#and not just a coping mechanism. BUT I have never been through anything NEAR what I might want to depict in the story

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Too Far.

Summary: He's like a wounded animal when he's angry, lashing out when he feels cornered. He's gone too far this time, snapped and said something he definitely didn't mean, so now he has to fix it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Fighting. Daryl is a dick, but not really, but also he is. Apologetic!Daryl. Alexandria Era. Sex.

A/N: Inspired by an excellent post by @love-norman which I'll link in the comments. I wasn't sure if you were okay with smut, so there's a fairly brief mention of sex but nothing overly explicit.

-

He’s a surprisingly effective communicator, once she can convince him to talk more and with enough time to work out exactly what ticks and grunts mean what. Daryl Dixon’s entire bag is self-sacrifice, so if he can assume that she needs him to tell her what’s going on in the always too busy head of his, he can do that for her without much care for how it impacts him. It’s not his most healthy coping mechanism but it certainly isn’t his worst and the reward? Oh, the reward is sweet. The reward is comfort and kindness and being held; being loved. What’s a moment of discomfort for a lifetime of her?

He's had to practice letting his walls down, slowly but surely since he met her, all the while failing to realise she was just digging her way underneath them. She didn’t ever pry, not really, not in any way that felt invasive, but she’d patiently wait him out; ask the question quietly, softly, and let him linger in the comfortable silence until he chose to answer back. Sometimes she’d work out the information without his need to speak at all; it happened the moment he realised he was fucked, that he was absolutely, irrefutably hers. She’d worked out exactly who he was as a person and he’d barely sad a word.

He’s attentive, and whilst that shocks him it comes as no surprise to anyone around him. He has spent his life fearing that he is exactly who he feared, but those who are lucky enough to consider themselves, correctly or not, close to Daryl never fear for much but his wellbeing. That he is a careful, thoughtful and tender partner surprises nobody but him. That’s not to say they don’t argue, the end of the world comes with its own set of tensions even without the usual relationship concerns, but he’s learnt not to bite first.

-

He shouldn’t have drunk anything, in hindsight, they’re both in bad shape, overwrought and under-fed and they shouldn’t have been at a fucking party, of all places. He definitely shouldn’t have had the four glasses of scotch Reg offered him on a mostly empty stomach. He can’t get used to the Alexandria walls, the houses he never could have afforded to breathe near let alone buy, the soft comforts he’d never had even before the end of the world. He’s never been to a party that hasn’t had a piss-stained couch or an overly full ashtray.

“You know that’s bullshit, Daryl, you’re being ridiculous!” She yells, firmly back in their own living room after he’d practically stormed out of Deanna’s. One minute they’re in full swing, standing talking about vacations from the old days with some new faces, the next his hand is dropping from around her waist and thudding from the front door like she’d said, ‘fuck off’ rather than the word ‘Canada’. He’d slammed the door behind them and snarled about how he would have embarrassed her and her fancy fucking vacations in ‘the real world’.

“Lil’ miss travel abroad and see th’ world cause she’s better than Daryl fuckin’ Dixon”

“What? That’s not-“

“I’m jus’ an idiot redneck with nothin’ an’ you’re this smart chick who saw the world, I get it, I ain’t dumb, th’ fuck would ya have wanted wit’ me?”

Her heart would shatter for him if she wasn’t seething quite so much, the sheer desperation in his words at odds with the tension in his body, clenched hands dragging through his finally clean hair. His eyes are stinging and he absolutely refuses to cry, has never gotten over thinking it makes him weak even when he feels weak.

“Daryl, what the fuck? Why are you being such an asshole?“

“Shut up, always yappin’ about stupid shit, fuckin’ hate ya sometimes!”

He turns quickly, wants to throw something, wants to scream, broad shoulders and harsh angles and all the wind leaves his body when he sees her flinch away from him. She’s cowers backwards, he feels like he’s going to be sick, body collapsing in on itself as he feels the anger leave his bones, replaced with ice laced panic. For a second, a horrifying second that feels ten times as long, he’s his old man. Shitfaced and angry with a glass in hand and if he had a mirror, he knows exactly whose face he’d see staring back at him.

“I would never hurt ya” he whispers, voice low and so broken, full of conviction as his breath hitches in the middle and crumbles at the end and she’d hug him if she wasn’t so shell shocked. Neither of them move for a beat, standing stock still as he trails his eyes over her, clocks the way her gaze refuses to lift to meet his. He can’t breathe. The room is too small for everything he’s feeling, like the walls are inching close and closer and the air is getting less. He tries to move like lightning but his whole body feels sluggish and slow as he inches past her and out the front door, flinching as it closes behind him and he wanders out into the street. He stares back at the house for a moment before deciding he needs a walk to clear his head.

When he comes back she’s sitting on the couch waiting for him, thumbs twiddling, head still down and worry eating her alive. He eases the door shut behind him, loud enough to tell her he’s home but soft enough to show he’s not mad. He wishes a door could convey remorse but it’s taken him long enough to be able to do it with words he doubts a block of wood would be able to in the timeframe he needs. He shucks off his boots, realising he shouldn’t have been wearing them in the house in the first place.

The fresh air has cooled his body enough that he feels less of the alcohol circulating around his system. He tries not to squeeze the flowers he’d plucked from the bush outside Aaron’s place as he stands with his back against the wood.

“’M sorry” he whispers before clearing his throat and repeating it at a higher volume. She turns her face towards him, looking at him over her shoulder. The anger is gone from her face, replaced with a dwelling worry that spikes at him, makes him replay his words over and over.

“What did I do?”

“Nothin’” he insists quickly, pauses before he realises he should say more, that she sometimes needs him to say more, they’ve talked about this “Ya didn’t, I promise”

“I’m sorry”

That does it, rips him from his safe haven by the door because he can’t stand the thought that she deserved anything he said to her, that she’d said anything wrong when he knows she hadn’t. Talking at a party, about stupid old-world stuff whilst her spare, wine glass free hand kept his back warm. She hadn’t said a damn thing wrong, and he’d scared her.

He strides over to the couch, coming round to kneel in front of her. He places the somewhat squashed flowers on the couch cushion next to her. He hovers a hand above her knee, placing it gently on the fabric of her dress when she doesn’t flinch away at the sight. He doesn’t want her to flinch ever again.

“Dun’ apologise to me when ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong”

“I’m so-“

“Dun’ ever apologise to me when i’s my fault. ‘S my shit an’ I shouldn’t take it out on ya”

She knows he loves her, has proven it time and time again, has put his body in front of hers in the face of almost certain death, would protect her with his last breath, would love her with it. But she knows she’ll never be able to unhear it, that some things you can’t take back, that she’ll always wonder, just a little bit if its true. Logic and love are very rarely intertwined.

“Okay”

He can still hear his fathers words ringing in his head, he knows, more than most, the power that words hold over people. He tries not to say anything he doesn’t mean, and he’ll admit he’s acerbic, pointed sure but never cruel, never unnecessarily unkind. He doesn’t know why tonight was different, but he takes her hands in his, locking his eyes on her so she understands.

“I dun’ get t’ speak t’ ya like that”

“No, you don’t” she agrees, voice firmer, back to her usual tone, the one he’s always loved going hand in hand with the certainty she can hold her own. She pauses, bringing his hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles, soothing because she’s terrified that after all this time, he’s still going to break them by thinking he’s not allowed to claim his hurt “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer, instead sitting back on his feet, raising a small hopeful smile at her.

“Tell me about th’ vacation”

“I don’t-“

“Please. Ya said ya still think ‘bout Canada all th’ time”

He really does want to know, he hadn’t been outside of Georgia before everything went down, and she’s mentioned travel but Canada hadn’t come up; he’s not sure if it was that, that set him off or that he felt inadequate in a room full of people with experiences he never got to have.

“I think it was my favourite trip. Packed a bag and went alone on a whim, found a lake in the forest with a little cabin. Just mountains and trees and lakes. It’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt. I never wanted to mention it, I know you missed out on so much, but then everyone was talking and I-“

“Nah, go on, ‘S’alright”

“When Reg asked…I was going to say that’s what I picture, when I think of life outside of all of this, me and you in Canada”

“Ya think of that with me?” his voice is low, incredulous awe pulled tight at the edges, he was so busy feeling less than everyone else that he’d missed out on the fact she was thinking of him. She nods, smiling at him, working it out without him needing to say it, figuring out what drove him to snap without asking, under his walls and right in the centre of the internal world he’s built.

“We’d have a house, out near a lake with a wooden porch, and a dog, big scruffy one who likes to catch fish. We’d have coffee together overlooking the water in the morning. You’d work at the local garage, ‘cause you’re good with your hands and tools, wouldn’t have to deal with people all day, fix up all the bikes you’d secretly want...”

He’s staring her at in silence, watching her wistful face glow in the lamplight, he can barely breathe let alone find words knowing that she’s not just dreamt about a life with him, she’s thought it out in detail. He wants it, wants that life with her so badly it aches, thinks it’s the first time he’s wanted anything from life except to get through it.

“I’d work at the bar, play guitar at crappy open mic nights and you’d come for a beer after my shift to walk me home”

He hums, all the response he can manage, guilt chewing at him from the inside, clawing at his mind knowing that he’s taken his own problems out on her, told her he hates her all the while she’s dreaming of something so utterly fucking perfect.

“We’d make dinner together and dance in the living room, go camping at the weekends and make love all night long”

“In another life?” he chuckles, warm and full, knowing he’ll dream about this for the rest of his life.

“In every life…If you’d find me”

“I’d find ya”

-

He runs her a bubble bath, still amazed and confused that he can, that they’ve spent months on the road starving and struggling and here there’s a pantry that has bubble bath. The flowers from Aarons front garden are perched in a glass of water by the bed, the lamps turned off and the doors are locked up as tight as they can be. He’s insistent that he shows his apology, but he’s never had a way to do it outside these walls, nothing beyond words and affection and his experience with what women might like is limited at best.

He stands in the doorway, watching as she wraps herself in a dressing gown. He wonders idly if the amount of love he feels for her could kill him; he feels it so deeply in his bones that he physically isn’t sure it should be able to fit inside of one person. He feels it explode warmth around his body when she shuffles forward to rest her head on his chest.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this? I’m not mad”

Later, when he’s apologised again, reassured her and comforted her and she’s convinced him he’s worth loving in return, he takes them both to bed. Touches her with soft, repentant hands that have always been gentle, hands that are gentle exactly because he knows how dangerous they can be. Atonement seeping from every inch of him as he inches home inside of her, cherishes the contended sigh she lets out at the feel of him. He could never hate her, not even if he tried.

He stills when he bottoms out, rests his forehead against hers as her hips press against his firmly, dragging him as deep as he can go.

“Wha’ ya see in me, anyway?” he whispers against her lips, full of self-doubt.

She looks into him with an intensity that almost hurts, brings her hands to the sides of his face, makes sure he believes her as sincerely as she believes his apology.

“Everything”

[shalotttower]

Hello!!! Could i maybe see some reader (maybe begrudgingly?) seeking comfort from L?

hi! this is probably not what you asked for, anon, because "seeking comfort" immediately had this interpretation in my head

but it is what it is

Title: Acclimatization Summary: Post-captivity, Reader struggles with the aftermath of L. Notes: yandere!L, L is dead, Watari is dead, past kidnapping, implied PTSD, paranoia.

You have a new habit now. An array of them, in fact, but this one stands out — staring at your phone screen until it goes dark before turning it on again.

Because it feels odd. The weight and shape, and texture; you grew unaccustomed to them during your time with L. So you keep turning it on and off, over and over, without any particular purpose other than just...looking.

The first few weeks you refused to touch it.

Maybe there's a chip inside that allows to watch you through the camera. Or a microphone that records every word you say. A transmitter that broadcasts your location. Those were the thoughts which came and went, present regardless of what you tried to do. They hovered near the periphery of your mind like bees around a flower garden and stung whenever something triggered them: the sound of shuffling footsteps passing by your door, the smell of fresh pastries, older men in formal suits.

Now you're better. Mostly.

Yesterday you went outside and even sat in the park for a bit.

The world seemed so vibrant. So crisp.

So vast, that fifteen minutes was all it took to exhaust you. You came back home, locked the door (all four locks, plus two chains), checked everything twice for no real reason other than making sure. Nothing has changed since your departure.

The curtains were still drawn shut. The air smelled of floor wash from the last cleaning. Your bedroom remained the same, with no signs of tampering.

Nothing was out of place, and yet there's a certain feeling you can't shake off ─ that someone has been here while you weren't around.

You know what it is, of course, this form of hypervigilance; you never were one prone to delusion, despite having an active imagination.

It's not going to vanish overnight, and will require therapy, coping mechanisms, and medication.

But it's okay.

You're okay.

And your new phone is just a phone.

---

Sometimes you think about him. Not always on purpose, and never in great detail, but it's hard to completely forget a person who squeezed himself in every single aspect of your life for two years, and even after that.

Because this apartment you live in isn't yours. You bought it on the money he left you.

This phone in your hands doesn't belong to you. You bought it on the money he left you.

Your clothes are new, your fridge is stocked full, the bills are paid, and it's all on the money he left you.

You wonder if he planned it from the very beginning. If he knew that it was going to be like that ─ him and Watari both gone, so abruptly and suddenly that you'll be left behind with nothing but questions which will never find answers.

That you will need footing after losing the ground beneath your feet ─ again ─ and having to adjust to the world around, again.

You wish to say that you don't need his money or anything else (he didn't leave anything else). That you are fine on your own without his help, but lying to yourself is pointless when the truth stares right in your face.

It took two months before you were able to go outside.

How long will it take to start looking for a job?

Another two?

A strange sort of comfort exists in knowing there's no pressing need for immediate income.

It's not the type of comfort you wish to have, but it's the only one you receive.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Never Have I Ever (Part 3) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Civilian Contractor! Reader (Callsign: Dove)

Length: 3.9k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Female Reader with a Callsign and Family, but no Physical Description or Name; Not Necessarily Healthy Decisions/Coping Mechanisms; Slow Burn; Coworkers to Friends to Lovers; Oblivious Idiots; Excessive Pining

Summary: Dove and Jake learn more about each other as they work through Dove's challenge.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Master List

# 30 - Gone Sailing

Dove and Jake got out of his truck and walked through the marina parking lot. When Jake found out that Amelia and Penny had been trying to convince Dove to come sailing with them for months, he accepted their invitation on her behalf. 

“I still can’t believe that you never went sailing with them before,” Jake stated, pulling on a pair of his sunglasses. Turning to Dove with a teasing smile, he asked, “You’re not going to tell me that you’re afraid of the water, right? Or that you can’t swim?” 

“No,” Dove scoffed, shooting him a look. “I can swim. And I’m not afraid of the ocean.” 

“They have life jackets. You’ll be fine. And if anything does happen, I’ll be here to rescue you. Passed swim training with flying colors.” 

“Phoenix said that she saw you cry after swim training.”

“Does she have proof?”

“Don’t worry, your big tough guy persona is safe with me,” Dove joked, poking him in the side. 

Dove and Jake walked down the dock to Penny’s boat. Theo was trotting around on the deck while Amelia and Penny got ready to set sail. Amelia spotted them first and waved to Dove excitedly, causing Penny to turn around. 

“Well, it only took you six months to accept our invitation,” Penny mused, resting her hands on her hips.

“Better late than never,” Dove replied, looking a bit nervous. 

She walked on board and was quickly greeted by Amelia, who was very excited that her tutor finally decided to come out for something fun. Jake watched as Dove talked with Amelia and relaxed a bit more. Leaning over to grab a life jacket, Jake felt Penny’s eyes on him. She simply offered him a knowing smile before walking onboard.

They set sail shortly afterwards and the seabreeze quickly cut through any sort of southern California warmth that Dove had when she got on board. Jake sat beside her, both of them staying out of the way of Amelia and Penny as they operated the boat. 

“Jesus, it’s cold,” Dove cursed, curling in on herself. 

Jake sat calmly, a little cold, but running warm. Holding onto the railing right behind Dove, he stared ahead as the boat rode over the waves. Dove slid back as the boat went over another wave and tucked herself into Jake’s side to keep warm. Jake stared down at her as she shivered, subconsciously curling his body around her more. 

“You okay?” he asked, his voice barely loud enough to hear over the wind. 

“It’s fucking cold!” 

~~~~~~

# 31 - Seen Dolphins in the Wild

Settled in calmer waters and warmer air, Amelia and Dove sat near the bow, chatting and looking down at the water. Jake sat farther back with Penny, asking her questions about how the ship operated. Amelia glanced back at Jake before turning back to Dove.

“Why’s Hangman following you around these days?”

“He’s just helping me with something,” Dove dismissed with a shrug. 

“Like as a friend? Or a boyfriend?” 

“Life is not a cheesy Netflix movie. He’s just bored.” Dove turned back to Amelia and offered her a smirk. “How’s What’s-His-Face? The surfer kid?” 

“Shh!” Amelia stressed, glancing back at her mom before turning back to Dove. “My mom says that she’s ‘fine’ with me hanging out with boys but she’s not.” 

“A lot of parents are like that,” Dove told Amelia, nodding along. “It’s usually because they’re worried that you’ll make the same mistakes they did when they were your age.” Dove and Amelia shared a look, quietly doing the math in their heads. “How old was your mom when she met Maverick again?” 

Amelia laughed before she caught movement in the water out of the corner of her eye. Grabbing Dove’s arm and shaking it lightly, Amelia pointed at the pod of dolphins that were swimming by. Dove followed her finger and quickly sat up. 

“Holy crap,” Dove laughed, watching the dolphins swim with awe. Turning to where Penny and Jake were talking, Dove called out to them. “Jake! Penny! Dolphins!”

Jake walked over to where Dove and Amelia were staring out at the pod of dolphins. He silently marveled at the sight as he stood just a step to Dove’s right. 

“Have you ever seen them like this before?” Jake asked her, referring to the dolphins. 

“No,” Dove admitted, turning to look at Jake. “Have you?”

“No.” 

“Hmm,” Dove mused, smiling as Jake met her gaze. “Maybe you need a list of your own.” 

“Maybe one day,” he agreed softly before they turned back to the dolphins.

~~~~~

# 32 - Gone Rollerblading

After returning to shore, Jake and Dove started walking down the adjacent boardwalk. And when Dove saw a rental place for rollerblades, she had her next idea. 

“Are you sure that you’re up for this?” Jake asked, handing her a helmet. 

“I only rented them for twenty minutes,” Dove pointed out, tying up the rollerblades. Taking the helmet from Jake, she pulled it on. “I need to stop being scared. I mean, if I stayed scared of going on the boat with Penny and Amelia, I never would have seen the dolphins. I need to try new things.”  

“Alright,” Jake agreed, standing in front of her. “Just take it slow.”

He offered Dove his hands and helped her to stand up with her skates on. When Dove nearly slipped to the ground, Jake quickly wrapped his arms around her waist. Dove gripped his biceps as she got her bearings, growing a bit warm in her cheeks. 

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, releasing him. 

~~~~~

# 33 - Been to the Beach First Aid Stand

“If I hear the phrase ‘I told you so’ come out of your mouth,” Dove warned Jake as he helped her along the boardwalk. 

“Come on. There’s a first aid station up ahead.” 

Dove was a little worse for wear. No bones were broken and she wasn’t in any kind of excruciating pain, but her knees were certainly banged up. Jake held Dove up with one arm, not trusting her on her own, and knocked on the door to the lifeguard stand. 

~~~~~

# 34 - Had Pistachio Ice Cream

“Ice cream makes everything better,” Jake suggested as they left the first aid stand. 

“Unless you’re lactose intolerant,” Dove pointed out, causing Jake to turn to her. 

“You’re lactose intolerant?” 

“No, I’m not,” Dove stated, frowning a little bit. “You saw me eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with Bob two weeks ago.” 

“Good. Then pick a flavor that you’ve never tried before,” Jake stated, pointing at the list posted at the front of the stand. 

Dove looked over the list of flavors, mentally checking off the ones that she had and picking from the rest of the flavors. 

“I guess I’ll try pistachio.” 

Jake ordered two ice creams, a pistachio for Dove and a chocolate one for him, before walking over to the table that Dove picked. Placing the cup of pistachio ice cream down in front of her, he took his seat and offered her a smile. 

“For your troubles. And your injury.” 

“Thanks,” Dove replied quietly, still embarrassed. 

She took a spoonful of pistachio ice cream in her spoon and slowly brought it to her mouth, taking a tentative lick. Dove took a moment, testing the flavor, before nodding.

“Not bad,” she stated, turning back to Jake. 

“See? Maybe things can surprise you.” 

~~~~~

# 35 - Gone to a Boardwalk Fair

Dove and Jake continued on their way after they finished their ice cream. Jake was listening to Dove talk about some more ideas that she had for her list when he spotted an ad posted on a light stand. He took a step over, drawing Dove’s attention, and read the details.

“What about this?” Jake suggested, pointing at the posters.

Dove stepped up beside him and looked over the ad for a boardwalk fair a few towns over. Turning back to Jake, she nodded and smiled softly. 

“Yeah, I’m sure that we can find things there that I haven’t done before.” 

~~~~~

# 36 - Eaten a Corndog

“You brought me all the way out here to eat a corndog?” Dove asked Hangman as he held one out to her. 

“Stop stalling and take a bite.” 

Dove sighed and took the corndog from him. She glanced down at the corndog with distaste before taking a small bite off the tip. Chewing it, she studied the corndog again as Jake waited for her reaction. 

“Weird texture, but not too bad. You can finish it though.” 

~~~~~

# 37 - Eaten a Bug

Dove cupped a few crispy grasshoppers in her hand and held them out to Jake. Though he looked concerned himself, Jake reached out and grabbed one. Dove grinned and held up a cricket of her own. She jokingly clinked their crickets together, like they were clinking drinks after work, before bringing the cricket to her mouth. 

“Cheers,” she exclaimed before popping it into her mouth. 

Jake stared down at the cricket for a moment before slowly putting it into his mouth and chewing tentatively. Dove grinned as she watched Jake try to hide his grimace. Finishing her cricket quickly, Dove poked Jake in the side. 

“Don’t forget, spitters are quitters.” 

Completely unprepared for that phrase to come out of Dove’s mouth, Jake started to cough and choke. Dove’s teasing smile dropped as Jake hit his chest with his fist. 

“Are you alright?” she asked him worriedly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Fine,” Jake wheezed, coughing again.

~~~~~

# 38 - Gotten Your Fortune Read

“Now this might actually be the dumbest thing you’ve thought of so far,” Dove complained as Jake dragged her over to the tent. “You know that it’s all crackpot nonsense.”

“That’s not the point. We’re exposing you to new experiences,” Jake drawled, gesturing for Dove to sit down.

Rolling her eyes, Dove sat down and waited for the fortune teller. Jake stepped out of the room to give them ‘spiritual space’ and the woman stepped out from behind the curtain a few moments later. She greeted Dove before sitting behind her crystal ball. The fortune teller gave Dove and overview of what to expect before she began. 

“I see . . .”

“A glass ball?” Dove muttered quietly to herself. 

“I see some struggle in your future,” the fortune teller replied, causing Dove to raise an eyebrow. “You have some great trials before you.” 

“Don’t we all?” 

“Your life could be in danger.” 

“Oh, dear,” Dove feigned concern. 

“I see some balloons.” 

“What color are these balloons?” 

“Multicolored, dear. And I see a lion.”

“A lion?”

“Yes, and then a screw. It seems to have fallen, putting you at risk,” the fortune teller continued, pausing as she closed her eyes. “But you’ll survive, my dear. And a man will be right there to hold your hand and comfort you through it.” 

“Well, I hope he’s handsome,” Dove replied sarcastically, offering a forced smile. “Or rich.” 

“Or both,” the fortune teller added, causing Dove to nod. “That’ll be ten dollars, dear.” 

~~~~~

# 39 - Won a Prize at the Fair

“You’ve never played a fair game?” Jake admonished Dove, who scoffed.

“I played one when I was a kid, but they’re all scams! Like that fortune teller.” 

“Did you win anything?” he asked, causing Dove to shake her head. “Then let’s go.” 

“Jake, it’s pointless. And a waste of money.”

“Well, I don’t lose.”

Hangman scanned the games in the area before selecting the darts booth. The attendant, who seemed to have given up on caring, handed Jake some darts and gestured to the moving multicolored balloons behind him. Dove stood to the side as Jake lined up his shots. Tossing the darts and popping the balloons, Jake turned to the attendant. 

“Pick any from that wall,” the attendant sighed, gesturing to a whole bunch of stuffed animals. 

“I’ll take the lion,” Jake decided, causing Dove to pick her head up.

“What?” she breathed out.

The attendant handed Jake the stuffed lion and Jake immediately handed it over to Dove, who stared up at him with wide eyes. Staring down at the lion like she was honestly waiting for it to bite her, Dove just let Jake steer her along with him.

~~~~~

# 40 - Ridden a Fair Ferris Wheel

“I’m not convinced that this would pass a safety inspection,” Dove remarked as the ferris wheel started to ascend.

“You’ll be fine. It’ll take like five minutes and then we’ll move on.” 

“What idea do you have next?” Dove asked Jake curiously.

“I had a couple different ones. Are you hungry or did you want to actually go do something?” 

“Maybe something—” 

Dove gripped the safety bar with a tense grip as the ferris wheel came to a screeching halt. And then she swore that she heard a screw or nail or something clink against the metal frame of the ride. Turning to Jake with wide eyes, Dove tried to not panic.

“Don’t worry. They’re probably just letting more people on,” Jake assured Dove calmly. 

~~~~~

# 41 - Gotten Stuck on a Ferris Wheel

Ten Minutes Later . . . 

“Sorry, folks, but it seems that the ride is having some technical difficulties. We’re working on resolving it as quickly as we can.” 

“You were saying?” Dove hissed to Jake, still with a tight grip on the safety bar. 

“I’m sure that it’ll just be a little bit longer,” Jake replied, though he didn’t look convinced by his own words anymore. He looked over the side and tilted the cart a little bit, causing Dove to tense up. 

“Stop moving! You’re going to tip it!” 

“It’s not that—” 

“—Please, just don’t tip it,” Dove pleaded softly, closing her eyes.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Jake asked quietly, staring at Dove with concern. 

“I’m not afraid of heights. I’m afraid of falling from heights. And that stupid fortune teller said that my life could be in danger and she already got too many other things right and now I’m afraid that I’m going to fucking die falling from this piece of shit ride.” 

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” 

“Because I thought she was a crackpot and I thought this ride was going to last three minutes.” 

“Have you always been afraid of heights?” 

“Have you always been this bad at knowing basic facts about other people?” Dove snapped back, still with her eyes screwed shut. 

“Maybe,” Jake returned, studying her posture. “Just breathe.” 

“I am breathing.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Jake,” Dove warned him.

“Then just keep talking to me. If you’re talking to me, you’re not focused on that.” 

“What the hell am I supposed to talk about?” 

“Anything. I don’t know.” Jake glanced down before turning back to Dove. “I’m starting to realize that we don’t actually know that much about each other.” 

“I know plenty about you,” Dove replied quietly. 

“Like what?” 

“You were born in Austin, Texas. Because you can’t stop fucking talking about Texas. Honestly, I’ve never met someone from Texas who didn’t announce that they were from Texas within fifteen minutes of me meeting them. What the hell is that all about?” 

“Alright, what else do you know?”

“You’re the youngest of four. You have three older sisters. Julia, Jordan, and Jenna. You’re the baby of your family and the only boy. And I didn’t need anything beyond a fifteen second interaction with you to know that, actually.” 

“Harsh,” Jake mumbled. 

“Your mom’s name is Mary and your dad’s name is also Jacob. Your dad runs his own small business and your mom works down at the local school. You have five or six nieces and nephews and you’re the only one that’s not married yet.” 

“How the hell do you know all this stuff?” Jake asked, causing Dove to hiss.

“Because! I! Listen! That thing where people close their mouths and let other people talk!” Gripping the safety bar a little less, Dove added in a softer tone, “You talk about your family all the time. They send you care packages. Of course, I know about them.” 

“Do you know this stuff about everyone on the team?” 

“Are you going to quiz me?” 

“Would that make you feel better?”

“Would that make you feel better?” 

“Alright, fine,” Jake sighed, throwing in the towel with that one. Turning back to Dove and studying her for a moment, he asked softly, “What about you?”

“What about me?” 

“Tell me your story then. You seem to know mine, so it’s only fair.”

“What do you want to know?” 

“Everything.” 

“Everything?” 

“Just something to pass the time and get your mind off of things. I’ll work on my listening skills. You can quiz me afterwards, if it’ll make you feel better.” 

Dove sighed, clearly thinking that this was a stupid idea. But between the fact that she was still stuck in the air and Jake was definitely not going to let it go, she caved. Taking a deep breath, she tried to figure out where to start. 

“I’m the oldest of six.” 

“Six?” 

“Technically, all of my siblings are my half-siblings. Mom’s side. My dad never had any kids after he and my mom got divorced. My mom remarried a month after the papers were signed.” 

“How old were you when they got divorced?” 

“Four when they separated. And six when it was finalized.” After a moment, she added, “And if you even think about using the phrase ‘I’m sorry,’ I will push you off of this ride.” 

“Noted.” 

“I lived with my mom most of my childhood. My dad worked a lot and after my mom got remarried, she was stay-at-home, so it just made sense. But I’m closer with my dad than my mom because my mom . . . she doesn’t do well with people that she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t argue, she just tells you over and over again that she’s right. It wears on you after a while. And we’re just very different people.”

Jake nodded slowly as Dove thought through her next words carefully. 

“I was too shy, too timid to be the daughter that she really wanted. That was my sister Michelle.” 

“Are you close with your siblings?”

“Some of them. Michelle and I don’t get along. She’s my mom’s favorite and everyone, especially her, knows it. I’m the closest with my sister Phoebe. We’re fairly similar. And Brendan, my only brother, insists that I know the latest memes so that I don’t embarrass him. But I’m not too close with my youngest sisters, Nikki and Tillie. They’re twins.” 

Dove opened her eyes and turned back to Jake, her grip noticeably lighter on the safety bar. If Jake noticed that, he didn’t mention it. 

“So, you’re closer with your dad then?”

“Yeah. He’s the chief of his fire station and he’s going to work until he literally cannot physically get out of bed anymore. I tell him to slow down, but he doesn’t listen. And I know that he wouldn’t hesitate to pick up my call and come help me.” Smiling softly, Dove added, “He drove eight hours through the night to be there for my dissertation presentation.” 

“He must be very proud of you,” Jake commented softly, causing Dove to nod.

“Yeah, but he’s always worried about me. He didn’t want me to go into this industry.” 

“Why?” Jake asked, confused. 

“Well, physics isn’t exactly the most welcoming industry for women. And then I started working as a civilian contractor for the Navy and he almost had a heart attack over it.” Dove paused before turning to Jake. “I think that he was also annoyed that I was working with the Navy and not the Air Force.” 

“Your dad was in the Chair Force?” 

“Don’t call it that,” Dove sighed, giving Jake a light nudge. “And yes, he was. It was part of the whole reason why he and my mom got married and had me. Well, technically, he knocked my mom up first and then he married her, but still.” Pointing a threatening finger at Jake, Dove added, “And if you even think about calling me an oopsie baby—” 

“—You’ll push me off the side?” Jake surmised, causing Dove to grin.

“What do you know? You can listen.” 

Two Hours Later . . . 

The sun had set and most of the fair had cleared out. And even though it was southern California, the ocean chill had pushed Dove away from the safety bar and into Jake’s side to keep warm. He rested his arm around her waist to keep her safe and relaxed.

“Favorite . . . non-dairy milk?” Dove suggested, pulling at absolute straws. 

“I only drink real milk,” Jake sighed, staring down at the mechanics working on the ride. 

“But what if you become lactose intolerant?” 

“That doesn’t happen.” 

“It does happen. All the time actually.” 

“What’s yours then?” 

“Oat,” Dove mumbled tiredly, her head resting against his shoulder. 

“I’ll go with oat milk then, I guess.” 

“Have you ever tried it?” 

“No, but I trust your judgment.” 

“Your turn,” Dove reminded him, poking him in the side. 

“Favorite . . . type of french fry?”

“Thin and crispy with a little bit of salt. In-and-Out fries,” Dove stated, just as her stomach started to growl. “If we ever get down from here, I’m going to need a big bucket of french fries. And a drink.” 

“Why stop at one?” Jake mused, causing Dove to smile to herself. 

The ride suddenly jolted and Jake and Dove quickly grabbed onto each other as a reflex. Dove fisted Jake’s shirt and Jake tightened his hold on her waist, pulling her even closer to him. They held their breath and after a moment, the ride started to move again. 

“Holy shit, we’re free,” Dove breathed out, releasing Jake’s shirt. But Jake was a lot slower to release his arm around her waist.

~~~~~

# 42 - Tried Whiskey

After being freed from their mid-air prison, Dove and Jake went out to dinner together at a pub just down the street. And Dove was very content to find that the fries that the pub offered were thin, light, and crispy. And Jake was relieved that they had whiskey. 

“You don’t normally order whiskey,” Dove noted as the waiter walked off with their menus. 

“I only order it if I have a long day,” Jake admitted, taking a sip. Placing the glass down, Jake slid it towards Dove. “You want to try it?” 

“I’ve never had whiskey before.”

“Well, now you definitely should try it.” 

Dove reached out for the glass and took a tentative sip. Jake laughed as she wrinkled her nose and slowly placed it back down, looking like she regretted her decision. 

“I’ll just stick with what I know.” 

~~~~~

# 43 - Made a Toast

“Speech,” Jake joked, causing Dove to smile and reach for her drink. 

“I’d like to make a toast to never going on fair rides ever again and to the fact that I’m very thankful that all of the planes that we work in and around actually have real safety standards,” Dove toasted, lifting up her drink. 

“To safety standards,” Jake agreed, clinking their drinks together. As he set his glass back down, Jake asked, “You want to knock some more ones off the list tomorrow? We came up with plenty of ideas.” 

“Actually, Nat said that she’s taking me out,” Dove stated, picking up some of her french fries. “But I’ll add whatever we do to the list.” 

“Just be careful.” 

Dove snorted. “It’s Nat. I’ll be fine.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

[unoriginalfellow567]

Herbs n’ stuff

Getting high with Leon Kennedy after saving the President’s daughter

Leon Kennedy x genderneutral!reader

Crack fic

Dividers from: @cafekitsune

Idrk what this is, I didn’t have any inspo for a long time, but I wanted to write something with Leon. And, I thought of the meme of him making a joint, and this came about to be. I think it’s be one of my longest works yet (I apologise in advance for any possible erroneous spelling). Enjoy!

The meme:

The rain pattered against the grimy windows, thunder and lighting striking at arbitrary times, the pair a stark contrast against the soothing effects the rain had on yours, Leon and Ashley’s nerves after the events, the horrors, that had transpired just a few hours ago.

Leon and you were pretty bored, and extremely fatigued. You felt jealousy crawl its way out of the pit of your stomach and nearly escape your mouth through the means of pathetic whining at the sight of Ashely sleeping on one of the villagers’ bed, Leon’s leather jacket (which, quite frankly, you wanted one like it) splayed out under her in a poor attempt of protecting her from the filthy sheets.

You spun on your chair to face Leon, who was sat on the opposite side of the wooden table stationed near the window. “She’s out cold,” you stated the obvious, staring into his weary eyes, dark bags drooping. “Poor girl’s been through hell and back, she deserves some rest.” He replied, softy tapping his fingers on the table’s surface. “How’s your rib?” He asks, referring to the injury you had attained while fighting Saddler’s mutated form. “It’s.. still there, I think. So, that’s something,” you replied, shrugging slightly. “Don’t worry, Hunnigan said a chopper will get here soon,” he assured with a small smile, trying to alleviate the situation. “I’ll live.” Is your reply.

“Hey, you got any more of those green herbs?” You ask Leon, hopeful. “It won’t do anything for broken bones, y’know,” he stated. “That’s not an answer, ‘y’know’,” You mocked, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I do have some left. Here,” he yielded, retrieving a variety of herbs from his attache case, rolling them up in a piece of paper and handing the combination to you. “Thanks.” You reply, not long before getting out a lighter from one of the pockets of your cargo pants, and lighting the rudimentary joint up.

“The hell are you doing?” Leon asks, seeing you inhale the smoke, then blow it out. “Look, different people have different coping mechanisms. This is the best I’ve got at the moment, take it or leave it,” You say, raising your eyebrows invitingly and holding the joint out to him.

He looked at the drug, then back at you, then at then back at the joint in you hand, and reluctantly accepted it. “Ok..” were his words before he took a drag of the reefer. “Weren’t you not a smoker?” You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “People change.” He shut you down quickly.

It was amusing, really, two of the U.S.’s most elite agents, smoking healing herbs, high off their asses in a crumbling shed in the middle of a forest right in the Spanish ass-crack of nowhere, saying whatever came to their minds, lamenting about how ‘relationships are a waste of time, man’, as you had re-iterated several times, each more sober than the last, whilst simultaneously laughing (as little and quietly as you could, considering your broken rib and Ashley respite) at his stories of rejection.

‘No use calling yourself a one lady type of guy if there aren’t any women interested in you’, as he had quoted.

It had been a nice change of pace, seeing Leon in a more mellow state. His snark combined with the misanthropic attitude, which seemingly never faltered, cracked, allowing out a more vulnerable, exposed Leon. A more.. human Leon.

You couldn’t remember where you first heard the corny-ass saying, ‘laughter is the best medicine’, but this moment solidified it. Or maybe it was the green herb, mixed with some other leaves of which colours you couldn’t remember. Probably, both.

“And then she went to the bathroom and jumped outta the fucking window! And left me to pay for her meal! The nerve,” his words were bitter, yet you could see the amusement of the anecdote in his bloodshot eyes.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had went on a date. It was somewhat surprising that Leon had time to indulge in the romantic aspects of life, considering your own schedule working as an agent, but maybe he just manages his time better than you do. Who knows.

“Hey, times are tough, man,” You shrugged, taking another drag of the badly-rolled up joint, and slowly blowing out the fumes. “How long did Hunnigan say it was gonna take for a chopper to get here?” You asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. “It should be here in,” Leon took a look at his watch, squinting like he had some sort of visual impairment, then he looked up at you again, “15 minutes or so. Going by the storm outside, I’d triple that.” He replied nonchalantly. “I say 30 minutes, wanna bet?” You raise an eyebrow, staring him directly in his red eyes. “You sure you wanna? I’m right pretty much all the time,” he declared cockily, smirking. “Yeah, ‘right’ my ass, you’re just lucky as hell. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a pot of gold at home.” I rolled my eyes. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a cauldron.” He retorted, stumping out the joint you both were smoking by pressing it into the windowsill on his right.

“Devastating blow.” You deadpan, then return to the subject at hand. “10.. Hamiltons if I’m right, and vice-versa.” You established, and he nodded. There was a comforting silence which ensued, and you took the time to observe Ashley’s sleeping form, her features soft and peaceful. A contrast to the events that had transpired just a few hours prior.

“What do you think’ll happen to her? In the future, I mean,” you looked back at Leon. “Who knows?” He shrugged, “She’s got her whole life ahead of her. I remember when I was her age..” he replied, closing his eyes. “Okay, old man,” You joked, just an innocent jab, in your mind. “Raccoon City.. I was her age when I survived its horrors, back in 1998.” He revealed sombrely. “Shit, Leon, I didn’t mean to.. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” You apologised instantly. “It’s all right, let’s forget it. Better that way.” You nodded understandingly.

A while later, after the tension had dissipated a little, you received a transmission from Hunnigan. You smirked at Leon, then looked at his watch, anticipation brewing in your core at the thought of 10 dollars, and more importantly, proving him wrong.

“Hey Hunnigan,” you greeted sweetly, waiting for her announcement. “It’s good to hear your voice, Y/N, is everyone all right?” She asked, her voice fuzzy. “We’re all.. alive. Baby Eagle is safe, but I have a broken rib. As for Leon, he’s all good.” I replied. “The chopper has just landed, at the pick-up point. Hunnigan out.” She finalised the announcement, and you looked at Leon.

“30 or 45?” You asked, confidently. He sighed, rubbing his temples. “30.” He begrudgingly admitted. “Pay up,” You smiled victoriously, holding your hand out. “My wallet’s in my jacket,” he replied. “Okay then, we’ll settle this later.”

[qin-qin16]

cw.: Dream x Reader, hurt/comfort, gn!reader, reader has a bad coping mechanism, depressive thoughts, Dream is here to comfort you, he is just a sweet and good boy, comfort end, but the beginning is kinda angst… 

note: I ask for suggestions and decide to write one of them! Thank you @emeraldhazeidentity for the ideas! And sorry for the delay!  

Your body has always been at odds with itself, whether mentally or emotionally; this time, the problem was your feelings. They were vile and unwanted, creeping into your chest like rats and gnawing away any desire you normally had to get out of bed. And just like those rats, your body only huddled further into the nest that was your sheets on the mattress, a pile of shame and crumbs left from your last meal.

And even though you wanted to stop feeling all of this — this inadequacy at being competent in anything, the constant envy of never being among the best despite your efforts… All of this simply wore your body out, leaving it in a state of inactive exhaustion that began as mental fatigue and spread like a plague throughout.

However, it wasn’t because of your static figure or turbulent mind that you wanted to stop feeling all of this, no. It was because of Dream.

Oh Dream, he was a true angel sent from heaven into your life — and like any angel, you wanted him to stay untainted; your rotten feelings would only taint him, hurting his kind, golden soul. He had already suffered enough at the hands of others; you didn’t want to be just another person to take advantage of his kindness and heroic aura.

You didn’t deserve that — being wrapped in such warm energy — much less to be so selfish as to want Dream all to yourself, even though the thought of holding him in your arms during these lonely times was a recurring one. 

No, a small voice at the back of your mind whispers, Remember what Ink said once? That anything negative could hurt Dream? This weak mindset of yours only draws more and more of those bad, toxic feelings towards him,  and just like every time you found yourself hiding under the covers, the voice was right — was it your subconscious trying to bring some reason to you? Or was it just some kind of dissociation episode?

Truth be told, you didn’t care. That voice was usually right in the end, so why question its existence or purpose? Gradually, your fingertips grew numb, as if your body was sinking deeper into this spiral of feelings, while your chest felt so empty — a contradiction you had long stopped questioning.

Your mind goes blank from the sudden warmth resting on you, like a cozy blanket you didn’t realize you needed after covering yourself with all the ones on your bed.

The mattress dips slightly near your body; someone must have sat down next to you and probably covered you with an extra blanket. You flinch for a moment as you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder through the covers in a back-and-forth motion.

Someone calls your name, but it sounds so distant, muffled; as if softly guiding your mind back to your body.

“What happened, dear?” Oh, it’s him.

In a faint, flickering glow, your soul shimmers beneath your skin, casting a dim, cold light — and you can’t help but hear the soft, distant laughter coming from the other side of your hiding place.

“Oh, dear…” Dream, your cherished Dream, coos, momentarily pausing his gentle touch on your shoulder.

Close to your face, you see Dream’s fingers tentatively emerging from beneath the blanket, inching closer to you — until they lift the blanket just enough for Dream’s face to come into view, with a smile that, though small, radiated the light of the most beautiful stars you’ve ever seen.

"Hello, my darling." he whispers, sliding under the covers, "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner." 

You don’t need to apologize for anything, but you can’t find the strength to say it; your body remains curled up, still numb from the deep sadness — even the presence of your angel wasn’t enough to chase away those dreadful feelings.

"I shouldn’t have left you alone." The hand that was holding the blanket over both of you moves to your face, gently caressing your cheek as the blanket falls over you two.

"I didn’t…" you start to speak, your throat tightening, "I didn’t mean to upset you." you finally admit.

Dream shushed you, leaning in slowly to press his face against yours in a tender gesture, "You could never upset me, never."

And then you feel that warmth again, the same warmth that had settled on you moments before — realizing that this gentle, comforting warmth was simply Dream’s presence close to you, wrapping your body in a warm embrace.

For a moment, you let yourself be carried away by the wave of tranquility that radiated from him, closing your eyes and feeling Dream relax even more against you — leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek before moving down to your jaw, placing another kiss before returning to his gentle nuzzle on your face.

“There’s a world out there waiting for you…” you murmur, hoping that his presence isn’t just a fleeting dream.

“The world can wait a bit longer.” he responds.

And as clichéd as it may sound, it was enough to bring a small smile back to your lips and to help your body finally emerge from its state of inertia. One of your hands strokes the back of Dream’s neck, drawing him closer into your tender embrace.

Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish and hold him in your arms for as long as you needed.

[mxdarling]

["did you miss me? because i really missed you" / "no! i'm not going anywhere and neither are you! we're stuck together now, i'll make sure of it"]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: the greatest detective, will never leave your side and neither will you leave his.

ೃ⁀➷: word count: 1.8k

ೃ⁀➷: reference/inspiration: n/a

ೃ⁀➷: event: [200 followers event]

[author's note:] my first bsd work LOLL god when I say I was writing this with trembling hands I wouldn't be lying, I was so scared to write for him even though he's one of my favs fufuu I just hate mischaracterization and i don't wanna fuck this up, anyways thank you anon for requesting ranpo with #30 and #22! it has been my pleasure to write for him LOLL enjoy!!

[warnings:] lowercase, ooc ranpo, yandere behavior, they/them prns, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, ranpo sits on reader's lap, mentions of stalking, implied reader being blackmailed by ranpo, reader is taller than ranpo, non consensual kissing (cheeks & lips), ranpo licks reader's fingers, eavesdropping.

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. I don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. If you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, I am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[GN reader]

RANPO EDOGAWA, the greatest detective in the world, one who could solve a case in under 3 seconds, your annoying and childlike coworker, the one who has no ability, is currently following you around like a lost child. this has been going on for—at least, 4 minutes max—just him trailing a few centimeters behind as you continue to walk to your destination. in all fairness, when he found out you were going to the grocery store, he immediately jumped into the conversation and decided by himself that he's going to join you during your trip.

"areee weeeee there yet? i don't remember the journey to the store being this long!" a loud whine comes out of ranpo's mouth, worsening your mood as you hear his whiny voice, the kind you'd hear from a 6-year-old child who is simply too impatient to wait for their turn. from your peripheral vision, you could see several people looking at the two of you, ranging from confusion to judgmental stares. his shoulders are down, making him have a slouched body posture as he walks behind you in a more lazier manner than you, who is so close to speed stomping and leaving him behind.

"are we ther- hey! wait up!"

scratch that last thought, you're going to have a pleasant trip to the grocery store and you're going to leave him behind if that's what it takes to have peace of mind.

(fortunately for him, you didn't. your dislike for attention proves to be something he could use to his advantage, seeing how you crumbled under the feeling of many eyes turned towards you two when he whined and cried in the middle of the sidewalk, making a scene in broad daylight, taking his wrist in your grip, and dragging him along to your destination, making him match your speedy pace. he'll definitely keep this in mind for future use.)

the office was quiet, and you were alone in the room—switching between writing and reading a bunch of papers piled up near where you're sitting. despite having gone through just a few pieces of paper, the weight on your shoulders and back has gotten rather heavy, like you didn't stretch your limbs beforehand after waking up from your 5-hour rest. the silence was odd, to say the least, not that it wasn't unwelcome; it just made you curious about what your co-workers were up to, which made you not present in the office today. maybe yosano is out shopping, maybe kunikida and dazai were out chasing down criminals, and whatnot? maybe atsushi is helping out to solve a case with... him. the oh so great detective, fucking ranpo.

as much as he preached about how great he is and how everyone else in the detective agency respects and admires him, you were quite indifferent towards him in general. you aren't sure what everyone sees in him or what makes him so interesting that he's able to get this much attention—in other words, he's just plain boring in your eyes. actually, scratch that; he's more than boring; he's an absolute brat. he's whiny, always munching on his snacks so loudly, refusing to do work or cases sometimes, and acting like his super deduction is an ability. what's even worse is that he seems so determined to bother you constantly, every chance he gets. rarely are you left alone and left to breathe from the overwhelming detective—even if you are given a moment of peace, he'd come running back acting like an even bigger headache for you.

"(nameeeeeee)!" filling up the room with his shout, he pushed open the door with such force that it banged so loudly that the noise echoed to the other side. you could feel his attention on your back as silence once again filled the room. in the most coincidental (and worst) timing, the headache you were talking shit in your head comes into the office—a dreadful pit building up in your stomach as you mentally pray in your head for whatever ranpo is going to put you through this time. you could hear the skip in his footsteps. every step you take, more sweat starts rolling down your cheeks as you close your eyes and imagine a life without ranpo, without the suffocation of love and attention he gives you, without the anxious thoughts of being followed on your way home (you have major suspicions that it's ranpo but have nothing solid to prove it's him), without him blackmailing you into compliance, without-

dragging you out of your inner thoughts, the headache makes impactful contact with your back. "did you miss me? because i really missed you!" he says in a cheerful tone, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a tight grip and rubbing his cheeks against yours like someone would greet their lover when they miss them so much (he's doing it on purpose to make you uncomfortable, you think). to further prove your point, he smashes his lips against your cheek, not once, not twice, but multiple times in the same and adjacent areas of your cheek. if this had happened to you several months ago, the simple act of him trying to wrap his arms around your shoulders would make you go away from him as fast and as far as possible—even more so if he tried to kiss you, your water bills would skyrocket through the roof for how much time you would spend in the bathroom trying to scrub away the kiss on your cheek.

"no i didn't, actually" having gotten used to his (non-consensual) affection towards you, his actions do not faze you; on the outside, that is, there still remains that pit of disgust you used to have all those months ago. those urges to swat his body away from yours to give yourself some space are still there, yet you do nothing to act on any of them. you simply decide to indulge in whatever antics he has up his sleeves this time for the next few hours of your day—not that you had a choice, anyway.

(several times you've expressed discomfort at the physical touches he gives you during work hours, and several times you've expressed discomfort at the physical touches he gives you during work hours, and several times he intentionally ignores it for his own benefit. the one time he went overboard was when he made himself comfortable on your lap, handed you several sweet snacks you assumed he got from his secret stash, and forced you to hand-feed him until he was satisfied. to say this stunt of his hindered your productivity would be an understatement. you were way behind your planned schedule by the time you finished hand-feeding him all the sweet snacks.

just as you were about to ask him to get off, he suddenly grabbed your wrist, saying something about "there's still some crumbs left!" which confused the fuck out of you until you felt the wet sensation of a tongue licking your fingers. the horrors expressed on your face seemed to further encourage the amused ranpo, as he started sucking on your fingers too! neither of you two brought up that incident again, though you're glad he hasn't done this again; you aren't sure how well you were going to handle the next one.)

"i guess you could say smart men are my type," you say rather subconsciously without any thought or care of your co-workers' reaction to your answer, instead putting all your focus on your computer screen and continuing to type away as you hear several gasps and 'no way's from your left side.

"(name), are you.. sure smart men are your type?" there was hesitation in their voice, disbelief even—like they didn't believe you the first time. "uhh.. yeah? i didn't really give much thought, but intelligence is hot, i guess," you said once again, answering in the same manner you did the first time. you weren't sure what they were trying to get out of this conversation, but if you had to guess, most likely they're attempting to set you up on a blind date. "..alright, if you say so.." they say, ultimately ending the conversation and switching topics to avoid making the awkwardness linger in the atmosphere.

(little did you and your co-workers know, the great detective was listening in on the whole conversation. hearing every word that came out of your mouth, to say he stumbled upon your little talk on accident would be a lie—he doesn't go to such lengths without a reason. to say he's surprised by your type of men like your co-workers were would be another lie, but he's quite puzzled. if smart men are your type, why do you always seem to give the expression that you're disgusted by him? no matter, as a detective, it's his job to uncover every bit of mystery and solve for all the missing pieces.)

stepping out of the building, bidding farewell to your co-workers, and parting ways as you walk to your house, taking extra caution by putting your keys between your fingers in case you were to be stalked by someone, especially a certain someone you've been trying to avoid all day long...

"(naaameeeee)!!" and speak of the devil; he shows up to come and ruin your day just when you're about to go home—how fun. you let out a tired sigh and turned around to see ranpo running towards you at full speed. the sight set off alarm bells in your head, so on impulse, you tried to get out of his way and hoped he ran too fast that he ended up hitting a light pole straight in the face. yet it seems this day of yours wouldn't be so lucky, because suddenly he grabs your shirt, pulls you a little lower to his height, and then kisses you on the lips.

your eyes widen in shock, momentarily stunned for a second, before you feel your instincts kick in and roughly push him away.

"ranpo, what the fuc-!?"

suddenly you feel an unexpected impact hitting your chest, emitting a surprising noise from your mouth, making you cut off mid-sentence. ranpo buries his face underneath your chin, rubbing against your skin with his cheek like it's a pillow—opening your mouth. you tried to protest once more against him, but nothing came out. the sudden feeling of a pair of arms wrap around your torso and your arms holding you in a tight grip, sending the message that he doesn't want to let you go. after what felt like eternity to you, he looks up and shows you the poutiest expression you've ever seen him make.

"no! i'm not going anywhere, and neither are you! we're stuck together now; i'll make sure of it!"

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

PLEASE DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION + REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

[brain-rot-central]

ok so has anyone made a list of things that Astarion said that had a different meaning than first thought?

For example, if you tell Astarion when you first meet that you’re Baldurian as well, he says they must not be in the same social circle. With the way he talks and dresses it seems like he’s implying you’re lower class, but later it becomes clear you’re not those petty criminals or brothel goers that he targets. (And there’s the separate “of course it’ll turn me into a monster” line that becomes obvious later.)

He reveals he fears breaking his nail to the dryad, and it seems shallow but we learn he’s traumatized by digging himself out of his coffin, and the year he endured being trapped inside a coffin and desperately scratching and breaking his nails off as punishment, which is also why he refuses to dig anyone out like Nere.

Also, he mentioned he targeted brothel visitors, and at first it sounds like he just waited outside those establishments for victims, but then if you visit the drow twins he mentions he never thought he’d be on the paying end, plus if you choose one of the twins then Astarion says you have a type for elven prostitutes. And if you really think about it, considering how Petras’ lines are similar to Astarion’s, it wouldn’t be weird to imagine Cazador forcing them to work at a brothel for a few years as training…

Some of Astarion’s lines have a lot to unpack

Many things Astarion says are doublespeak. It's a common coping mechanism used by trauma survivors to "make peace," in a way with what they went through. It's not until you've played through his whole story that you understand that, and honestly it breaks my heart. He has a lot of self-depreciating language. Little quips here and there where you realize he's not only commenting on the current situation but himself, as well.

The monster line in the beginning gets me the most, because he follows it up with, "What did I expect?" For the first time in 200 years, he's able to stand in the sun without burning. He's grappling with that entire realization while also readjusting to there being light and color in the world, and probably was looking at the whole Nautiloid experience as something slightly positive... only to learn that no, this is not something positive. In fact, it's horrendous, because if it's not rectified, he'll become a grotesque monster, worse than he already is. And idk, that guts me. He has this small glimmer of hope for the first time in two centuries, all to realize that it's a giant farce.

But, Astarion is also stubborn, so he holds onto this small glimmer of hope to see if there's a way he can work the tadpole to his advantage. So that he can continue to walk in the sun. Once he realizes that Cazador's compulsion has been interrupted due to the tadpole, he doubles down on wanting to keep the tadpole and control it.

Astarion's story is such a beautiful portrayal of what being in survival mode feels and is like. You're so entirely desperate to make it out of your current situation that you would quite literally give anything and everything to obtain it, even if it means burning the entire world down around you.

The elven prostitute line made me laugh when I first heard it; I knew he was referring to himself and trying to make some light humor about his past, but it's also heartbreaking to realize he sees himself as one. He hasn't yet taken the grace with himself to distinguish between being forced into that line of work vs who he actually is. The lines are still blurred.

I can't think about the intricacies of his background/personality too long, because it all feels way too familiar to me. To know even a smidge of the despair he probably felt for years and the constant mental and physical struggle he endured (there's even disordered eating/food insecurity in his back story too and no one really talks much about it; Cazador purposely kept all the spawn near-starving as a form of control).

Our boy was severely abused and neglected and I really just want to give him a fucking hug.

[akingdomscrypt]

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Two

Pairing; Graves x male!reader (slow burn)

Word Count; ~4k

Warnings; slight dehumanization near end (not of reader), implied human trafficking (not of reader), panic attacks, dissociation, implied burning alive (no death)

A/n; I highly recommend reading the newest König part (here) first to avoid the spoiler for that fic near the end.

--- "clocks, phone calls, and bad decisions" ---

It had taken months for all of your Shadows to piece themselves back together again. For that little spark in their eyes to relight. Some of them had adapted quicker than others–those who had been in the game longer, those who had already seen their fair share of horrors–while the majority had a much, much more difficult time.

Afflicted with nightmares and a slew of mental irregularities they hadn't had before. It got so bad with some of them that you had given them all the choice to stay or leave. Another thing he would never have even considered. Not until the contract was complete.

Most of them were misfits of some kind; either dead to the world or long since without outside connections. So it hadn't really been a surprise when, even given the option, none of them had jumped the gun at the opportunity to leave.

Underneath the hard exoskeleton of emotional blockades and shitty coping mechanisms, they all just wanted to fit in. Wanted a place to belong. And your Shadows had found that here, even after the slaughter, with the company. With him. With you.

You were the one to catch them when they fell. To stitch up their wounds with your less-than-ideal medical knowledge when there wasn't a more qualified individual around. To provide adequate support and feedback. And, like right now, to offer comfort and security during their most vulnerable times.

Here in the darkness of one of your Shadows' rooms. Their roommate, though you knew he was awake, kept his breathing even and faced the wall. Pretending not to hear the hushed sobs of the Shadow huddled in your arms. Clutching onto your sweater like their life depended on it.

Nightmares. They plagued a majority of the soldiers here and always had. It wasn't anything new. But after the events of that godforsaken city–the mass murder, the cries, the fire–it had cracked your Shadows' minds. Splintering that delicate balance between emotional dissonance and their own humanity.

When it had become clear that these nightmares were affecting even your most strong-willed soldiers, leaving them jittery and lost in another world most of the time, you had made an offer.

At first, your Shadows had been hesitant, afraid to admit to their crumbling mental fortitude, afraid to be so vulnerable around someone who was supposed to be their leader. Then, after a few weeks and a couple of overheard panic attacks, the unspoken rule that what happened during the blanket of night stayed under that shield of darkness became apparent. And more of your soldiers had accepted your help.

So here you'd sit, letting their tears stain your shirt and humming a soft lullaby. Rubbing soothing circles into their back, using your mere presence to give them something to ground themself with.

Some even anonymously tipped you off to a fellow Shadow in need when said soldier was too ashamed to ask you themselves, or you'd failed to notice.

Of course, there were some who didn't want your help. Or didn't need it. But the offer was always there.

Months later and the majority of them had calmed, no longer needing your assistance. But there were still a select few who you would check up on during your nightly rounds. Listening for hitched breaths and shuddering sobs.

You wait until the tremors wracking through their body calm and then stop completely. Sit there and patiently wait for their breathing to slow and eventually even out, keep up that low hum until you're certain they've drifted back to sleep. Even then you hold out a little longer, pick up on the subtle signs of their roommate relaxing back into his bed on the other side of the room, soft snores filling up the dark, otherwise silent room. Then, and only then, do you slide them off of your lap, make sure they're comfortable, and quietly slip out of the room.

The hall lights are dimmed, the compound almost completely empty of life–apart from the occasional Shadow on guard here and there–as you make your way up to that dreadfully grey office you call your own.

Your steps are quick, silent, and efficient. Not allowing the shadows in the corners of your vision to twist and become sentient; the thrum of the overhead air conditioning to become whispered mutterings of your late colleagues.

Telling you you are the reason for their death.

It's your fault. all your fault

If only you'd

been better.

Blaming you, picking you apart. Vultures on your burnt, rotting corpse. Dead. Just like you should be.

If only

you

had been

better.

Taking the stairs, two steps at a time, as opposed to the elevator to provide enough of a distraction as you head to the third floor.

You should have been there. Why hadn't you been there for them??

Why'd you leave?

Abandon them. You abandoned them. It should have been you.

Why wasn't it you??

You should have done more. Should've kept them alive. That was your job. Why did you kill them??

Your mask is wet, the damp fabric clinging to the marred skin living half-dead beneath. Heart beating erratically, painful, and fluttering against your ribcage. Cage. Trying to break free. A gloved hand your hand? curling around metal. Metal should be cold, it's not. You're cold.

Why are you cold? Cold like the dead man you are. A walking corpse.

It's hot. You should be burning- you are burning. The metal is hot. You're hot. Melting, bleeding, suffocating.

Air isn't reaching your lungs,

Stinging smoke and ash sticking and coagulating in your throat. Wet. Wet with your own blood. Warm and wet.

Sticking to your skin, no, melting. Welding.

Becoming one with your flesh

Wet.

When had you started crying?

Something is blaring. Ringing and piercing through the stagnant air.

Tick, tick, tick.

That's your clock. Your clock. In your office.

You open your eyes and are greeted with the bright, artificial light fixated on the ceiling. The ceiling of your office. Your office.

Tick, tick, tick.

Not burning. Not bleeding. Not suffocating.

When had you sat down?

You're in your office. Your office. Not that metal deathtrap. Not being cooked alive in the fire. No smoke in your lungs, no ache in your limbs. No fabric melting into your skin, flesh giving way and exposing fat and muscle.

No. Just you. Alive. In your office.

Tick, tick, tick.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, taking a few deep, measured breaths. Inhale. Hold. One, two, three. Exhale. Repeat.

Onetwothree, exhale.. Inhale. onetwothree-

What is that ringing?

You peel your hands away from your face, take another calming breath, and try to pinpoint the source of that shrill noise. The only things on your desk are papers, more paperwork, that stack of recruitment forms, pens, pencils, that damn landline phone you never use- oh. Right.

Ringing. Phone. Phone ringing. Of course.

Tick, tick, tick.

Your gaze zeros in on the muted grey object, red light flashing, that damn ringtone still blaring. You don't want to answer it. Not for the usual reason; not because picking up the phone means talking to another human being are you even still human? No.

This call causes your heart rate to spike again, the panic you had just managed to get under control stirring once more. Ice-cold dread fills your lungs as opposed to the burning taste of flames and acrid smoke from before.

No one calls. Not from that phone. No one but her.

It started a little over a month after you all made it back home. A shrill ringing of your desk landline, only ever one person on the other side. You didn't know her name, she never told you it. She knew yours. She knew far too much about you. And you knew nothing of her.

Nothing but an offer. The same goddamn offer.

There was no predictability to when she'd call, just that you were always there when it happened. And it never stopped ringing.

No matter how much you ignored it. You had no choice but to pick it up, hold the device to your ear and whisper,

"Lieutenant _____ speaking, who is this?" Even though you knew damn well who was on the other line.

"Ah, Lieutenant," she'd purr, that thick Russian accent only reaffirming what you already knew. "I'm not calling you at bad time, no?"

"Not at all." You'd force out, walking through the same script you did every other call–well, less like walking and more like trudging through a fucking swamp.

"Good. Good." She'd hum, then ask; "have you given any thought to my offer?"

"Not any more than usual." A small, condescending tut on her end.

"Mm.. you know, we are not that different. You and I." You had nothing in common.

"I hire soldiers by the contract, you raise killers. We are not the same." Killers with little to no morals, from your understanding.

"I mass produce expertly-trained combat warriors."

"Right."

"I take it the answer is still no?"

"..."

"Very well, Lieutenant. I give you little more time." Click. And just like that, the conversation was over. Didn't last long, they never did. The same damn thing every. single. time.

You hated the way she said it, like she was just biding her time. Like you would eventually say yes. As if it were inevitable.

You force yourself to loosen the near-death grip you had on the poor phone, placing it down on the receiver with a little more force than necessary.

It was late. You should try to get some sleep, or maybe finally take a look through those recruitment files. You most definitely should not be standing up, pushing away from your desk, and walking out the door. Only one destination in mind.

You shouldn't be doing this. Not after whatever the fuck happened before the call. Not after the damned call. Not when you were already feeling unstable, when your temper was shot and you could still hear that damn tick, tick, tick echoing through your ears.

None of that stops you and now here you are. Having briefly dismissed the two Shadows you had guarding the door, you now stood alone in the vacant corridor. In front of a locked door, the key gripped tight in your gloved hand.

You haven't visited him since he first arrived. That was a week ago. You shouldn't be here; he was probably asleep.

But, for fuck's sake, you weren't in the best shape right now. And you really, really didn't care if you did wake the fucker up.

At least you had the decency to knock.

Once.

You stand there at the foot of the small cot with your arms crossed firmly over your chest, silently fuming at the man who laid on it. Like a damn creep.

He hadn't changed, not really. At least not physically. Nothing of note besides his slightly smaller frame, a few shallow burn scars here and there, and the fact that his hair has grown out a little.

He otherwise looked the same. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest.

No. He didn't get to do that to you. Not anymore. Not after all the shit he's put you- all of you through. Not when your Shadows still came to you, shaking in their boots, stuttering about the horrors their minds had conjured up. Waking and not.

It was unfair how he lay there, mostly unscathed, while your own body was a burnt, mutilated corpse. An almost physical representation of your own faults; your greatest sins manifesting in thick, tightened tissue and stretched muscle. The disgusting, foul parts of yourself are laid bare for the world to see.

And, he, an almost blank slate despite his own immorality.

It wasn't fair.

You stand there, silently seething and glaring down at the man's almost lifeless body–was he tormented by memories of that night, just as you were? You'd think he was dead if you couldn't see the faint rise and fall of his chest. So far deep, lost in your thoughts, that you don't realize he's woken until that voice you hoped you'd never hear again pierces your eardrums.

"Phantom..?" He grumbles, still half asleep but starting to become more lucid the longer you stand there. You should leave, let him keep sleeping, maybe pass this off as a dream and come at another time-

You are rooted to the ground. The standardized, thin, grey carpet below your feet, under your boots. Still more than he deserves.

"Don't call me that."

"Call you what?" He huffs, that damn self-assured smirk worming its way onto his face. You hated it. You used to love it. "Your name?"

"It's not my name. Not anymore." He's the one who gave it to you in the first place. You couldn't stand to hear it spoken, especially by him. He didn't deserve the honor. You hated the way it made your chest seize, your breath catch.

"Since when?" You hated how it made you remember.

"Since now." Since over half your squad died. Since you all slaughtered an entire town–innocent adults and children–in search of one fucking criminal. Since Viper Shadow 0-9 ended up in a fucking coma. Since that damn tank. Since your uniform melted and became one with your skin.

"Why did you come here, Phantom?" He sighs, moving to sit up. The thin, standardized blanket pooled around his waist. He brings up a hand to card through his hair, giving you a tired, almost annoyed stare. "Did ya come here just to stir up some shit? To blow off some steam maybe?"

You didn't know why you were here. You were angry, sure, furious, even. And you were in the same room as him, staring back at the same man who haunted thrived in your dreams. The man who- it's his fault.

All his fault.

"And what's with the-" he makes a vague gesture at you, then his own face. "I thought you didn't like the uniform? Something about it "separating us from our own humanity" or whatever cryptic bullshit. Though you did greenlight the choice in the end, so ya couldn't have hated 'em that much."

Why are you here? He was just making everything worse.

Tick, tick, tick-

Why the hell was there another fucking clock in this room??

You stew in your own fuming anger, glaring daggers down at the other man. The man who had ruined you.

Even before the betrayal.

"There's much to talk about."

"Right." He deadpans. "In the middle of the goddamn night?"

"It's four in the morning."

He sighs again, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. Forgot how technical you could be."

"Thought that's what you liked about me?" Oh, hell. Welp. This is where it was going. Right.

Should've known you wouldn't be able to keep those weak, useless fucking emotions to yourself.

You used to be wonderful at that. Until him.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Ah, is this what we're doing? Really, Phantom? Right now?"

"I told you not to call me that."

"You're also the one bringing up our past relations, so fucking deal with it, yeah?"

You used to be the mellow one, a clear thinker. Following but also guiding him when he sunk too deep into his own personal hell of a mind.

"You survived."

That was then. This is now.

"Yeah, I did. Is that really such a surprise?"

A lot has changed. And you really, really were tired of that cocky fucking smile of his.

"I was really hoping you hadn't." You grit out in that usual monotone voice of yours.

It was a little harsh, a little brutal. And to anyone else–anyone who didn't know you, not like he did used to–it would seem flat, blunt. But he knew better, could hear every bit of malice, each drop of venom that twisted through every word you forced past your lips.

He deserved every word–and more.

His mouth forms a thin line, eyebrows pulling together in a small frown. It felt almost good. To wipe that damn self-satisfied smirk off of his face.

You wanted to keep going. To lay it on thick. To give him what he deserved–to force him to face all the shit he's put you all of you through–, or at least come close.

Now you both stood on the same side of the spectrum. From hot and cold to an all-consuming inferno. A double-edged sword. Twin flames; in the worst possible way.

Tick, tick, tick.

"You've changed." That is all he says. Not at all the burning fire you had been expecting. The bite and sting you were used to.

No shit. You want to say. You don't.

Because he's right. You have changed.

And you're not entirely sure you're too fond of who you're becoming. Who you've already become.

Tick, tick, tick.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of an answer, you effortlessly withdraw a small, sleek throwing knife from your person. Launching it towards him but not at him.

Striking that damned clock in the center of its face. Piercing the glass but not shattering it.

Tick, tick, tick.

It still works perfectly fine, to your great disappointment. And slight embarrassment; you find yourself thankful for your mostly covered face.

"Damn." He whistles, looking back at the blade protruding from the clock. Then back to you, that smug expression back to being firmly in place on that stupid face of his. "Am I gettin' under your skin, Phantom? I thought it was supposed to be the other way around? Isn't that why you came here?"

You exhale sharply through your nose, tearing your gaze away from that giant man-child and snapping to the door instead.

Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline thrumming through your veins. Not out of fear this time, no, not at all like earlier. It's anger this time.

Pure, unfiltered rage and burning hatred simmering just beneath the surface. Fighting to be free.

You decide you quite like this new feeling. It was so rare you gave yourself the opportunity to feel it.

"You've changed, Phantom." He drawls again, this time less factual and more taunting. You hate it. You love it. It feeds the fire in you. "You've become just like me."

Oh.

No.

The warm adrenaline that has been pumping through your blood abruptly comes to a halt. Cold hard dread freezing in your veins instead.

Hell no.

Stiff as steal, you turn, not bothering to look back at him, and make for the door. Locking it behind you.

The Shadow you give the key back to doesn't question your trembling hands, simply returning to guard duty.

You're numb as you make your way upstairs again. Not even tormented by the usual slew of negativity and hallucinations.

You're not real, simply observing the world from an outsider's perspective. Watching yourself stroll down one corridor, then another, before making it to your office door.

You witness yourself unlocking the door, turning the knob, and walking inside. Sitting at your desk, you don't even register the feel of it beneath you.

Tick, tick, tick.

Maybe you should start combing through those recruitment forms.The company needed more bodies. In case of another unprecedented incident.

A notification popping up on the screen of your laptop brings your world to a stop.

It's from the Captain. You had been waiting to hear back from him since that first meeting had been so rudely interrupted.

You click on it–expecting a new date to make up for the last call, or maybe an apology for taking so long to get back to you–, read through those three brief sentences and all the bubbling rage you'd felt earlier quickly snaps back into its rightful place.

You push away from your desk before your brain even has the chance to register what you're doing. Gloved hands in your hair, fingers tangling into whatever you can grab. Tugging and pulling as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Pacing, breaths coming out in short pants as you desperately try to ground yourself.

Notagainnotagainnotagain-

The phone is ringing.

Tick, tick, tick.

Eyes flying open, body coming to an abrupt pause, you lock onto the offending noise.

Not right now. You couldn't deal with this right now. Not when so high strung. Not when you were feeling impulsive and out of control.

She already called once, why is she calling again? So soon?

You should ignore it. Deal with it later, when you've calmed down a bit. When was the last time you got some sleep anyway?

It takes one more ring and then you're stalking over to your desk.

One hand gripping the edge of the metal ledge firmly, the other snatches the phone off the receiver.

"How are you, Lieutenant?"

"I don't have time for this." You growl out, your voice is unrecognizable. Even to yourself.

"Have time for what? I'm just checking in."

"You already called."

A pause. You'd had one hell of a shitty day, Captain Price's blatant dismissal of you and your company was really just the icing on the cake.

She was talking. "-they don't need to be broken in. They take orders easily, without question. Every one of them-" Singing praise about the same offer she'd given you time and time again.

An email. He hadn't even had the decency or respect to call you. Didn't think you were worthy of more than a few clipped lines.

That they were busy. Didn't have time for you.

That they had more pressing issues to attend to. You weren't a priority.

"Yes."

"Sorry? Can you repeat that?" You know damn well she heard it. You didn't have the energy for this back-and-forth bullshit.

"What can you do for me?"

"Well," she purrs. "I already have one of my Predators claws-deep in that precious little task force…"

At that moment, you wanted to crush Price and his little soldier boys like the pests they were.

"And?" You can tell she's enjoying this and maybe one day you'll come to regret it all. But that day is not today, dammit, and you're tired of being a doormat.

"I can send you one of my Predators, one of the best. Maybe it could teach your Shadows a trick or two."

"Sounds perfect." The old you would've never agreed to this, would never have even considered it.

But the old you wasn't here right now. This new version was. And this new version refused to be bothered by it.

Refused to be like him.

Because, if you were already heading down that path, why not become worse than him? Make him regret ever uttering those words.

Tick, tick, tick.

Make him regret ever crossing you.

"That's great! I'm glad you have come to your senses, Lieutenant." You and her both. For better or worse. "You'll have it by the end of the week."

That regret came sooner than you thought it would.

You stand there a little for a little while longer after the call ends, phone rumbling the low hum of dead air in your hand.

The overwhelming rage has finally calmed to a simmer, the reality of your choices crashing down on you.

What have you done?

At least that meant no more calls.. right? There had to be some positivity to this.

Tick, tick, tick.

The phone drops from your hand, caught only by its wire as it hangs off your desk. The off-hook tone is still blaring from the speaker.

You're standing on the unstable metal of your desk, reaching, then sitting on that same surface. Clock in hand.

Tick, tick, tick.

Rough fabric scrabbling at the latch in the back. Yanking, pulling, peeling back broken plastic and grabbing at wires.

Tick, tick, tick.

Pulling on them, breaking them. Red, yellow, black, blue; you don't care. It all has to go.

Tick, tic-

Finally. Finally. Quiet at last. No more ticking. Just you. Just you; alone, in your office.

Surrounded by a massacre of black, disfigured plastic and colorful wire. On your hands, on your lap, on your desk.

It's almost poetic. How it looks like you.

It's finally quiet.

And so are you.

__

Masterpost | One | Next

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[episims]

So here's my allowance for this long ramble about why that last pic is important to me. Thank you @esotheria-sims ❤️

I played Jonas' first round knowing he was in a horrid state. He had fled from a mutually abusive relationship fearing for his life (he's never properly admitted that) and must've gone through alcohol withdrawal on his trip to Foxfire. Instead of processing what had happened, he went right back to his old coping mechanisms: numbness and approval drinking and men.

And so he ran into Julian. At the time, Julian was quite disconnected from daily matters and frankly full of himself (as was Jonas). Some might remember that it quickly came up that Julian was some kind of prodigy working on top-secret research.

It made Julian very appealing to Jonas. How to put this in short... approval had only ever meant anything to Jonas when it came from someone with the correct status. He's pulled to authorities and power figures and nothing turns him on like a little power play (by his own rules). Never mind that he already burned his whole life down once by doing exactly that.

But, as history and Esotheria remember, Jonas was impatient and Julian wasn't ready to hop in the bed with a near stranger. So Jonas ended up at this bar to mope about getting struck out.

Cloud, on the other hand, was indeed dating Mel. It worked great for him! It had little potential for anything beyond a casual fling but that's how he prefers it, as carefree as possible. He's that kind of polyamorous person who likes to have all the fun but none of the responsibilities of relationships.

Of course it stang Cloud a bit that Julian kept turning him down, but it wasn't very different from a kid with a bag of candies being sour about not getting a lollipop. He'd be able to get over it.

So I had one sim power-tripping in a self-destructive way and another chasing a permanent sugar rush. But you got to believe it didn't even remotely cross my mind that they could hook up. They have different personalities and Cloud surely isn't a power figure while Jonas is pretty much the opposite of carefree.

Yet I found myself staring at Cloud swooning over Jonas at the same literal second he caught the first glimpse of him.

It was shitty for Julian, of course. He had developed a crush on Jonas, even though he had turned him down. But at this moment, it didn't matter. Cloud wasn't aware that Jonas had been out with Julian and Jonas was clueless that Cloud knew him.

That's the essence of this picture, I think. Cloud and Jonas reacted to each other instantly and undeniably, without having ulterior motives to do so. It was just their in-game chemistry and it was so easy to write, too! Because (even as this is a big cliché): it wasn't the kind of relationship they thought they wanted, but it was the relationship they needed to get off their personal mental treadmills.

With time, it proved to Jonas that an easygoing biologist with more poor jokes than ambition was the most special person he'd ever meet. And it proved to Cloud that facing problems and enduring hardship only made his relationships better, not worse.

For anyone who read all the way here, thanks for joining my Ted talk!

[weebsinstash]

Not gonna lie if I were the reader after they got replaced by YouTwo I would be a neurotic mess lmao. I already mental issues but I can't imagine going through their trauma on top of everything. I would definitely be scratching myself again out of sheer stress and anxiety about whether or not everybody will replace me again. My arms would look horrible. Oh boy imagine everybody's reaction to realizing they've messed up this badly and absolutely ruined the reader

Other people: fun ways we can write! Coffee shop au! Red string of fate! Hanahaki! Enemies to lovers!

me: what if I sat and tried to seriously and realistically contemplate the ramifications of a severely traumatic experience and the following neurotic habits that arise from the spiral down

Reader gets back to Spider Society, either glitching back in or "being rescued" whatever, and, you're just doing shit like digging food out of the trash "you'd never guess what kinds of perfectly good stuff people throw away, and it saves time to not have to wait for anything to be prepped! Never know when you'll vanish in the middle of a meal or that one serial killer will pop out at you again!! Ahaha!

Someone comes to check on you and you deadass have a fucking, tripwire web trap all around you, you're not even sleeping in a bed you're in your own webbing (because we rock organic webbing here because it fucks) so the second anything like, opens the door of your apartment or comes near you, you're instantly aware. Peter B comes in "heeeey, just wanna check in, make sure you're doing ok--" and there's fucking web wires rattling cans as he opens the front door and suddenly you're wide awake with an actual fucking knife or some kind of equally brutal survivalist weapon and it takes you a few seconds to fully snap out of it and let him calm you down and he has to tell Miguel You Are In Fact Not Doing Ok

You've got real "scaring all your loved ones and everyone around you" energy during those times you're just like going through some manic shit, opening your mouth and going on a sudden 'epiphany' like "i know what would help!! I'm gonna start cutting my face in really visible prominent places and that way you guys will know by the scar who I am :) and when it heals I'll cut myself again :) and again :) maybe I should just cut off a finger, how many of me do you think are missing fingers? Or maybe I could give myself a cool scar!!" And it's just like. What the fuck do they even say to that. A lot of them just genuinely could cry over this, seeing what this did to you. You sound genuinely cheerful at the realization and give no mind to how casually you just suggested self harm out of paranoia and self preservation.

You're just having like hard-core eating disorder issues going from overeating to undereating, binging because you're suffer9ng trauma from starving and then starving yourself "no its fasting, I'm FASTING to save food and money and resources, ok, I can only fit so much in my backpack and--"

You have this backpack from your multiversal glitching travels and keeping it with you basically 24/7 even when you go to the bathroom becomes a comfort habit, because, "never know when your camp has been found by the runners and you've gotta make a break for it" or some other cryptic memory you babble at them like you're discussing coffee when it could be one of the most vile horrifying things they've ever heard

I think the most interesting but tricky thing I've thought of is, what if Reader's trauma-humor coping mechanism gets dialed up to 11 and you can basically never turn it off because, your brain is protecting yourself. It's like you're Doing A Bit but literally all the time like some traumatized method actor and you're just, they're never sure if you're actually telling the truth or actually recounting things you experienced after a while

"Oh man the last time I ate a meal this big was when I finally stopped glitching and I had to break into someone's house and rob them for food! Just call me Santa Claus! But this Earth had suffered a nuclear fallout so all they had was like, DRY CRACKERS and, a lotta canned stuff, icky, and, I was in the middle of trying to pry a tin of lil cocktail weenies open with my teeth when the irradiated house centipedes smelled my blood, just imagine like a normal centipede but, like, the size of a Shetland pony, hey, friendship really IS magic right, and me and these centipedes got SO close, so anyways they smelled my blood, right, and it made them hungry, and--" and here you got like The Entire Squad speechless, Hobies just over here like "fuck, I don't even know what to say to that, you want some ketamine bruv" and yall just hit em with "nah last time I tried ketamine I had a fever dream of being replaced by an evil clone and I was shunned by all my close friends who i thought of like family. Oh wait, that was you guys! That's awkward!"

[vaughnwrites]

Stressed Out

adaman x reader

(after a hell of a long hiatus, i am back from the dead! kinda. so, i'm not going to promise anything anymore as i apparently never know when inspiration is going to strike, and i never know where the hyperfixation will take me. i was trying to get this out for nine months now, but this was... not coming until tonight. sorry y'all for the wait, but here it is after all this time! also, this is my longest one to date. the others barely scratched 1000 words, some managing 1700, but this one... is a beast. it's near 3000 words. the inspiration to write struck me hard. hope you guys enjoy! )

reader is gender-neutral. they/them pronouns will be used if any pronouns at all.

finally, i bring to you this prompt

—

Everything was overwhelming.

The past few weeks, the stress had been mounting as you fought tooth and nail to be seen as an asset rather than a nuisance. You wore yourself down to the bone, putting your heart and soul trying to please everyone so the suspicion would die down only for it to mount more and more with people with each passing day. You had already been cast out once, and earned your way back into the Galaxy team. So why were people still suspicious? How much would you have to do to gain everyone’s trust? Why did you constantly have to fight for everyone’s approval?

Why did the other clan leaders believe in you more than your own clan did?

All you craved was somewhere to call home again. Somewhere you could rest your head at night and simply sleep, rather than spending all your time being anxious about one wrong perceived move and you’d be kicked out of the village again. The stress felt like it was piling up on your already tense shoulders, and you felt so overwhelmed. 

Everything was overwhelming.

Instead of slamming your fists into the first and cursing everyone to please, for the love of all that is holy, give me some credit — you got to work. Like always.

You’d overheard about a Zorua outbreak in the Alabaster Icelands, which was exactly what you needed. A young man in the village had asked to see the completed entry for Zorua, so this would be the perfect opportunity to finally cross this Pokemon off your to-do list. So, off you set toward the Pearl Clan settlement so you could check in in case something goes wrong. Even though you were far more trusting of Pokemon than others around you, you still didn’t underestimate the ones that were absolutely ready to kill you in a moment’s notice. Alpha Pokemon were far more angry than any other Pokemon you’d come across in your time.

Arriving in the Pearl settlement, the snow softly crunching under your boots, you hear not one, but two familiar voices to the side. Oh, Adaman is here as well. You vaguely remember them talking about a meeting about… something about traditions, or something? The details were fuzzy. You have been focusing far more on your own tasks and stresses than anything else.

Irida noticed your presence almost immediately and smiles, waving you over. Adaman joined along when he sees you as well.

“Well, our favourite Galaxy member is here! How are you?”

“I’m good, Irida, thank you.” You offer her a kind smile, keeping all your stresses tucked away neatly into a corner of your mind. Put them in a box, and file it away. Not the healthiest coping mechanism, but one that’ll at least get you through this. “How are you guys doing?”

“We’re just discussing our cultures and possibly having a party to mingle the clans a little easier,” Adaman responded easily, throwing up his three fingers as a hello with his signature grin that never fails to make you smile in return.

“Sounds like fun.”

“It isn’t.”

“Hey!” Irida responded, stomping her foot down with her hands clenched at her sides. “I’m not the one being unreasonable!”

“Yeah yeah,” he waved her off, then turned his attention toward you. “What brings you here?”

“There’s a Zorua outbreak around the Bonechill Wastes area, and I wanted to complete my research on this guy while I still have the chance.” You neglected to tell them someone from Galaxy wanted the information as well.

Adaman raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you have someone to come along with you?”

You opened your mouth to say no before Irida cuts in. “You volunteering? Provided you don’t freeze to death first,” she teased as she jabs him in the ribs playfully, and grinned at his responding yelp and pout. “Jesting aside — you really should have someone to accompany you. An Alpha Glalie tends to roam that area, and no one has dared to come close to it. It seems really powerful. I wouldn’t be comfortable with you going alone.”

Adaman pursed his lips in thought. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I feel like I’ve gotten a glimpse of that Glalie before.” He turned to Irida. “You said no one has come close to it before to know its true strength?”

She shook her head. “We’ve all been too scared to try.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem for me,” you interjected, trying to quell their fears. “After everything I’ve faced, it feels like I should be dead at minimum four times over.”

The clan leaders share a glance to each other. It seems they’re talking through just their looks, but what they could possibly be communicating is lost on you. “Adaman, please go with them. I would go if I didn’t have a meeting later on that I cannot miss. But I know you’ll keep them safe.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“No,” both clan leaders respond at the same time.

You were split on this decision. Deep down, you did really like Adaman — and not just as a friend. Any time spent with him you keep near and dear to your heart. His smile that could light up a room and his long hair that you wanted to card your fingers through. But with the stress you’ve been under and how overwhelmed you’ve been, you’re unsure if you can handle a couple hours of him bitching about how cold it was. One too many comments and you weren’t sure if you could keep it all bottled anymore.

Yet, you also knew having someone with you would be more helpful than not. You didn’t know how strong the Zorua were going to be after all. If they ended up being feisty and ganged up on you, there’s no way you’d leave the battle unscathed. Add an Alpha Glalie to the mix and you’d be dead as dust in less than a heartbeat. You weighed your options (which, technically, they weren’t giving you any) and finally caved in. You weren’t gonna win this fight anyway. “Think you can talk about more than how cold it is?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something. But if it wasn’t so damn cold I wouldn’t complain about it all the time.”

“It’s not even that cold!” Irida scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. “I don’t know how you don’t boil over in the Crimson Mirelands!”

“It’s barely warm enough there for me. It can get really cold by the water, y’know.”

“You’re both impossible,” you cut in to break off the sibling-esque fighting before it can truly start. “Now c’mon, I wanna get going before it gets dark outside.”

And off you and Adaman went, hands in your respective pockets.

You didn’t expect to fall in love with the Zorua like you did.

They were so cute with their flowy hair and expressive eyes. Most were on the attack if they saw you, but crouching down from a good distance away and just watching seemed to be okay. One had strayed away from the group toward you and Adaman, and you both held your breath so it wouldn’t notice you. It failed, as it did notice you, but it didn’t seem to be angry. It walked up to you slowly, and out of habit you gave it your hand to sniff so it wouldn’t see you as a threat.

It rubbed the side of its head against your hand, causing you to smile from ear to ear.

“You really do have a way with Pokemon, don’t you?” Adaman commented, watching everything with a small smile of his own. “They just trust you so implicitly. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

Your cheeks went up in flames at the compliment, but the cold would cover it up as they were already pretty red. “I think they can just sense that I’m not here to harm them.” You started to pet the Zorua behind its ear, causing its eyes to close. “Sometimes I feel like they’re the only ones that can.”

“What do you mean?”

Oops. You hadn’t meant for this to be a therapy session. “I just… I don’t know. I guess it feels like humans always think they’re about to be betrayed, stabbed in the back. One wrong move and you’re crucified. But Pokemon… They don’t seem to be that way. Some Pokemon can sense a good person when they see one. That seems to be… a lot more rare in humans.”

“I know you’re a good person,” Adaman said softly, putting one hand on your arm.

Before you can even think about a response or the fact he’s showing a more sensitive side of himself to you, a noise catches the three of you off guard.

“Shit,” you breathe, feeling your entire body freeze with fear. “The Alpha.”

You both bounce to your feet as the Alpha comes over the hill behind the Zorua and Adaman. You can see the Glalie is pissed off that people are invading its territory, and wants to get rid of the intruders. An ice beam begins to form, and before you can think, you jump in front of Adaman and the Zorua.

The blast hit you in full force.

Your fingers and feet go completely numb almost immediately, though it almost feels like you’re not even cold anymore. You almost feel warm, actually, and you know that’s an incredibly bad sign. The sky is a beautiful haze of orange and purple as the sun is setting behind the clouds, and for a moment you just take in the colours swirling in your vision. It feels like everything has a layer of clouds over it, and your mind feels stuffed full of cotton. Oh, this is probably a very bad sign.

You can hear a call of your name, as warbled and muffled as you heard it, but can’t really respond to it. Adaman lifted your torso and pressed your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you with his haori encasing you against him. The Zorua was curled in your lap, and you just felt… warm. You try to say thank you, but your lips feel tingly. Funny. You know you’re slurring even if you can’t hear much yourself. You try your hardest to communicate one word to Adaman.

“Camp.”

With that, though, you go unconscious.

—

You have no idea how much time has passed, but the next thing you know, you’re nice and warm in a tent. Blankets are stacked on top of you, and the fire in the furnace is crackling softly. You’re cozy and warm, but something feels… different. You sit up a bit, and promptly look down.

Oh. You’re definitely not wearing the clothes that you were wearing when you were out hunting for Zorua. You were wrapped up in a yukata that you didn’t recognise, but definitely knew the pearl clan symbol and colours. You wrapped it closer to yourself, then wrapped the blankets around you tightly for warmth. The clothes you had been wearing were hanging over a rack by the stove, seemingly drying off after the long day they’d been through.

You didn’t really know what to do. You’re not even sure what you managed to accomplish for research, or what you’re wearing, or what time it is, or really… anything. You don’t know anything that’s happened since you were out with Adaman. Now, it seems you’re alone in this little area. 

The tears fall before you even really mean them to.

When the first teardrop hit your hand, you realised what’s going on. The stress of everything was finally boiling over now that you feel comfortable and safe. You’re confused, but you’re comfortable and safe which is all you’ve wanted to feel for a while.

You allowed yourself to cry.

Trying not to be loud, you cry silently to yourself while wrapped up in blankets and the yukata, pulling the items tightly against you so you feel swaddled. You rock back and forth and let yourself have your small breakdown.

Until Adaman popped open the tent flaps to check on you, apparently.

Almost immediately your hands fly to your face to cover your tear-tracked cheeks and red eyes, burying your face into the softness of the blanket. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. But all it takes is him walking up and gently touching the top of your hair before you break completely.

The stress of everything came boiling over the edge, the fear of almost dying, the unknown of whether the research you obtained was enough to complete the entry on Zorua, whether you would have a home to go back to in Galaxy. Everything boiled up and you pressed the top of your head into Adaman’s stomach to cry.

He rubbed your back and shoulders gently as you sobbed, gently shushing you and reassuring you that you were safe, you were okay, everyone was okay. He was the much-needed rock in your mind to cling to so your head stayed above the water of emotions. Everything was going to be fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

Eventually your tears slowed and your breathing evened out, pulling away from Adaman to give him room and let him back up if he wanted. (You couldn’t help but notice he didn’t.) “I’m sorry. I didn’t… mean to break down.”

“You’ve been through a lot today, it’s understandable why you would.” Adaman sat down on the bed next to you and handed you a towel to wipe your face. “You’re in a spare tent right now, one they have set out for visitors or harmed individuals found in the wild. Do you remember what happened?”

You nodded, refusing to speak any words.

“You really scared me, y’know. When I saw that ice blast hit you, I… I saw you skid backward in the snow, and your lips were already blue. That was one of the scariest moments of my life, but I’m glad I went with you to keep you safe. Makes me want to go everywhere with you to always make sure you’re safe.”

An eyebrow raised as you look at him. “Wouldn’t that be a waste of your time?”

“Saving you wasn’t a waste of time. And I’d do it all over again, and again, just to keep you safe.”

You’re stunned speechless. You don’t know how to respond with words, so you do the next best appropriate thing — hug him. It starts as a side hug that quickly develops into a full hug, and by the way you’re both gripping each other… it seems neither one of you wants to let go.

“Adaman…” you whispered, holding him tightly. “Thank you. I couldn’t ask for a better —” you pause. You can’t say friend. He’s more than a friend at this point, in your heart, but that’s not something you can say. “— for a better person in my life. You’ve been so helpful to me, and I just… I’m so thankful for you.”

You can feel him smile against your shoulder, which makes you smile. “And I, you.”

He pulled back from the hug slowly, as if he was fighting himself. But he let go and instead stood up, grabbing the bowl he’d at some point set on the counter next to you. “I brought this in to try and wake you up to get something in your stomach, when… well, y’know.” Adaman rubbed the back of his neck. “You should get some warm food in your system though. It’ll help out.”

You grabbed the bowl of what appears to be some sort of soup, and you’re glad to have something else besides potato mochi to eat tonight. “Thank you.”

As you began to eat your soup, Adaman began to explain everything. “So that Zorua you saved came back with us. It’s sleeping with all your Pokeballs in Irida’s tent so she could keep an eye on them, and so they didn’t try to warm you too fast.” Ah, that explained the lack of Pokeballs with your clothes. “That Zorua seems pretty attached. I think you found yourself a new buddy.”

Both of you talk about the Zorua, about the research of all types of Pokemon and how it’s all going, talk about how cold it is and how much warmer the Crimson Mirelands is, how the clan meeting seems to be coming along well even through the bickering Irida and him do. Eventually, you finish your soup and set the bowl onto the chest next to you. Adaman clears his throat and begins to stand. 

“It’s about time for sleep, so I guess I’ll —”

“Please stay with me.”

Adaman’s eyebrows shot through the sky as he looked at you. “What?”

“Please, stay with me. I could use another person here so I’m not… I’m not alone.” You bowed your head. “And I don’t want you to go. But if you do, I understand.”

Hands rest on your shoulders and you looked up, meeting his eyes and matching his smile. “I would love nothing more than that. I don’t want to leave your side. Not now, not…” he stopped, but you finished it.

“Not ever?”

He smiled warmly, and it warms your soul. “Not ever.”

“Then stay with me. Tonight, at least. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“You got it.”

He slid under the blankets with you, and without a second thought, you curled up next to him for warmth. You were warm, but after how cold you were today… warm didn’t seem to be enough. Adaman’s arms wrapped around you protectively, and with your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat gently lulled you into a peaceful slumber.

[generalluxun]

Apropos of nothing, do you remember that idea we discussed where Adrien & Chloe swap parents but keep the same default coping mechanisms/temperaments?

So Adrien spends a lo of time day dreaming & basically lives near full time in a sort of Chat Noir-esc persona minus the hero elements & tends to try and draw others into it.

Meanwhile for Chloe everything is a fight, all the time, but there's also no real victory, its an endless staircase where meeting wining is just the new standard for 'acceptable'.

Let me wondering what dynamics would have emerged in such an AU.

Like,

Adrien is probably more popular than Chloe ever was, but also likely even easier to manipulate or use. With Chloe in canon its mostly directing her anger that is nominally easy, while here it'd be simple to get Adrien to buy stuff for people or give out tickets ETC.

I imagine the 'issue' is that he's not much for social boundaries or restraint so he can become clingy very quickly and get very upset if he feels rejected.

Chloe meanwhile may only be going to school to get away from her father or even as a pride thing, "People will think I only succeed because you pay people" or cos Adrien was going through a rough patch maybe. Probably a combo.

I think her default temperament would be closer to Gabriel or Kagami's. She's colder and more urbane than canon, but still very blunt at best. Still she reserves hostility for competition, where its let out as nearly unchecked but very targeted aggression. She's not as disliked due to not picking a fight with everything that moves & being a bit more restrained, but she basically viewed as an ice queen.

In this regard, Adrien is probably the only person off the cuff to be able to be particularly affectionate or playful with Chloe. Cos he's been around long enough that he kind of exists outside her normal perspective. Similarly, Chloe can be rougher around the edges with Adrien than most others & he doesn't take it badly as he knows she's never leaving him.

I am unsure where Sabrina or Marinette would end up in this scenario, maybe they are friends?

Without having to deal with Chloe's bulldozer personality for several years Marinette may be more confident. Not a Queen Bee exactly, but definitely the go to girl. How well said confidence holds up to a challenge however is unclear.

Sabrina likely is still rather neurotic about needing to feel useful to others given that attitude stems from Roger. So she might volunteer a to in class, and be another "Easy to take advantage of" person.

Kagami, her & Chloe's relationship would be interesting I feel cos it'd bemore overtly a rivarly. But I think regarded very differently by both.

To Chloe, Kagami is a peer, a foe, someone to overcome; someone who can nd has defeated her and she hates it, even if part of her is drawn towards her regardless.

For Kagami she'd start of being like, "Ooh marvelous competition, such an aggressive dueling style!" only to realize Chloe takes 'ZERO' pleasure in this, or almost anything she does. So for her part of it would almost be wanted to crack the shell, or dethaw the ice queen.

Beyond that... Yeah no clue, though I imagine Chloe & Gabriel are on less good terms than Adrien & Gabriel were, but also more subtly.

Like, Adrien was more open expressing frustration or resentment with his father, but still wanted his love and hoped he'd warm up. Meanwhile I feel for Chloe it'd have become so tense and toxic at least since Emilie died that while she wants tp prove herself to him, its another challenge, a contest, a battle of wills to her. here's no real hope for love or warmth, she just wants to win.

ALso realize why I thought of this, low key imagining her having an Akuma with somehting like this happening: https://youtu.be/tWTQyCrq0Ts?si=R5_KSbqtZGd4ok5w&t=290

Start at 4:50 if interested.

We have different ideas of this! So I'll lay mine out.

Adrien: I think you're still clinging to the 'good boy Adrien' of canon and warping what we're doing here to fit that. Adrien i not evil, but he is not *socially functional* here. He is not transaction based, he is escapism personified. Might he be nice to talk to? Yes. But ay any given moment he might tangent off into a lore dump of one of the (many) worlds he's made up entirely in his head. Not only that, he might just start larping it at you without warning and without any indication even *he* is aware he's crossed the boundary.

Think 'ahaha I have ADHD so bad watch my hyperfixate!' only not in the quirky tumblresque manner but in the actual social impairment manner. He's not anti-social he's A-social, and there is a small chance if his 'reality' is challenged he MIGHT get aggressive. Most people can humor hi, and his manner can be fun for a while, but it can also be extremely draining. Only a few people can handle it 'full time'.

Chloé: I think you're adding canon spice here again, keeping the ire-antagonist angle. I see it much more as competition for the sake of the *competition*. She needs another award. Being an 'ice queen' is wasted effort. Being mean would indicate a level of attention to people that most are just not worth.

The difference can be highlighted with Kagami for example- Kagami might seek a rivalry(she enjoys them. There's a form of connection and socialization in acknowledging a peer and beating/losing to them specifically) Chloe just couldn't care less. You're an opponent for the length of a match, then the match is over and there's another, and another, until a trophy is won or lost and then it's on to the next competition. There's no reviewing; no bitterness nor pride. As soon as the trophy is won or lost it's worthless as is everything involved in winning it. It's not a snide or dismissive attitude(again, that would take effort) it's just a sort of detched/focused 'Next Quest!' mentality. She is the 'questing knight'.

I don't think Chloe would make connections with most people(for obvious weapons) and could definitely make a terrible first impression. However those who knows her (from a distance obvi) would often have a 'stand back and check this out' mentality. She's not great to talk to but just *seeing what she'll do next* is entertaining, success or failure.

now Sabrina and Marinette

Sabrina: If we're keeping her as knowing and being devoted to Chloe via family ties, then she would be 'Squire' to Chloé's knight. Constantly there with a spare foil, a new pencil, or a towel. She's a one-girl cheering section who takes more pride in Chloé's achievements than Chloé does herself(though she never touts them when Chloe is around, since Chloé takes a negative view on all past victories as 'meaningless') If you want Chloe to focus on you, just pick on Sabrina. You'll feel her eyes boring a hole in you before she tackles you, if you're lucky. If Sabrina is instead attached to Adrien through connections then she'll be his playmate and partner in all his fantasies. She's an 'Adrien Whisperer' who remembers each of his worlds and all the little details for ease of translation. She enjoys her status as the one constant in his worlds, and guards it a little jealously. She's good for his peace of mind, but probably bad for any sense of healthy socialization for him, as she would view any effort to 'bring him into the real world' as bad.

Marinette: In regards to Chloé, Marinette would definitely have some oppositional issues. Marinette likes competition and winning, but she likes it from the social aspect. Rivalry is fun(as long as it's light, Kagami can be a bit intense for her) but all her attempts to engage Chloé slide right off. 'I'll get you next time!' elicits a shrug at best. 'Ha I beat you!' elicits even less. Similarly attempts to ingratiate fall flat. Gifts are unwelcome, praise earns eyerolls. Marinette is stubborn though, so her long term goal would be to figure out this being who is so antithetical to herself. She'll find a way to *matter* to Chloe some how. The worst thing for asomeone with only child syndrome is being ignored. 🤣 With Adrien Marinette would be both enamored and repulsed. It would create quite the internal struggle for her. He's Gorgeous, and he's oh so creative! She loves his little head-worlds and could listen to him talk about them forever. *BUT* when he acts them out, when he brings the imaginations into reality. She gets intense second-hand embarrassment. She projects her own insecurity at being seen as immature onto him and it eats at her. So their relationship becomes a push-pull of: does she pull him out of his fantasy worlds? Does she learn to set aside her embarrassment? Do they meet somewhere in the middle? Does the attraction overcome the hurdles? (Is Sabrina an obstacle?) How does she know if Adrien is attracted to her, or the her in his head? Who is the her in his head? With him having such a vivid imagination she might feel very exposed around him. He *thinks* about her, and she can't hide in his head.

I hope some of this long winded explanation helped.

[ohtobeleah]

Father, Son & The Holy Shit // Jake Seresin

Chapter One: [Father, Son & The Episode] What’s worse than attending the funeral of a man you never wished you met? Attending his wake right after and having your biggest secret exposed to his friends, family & colleagues alike.

Warnings: Mentions of Mental Health Disorder. Mentions of drug use. Jake Seresin x F!Bradshaw Reader. Trauma bond.

Masterlist

If there was anything worse on this earth than you could think of doing besides attending Jake Seresin's funeral, it would be attending his wake. At his funeral, you could get away with small glances and side eyes and broken unapologetic smiles. At his wake though? Just how the hell could you get out of talking to his parents, and his colleagues, his friends, you were the mother of his grandchild after all. 

“It's been so long Y/n.” Kain stood beside his grandmother, Ellen Seresin, rubbing his hand across her back. The poor woman was shattered at the loss of her only son. You couldn't wait to kick the bastard's tombstone over. “You need to bring Miss Tilly around more often, spend time with the family, time moves so quickly these days.” She pleaded as she reached out to take your hand in yours. “You look well.” 

“Thankyou Mrs Seresin, and I will, I promise.” You wouldn’t be doing that, not if it was the only thing that could save you from meeting Jake in hell. You smiled as politely as you could as you cupped the older woman's hand in yours. She had no fucking clue who her son was and as you turned to Kian you could tell he was thinking the same thing. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to run to the restroom.” 

You could feel yourself spiraling, this whole day had been far too much for you to handle. The funeral, the wake and now the overly invasive invitation to spend even more time with the Seresins made you want to shout to the heavens above ‘why you’. You needed air, you needed space–as you made your way through the crowded function you saw your dad with your daughter, showing her off to his old buddies. Some guy you remembered, Bob you could vaguely remember his name being, crouched on one knee before her, pinning what you could only imagine to be one of Jake's service pins on her dress.

The bathroom door nearly came off its hinges when you pushed it open with that much force. Thank god no one had been on the way out or else they would have ended up with a bloodied and broken nose. You didn't really need to pee, you just need a second to breathe, to collect your thoughts and stop yourself from spirally. You could feel yourself losing touch with reality. A blurred line had begun to form and you were tittering on the edge of your mind's idea of a coping mechanism to send you off into a land of make believe. You could feel it creeping up on you. 

The sound of the water running brought you back to earth, how long had you been standing in front of the basin for? How long had the tap been on for? You took your hands and cupped them under the steady stream of water before you bent over and splashed your face with the cool liquid. You needed that, fuck you really needed that. You did it twice more, just splashed your face with water to cool yourself down and stop yourself from losing your mind. 

With a heavy sigh, you turned the tap off, only to stand up straight to take a look at yourself in the mirror. What you saw staring back at you had the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention, your voice caught in your through like a horrid lump of cells that needed to be removed. It was Jake, but not the Jake you just laid to rest. It was him, ten years ago–and you, ten years ago. You felt his hand ghost across your shoulder as he smirked. The corners of his lips near pinned to his ears. 

You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, it was only when he leaned in to whisper in your ear did you shout and smash your first into the glass of the mirror. 

“I know you miss me–” 

Shards of glass shattered with a loud smash to the basin as you shook your bloodied first and stumbled back. Crying out in fear as you whaled and slid to the floor. 

“Y/n?” Kian frowned when he saw you, Bradley was right there hovering over his shoulder, watching with worry flooding his eyes as Kian picked you up and carried you out of the bathroom as you cried into his chest. “Hey, s’worng? Huh?” He knew you wouldn't answer him, not in a state like this. 

“What's wrong with mum?” Tilly asked as she stood by Bradleys leg. Bradley knew Tily was a smart little girl, she’d seen you like this before and she could connect dots. It was happening again. “Did she have an episode?” Tilly asked as she looked up at Rooster who just stood in absolute silence as he watched Kian take you out the back door into the fresh air of the late afternoon. “I promise she takes her medicine, I take tic tacs with her so she doesn't feel like she's alone.” 

“What kind of tic tacs Bug?” Rooster asked as he placed his hands on her shoulders and walked her back into the wake. Tilly just sighed. 

“The orange kind.” 

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

“God it must be fucking exhuating–” Kian spat as he sat you down on the steps of the back exist door and assessed your hand, he didnt have anything to fix it up with except his tie. So that's what he used. 

“What's that?” You asked softly as you tried to calm yourself down. 

“Living like some sort of parasite, just taking and never giving.” You’d taken a lot from Kian, you knew that well enough. He never let a day or a week or a month or a year go by without letting you know how much you took from him. “You just had to make this day about you, didn’t you?” 

“I had a moment, I'm fine.” You sighed as you tried to explain yourself without coming out and saying you saw your ex’s now dead dad in the mirror of the bathroom at his wake. The man you’d fucked. The man you may have loved at some twisted point. The man who exploited you and used you and turned you into a mess of a woman. “It's just been a day, Kian, I thought I could handle it but clearly I was wrong.” There was a moment of silence that passed the two of you as Kian went from standing before you on the steps with his hands pushing his suit jacket back to sitting next to you, so close his shoulder pressed against yours. He was every bit the spitting image of Jake Sereisn and you knew he hated it just as much as you did. 

“Are you high?” Kian asked as you turned to look at him stunned. 

“What? No!” It came out as a scoff, like you couldn't believe he was asking you such a thing. 

“Are you using again?” They weren't questions Kian hadn’t asked before, and it wouldn't have surprised him if you said yes, because you had said that in the past. 

“No!” You were more defensive about this than you probably should have been, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility with you, it was just that of all people Kian was the one who wasn't afraid to ask. 

“Okay well I’m gonna go ahead and love you enough to tell you to pull your head out of your self-obsessed ass and get an a meeting, because you and I both know this is gonna set you off and if you're already losing control at his wake than I can’t help you when child protective services come knocking and Tilly is placed in Roosters custody for the fourth time.” 

“Oh god Kian, I don’t need your sympathy.” You hissed as you held your hand up to your chest, Kians tie tied tightly around your bloodied knuckles. “I said I’m fine, I’m not high, I’m not using, but if it helps you sleep a night you ass I’ll get to a meeting.” 

“Good.” Kian accepted your reply, he nodded softly as he looked at you. “And for the record it’s not sympathy, it’s pity.” You and Kian had always maintained a close co-parenting relationship, but you couldn’t be left alone in a room together without wanting to kill each other. “I don’t want my daughter growing up to be anything like you.” Your heart sank into your stomach when you caught the sight of the man you’d just seen in the mirror, standing just a few feet away, smiling at you like he wasn’t the cause of all your pain. “So pull yourself together and get to a meeting, she deserves a mother who’s not a junkie.” 

“I’m not a junkie anymore than you are.” You snapped. Gritting your teeth as you shook your head and tried to will the sight of Jake from your memory. An almost impossible task. “Don’t sit here and pretend that you don’t have the exact same problem as me!”

“Oh for crying out loud Y/n you’re my problem!” Kian shouted as he stood. “You’ve been my problem since we first fucking met! You ruined me for crying out loud!” You could feel the tears welling in your eyes. The vision of Jake standing next to Kian was far too much for you to handle as you closed your eyes. He was grinning that smug smile, like even though he was dead he still won. “You’ve been my problem since you fucked my dad for weeks on end!” 

“SHUTUP!” You screamed as you covered your ears. Kian wouldn’t let up as he pullled you to your feet by your wrist. 

“You’re a whore! You fucked my dad! You did that willingly and you did it over and over and over again and everything that had happened since you have no one to blame but yourself, so don’t sit there and say we have the same issues, but if you weren’t here right I wouldn’t HAVE any problems!”

“Your dad used me! He manipulated me!” You shouted back, a crowd had begun to form on the grass. Friends and family that had gathered to say goodbye to Jake Seresin all stood around baffled at the sight unfolding. “He blackmailed me!” 

“He’s her father isn’t he!?” You felt like the wright of the world has fallen on your shoulders as you looked around at the people that had gathered around. “He’s Tilly’s dad, not me—and you fucking know it.” Kian was boiling, you could see it in his eyes as he pushed you and in that very moment you knew it wasn’t just you who needed a meeting—he’d been projecting. “You fucking my dad and he got you pregnant.” 

“Kian? Y/n?” You heard Jake's mother gasp as she cupped a hand over her mouth—stunned at the revelation that had just come to light. You turned to look at her, shock just dripping from your face. You’d both managed to keep this a secret for ten years. Now it all just fell apart. You looked to your dad who didn’t know what to do, he’d never looked so disappointed in you. Mr big shot Admiral—he wouldn’t be in that pod if you hadn’t kept your mouth shut all those years ago. You looked to your daughter, who was too smart for her own good, she knew you were drowning in your own deep water. 

And finally, you looked to the man who’d ruined your life, the figment of your imagination that had haunted you since you were first diagnosed certifiably insane. Jake Seresin, looking ten years younger and a hell of a lot more alive than he really was. 

“I know you miss me—“ He grinned. You felt lightheaded. 

“Y/n is that true?” Ellen asked as she approached her grandson. “Tell me it’s not true.” Kian sniffled as he threw his hands up and walked away, pushing past the crowd of friends, family and colleagues. 

Your vision blurred, your feet gave out and your knees buckled before you could even give them an answer. You fell straight through a crack in what felt like the space time continuum and as you blinked your eyes open again you were ten years younger—

Looking out the window of the car your boyfriend had rented for the summer. The summer that you met and fell in love with your boyfriend's dad. 

Commander Jake Hangman Seresin

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

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 11}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: You share the hardest parts of your path with Frankie and offer understanding to his own. 

Word Count: 5.1k 

Warnings: narcotics, recreational use of narcotics, addiction, recovery, nicotine, cigarettes, mentions of smoking, descriptions of injuries, blood, gun violence, brief description of a shooting scenario, readers past is revealed, medical jargon, trauma, ptsd, ptsd triggers, reference to use of alcohol, alcohol used as a coping mechanism, emotional vulnerability, kissing, Frankie’s skilled mouth, baking puns to lighten the mood??

A/N: HEAVY CHAPTER!! please, please proceed with caution, while the chapter is balanced it is very emotionally heavy. i do not take anything described in this chapter lightly, having been a victim in a school shooting myself at a young age, i still carry it with me to this day and it affects how i feel about crowds and small spaces. readers past is something i’ve had to deal with but thankfully there were no deaths in my experience. 

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist 

Frankie was seated at a booth in an empty diner. He had been sitting there alone for hours, staring into the mug of black coffee the waitress was kind enough to refill before it was truly empty. After the third time, she had brought over a plate of toast, to help settle his stomach. It was late, well past midnight.

Midnight. Midnight.

He could’ve sworn he was supposed to be somewhere, but his mind was so foggy from the hours-long conversation he had with someone he had never thought he would encounter again. They had gone in circles, only to come to a mutual understanding of what happened. But it still didn’t take any of the emotions away; if anything it had brought them all back to the surface. There was so much pain, remorse, regret, weakness, desperation filling him to the brim and his mind had flowed out along with what he couldn’t handle. Down the river and into the whitewash that was the rapids of his life. One mistake after another, one bad move after another…

‘I just…I kinda like you and want to see where this goes beyond today?’

‘I’d be up for that, because I kinda like ya too.”

“Fuck!” Frankie stood with a jolt, rustling the table in front of him with the movement. He took his wallet out and fished out a bill, threw it down on the table before he peeled out of the diner.

-

A shuffling sound roused you from your deep sleep, but your eyes were still too heavy to open. You lifted your head from where it rested on your arms atop your pillow. You had collapsed onto the bed on your stomach, hips canted up slightly as your legs spread in a way to relieve tension on your injury and you had scrunched a pillow underneath your arms and laid your head atop them. Your hair was loose and long around your face, fanning out over your bare shoulders. There was the sound of the cats chittering at someone and you lifted your head up more to peer through the open bedroom door. You saw the shadow of someone standing in your living room through bleary eyes.

The shadow moved a bit and the bill of a cap was visible. You deflated back into the mattress, knowing you were safe, and sleep curled its tendrils around your mind and pulled you back under. You hummed into the quiet as you felt warm arms wrap around your middle. One had moved underneath you, brushing the bare skin of your chest in passing as the other laid gently on your back. You felt a nose nuzzle into your hair, near your neck and a gentle kiss was placed there before a head rested on the pillow beside you. Legs carefully situated around yours, skin on skin where they touched just slightly.

“Lo siento, estoy aquí ahora, cariño.”

You were already too far down underneath the hold of sleep, a quiet murmur leaving your lips at the words before you were out completely.

Frankie lay there, down to his shirt and briefs. He cuddled around you as close he could without agitating your injuries or waking you up completely. Guilt and shame eating away at him in the darkness of your room. He watched the shadows of the cats as they jumped up and settled around you both for some sleep themselves. A sigh heaved itself into its chest and caught, choking him as he realized you felt good in his arms. You were good. He was good with you. You were good together.

-

The sun was just beginning to rise for the day, casting gentle light into the bedroom where it seeped in from the other rooms of your space. Frankie lay awake, his mind not letting him fall into a slumber that was really sleeping. He was watching the way your lashes fluttered as you dreamt in your sleep, you had been snoring lightly, though he was sure you would deny it should he feel like he could tease you about it. Words and apologies and reasons flitted across his mind, mentally exhausting him as he had no clue what to actually say to you once you were awake. He had seen the bottle of vodka, emptied, on the coffee table. He had seen the bottle of your pain medication next to it. The smooth cursive of your writing turned messy and illegible to him on a notepad beside them both, recipes and ideas for the bakery scribbled out in your altered state.

You had numbed yourself in his absence.

Because of his absence. When he had specifically promised his time to you.

But it had been the page that had been torn out and crumpled that worried him the most, thrown in what he could only picture was a moment of overwhelming emotion. It had been on the floor, beside your dead phone, halfway under the coffee table. The words ‘I’m sorry’ scribbled all over the page, filling it until there was no space with overlapping letters. The words of Tom echoing in his ears, ‘Kids tend to end up in graves around her’.

Frankie worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his heart stuttering and his chest getting tight when you shifted in your sleep with a tiny huff. Your face scrunched up in a rather adorable way before a sneeze racked your body. What wasn’t adorable was the spray of blood that resulted from the sneeze. With a rather loud groan you were opening your eyes and bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose to stop any flow of blood that may follow.

“Fuck,” You shimmied from the blankets, oblivious to the man beside you. Frankie had moved away from you in the night, especially when you had begun to shift a lot, seemingly unable to get comfortable. You were rushing to the joined bathroom and Frankie averted his eyes at your naked form. He wasn’t sure were you stood, where he stood….

The sound of the water was a quiet hush that allowed him to recenter. The blood spotting his face was cold, the spray of it causing unwanted memories to blip in his mind but he pushed them down. He was safe in your room, safe in your bed, safe with you. He startled when you called his name, bringing him out of his thoughts.

You watched him from the doorway to the bathroom, arms pulling on an oversized t-shirt. He could see the flash of tan lace you had pulled up your legs to cover yourself and he felt a strike of arousal. You slowly made your way back to the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge of it, eyes on him the whole time.

Your face felt weird from the sneeze and your mind foggy from the night before, but you were sure you weren’t hallucinating the handsome man in your bed. The one that had stood you up for your date last night. Your heart was torn between being angry that he had made such a big deal about showing you how serious he was about this then bailing and wanting to melt at the prospect of him using the key for the first time and slipping into bed with you.

You didn’t say anything as you leaned over him a little, placing a hand on his chest to balance yourself as you reached over with a damp washcloth and wiped the blood from his face with the other. Your skin tingled where your hand rested on him, despite only feeling the heat of him through the shirt. His eyes tried to catch yours but you ducked your head as a deep blush rose to your cheeks. You were about to pull the washcloth away from him but a hand came up to grasp your wrist gently.

He didn’t say anything as he brough his other hand up and notched a finger underneath your chin to tilt it up. His brown eyes caught the light and turned amber in the morning sun, causing your already fast heartbeat to pick up at the sight of this beautiful man in your bed. His eyes were worried, as you chanced making contact with your own. You could feel tears race down your cheeks as you watched the emotions swirl in the brown depths. You were overwhelmed, your own emotions a whirlwind.

“Tell me you didn’t change your mind,” Your words were whispered, your fear of breaking the moment all too real. Vulnerability winning out against the anger and worry and had turned into hurt. Tears continued to fall, your face growing hot with them and your breathing beginning to shift into a weird staccato as you tried to keep yourself together. “Please tell me, Frankie, please tell me you still want me.”

When he was silent for a beat too long, you were ducking your head, eyes clenching shut and you drew in a shuddering breath. You had never felt so willing to ask such a question, for once you didn’t dwarf your needs and worries in favor of someone else. You’d reached your melting point and you needed to know if redemption was possible. Because you wanted it, by god did you want it, to be redeemed and feel like you were worthy of good things. Of being good with the man who made you feel like you hadn’t in a long time. To be wanted by him just as much as you wanted him.

During a time past, you might consider this pathetic, but circumstances change. People change you, people become more important than coming across as weak and vulnerable, the love you have for people changes you.

“I need to-“

He swallowed the rest of your words as he kissed you, his tongue delving into your open mouth and tangling with your own. Both of his hands came to cup your face, his fingers light on your cheeks and you melted into him. You kissed him back fully, taking what he was willing to give. Worried it was fleeting.

When he pulled back, he had tears of his own shining in his eyes.

“Of course I want you. Oh, sweet girl, you’re one of the only things I’ve ever wanted this much.”

Your heart swelled at his words, warmth flooding your entire body and making you feel wanted. But his actions had wounded you, brought up feelings of inadequacy, and while realistically a part of your brain knew it wasn’t intentional, it did send a message. It did lend to facts that had to be faced, questions that had to be answered. For both your sake.

“Then….then why do you make me feel like you don’t?” You couldn’t look at him, gently leaning back from him, your hands wringing in your lap. Frankie sat up from the pillows, reached out and pulled you to lay along his side. It took a minute for you both to get comfortable, his right arm around you as you leaned heavily into his side with your head resting high on his chest. His hand traced up and down your back smoothly, comforting. “I understand, please don’t mistake that, but…I just, I just need reassurance and I know that’s too much for some people and I-“

“No, no, sweet girl. It’s just that…I’m bad at this, I realize that. But please don’t let it make you feel like I don’t want this.” He sighed, jostling you with his breath. “I know words are just words, but querida, I really do care about you.”

“You stood me up, I called and texted and felt so foolish.” You hid your face in his chest, smelling the scent of him that was a combination of something woodsy and warm. Reminiscent of early autumn hikes in the forest, it smelled like home. “I feel like a damn fool, Frankie…I waited up for hours, wondering if you were okay…”

“I wasn’t okay. I’m still not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay, sweet girl.”

“You will be, you are.” You reached a hand out and gripped his free one that had been resting on his middle. You intertwined your fingers with his own, his hand dwarfing yours. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as you contemplated your next words. Not wanting to make him feel seen or that he was transparent with the things he was hesitant to share with you. “Recovery isn’t linear.”

“…you know.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, an understanding. He knew that you knew. You knew about the parts of him that he tried to hide and cradle in his own hands, that he tried to resolve in the form of swapped vices and managing triggers. He worried for a second, panicked really, that you were about to tell him that it was something you could help him with. While it would be appreciated, he didn’t want to drag anyone down with the gritty details of what exactly he dealt with.

Of course you knew he was in recovery, you had seen it enough times out in the field, with your friends, with your family. His triggers, the smoking having replaced some other vice, the way his nose would twitch when he was agitated, the way his fingers would tap when he was anxious. The meetings he wouldn’t tell you details about, the way he was hesitant with certain foods, with certain places. The way he devoured anything sugary and inhaled fruit anytime it was in front of him.

All signs of someone fighting a battle that would take the rest of their life to overcome. You had been present and a part of the recovery when the battle was lost, both on the clock and off…

“Frankie, I was an EMT for a decade. I didn’t want to pry because you hadn’t said anything, and your business is your own. I’m not one to shoulder their way into anything, I’ve been humbled beyond comprehension on that, believe me.” Self-depreciation saturated your words, turning them bitter in your mouth. You weren’t brave enough to glance up and peak at Frankie’s expression, but you felt him tense up as you lay against him.

Your name sounded in the air, bathed in a tone you had yet to hear from him. You tensed at it, not sure what was going to happen next.

“It’s not an excuse. I was getting you flowers down the way last night when Alexia’s mother approached me. Didn’t even know she was still in town after all these years. She spooked me to hell and back, my mind went blank. Nothing was anything and before I knew it, I was running.”

“Frankie, you don’t…”

“I do, I do have to. I want to. I want you to know.”

You pushed your cheek into his chest, hiding your face. Not sure if you were ready for what he was going to say. Would she want to be a part of his life now? Would she want to see her child? Frankie’s daughter was only someone you interacted with once, but you weren’t willing to share her with the woman who walked out on her. You weren’t willing to experience the heartbreak it would bring Frankie to share her.

You listened. You took what he wanted to say and you held it close. You grasped it and kneaded it into yourself the way you worked bits of chocolate and fruit into dough. You folded the hard pieces of him into yourself and took them on, helping to soften the burden of them. You gave them a smoother edge so that he could handle them easier.

He explained the last night he had her, what her name was. He explained the challenge of attempting to raise Alexia together and get clean at the same time, how it was easier for him to let go of the substance than it was for her even throughout her pregnancy. That she never seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of their child and what they created together. He told you how he had offered her his hand in marriage and how she had said no.  

How determined he was to be a good father, to provide everything for his child. To offer her anything she might want or need or even think about in her life, how he wanted to be able to give her the time he had to devote to work in order to prove to her.

“Our bill was settled when I dropped her off yesterday.”

Your hand had been tracing patterns across the fabric of his shirt stretched over his chest. You fingers stilled for the barest of seconds before continuing their movement but you were aware that he caught the action. There was a question in his words that you knew was aimed directly at you, he was looking for confirmation of a hunch he had. You hummed a curious sound, knowing you weren’t fooling anyone.

“Thank you,” He murmured lowly, his chin resting atop your head for a moment before he laid it back against the pillow.

“…I wanted to.” You spoke carefully, unsure if you had stepped over a line. “You said you were worried about the bill and how she was so excited. That you didn’t want to let her down and her miss out on being away with her whole class.”

“She drew you something, we brought it the other day before everything hit the fan. I brought it with me, it’s on your fridge.”

“She’s sweet. Thoughtful like her father.”

“She’s a lot of things I’m not too. And so genuine in them. So understanding and forgiving, so easy going. So eager to try new things and to get out of her comfort zone.” He fell silent. You could sense he was thinking something over. He clicked his tongue before his next words. “I told her about you. About liking you and taking you out on a date.”

“Oh?” This curious sound was genuine. You felt your heartbeat quicken at his words, nervous.

“She was so excited she wouldn’t have to give up treats from the bakery because I would be dating someone else and was sure you’d be upset about it.”

“She is smart. I would definitely cut you off from treats if you dated someone else.” You quipped, words holding no real heat as you chuckled at the stern look you pictured her pinning him with as they talked this over. He huffed a quiet laugh.

You listened as he told you how he lost his license, due to his addiction. How it scorned him to this day that he let it take such control over his life and how sometimes it’s all he wanted still. You were quiet, letting him get it all out, not pressuring him with comments and thoughts you had in response. How he worked so hard to get it back and took every class and course they offered him to keep up to date with protocol and regulations, so he could keep flying the way he always wanted to.

You cuddled closer to him, trying to melt into him as he talked, offering him comfort in a quiet way as spoke. His voice would crack every so often as emotion got to be too much for him. He would clear his throat and hold your back firm so as to not jostle you too much when he did so. He fell quiet and you both just took the moment for what it was, not saying anything as you both processed the steps you were taking together.

“Tell me.” You felt his arm tighten around you, pulling you closer to him. A kiss was pressed to the top of your head. Followed by another and another, his facial hair hushing against your curls as he rested his face there. “You know about my worries. Tell me about yours. About what Tom was talking about, please. If you still want to, I’ll listen. I’m here, I’m with you, I’m trying. You have me.”

“You…you won’t like me anymore…”

Your name was a whisper, a plea.

“You, um, you heard the nurse mention a shattered hip?”

“I did, you were so overwhelmed, and I was not having the best day so I didn’t ask. I don’t like I’ve ever faced so many goddamn triggers in the same day as yesterday, but we’re focusing on you right now. You are important. You mean so much to me.” His hand trailed down to grip your waist, warmth seeping into you underneath it. It gave you the courage to continue, his quest reserve calming you. “I hadn’t wanted to get into anything heavy with both of us so worked up. I know better than that now, too much experience with doing the opposite.”

Quiet enveloped the room for a moment, the both of your just laying with each other. The morning sun rising and bringing light to the new day, revealing the world much the same way you were both revealing things about yourselves to each other. Memories and emotions flooded you, and you tried to concentrate on the best wording to explain the worst day of your life to someone who wanted to help you bear the weight of it.

“It got shattered when I got hit by a round from an automatic assault rifle. I was the first on the scene of a shooting and had run into the shooter in the building. I think we both startled each other. But he had the upper hand to my pistol.

He, uh… he was young, maybe late teens? I don’t even remember that now, it was about six or so years ago now. But I remember what he looked like, what he was wearing, the expression on his face…the blood splatter that marked his entire body. The squeak of his shoes as he ran down the halls of the building and stalked from room to room, leaving bloody footprints in his wake…

It was a school, an elementary school. I don’t remember the motive, I don’t remember the time of day the call happened, but I remember feeling the fear and anger emanating off of him, the heaviness of the air all throughout the building, it was suffocating. It was terrifying. I remember how warm the blood was as I tried to stop the bleeding on more than five children, only successful with two of them…

They were so panicked, they had been so scared, so worried about their parents and friends not knowing they loved them…. asked me to save them, to help them, but I couldn’t. Those guns do so much damage, they do too much damage to fix. I- I tried, I did everything I could, and it wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t enough, all of my training and all of my experience and I couldn’t save those kids while they begged me and pleaded with me to help them. It doesn’t matter how many people I had saved until that point, I had failed them, I didn’t do my job. I couldn’t do my job.

I was put on medical leave for the duration of my recovery, the shooter passed away during his. My shot had been placed well, but it had taken too long for him to succumb to it, allowing him to fire shots into two more classrooms before he collapsed. I needed multiple surgeries to repair my hip and ended up getting a replacement a year down the line. That’s why I don’t bear as much weight on it, it’s…foreign to have something so vital taken away from you and replaced in the wake of such an emotional tragedy.

I lost more than just a part of myself mentally that day, but physically as well. And it’s a constant reminder every time it twinges, or I feel the dull ache that never seems to quite go away.

I was put on suspension pending two investigations that went to trial. One from the shooter’s parents for wrongful death and one from the parents of one of the children I couldn’t save for failure to administer appropriate medical treatment. I got harassed and blamed for the death of the shooter who had done the killing and then called a killer myself. I had been painted in the same light as the shooter, as if I was the one that pulled the trigger and fired on those innocent children.

Everyone was looking to place the blame in the wake of his death. And it landed on me.”

You were crying, tears dampening the fabric of Frankie’s shirt. You felt your bottom lip trembling, sure you had stuttered over words and that your voice was an octave higher than normal. Your hands were shaking too, but Frankie had on in his grip and was holding it firm, his warmth seeping into you, grounding you as you shared with him the worst chapter of your life.

Your ears burned in the silence that followed your words. All you could hear was the blood rushing in your veins and the faded memories of gunfire. The gunfire hushed and was replaced with quiet murmurs of consolation from the man cradling you. Frankie pulled you carefully over to lay atop him completely, both of his arms wrapped tight around your frame. His chest was rising and falling in a way that mimicked yours, telling of the tears he was fighting back. You buried your face in his neck, hand going to rest over his beating heart to ground you.

Your name fell from his lips as he buried his own face into your hair.

-

It was hours later, you having trusted the shop to Louise for the day. You had baked enough stock for her to get through yesterday and today, business picking up enough to warrant double batches of everything. You had an untouched Sunday paper from the past week on the kitchen island, secured underneath the leather journal you kept all your recipes in. You admitted to Frankie over getting coffee brewed that you were afraid of reading the blurb that had been written about your bakery in the article about the first summer farmer’s market. The second had gone as well as the first. You had more applicants, more business, more interest in the things you created and were willing and happy to share with the world.

He carefully pulled you into his arms and leaned against the counter, the sound of the coffee pot brewing turning into background noise. You had been feeding the cats their dry food, their chittering and meows filling the air in such a domestic way. Your back was warm against his chest and he reached for the paper to hold it in front of both of you. He read the words printed on the pages to you, his lips close to your ear as he did so. The praises printed in ink felt were comforting coming from his lips, his smooth voice giving them life that you refused to give them yourself. He placed the paper back down on the counter and made sure it was safely tucked back so as to not get ruined. His arms came back around you and he spun you so you were facing him.

He was about to say something but you leaned up and captured his lips with your own. Your hands coming around his shoulders. Before you could register where his own were wrapping underneath your bottom, he was lifting you to carefully set you on the island. He leaned into your space, delving his tongue into your open mouth and pulling a moan from your chest. His fingers trailed featherlight paths across your skin underneath your shirt. Sparking warmth and tingles in their wake.

You took a moment to catch your breath before you mouthed at the hinge of his jaw, tongue trailing the shell of his ear. You placed sucking kissed down the column of his neck and revealed in the feeling of him hardening against you where he was pressed to you as closely as possible. He vocalized his appreciation at your attention, his hands continuing their exploration and coming to thumb at your nipples.

You arched into him even more, a gasp smothered into his heated skin.

“I’m falling for you.”

All you could do was hide the wide grin that broke out over your face in his neck, tightening your arms around his neck.

“I’m going to take you against this counter and then again in your bed. We’re going to go to the store to get stuff for dinner and I’m going to take you back to mine. Where I’ll take you again and again until you’re satisfied.” His words rumbled in your ear, causing pleasure to settle between your legs and you tightened your thighs around his waist, grinding yourself against him.

“I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me, over….and over….and over again.”

He kissed you deeply, again and again until the coffee was finished brewing. He stepped away to ready two cups and handed you one. He watched as you cupped both hands around the ceramic, taking his own in one and bringing it up to sip. He reached out and trailed his index finger along the front seam of your underwear as he bracketed himself back between your dangling legs. Your eyes widened and you whimpered into your cup at the pleasure that sparked. Legs opening more as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Just enjoy your coffee, sweet girl. Let me take care of you.” He was placing his own mug back down on the counter. Watching the way you watched him as he lowered himself to his knees. He leaned close and licked a hot line to mimic his finger just seconds before. His large hands gripped your waist and pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, his tongue hard and flat against the front of your underwear. He looked up at you, seeing the way your fingers were white where they gripped your coffee. He pulled away for the barest of seconds.

“Drink, sweet girl. And I’ll do the same.”

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taglist:

@tanzthompson @clevergirl74

[adviserbylove]

I am aware I've been quite annoying about this issue in the past, and for the moots that are tired of hearing this, I apologize. This will most likely be the last time that I will say this, cause at this point, I'm also fed up with it as well. But if I don't properly express my views on this matter instead of arguing with trolls hiding behind a grey ball with sunglasses (anonymous asks), I'm gonna let my feelings bottle up like a champagne bottle and, well....we all know how that goes

And no, this is not something that has been ongoing for me, or I'm still getting shit for this. If I do, I will delete any further asks about this issue. I've just been reminded of idiotic posts I've seen from purity patrol and it sickens me

There is nothing wrong with aging up your f/o

"It's not my fault you didn't grow out of your teenage crush" "....'Cause some people can't let go of their crush when they were teens" "Umm...why do you selfship with X who is 17 when you're an adult?" -- Shut up. There are so many reasons why someone would age up a character, and they don't equate to "Hiding the fact you would be attracted to their canon age". Perhaps they were a teenager when they started to selfship with them and when they got older, their f/o was in a media were they didn't age. Perhaps you fell in love with a character who, without their age being canonically 16-17, you would've taken them for early twenties~. Perhaps those characters have helped you through extremely harsh times, helped you through panic attacks and depressive episodes, and they became people that were very near and dear to you. People just expect you to throw all of that out the window as soon as you blow out the candles on your 18th birthday cake? Why not create an AU where you two grew up together and are still happy with each other? That is literally what self shipping is! Not 'growing out of your crush, and if you don't, that's your problem, not mine!'. That only makes it sound like your feelings towards your f/o is something that can be turned on and off like a light switch, which is NOT how feelings fucking work! Guess I should've gotten tired of my husband that I knew for 20+ years/been married to for 6+ years!

If anything, it would be weird if an adult did not age their f/o up. The reason behind aging up character is because sexualizing minors is wrong. You are not imaging yourself with teenagers, but adults that use to be those teenagers. It's faulty reasoning, because by this logic, college au's of characters that are canonically 16-17 are not valid. By this logic, falling in love with your childhood friend is not valid (which is actually one of my favorite, if not my favorite, trope). Seeing how characters grow and develop is suppose to be one of the best parts of fictional characters, and the fact that some people want to shit on that aspect that one's comfort can bring to them is absolutely wild for me

I've been blocked by multiple blogs, but before I was, they asked me why I selfship with a 17 year old when I'm in my twenties. Before I even answered their asks with the fact that I aged them up and worked hard on planning out what they would've done as an adult/what would be different/what their life was like in our AU, etc. I was already blocked. If you aren't interested in hearing my answer, then don't even bother sending an ask to me in the first place

I was groomed + SA'ed when I was 11 (by five different men, two of them happened to be family members, mind you), have children irl, and two younger brothers that have also been CSA victims. I will NEVER stop believing that it is wrong for an adult to take advantage of a minor. And frankly, you can stop shitting on a coping mechanism that actual survivors of CSA use

Aging up is not equal to sexualizing minors/p*dophilia! All it does is tell me that you have morals!

Again, believe what you want, but I will be deleting any pedo apologists, mean comments, purity patrol, proshitters using this as a trump card, etc.

They aren’t real. They can’t be hurt. They’re there for us to have fun with. So as long as you aren't producing literal CP, you are fine! Just enjoy yourself

[cookies-over-yonder]

holding a microphone in the vague direction of your blog , thoughts on taylor and Scarys relationship 🎤 not even necessary romantic (but if you got any 👀) just their dynamic in general

i do like gothweeb!!! however i haven't given the ship too much thought so i will give you some general thoughts :3

for starters they both were raised by single moms ! and they both have abandonment issues :D and they are big on emotional repression :3

i find them so fascinating actually because scary has abandonment issues and she is a big emotional repressor but she doesn't let herself feel HAPPY about things. she doesn't let herself indulge in the positivities and joys of life! and she ESPECIALLY doesn't let anyone get close.

taylor latches onto anyone who'll be near him at all! because he's debilitatingly lonely but he sees everything through an anime rose-tinted lens and believes that it's because he, the protagonist, needs sidekicks, or supporting characters. and he believes that. though deep down it IS because he's lonely!

taylor represses but he doesn't realize it because it's all so deep down and near impossible to dig up. scary on the other hand is somewhat aware of what she's doing but she's not planning on stopping, however her issues are less buried than taylor's and easier to reach, however not necessarily easier to untangle!

scary has abandonment issues which is clear from the get-go. her dad left and she's been waiting for him and she believes that he's someone cool and awesome despite having never met him and it's very clear to see that she's upset at his departure

taylor has abandonment issues that are buried underneath his anime protagonist fantastical coping mechanism of treating life like a shounen anime where a dad leaving to protect a kid is something so selfless and badass and cool and commendable and not at all hurtful to experience! and he remarks how badass it is that nicky left for that reason but like i've said many times before, when scary was trying to please the black parade she commented on nicky going to hell to get away from him and it DOES sting. it does. i believe that deep deep deep deep deep down taylor does have some resentment toward nicky for leaving him! but it's so deep that he doesn't know it at all. and he's just hyped to have a cool as fuck dad!!!

also terri having been best friends with her mom and of course scary has CHANGED but clearly they were extremely close, much like taylor with being a huge mommy's boy and his mom being his favouritest person ever and him wanting nothing but the best for her. and also the fact that taylor was a lonely kid so it was just him and his mom for most of his life ! so they are extremely close

so taylor and scary were both raised by single moms and have abandonment issues because of their dads (and in taylor's case, also his old childhood best friend)

i also find it interesting, the difference between scary's reaction to terry and her mom vs taylor's reaction to willy and his mom. scary hated terry's GUTS and taylor's number one priority was that his mom better be happy and as long as she is then he's happy too

interesting stuff!

i honestly can really see scary actually helping taylor out with the emotional repression stuff, because i think she's closer to acknowledging it than taylor is. he's completely oblivious. and i think that in cases when taylor would feel Anything Negative it would mostly confuse him because literally why . and i can see scary as being one of the first people to help him understand that tbh. especially the abandonment issue stuff. like uh... taylor's dad came back and scary's just fucked off but i can see her helping him accept the fact that he's angry at nicky for leaving, you know?