookshelf facsimile project.

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For more on how to use youtube content for learning historical fencing I suggest checking out these older posts on the concept of video study of sparring and tournament footage.

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The provoker-taker-hitter tactical concept and its uses

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Approaches to goals and methodology in historical fencing

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A short article on why learning about other sports and activities can benefit folks in combat sports

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Consider getting some patches of this sort or these cool rashguards to show support for good causes or a t-shirt like to send a good message while at training

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

Going further with the Eren + Nagito comparison, what if Nagito has another "revelation" of sorts. Wondering to himself, was it ever truly hope that he yearned so much for? Or was it freedom? A sense of autonomy and control over his life. Not a life dictated by the whims of his luck cycle, by the diseases limiting his body, and of course by some bitch mind-raping him into a despair addiction.

And this extends to how he treats his luck cycle. Finally reaching the conclusion that no, it has never been a fair balance and it has always just been Ultimate Bad Luck. Deciding that the "good luck" is just a bullshit illusion to get his hopes up and then be crushed again. So he goes out of his way to spite the cycle. Passing over and deliberately sabotaging every single bit of "good luck" that comes his way from there on.

"Fuck off, I'm not falling for that shit anymore. Go ahead, toss me all the bad luck you want. See if I care."

It would probably feel weirdly uncomfortable for the rest of Class 77. Because like...yeah, he's finally shut up about hope and luck and all that. But it also feels kind of wrong. Like the world has turned upside down. And a number of them probably realize that they actually do miss that sense of irreverent optimism. Which in turn would likely make Nagito even more irritable and lash out at attempts to cheer him up.

"If I recall correctly, all the time you'd say stuff like 'I wish that moron would just shut the hell up about hope'. And yet...now you're upset that I've taken your advice? Make your damn mind up."

The idea of believing in hope "in a healthy way" sounds good on paper. But like...I think it would take a very long character arc to come around to that idea. As far as Nagito is concerned (and let's face it he's not exactly wrong here), hope or fate or whatever spited him from the moment he was born. It doesn't smile upon him the way it does people like Makoto.

"No. Fuck that. I'm never going back to that lie. Looking back now...I was a slave long before I ever had a chain around my neck. It doesn't matter that I'm gonna die a miserable death. Nothing's gonna change that. What matters is whether or not I die free."

This would be quite the intriguing concept to explore indeed though as you mentioned it would be a long work-in-progress for Nagito to open himself up again to believing in hope from this point.

Here's hoping that things don't end as tragically for him as they did Eren--though I suppose some argue that Eren did die "free" to an extent. Though really did he ever truly escape? I mean he died a Titan and there was really no way at all for him to be able to remotely have a normal happy life with how deeply involved he was with, well, everything. To that effect, at least Nagito in way has a shot of finding some sort of contentment in life. Yeah, he'll never be truly "free" from his luck the same as Eren will never be free of being a titan, but Nagito has time. As ironic as that may sound for someone with terminal illness, if there is a constant about Nagito's luck is that it does first and foremost ensure his survival (whether it's painful or not). Along with the fact that they really aren't any obligations or responsibilities he's tied (not in the way Eren had), Nagito is at least free to spend his recovery period well...recovering and allowing for introspection to happen. And, because of that, I do think at some point he'll be able to see some sort of reason to genuinely smile again and be happy despite his luck.

I don't think he necessarily needs to be hopeful for the future--because that could feel like you're setting yourself up for disappointment. Instead I think Nagito will do better simply allowing himself to find enjoyment and be happy in the present. He won't fool himself by claiming that everything in the future will be okay, but he won't let his bad luck continue to control him by sapping away all his happiness and making him an empty husk. After all, the freedom of feeling and expressing all the emotions he has, the good and the bad, isn't that really what he's striving for? I can't imagine a bigger "fuck you" to that chain of bad luck he was born with than living and enjoying life despite it.

He won't make plans but he'll enjoy the moments as they come.

[reyescarlos]

trying my best || a tk strand fic

summary: An exploration of TK's sobriety journey from 2017 to now. Or, a season 3 coda spanning 3x08-3x13

word count: 10.2k || rated: m || read on ao3

a/n: As this fic deals heavily with TK's past experiences with substance abuse and grief over Gwyn's passing, please be mindful of the subject matter and tags before diving in. If these themes are too heavy or personal, I hope you'll take care 💜

Now it's time to let the curtains unfold And tell all the stories that I didn't want told I let it out so I unburden my soul, I won't stop

Day One 2017

Three thousand miles from home may as well be a world or an entire galaxy away. TK certainly feels like a stranger in unknown terrain, crash landed here in California looking out the window towards a completely different ocean than the one he’s known all his life.

Nothing feels right. Even his own body feels unfamiliar to him.

TK flexes his hands as he sits in the intake room, his eyes darting around the walls. There are wellness posters tacked all over and generic watercolor paintings. He supposes the effect they’re going for is calm, but it only serves to set TK on edge.

All the confidence he felt earlier as he stepped away from his mother at the airport’s sliding doors has seemingly evaporated into thin air, leaving him with empty hands that have nothing to hold on to. He chews at his bottom lip, certain he’ll bite the delicate skin raw by the time this process is over. But it’s the least of his concerns right now.

He’s meant to embark on this road to recovery, the specialist across from him assuring TK that he’s doing the right thing by taking this first step. For the first time since he’s sat down, he looks at her fully, his mother’s words echoing in the back of his head.

The next steps you take are yours.

But TK fears the path he’ll wander down without his mother’s guidance or her physical presence. He’s lost his way before. His mother’s faith in him, while generous, may prove to be ill-advised now. And the knowledge of that makes him every bit as sick as the drugs working their way out of his system. He doesn’t want her sacrifice to be in vain, but as he thinks of the daunting journey ahead, it gets hard to muster up self-trust. He isn’t nearly as forgiving with himself as his mother seems to be with him.

He curls in on himself, making himself small in his seat. He counts the specks in the tiles of each square on the floor until his vision blurs and it all begins to look like static before his eyes.

That’s all any of this is anyway. White noise.

As the woman speaks to him, giving a well-worn speech she must have spoken a thousand times over, TK can’t process much of what she’s saying.

He catches a few words though, all expected terms. Detox. Assessment. Specialists.

It’s all the things he’s been afraid of now coming into fruition. He’ll be poked and prodded. Questioned. Monitored. He hasn’t even been here a full day yet and already he feels like a lab rat rather than a person. He knows everything he says and does over the next thirty days will be looked at closely. The thought alone makes his skin itch.

He pulls down the sleeves of his flannel shirt, letting the cuffs partially cover his blue stained fingers, a reminder of the depths he’s recently sunk to. He wishes it could be enough to hide his entire body, to cloak him from the prying eyes he’ll be subjected to over the course of the next month.

He longs for his mother. For New York. For a time in his life when the future seemed boundless. Somewhere along the way, he let his wings get clipped. It troubles him to think he’ll never reach the heights that were once promised.

“TK, are you ready?” the woman asks.

As ready as I’ll ever be, he thinks but doesn’t say. TK merely nods and stands up on shaky legs.

The next steps you take are yours, he hears once again, the refrain like a mantra.

He moves forward, one foot before the other, praying that this time, he’s walking into a better future.

Day Thirty-One

The moment the wheels touch down on the tarmac, TK takes a breath, relief rushing through his veins like blood.

He’s home.

In hindsight, spending a month in California had been the right call. It was impossible not to compare and contrast the version of himself he was a mere thirty days ago with who he was now. That TK had been a relative stranger, some funhouse mirror version of himself stretched and altered so greatly that he could barely recognize his own reflection most days.

He takes a cab to Manhattan, his eyes never leaving the window as he drinks in the familiar sights and sounds of New York. California had served its purpose. New surroundings and people helped to adjust his mindset. Trained professionals worked closely with him to mold him into something he could be proud of. Even on his worst days, the times when self-doubt reared its ugly head, he stayed the course and stuck it out without protest.

He refused to let his mother’s best efforts go to waste. Or his either, for that matter.

Settled back in his apartment, it’s strange how this now feels unfamiliar to him. He spends the morning cleaning up, tidying his space, finding some rhythm in this dance he once knew.

His mother had initially offered to take off work and pick him up at the airport, but TK had politely declined. She’d already done enough and, truthfully, TK needed some time to himself to get something of a routine going again.

They do commemorate his homecoming later in the day the best way they know how— with dim sum on Spring Street.

It’s impossible not to think back on the last time he was here, so drained and dope sick from the drugs he’d pumped into his body.

Thirty days had both dragged and gone by in the blink of an eye. As he rips his chopsticks free of their paper wrapping, it isn’t lost on him just how weak he’d been on his last visit here, so exhausted and encumbered it’d been a struggle to even bring his food to his own mouth.

Shame burns white hot in the pit of his stomach as he thinks back on his outburst during that meal. It’s hard to reconcile with the person he was just a mere month ago.

His mother must sense where his thoughts are now as she reaches a hand across the table and settles it over his. It’s only then that TK realizes he’s trembling.

He looks up and into his mother’s stunning blue eyes, her gaze firm yet comforting as she begins to speak.

“It’s overwhelming, I know. But you’ve come so far. We’re here to celebrate that. I’m so proud of you, TK. I hope you’re proud of yourself too.”

Celebrate the wins, no matter how big or small, he’d been reminded of repeatedly out in California.

This was a big one.

This thing that’s inside of him will always lurk in the corners. TK is hellbent on keeping his demons to the shadows, at the very least. He understands enough to know they’ll never fully be vanquished, but they don’t have to live alongside him either, occupying space. He doesn’t have to give them air.

It had become easier to stave off the urge to revert when he was safe inside the facility with no means of getting his hands on something.

But now, he’s back in his old stomping grounds, returned to a city he knows all too well. TK knows where to look should the urge come knocking. Suddenly the wound inside him feels exposed, vulnerable. But he’s been equipped with the tools to protect himself. That’s a better position than where he stood just a few weeks ago.

He turns his hand, letting it sit palm up and gives his mother’s hand a light squeeze, their fingers interlocking as he’d done so many times as a kid.

The last time they were here, he’d snapped at her, insisting that he wasn’t a baby in need of coddling. But the fact remained, he would always be Gwyneth Morgan’s child. And for that, he would always be grateful.

“I am. I couldn’t have done any of this without you though. You signed me up. You got me on that plane.”

Gwyn smiles softly and shakes her head a little.

“But you saw the program through. I’d say you had the harder job,” she muses.

But TK remembers clearly the agony she’d been through just a month ago at his hands, the sheer desperation in her voice and face as she pleaded with him in this very same restaurant. He remembers all too vividly the strain in her eyes as she fought to keep her tears at bay in California.

He can’t even imagine how deeply she must have dug to find the strength to walk away at those sliding doors, to fight off every instinct she must have felt to go with him the rest of the way.

TK could argue she’s endured just as much as him, just in other ways. Having a front row seat to his battle. Watching her only child suffer. That had to be hell on earth and yet, she kept fighting nonetheless. For him.

“Thank you for saving me…for seeing what I didn’t want to. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you, but you made the sacrifice anyway.”

Her face grows serious though her eyes remain filled with warmth as she stares straight at him.

“I’m your mother. You will always be worth it to me, TK. Always.”

Year One 2018

“When I look back on where I was a year ago…it kinda feels more like a page out of someone else’s story. My past doesn’t have to be my future.”

He looks out at those seated, immediately spotting his parents beaming at him. The pride in their eyes strengthens TK, gives him the courage to keep speaking.

“I know the road ahead won’t always be an easy one. But I feel confident that I can face whatever might be in store for me. The good, the bad, and everything in between. I’m ready to give myself permission to experience the world again. Without fear.”

TK turns the one year chip over in his hand, holds it like it’s gold or some other precious metal. In his eyes, it’s worth so much more than that.

Three hundred and sixty-five days. A milestone. A feat. A goal post he’d been aiming towards that he can now say he’s successfully managed to clear.

He has followed advisement to the letter, hung on to each bit of guidance from his counselor and tips from others in group who knew firsthand the journey he was embarking on.

TK smiles to himself and pockets the coin though he keeps a hold of it, his thumb gently tracing over the smooth surface. It brings him comfort.

“Thank you,” he concludes simply to the group at large. They all clap, some patting him on the back, others murmuring their congratulations to him. It’s a scene he had daydreamed about for so long, it’s a bit jarring to know that it’s real, that he’s truly able to bask in this moment.

Even in the sea of praise from this community he’s come to rely on so heavily throughout this past year, his eyes still find their way to his parents, to his mother in particular. Her eyes shine with a different set of tears than the ones she’d held back last year in L.A. Her words from then still echo in his head, a driving force for this next leg of the race he’s gearing up to run.

He’ll continue taking these next steps, charting a path for himself that leads to continued health and happiness.

Year Two 2019

What a difference a year makes, as he sits across from Alex at dinner, their fingers interlocked on the table.

It was advised that he not date in his first year of recovery, that he’d be predisposed to growing too dependent on his partner. The first year was a delicate time in which he had to learn about himself. He’d taken the guidance to heart in the time since and had focused on keeping his head down, centering his attention on work and himself.

Alex came into his life unexpectedly, at a time when TK wasn’t actively looking. It felt a lot like fate. A reward for all the hard work he’d been putting forth.

As he listens on as Alex tells him about his day, TK can’t help but to smile in pure joy and contentment with where his life has taken him. This is the sense of normalcy he’s longed for. His chance of a happily ever after despite the horrors of his past. Alex sees him and loves him.

It’s only been a few months, but it feels as if the tide has turned once and for all.

He holds on to Alex a little closer. He won’t let this level of happiness slip through his fingers.

Year Three 2020

What a difference a year makes, as he sits on the edge of his bed, his hand clenched into a tight fist around the small baggie of white pills that call to him with promises of comfort and a guarantee of him to forget—if only temporarily.

It’s hardly reverting back to a night in a drug den, he tells himself. A quick score to take the edge of is all he’ll need to be as good as new.

That was the danger in familiar roads. They welcomed a person back like an old friend.

He’d rebuilt himself from ashes, created a whole new foundation. But as he opens the bag now, shakes loose the pills that fall like thick snowflakes into the center of his palm, TK sees it will never be enough.

What was the point in trying anymore when his best efforts ultimately didn’t yield results?

Alex didn’t love him anymore. Hadn’t for months now and TK had been none the wiser. He’d felt Alex slipping away, but it’d been easy to write it off, to blame work and crazy schedules. But what it ultimately came down to, as far as TK can see, is that he wasn’t worth it. Not Alex’s time or his honesty either.

All the hope TK had stored within this man has now gone up into flames. It’s ironic, TK thinks. It was his job to rescue people from burning buildings and yet here he was now, trapped in a proverbial one of his own making that he couldn't escape.

I can’t marry you

I’m in love with someone else

I didn’t want to hurt you

But Alex had gone and done just that, in the cruelest of ways. TK’s worst fear was now realized. It didn’t matter how much effort he put into this, he wasn’t destined to know happiness, at least not for long. He gets it in drips and drabs, short lived flashes that taunt him with mere glimpses of what life could look like. If only he were someone else. The kind of person that gets the prince and a happily ever after.

Instead, this is the kind of story he gets: a tragedy.

TK wakes with a terrifying start and empties his stomach on his living room floor. Somehow it’s daytime, the sunlight coming through the windows reaching his cold skin. His vision blurs at the bodies surrounding him, his ears filling with the sounds of rushed voices. Through the haze of unfamiliarity, he sees his father and TK lunges into his embrace, clinging desperately to his dad as if he’s a life preserver. TK supposes that’s what his father is now, literally and figuratively.

He’s gone adrift. His father has brought him back. Apparently from the brink of death.

A stream of apologies pours from his lips. An I’m sorry for putting myself in danger again. An I’m sorry for not coming to you. An I’m sorry for not being strong enough.

His dad cradles him to his chest and through the blood rushing in his own ears, TK can hear the heavy thumping of his father’s heartbeat. As wild and erratic as TK’s thoughts are now.

This is not the version of himself he ever wanted to be again. Two years of hard work stripped away in a moment of sheer and utter weakness.

As he sits beside his father, staring out at the lights reflecting off the East River later that evening, the full scope of his lost sobriety plagues him. The darkness inside him looms much like the pitch black sky overhead.

“Were you trying to kill yourself?” his father asks, clearly trying to make sense of the situation TK has put them in now.

It’s a fair question and, for a moment, TK hesitates. His eyes catch once more on his beloved city. He wouldn’t want to trade in his life. For as much as each day can feel like a battle, he’s glad for each breath.

What he wanted was a temporary escape. What he needed was a chance to free himself of the unbearable weight crushing against him.

No, he hadn’t gone into this wishing to end it all permanently. He simply longed for time outside of his own mind. He assures his father of as much.

“No,” he replies.

Years of progress erased in one night. His eyes sting with tears he refuses to shed. His father promises tough love from here on out. TK knows it’s fair; he’ll pay whatever penance comes his way as a result of his actions.

“Pack your stuff. We’re getting out of town.”

TK shakes his head. “Dad, please. I am not in the mood for a vacation.”

All he wants to do now is stay in bed, hide under the covers and forget the events of last night and today.

“I’m not talking about a vacation.”

Something in the older man’s tone makes TK uneasy. The finality of those words certainly doesn’t help.

He turns back to his father, brows furrowed.

“Something permanent then?” TK asks incredulously. He supposes he’s in no real position to argue now, but he’s exhausted and irritable. There’s already so much going on in his mind, he can barely think beyond this night.

“Where would we even go?”

Upstate is TK’s first thought. California and back to rehab is his second. He’s completely unprepared for the word “Austin” to fall from his dad’s lips.

What in the world could Texas of all places possibly have to offer him?

“Austin? Seriously? What’s there?”

His father looks away from the Brooklyn Bridge. He looks determined, his eyes piercing, almost haunted. It sends a chill down TK’s spine. His father is at his wit’s end, just as lost as TK feels now.

“A fresh start. A new beginning,” Owen says resolutely.

In TK’s mind, his father has always been like a superhero; very little ever seems to rattle him. For him to be this unsure now unnerves something in TK. If he can’t make Austin work, there may be no saving him.

“I want you to give this all you’ve got, TK. This could be really good for you…if you let it be.”

Austin, TX 2020

To the city’s credit, Austin has surprised TK. He can admit he held some preconceived notions about what life would be like in the south. To his surprise, living with his father again isn’t actually as suffocating as he thought it’d be. They’ve managed to rebuild the 126 and TK is enamored with the team they’ve assembled. He even finds the routine of therapy twice a week to be helpful.

He looks at Austin as the clean slate his father was hoping it’d be and in just about every aspect, that’s been holding true.

But there’s the matter of Carlos Reyes.

It scares him, just how much Carlos has gotten under his skin and right to the heart of him. They were, in his eyes, destined to be nothing more than casual. It should have been simple and yet, things have gotten so complicated, TK can’t even picture his face without feeling haunted.

It was never supposed to go this far.

But this man is…different.

Dinner made in the middle of the night unprompted, candlelit and home-cooked, specially made just for him.

A man so sincere in his efforts that he genuinely wants to hear about mundane things like how his day has been.

It was never supposed to go this far.

In another life, Carlos would be exactly what he wants. But the timing isn’t right and if his failed relationship with Alex has taught him anything, it’s that hope was the most dangerous thing a person could feel.

Carlos’ energy radiates comfort and security. TK is far too afraid to want. Nothing good has ever come from such a thing.  

If he can’t allow himself to accept joy, he’ll fuel the rage that lives under his skin. It’s always there, like a splinter wedged uncomfortably just under the surface.

The Trap is exactly as featured in the pictures on Google with motorcycles lined up outside and music pouring out so loudly it drowns out the small voice in his head that tells him he’s making a bad decision.

This may be ill-advised, but it’s the lesser of two evils, he rationalizes. Seeking out a way to burn through this restless wanting with fists rather than pills seems like a good call.

It takes mere seconds to scope out an easy mark and TK gets a two for one special in the form of two jerks harassing the young female bartender. It’s a win/win. He wastes no time wedging between the two of them, making a real show of getting the woman’s attention and putting in his order.

Their tempers are as short as his and all it takes is a few select words and a smug grin to fan the flames.

He’s been spoiling for a fight all evening. He’s ready for it as the anger from the two guys reach their boiling point. He expertly ducks, avoiding the first swing aimed at him and smoothly connects to make one of his own.

This is a different kind of high. It certainly isn’t healthy, but once more his half-baked rationale insists it’s best this way to cope.

The first punch that lands on him feels good in a sick way, like picking at a scab. He isn’t giving himself the time and space to heal, but it makes him feel something tangible.

He’s little more than an exposed wound himself, he thinks. How else could he explain the position he’s actively put himself in tonight?

It’s the first time in weeks he’s truly felt an emotion other than sadness—aside from his interactions with Carlos.

But he can’t think about him now.

All his anger and frustration has bubbled up to the surface; it needs to be released.

TK lands blow after blow until his knuckles feel raw, the crowd around them cheering on the spectacle. He imagines such a sight is commonplace in an utter dive like this. The boisterous cheers and jeers of drunken patrons egg him on, add more fuel to the fire burning inside his veins.

There are hands pulling at him and in his blind fury, he launches back to swing, but the glint of a badge pinned to a dark blue uniform stops him.

Even in the splash of blue and red lights, he feels nothing the entire time, all the fight kicked out of him the moment he was cuffed.

He’s subjected to a breathalyzer that he knows is routine, but ultimately pointless, and a ride in the back of an APD cruiser to take him down to the station.

His mind feels light years away from his body, existing in some different plane entirely as he is taken from the vehicle and brought inside.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the precinct throw the crimson bruises on his knuckles into sharp contrast against his pale skin. His face is throbbing and he can only imagine his lip and cheeks must look just as bad—if not worse— than his hands. That’s the least of his concern now as Carlos gets situated at his desk.

Of course this is how his night would end.

The two exchange clipped words, the memory of their disastrous midnight meeting far too fresh. TK’s mood is at an all-time low and he’s not interested in making matters worse by revisiting that sore spot.

“Isn’t you processing me some sort of conflict of interest or something?”

TK tamps down the way his heart clenches at his own words, the unintentional reminder of their short-lived but impactful shared history. It’s not as if he could necessarily forget what has transpired between them, but he’s been doing his damndest to shove any and every feeling this man ignites in him into a box within the recesses of his mind.

It certainly doesn’t help now looking at Carlos’ serious expression. Those eyes. They’ll be the death of him.

“I’m not trying to be your boyfriend, or even your friend if you're not into it. But you should talk to someone about why you felt compelled to do something so suicidal.”

For as defensive as he’s been this whole time, something in TK shutters at the word, recoils from it like getting too close to an open flame. It calls to mind that night seated with his father after his relapse. He too had plainly called into question TK’s emotional state. Consequences truly meant nothing to him. Nothing did, not when his heart, body, and mind have been so disconnected from the moment Alex made his confession.

That night, he knows, will forever be a turning point for him. Moving almost two thousand miles away hasn’t been enough to fully distance himself from it. He’s living through the aftershocks and he sees now that he’s not the only person being hurt as a result.

The last thing he wants to do is cause pain to anyone, especially Carlos who has done nothing other than show interest and kindness to him.

Even now, in the face of it all, Carlos cares for him.

TK’s breathing quickens as Carlos wipes his mouth. There’s an intimacy to it, far different from hooking up on Carlos’ couch. Whatever this is that’s been blossoming between them, it’s not just physical.

He sees clearly now what he’s been trying to dodge this whole time. Carlos deserves to know what’s truly going on with him, why he’s been so distant and outwardly afraid of. He explains in the simplest way that he can about his breakup and subsequent relapse.

“You mean with me?”

Something about the question unsettles TK. How many times has Carlos had his heart broken? What had he endured in past relationships to view himself as a wrong choice? An error or lapse in judgment?

Carlos can’t even bring himself to look at him apparently, but TK takes in everything about his profile as the truth spills out of him.

“No, I mean with substances.”

As expected, this gets Carlos’ attention, but TK is ready, albeit a bit embarrassed. This whole night is unspooling itself in ways he couldn’t have foreseen. But there’s something almost liberating about getting the words out. Perhaps more so it’s about who he’s telling it all to.

Carlos sits with it all for a moment. That’s enough for tonight, TK knows. At least now Carlos has a better understanding. TK grabs his keys and wallet before getting up from his seat. His mind still buzzes with all that he’s confessed to and a small part of him worries that what he has shared will change things between them. Maybe now that the truth is out there, however neatly summarized, it’ll be too much for Carlos.

But as the young officer breaks the tension with some levity, TK manages a smile for the first time all night. It shouldn’t be surprising that Carlos somehow understands just what he needs now.

All the stress and frustration from this evening has melted away, as too has the guard he’s been putting up around his heart. TK may not be able to say with certainty what’s in store for them, but he can at least allow himself to have Carlos in his life as a friend. Whatever may come next for them, TK knows without question that they’ll be alright.

Present Day

TK stares up into the vast nothingness of his bedroom ceiling as his mind replays the absolutely unbelievable events of the last twenty four hours. He’s been tested in ways he never could have imagined and had come to the very edge of almost failing.

He thinks of his father and Carlos now. Between the two of them, he’s somehow managed to survive the most harrowing day of his life– and that’s truly saying something.

He and Carlos had come home, stomachs full of Chinese food in honor of his mother and hearts full of gratitude that everyone on the plane had survived. It felt like nothing short of a miracle.

Watching the coverage of the emergency landing on the news this evening had been surreal. But in truth, everything since he’d gotten the phone call of his mother’s passing has felt just like that too. Just going through the motions until today’s flight forced him out of the fog.

Seeing the footage of the plane emitting thick gray clouds of smoke, his body had tensed even though he knew firsthand how it ended.

Carlos had reassured him that everything was alright now, had kissed him deeply enough to push the images from the plane from his mind. He could feel all of Carlos’ emotions being poured into him, the relief that he was safe and sound. TK let himself be wrapped up in it all and mirrored it back.

In bed now though, that blissfulness has turned to restlessness and TK knows exactly what is at the root of it.

His fingertips can still feel the vials of fentanyl he clutched. His body still aches for the relief it would have provided.

It was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment he isn’t proud of. It hadn’t necessarily been his intention when going into work this morning, but a little voice calls into question whether that’s completely true. He’d been intent on getting back to the routine of work, but once the opportunity presented itself to go into the narcotics safe, he’d hardly dissuaded himself from following through.

It isn’t lost on him that, once again, his father’s timing had saved him.

“I’m so sorry you missed the service,” Carlos says into the darkness.

TK blinks twice in surprise. He thought he was the only one awake right now, but he’s glad sleep seems to be evading Carlos too.

He rolls over and snuggles up against Carlos’ side. The tiredness he feels is bone-deep, but being able to connect with Carlos like this helps TK to alleviate some of the weariness he’s experiencing. He knows what could relieve him of this weight, but he can’t bring himself to lay another concern at his feet.

Carlos already feared losing him once today. It’d be borderline cruel to add to that, he tells himself.

TK burrows in deeper, his face tucked away in the crook of Carlos’ neck. He breathes him in, allows himself to sink into the warmth and comfort of his boyfriend, this safe harbor housed in skin.

“Thank you for everything you did to try and get us there. It really meant a lot. I don’t think I even took a minute to properly say thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Carlos says gently, his fingertips stroking lightly against the arm TK has just slung around him. “I’m just glad I could be there for you. I wish things would have gone differently so you could have made it to New York.”

“A part of me didn’t even want to go. A pretty big part,” he admits.

“That’s why you went to the station?”

TK’s heart sinks a little. That’s only part of the truth. The full reality sits heavy on his tongue, but TK’s lips can’t seem to form the words. Instead he sighs in frustration at himself. He’d been able to speak openly to his father about this, but it’s different with Carlos—through no fault of Carlos’ own. His boyfriend doesn’t have the full context, he hasn’t known this story from the very beginning.

He opened this book at a later chapter.

Carlos has seen the aftermath when TK first came to Austin, a bar brawl that led to a trip to the police station and TK struggling to make heads and tails of his attraction to Carlos. But this, putting the full breadth of his addiction and the ease to which his demons can be summoned, on display is a side of himself he wants to shield Carlos from for as long as humanly possible. However improbable and idealistic.

“You saved a life today,” Carlos says, switching gears, unknowingly giving TK the perfect out. “That’s no small feat, especially under those circumstances.”

He thinks of Genevieve, her life quite literally in his hands. How kismet, he thinks, to have been seated right beside the woman who would wind up requiring his aid.

That had been TK’s mission since he could remember. If he isn’t always able to save himself, he’ll do everything in his power to do so for others. Perhaps that’s part of the family legacy.

His mother saved him. She’d saved Jonah, her last act before leaving this world. In a way, being on that flight to get to her, but managing to save someone instead was a tribute as well.

“I’m proud of you,” Carlos murmurs against the crown of his head before placing a kiss there. “I know Gwyn would have been too.”

The knot in TK’s stomach tightens at the sentiment. He knows that’s true. But what would Carlos and his mother think if they’d known just how dangerously close he’d come to undoing everything?

~*~*~

It all feels gray in a way it hasn’t since TK first came to Austin and the weight of that sits so heavily on TK’s chest that he can’t even feel angry. He simply feels nothing and that scares him more than anything.

This was a complete and utter violation. This home, their second attempt tainted by this woman’s actions.

A whole year of sobriety, snatched away in the blink of an eye. His mind floods with the memory of his sobriety party, the room filled with loved ones proud of his accomplishment. One face appears clearest of all and TK squeezes his eyes shut at the picture of his mother’s unwavering gaze as he gave his speech in front of them all.

He’s lost two things from that party, one of which he’ll never get back.

TK curls up in bed, hugs his knees to his chest. He stares into the pitch black of the bedroom. It’s been a few hours now since he and Carlos were given the all clear, but TK is so deeply unnerved by what’s transpired that he isn’t sure he’ll be able to manage to sleep tonight.

Why was it that the universe seemed so keen on knocking him down? His life feels like being caught in a riptide. Each time he breaks through to the surface and takes a breath, he finds himself being pulled under again.

Would he ever reach the shore? Would he ever be able to truly stand on solid ground for good?

TK’s so lost in his thoughts that he jumps at the feel of Carlos’ hand against his back. He feels as if he could just come out of his skin at once. He unfurls immediately and turns to face his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Carlos says softly.

TK’s heart is still racing, but he shakes his head. Carlos’ touch was only meant to comfort him. It’s hardly his fault TK feels on edge. TK comes closer and buries his face against Carlos’ chest, and lets himself be wrapped up in his boyfriend’s arms. If nothing else, it’s in Carlos’ embrace that he knows he’ll always be safe.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m just…I’m sorry. My head is––,” he trails off, unsure of what state his mind is truly in right now.

Carlos seems to understand regardless.

“This isn’t on you. You know that, right? What Sadie did…this doesn’t count.”

TK wishes he could believe that. In the end, drugs worked their way into his system. It didn’t matter who was responsible for it. It didn’t change the fact he’d been exposed.

“Yes, it does,” he mumbles, his eyes stinging already as tears well up unbidden.

“This wasn’t a choice that you made. This happened to you, not because of you. There’s a huge difference,” Carlos insists.

You don’t get it, TK thinks. Logically he knows this isn’t his doing. But physically, his body is longing for more of this thing he’s refrained from for over a year. In time, Carlos will be bright and shiny, good as new. He can let this roll off his back, take it on the chin and get back to his regular routine.

TK can’t say the same for himself. This has stirred something inside of him, rattled the cage of a monster he’s kept locked inside. He can feel the sharp teeth nipping at the bars, desperate to get out again.

His resolve has slipped and TK isn’t so sure he has the proper defenses to fight back.

“It almost was. A choice I made, I mean,” TK says unexpectedly.

These weren’t the words he’d been intending to speak. But the funny thing about the truth was that it always made its way out one way or another.

Carlos is quiet for a beat, no doubt trying to make sense of what TK is talking about.

“I’m not following. You couldn’t have known what Sadie was up to.”

TK bites back on his lower lip. It’s now or never. It should have been before, weeks before, he knows.

“I don’t mean tonight.”

There’s one beat of silence before Carlos sits up enough to turn on the lamp. TK avoids his gaze though he can feel the full weight of his boyfriend’s eyes on him. He moves off of Carlos, retreats a bit closer to his side of the bed as he forces himself to look at Carlos.

Carlos’ expression is a true mix of confusion and concern.

TK opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to coax out the words he’s been holding on to.

“If not tonight, then when?” Carlos asks carefully.

TK fidgets with his fingers, his heart racing for the umpteenth time tonight.

“The day we were all supposed to go to New York…when I went into work, it…it wasn’t only to distract myself or to feel like things were normal,” he starts out.

He struggles for a moment with the truth he’s been holding on to for weeks.

“I think a part of me went there looking to score.”

Carlos’ face falls, but there’s no judgment or anger in his eyes. Just all out worry and sadness. TK thinks that may actually be worse.

“My dad showed up and if he hadn’t, I’m pretty sure I would have caved right there at the station. I would have,” he corrects. “I had two vials of fentanyl in my hand when he found me. So yeah, it makes me sick that Sadie hit the reset button on my sobriety, but I came so close to wrecking my own year too.”

TK wipes at his eye, his hand coming away wet. Carlos blinks quickly, his mouth opening and closing. This may be the first time TK has ever seen Carlos genuinely speechless.

“I’m sorry,” TK says quickly, filling the silence. “I should have told you sooner. But I just…I couldn’t and I didn’t want to worry you over something that ultimately never happened. So much was going on that day, I just ––I’ve been trying to forget how low I got. I didn’t want to drag you down there with me.”

“TK,” Carlos cuts in, the syllables colored in surprise and hurt.  

TK closes his mouth at once, feeling nauseous. He bites back another apology as Carlos seemingly collects his thoughts.

“I wish you would have told me. It’s not a burden. I need to know how you’re feeling. I want to know what you’re up against. The last thing I would ever want is for you to suffer in silence.”

Carlos’ eyes are wet and the twisted feeling in TK’s gut only grows tighter, especially as Carlos continues to speak.

“I can’t help if I don’t know you need it.”

TK frowns.

“I’m going to be fighting this for the rest of my life. Our life. It kills me to drop this kind of baggage on you. It’s messy and complicated. You don’t know just how badly I wish things could be different. That I could be different and not someone you have to worry about. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Carlos flinches as if he’s been struck.

“You say that as if loving you is some kind of chore for me. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, TK. If nothing else, I need you to know that. You are everything to me. Nothing is ever going to change the way I feel about you. I just need to know. You can tell me these things. The only thing that would hurt me is you going through this alone somehow.”

TK’s brows furrow. He knows Carlos means this genuinely and this level of support is just what he suspected he’d get from his boyfriend. All the same, guilt gnaws at him, sinks its teeth into his skin painfully. The thought of opening up about all of this feels insurmountable. He’s already shared more than he planned to tonight.

“I think I should go back to group,” TK says. “When I first moved down here, it was part of the deal with my dad. I actually really liked the people I met there and…after going to that grief meeting with Tommy…I don’t know. I think I need that kind of system again.”

Carlos searches his face and for the life of him, TK can’t figure out what he’s thinking. He’s too afraid to ask and tonight has already taken so much out of him, he doesn’t press it. Whatever deep thought has crossed Carlos’ mind clears. TK can see a change, a subtle shift.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

TK gets the sense that Carlos wants to say more and, in truth, TK knows there’s plenty more he should offer. But it’s late. They’re both tired.

TK nods to himself and places a kiss on Carlos’ cheek.

“I love you. You know that, right?” he asks.

Carlos smiles genuinely. “I do. I hope you understand just how much I love you too. I’m here. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it. I’m right here, TK. Always.”

~*~*~

All his life, TK has heard the old adage “the only way out is through.” The last twenty-four hours have been a testament to that.

TK wakes to a quiet bedroom, sunlight bathing his skin. His eyes feel sore and rubbed raw from the tears he’d shed last night.

His talk with Cooper had been extensive, but also cathartic. He’d been doing so well in his goal of thirty meetings in thirty days and though he hadn’t managed to make it to group, Carlos stepping in to get Cooper to their loft had been just the thing he needed.

His fight earlier in the week with Carlos still weighs heavily on his heart, but TK knows they’re all the better for having had that conversation. Their bond only strengthened since they broke down the divide between them and spoke openly and honestly about what’s been troubling them.

He turns to the right and finds the bed empty; Carlos has always been an early riser.  After speaking with Cooper, TK had been so wiped he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t even heard Carlos come back home. But the rumpled bedding on Carlos’ side of the bed reassures him that his boyfriend did in fact make it in safely.

TK sits up and rubs at his left eye before heading into the bathroom. He catches sight of himself in the mirror. His hair is disheveled, his eyes have bags under them and yet still, he feels lighter than he has in days.

After he’s brushed his teeth, he heads back into the bedroom. What he wants now is a hot shower, to really wash away the strain of last night and begin this day fresh.

He crosses the room to the dresser to grab new garments but stops short as his eyes land on a new addition to the surface. TK’s heart beats faster, his breathing increasing as well as he stares, completely frozen in place.

His mother’s face smiles out at him from a framed photo with the kid version of himself beaming back at the camera too.

Their first trip to Spring Street, forever memorialized on film.

The shock of seeing it now quickly fades and in its place, a sense of calm washes in.

TK picks up the photo and heads straight out of the room, gripping it tight. He walks across the loft, making a beeline for Carlos who is in the kitchen, cutting up strawberries.

“Morn–,” Carlos starts to greet him, but stops as his eyes drift to the picture frame.

“You put this on the dresser,” TK says softly, cutting right to the chase.

Carlos sets the knife in his hand down and wipes both hands on a dish towel. He steps away from the island and comes closer.

“You asked me to put these somewhere. I didn’t think they should be in a box or stay stuck in an album.”

It’s a simple statement, but the thought behind the gesture reaches down to TK’s core.

Emotion swells within TK quickly. He swallows hard as a tear falls. Carlos’ face falls with it.

“Babe, I’m sorry. Maybe this was too much too soon. If I’m overstepping here—,” Carlos says.

TK places a hand gently on his boyfriend’s cheek and shakes his head, shushing him gently.

“No…Carlos, no, you aren’t,” he says, clearing his throat.

Carlos doesn’t look so sure, but he nods anyway and searches his face. TK tries and fails in his mission to keep from tearing up again. Another tear wells and breaks free of the corner of his eye.

Carlos doesn’t push, though TK can see the concern etched into his features.

“I put a few more out there,” Carlos notes, jutting his thumb towards the living room. “If it really is too much, let me know. I just thought you’d like to have her around.”

“You’re truly unbelievable,” TK says quietly. “This is…it’s everything. Thank you.”

Relief floods Carlos’ face. He leans in and presses his lips softly to TK’s. They taste like strawberries.

TK lets his forehead rest against his boyfriend’s for a moment as he lets out a soft sigh before pulling away. He looks down at the picture he’d just shared with Carlos the night before, now housed in a rich mahogany frame. Solid and protected. TK’s fingertips ghost over his mother’s face, a soft smile painting his lips.

He can almost feel her, but his focus slips, making him face the reality that the smoothness he’s feeling is nothing more than glass. The only places she exists now are in photographs and memories. It’s been weeks and TK still isn’t sure how to reconcile with that. Perhaps, he laments, he never will.

TK sighs and sets the picture down. The second his hand is free, Carlos reaches for him and laces their fingers.

“Where’d you go?” Carlos asks.

TK looks up at him and searches his eyes as he collects his thoughts.

“What if it’s always like this? These highs and lows. What if I’m always torn?”

Carlos frowns slightly and cups TK’s cheek.

“It’s called recovery for a reason. It’s a process. You’re getting back to yourself. ”

TK looks down at the photo for a moment before returning his attention to Carlos and frowning.

“Some days I don’t even know who that is. These last few weeks, I haven’t been myself at all. I don’t know what I’m going back to. I don’t know if that version is still in there anymore or if I even want it to be. I’m different now.”

Carlos seems to consider this for a moment. He tugs TK’s hand gently and brings them over to the living room, abandoning the breakfast he’d been preparing. They settle on the couch, exactly as they had been seated just last night. It was also in this spot he talked to Cooper for what felt like ages after Carlos left the loft.

It’d been helpful, but TK feels ready to lower down the wall he’s been putting up in order to shield Carlos, to finally let him in entirely.

“If you knew me back then, you wouldn’t have recognized me. You wouldn’t have wanted to get anywhere near me. I didn’t even want to be around me. When I get into these moods, I still don’t,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat to his own ears.

When he looks at Carlos, the man’s expression is a bit grave.

“You say these things sometimes…I trust you, completely. But I do worry. I can’t help it. Last night you said you’d give anything to feel happy again.” Carlos searches his face, his eyes urgent yet soft.

“I don’t think it fully hit me until then, just how lost you’ve been feeling. How deeply it runs. You deserve to be happy all the time.”

TK smiles sadly.

“I can’t undo those years. I’ll never be the version of me that I was before I started using. But I am happy. I’ve got the world’s most incredible and supportive boyfriend. I’ve got good friends and a job that I love. I’ve got a roof over my head, this beautiful home here with you.”

He sighs and pauses briefly.

“I hate what Sadie did to us. What she took. But I’m safe with you and I know it.”

It makes TK angry that this second home they’ve built has been harmed. But the upside is that he’s had Carlos beside him through it all. Carlos, with his good heart and patient nature. It feels like far more than he deserves, but TK is grateful to have it.

“It’s just…sometimes I wish I could go back to before things got complicated. That’s all I meant by that. But I can’t wave a magic wand or flip a switch to undo all the mistakes I’ve made over the years. All I can do is keep moving forward and do my best not to slip up again. I don’t want to let myself down or anyone who loves me.”

Carlos shifts and takes his hand.

“We aren’t going anywhere. We are all so proud of you. We see how seriously you’ve been taking your sobriety. I know I have. You’ve come a long way.”

TK knows this is true. Comparing the state he was in back in 2017 and as recently as when he first came to Austin, he’s made leaps and bounds in the right direction. However, he knows all too well how one bump in the road can drive him completely off course.

He sits up straighter and squares his shoulders.

“I want you to fully understand what you’re taking on here. What the risks are in case I relapse again down the line.” TK takes a deep breath.

“Carlos, it’s not pretty. And it’s easier to say you can handle it when you haven’t actually faced it. I trust that you mean it, I don’t doubt that,” he amends. “But the reality…it’s way different. I need you to know the truth though.”

TK can see Carlos taking his words to heart as he nods.

“Tell me what you’re comfortable sharing and we’ll go from there.”

TK searches Carlos’ face, his unwavering brown eyes. He can feel the desperation in them, just how badly Carlos wants to know it all. From that night at the police station, which feels like a lifetime ago, Carlos has been without the full story. It’s long overdue.

“At the height of it, things were really bad in New York. I mean…dangerously bad. I—I would disappear for days at a time here and there. That’s part of why I’m fighting so hard to make sure I do get back to you, no matter what. I’d lie to my parents, mostly my mom because she was around more. I’d get my hands on whatever I could, it didn't matter what it was.”

Carlos doesn’t move an inch.

“I went on a bender one night. I was out of my mind. My mom…I don’t even know how long she couldn’t find me. But she did…on the floor of some seedy drug den. I have no idea how the hell she actually got me out of there or even how she knew where to find me in the first place. But she saved my life that night, that I’m sure of.”

TK licks his lips, recalling that grim night in 2017.

“She finally had enough. We got into a huge fight; she signed me up for treatment in California and no matter how much I pushed, I couldn’t convince her that I didn’t need it. Pretty weak argument on my end,” TK sighs. “She flew three thousand miles with me just…being a total dick the whole time because I was so mad at her for shipping me off to rehab. I was a mess on the plane. Dope sick, paranoid. I swiped three of those mini bottles from the stewardess’ cart to settle me.”

TK laughs humorlessly. “That’s how far gone I was. There I was on my way to rehab and that’s the kind of stunt I pulled.”

TK looks down at his hands, easily conjuring up the image of his blue stained fingertips, the lengths he went to in order to still polish off those small bottles. They’re eclipsed by Carlos’ hands settling over his, pulling him back to the present moment.

TK brings his gaze up once more and finds the strength to keep going as he looks at his boyfriend.

“I did thirty days out in California. I stuck with the program, really took it to heart because I wanted to get better and stay better for her and for me. She was proud of me when I got back. I felt better and I was better…for years I was good and then, well, I had that relapse that brought me to Austin. That breakup brought out my worst instincts, undid everything I learned about on how to cope with the unexpected.”

TK sighs heavily. “Just like my mom did, my dad saved my life after I overdosed. And I just, I’m so tired of making the people I care for worry about me. I’m always one bad night away from making the same mistake. I’m so scared of putting you in that position one day…finding me passed out somewhere or worse. I don’t want to put you through that.”

The pattern that’s been shaping up with his parents throughout the years lives constantly in the back of his mind. Bad things tended to happen in threes. TK is determined to do everything in his power to break the cycle and spare Carlos from ever finding him the state his parents have previously.

“I can’t let you go. I love you so much and I’ve never been this happy before.” TK lets out a breath and shakes his head.

“Sometimes I feel selfish. I feel like I’m asking a lot of you here. I know that I am.”

Carlos’ brows furrow deeply, the look in his eyes intense.

“You aren’t,” he says at once. “You aren’t asking anything of me, certainly nothing I can’t handle or don’t want to give. You’re it for me. Nothing could ever change that.”

TK swallows hard and rests his head against Carlos’ shoulder.

“I don’t want you to have to worry about me.”

“To be fair, I worry about everything,” Carlos counters.

It brings enough levity to the situation that TK finds himself smiling. He looks up and kisses Carlos’ jaw.

“That’s true. You’re going to go gray early. But you’d pull it off just like you do everything else,” he comments, threading his fingers through Carlos’ curls.

Carlos smiles softly, holding on gently to TK’s wrist, his thumb brushing against TK’s pulse point. TK sighs quietly at his touch, growing serious again.

They sit in silence for beat, Carlos’ thumb still skimming his skin.

“I’m used to protecting people and fixing things. Personally and professionally. It’s hard for me to shut that off. But I can recognize that I’m out of my depth here,” Carlos says after a moment, his mouth twisting into a frown.

“That was hard to accept at first. I could read a thousand articles, but I’d still never truly know what you’re feeling. I don’t know. I was really mad at myself most of all. I felt like I was failing you.”

TK’s heart sinks.

“God, Carlos, no. You could never.”

“I understand that now, I really do. And even though I’ve never been in your shoes, that doesn’t mean that I’m going to ever stop having your back and helping in the ways that I can. I promise. I’m always going to be within reach just waiting for you when you need me.”

TK feels a fluttering sensation in his stomach at those words, the sincerity and conviction.

“Well, I’m always going to need you. And at the risk of sounding like a cheesy Hallmark card, honestly? You help just by being here. By showing up and loving me. You calling Cooper? That meant the world to me, Carlos. I still don’t even have the words for that.”

TK bites back on his lower lip.

“I know how lucky I am, to have had my mom, to have my dad, and you. No one outside of my parents has ever stayed. No one has genuinely cared like you do. You see these parts of me and you still love me. You still choose me, despite everything. I wouldn’t blame you if this was too much. I know this isn’t easy on you either.”

TK looks away, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. Carlos tucks a hand under his chin and gently guides TK to look at him.

“There’s no fine print when it comes to us, no terms and conditions. I love you. That’s all there is to it,” Carlos says. “That’s reason enough to keep fighting for us. I’m not going into this with rose-colored glasses. I know full-well what the possibilities are. That there is potential for relapse. But I also know that if any setbacks happen, we’re strong enough to get through it together. I’ve got both feet on the ground here and I’m standing next to you. Always.”

TK’s resolve breaks then. He has to wonder if Carlos even realizes just how life-changing his love has been. A few tears streak down his face but through it all, TK doesn’t take his eyes off of him.

“That counts for more than you’ll ever know so, thank you for that.”

Carlos frowns and cups TK’s cheek, his thumb brushing against his skin. His touch is warm and the gentle back and forth lulls TK like a melody.

“I see you. And I’m in awe. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. Maybe one day you’ll see that. Until then—and even after—I’m going to tell you every day how proud I am of you.”

Carlos searches his eyes deeply and TK just knows he can see right through to his heart.

“You will always be worth the world to me. More than that, even. I love you so much, TK. I will for the rest of my life.”

He says it so effortlessly, seems to know it for a fact.

I want all of it.

“The rest of your life, huh?” he says, leaning in closer to Carlos.

When he’d first come to Austin, it felt impossible to dream of such things, a happily ever after or even a story worth telling.

Carlos smiles and drapes his arm over TK’s shoulders as he leans back against the couch and pulls TK to rest on him. TK’s body fits perfectly as if the spot was tailor-made just for him.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” Carlos says.

It takes everything in TK not to melt right there, at how freely Carlos expresses the love he has in his heart for him.

TK is of the same mind. He can’t imagine a future that doesn’t have Carlos in it beside him.

This is all TK has ever wanted. To love and be loved in return. Wholly. Made to feel like he isn’t too much or not enough. Even with this added layer, he’s just right in Carlos’ eyes. Whole pieces and broken, healing ones too.

[artemiseamoon]

Draft release: Dial up the Jack, Dim the Whiskey

Agent Cognac (Bria Asare) x Agent Jack Whiskey

✨Draft release! ✨

💕Summary: Working at the Statesmen medical department, Bria started her career with aspirations of being an agent. Years after starting, it seems like that dream is never going to come true. Days after her 38th birthday, one of the senior agents gets gravely injured and she’s soon tasked with his care and recovery.

But there’s one issue, she can’t stand Agent Whiskey. As the weeks pass, and he starts to heal, the two form a bond and grow closer. As Jack’s health improves, he realizes the extent of his growing feelings for Bria as she comes to terms with her feelings for him too. 💕

Words:3,983

One shot for Arte’s Year of Whump for @yearofcreation2023 |I’m months behind , so making this the May one 😬| | Year of Whump + fluff /comfort masterlist

💫Below is a preview | read in full here on A03💫

An: still on a mini writing break, just occasionally releasing some drafts. My folder is way too full and taking up space on my phone. 💕this one is more fluff /comfort leaning.

Warnings: light on whump, recovery after injury, misogyny mentioned.

Bria always had two things she imagined for herself, being able to help people and work in the medical science field and being a world-traveling spy.

Growing up she was always glued to the screen for any shows about spies, secret agents, and detectives. It was something she wanted to do before she realized her draw to the medical field in high school.

The dream of being an agent was her first, and still her biggest one. And though she was in the right place for it, she still wasn’t an agent.

She was head of her department and got to work with tech and science, both things she liked, but she still wasn’t an agent. But this was a problem for more than one person at the office, namely Ginger who was also qualified but shot down whenever her name came up.

For all the perks and benefits of working there, the place was still deeply misogynistic in several ways, both from within the system and due to some of the men involved. And though there were women agents, the percentage was far less than that of the men.

Some offices were more progressive, like the New York office. Sometimes Bria wondered if a transfer there would be worth it, and maybe then she could finally have her wish come true. There was also the fact that aside from her job and friends being here, there wasn’t much keeping Bria in Kentucky. Maybe, New York was her future.

After a few days off for her birthday, Bria returned to the office. Upon arrival, she was surprised to find a new patient in her center. Agents get hurt, but that wasn’t the surprising part, what shocked her was who it was.

Some people had a shit ton of luck, and somehow barely got a scratch on them, Agent Whiskey was one of them and he was cocky about it too. The man was damn near indispensable, it was impressive but also fed his massive ego.

This place had many big heads and egos walking around, and Jack was one of them. While many women in the office, and men, fell for his charms and ate out of his palm, Bria wasn't one of them. No matter how physically attractive the man was, and really easy on the eyes, his attitude and ego were a major turn-off for her.

Thankfully she had limited contact with him, but the few times they did circle each other just reaffirmed what she felt about him. Nice to look at but stay away. And though she turned him down a few times, he’d still hit on her now and then. But she never took it too personally, he hit on everyone he liked the look of, it was hard to tell if his interests were genuine sometimes, or if he was just doing it to do it.

Read in full on A03

More Whiskey on my Masterlist

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[lre333]

for @rainymoodlet Kiss Me In Komorebi -

Darol Bennett,

age 42 (newly spun Adult life stage, thanking you), and friends say that I finally look my age - the grays came in early; I was around 22 when my pepper first showed a sprinkle of salt. Though I can’t say I had a particularly stressful young life, my role has always involved a level of responsibility.

I was born to my mother Olivia, a youth school and music teacher from the city who retired to the countryside onto inherited land in The Bramblewood of Henford-on-Bagley. She still runs her daycare here, and throughout my childhood, I was often at her side playing assistant, caring for the younger ones, helping them learn their abcs and arithmetic as she taught it to us. As self-appointed captain of our playtime adventures, I'd provide elaborate lore for us to reenact from bedtime stories my father, Nolan, told me nightly. I hardly remember my father, who maintained his business in the city still after the move but always managed to make it home at the end of the day. However, I do so distinctly recall the sudden shift when that was no longer the case. A bold strike of nature took him one thunderstorm in spring - it seemed like such a storybook ending to a child of four who had never known grief, but i knew that when father would say “the end”, it would be time to sleep, and I’d never hear the same version of that story again.

My mother took on more children to teach and soon it was my time to enroll for institutional learning, which I proceeded to let consume me for the foreseeable future as I gobbled up all there was to know. The sharing of story and information remains an insatiable passion of mine, but I can't recommend you get into it without first relaying a word of caution from firsthand account: the more you know about the vast possibilities available to experience, the less you may be willing to press yourself into the narrow ideals most championed by the ignorant majority. This may result in extreme discontent. I was budding into myself, beginning to learn what it means to present an image of my inner workings dressed in the ill-fit clothing of puberty, and found myself to be outside of wider society’s expectations of what’s allowed a person to become. In all my little time on earth, nothing had seemed a logical reason for why that could be. What did it matter who I wanted to love?

I had always been a “polite child” - or so I’d been told quite frequently by elders whose well-meaning attempts at making me into a paragon of acceptable behavior instead sowed the disdain of my peers, including my adoptive sister who joined our household when I was eight years old - she was two years younger than me, but two years older than the age I’d been when experiencing the loss of a parent. Her mother died in a misdiagnosed electrical fire that reduced her home to cinder and sent her father - a friend of my own - for a lengthy and ultimately incomplete hospital recovery. She was of an age to know grief, yet still too young to understand its process, and she found mischief to be an effective coping strategy to allay her pain. The elders favored my logic and docility - she was all too amused to see my placid disposition break years later as the logic they so favored turned on them in an outburst against their injustice. Our mother was patient with us; she understood our machinations for what they were. With my new eyes, I could see where it seemed those elders had failed me in creating a world where I was allowed to thrive rather than live under their thumb, and so this rising discontent in me manifested into a hothead trait that stayed for the ride from teen to young adulthood. I was still “polite”, responsible, practiced at good manners and actively practicing emotional control under the attentive guidance of my knowing mother, still careful as well to be an example and caregiver to the children I still helped her to teach, and still willing to volunteer my time and skills to whatever handiwork needed doing to improve the self-sustainability of my hometown, but angry, angry, angry. I tried to fight it away; thought punching bags would make quell the anger. I tried to read it away; found comfort in the words of revolutionaries, but that just stoked the embers hotter. I wrote it away, made it a physical thing that by the machinations of this ill-balanced vehicle of the system called institutional education brought me accolades. I was awarded with scholarships for skill and merit and went on to graduate with Honors in Communications first, eventually adding Language and Literature, and History. Anger is a potent emotion, and well-channeled, will surely help you get things done. The kickback, though, has a way of knocking you on your butt.

I entered the journalism career armed with a decorated resume and connections achieved by college savvy several steps ahead and in high acclaim. I took pride in uncovering what was rotten underneath the veneer of authority and its figureheads; I wanted to expose the systemic discrepancies that had bred the societal ones responsible for my discontent, dig out the root of corrupt power structures so my community might have a chance to grow into a healthier garden for young buds like me who had been let down or who had learned to self-inflict the violence of stifling valuable parts of oneself in order to avoid an outside influence crushing you under their boot. Anger can have a way with you, if it finds you eager to effect change, and sparks the impulse without warning or regard for future planning. As for me, I had been waiting to take a swing at larger, more influential players - and I got my wish. I found a lead on a whiff of foundational disease in the city’s government and I went in, gathered evidence, unearthed it and set it on display too quickly and brightly for those who’d rather censor our worldsview to prevent it reaching the public attention - and I was proud to have done it, hopeful to do it again, but my name now carried a spotlight and that work required stealth. I was advised and satisfied at the time to step down from my career, knowing that what I’d done had reached the limits of what could be done at my station there. I returned home to focus my attention on fostering local reform through community enrichment, resumed my share of handiwork around town when the need would arise, and became a regular on the library staff rotation. It was my joy to cultivate a quest for learning through literature, and I hosted many a story time sit-down in the library, or at the end of a repair job sat on the living room floor beside a newly-installed wall-mounted tv; it became a thing, and it wasn’t long before I was invited to host a segment on the public broadcasting station to bring the experience of story to any town's living room simultaneously.

I never cared for the notoriety that came with my decision to take a stand against misuse of authority by government figures - it angered me more that the notion was novel enough to warrant such a reaction, which was then bent by the lens of spectacle, effectively stifling the work and allowing progress to backpedal when the sensationalization of it all died down. It’s a process of conserving the narrative of public helplessness against big issues to inspire a desire for someone “bigger than you” to take the reins and feed you false promises of a better tomorrow - as long as your precious head remains under the shepherd’s hand, little sheep. I delighted in championing another way, and I didn’t mind becoming known for it in order to encourage more people towards a freer lane of thinking. The challenge for viewers was to seek answers for themselves - not to take my word for truth but to explore and discover, decipher meaning by one’s own definition, to question even those they admire, and to share what they’ve found with each other. The television segment was titled “Prose Prismatic” and featured literature focused within an overarching monthly theme so that a topic could be explored in depth and from a variety of facets, to consider not just the angle that confirms your bias, but the many other colors there are in the vibrant gradient between black and white thought. Viewers were asked to submit works following a weekly prompt which would then have excerpts featured in a special broadcast called “Kaleidoscope” to play between shows in advertisement’s stead. My hope was that by inviting everyone’s voice to be heard and respected, it would make the concept of speaking up to affect change less of a foreign or fearful one. Society could only get better for normalizing it. I can’t know for sure whether it was a success, but the show was popular and folx participated for the duration of its run. At its end, I continued the fun through radio, continued introducing listeners to a variety of stories and to each other’s inner workings, as well as boosting local talent seeking a living from their wordsmithing. My own royalties from poetry books, skill and research manuals, and memoirs written in my journalism days kept the station sustained when donations wavered or were redirected to the community in case of emergency. The station was to be a supportive feature, fully in opposition to becoming a predatory parasitic presence in the lives of those it aims to enrich. I’m proud to note that it continues to be just so, heading fundraisers to fulfill community needs, food drives with participation from agriculturists, regular youth Finchwick Fair events, and a solid foundational group of dedicated volunteers who share my passion.

The flames of my hothead trait have cooled so as to be extinguished, put into the soil of this work, not without its frustrations, but worthy of the effort for the great bountiful yield that I can see my hometown thriving on. Instead, I’ve become rather domestic at this life stage, caring for my mother who remains a pillar and sage presence in the lives of the town's young, still teaching music and watching over the infants, toddlers and children of HoB; my sibling and I are closer now, sharing a hobby in automobile restoration; a cousin here or there comes to visit between time spent in the city perusing big dreams, and now that my life has eased into a more homeward-focused pace, they all wonder if this is when I plan to finally make time to date.

In all of this telling, you may not have noticed it left untold. It hasn’t been for lack of suitors that my romantic history is a messy scribbled half-page of awkward notes and unrefined, if not empty. Sure, I’ve gone out in my 30s, saw what it was like to sow the odd wild seed, but I’ve never moved as fast as many. Maybe achieving that level of fame (two or three stars, still quite uncomfortably bright for me) made me too cautious to allow the spontaneity of a whirlwind affair to blow me off-course; maybe that burning head of my youth blinded me to more basic desires with my attention trained so squarely on other ambitions. Beneath the banner of those all-important ideals, it just hadn’t been a priority. Maybe a truth that’s harder to admit is that rejection hits deep and the memories of it don’t fade kindly. A college crush: the boy from my debate team, a night of misread intention when he invited me over after a chance meet up in the park, where I grilled for him. Silly. I suppose I decided then that it wasn’t worth the distraction. I bested him in a debate the last week of the semester before I’d graduate in a petty attempt at regaining some dignity. He was quickly forgotten when all was said and done, but the sting of failure stuck, and the glow of success before me reinforced a path of solitude. Easier to stick with what I know. A wall of accolades holds the place where photos of lovesick vacations would hang in my bachelor abode, and I’ve been content with that until now. I’m no longer loving the single lifestyle, but the dating pool of gays in my life stage is shallow round these parts - and maybe I’m fond of risky extremes and don’t mind going out on a limb for a crush, even if the outcome isn’t guaranteed. Friends and family agree that it’s rather like me to pursue romance through reality tv, where the medium contradicts the genuine sincerity I bring to a world of seeming play-pretend, especially when the goal is to connect with a potential kindred spirit on something true within the fantasy. Daniel feels very familiar to me, and not only because I was often recommending his show to townspeople wanting to boost their own handiness skills after I’d finished using a trick he’d shown me. It’s silly… but maybe not so impossible.

I approach the chance of meeting him with a curious mind and open page, ready to explore what might be written there, whether only a word, two paragraphs, three chapters, more… Whatever comes of it, I'll delight in the sport of self-discovery inherent in the journey.

[gardenerian]

in this post https://www.tumblr.com/gardenerian/706641891291217920/mel-i-am-wondering-when-you-think-ian-told-mickey?source=share you said you wanted a reminder to talk about how depressed ian was in s6 !!! I'd love to read it if you wanna sound off about it!!!!

hey there 💓 you sent this days ago and i have had a time with it - thanks for being patient.

i originally wrote this as an episode-by-episode breakdown like my s8 meta, but it stopped making sense and honestly kinda bummed me out asdkfh so instead, i'm gonna talk about a couple of things that are going on for ian in s6. if you wanna talk about any specific episodes or moments, lmk and we can definitely dive in.

i namely want to get into what mania can do to the brain, what recovery looks like, and how depression manifests in the process. i think these things are under-explored in shameless - and talking out some shameless misconceptions is something i've been thinking a lot about lately.

and so, onwards:

standard disclaimer that i am neither a doctor nor an expert, just a sick person who gets sick. i've done some reading and listening, but others can speak to this a lot better than i can. anyone else is welcome to chime in.

i guess we should begin by pointing out how soon s6 picks up after 5x12. it’s been what? weeks? debs is just confirming her pregnancy, so it hasn’t been too long - but long enough for carl to have spent some time in juvie.

so let’s recap on the last year or so of ian’s life:

manic episode -> depressive episode -> manic episode with psychosis -> hospitalization -> attempt at medication -> arrest -> implosion of personal life and break up -> now we’re at a kind of baseline depression

and that’s where we find him in s6. and i think it’s important to understand what ian’s been through in the lead up to this - not just situationally, but what his mind has literally just been through. 

what goes up must come down, yeah? ian spent much of the previous two seasons manic as all get out. his brain has really been through the wringer. studies show that bipolar disorder may cause physical changes to brain over time, and functional abnormalities during episodes. 

there are also studies that argue that bipolar can cause accelerated decrease of grey matter in the brain - which impacts physical coordination and motor skills, memory, and emotional regulation. there are degenerative health effects associated with illnesses like bipolar. untreated bipolar get worse with each each sequential episode.

this is not to say that ian is suffering from these longterm effects a year into his illness, but his brain has really gone through it. there is more to recover from than just the situational consequences. there’s a physical and neurological recovery as well. severe episodes like ian’s (untreated manic episodes can last 3-6 months) estimate about a 12-18 month recovery. 

and there’s a lot involved in this. it’s medication and vitamins, exercise, vitamin d. it’s financial recovery. rebuilding relationships. confidence. a sense of self and purpose. picking up the pieces of what the episode left in its wake. 

but it’s also cognitive recovery. working on memory, executive function, focus, sleep. i think a lot of people look at ian in s6 and think that the depression largely stems from the breakup and the diagnosis - i see a lot of fics that have ian realizing “what he’s done” with mickey after the meds kick in, and that’s what sends him off on this depressive mood we see. 

and of course that’s part of it. regret and shame are awful things to face. and there is a grief that accompanies recovery. you’re mourning your health, your plans, the future you thought you were building. 

and in a lot of ways, you end up mourning the mania itself - the ideas you had, the power you felt. it can feel like nothing will make you truly special or worthy again. and so you get depressed. it’s all over, and what’s left? what now?

the depression also comes from the ways we are all forced to define recovery. when do you get to declare yourself recovered, and what do you have to achieve first? what are the indicators of progress? for ian, i think the depression deepens when it comes to this aspect of the timeline. there’s no such thing as just bouncing back from an episode like that - and it’s so much more intricate than just rebuilding the social and practical aspects of his life. 

routine is good for us but it’s also boring sometimes. recovery is boring sometimes. when you’ve been going and moving and acting - the monotony of healing can be infuriating. i think ian definitely deals with this. when the progress is slow and largely internal, it can seem like we’re just stagnant. it feels awful. ian is lost, even as he heals. 

there are other studies that argue that existing scales and rating systems for bipolar depression can fail to capture the nuances of bp lows. this is because they are skewed towards unipolar depression (or MDD). so when we talk about bipolar depression, it’s important to really understand what we’re saying - we need to take into account the possible polarity changes within a single episode, we need to remember the greater mood variability. 

i think shameless skewed the fandom perception of what bipolar depression looks like. the first lows we see - monica in s2 and ian in s4 - show us catatonic characters completely unable to function. ian just seemingly wakes up that way. they don’t see it coming. 

and that happens. of course it does. other studies suggest that bipolar depressions might be shorter, but they are quicker to onset and have greater frequency than MDD. but that’s not the whole picture - and i think we do ian a disservice by glossing over the nuances of his experience and recovery. 

there are also cognitive troubles associated with depression that can only be compounded by those associated with mania and medication. it’s all of this that makes ian’s s6 story so remarkable. but it’s those s6 episodes that show us how deep it can settle in the bones, how tiring it is to exist, drifting from recovery milestone to recovery milestone - and then, before you know it, you’re blinking awake a little easier. thinking a little clearer. quicker, sharper. with something to fight for. a life to look forward to ❤️