#fuck you for healing when i feel like making all my shit worse. essentially

[xokohaneazusawa]

hello pookie i’m the anon who got injured while playing football during PE!! (update on the injury: it doenst hurt as much anymore, but it’s fucking black?? around the corners?? AM I DYING 💀)

ok but anygays i saw someone else comment on the post who also wanted another part so i can now overcome the guilt of potentially asking for too much and ask for that infirmary part 2 anyways 😍😍 (nvm it’s not working. i still feel bad.)

and ofc i was thinking of the bllk boys during PE we were literally playing football and i was thinking about how funny it would be if i pulled a chigiri and broke my leg right then and there because of how bad i was at it (i’m so sorry.)

fr tho i cannot play for shit 😭 these mfs make it look so damn easy but football is too damn difficult 💀(i don’t exercise. if i have the option to stay at home every day of my life with everything in it and unlimited supply of food and other essentials, i would. i also failed my school’s fitness test and struggle to open bottle caps sometimes.) i’m just a girl 🎀

i don’t mean to be greedy or demanding but an infirmary scene would really heal my soul (and hopefully my nose. i still dk why it’s turning a bit black. 💀 maybe it’s bruising idk 💀)

p.s. i think my nose is fine but idk. it doesn’t feel pain or anything, and the wound is quite inconspicuous. like i have to squint to see it and the weird black parts (haha 400 eye degree 😍)

You never have to feel bad about asking for anything from me, I'm happy to really do whatever lol! I'm actually so excited to write this, I mean it's such a cute idea!!

Chigiri Hyoma

-> Bro fought with the nurses to stay with you, so that man is not leaving your side the whole time you are there. I mean he's sitting next to your bed, or next to you if you're in a chair, and not leaving for anything.. well unless you asked for something, but that's not the point here

✮ - He sighed and watched as they started to take some tissues making sure that the bleeding was stopping, and applying an ice pack on your nose. He laughed slightly when he saw you flinch due to the cold, but made sure to squeeze your hand slightly to show that it would be fine. Once the ice was applied they made you sit and wait for a little, just to help with the healing, and came by every couple minutes at first to make sure that everything was okay and that you weren't getting freezer burn by any chance. The nurses were all really sweet, and Chigiri was making sure you were following what they said, no matter how cold that ice pack was, your ass, was not taking it off around him. Man already has a good track record of listening to what the doctors say, he trusts them, so in due turn you're following everything that they say as well. He sighs when you finally can take off the ice pack and he can already see the bruise forming under the red from the cold.

"Next time make sure you're not in dream land, because I'm gonna be way worse then these people when taking care of your stupid ass."

Rin Itoshi -> He might have left because the nurses told him to go back, but he also might have accidently put somebody else in the infirmary because he wasn't paying attention and went a little too hard on one of the newbies, so he ended up being back after only a couple minutes. Though the second he got back he was sitting next to you and making sure that you were okay, more with his actions then his words

✮ - This man hurried back over to the infirmary, he was almost asked by a couple teachers to slow down on the way there but when they saw he also looked pissed off (It's really just his rbf) they decided to just leave him alone. Assumed he was gonna like murder then if they had said something. The second he got back he rushed over to where you were, immediately asking if you were okay. Though it might not have sounded like he cared, the way that he almost plowed through like 3 teachers on the way here made up for it. The nurses were hella confused but once they saw him sitting right next to you and slightly holding onto your hand making sure they you didn't remove the ice pack, no matter how cold it was, they kinda just aww-ed and continued their work, checking up on you making sure that you didn't accidently get freezer burn and checking for bruising and things like that. He stayed holding your hand the whole time, letting you squeeze his hand whenever they tried to mess with your nose, pushing it around. He sighed when they finally walked away, looking up at you.

"I hope you know that I almost sent another lukewarm player from your team to the infirmary.. never do that shit again."

Nagi Seishiro

-> He will stay with you the whole time, mostly because he was too lazy to go back to class, and the fact that he was really only trying to impress you and since you're not there anymore it didn't matter to him. Though he will make sure to ask every couple minutes if you're okay, even if he looks like he's falling asleep against your shoulder

✮ - Was actually half falling asleep against your shoulder before you had to move him slightly when the nurse gave you an ice pack, which woke him up and that’s when he realized what was actually happening, to which he did end up staying awake to make sure that you were okay. Checking on you every couple minutes with a quick “You good?” or “You’re not dying. Right?”. He’s trying his best, but normally Reo takes care of him, he’s never been on the other side of this. The nurses will always slightly laugh at him, because he looks kinda worried but actually has no idea on what to do to help you. Is the only one who will actually take the ice pack off of you, not because he was trying to prevent healing, but you said your nose was cold and bro just fixed the problem, well that was until you laughed at him and he was hella confused. (please explain to this man about the great thing to athletes and injuries that is an Ice pack). Though he was super sweet other than that and did try to learn a bit and pay attention when the nurse finally let you leave with just some instructions on how to take care of it.

“Next time, just pay attention.. So we don’t have to go through all of this again. How I wished first aid kids that just auto healed worked in real life..”

Bachira Meguru

-> Stayed with you, but he laughed. The whole time. Man has almost been in tears twice sitting next to you, thinking about the way the ball came right in the center of your face and now it's all bruised. The nurses at this point also wanna give him a bruised nose so he can finally shut up

✮ - He was trying to contain his laugh the whole time he walked you there, plus in the office when the nurses were trying to help you, by getting tissues, an ice pack, and possibly some sort of pain medication. You probably have already given this man so many dirty looks and glares, but he just doesn’t seem to care whatsoever. Now, not to get this confused. He is concerned for your safety, but the fact that you got smack dabbed hit in the center of your face with a football is just so freaking funny to him and he’s just watching it over and over in his head. Had it been a whole different injury, one that didn’t look so funny, he would probably be more serious about it, but come on, it was pretty funny. Though, he’s probably also gotten hit a couple times with a ball so he does at least know the basics of making sure that you’re okay. So another one that makes sure that you keep that ice pack on the whole goddamn time, unless obviously, freezer burn. (I’ve had it, it sucks.) Though again, everytime he sees your nose, all red and starting to get bruised he will indeed laugh. But at the end of the day he’ll also be pretty helpful in making sure that it gets better, since his past experiences, if you can deal with the constant teasing.

“Oh come onnnn, It’s pretty funny! I mean how far out were you to get hit in the middle of the god damn face- Oh wait, here I have some bandaids so you can compress it”

Isagi Yoichi

-> Always making sure that you're okay. You move? He's asking. You made a funny face of pain? He's asking. You even looked at him? he's asking. He's really just worried and wants to make sure that you're okay and that it won't be all that bad or anything

✮ - This man has not left your side the whole time you’ve been sitting there. He’s constantly asking and making sure you’re okay and don’t need anything. Not to mention, he’s also been holding your hand the whole time, just in case. The only time he ever lets go is when the nurses come to make sure you’re okay. He’s just being cautious, hey, maybe you’ll need two hands to hold something or whatever. The only time he will keep his hold on you is when they come to move it around to make sure it’s not like broken or anything, then he’ll keep it there so you can squeeze it to deal with the pain, hey, hurt noses are nothing to sneeze at (please somebody laugh at that). Whenever your hand gets tired (or just cold) of holding your ice pack, he’ll take over. He’s just so freaking helpful and all the nurses love him for that. Though being an athlete himself does help a lot, he’s pretty good at knowing how all this stuff works. Checking to make sure that you’re following what the nurses said and making sure that it’s not getting too bad. Though once he sees that it’s all red and stuff he will chuckle a little, as worried as he is.

“Maybe next time you keep your attention on the field and not in whatever world you were in, okay?”

Reo Mikage

-> He was still laughing a little bit, and chuckled when he was reminded of the event, but for the most part was pretty worried about you and made sure that you didn't touch it too much so you didn't accidently hurt it anymore. Like Isagi, he also made sure to ask if you were okay every couple minutes, he just really wants to make sure that it won't cause anything long term.

✮ - He was sitting in the nurse's office with you, making sure that you were okay, asking if you needed anything. Water? To take off the ice pack for a second? Another tissue? He’s got it all covered. I mean he’s been taking care of Nagi for how long, this isn’t all that different. Well besides the fact he also gets a laugh or two out of it. (he won’t actually let out a laugh until you’re leaving the nurse’s office, and when he’s sure that it’s starting to get better). He just thinks it’s a little funny, watching the scene replay in his head of you getting hit in the face with the football. He knows that he shouldn’t laugh at your demise, but you can’t blame him. Though he’ll make sure that you always have everything you need for the next couple weeks, or at least until it’s healed. After the initial injury he might be a little more easy to make laugh, and by that I mean every time he sees your slightly bruised nose he’s letting out a chuckle. Was he worried at first? Yeah. But now he just sees it as a memory of you spacing out at the worst time.

“I know that I look good on the field, but next time pay attention to the flying ball and not at your amazing boyfriend~”

Sae Itoshi

-> Staying with you. No matter what. The nurses most likely hate him at this point, he's silent and he really isn't doing anything besides being next to you. Though, what they don't know is that fact every time he sees you twist with discomfort or make a face he's reaching over to ask if you're okay or you need anything

✮ - The nurses have come over a couple times at this point, once to give you an ice pack, once just to double check that you were okay, and once to give you some pain medication and water. Though on the right side of you, Sae has just been looking over at some of the other patients, and nurses walking around the office. After everytime one of the nurses walks up to you or does anything he will turn his attention back over to you and ask you a quick “you okay.” slightly looking at either your face or body language. If he ever can see that you’re lying to him, good luck to you. He’s an athlete, man has most likely gotten hurt in his career, and he knows lying and saying you’re fine isn’t doing anything, it’s actually most likely making it worse. So in turn he will glare at you until you finally say that you’re not okay. He just wants you to be honest, especially if it hurts and it’s something that can be fixed. Though also with his background he knows how to take care of things like that, and might possibly be the best one to have in this scenario, well if you can deal with him constantly not (facial) showing that he cares.

“You’re stupid, I hope you know that. And now you’re being even more stupid, don’t touch it.”

[nethhiri]

Chapter 54: Saccharine

Warnings: references to violence, menstruation

While you didn’t remember falling asleep, you certainly must have at some point. The thing about being blind was that light couldn’t make it to your brain to tell you what time it was, nor could it regulate your circadian rhythm, so you fell asleep and woke up at random times while your body adjusted to it’s new lightless cycle. You couldn’t tell what time it was, but guessed it was sometime in the early hours of the morning. It was an educated guess based on the hulking beast essentially roaring in your ear with every breath. That and the fact that you were in Killer’s room and Killer wasn’t there. Feeling around the side of the bed opposite Kid, it was still slightly warm. Killer must have just woken up to start making food for the crew.

Usually you would have gone with him to watch the sunrise and share coffee. Thinking about how you would never be able to do that again, for even a split second, sent you back to all the depressing thoughts you were having the previous day. Worse, Killer didn’t bother to wake you, knowing that you couldn’t admire the dawn with him. You would have still wanted to have coffee in his company. You could still do that at the very least.

As you lay in bed, a wave of nausea came over you, followed by the beginnings of a headache. The nausea was easily attributed to the antibiotics you were taking, and the headache could be any number of things: fucked up sleep, dehydration, Kid’s obnoxious snoring. It wasn’t enough to bother you yet. The only thing bothering you at the moment was figuring out how to break free of Kid’s hold so you could go pee. Over the many mornings you had spent with Kid, you were only able to remove him yourself occasionally. More often, Killer would have to rescue you. You were actually a little bit surprised Kid stayed with you for however long you had been asleep. You could tell he still had his clothes on so he must have been there the entire time. 

Your hands searched out Kid’s face. One of them was over his mouth and the other pinched his nose. He twitched a few times and then thrashed to escape your grip for a breath. Instead of releasing you, as you thought he would, he only squeezed you tighter to him with a whine, making the healing wound on your chest twinge uncomfortably. You tried it again. This time, Kid’s own thrashing woke him up when he bucked his head back and hit it against the headboard.

“Ow fuck. What the fuck?” Kid’s groggy voice replaced his snoring. “Can’t ya wake me up in a more pleasant way? Like sittin on my face.”

“I could if you didn’t hold me in a vice grip . Let go of me. Gotta pee.”

When he lazily released you, you rolled on your stomach and scooted down the bed until you felt your feet touch the floor. As you stood up, you felt dizzy, but the feeling passed relatively quickly. You carefully shuffled your way to the bathroom, trying not to trip or run into anything.

As if suddenly realizing you were blind, Kid stumbled out of bed to help. “Shit. Lemme help ya.”

“I’m don’t need help. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and let me- OH shit yer bleeding!”

“Huh?” You felt the bandages on your chest. They were dry. “No I’m not.”

“Not there. Uh it’s- yer bleeding from-“ Kid pointed, again forgetting that you couldn't see.

“Oh.”

It was something that you hadn’t experienced in quite some time. And you would have been perfectly fine without experiencing it ever again. The familiar feeling of warm blood sliding out from your vagina to trickle down your leg. You might have noticed sooner if you had on panties. The cool wet feeling against your crotch was more noticeable than body temperature blood on skin.

“Are ya okay? Are ya hurt?!”

Kid broke out in a sweat when his eyes fell upon the dark red, clotty blood clinging to your inner thighs. He had pushed a lot of the bad thoughts about what had been done to you out of his mind, but they came flooding back in at the sight. His mind swam and he felt sick wondering if you had internal injuries. Although he had seen a fraction of your trauma firsthand, he knew whatever happened off camera was worse. And he felt sicker knowing that it was his fault. If he hadn’t opened his big mouth, maybe the worst of it wouldn’t have happened. Kid was about to run and fetch Killer for help, but you stopped him.

Putting the nausea, headache, and dizziness together, it all made sense. “No. I think… it’s my period?” 

It couldn't be internal lacerations or anything of that nature because you had healed all the injuries that weren't infected somewhat indiscriminately, including any tears you had in the perineal area and anal and vaginal canals. What you didn't understand was how you were bleeding. Ever since the injury that caused your uterus to put out of commission, you hadn't experienced menstruation. It must have been your healing. You had inadvertently healed the scarring in your uterus. The hormones you had been given in captivity had made whatever endometrium you had left thicken in preparation for an egg to implant. The absence of them had caused the lining to slough, and now that your uterus had a patent cavity, it was able to exit. The dull ache of a cramp solidified your theory. You didn't really remember how your periods used to be, but how bad could it have been if you couldn't remember?

"Didn't think ya got those anymore." Kid put his hand on your shoulder to steer you to the bathroom, thinking about the misunderstanding where he thought he had gotten you pregnant in the past. 

"I think I accidentally healed that old injury that kept it from happening." You cleaned up your thighs with some toilet paper. "Can you ask one of the girls for a tampon or pad or something?"

Kid shuffled his feet. "Uh... how?"

"With words." You didn't hear him move. "Well? Get moving." The sound of grumbling and reluctant footsteps faded off as Kid left. 

You wished you could blame your recent emotional distress on this, but you knew it was the trauma manifesting. His sure did take his time. You waited on the toilet for a while before deciding to give your healing another shot. Although you still didn't feel well, part of it could be attributed to your cycle. Focusing on your chest, you willed your power to pull the skin across the scabbed over wound. Your hands lay on your chest to map your progress by poking to see which areas still hurt. Only a small area remained. Even so, you didn't have the energy to finish the job. As you waited, the cramps got slightly more intense.

The door opened and you called, "Kid?" 

"And Killer." You heard the first-mate answer.

After taking care of your bleeding issue with whatever Kid could scrounge up, you let Killer change your bandages. You sat on the edge of Killer's bed, still in his shirt, now with some of his boxers on too. 

"You were able to heal more? It looks much better." 

You nodded with a pained expression, as another, stronger cramp took hold. 

"Here." Killer put something warm in your hands, curling them around a cup. 

You sniffed it. "You brought me coffee?"

"And I brought ya breakfast," Kid's voice interrupted.

Your stomach was rumbling in a bad way. "I think I better pass. But it was thoughtful of you to bring a plate."

"Eh Killer asked me to. But I brought yer pussy shit!"

You snorted. "Yes. Good boy. Thanks for bringing my 'pussy shit'." You made air quotes. It was clear that Kid wanted a little praise for helping. Though you would put money on it that Heat actually had to ask the girls for feminine products and Kid was too embarrassed.

"Can I eat this then?" Kid was not about to waste Killer's cooking. 

"Knock yourself out." 

"Sweet." Kid's feet headed toward the door. "I'm gonna be in the shop." He slowed down and trotted back toward you to press a kiss on your cheek. "Feel better, bunny." Kid practically skipped out of the room. 

Your cheeks were hot as he called you by the pet name he normally reserved for more intimate times. It was just Killer there, but still. You lifted the coffee he brought you to your mouth and blew on the surface so you wouldn't burn your tongue, scooting back on the bed so that you could lean against the headboard and have your legs out. The mug was nice and warm. After taking a few sips, you placed it right over your lower stomach to ease the cramps, which were rolling in more frequently and worse. You heard the drag of a mug from the side table and felt the bed dip. Then there was an arm around you, pulling you in to lean on Killer's side. You heard him take a drink.

"You didn't have your coffee yet?"

"I wanted to share it with you. Like we always do." 

"Minus the sunrise."

"Got it covered, darlin." There was the sound of paper unfolding. Killer cleared his throat. "Dark blue, purpley-pink, coral, bright orange, pale yellow, sky blue. Four fish jumps, two seagulls, one pelican, one mama whale and baby, and one sea king."

You felt guilty about earlier when you thought that he had done your thing by himself. You didn't expect this. This went beyond a nice gesture. This was loving. He watched the sunrise for the both of you and wrote everything down? You had to turn your face from him and say something snarky so you didn't tear up. "You're lying about the sea king." 

"I'm not. Swear on Kid's life." 

You humphed. "Not fair." They were always a sight to behold, no matter how many you had seen.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, just enjoying the time together. You sipped your coffee until there was nothing left. Killer made it exactly how you liked it. He took the empty mug from you and set it on the side table. Drinking coffee on an empty, mildly upset stomach was not the best thing to do, but it was the only thing you thought you could keep down for now. Killer rubbed your arm with his fingers in light circles. 

"Kid seems to be in an uncharacteristically good mood lately," you mused. He hadn't even stomped once since you had been better.

"He's relieved that you're alive." Killer paused. "No one was sure if we would get you back. I think we convinced ourselves that when, if, we found you, it would be too late. If we did that, then we couldn't be disappointed if that was exactly the case. Any outcome that ended with you being alive was more than we could have dared hope for. Everyone wanted to believe we would find you alive, but we were too scared that we would be let down." His arm tightened around you. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get heavy."

"I didn't think... everyone cared that much. I mean you and Kid... yeah, but everyone else?" 

"You are part of the crew. The crew is our family. You are our family." Killer paused. "If it were Quincy or Emma, wouldn't you feel the same?" 

"Yeah... but I haven't been a part of the crew for as long. I'm not as integrated."

"What are you talking about? You've healed every single person on this ship at some point. You've fought for every single person on this ship and risked your life more than once." In a more gentle tone, Killer added, "When are you going to accept that you are worthy of being loved? And I'm not only talking about Kid and I." He meant them, and Heat, Wire, all your friends in the crew, everyone. 

You knew Killer was right. There was something inside you that put up a barrier against fully feeling like part of the crew. It protected you in case one day they decided otherwise. Then you wouldn't feel as heartbroken. It had started to crumble not so long ago, but the deceptive words of Warthin had built part of it back up again. Something Killer said had caught your attention.

"Kid and you?" 

In the silence that followed, you wish you had your vision back. Killer was probably so red he was purple. 

"Uh, well." Killer paused in his discomfort. "Yeah. I was... gonna tell you. I wanted to tell you." 

You smiled softly. "You didn't have to say it. You show it with everything you do. But... It's still nice to hear." There was a long pause. "That's your cue to say it." You put a hand behind your ear playfully. 

"I guess I have no choice. I have to compete with your three other boyfriends." 

"Huh? Three?"

Killer chuckled. "That's what you said in your sleep, when I was taking care of you." 

"I wonder what I meant by that."

"Probably wishful thinking. I think Wire and Heat would find it very amusing," Killer teased.

"I don't need eyes to kick your ass, Massacre Soldier."

Killer leaned down and nuzzled his face into your neck. "I love you, little breadcrumb." He kissed your cheek. 

______________________________________________________________

Several hours later, you were writhing in pain. Kid took you to his cabin to keep you company while Killer attend to his own duties. They both thought it best not to leave you alone with your thoughts, and for that you were grateful. Kid sat at the desk in his room and was working on some schematics or maybe charting. You couldn't tell, but you could hear the sound of his pencil furiously working. During this, Kid kept asking if you were ok and you kept replying that you were fine, but your clipped tone suggested otherwise. There was no more pain medication, not even the weak stuff. It had been used on you when you were unconscious. Kid didn't like watching you toss and turn, switching from fetal position one direction to the other, trying to get comfortable. 

"Are you sure I can't get you-"

You half growled. "Get me heat and some fucking chocolate if it will make you shut up."

All the years that you had gone without menstruating seemed to catch up at once, hitting you with every missed cramp and migraine, plus interest. Between the cramping and your lower back aching, it felt like someone was spearing you through the middle. You could feel Kid's worry seeping into you from across the room and it annoyed you. This was nothing compared to what you had endured, and yet it knocked you flat on your back. You couldn't fight it with fists. If you had full use of your devil fruit, you could end it. Maybe tomorrow would be the day. You knew you shouldn't snap at Kid and you were guilty about it. The pain of the migraine you were now experiencing and the cramps squeezing the life out of you interfered with your ability to be nice. If Kid wanted to help so badly, then so be it. He could get you a warm pack and one of your cravings. 

A few minutes later, Kid returned. "Alright, lass. I brought Heat and I didn't know what kind of chocolate ya wanted, so I brought all of it."

"What do you mean you brought Heat? I meant like a warm compress or something."

"Oh. Heat, ya can lea-"

"No! He'll do." You rolled to make room on Kid's bed. "Come." You patted the vacancy.

Heat stiffly got in beside you, unsure of the situation. He hadn't seen much of you since you returned. In fact, the last he saw you, you were near-dead on a gurney in the infirmary. This was improvement. He still didn't want to hurt you by accident, or, more likely, get hurt by you. You were giving him such a mean look, especially for someone with no eyes.

"Hands." You demanded. When he didn't move fast enough, you repeated,"Hands!" 

Heat hurriedly gave you both of his hands. You slapped one on your lower back, and the other on your lower stomach, making a sandwich of yourself. Finally, his higher than normal body temperature started to soothe your pains. He had to lay on his side to keep his hands in place. You groaned as your aches grew duller. Normally, Heat would have been very into you ordering him around. He was too intimidated to have horny thoughts. Nor was it the right time to. When your breathing slowed and it seemed as if you were asleep. Heat thought about getting up. 

"Boss," Heat whispered, "I'm scared to move."

"You should be," you said, definitely not asleep.

Kid cackled from across the room.

"Keep it down! My fuckin head is killing me." 

Kid choked his laugh back. "My bad, doll." 

There was a subtle jiggle in his hands as Heat silently laughed at his captain getting scolded. You put your hands on top of his, pressing it harder into your gut. 

"Make them hotter," you told Heat.

"I can't control my body temperature." 

You grumbled your displeasure. 

Later, as you started feeling better, you dismissed Heat so he could go do his actual tasks for the day. Killer brought you lunch, which you weren't hungry for because you had been snacking on chocolate all day. Killer was displeased that Kid let you eat that much. In Kid's defense, he couldn't say no to you. You looked so cute curled up snuggled in his sheets and he liked that you were dependent on him. During breaks between sketching, Kid would sit next to you and rub your back or offer to get you something. Even Wire dropped by to "see if Kid needed anything", but really he wanted to see how you were doing with his own eyes now that he heard you were bouncing back.

In the evening, Killer brought dinner to Kid's cabin for the three of you. Killer did the same thing as he had before after cutting everything up into bite-size pieces. He helped you with the first bites so that you knew where everything was in space. Then, you could do it without his aid. Killer had thought about bringing you soup in a mug so you didn't have to fiddle with utensils, but he knew you wouldn't like getting something different than everyone else because of your disabilities. Plus, it was better that you got some hearty food in you instead of broth. By tomorrow, you could probably use your devil fruit to heal yourself if you had enough energy. 

After dinner, you asked if you could shower. You hadn't done anything to get dirty between the last one and now, but you thought the warm, moist heat would feel good. Your body and Mother Nature were still fighting you, but they had settled down to a tolerable level. Killer would not allow a shower, and certainly not an unsupervised one. They were being extreme in your opinion. It was sweet how much they cared though. And that was how you ended up in the bathtub with both Kid and Killer. The bath was safer since you had to sit, and both of them had to clean off, so it made sense to join you. When you were done cleaning yourself, you sat in front of Killer so he could braid your hair again. You liked how it stayed out of your face and you knew that Killer was a little bit of a perfectionist, so they definitely looked good. 

"So does this mean ya can get pregnant now?"

"Kid!" Killer scolded him. 

"What?! I'm jus curious." 

"My eyes would be rolling, if I had any. Just so you know." You sighed. "Yeah I guess so."

Kid made a noise of understanding. 

"What? Nothing else?"

Killer pulled you into his lap when he was finished braiding your hair. "We'll be more careful in the future. That's all."

"Actually..." You paused, unsure how to proceed. "I was going to use my devil fruit to reverse the healing I did. I don't want to deal with this every month and I'm sure you don't either. And the chance of having a baby..." You shook your head. There was a silence that you didn't know how to interpret without being able to see either of their faces. It was making you nervous. "Is that... okay? Or.... is that something you... might want?" You choked the words out, feeling awkward even saying them. Being a mother and having a family were never items on your radar. Yet, your thoughts on the matter might be swayed if that was something that either of them wanted. They had done a lot for you lately, more than you thought they ever would. 

"Doll, that's not for either of us ta decide." 

Killer wrapped his arms around you in agreement. 

"I can...always reverse that, too. If you change your mind." You shrugged.

"Stop yer worryin about what we want." Kid flicked water at you. 

"Do what you want," Killer added.  

The next day was pretty much the same. You felt like shit when you woke up, but as the day went on, you gradually felt better. And at the end of the day, you were able to fully heal the rest of your chest. You didn't know what would happen if you reverted your uterus to its scarred state before you were done with your period, so you left it alone for the time being. The entire day Kid and Killer periodically switched off checking on you, offering cuddles, idle chat, food, whatever you wanted. It was unlike anything you had experienced before and something you definitely hadn't expected from them, more so Kid. He really did have a soft side, if you were lucky enough to see it. 

That night you were sandwiched between the two of them, as you were most nights. You liked to tuck yourself under Kid's stump and lay on his chest while Killer spooned you. That was exactly how you were positioned now. The pillowy-ness of Kid's chest rivaled your own. Killer refused to answer whose chest he preferred to lay on because he knew whatever he said would start a fight. Killer's hand was draped over you, rubbing your lower stomach, which still had echoing cramps. Kid ran his hand over your braid and gave it a playful tug. 

"I like these." 

"Mhm," you replied sleepily. 

"I'm pretty close to figurin out how to replace yer eye." 

"Are you?"

"Ya might ferget how handsome I am if I don't finish it soon." 

Kid was only joking. How could he know that was a very real fear you had been struggling with? Tears formed at the corners of where your eyelids met and dripped down your face onto Kid. You tried to sniff them back before he could see, yet it only made you cry harder. 

"Hah!? What'd I say?! What's wrong?"

"What if I do forget?" You sniffed. "W-when he took my eye... he said he's the last thing I'll ever remember. And I don't want him to be right." 

"He won't be. Don't think that for a second." Kid's anger flared. The only thing stopping him from going to the brig and beating that man to death was the fact that you would be mad that you didn't get to do it yourself. 

"We're not going to let that happen," Killer spoke from behind you. Killer felt guilt prick at his mind. Maybe he should have told you about your eye. He felt like he was doing the right thing. Now, he wasn't so sure. 

Kid brushed the tears from your face. "Don't do that. Yer so ugly when ya cry." Kid said it on purpose. He knew it would make you laugh to say something mean instead of what a normal person might say. It was part of his charm.

"Kid!" Killer protested.

You started to half-laugh half-cry. Kid was so stupid. But it was comforting in a way that only you would understand. How did you deserve to have not one, but two people that cared for you so deeply? They had helped you so much over the past few days, not to mention the effort they put in to rescue you.  Somehow, the past two days meant more to you. Any captain worth anything would rescue one of his crew. Only a captain that loved you would run and jump to hug you when he saw that you were awake, or bring you his own officer as a personal heating pad. And Killer, how two days in a row he brought you coffee and described the sunrise for you, so you could still participate in your special routine, one that you thought would be over forever. You started crying again. 

"What now!? I didn't say anything!"

"No one.. has ever been... this kind to me." You said between sobs. 

"Ya don't have to be a crybaby about it." 

"You can be a crybaby with me," Killer rolled on his back and patted his chest.

You started to roll to lay on him instead, but Kid trapped you against him.

"No, no. Stay. I like yer ugly crybaby face." 

Killer returned to his place spooning you and kissed behind your ear. "That's what people do when they love you." 

"Get used to it, princess. Can't have ya bawling yer eyes out every time we do somethin nice."

NEXT

Tag List: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Ooo, if your alright doing so, could you be able to make a one shot of that blind reader x Norton 👀 Feel like if Norton was capable he’d use their blindness to his advantage on flustering/teasing them. The drama would be interesting lol!

sorry anon wrote suffering and fool's gold not being normal

Rated Mature | Warnings: dubcon, not the best relationship

Tried to keep the original ask of this being a male based reader (though it can be read as gn)

The difficulty comes from the hunter version of Campbell, Fool's Gold hyper focusing on you rather than getting rid of the survivor version of himself. No, he rather have you stumbling to set you traps, to recover when he hits you.

Toying with you, he chaired that nurse and the professor to get them out of the way. Norton is too far away by now to get to you.

Plus this is Golden Cave, knowing himself, Norton is likely having a breakdown, heh.

“Let go!” You kick the air as he strings you up with the balloons, struggling to escape. He drops you somewhere within the cave.

“Pity we have to be quick about this, darling.”

Fool's Gold is obsessed with you, the matches you've had with him have always ended with you struggling to escape or having to cipher while Mercenary or Batter get his attention (having to up their game to achieve this). Norton has been trying all this time, but he knows himself.

Once he has you isolated, he grins like a cat that got the cream.

You struggle as he pins you down on the ground with a pickaxe, the large handle pinning you down as the pickaxe itself digs into your shoulder. Painful, greatly, but the panic of the large ore of a man opening your legs is at the forefront of your mind.

It is no secret that the prospector and yourself are sort of a complex item. Very complex, as he is the one who caused your blindness— This blindness that gifted you this strange ability to pick out the sound of certain materials, rocks like gold or diamonds to name the popular ones.

Being a miner is all you know, you swore to kill Norton Campbell.

Now you both are fighting to stay alive in this manor's games.

Fool's Gold laughs at the way you resist him on the pure fact of embarrassment, touching you through your worn denim pants, his solidified hand between your legs.

Up and down with two fingers.

“How long will it take for you to cum like this, hm?”

You growl at those words, “Fuck off!” Choking on those words when feel him applying more pressure.

“Oh, I will. Soon.” licking your cheek, “Next time, I am going to ram my cock deep into your—” He stops when something attaches itself to the back of his upper torso. The Hunter looks behind him as he pulls the pickaxe out of your bleeding shoulder. “You lil’ shit.”

A heavy-breathing Norton standing behind with the other magnet in his hand, his eyes glaring a million daggers at himself.

Fool's Gold is suddenly pulled forward into a crate while Norton grabs you and puts you over his shoulder.

The match ended in a draw.

The post-match argument does not happen this time, it is the second time Fool's Gold has shown he will go out of his way to get you. You figure it is because he is essentially Norton, just unhinged or something. And, clearly, has no problem in taking what he wants from you.

“How long?” Nurse left when Norton showed up in your room. Dark and brooding. You sit on the bed with no shirt on, chest exposed. Like him, you are covered with scars from the blast, and worse is the section of your eyes. The skin never healed properly and most days you are grateful not to see what makes people gasp when they see you without your partial mask.

“Two months into the job.” The door is closed and locked behind him, “You cared.” He starts removing his shirt, you hear it then tilt your head up when you can smell him. His hand touched the side of your face that wasn't too ruined by the explosion.

“Your standards are that low, Campbell?” Teasing him.

“If mine are low, yours must be in the ground.”

You click your tongue annoyed, you pull him forward by grabbing him by the waistband of his pants and falling backward to bring him down with you.

[gracie7209]

Amaryllis Chapter 8: The Call

Pairing: Frankie x f!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Language, lots of angst, but there’s hopeful bits too, sad Santi, sad Reader, talk of childbirth (not in detail whatsoever), lots of inner thoughts… I’m sorry if I left out anything!

A/N: Trying something a little different this time by essentially adding in a chapter prologue… I’m nervous about the whole thing honestly. Did a few random things that idk how they’ll be received but at this point oh well 🤷🏼‍♀️ I’m having a hard time getting out of my head on this one, so I’m just going to let it go and see what happens. Any mistakes are also mine!

As always I appreciate any and all feedback, just please be kind ❤️ (Or send me a dm if something is glaringly awful.)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

—

**Frankie was found by a group of villagers who took him in to assess his injuries. The guys had already left Colombia, leaving Frankie to make his way on his own.

He sleeps it off for a few days, and when he wakes up he’s angry. Tom knowingly did this. He knew the guys were able to see what was happening, so he made it look like an accident. Reaching out and screaming his name as he tumbled down. Tom was very good at manipulation, and for the longest time, especially in the service, he had Frankie completely under his spell. So while the guys saw them fighting, Tom swore the end result wasn’t intended to kill him… He was angry, but would never try to kill one of his own. Frankie just slipped…. He fell and there was nothing anyone could’ve done to stop it. The guys bought it. Frankie couldn’t blame them. The entire situation was fucked and up until that moment, Frankie never would’ve imagined that Tom would actually try to kill him.

Fortunately for Frankie though, he walked away due to his fall being partially broken by a dense brush that saved his life. Had he been just a few feet away in either direction, he might not have been so lucky**

—

When he wakes up, Frankie’s extremely disoriented. He can tell he’s been out for awhile, so when he asks what day it is, he’s not surprised to find out it’s been four days since Tom pushed him down the mountainside.. Before attempting to move, he takes stock of his injuries. He feels like death, but he’s definitely had worse. Looking down at his left hand, he sees a makeshift splint keeping his wrist immobile and some of his fingers are taped together… Moving further down, his right leg is propped up and seems to be wrapped in a simple type ace bandage, but he can see how swollen it looks even under the wrapping. Taking his right hand he slowly moves it over his torso, where he’s felt a lot of pressure and finds more wrapping around his midsection— broken ribs then.

He needed to get to a phone. But he also thinks about his situation. Right now, with a few broken ribs and at best a badly sprained ankle, he’s going to be down for a little while. The fact that he’s here and not with the guys means that they believe he didn’t survive the fall. Frankie knows that Tom’s actions have crossed a line that can’t be undone this time. This could work to his advantage though, if he plays it right.

He needed to come up with a plan, while allowing himself to heal. He would talk to Santi first, but he needed to give himself and the guys time to let this all sink in.

When he asks how to get to somewhere with a phone, he’s directed to a nearby village, which is also seemingly lacking in technology. This back and forth goes on for a few weeks before he finally, finally finds something from the 20th century and he’s able to use an actual phone.

Frankie reaches out to Santi because while he was the most familiar with the area, he was also his closest friend and he was just as fed up with Tom’s bullshit as Frankie.

“Hello?”

“Pope? Pope it’s me, It’s Cat…..” Frankie’s voice is scratchy and raw from lack of use…

“Is this a fucking joke? Who the hell is this!?”

“It’s ME you dumb shit.”

“Fish? How……????”

Santi is quiet on his end. Frankie is praying the line didn’t disconnect.. “Pope? Shit…. You still there man?”

“Yeah… I’m, I’m here.. I just. I need a minute…..” comes Santi’s garbled reply. He’s practically choking on his words.

Santi and Frankie had been friends for a very long time. They met in high school long before they even considered joining the military. They had practically been joined at the hip, so when it came up, there was no question that they would join together.

“Holy shit… ok, Fish… Fish! What the fuck happened? I can’t believe this..” Frankie breaks down once Santi realizes it’s actually him. Just so happy to hear someone familiar. He tells Santi about the state he was in when he woke up, and about how he thinks he was able to survive the fall.

He takes a moment before asking Santi what happened when they decided to leave. He knows that they wouldn’t have left if they thought there was a chance he was alive. Even so, he doesn’t mean to sound accusatory when he asks “Why did you leave?”

“He started yelling for you. Tom was on the edge looking down, hand outstretched and everything. We all ran over, but you were gone. Tom said you guys were arguing and that things got physical, but didn’t realize how close you both were to the edge. Said your foot slipped and he tried reaching for you, but didn’t get there in time. He said he was angry with you, but he would never try to kill one of his best friends. We didn’t have the time to argue. We tried getting to you… we did! Benny refused to leave without you. He even had us make a line and drop him down, but the brush in the middle was so thick we were never able to see you. When we couldn’t find you, we thought the worst. And with everything else, the chopper, Lorea’s men? We didn’t…. Fuck! I’m…...”

The shame in his voice makes Frankie’s heart twist. “We could’ve found you…. I’m sorry Fish, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this….”

“It was Tom,” Frankie says under his breath.

“What?”

“It was Tom. He…. He looked me dead in the eyes before shoving me backwards.”

Neither of them say a word for a few minutes. Both digesting the information they’d just heard. He knows they don’t have a ton of time so Frankie tells Santi that he just needs to get home. But Tom can have no knowledge that he’s alive. None. He has to come up with a plan, but what can honestly be done? Initially, he wanted nothing more than to return the favor. He had plenty of time to think of every way he’d go about it if he had the chance. But, being here this long, the anger has all but dissipated.

Frankie’s thoughts circle back to you. Just needing to know if you’re ok.

“Santi?”

“Yeah?”

“How is she?” He knows that his first priority should be about getting himself home, but he just can’t help it. Santi doesn’t ask who you’re referring to.

“She’s due anytime now. Tom has kept her under lock and key, but I asked and he told me she’s ok…. Hasn’t let anyone see her, but if we’re being honest, we’ve all kind of been in our own heads since that day. We thought you were gone and it’s been hard. Benny and Will went home to see their family. And I, uh, well, you know Cat….”

Frankie knew how Pope handled these types of things and it wasn’t usually by legal means. He couldn’t fault him for how he chose to deal. They’d all done things they weren’t proud of and he understood.

“I still can’t believe I’m talking to you. I thought I lost you man….” The last word gets caught in Santi’s throat. “This is insane.”

“I know… I know..” Frankie doesn’t know if he’s ever heard Pope this caught off guard. He’s always, always been on point. Nothing gets to him. Nothing shocks him. But it seems that Frankie calling him today has upended his whole life and Frankie guesses he has. It’s not every day your best friend comes back from the dead.

“The guys are going to fucking lose it!! Benny has been a complete wreck so Will took him home to try to help. Will’s been quiet, but you know how he is. He processes things differently. Are you going to call them, or do you want me to call them? They should be back next week.”

“No, no stop. Santi, wait. They can’t know.”

“What? why? They think you’re fucking dead Fish!

“I Know!! Listen to me, I know.. But I need your help. Tom can’t know I’m alive. Not yet. I think I have a plan, but I need you to trust me. Please.”

Frankie won’t say anything else unless it’s in person. Tom is not only a fucking lunatic, but he’s smart. And paranoid. He wouldn’t doubt it, if Tom had been wondering if he was truly dead or not. No body, no murder, no body, no proof someone’s dead.

“Never count your money before it’s in your pocket, Benjamin,” he recalls his words of advice to Benny back in the shipping container before the recce with a sigh.

Basically, Tom was never one to assume anything without proof.

“Ok ok… Well, what do you need me to do?”

“I just need you to get me home. The guys can’t know. Benny wouldn’t be able to keep that a secret and Will doesn’t need the extra baggage of keeping anything from his brother, so we’ll just leave them both out of it for now.”

“Alright, alright…. What’s the plan?”

“Just get me home. We’ll talk then. Can you track this location?”

“Yeah, yeah…. You gonna be ok?”

“I’ll manage. Call this number. Ask for Javier.”

“Javier?? Who the hell is Javier?”

“It’s me….”

“Ohhhh, gotcha. Sorry—” Santi takes a breath and continues,

“—Look, I was actually set to head back down there in a few weeks. I wanted to get back into it, try to focus on something else for awhile and especially when we left Lorea’s…. We never finished that job…”

“Whatever you gotta do is fine. I just need to get home.”

“I’ll get you home man…. It’s just going to take a little bit longer. I can push it up by maybe a week, but anything more than that and they’ll start questioning why I’m leaving so soon. Can you make it that long?”

Frankie realizes he’s been out here for about a month now… What’s two more weeks?

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to. It’ll give me time to sort some more things out.”

Frankie sighs… “Hey Santi?” He hates to put any more stress on him, but he has to ask….

“Could you uh, do me one more favor?”

“Course, man.”

“Can you please check in on her? I just need to know she’s ok.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but Fish, it’s gotten bad…. Tom won’t say much, but it’s hard to pretend your very pregnant wife doesn’t exist. He never lets her leave. Won’t let anyone in either. I saw her through the window last week and she looked ok, but like she was somewhere else. When I asked Tom he just brushed it off as pregnancy stuff. Said that she’s getting close to the end and left it at that.”

“Alright, I get it.” Frankie is leaning on the wall with his head on his forearm, his eyes shut tightly. He can’t hear much more.

“Just - if you’re able to, please let her know everything is going to be ok. She… She doesn’t deserve this shit...”

Fuck.

He’s letting it get to him, but he knows there’s nothing he can do right now. He breathes in and out slowly….. He just needs to get home. Then, he can start making things happen.

“Sorry Pope… Sorry.”

“It’s ok man. I understand. I know… well I’ve known for a while now. How you feel about her? It’ll be ok. I’ll check in and I’ll keep you updated. Give me two weeks and I’ll get you home.”

“Thanks man. Just call me. I’ll be close by.”

“You got it Fish.. Be safe. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, Santi hangs up the line. Frankie hangs up the corded phone, putting it back into the receiver attached to the wall.. His head is still against his forearm, eyes closed. He absentmindedly wipes away the stray tear running down his face, breathing in and out slowly just trying to keep it together.

Only two weeks. Basically, no time at all.

—

Two weeks.

Two full weeks — 14 days.

Frankie was counting down the hours, the minutes, until he could go home. Every day was torture. Finally after so long on his own he had gotten through to someone — finally heard a familiar voice and the happiness he felt was ripped away as soon as the line cut.

He was still healing from his injuries. His hand still bandaged and his ribs made it hard to breathe if he was moving around too much. But he couldn’t stand to sit still. It made his mind race when he couldn’t keep his hands busy with something else and the last place he wanted to be was stuck in his own head.

Frankie knew he needed to stay put. But it was killing him to just sit and wait. He was grateful that it was his left hand that took the most damage so when he could, he would write. It was the only thing he could do that allowed his mind to stay focused, without the physicality he was so used to. He would write down everything. Every thought, idea, plan, hope — anything and everything because he not only wanted to document his time here but also put words to the plan that had been forming in his head of how to get you out of Tom’s grasp and allow you to have a life of your choosing.

Frankie thought about you more than he thought was necessary. He was always thinking about you if he was being honest with himself. After your night together, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

He loved you. He knew it beforehand and after, but as soon as the guys left for Colombia, Frankie had no doubts about his feelings for you. He knew he would do whatever it took to make sure you got the life you wanted for yourself. Even if that didn’t necessarily include him, it would be your choice to live whatever way you saw fit.

Somehow every time Frankie would put pen to paper, no matter where he started, it would always come back to something about you. Sometimes his inner monologue would find its way out and he would converse with himself like he was talking to a close friend. Most of the time though, he would talk to you…

—

— Querida I miss you… I have literally been counting the damn days til I can see you again. Fucking lame I know. I would ask how you’re doing, but Pope has filled me in a little. He says the baby is due anytime now. I just want you to know that I have thought about you, both of you, almost nonstop since the minute I left. I never should’ve left. So goddamn stupid… Right now, you have no idea that I’m even here. No idea that I’m writing to you and doing everything I can to get home. But you will. You can’t know until I take care of things though. I want to hear your voice. I miss our little talks at the diner. It was just easy with you. We’d talk about pretty much anything…. the damn weather, the buildings in the city. How you missed home sometimes. How scared you are to become a mother…… you’re going to be an amazing mother.

I’m not great at this, but there are so many things I want to tell you. I meant it when I said I would get you out of this situation and I will. Nothing can stop me at this point. Not even death apparently… I’m really fucking glad you won’t be reading this because wow… I would “lol”, but I’m literally handwriting this……….

Anyway, as if you could hear me. Aaaaahhhhh!!!!

Ok better. God get a grip dude…

I want to see you, to touch you, to hear your voice because I’m pretty sure I’m going insane. Pope knows and he’s going to bring me back.

I realize that I don’t even know if you’re interested in having any kind of relationship at all, let alone with me. I hope you do. I never really thought I would ever want something as much as I want to be with you. Huh.. I don’t think I’ve actually voiced that thought even to myself until now. Interesting.

Since that night though, that fucking night that haunts my dreams, all I can think about is YOU. That one taste was more than enough to have me addicted and I’ve fucked my hand more times than I will ever admit out loud at the thought. I can taste you on my tongue still. Can still feel you around me and I fucking lose it. Fuck I need to quit otherwise I’ll be back at it.

Hell, it’s lonely here. Soon though, I’ll be back in the States and can finish this. God I miss you. I’ll be there soon. —

—

Santi called about ten days after he and Frankie first spoke; this time it was about you.

Frankie had talked to him a handful of times in between, just going over vague plans, times and places etc for when he returned to Colombia.

He would ask Frankie or “Javier” how he was getting along, how his injuries were healing etc. This was different though.

—“Fish?” He seemed out of breath… and the words were pouring out of his mouth…

“Um I don’t even know where to start. I’ll be there in four days, but man you have to know something…”

“Hey, hey, slow down, just breathe.”

“Ok, shit. She, uh fuck. Ok…. Look,”

“Come on Pope, spit it out! Is everything ok?” Frankie’s heart was in his throat.

“It, um, well it happened. I guess they got into a fight and it uh, jump started the whole process… She punched the shit out of him though.”

“Slow down, so she had the baby??”

“Yes”

“Is she, are they ok??”

“I think so. She fucked up his nose though and I guess the force, or the stress or whatever put things in motion. I just left the hospital.”

“Why would she do that? She knows what he’s capable of. Why would she put herself at risk like that?”

“She’s a spitfire, I’ll give her that. She did a number on his face. Left him with two black eyes. I would’ve given her a hug if she wasn’t uh, busy with other things.”

“Fuck….” Frankie is squeezing the pressure point between his eyes. He’s not sure why, but he just assumed that he’d be back before the baby was born.

Santi can’t help himself but ask the question, “Did you two ever, um, you know. Did you—?” But Frankie interjects.

“Did we fuck? Is that what you’re asking?” He didn’t mean to come off so harsh, but he was having a hard time keeping it together.

“Whooaaaaa, calm down pendejo…. But yeah. Did you? Actually??? I mean shit, I knew you had feelings for each other, but,”

“Yeah… We did.” —He says it, not with pride, but simply put. “About two weeks before we left out.”

“Shiiiiiittt…….”

He doesn’t want to focus on that aspect, so Frankie tries getting back to the ‘you hitting Tom in the face,’ part.

“Was it just her who did a number on him or? Did he hurt her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. She’s refused to let him into the room and has had security keep him out.”

“Shit, ok….. Get me home. Please. I’ll be ready. Let me know if anything changes, but I need to go. I can’t deal with this right now being this far away. I need to keep my head on straight if I’m going to get her out of this.”

“I’ll be there soon buddy. It won’t be long now.”

—

Frankie was ready four days ago, but it was finally time.

He and Santi went over coordinates, pickup and flight times and what to expect when they got back to the States..

How does one just come back from the dead?

Luckily, Santi was a greedy shit and after Frankie fell, he took all of Frankie’s things that weren’t on his person and kept them at his house. To the outside world, Frankie was currently just a missing person. There was no way they could come forward with what they “knew” or thought actually happened. No one outside of the five of them even knew about their “mission” as it was relayed only to certain people as just a Guy’s Trip. So it wasn’t noticed when they came back to the States’ a man short. Frankie’s family lived in Texas. His Mom and Step-dad along with his older sister. After they got back, Santi knew he had to at least tell them that Frankie was missing. They of course filed a missing persons report, which Santi expected. But he couldn’t go through with trying to help plan a funeral… Not yet. He knew he could only push it off for so long, but they had to come up with a cover story to explain and no one was in a state of mind to even think about that at the time.

Thankfully, it no longer mattered and instead Frankie was about to come barreling back into everyone’s lives. But not until Tom was dealt with.

Frankie was adamant that no one could know anything…. There could be no inkling that he was alive. Santi just had to trust that Frankie knew what he was doing.

—

After the longest four days of his life and an even longer month, Frankie was going home. Santi showed up right on time like they planned. It was just after dawn and Frankie hadn’t slept a bit the night before.

He was ready and anxious and there were so many thoughts running through his mind, that he wasn’t prepared for the emotional toll that seeing a familiar face would put on him.

His ribs were still healing, but he could care less that he couldn’t breathe when Santi hugged him without a word. It wasn’t necessary to speak and Frankie wouldn’t have been able to if he tried. He was crying; so overwhelmed with every emotion that he couldn’t form a single syllable, just a yelp at the initial impact of Santi’s iron grip and Frankie’s own hushed cries as the weight of the last month and a half came full circle.

Frankie cried and Santi just held him through it. Hell, he would never admit it but Santi was crying himself.

Frankie’s entire body was trembling. Everything he’d gone through, he had been alone.

“Hey, hey…. It’s alright man, I’ve got you. I’ve got you….” Santi whispers to Frankie, just letting him know that he’s there. He couldn’t imagine what kind of hell this last month had been for him. He looks ok? Santi thinks to himself. His hand is bandaged up and he was limping toward the main area when Santi first pulled up… he’s got some scarring on his face and could definitely benefit from some real food, but overall, it’s still Frankie. Someone Santi thought he’d lost and would never see again. That realization washes over him and he shudders at the thought.

Frankie is here, he’s alive and he’s coming home.

Santi clears his throat..

“So, uh, Javier?” Frankie snorts at the name….

“Where’d that come from?” Santi says with a note of curiosity… he’s trying to cut through the thick air that’s surrounding them currently. There will be more time for that when everything else is said and done.

“I didn’t want to give my real name in case Tom decided to backtrack and go asking around. It’s stupid honestly, but Tom’s a paranoid bastard so I wanted to cover my ass—

—Plus, she uh, that was a little inside joke we had. She said that when she first met me that I looked like this guy from a TV show. She never really watched it, but I guess Tom had sometimes. It was set in Colombia and the fucking irony of that? I’m in fucking Colombia, so I thought it’d be funny.” He chuckles lightly to himself, thoughts taking him somewhere else entirely and Santi groans…

“Jesus dude, you got it bad…. “

Yeah I do.. Frankie thinks to himself. He just gives a small smile and shakes his head..

“Well, here. I brought you something.”

Santi reaches for his phone, scrolling through until he turns the screen to Frankie.

“I convinced her to let me in while Tom was gone. Now don’t kill me but I wanted to see how she felt about you….”

“You did what??”

“I didn’t tell her anything… Well, I told her I was making a memorial video for you to give to your Mom. I assured her that Tom wouldn’t see it, but I asked her to tell me what she would say to you if she had the chance. This is what she said…”

“Why would you do that to her? She just had a fucking baby. You can’t just…” but, Santi cuts him off.

“Just watch it.”

Frankie swallows and takes a breath before looking back down at the phone and hitting play—

He sucks in a breath at seeing your face. God, you were beautiful. You had obviously taken the phone from Santi to record yourself in private. It looks like you’re laying in a hospital bed, the lights are turned down and you are holding a little bundle in the crook of your free arm.

—

“Frankie, I still don’t believe that any of this is real. I miss you…

The baby is finally here.. he decided to make his entrance very memorable…”

Frankie smiles, he remembers what Santi told him had jump started your labor and he couldn’t be more proud of you….

“I’m so sorry Frankie. I know why you did what you did, but I wish more than anything that things could’ve been different.

I talk to you every night.. I hope that you hear me. I can’t say it out loud, but I hope you’re able to feel my heart from wherever you are. It’s been yours for a long time.”

You wait a moment before looking down at the bundle in your arms..

“I’d like you to meet someone.”

The phone pans down to a little wrinkled and pink face, with dark brown hair. Eyes closed and napping peacefully. He looks like you.

“He will be treasured, and is already so loved by everyone who’s met him. You would love him, Frankie. And I will make sure he knows you and loves you just as I do.

You gave me so much in the short time we had. You showed me what it meant to be cared for and for that I will always be grateful.

I will talk to you always, every day, until we meet again.

I love you Frankie. I wish I had been able to tell you sooner.”

Frankie doesn’t miss the tears filling your eyes, even when you give the camera a smile, he sees your pain and he wants nothing more than to take it away.

—

“She got pretty emotional after she gave me the phone back, and I told her that you could hear her. I just left out the part where you would actually get to hear it.”

He is doing everything he can to keep it together… he doesn’t want to waste any more time crying like a fool when he could be making his way back home.

Santi claps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“You ready?”

Taking a deep breath, he stands up straight and gives Santi a firm nod.

Frankie is finally going home.

—

Taglist: @boliv-jenta @just-here-for-the-moment @hnt-escape @bitchwitch1981 @tanzthompson @readingiskeepingmegoing @imaswellkid @queridopascal-main @something-tofightfor @jb2856 @pastelnap @littlemisspascal @quica-quica-quica @sunnysidekit @harriedandharassed @autumnleaves1991-blog @mymo-n @wildemaven @rhoorl @pimosworld @dashavau

A/N: For Frankie’s note to himself, essentially he’s just writing everything that comes into his head verbatim. For us reading it back, it looks weird, but it’s honestly something I do IRL all the time… No one is supposed to see it lol so it’s definitely cringey 😂

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

"It wasn't until he made music with Dom and became friends with him and started seeming more human and accessible that I fell in love with him"

So... when he was around his black friends and colleagues and in a black scene he was not enough of a 'human' and not enough 'accessible' for you?

Right now you sound no different than Megan who said somewhat of the liking 'he was abandoned and was left to be raised by wolves' in her 'poetry' when plenty times he credited plenty both Ashleigh mom and Slim+Dub moms and other black women (like his best friend's mom in Denver) for being there and essentially raising him. Who are the wolves? (This question is for Megan) and... who are the people around him that didn't allow him to 'seem more human and accessible' (this one indeed is for you, tho?).

You can find this info - the credit he gives the black community- in his past rap interviews... but maybe he was to inhumane and inaccessibile for you to watch them.

I don't except you to post this, this is just for you, this is not a hate attack just a fruit for thought. Some of you do not realize how tone deaf the things you say are while having good intentions. There is more to intersectionality, beyond gender and their roles, that you choose to ignore. And that's just sad.

Oh I'll totally post it because anyone who has followed me for any length of time already understands why this is. I really hope you send something else later so I can take care of something but I'm pretty sure you're the only person who thinks this.

I am a very open person who's been through a lot of shit in my life. Colson used to scare me because when I was a teenager I was raped by my ex who idolized Em and all rap. Maybe it wasn't right of me to have PTSD with a whole genre of music but I was a child and went through hell because of that boy. You don't get to choose triggers, only that you wish to heal from them. He assaulted me in my church and left me pregnant- which I lost a few months later. I spent the next decade or more too terrified of anyone who looked, acted, and tried to seem an alpha male. It wasn't just rappers or whatever, ANYONE who had that "I'm a man lemme smash" personality. If you followed anything I've posted about Kells or myself before YOU wouldn't sound so ignorant and tone deaf. If you don't like us, GET OFF OUR PAGES. Stop attacking us and our followers. It's that easy. You don't have to try and convince me I don't like people. I'm a trans man so yeah I like the boy who wears skirts and what he's done with Colson. If you somehow haven't noticed, that's what I focus on. It's a fanpage, not a political statement.

I fell in love with Dom and his kind heart even though he sung some rap. It opened me up to healing, finding myself, and a world of new things. Because of him I found Kells again and started to see how he was around Dom. It was different than who he was around anyone else. He started seeming okay with someone like me and I took his name BECAUSE of how much he helped me heal and changed my outlook.

I'm glad for all the people he had over his life but given my past I wouldn't have been able to deal with him if not for his relationship with Dom. I (and Roxy) don't owe you shit and you sound like you're desperate for everyone to think you're a better fan than the rest of us. You put him down for no longer being manly enough for you so which of us comes off worse? I love all versions of him. He helped me heal.

I hope by now @triplexdoublex has blocked you but please do message me again so I can block you now. This triggered the fuck out of me and gave me a panic attack so thanks for ruining my morning, I'm sure that makes you feel big and strong. Considering how you talked about him you're probably transphobic too so this is the only power I'm giving you and it's more so Roxy can see what you are and hopefully never gives you a platform again. People are allowed to grow and heal and change, maybe you should try it? I know you hate that Colson did but it might help you.

To all my mutuals who already know all this I'm sorry to have to go back over it. I just felt like this needed to be seen. Someone like this might try to use it later and I'm not in the mood to let anyone think they have one over me. I love you all and I hope you're having a lovely day 🖤

Edit to add: How very fucking DARE you compare me in ANY way to that abusive woman. I'll give the benefit of the doubt that you just follow Roxy and don't know my past. But that was worse than you reaching for the rest. You were literally the one spewing abusive rhetoric about him not being manly enough- that sounds more like Megan than I'll ever be. But Dom and Cols taught me how to be a man so I'll let this go like they would. Hope you have the day you deserve!

[sr-sam-bodypillow]

have a fucked up staif idea which was inspired by something i heard Kaif say in a video (tw: gore, i guess this counts as guro, blood, blood as lube (Don’t Do That) uh. non-standard methods of penetration? yyyeaaaah, this is even more fucked up than the yandere Sam headcanons I’m sorry)

so in this au Stan is functionally immortal. he hasn’t been immortal long but the basis is people can’t kill him as he’ll be able to heal and regrow body parts as needed over time, ages slowly or not at all (the only reason he started aging again was because he was SO PISSED OFF at the fact that otherwise he’d have a baby face for the rest of eternity that his body started to age again. king shit )

only one small problem. he’s kinda. cursed. the curse is somewhat like Tomie, in which he tends to drive people he meets into a bloodthirsty rage where all they can think of doing is killing him. of course it doesn’t. kill him. but that tends to destroy most relationships a person has. the curse can only drive a person mad like this once or twice until they’re immune, but it only needs to work once to achieve it’s goal of completely isolating Stan.

until he finds SR. talking to people online completely circumvents his curse, but he still can’t meet them in person without risking it. he ends up giving in and going out for a day, reasoning with himself that just one day surely won’t be long enough to harm anyone. he’s wrong. his isolation has caused his curse to build up, and where it used to take months or weeks it now takes only hours to drive Kaif off the deep end.

it’s not too hard to get Stan alone since he has his guard down, and when he does Kaif wastes no time in breaking his legs and starting to hack away and mutilate him with a cleaver maniacally, licking Stan’s blood off his fingers and biting into him like he’s a chew toy. Kaif’s already a bit of a sadistic bastard but he gets worse with the curse, taking his time to just tenderise Stan and see how he reacts to the excruciating pain. Stan’s actually enjoying it in his own uniquely masochistic way, but he’s not going to admit that out loud lmao.

anyway it gets to the point where Kaif finds himself needing some, uh, friction, so he cuts stan’s head off and starts fucking his decapitated head (this was all inspired by Kaif saying “I’m going to skull fuck you” in an old wow vid)

he’s not aware of the fact that stan is still conscious and able to feel everything he’s doing, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out lubricated by his own blood and Kaif’s spit, twitching inside of his head as Kaif runs his hands through his hair in a strangely gentle move for someone who’s just gruesomely butchered one of their friends, moaning shamelessly.

it feels unfairly good for both of them, Kaif finishing inside of Stan, and Stan ends up becoming severely annoyed that Kaif cut his head off, because it technically removed his dick and now he can’t cum which is honestly so rude

at this point because the curse usually makes people hide the bodies as well, Kaif gets up, only for the curse to instantly fade away because it burnt itself out. a shorter incubation time means it wears off faster… leaving a sane Kaif with Stan’s decapitated body and head that is covered in his own cum. He panics, and then panics some more when Stan’s head starts talking to him.

Stan’s fine he just wants his head back on his body, and after Kaif obliges he ends up letting him uh, ‘torture’ ;) him some more since he didn’t get to cum earlier and he’s a horny bastard

i might write this as a full thing but god I’m so worried I’d gross people out. maybe this one stays in the locked box boss but for now I’m posting this to essentially toss it out of my mind

[waterberry-strawmelon]

dungeons and daddies season 2 rant!

this is mostly a vent post bc i’m just not a huge fan of the way the stakes in this story have been handled in the 2nd season so far! obviously i love the podcast so this is no hate on it, but i just wanted to get this out there and see if anyone else feels similarly, or if perhaps season 2 gets a little less messy and forcibly dramatic later on!

*Note: As of right now, I just finished Episode 13—aka the huge lore dump episode lmao! So maybe things get better after this and i just dont know it yet!

This is a lot of word vomit cuz I wrote down all my thoughts in my notes app on my phone stream-of-consciousness style, so if something doesn’t make sense, that’s why!

My problem with season 2 is that the rules of the world and of the story keep changing. The rules of the GAME aren’t changing, but the verisimilitude of the story itself is—they’re playing Calvin Ball with our suspension of disbelief, and it’s not working for me.

It’s like the Steven Universe Future thing of suddenly going against the previously-established rules of cartoon logic; suddenly we’re NOT supposed to laugh at cartoon slapstick and instead supposed to now see it as REAL INJURY that just…healed. But that breaks the audience contract!!

In Dungeons and Daddies, we’re supposed to believe that a lot of these jokes in season 1 don’t really matter. So when they DO in season 2, that’s not what had been implicitly agreed upon by the audience and the creators/writers about the story. 

So with this in mind, that we are now supposed to believe that these characters’ actions have real consequences. Willy Stampler is an abuser. If we’re trying to do a redemption arc, we need to fucking SEE that.

For this season to represent growing up and realizing that adults are fucked up and make fucked up choices and can grow and change and get better or get worse or maybe weren’t ever as great as you thought it was. Those are cool ideas! But for us to take them seriously, they’ve got to be handled with care; we can’t just be told these adults made fucked up choices and when it was posited as a joke, only for it to actually be SERIOUS (i.e., if for example, henry and darryl kissed in season 1 and it was played as a joke that may or may not have actually happened, it’s never addressed again, so it’s really not heavily staked in canon—then you cannot in season 2 say that actually, darryl and henry had a lot of tension after they got back to earth and it was awkward for the rest of their lives, but we didn’t see it it just happened off-screen, trust me. BECAUSE THAT’S NOT HOW IT WAS TREATED IN SEASON 1!!! YOU CAN’T REWRITE WHAT’S ALREADY HAPPENED—IT DESTROYS OUR BELIEF IN ANYTHING THAT HAPPENS IN THE STORY. SHOULD I TAKE THINGS AS JOKES, OR LITERALLY? If I took all the stupid shit in this podcast as real and genuine and serious, then this would not be a story i wanted to watch, because literally every character is an asshole. But that’s not how the story is sold to us!

It’s kind of like how ultimately, all the dads in S1 were kinda shitty, because they were played by actors playing Dungeons and Dragons as a comedy podcast. If the podcast had treated that stuff seriously, it would’ve been an ENTIRELY different tone, and no longer comedic. But now suddenly we’re supposed to take all that shittiness as if it WERE serious fact! But that wasn’t the implicit contract we’d agreed upon by engaging in this “comedy podcast” story!!!!!!!

I think it’s cool how the new dads/S1 sons are essentially acting just like the dads in S1 did, only we’re seeing from the kids’ perspective how it actually affected them. 

But at the same time…idk. It’s like you’re mixing metaphors. It doesn’t resonate with me, because i can’t be invested in any of it. Are the jokes real? I can’t get a feel for what kind of emotional weight i should be granting any and all of what the characters say and do.

The best thing about S1 is that it didn’t have to be believable; but in S2, they’re trying to make us believe in this stuff that’s not believable. So you’re losing my trust and interest in this narrative, y’know?

AND FURTHERMORE!!!!! I hate that Willy’s character has now been reduced to “narcissist = bad (which on its own is…not a great narrative to deliver about ppl with personality disorders), but he was in prison for a long time and realized he was mean so now he’s a nice guy! forgiveness <3.”

As if he didn’t abuse his son. ajskfmxghgjk. idk what kinda shit anthony’s trying to tell with this. it doesn’t have to have a moral or soapbox moment or whatever, but it almost erases the POWER of Ron’s arc in Season 1. by getting forgiveness from the narrative, without getting forgiveness from his actual victim.

This feels like a Rian Johnson movie just trying to be quirky and “subvert expectations ooooooooOOOoOoOoo” without that subversion actually feeling REWARDING or EARNED or JUSTIFIED.

In my personal opinion, I think it’s just not as strong a choice to try and get into character work this early in the story, as compared to the pacing of Season 1. Sure, we did get some good Ron growth for an episode at like… episode 14? But the dads didn’t get actual ARCS until after the halfway mark!!!!!!!! Sometimes they really didn’t even resolve themselves until episode 66—three episodes before the final episode.

and it feels like a lot of these story beats are trying to do the work of character arcs without setting up a sturdy enough character foundation to begin with.

i saw a lot of fans online praising the choice to have such important plot stuff happen so early, and while i agree the previous monster-of-the-week formula was getting a little dull, i also don’t think the characters have really felt fleshed out enough yet to get thrown into this sort of thing. like, i personally dont really care about scary’s complicated feelings because i havent had 30 episodes to get to know her yet (and more importantly—neither has BETH. the actors themselves are still figuring out their characters!) the characters’ emotional beats it feel much more rushed and much more forced, imo. which makes the foundations of this story feel unsteady, bc i dont have any handholds to come back to and connect with. i havent been able to connect with the characters OR the story yet, so having all this thrown at me as if it’s really meaningful just falls flat.

Overall, timeskips need to be handled with care. If we jump forward in time and suddenly everything’s different—just for the sake of uncomfortability and subverting expectations��you’ve really got to justify those character changes within the narrative. And so far, nothing’s feeling particularly justified. At least—you have to do this if you want your story to be meaningful and/or SAY something about TRUTHS in OUR WORLD outside of this fictional narrative.

I can tolerate all this nonsense if it’s not actually trying to reflect anything in real life, but if I’m supposed to take this story seriously as a funhouse mirror representation of real world themes, then you’ve got justify your narrative choices. Otherwise, you’re just confusing your actual motive.

Basically, to try and be comedic AND have real world dramatic tensions and significance and themes to connect with an audience, the drama and comedy cannot come from the same place.

Here’s an example: In Jojo Rabbit, the comedy comes from pointing out and emphasizing the ridiculousness of the Nazis’ ideology. The film does not derive its comedy from the most dramatic, real-world-reflective moments: the human connection between Elsa and Jojo, or Jojo and his mom; the danger Elsa found herself in under Nazi oppression; parental death; etc.

And vice versa, the comedic moments are not the emotional crux of the story. Even Jojo’s violent accident is played more lightheartedly; if they were to make THIS event (the grenade exploding and almost killing Jojo—a ten year old child) the driving tension of the film, then for us to feel actually INVESTED, it could not have been played as comedic as it was (i.e., the scene where they’re rushing him into the hospital on the gurney and his bloody thumb’s up pops into frame).

 Dungeons and Daddies Season 2, on the other hand, takes these emotional beats that have already been established for COMEDY, and tries to turn THAT into the dramatic, emotional crux of the show. And i as a viewer am just not as likely to be invested in that conflict or dramatic tension or to find the messaging about real life to be saying anything particularly resonant or meaningful.

TLDR: Dungeons and Daddies Season Two suffers from GENRE CONFUSION!!!!!!!

If ultimately Anthony and the rest of the gang are trying to say, “This is what life is like sometimes!” (which is, imo, what EVERY dramatic story is trying to say), then they’re not actually doing that, because they’re manufacturing these situations to fit what they want to say, rather than presenting the narrative first AND THEN ALLOWING THE MEANING TO DEVELOP NATURALLY FROM THE RESULTING EMOTIONS!!!!!!! Fuck!!!!!!

So basically, it’s still easy for me to enjoy the show—but the narrative does not provide me with enough material for ANY EMOTIONAL INVESTMENT, and that is really disappointing :(

[plainjanej]

Tips on how to get over a broken heart

1. Listen to upbeat music. Trap music was my go to bcuz they usually talk about having success and money. That made me motivated.

2. Let people make you smile. If your friends invite you to go out, go. If they tell a funny joke, laugh.

3. Don’t stay home and sleep all day. Get the fuck out the house and go to work and stay around people. I have made the mistake of calling out of work because I was too depressed to go anywhere and staying inside the house just made me think about the situation more and made me cry. So in order to forget, I would sleep. That didn’t help at all and I have a kid, so I didn’t get to sleep as much as I wanted to.

4. Stay off their social media. Don’t do that to yourself. I mean that. Fuck what they are doing. Don’t look at it.

5. Do the things that make happy even when you feel like crying. What I mean is make a list of the things that make you happy, and do it. If u don’t know what makes you happy, continue down this list and try out some of the things I mentioned. I guarantee you’ll find yourself smiling.

6. Give your self a date. Tell yourself that your only allowed to cry and mope around up until a certain date then you don’t get to dwell on it. But don’t ode and give yourself two months to cry. Give yourself at least a week or two. But don’t go further then that.

7. Pray if you believe in god. I do believe in a higher power. So I pray that for the pain that am feeling to go away.

8. Don’t get high or drunk. It makes it worse. Trust me, I’ve made that mistake.

9. Binge watch on shows, movies or read books. I don’t read much but I can tell you the shows that are worth watching.

10. Pick up on a new hobby. Knitting or learn how to play an instrument, or learn a new language. Meditation, yoga, makeup, or anything you always wanted to try. Cooking, planting, dancing, just to name a few.

11. Book a flight, pick a date and fly out. Even if it is by yourself. If your broke like me, start saving some money for a trip. If you don’t have a job, get one of those “easy to get” jobs and save the money. Just work. If you can’t work at all, learn how to start a business. Just get yourself some money.

12. Book a massage, get your hair done, do your nails, wear a face mask. Self care is essential!! I know this all cost money. But there is Groupon where you can get discounts. And as for a face mask, just do one at home.

13. Write down what you want to accomplish and create a vision board. Everyone has something they want to accomplish, big or small. Put all that shit there. Even if ur dream is to be a clown at the circus. Don’t be ashamed, fucking do it.

14. Write out your thoughts. Negative or positive, get it all out. Just write. Don’t worry about grammar. Even if u feel like saying fuck you over and over, fucking write it.

15. Spend some time with someone you have lost touch with and wish to regain a relationship with them. If don’t have someone. Make a new friend. Go out there and talk to someone. I dare you.

16. Paint a picture. It doesn’t matter whether your good at it or not. Just paint. Buy some paint brushes from the 99 cent store and a canvass, put on music of your choice and paint. I know more money to spend lol: but bitch it’s worth it.

17. Pay your bills bitch, make sure them bills are paid. Sometimes we fall off because we are too concerned with our pain. Heart break can feel like your dying and it’s the end of the world, but it’s not. So we tend to slack.

18. Play a game. Either with your kids if you have any or a video game or a board game or phone games. I like to play Mario, it’s super therapeutic.

19. Challenge yourself to stay off social media for a day and then Try two days. See how long you can go without check ig or Snapchat.

20. Laugh it off. Fuck it, it’s over. You were living before you met them, and your going to continue your life.

I hope this list brings you joy and helps you through this tough time. I know, I’ve been in quite a few myself and I have googled how to heal a broken heart. I didn’t find anything so I decided to write my own list about it. This isn’t just for girls, is for guys too. I hope it relieves any sadness and helps you move forward. Take care.

[knowlessman]

bnha prepare to cry edition (s2e10-12), with Todoroki: Origins

huh, new OP. bit of a different vibe, but I'm not complaining; sounds familiar tho - …oh. I clicked on the previous episode by mistake, this is the outro

ahem, yes, complexes n abuse n stuffs

still same old OP. the animation is nice tho, I'll say that much

oh shit here we go

"with your arms like that, you can't fight any more" the human body has four limbs, zuko. granted, deku has already committed a lot of healing to what's essentially an overvalued pissing match

…eh? why'd that one work? -- he can cash in each finger twice now??? 'XD at the rate he's going, he's going to cash in all the potential he had and have nothing to put on his resume just to have a resume -- "there's a limit to how much cold your body can take" yeah, and it's a lot fucking higher than your limits; zuko doesn't need a new arm every fight -- "you haven't put a single scratch on me yet" says the guy who's only been keeping himself in the game by sacrificing lands every turn and who doesn't even seem to have a wincon

"endeavor is shouting encouragement now, such a doting father" get. the fuck. off. the mic.

endeavor's gonna be unwatchable after this, I think. he's gonna think all his dreams came true. imo, deku shoulda let todoroki limit himself. there are worse responses to being born with power/privilege than "I refuse to use it."

ooh, iida's up next

(todoroki to endeavor) "for a moment, I forgot about you." damn straight.

oh, who invited mineta? fuck off.

wonder if they ever call back to this "your arm will never be the same" stuff later. I guess I couldn't blame them too much if they don't, but they are making a big deal out of how much deku keeps sacrificing for momentary advantages in fights that ultimately don't really matter. heck, even when he doesn't damage a limb more than usual, he's ostensibly using up his body's lifetime capacity for healing (I think they implied that last season anyway).

(iida showing plant girl the door) 'XD only the most gentlemanly of ring-outs. typical of iida; old-fashioned, but exceedingly polite while somehow not sacrificing effectiveness.

meanwhile, back in the world…

I love the metapod bros, they're great 'XD

iida did good tho; gotta admit, the jobbers are jobbing (including all the girl characters bc patriarchy -_-), but they are at least getting to have A Plan that Could Have Worked, they're not just showing up and getting shutout

(iida's brother got got) hm. shame. -- …like. I mean this isn't being overdone or anything, it doesn't feel cliche or out-of-nowhere or whatnot, but part of me still wants to joke about iida going edgy and going on a revenge quest and getting a sword and shit. I don't know if I hope that actually happens; mostly I'm thinking "it's gonna be a helluva moment when he finds out." : / the show has managed to avoid killing off any named characters so far, but we didn't know ingenium (?) that well

(bakugo vs tokoyami) dangit. I hate it when dickheads figure things out

"do you have a moment to hear about our lord and savior Facepalm-sama?"

there are 25 daggone episodes in this season, it's a good thing they're such bangers

(flashback to last season) "I'm gonna beat you, deku, and I'll do it wearing my two-sizes-too-big delinquent-style baggy pants!"

"I AM… KICKING THE DOOR IN LIKE A DICKHEAD WITH A CHIP ON MY SHOULDER THAT CAN BE SEEN FROM OUTER SPACE!!!" -- "you knew midoriya when you were kids. has he always given a shit about other people?" 'XD

bakugo and endeavor are literally the same person except endeavor acts like he can read

…this annoying butt-60's-superhero music thing just said "be a fuck*ng superstar." they bleeped out the i in -ing. …anyway

(muffled explosions) mineta: "w-what's that sound?" leave this show mineta, every single frame you are in could be edited out with no other changes and the show would be improved for it

"the stronger the quirk, the more imprecise the attacks" says the guy who definitely didn't watch todoroki's fight with iida

no, bakugo, as a matter of fact you don't deserve the world and everything in it just because your mother told you so -- good timing with the knockout gas. seriously, if bakugo even got hired he'd be a massive liability to anybody who tried to either manage or team up with him. guy needs several tons of high-impact character development before he'll be anything else.

give bakugo a golden dunce cap because they only paired him against people who had type disadvantages to him and one person who would have hated having to look at the trophy anyway. …oh yeah he did fight kirishima; I guess that one was decided more through stamina than by anything else

'XDDD holy fuck bakugo looks like the Ram from Dead Island -- …no yeah there's just no talking to bakugo for awhile I think. I mean, hell, there usually isn't anyway

weirdo bakugo still has the medal in his mouth

(ingenium died I think?) harsh

(todoroki visits his mom) hm

eh, seems like a good stopping point for now I think

[anarchofairy]

going to admit to bad things

[bhaalble]

been debating some Cole romance options so here's my rough template for how I think it would start. Long rambly post incoming

Conditions for starting this: While you have flirtation options with Cole as soon as he's recruited (like any other romanceable npc), the romance quest can't be triggered until you do his personal quest that either renders him more spirit or more human. Neither path locks off the romance, but the tone of the romance will obviously be very different depending on that choice.

If you HAVE flirted with Cole before that personal quest, there are additional dialogue options the player can have with both Solas and Varric pertaining to how this might impact Cole's feelings for others. Varric believes turning him more human will open the door to greater depth of relationship, while Solas is mostly just offended he was asked the question and eventually tosses out that Cole's feelings will likely be as they ever were, for whatever that's worth. The player is then able to make the choice as normal. In the next conversation after dealing with the aftermath of the quest the player is given a last flirtation option to "lock" them onto Cole's romance

General Route Knowledge: Spirit or human, Cole remains an entity of compassion. He knows he likes you and wants to help you (wants to help you a *lot*, he's confused by the way you tend to become priority on his radar when entering a room), and he knows that before your choice he could feel a lot of romantic yearning and loneliness inside the Inquisitor. However, Cole doesn't always seem to know the thoughts he's reading until after he says them out loud and gets a response, so I basically think that he knows you want a romantic relationship.

He just hasn't grasped that you want it with *him*

Human Cole Route

You speak to Cole and he urges you, *Really* strongly, to go talk to Varric. The next time the player speaks with Varric it triggers a cutscene where he takes them for drinks, theoretically just to chat. Varric seems noticeably uncomfortable and keeps asking you questions about your romantic life, what type of person youre drawn to, and really really leading questions about your companions and advisors. The player can either indulge this or push back on it. Either way, by the end of the conversation Varric mutters something about not being cut out for this, apologizes to the player, and then leaves.

This happens again the next time you approach Cole, this conversation a lot shorter. Varric seems to be inquiring if the player is attracted to *him*[varric]. The player can shut him down completely or ask if that's even something he would be interesting, and Varric gets nervous and tries to bail again. The player follows him this time and finds him talking to Cole, refusing to go back in there while Cole is pleading with him to just keep asking questions. The player emerges to ask what they're doing and Cole seems visibly upset, insisting that he doesn't know how to help without knowing what they're thinking, he can't figure out the kind of person who they want and he *really* can't figure out the kind of person who deserves them. He tries to vanish only to realize he cant and runs off. Varric encourages the player to follow and they have a conversation in private where Cole confesses that he just wants to help them and the idea that they've been lonely has been eating away at him even when they *aren't* in the room. Which is new and confusing and upsetting to him. The player can either tell him to stop interfering with their love life (ending the romance quest) or tell him that he's been mixing their signals up and its him they want to be with. Cole seems startled, but not opposed, deciding that this is another part of the human experience he wants to try with you. You are officially in a relationship with him.

Spirit Route

After you lock in the romance, the next time you fast travel into Skyhold you'll be placed inside a cutscene where the player walks into the Inquisitor's bedroom. Standing there is.

a.the romanceable companion you have the highest approval with

or b. if you flirted with either of them, Cullen or Josephine (if you flirted with both of them the game chooses between them randomly)

They tell you that they've been hearing rumors that you're romantically interested in them and came to speak to you about it. If you don't meet the race/gender criteria for the character's romance questline (e.g, if you're a girl who has Dorian in this cutscene) then there's an additional layer where they're trying to let you down easy. The player is then given the chance to set the record straight and asks where they even got that information. They pause for a moment and all say some variation of "that's funny. i can't remember who told me...." before leaving with some degree of embarassment.

The player can then go to confront Cole about it. He says something cryptic about doing better next time and then whispers *forget* before vanishing, leaving the player to look a little lost before going about their day.

The next time you fast travel into Skyhold you're met by the romanceable companion you have the lowest approval with in your chambers. The dialogue is a little different depending on if they outright hate you or are just neutral, but mostly they're still like. really. like sure it takes all kinds but I never saw this coming from you- and the player's like hang on. this all seems a little fucking familiar

So they leave mid conversation to track down Cole, who they find sitting in the battlements above their room, clearly listening, and confront him. He's about to wipe their memory again when they tell him it didn't work, and they remember what happened. This throws him off because. That shouldn't happen. That shouldn't happen why do they remember? Are his powers failing, how is he getting this *this* wrong its helping thats what he's *for*?!?! The player makes the choice that locks them into a relationship or end it here in that they can either

-say they don't care why its happened, but this needs to stop. Cole reluctantly agrees to leave it alone and you're taken off the romance track for him

-The player suggests that maybe the reason they remember is Cole secretly doesn't *want* them to forget. He wants them to remember it not working out even with the person they're close with. That's also why he set you up with the person you have the least chance with this time. he's sabotaging himself and you because deep down Cole doesn't want you in a relationship with someone else, and in his core he knows you dont want that either. This leads to Cole feeling uncharacteristically frustrated for his spirit state. talking about how he can't get you out of his head. Its interfering with his work and whats worse is that he's more scared of it healing that it hurting like this. He doesn't want it to go away. What follows is essentially

Player: so help me help you. It won't go away, but it might make it easier to deal with. For both of us

Cole: ....It won't be like with a person. Is that a problem.

Player: No. I won't be like a spirit. Is that a problem for you?

Cole, softly:....no.

After this you're locked into a relationship with him.

Soooo thats basically what I have for an inciting incident. More to come, the little shit's given me brainrot.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 51

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,279

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

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Author’s Note: Holy crap, can y’all believe I dove back into writing this fic after almost two years with no updates?! I’m still shook over it haha. I will say that this fic has gone way off canon at this point (I haven’t watched the last few seasons of the show and also didn’t finish the last few issues of the comics). However, I’ve had a vision for certain characters and events for the last how many years, so I don’t plan to change them just to try and fit canon. I also now realize that while I tried to make “you” as nondescript as possible, there are physical traits and actions of her character that haven’t been as inclusive of all potential readers as I had thought when first starting the fic 5 years ago. I apologize for that, and plan to be more aware of those things with any reader characters I write in future fics. My plan is to post a chapter update every Friday from here on out, until it’s over, so fingers crossed I can accomplish that. Enjoy! :D

Cloud Nine

You surfaced from the depths of sleep slowly, rather than the more abrupt jolt to consciousness that usually started off your days. Feeling cozy and relaxed, a slight smile tipped your lips in contentment. It didn’t take long to realize that the reason for your positive mood was the large, warm body with which you were currently sharing the tiny, twin-sized bed.

Eyes blinking open, you took in the delightful sight of masculine bare skin. You were curled up against Negan’s side, cheek cushioned on his chest and both legs were wrapped around his nearest thigh. The bedsheet was pulled up over your back and ended teasingly right above his hips. One of your hands lay palm-down on his stomach, fingers twitching slightly in delight at the feel of the hard muscles beneath the soft skin. You could tell from the curve of his body that he was sitting with his back reclined against the rickety headboard. You might’ve found his positioning odd, but you were still a little hazy from sleep and so could only feel happiness at not waking up to an empty bed, like last time. 

You were on cloud nine after talking things out with him last night. Being able to work through a conflict together had been major progress, and you had been proud of yourself for laying down your boundaries regarding your here-to-stay friendship with Ben, as well as standing your ground regarding the situation with Trixie and the pregnancy test. It was important that Negan learn to trust you when it came to situations such as those, and it seemed as though that message had finally gotten through to him last night. 

The fact that he had even come to your room and taken the huge step of apologizing for his hasty reaction still had you a bit in shock. The evening had panned out much differently than your original plan of going to bed angry. Instead, you had gone to bed very satisfied, and then woken up next to the man who was very quickly becoming essential to your daily happiness.

He must’ve felt you shift against him, one hand coming down to rub your bare shoulder as he gave a soft, “Mornin’, doll.” 

His raspy morning voice sent tingles down your spine, even as your brain fought to stay awake. It still felt way too early to be sitting up and conversing, so instead of returning the greeting, you buried closer into his side and grumbled, “What time is it?” The words were muffled against his skin, nose pressed into his chest hair as you inhaled the glorious male scent of him. 

You felt him lean over towards the side table. He must’ve been checking your watch, because he replied, “‘Bout 6:50.”

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Language.” 

“Hmph. Do you always get up so early?”

“It’s more productive than sleeping half the day away and being late to everything.” 

That got more of a response, as you finally lifted your head to glare up at him for the jab. However, he didn’t notice, as he was too focused on the book held in front of him. It was then that you realized why he was sitting up in bed, a smirk crossing your face at the novel he had open and was intensely reading. You felt a spark of desire low in your belly, the sight of a sleep-tousled and naked Negan lounging in your bed while reading Harry Potter an unexpected, but welcomed, aphrodisiac.

“Thought you didn’t read ‘fucking kid books’?” you sarcastically asked, quoting back his initial description of the series. 

You received only a low grunt in response, his eyes not leaving the page. You weren’t offended, since you’d probably react the same way to someone trying to interrupt a reading of Harry Potter. In fact, you were a bit jealous that he got to experience the magical world for the first time. His curiosity must’ve gotten the better of him when he saw it lying on your bedside table, and it appeared as if he had already read a small chunk of it. 

He didn’t seem to notice you staring, his attention still focused on the book. In fact, he held the page a scant few inches from his face, eyes squinted into slits. The sight was a tad humorous, though you wondered how long he had been struggling to see the words. 

“I thought you needed glasses to read?” you asked. 

“Fuck, you always so full of questions this early in the morning, doll?”

You pinched his side hard enough to make him jump and growl out another expletive, before giving him a saccharine smile and lifting a brow expectantly when he glared down at you.

Attention finally taken off the book, he reached over and plopped it down on the side table before rubbing his eyes with both palms. “I do. Felt like it took me a fucking hour to get through that last page.”

The fact that he had continued trying to read and hadn’t easily given up, despite his struggle to see the words, told you more than anything how much he must’ve been enjoying the novel. A warm thrill settled in your chest at the thought of him taking an interest in something he usually wouldn't bother with simply because you enjoyed it. 

The warm thrill morphed into more of a low heat and traveled down your body as your gaze refocused on his bare skin. Moving the hand on his stomach upward over his chest, your fingertips traced the outline of the tattoo on his left pec.

“What prompted you to get this?” you asked, curious if there was a meaning behind the skull and criss-crossed rifles.

Giving a low chuckle, he replied, “Youth and stupidity.” 

Giving a huffed laugh in return, you trailed curious fingers over to the other tattoos on his arms, inquiring about each one as you went. Some had a story behind them, others not so much (you had tried not to roll your eyes when he explained that the revolver on his right forearm was the same one he had handled once and thought was ‘fucking cool as shit’). He also had a few scars on his upper body, some from before the apocalypse but most from after. You listened intently as he opened up about each one, drinking in as much personal information about the man beside you as possible.

Not wanting to stop the exploration just yet, you pushed up on your other elbow and journeyed over his throat, tracing his Adam’s apple before running your fingers delicately through the surprisingly soft beard framing his gorgeous mouth. 

Capturing the questing hand in his own, he brought your fingers to his lips. The breath caught in your chest when he kissed the mostly-healed scar from the knife injury you had acquired a few weeks prior. Heart beating frantically at the gentle gesture, you smiled up at him when he released your hand and allowed it to resume exploring.

“So,” you tried for calm and casual, fingers moving up to lightly trace his ear before diving into his thick hair and mapping the streaks of salt within the pepper. “What are your plans for today?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, his eyes having fluttered closed as your nails gently massaged his scalp. You smiled at his obvious enjoyment of your touch, at how he had lowered his walls in this moment and was allowing himself to be both physically and emotionally vulnerable. 

“I wish they were to stay here and enjoy this fucking delightful body of yours all day, but I have a meeting with my Saviors at eight.” 

The thought of spending an entire day frolicking in bed with Negan caused a dreamy sigh to leave your lips. His eyes opened and zeroed in on your mouth at the sound, that magical tongue of his coming out to lick his bottom lip as he added, “Though, that’s still about an hour away…”

At that, he quickly rolled over so his lean body was pinning you into the mattress, his lips cutting off your squeal of surprise before it even left your throat. The hand still in his hair tightened, causing him to give a low groan and grind his hips down into yours. You tried to make a mental note of his reaction to the touch, but seeing as how there were no barriers keeping his quickly-hardening erection from pressing into your thigh, all higher levels of brain function quickly flew out of the room. 

Bracing above you, he leaned down and started kissing your neck, a move guaranteed to make you melt. When his mouth descended over the curve of your breasts, you tried to lift your head to watch his downward progress but a sharp pang of discomfort at your scalp made you wince and try to jerk away, which only succeeded in making the pain even worse. 

“Ow, wait!” you blurted, causing Negan to instantly freeze and look up at you in alarm. 

“Doll, what-”

“You’re on my hair! Move your hand!”

Quickly realizing his mistake, Negan moved the hand that had accidentally been pinning a large chunk of your hair, and by proxy your head, to the mattress. 

“Fucking hell, I’m sorry, doll,” he cursed, making as if to lift his body off you entirely. 

Now wanting his faux pas to ruin the moment, you pushed his shoulders sideways and hooked a leg up over his hip before commanding, “Roll over.”

He hesitated for a moment before relenting, the two of you somehow able to switch places on the narrow, twin-sized bed without falling off. Once the semi-awkward resituating was done, he was on his back and you were straddling his hips. The move caused the sheet to fall off, exposing your entire body to his gaze. Based on the way his eyes grew hazy with lust as they took in your bared curves, not to mention his obvious erection, it was safe to say that he didn’t mind this change in position one bit. 

Warm, calloused palms drifted up over your thighs, hips, and the sides of your waist, before cupping breasts that were begging for his touch. Leaning down, your already-hardened nipples pressed into his palms as you kissed him hungrily. Shifting your hips, you started rubbing forwards and backwards over the erection pressed between both your lower stomachs. You moaned into each other’s mouths at the sensation, pussy lips parting around his girth so that your wetness coated his cock, the fat head bumping against your clit with each slide. 

“I think I like being in charge,” you purred. 

Giving a dark chuckle that sent shivers down your spine, he replied, “Enjoy it while it fucking lasts.”

Planning to do just that, you reached over to pluck a condom off the side table, incredibly grateful to whatever deity helped you successfully open the foil packet and smoothly roll the latex down over him on the first try. Tossing the empty packet over the side of the bed, you wrapped slightly trembling fingers around his swollen cock and lifted your hips, lining him up with your entrance. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly slid down his length, mouth falling open on a whimper at the feel of him parting overly-sensitive flesh that was still a bit sore from the activities of the previous night. Despite Negan’s initial threat over you stealing both coconut oil from the kitchen and condoms from his room, his only “punishment” last night had been fucking you relentlessly into the mattress until you had multiple orgasms and could barely even remember your own name.

In spite of the slight burn as sore muscles again stretched around his thickness, you didn’t stop until he was fully seated inside. His cock felt so big in this position that it was almost overwhelming, but you sat up so that your hands were braced on his chest and used your thigh muscles to start a slow up and down rhythm. 

His fingers reached up and pinched your nipples, causing you to clench around him. He groaned at the sensation, gaze becoming more intense when you slightly picked up the pace. It felt magnificent, but at the same time you craved more of the hard, rough friction that he had given you the night before. Body trying to find that friction on its own, your hips swiveled in a circle as you sank back down, which must’ve felt just as amazing for him as it did you, since he gave a strangled moan at the same moment his hands immobilized your hips in a bruising grip. 

“Alright, doll. My turn.”

That was the only warning you got before he braced his feet against the mattress and moved up in you, hard. Falling forward onto your palms with a gasp, fingers curled into the bedsheet and hips writhed in pleasure when he repeated the move. He continued the sharp, deep thrusts, watching your face closely before wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and pulling your mouth down to his own. His tongue thrust into your mouth possessively, as if trying to claim as much of you at once as he could. The pace was brutal yet unhurried, each thrust feeling like a deliberate attack on your sanity as his movements drew fire over your skin and consumed you, body and soul. 

Pressing down into him while leaning forward caused your clit to grind against his lower abdomen in the perfect way with each thrust, building up the orgasm that had previously hovered just out of reach. Breaking the kiss with a cry, you saw the expression of intense concentration on his face as he continued to move your bodies together in perfect rhythm. Breasts pressed into his chest and mouth panting at his ear, your body gave into his, letting him drive you up and over the edge, into the abyss of pleasure. 

“Negan,” you moaned, muscles tightening then releasing as the orgasm washed through you. His answering grunt and curse signaled his own release, though he continued his driving rhythm through it all, wringing each drop of pleasure from your body until it collapsed limply on top of his.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you again traced over the tattoo on his chest, waiting for your heartbeat and breathing to slow back down to normal. Glancing up his body, you found him already looking back down at you, a relaxed and satisfied grin on his lips that was only witnessed behind closed doors, when the two of you were alone. His hand idly stroked over a piece of hair laying on your shoulder, the gesture making you think back to earlier when he had accidentally pinned you to the mattress, and the resulting ungraceful maneuvering to switch positions in a bed that was entirely too small for two adult bodies. A light laugh escaped you that caused Negan to raise an eyebrow in question. 

“Just remembering your super smooth move from earlier,” you teased. You wouldn’t admit this out loud, but it was actually a bit of a relief to know that even Mr. Harem-of-Wives, Sex-God Negan wasn’t always flawless in the sack. 

“Making fun of me, doll?” he growled. 

“Maybe.”

Whack. The loud crack, accompanied by the slight sting of sensation against your left asscheek, caused you to jump and look at him in wide-eyed shock. 

“Did you just spank me?!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe.”

Before you could form an appropriate reply, he silenced any retort with his lips. Shallow creature that you apparently were, the move worked, and when he pulled away a long minute later, your brain conveniently forgot why you were supposed to be coming up with a retort in the first place. 

Negan glanced over at the side table, where your watch sat. Also looking over, you saw that it was now almost 7:30am, which meant he had half an hour to go back to his room and become presentable for his 8am Savior meeting. You were curious what the meeting was about, but didn’t want to ruin the perfection of the morning by bringing up a potentially serious topic. 

“Much as I hate to say it, doll, duty fucking calls.”

Your expression must’ve showcased more than you thought, since he gave a chuckle and said, “How about I make it up to you by finishing our fucking chess bet?”

Interest instantly piqued, you sat up on his chest and replied, “The third outing?! Can we go today?”

He looked at you consideringly, before giving a slight nod and agreeing. “We fucking could, but I won’t be free until the dinner hour.” 

Much as you didn’t want to skip out on your duties, even if it was with the leader of the establishment, you also weren’t about to turn down more alone time with Negan, especially outside of the Sanctuary. 

“I could meet you at the front gate at 5?” you suggested. That would give you just enough time to make sure dinner was fully prepped and almost ready to serve, since the community ate their meal from 5 to 7pm. It lessened the guilt, since you wouldn’t be completely leaving Ben and the staff short-handed. 

“Works for me, doll,” he said, gently rolling you off his body and to the narrow strip of mattress free beside him.

Biting your lower lip to keep from gasping at the empty sensation when he pulled out his now-flaccid dick, you watched him rise slowly from the bed. You took possessive pleasure in viewing his naked body, thighs clenching at the sight of him stretching muscular arms up towards the ceiling with his head tipped back. The pop of his back and resulting grunt made you comment, “I think from now on we might be better off in your bed. I have no clue how we even managed to fit in mine all night.” 

“Thank fucking god. If I have to spend any more nights in that fucking thing, I’ll be stiffer than a cock in a brothel.” 

Rolling your eyes at his that’s-so-Negan one-liner, you pulled the sheet up over your chest and settled in to watch him get dressed. You felt a bit like a voyeur when he removed the condom, tied off the end, and tossed it into the little garbage can. You felt a lot like a voyeur when he leaned down to pick up his boxer briefs and the sight of his bent-over ass almost made you whimper out loud. 

“You sure you can’t skip the meeting and stay here?” The words left your lips before your brain could even stop them. 

Turning to look at you, the desire must have been written all over your face because that muscle in his jaw ticked and he ran a hand down over his beard in obvious frustration. You swore he started to take a step back towards the bed, but he caught himself and instead returned to the task of getting dressed. 

When he was done putting on the navy tee and dark grey pants, complete with his signature black boots, he did finally come back over to the bed. Leaning down, he cupped a warm hand possessively around the side of your neck and placed a heated kiss on your lips before slightly pulling back and saying in that sinful, husky voice, “5 o’clock, doll. You better be ready for me.” 

With that, he straightened, crossed the room, and let himself out. As the door clicked softly shut behind him, you replied with a dazed, “Yes, sir.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter Five

(Gif’s not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Five starts after the cut. (Chapter Four can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

A/N: I am aware of the neutral, perhaps positive, portrait of the police I painted in this chapter. I am fully conscious of the recent (and not so recent) instances of police brutality happening all around the world, many – if not most – of them motivated by racism and other despicable ideologies. With this chapter, I did NOT mean to express support for the police forces. I simply had this ‘plot’ idea come to my mind and decided to write it. There is no ulterior motive.

While all my personal experiences with the police have been positive, I am aware that my ethnicity gives me privilege and that many people are not as lucky as I am. This both angers and saddens me. It has to change.

Black lives matter. Minority lives matter.

Chapter 5

Chapter warnings: Cockwarming, irresponsible driving (kind of), car accident (not serious), police (but no police violence), very mild violence, language (perhaps a little bit worse than in previous chapters but nothing you don’t hear in real life, I guess), mentions of mysogyny.

Ada yawned with Sy quickly following suit. “You can drive my car if you want, Sy. It’s not that new anymore, you know.” She offered, gracing him with the most angelic smile she could muster. It was the first time she was granting him the opportunity to drive her car.

Sy laughed next to her, his left hand moving over the center console to rub her thigh. He had that stupid grin again, that looking endearing with his current droopy eyes. “It’s your car, darlin’. Besides, you’d kill me if I ever so much as got a scratch on it.” He chuckled, suppressing another yawn. “And I know you’re only offering because you want to sleep.”

His wife gasped, a look of mocking offense on her features. “They’re your nephews!”

“But you were the one who said yes,” Sy countered, his eyes closing again as he made himself more comfortable on the car seat. The drive home was only about one hour and a half, but it was the perfect length for a nap.

“What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh?” Ada laughed, gesticulating wildly as was her habit. “Yes, Joshua, I understand you’re taking my pregnant sister-in-law to the hospital. No, I will not look after your kids for the night. It’s our date night.”

Next to her, Sy grimaced. She did have a point, even if he had been looking forward to going bowling with her: Ada was a sore loser which always ended with lots of fun for him. At least, his sister and the baby were okay. Just a normal case of Braxton Hicks, apparently, whatever that was supposed to mean. Perhaps it was good thing Ada didn’t want children because he’d freak out if she started having contractions four months in. “You fell asleep on Luke’s bed at one in the morning when you tried to get him to sleep for the third time and I had to spend the whole night entertaining them with tea parties because they wouldn’t tire!”

“Hey! That’s not cool!” She protested accusatorily, her eyes on the road as she switched lanes to take the next exit. “I didn’t know you couldn’t give kids sugar after a certain hour!”

Sy huffed, shaking his head. They’d had the great idea to bring donuts because according to his dear wife, sugar always made you feel better when you was anxious or down, and the kids had been aware something was off with their mom. “We suck at this parenting thing.”

“You don’t say!” Ada laughed, before loudly cursing at driver who’d just cut her off, something which never failed to make Sy smile. “The nap’s going to feel heavenly once we’re home.”

Sy hummed in agreement, his head falling back against the headrest as he drifted off, hiding his eyes from the sun with his cap. Ada glanced sideways at him, shaking her head. Part of her wanted to shake him awake. If she had to suffer, so did he. But he was right, she had slept more than him and he looked too peaceful to disturb, especially with some leftover glitter still on his cheeks.

Suddenly, there was a mild thump and the car stuttered before stopping, startling Ada who jumped on her seat.

"Shit!" She cursed. "Did I just...?" She began to panic, her eyes moving to the red car in front of them, too close. She had bumped it while she had been distracted by her husband’s stupid, sleepy face!

"Yes, yes you did," Sy laughed next to her. Ada was a good driver and she loved driving, but she was easily distracted and Sy never failed to tease her about it. This time, however, he could tell she was scared from the way her chest was heaving with her shallow breaths. "Want me to deal with it, darlin'?" He offered, tilting his head at the other driver who had just come out of the red, broken-down car.

"No!" Ada protested all too quickly, taking off her seatbelt and grabbing the necessary documents from the glovebox, accidentally hitting his knees in the process. "I am an independent woman who don't need no help," she muttered, trying to convince herself of her own statement. In the eight years since she’d had her gotten her licence, she had never given any of her cars a single scratch, let alone gotten into an accident.

Sy grinned at her antics but tried to hide his amusement, not wanting to make it worse. "All right. I'm here in case you need me, okay?" With a determined nod in his direction, Ada stepped out of the car and attempted to summon the Annalise Keating or the Olivia Pope inside her, whichever she could find in herself.

The man from the red car, who seemed to be in his early forties and balding, was already inspecting his vehicle for damage – looking mighty pissed as he did so. Ada approached the impact point from the other side, noticing the bump on the man’s old car. It didn't look too bad, she sighed with relief. Her own car barely had anything. Ha! She would have to use this as an argument next time Sy and her started discussing cars. Her black Citroën DS5 was sturdy and not just fancy looking, unlike what he said.

"Hello, sir," she said calmly, the man instantly looking up at her. Damn! He really looked furious, seething even. "I am so sorry for this. I was a little distracted- Anyway, it doesn't matter. My insurance will cover whatever repairs your car may require."

"You stupid little bitch!" The man shouted, out of the blue.

Ada gasped, backtracking. The muscles in her jaw twitched. What the fuck was wrong with him? "I understand your anger, but there's no-"

"What were you even doing behind that wheel?" He snarled, gesturing at her car, her baby. "Who the hell lets women like you drive cars like that?!” The man cursed, aggressively waving his hand in the air.

She just stood there, still in shock. Did... did he just bring misogyny into a fender bender situation?! "Women like me?!" She repeated, quite stunned.

"Aye! Bitches like you have no business driving-”

Ada flinched at the man’s words. He was starting to breech the distance between them, moving too close to her. Ada jumped again when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder before realizing it belonged to Sy and letting herself exhale slowly. Thank God he didn’t listen to her and stayed in the car!

"I get that you’re pissed, but that's no way to talk to a lady. You should to apologize," Sy told the man, making it sound very much like an order and very little like a suggestion. The driver huffed before coming closer, his face about as red as the car as when he started laughing. Ada instinctively hid under Sy's arm, though she aware of the ridicule of the whole situation.

"That's your whore? You let your whore drive your car?!"

Okay, this was going too far. It left her lips before she could help it, "that's my own goddamn car, you wanker!". Maybe it was time to stop borrowing insults from Tom.

Ada could almost hear how his jaw clenched when she felt Sy's whole body tense up against hers. "Call her a whore one more time and you're gonna wish she had run you over instead."

This was escalating. Ada bit her lower lip. She was going to have to be the bigger person here. "Look, I'll just go grab my phone from the car and call the police. They'll deal with this." Ada announced, dislodging herself from Sy’s grip before turning around to get to her car.

Her hand had just wrapped around the car door handle when there was a clouting noise, quickly followed by a loud thump, this time. Ada immediately turned around at the sound. The angry driver was out cold on the ground, blood rushing out of his nose and forehead, with Sy looking down at him, the same blood tainting his fist.

"Oh shit!"

°°°

A lanky guy, smelling heavily of pot, was thrown inside the almost full holding cell by the same officer who had arrested him. Sy was amused at the sight until the guy, after a full survey of the room, started walking him up to him before sitting down on the bench far too close for his liking.

Exhaling through his nose, Sy tried ignoring the smell and closed his eyes again. He didn’t expect the nap he had been looking forward to, to be in a stinky cell with stinky men but it would have to make do. At least, after the man sitting closest to the entrance had commented on the leftover pink glitter that still shone in Sy’s beard, nobody had bothered him anymore – not after he quite literally made the man piss himself with just one stare. That man wouldn’t have survived a single day in Baqubah.

"It's cramped in here," the new guy commented nonchalantly though his eyes were fixed on Sy. Out of politeness - damn Ada and her insistence on good manners! - Sy acknowledged his useless statement with a noncommittal hum.

"Name's Ben, by the way," he said, stretching out of his hand but Sy didn’t move a muscle. What was it in his current posture - crossed arms and spread legs - that made him appear friendly enough for a chat, he wondered, rolling his eyes behind his closed eyelids.

"And you are...?"

Sy groaned out loud time. "Not interested."

Ben didn’t get the hint and proceeded to ramble off about how he got caught selling pot near the university. Sy was actively working on drowning out his voice when the sound of fast and angry clicking heels on the concrete floor caught his attention. He smiled. Ada. Apparently, she hadn’t changed and was still dressed for date night, wearing a dress and stilettos, even though they had only meant to go bowling and eat at a steakhouse.

Somehow, everyone in the holding cell must have been intrigued by the same sound because all conversation suddenly stopped, the men all hoping to eavesdrop.

"I am here for Syverson. I wish to talk to him."

"Ma'am, I apologize but we are not allowed to let him out of his cell."

"Not a problem. Just give me the keys and I'll let him out myself!"

Every person in the holding cell laugh with Sy grinning quietly, amused at how she sounded distinctively more foreign when she was mad. He was used to her accent in more intimate settings, but he was enjoying the sound of it during her current outburst which was followed by an uninterrupted string of curse words and insults alike, all coming from her delicate mouth. First, in English, then French. Spanish. Portuguese. Italian. Sy frowned at the last one, he didn’t recognize it. Was it German? He'd have to ask her.

"What a woman, huh," the guy next to him deadpanned, still not giving up on a conversation.

Silence fell again as everyone attempted to listen to the rest. “I swear to God I’ll hang your heads up in my living room if –“

Sy only huffed, leaning back against the cold wall. "You can't even begin to imagine."

"You know her?" The pothead quipped up.

"Yeah," Sy replied. "She’s my wife." He said it loud enough to make sure everyone was able to hear it.

“Oh,” came the nasal voice next to him just as they heard heavy, resigned footsteps become louder.

A different policeman stopped just behind the door, a colleague just behind him as he fished out the right key from his pocket. “Syverson,” he called out loudly. “There’s a woman here for you.”

Sy got up at once, unable to hide his smug smirk. Ada always got her way.

°°°

“What the fuck were you thinking, Sy?!” His wife blurted out as soon as she was let inside the interview room, the young officer locking the door from the outside. Then, turning around, she caught sight of her husband handcuffed to the table and her shoulders instantly slacked, her anger vanishing almost instantly. “What you did was disproportionate,” she sighed, her voice calmer as she took a seat in front of him, the cold iron table separating them.

"He called you a whore, I just punched him!" Sy protested, leaning back on the chair. "My response was disproportionate - disproportionately small."

"You knocked him out cold!" Ada reminded him, her voice pitching higher than usual but the only response she got from Sy was a smug grin. "He might press charges, you know. It's battery."

Sy rolled his eyes, sitting up straight. "He’s an asshole."

Now, it was her turn to roll her eyes although she knew he hated it when she did that. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm down. Sy was looking entirely unbothered, but she was freaking out at the situation. "I'll try to convince him not to press charges and offer to cover the medical bill on top of the car repairs in return."

"Medical bill?" Sy asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Yes. After the police took you into custody, he was brought to the hospital. From what I heard, he has a broken nose, needed stitches on his forehead and got a concussion." Sy only huffed with a smirk. "This is not funny, Syverson!"

"It wasn't funny when he called you a whore either," Sy countered. He was right. It was also very pleasant to see that dickhead in pain, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

"Look, my friend, Gale, who's a lawyer, is on her way. I'll get you out of here tonight. He’ll either agree to drop the charges or I’ll bail you out."

The corners of his lips twitched. He moved his hands as much as the chain allowed, to grab hers and squeeze them in his large ones. "Are you worried about me, darlin'?"

What a teasing little shit he could be! Of course, she was worried about him! He was in a cell! Feigning innocence, Ada smiled, running her thumbs over the back of his hands. "I am not. However, seeing what you did to that prick just got me really horny and I would like to have you back in my bed tonight," she whispered, watching as her husband’s smug grin slowly disappeared as she got up and grabbed her purse, heading to the door.

"You better get me out of here quickly!" Sy called after her.

°°°

He was returned to the holding cell, the officer uncuffing his wrists again once the bars closed behind him. There were two new faces, but he also recognized that at least three men had left already. Unfortunately, pothead was still there.

“I saved you your spot,” Ben smiled wildly, gesturing at the vacant portion of the bench next to him. “The guy in the red shirt was going to sit here but I told him it was occupied.”

Sy merely hummed, taking the seat that had so generously been saved for him. Hopefully Ada would get him out quickly because he didn’t know how much longer he could deal with his chatty neighbour.

“Was she mad?” Ben asked, whispering loudly and defeating the entire purpose of a whisper in the first place. “Did she yell at you?”

Despite his closed eyes, Sy could feel Ben’s stare on him as he awaited an answer. “No.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully, shaking the uneven bench as he did so. “If we go to prison, I want to share a cell with you.”

If Ada didn’t get him out of there quickly, he was soon going to get charged for battery again.

°°°

Sy stood by the counter, his attention on the ugly Christmas decorations he hadn’t noticed when they brought him in hours earlier. Somehow, he had managed to forget all about it. And fuck, he still needed to get Ada a present!  

“Here are your things,” the young officer told him as he slid over a transparent plastic bag.

With a curt nod, Sy ripped it open and fetched his wedding band first, before looking for his wallet and belt. He was already heading to the door when he turned around at the last minute. “Did Mrs. Syverson post my bail?”

“No, the charges were dropped.”

Huffing with amusement and a hint of pride, Sy zipped up his coat and headed to the front door. He swiftly descended the stairs in front of the precinct, his face illuminating at the sight of her. She was still wearing the black dress and the fancy shoes, her makeup now lightly smudged around her eyes.

As soon as he was close enough, his hands moved to Ada's waist and he leaned down to kiss her, only for her to pull away at his touch. "Not so fast, big guy," she teased, a glint in her eyes as she grabbed something out of her coat pocket he couldn't yet identify. "You're still in trouble."

Sy threw back his head, his laugh booming through the night sky as he finally saw what she was holding up in front of him. Handcuffs, and not the fluffy ones either.

"Now gimme your hands," Ada demanded, making him cock his brow at her authoritative tone.

With a chuckle he obeyed, presenting her his hands. "Yes, ma'am."

Sy watched keenly as she fumbled with the cuffs to get them around his wrists, and then seized the right opportunity to take the upper hand, easily taking the cuffs away from her small hands.

With a shriek, Ada found herself bent over the black hood of her own car, her cheek pressed up against the slick surface and her husband's body pressed up against hers. She could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke. "Mrs. Syverson, you're under arrest for unlawful teasing back in the questioning room." Ada scoffed, the sound weakened by his heavy weight on top of her. "You have the right to remain silent. Everything you do say can and will be held against you in-"

"Your dick!" Ada suddenly blurted out, a little too loud given where they were, and Sy immediately stopped, clearly surprised, but she quickly felt him laugh against her back.

Before she could join him, Sy smacked her ass, effectively silencing her. "Guess I'll have to fuck that attitude out of you," he grunted before pulling away and fastening the cuffs around her wrists.

Ada kept complaining as he carefully dragged her inside the car. Despite her struggling, Sy easily opened the right backdoor and threw her on the backseat, mindful to fasten her seatbelt before closing the door. Her eyes widened and her mouth went agape when Sy sat down behind the steering wheel and proceeded to push back the driver’s seat and readjust all the mirrors.

“Are you shitting me?” She exclaimed, leaning forward on her seat as much as the belt would allow. He was messing up with all her settings and the grin on her face made it very clear that he was doing it all on purpose just to get her riled up.

“Language, darlin’,” he chided, turning on the engine. “Didn’t you ask me to drive earlier, anyway?”

Ada groaned in response, shutting her eyes tightly before opening them again. “You know very well that was-“

Sy didn’t let her finish, the tires squealing on the tar as he sped out of the parking lot all too fast. Ada involuntarily cringed at the noise. “I’ll make you pay for this!”

“We’ll see, kitten. We’ll see.” He was entertaining by her determination even though her eyes were already closing.

As expected, Ada fell asleep within five minutes despite the handcuffs keeping her arms in an uncomfortable position. Her head lolled before it finally came to rest against the window. He watched her though the central mirror, an adoring look in his blue eyes as she sighed contently the very moment she had fallen asleep. While he had managed to rest while in the cell, though not as much as he had hoped, he knew Ada had been up all afternoon trying to sort everything out and get him out. Sy had noticed her exhaustion as soon as she started fumbling with the handcuffs, her movements uncharacteristically clumsy.

He stopped at a junk food drive thru on their way home – night had already fallen and he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He doubted she had either. Her eyes didn’t even flutter under the bright neon lights and once he parked the car on their driveway and went to carry her inside along with their food, after undoing the cuffs, her body was completely limp in his arms. It was only when he accidentally let her shoulder hit the doorframe as he tried to lead them inside their bedroom, that she woke up again. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Sy murmured and kissed her forehead before laying her down on the bed and setting down the bag on the mattress next to her. Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air even as he helped her out of her coat and dress, and then the shoes. “Did you get us food?”

“Tenders and fries.”

Within an instant, she had ripped the bag open and was clutching the bucket of chicken to her chest, moaning as soon as she took a bite. He smiled knowingly at her– she had been hungry after all.

Hurriedly, Sy took off his clothes and slid in bed behind his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. They hadn’t slept together the previous night as they babysat the kids and he had missed the feel of her soft body against his. A content hum escaped him as his already partially hard cock nestled against the roundness of her ass.

Ada chuckled at his reaction, the vibrations of her body sending sparks of pleasure to his growing erection. “I have an idea,” she whispered, her voice becoming seductive again as she started rubbing herself against him.

Sy groaned deeply and tightened his grip on her waist, forcing her to still even though he was no longer sure for what he now hungered more; food or his wife. “We’re both hungry and exhausted,” he reasoned with her, his fingers moving some hair away from her neck so that he could kiss her there.

“Let me,” she insisted, a grin audible in her voice. Her hands disappeared under the bedsheets and she slid off her panties before retaking her initial position as the little spoon. Behind her, Sy groaned as her delicate fingers took hold of his cock, giving it a few pumps before guiding him inside her warmth. He muffled a soft moan against neck at the snug feeling of tight her walls, his arm tightening around her again. She let out a quiet gasp at the stretch, it hurt a little despite her still being sufficiently wet from when he had pushed her against the hood of the car. But once he was fully inside, Ada sighed at the pleasure of being again. “Now we can eat.”

°°°

There are two more chapters to go! Next chapter will include Christmas tree decorating. I am running behind on schedule so I cannot guarantee the last chapter will be posted by Christmas but I’ll do my best.

°°°

@colourmeinblue​ @hail-horror-queen​ @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl​ @kmuir1​ @madbaddic7ed​ @coffeebreathy​ @purplelove75​ @summersong69​ @helenaellie​

[uglymanchronicles]

Ugly Man Chronicles Reignition Book 2 Chapter 2: My Breakfast With Evan

Just a couple dudes getting to know each other.

“If you must know,” Evan sighed, spearing a glistening sausage on the end of a flimsy plastic fork, “my jackass older sister thought it would be hilarious to give me a cupcake she'd baked with about a dozen powdered viagra for my fifteenth birthday. I wound up passing out eventually. Burst a lot of blood vessels. Damaged the erectile tissue beyond usefulness.”

Titus froze mid-coffee-sip. “Seriously? What a bitch!”

“Buddy, you don't know the half of it.”

“So... no signs of life down there?”

“Nothing for twelve years.”

“I think I would literally kill myself.”

“It's not so bad, I guess. At least I don't have to drain the blood out of it any more.”

“Eugh! Fuck! Did not need to hear that!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answer to.”

“Do you get, like, blue balls all the time, then?”

“That's basically my ground state of being.”

Titus whistled flatly, avoiding looking Evan in the eye. He settled for staring at the table. There wasn't a lot of Evan's face that he felt comfortable looking at; every part seemed to at least be adjacent to some unpleasantry or another. About the only safe area was his right eye, which, as luck would have it, was directly opposite Titus's 'good' eye. Titus rallied and met Evan's gaze again. “Alright, your turn.”

They'd agreed on a sort of mutual interview process, taking turns asking questions to suss out what the other was capable or if he was worth having around. Evan took a bite out of the sausage and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

“Who's Moreno?”

Titus hissed through his teeth. “A real piece of shit.”

“I'm going to need more than that.”

“I'm getting to it. He's basically, like... a freelance henchman? Like, sort of a mercenary criminal. Sells his services to the highest bidder.”

“And why's he matter?”

“That's another question.”

“No, it is not,” Evan said, quiet and serious. “Do not argue with me in bad faith, Titus. I have very little patience for it in the best of times.”

Titus regarded him for a long moment. The man across from him was wider than the table they sat at. His muscles were so pronounced in some points that Titus could tell when he was about to move by the way they bulged and contracted. Yet he gave the impression that he was constantly trying to pull himself inward, to make himself smaller. He spoke quietly and with a simple formality, but only hours before Titus had watched him single-handedly beat down some of the nastiest people he'd met in the past month.

Hmm.

“Fine. Moreno matters because I'm after the guy he's working for. You see, Moreno isn't just a normal scumbag. He works for people who need nasty things done. Not like regular nasty, either. How much do you actually know about magic?”

“I've got some... notes. So far I'm not able to find a lot of coherent rules. It mostly seems like it relies on things that nobody would normally do.”

Titus snapped his fingers and pointed at Evan. “Hit it right on the head. Rituals, reagents, that kind of thing... the reason—well, one of the reasons—magic doesn't just happen all the time by accident is that it's all weird little things. A lot of the more heavy magic relies on some pretty elaborate and obtuse shit to get it going.”

Evan momentarily thought back to the Book of Fate and his ritual in the woods. “So Moreno does these things for people?”

“Yeah. Thing is, though...” Titus stopped raising a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and set it down again, as if he'd momentarily lost his appetite. “The people who use his services generally practice some pretty vile magic. Real depraved shit. And to empower depraved magic, you need depraved rituals. Moreno is the guy you go to when...”

“I think I get it,” Evan interjected, since Titus seemed to be struggling with deciding whether to continue. “Your turn.”

Titus tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, then looked Evan in the eye. “How smart are you?”

The scars on Evan's face squirmed around as he actually smirked. “What kind of question is that?”

“Hey, we agreed no 'whys'.”

“Alright, alright. Well, there's really no objective metric for it, but... I have Master's degrees in computer science and theoretical physics, Bachelor's in those in addition to mathematics and electrical engineering, and associate's degrees and certificates in everything from EMT training to ballet. I should have my doctorate in physics, but...” he said, with a bitterness that Titus made a note of, then changed gears. “Oh, and I also speak Mandarin, Spanish, Japanese, French, and Arabic pretty fluently. I also know ASL. I can get by in German and Russian, too. I don't know if any of that is what you meant but--”

“Jesus, I get it,” Titus muttered, rubbing the side of his head. “How the fuck do you make money?”

“Software consulting, mostly. I specialize in security and processing efficiency. People pay me to break into their systems and then patch the holes, or to make their code run quicker or make their programs smaller. I've got a few patents I've licensed that bring in most of my income nowadays, though.”

“Anything I would have heard of?”

“If you've used a computer made in the last four years it probably has something I wrote integrated somewhere into it. I also helped develop a protein-sequencing program that helped develop a vaccine for this nasty SARS variant that broke out in China last year. They say if they hadn’t nipped it in the bud it could’ve spread worldwide and we’d be looking at millions of deaths by now.”

Titus scrunched up his face. “Oh yeah, just say that like it’s no big deal.”

“I’m just glad it turned out not to be one. What I'd really like to do is get my compression algorithm out there, but if I do that, somebody's going to try to hoard it all for themselves.”

“Are you talking to yourself or me?”

“Look, I... a few years ago I figured out a way to compress memory down by a exponential factor of six with zero loss. All it takes is a couple software plugins that don't take up much room themselves. Essentially, I could make a gigabyte fit in a kilobyte with very little trouble, now that the math's figured out.”

“Holy fuck, that's insane! Why haven't I heard anything about this?”

“Mainly because I don't tell people. If I put it up on the market, some ISP would buy it and bury it. If you make information smaller, you make it faster. Can you imagine what it'd do to internet access if dial-up and barebones cellular networks suddenly had the bandwidth of fiber optics? It would... maybe not revolutionize our society, but it would level a lot of playing fields. Bring a lot of underdeveloped areas of the world—hell, this country—up to modern levels with no extra cost. The telecomms would crash and burn so hard. But I don't have the means to get it out there without going through someone else. Yet,” Evan added. “So I basically work watered-down versions of the compressor into the software I make. Nothing that can be duplicated, and nowhere near its full potential, but enough to get me hailed as some kind of genius and pay the bills.”

“So why aren't you on your own private island or something somewhere instead of puttering around God's Ashtray in a shitty old Bug?”

“Hey, the Beetle is not shitty,” Evan said, defensively. “And I'm just waiting for the AC in my RV to get fixed or I'd be driving that.”

“Oh hot damn! Now that's the way to live!”

“Not the one I'd choose voluntarily, but it could be worse.”

“How come you're doing it, then?”

“I think it's my turn to ask,” Evan said, mildly.

“Fine,” Titus said grumpily, crossing his arms.

“How do you make money?”

“That's easy. I'm basically a freelance bailbondsman. I just roam around, drop my advertising around bars and courthouses.”

“You get many clients that way?” Evan asked, cocking his remaining eyebrow.

“Oh, you'd be amazed how desperate people can get,” Titus said, shrugging. “Of course, they're usually not the most responsible people, so when they bounce, I track 'em down myself, drag ‘em back to jail, get the money back. My eye usually makes it super easy. Sometimes they don't even see me before I get the cuffs on 'em.”

“Why did you feel the need to rob a bunch of drug dealers, then? The thrill of it?”

“I had a pressing need for a large amount of cash that my normal work doesn't bring in. That got me enough to hold it off for a while. My turn.”

Evan waved down a waitress for a refill of his coffee, trying not to take it personally when she gasped upon seeing his face. “Go ahead…”

“No, no, hang on.” Titus waved a hand dismissively. “I want to try something. Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

“What? Why?”

“Humor me.”

Evan groaned and reached back, removing his hair tie. After shaking his head, his hair fell over his face, obscuring everything but his nose and mouth. Titus pursed his lips and regarded him seriously for a moment.

“Can you see?”

“Yeah, I guess. Well enough to not walk into things, I think, and I could probably read if I had to.”

Titus snapped his fingers. “Good. Go with that from now on.”

“Why?”

“Because now you don’t look like God’s mistake. Now you look like a big, dumb-but-lovable goon. Like Jack Black would voice you in a cartoon.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Do you like seeing people contemplating their own mortality and the general cruel absurdity of the tragic farce that is human existence when they get a glimpse of your face?”

Evan felt his cheeks burn and was actually grateful his hair was covering most of his face. “…not particularly, no.”

“Then there you go. You’re welcome. Okay, question time. Uh… how did you get your powers?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, now who’s arguing in bad faith? Fucking all of them, you thick-lipped gargoyle.”

Evan had the feeling he hit a sore spot. Titus's easy-going, jocular tone had bled away from him, leaving behind the hard-edged razor-blade of a man that had ambushed him the night before. He decided not to belabor the point.

“I don't know why I can rege—why I heal so quickly. No, I'm serious, as far as I know, it just started happening sometime in the past few months. I can't remember. Don't look at me like that, I'll get to that in a minute. When I was younger I recovered from a lot of injuries a lot quicker than the doctors thought I would, so maybe it's something I was born with and it just got stronger recently for some reason.”

Evan took a sip of coffee, mainly to buy a few seconds to think of how much to explain for the next part.

“The ability to shut off powers... that's part of, well, I guess you'd call it a magic ritual, because I don't know what else to call it. I found a weird old book that said it contained the key to making someone an instrument of universal justice, or something of the sort. Since then I can see... I guess they're souls? Maybe? I can sort of move mine and when I run it into someone else's it seems like I can shut off their powers. Or... take them entirely, if they're dying.”

“Horseshit!” Titus scoffed. “That's... that's like meta-magic. I don't even know if that's real.”

“No, seriously! I don't think it's just magic powers, I think it... 'normalizes' things.” He briefly recounted his encounter with the pain monster.

“Are you kidding me? That...” Titus took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly and loudly. “Look, I don't know much, but the fact that you even ran into something like that, let alone survived... those odds are astronomical. And you say you negated not just its powers, but its whole form?”

“Yeah. Once I... reached into it, like I did with you—oh don't make that face. Grow up—I kind of disrupted what made it... different, I guess? Like I cut it off from its special qualities. Like it was...”

“Disjuncted,” Titus cut in.

“Yeah, that's a good word for it. Like the old Mordenkainen spell?”

“Fucking nerd.”

“Eat my ass. Anyway, after I killed it, I was able to reach into its... soul? Animating force? Aura? I don't know what to call it. I was able to grab something and pull it out and it just got pulled into me.”

“Not aura.”

“What?”

“Aura's a different thing,” Titus said, dismissively. “So what did you get from doing that?”

“I.. I feel pain differently. I don't flinch or get adrenaline rushes from injuries that don't actually impede my ability to function. I think I have a better sense of what is actually dangerous to my body now. It still hurts, but I don't react to pain like people normally do. It's like...hmm.” Evan drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you know anything about video games? Fighting games, specifically?”

“I used to fuck around on an old Alpha 3rd Strike cabinet when I was a kid. Why?”

“Do you know what 'super armor' is?”

“Isn't that where a move can't get stopped by being hit when you're doing it?”

“Right. I'm kind of like that now. Pain doesn't interrupt me.”

“Fucking nerd.”

Evan's fist involuntarily clenched. “I'm trying to put this in terms you can understand, you stupid reprobate. My experience with your judgment thus far hasn't given me much faith in your intellect.”

Titus burst out laughing. “So he does know how to banter! I thought you might be one of those Rainman types.”

“Oh sure, call it 'banter' to try to excuse the fact that you've been insulting me for the past half hour. Do you say you're ‘just joking’ when people get mad at you for saying stupid shit, too?”

“C'mon, lighten up! We're partners now! Tell me more about this soul thing. I still think you're full of shit.”

Evan sighed through his nose, then held up his left hand, forming his fingers into a circle and peering through them.

“Yours is... a sort of cross between a sea green and an oil slick. The tendrils of it keep reaching out and snapping back, going all over the place. It seems to keep expanding and contracting. It's almost flickering, like... it's indecisive. Very chaotic. The tendrils that aren't snapping around seem to be kept pretty close to your body, wrapping around you like... I can't tell if it's protective or restrictive.”

Titus's expression slowly became serious. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know. I have a lot of theories, but nothing solid to go on. I'm not sure if it's allegorical or a literal representation of a person's... power, maybe? Yours definitely looks a lot different than most people's.”

“I don't believe this for a second. Let me see.”

“How would I do tha—hey!”

Titus grabbed Evan's wrist and held his hand up to his eye. “Ho-lee...”

He pulled back from Evan's hand, staring at him. Then he looked around the room, mouth slack as he took in the diner's other occupants.

“Huh. Did you know it keeps working until you blink?” He said after a moment, a faraway tone to his voice.

“I didn't even know other people could do it,” Evan said, awe in his voice. “Hey, wow, you're right!”

“Jesus, yours is, like, really blue. It looks like... a bunch of steel cables. It's weird, I felt like I both could and couldn't see the edges of it...”

“I can kind of move it, but I'm not sure if I can do anything with it beyond interfering with people's powers. It's like learning to use a muscle you didn't know you had.”

“Huh.” Titus was again silent for a long moment. “Your turn.”

“Can you do anything else supernatural? Besides your time-eye?”

“Don't call it that, it sounds stupid. And... sorta. I seem to have whatever innate talent you need to actually do magic, but it's not like it's easy to find instructions. Most of the people I know who can use it just dabble with half-broken magic items—wands, amulets, charms,” he pulled the silence charm out from under his coat and bounced it at the end of its chain. “I guess I'm sort of a dabbler. I know a few tricks, I can use a lot of magic tools, I can sense magic pretty well, I can dowse... Most of the time I really never have to use anything besides the eye, though.”

“Is the eye all-or-nothing?”

“Yeah. It's not nearly as useful as you'd think, but any edge is an edge.”

“When I turned off your power and it was coming back, though, you started speeding up—or, I guess, everything else was slowing down? You were moving faster, one way or the other. You were able to touch me, and those punches hurt.”

“Huh, yeah, you're right.”

“Do you think there's a way you could learn to only partially activate it?”

“That'd be great, wouldn't it? Thing is, just using it is a huge strain, and that time spend outside of time adds up. Going by normal calendar time I'm only 26.”

“Fuck, I'm 27!” Evan laughed.

“Yeah, well, I'd rather be prematurely gray than what you've got going on. My turn. Uh... huh, I can't really think of anything else. Uh... are you gay?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“No, but the question still counts.”

“I'm bi,” Evan mumbled, crossing his arms across his prodigious chest. “Not that it matters. And before you ask, no, you are not my type. We're done talking about this.”

“Huh. You ever sucked--”

“We. Are. Done. Talking about this.”

“Fine, God. Go.”

Evan mentally circled back to an earlier question he felt hadn't been properly answered. “Why are you after Moreno?”

To Evan's surprise, Titus didn't hesitate. “I'm actually after his current boss. He's just the best lead I have to go on.” He took a deep breath, then started talking with a rushed, deadpan pace, as if he was eager to get the words out as quickly as possible so they wouldn't be in his mouth very long.

“Moreno is working for a guy only known as the Soultaker. He has an innate supernatural ability to pull a person's soul out of their body. When that happens, the person just... shuts down, usually. No motive force behind them. Eventually they just die of dehydration, usually. I've seen some people so set in routine that they keep going without a soul, but... it's not really life.

“It seems like the extraction process takes a while, so he can't just walk past you on the street and pickpocket your entire essence. So he needs people rounded up for him, held until he can do his nasty juju. So that's where a degenerate like Moreno comes in.

“So when he pulls out a soul, it, well, it looks like this.”

Titus pulled a battered, faded Crown Royale bag out of his jacket. It bulged strangely and made a quiet clacking when he set it on the table. He pulled out what looked like a large marble, or maybe a dull pearl, and handed it to Evan.

Evan brushed his hair out of his eyes and peered into the milky depths of the sphere. After a few moments of staring, the murky clouds inside the thing seemed to clear and a face floated to the surface. A black man, maybe in his late 40s, going thin on top. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, but his expression had a look of discomfort to it, as if he was having a bad dream.

“Jesus Christ,” Evan whispered, “I've seen this guy... Martell Calloway? I saw some news article about how his family found him tied up in his apartment and completely comatose! But he didn't have any injuries beyond being a black eye... so he's dead?”

“Life support,” Titus said, taking Mr. Calloway's soul back from Evan's unresisting fingers, “technically, he's one of the lucky ones. They found his body before it wasted away to nothing, and I was able to intercept his soul before it got to a buyer.”

“Why would someone buy something like this? What use is it? Can you fix him?”

“A human soul is a damn near exhaustible arcane battery,” Titus said gravely. In the split second between sentences, Evan noticed something—after he'd put the bag back into his jacket, Titus surreptitiously touched a pocket on the other side of his jacket, as if he was making sure something was still there.

“If you know what you're doing, you can power a lot of magic using a soul. And you can reuse them as long as you don't overdo it. If you know what you're doing, you can wring all but the last drops of essence out of a soul and let it heal or recover or whatever, and it'll eventually be back to full strength. Very resilient things,” Titus continued. “I don't think they're conscious in there, but... anyway, it's supposed to be really hard to extract a soul. But this guy was born with or spontaneously developed or somehow figured out a shortcut to the whole process. So the market is getting flooded with torture-batteries and ECUs are getting flooded with vegetables. And families are winding up with loved ones who are as good as dead, without having any idea why this happened to them. Dozens of them have been taken off life support in the past few months. Half these souls have no body to return to. And no, I can't fix it. At least not yet,” he sighed again. “I was hoping once I found him, I could somehow get the secret out of him or force him to put them back, or... maybe I thought if I killed him it'd reverse the effect. He needs killing, either way.”

Titus's eye widened as a thought struck him and he looked Evan in the eye for the first time since he'd started the story. Evan realized what he was thinking and looked down at the tattoo on his left arm, flexing his fingers.

“If you can take people's powers after they die...”

“...then we can save these people.”

Titus put a hand over his mouth and for a moment Evan thought he saw his eye well up.

“I'm in,” Evan said, a sense of righteous purpose welling in his heart. “I don't really know what the universe wants, but I doubt... I know it's not this. We'll find him, we'll stop him, and we'll save as many of these people as we can.”

“...thanks,” Titus mumbled behind his hand. He swallowed hard, then seemed to come back to himself. “We're back to square one, though.”

“You said you could dowse? Like, for real?”

“Yes, for real. I can find things and people with the pendulum method. It's handy for tracking down bounties.”

“Why don't you dowse Moreno?”

“Why didn't I think of that?!” Titus said incredulously, smacking his forehead. “Because he's warded. He's not magic himself, but he's collected enough gear through his career that my normal methods don't work.”

Evan rubbed his chin. “What if we used an abnormal method?”

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

An hour later, they were in the RV. Titus was poring over the collection of Evan's notes and the strange papers he'd bought from Delmann's shop. Evan was very carefully slicing a strip of skin from his own ankle up all the way up his leg. The Guiding Light—the Finder's Follysat on the table between them, filled with fresh blood.

“Even if this works, he's going to know we're coming,” Titus muttered, engrossed in the pages. “Remember what I said?”

“That's why we're not going to look for him,” Evan said, adjusting his grip on the potato peeler. “I don't know how we'd even write his name. Can you read that, by the way?”

“Kind of. This is... most of this is written in, like, arcane pidgin. Who compiled these notes?”

“I did, I think.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to clarify on that. Apparently a couple months ago, before the ritual, I drilled a hole in my own brain to erase some kind of very dangerous memory.”

“You what.”

“That's not a metaphor or anything. Really did it. I could show you the video.”

“I'll pass. So you don't remember where this came from?” Titus shook the Book of Fate at him.

“Nope.”

“Jesus shit, do you have any idea--”

“How reckless that was? Yeah, yeah, I'm still here and I'm the answer to your fuckin' prayers, aren't I?” Evan gave a whoop as the peeling skin reached his thigh. “Got it this time!” he said cheerfully, snipping the flesh-ribbon off with scissors.

“God, that's so fucking gross. Anyway, you haven't explained how we're going to use that thing to find Moreno.”

“We don't set it to look for him. We look for somewhere he's been. Maybe the last place he slept. Do you think you can describe him well enough in that language for it to work?”

Titus looked like he might actually be impressed, but he hid it well. “Yeah, probably.”

“Good. I've got a dictionary I've put together on that tablet next to you, but I'm not sure how accurate it is. Maybe it'll help?”

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

Two hours later, they had it.

Find where a man born between the 27th and 28th north parallels during a new moon under the sign of capricorn with black hair and green eyes who has killed at least 10 people slept in the past week.

They really had to squeeze the letters in, but when Evan put a flame to the wick, it sprung to life, wavered for a moment, and then pointed east. Both men cheered. Evan threw Titus the keys.

“Drive! Drive north until I tell you otherwise!”

While Titus started the engine, Evan spread a map of the United States on the table in front of the lamp, then produced a protractor and a notebook from a drawer. “Okay, you bastard... let's see where you've been hiding...”

It took three days—one spent driving north, one spent driving back to where they'd started, and one spent driving south. While Titus drove, Evan made meticulous notes of the flame's direction, marking angles on the map. Finally he threw the pencil down triumphantly.

“He's in Salt Lake City.”

“Well, that narrows it down a little, I guess. So what, do we just go there and hope this thing points us in the right direction?”

“Too slow,” Evan called, stepping back into what used to be his bedroom and sitting at his computer. “Now I work my magic.”

After parking, Titus walked back to look over Evan's shoulder. The half-dozen monitors on the wall were flickering between rapidly-changing pictures of faces and what appeared to be CCTV footage.

“What is this?”

“This,” Evan said with dramatic pride, “is Blaccat. Facial recognition algorithms that the CIA wishesit had. I actually started working on it years ago before I thought about the implications of it, but I shelved it. I figured since I may be needing to, uh...”

“Be Batman?”

“...yeah...that I should get back to work on it. Right now it's comparing faces to the description you gave me and cycling through every damn security camera in the city looking for it.”

“How illegal is this?”

“Soooooo illegal.”

“Oh, hey, can you get into police department records?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“See if you can get into the Las Vegas mugshots from... February 2019. Run your face-recognition thingy there.”

“Alright.... and... is that our boy?”

A handsome Latino man in his early 30s with shoulder-length jet-black hair and piercing green eyes stared at them from over a booking clipboard.

“That's him,” Titus breathed.

“Perfect! Now I just have to feed that into... wow.” Evan made a gesture and a black and white video popped up on the biggest monitor. The man in the mugshot was walking along the street, flanked by a short stocky man in bandanna and a lanky man with the ugliest white-boy dreads Evan had ever seen.

“That's him! Where is that? When is that?”

Evan grinned up at Titus. “That's live. I can track him and put us at the nearest intersection.”

Titus smiled, eye overbright, and began breathing heavily through his nose. “We got him.”

Evan met his eye and nodded. “Let's get him.”

[thedumpsterqueen]

Standards of Performance, Chapter 8: Heartbreak and Lattes

From the Beginning,  Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Only announcement for this week: I've started a new job, and my schedule is such that a weekly update is unlikely without the quality being verrrry questionable. Therefore, I've decided to move off a set schedule, but I PROMISE I will update at least twice a month. Thank you for your patience and understanding; I know a set schedule is preferable but I wanna make sure this doesn't go to shit. Also... apparently this isn’t showing up in the tags I use, which sucks - so reblogs help a lot if you’re able. I love you guys <3

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary:  In which decisions are made and overturned and many cups of coffee are drunk.

Words: 2666

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

You were sulking.

Not enough to affect your work - you’d have to go through something much worse than heartbreak before you risked your internship. But your home life was beginning to resemble a timelapse straight out of an overdramatic teen movie wherein the protagonist’s crush asks someone else to prom. Your apartment was a pile of half-done laundry, takeout containers, and case files; your evenings filled with sad Spotify playlists and too much red wine. 

And work? Not much better. Seeing him stride into the office every morning, filled with power and purpose and completely oblivious to the fact that he had shoved your heart into a metaphorical blender with a simple response to a seemingly innocuous question was really starting to wear you down. You had been so sure, that was the thing - so convinced by the team’s reaction to your story that it had all meant something. And maybe it had. But he had looked you in the face and told you it didn’t, so that was the answer that mattered.

So maybe sulking was the wrong word. ‘Spiraling’ was more accurate. A controlled spiral, mitigated only by the fact that 1. you had appearances and responsibilities to maintain and 2. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t actually the reason you showed up to work every morning, despite what it had seemed lately.

And it had seemed like that. You remembered getting the phone call that you had been accepted for an interview for the BAU internship, and the phone call that you made it to the final round, and finally the phone call that you had gotten the position - each more exciting than the last. You remembered meeting him, shaking his hand, completely oblivious to how much he was about to fuck up your life. Even when you first started to feel something for him, you convinced yourself it was nothing - a harmless crush wrought from your veneration and respect for one of the best in the field. Someone you admired. Someone you wanted to be one day. But then he’d made the unfortunate move of revealing bits and pieces of himself to you, exposing tiny slivers of humanity and emotion you were convinced didn’t exist, until you realized he was a person, an incredible one, and it wasn’t just admiration you felt anymore. It took all of a few months and a handful of genuine conversations until you were this far gone, and after he made it clear that your pining was one-sided, you knew you had to stop your fall there. 

So you tried.

You kept your conversations strictly professional. Avoided driving with him or sitting next to him on flights whenever possible. Disallowed yourself lingering glances. But it was still too goddamn much. He was still too goddamn much.

The next case pushed you over the edge. It was bad (not just normal bad, BAU bad), and it was no one’s fault, not really. You got called in late, the evidence was shoddy at best, and when all was said and done, you caught the unsub, but only after he’d killed 4 women. The last one died moments before you arrived and apprehended the killer, and despite the delay of those few minutes being, again, no one’s fault, the team was at each other’s throats the whole trip home. 

You were slouched in the corner of the plane trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Morgan and Reid were sniping viciously about something completely unrelated to the case, because despite everything they’d just endured, they would never outright blame each other for what went wrong. Hotch, deciding he’d heard enough, raised his head slightly and said quietly,

“They’re not always going to end the way we want. We did all we could.”

And you were just done. You couldn’t stand to be around this pillar of strength and compassion and resolve. You needed to hate him for rejecting you, and you couldn’t. So you marched over to his seat, and, steeling yourself, you said what you’d been wanting to say since he broke your heart:

“I need a day off.”

It had sounded more dramatic in your head.

“A day off?”

You nodded. Hotch gathered himself, seeming to realize that such a request wasn’t unheard of (though perhaps in his department it essentially was) and nodded. 

“This case was difficult. I wish I could say exceptionally so. Get me your paperwork by tonight and take tomorrow off.”

You went back to your seat, relief overshadowed by disgust that it wasn’t, in fact, the 4 deaths you’d just been privy to that had broken you - it was the crush on your boss. You’d handled this case like a champ, in fact, because you were so absorbed in self-pity that you couldn’t feel anything else.

You needed to fucking recalibrate.

***

You were determined to make the next 24 hours the most self-indulgent, healing 24 hours you’d ever experienced. Quiet breakfast at a cafe? Planned. Self-improvement books? Downloaded. Vibrator? Fully charged. 

No man was going to keep you from focusing on the internship you’d been gunning for for years. No man was worth that. You were going to cry, you were going to journal, you were going to masturbate, and you were going to get him out of your head.

You were going to march into the quaint little coffeeshop two blocks away that you’d Googled last night, you were going to order the cinnamon spice latte that an indie food blog had called “the epitome of fall,” and you were going to go for a nice, early morning walk.

Except you weren’t. 

Because the next morning, when you turned to leave after grabbing your drink from the barista, you saw Hotch sitting at the table by the window. And Hotch saw you. And you weren’t equipped to handle this situation, because you were only 4 pages into your self-help book so far and honestly, the smile that lit up his face when you made eye contact would’ve broken you even if you’d read all the ‘how to move on’ manuals the literary world had ever produced.

So you obeyed his beckoning hand and sat down. 

“Thought you’d be up to something much more exciting on your one day off.”

You smiled wryly. “This is exciting. I haven’t had coffee that wasn’t made out of an ancient breakroom pot or a hotel carafe in months.”

Hotch chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake by coming here. Breakroom coffee is going to be impossible to tolerate now.”

“That good, huh?”

“Better. Try it.”

His eyes on you, you took a sip of your latte, and swallowed the most delicious concoction you’ve ever tasted in your life.

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed,” Hotch confirmed, ignoring your vulgarity. “I’ve been coming here before work for years.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I impose on your hangout,” you laughed. “I haven’t tried many coffee shops around here, but I imagine this is hard to beat.”

“Not at all. But just know - this is my table.”

You grinned. “Understood.”

You still went on that walk. Still read that book. Still spent the day trying to think about anything else but the softness of that moment - you and Hotch sipping lattes, bathed in the light of the early morning sun.

But on Thursday, the next day, bright and early, you found yourself at that coffee shop again. This time, you took a seat at the table adjacent to his. He looked up and smiled.

“Glad you heeded my advice.”

You smiled back and gestured to the heaping pile of files in front of him. “Not like there’d be much room for me anyways.”

You finished your coffees in relative silence and left at the same time for the office.

Friday, you learned Hotch’s coffee order: flat white with an extra shot of espresso. 

Saturday, you happened to arrive before he did, so you ordered his drink and set it on his table. Ten minutes passed and you thought he wasn’t going to show up, but he soon bustled in looking frantic. You waved him over, and he smiled when he saw the coffee waiting for him.

“Sorry, got stuck on a phone call,” he apologized. Like you were expecting him. Like this was something you guys did now.

You supposed it was.

Sunday, you got called for a case before you even made it to the coffee shop. You sat down in the conference room at 6 am, groggy as all hell. Hotch entered after you and handed you a mug, saying nothing before moving to address the team.

There was a small sticky note attached to the mug that read, “It’s no cinnamon spice latte, but it’s caffeine just the same.”

You fought to keep a grin from splitting your face, and ignored the team’s knowing smirks.

The case was in a small town in Colorado. The motel the team was staying in was less than ideal because of the location - bare bones, broken heaters, probably had the same bedsheets since its opening over 50 years ago. There was a small coffee pot in your room, and after you arrived Sunday evening, you walked down the street to the small convenience store and bought a bag of ground coffee.

When you handed him the cup Monday morning, he looked at it like it was salvation itself. Which, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it may well have been.

“Long night?” you asked, loading into the back of the SUV. 

“Always,” he responded from the front seat. He took a sip of the coffee. “I don’t mean to offend, but this is terrible.”

You gasped in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that is genuine Folgers pre-ground gas station coffee.”

“It tastes like it was made in a toilet,” he grumbled. He took another sip and smirked at you in the rearview mirror.

You’d long stopped trying to get over him.

 After the case in Colorado, the team was given a merciful break from the rapid-fire calls they’d been caught up in the last few months. 

You and Hotch continued your pre-work ritual, showing up to the coffee shop earlier and earlier each day. For you, it was a conscious attempt to spend more time with him. He didn’t acknowledge the extra 20 minutes that had worked its way into the morning routine, but you could only hope his intentions were the same.

One particularly chilly fall day, you burst in the door 10 minutes later than your unofficial meeting time. Hotch shot you a patented raised eyebrow as you unwrapped your scarf and took your seat. 

“Overslept?”

“No,” you retorted, “I was trying to make breakfast and my stove stopped working. Again. Maintenance can’t come fix it for two days.”

“Did you eat?” he asked.

“No, I was just gonna grab a muffin or something here.”

He nodded and went back to his laptop.

The next day, you sat down to a metal thermos on your table.

“What’s this?” you asked him.

“Oatmeal,” he responded without looking up. “You said your stove was broken.”

You opened the thermos to a puff of brown sugar-scented steam and the feeling that your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, afraid your voice would crack if you spoke any louder.

He looked over at you with an expression softer than you’d ever seen him wear. “You’re welcome.”

 A week later, you’d miraculously worked your way through the backed-up deluge of paperwork from the last few cases, and after clicking through the morning’s emails, you slammed your laptop shut.

“We should go for a walk,” you said to Hotch, who somehow still had a stack of files in front of him that was threatening to surpass the table’s weight capacity. 

“A walk?” Hotch asked, looking at the aforementioned files as if he were afraid they’d hear him considering the idea of a break.

“Yeah,” you responded. “Come on. It’s so pretty outside, and it’s gonna be too cold soon. Besides, we’re more caught up with work than we have been in months.”

“Speak for yourself,” he quipped, but he packed his briefcase just the same.

It really was beautiful outside. As soon as you stepped out the door, a gust of wind sent red and orange leaves skittering across the sidewalk at your feet. You wrapped your scarf tighter around your neck and motioned to the park across the street.

“Want to walk through the park?”

Hotch shrugged, a noncommittal ‘yes’, and followed you.

The park was sprawling, packed with massive trees in the midst of displaying their autumnal colors. Despite the early hour, there were joggers and dog-walkers populating the dirt path that meandered through. You strolled side by side, making idle chat about the weather and the holidays coming up, until you came to a bench set beside a pond in a small grove. Hotch took a seat and you followed his lead.

Reclining your head against the back of the bench, you exhaled. “This is the closest I’ve come to being out in nature in forever. I need to do this more often.”

Hotch murmured his agreement. “I’d apologize for the lack of free time, but I’m afraid it only gets worse.”

“When you officially join the team, you mean?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Assuming that’s something you’re interested in.”

“Of  course I am,” you said, “but I didn’t think it was really up to me.”

“It’s not - I give the final recommendation.”

“Better start buying you more coffees then,” you teased, looking over at him.

“Unfortunately, as Unit Chief, I have a responsibility not to accept bribery.” He smiled back.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You studied his face - the stern curve of his brow, the carved structure of his jaw, the stress lines set in from decades of sleepless nights and unspeakable losses. Despite the increasing time you’d been spending in close proximity, you were mesmerized, as always, by the stormy intensity of his eyes meeting yours. You were close enough to smell his cologne, and you were reminded of the night in his apartment when he told you about his family. If you thought you’d fallen for him then, it was nothing compared to how you felt now, after starting each morning sitting beside him in the quiet peace of that downtown coffee shop.

“We should get going,” he murmured, not checking his watch, not shifting his gaze from yours. You nodded, not fully comprehending his words, feeling dazed at his nearness.

It was impossible to tell who made the first, imperceptible shift. All you knew is you scarcely had time to think before his hand was on your jaw, cradling the back of your head, bringing you to him. His mouth met yours and you closed your eyes instinctively, melting into his warm body beside you, fisting the front of his jacket in your hands.

You couldn’t remember ever having been kissed so decisively before. His fingers gripped into the base of your skull, his forehead nearly pressed against yours, and despite the chastity of your closed mouths, you whimpered into his. He stiffened at the sound and pulled back, still holding you, inches away.

You saw the shift in his eyes before he moved. It was as if he consciously closed some gate, walling himself off. His pupils, blown, started to retract to their normal size, frown returned, hand drew back. You watched, heart still racing, unable to speak as he turned to grab the briefcase sitting at his feet. Only then did he look back at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and if his low voice was meant to betray any hint of emotion, you didn’t hear it. 

He stood, walked around the back of the bench towards the path, and paused.

“I’ll see you at the office.”

You were too shell-shocked to reply.

[finaledenialist]

Okay, your tags on The Empty Post have showed up in my notes and I have to ask. Tell me more. Tell me it all. All of the feelings and thoughts about that scene because what I’ve seen so far? Absolute perfection and I agree wholeheartedly.

Thank you! Okay I basically unloaded most of my thoughts in my tags here but let’s go through this one more time. I may add: this was already said a thousand times by better meta writers than me 3 years ago when season 13 was actually airing. And I will ramble a little about Purgatory, too. Now with that out of the way: 

The Empty. Canonically it is a being, a living immortal being that rules the place or an ‘anti-place’ where angels and demons go are sent to when they die to dream of their regrets forever (this sounds awful and like a punishment for dying despite being immortal, for getting themselves killed or something). Also: the Empty was there before Creation, the Nothingness before Darkness and before Light. 

Okay. But let’s see what other things the Empty represents: lack of anything. Complete nothingness that Cas got sucked into (by Lucifer but also by helping the Winchesters). Now we know that Cas‘I am afraid I might kill myself’tiel had his issues, right (I still can’t believe that we are praising 8x08 thee Hunteri Heroici for being a filler episode with Cas - which is awesome, don’t get me wrong - but we all keep forgetting what he actually did say to Dean there!!! Dean says: are you afraid the angels will kill you if you show up in Heaven? And Cas looks straight into his eyes and says: After all I’ve done, when I see Heaven, I am afraid I might kill myself).

Please remember that it’s not only Dean, Mr. ‘Purgatory was pure’. Cas, after all he did in season 6, after his death in s7, after coming back and being literally haunted by everything he’s done, must have felt that Purgatory was liberating, too. It was some kind of an Alternative Universe where he didn’t have to face the consequences of his actions. He was free of them. It was literally his escape AND additionally it was (well, according to good old christian lore, maybe not specifically spn lore) a place where you are supposed to atone for your sins so there must have been the feeling of atoning, of making things right without actually doing anything specific, where having to survive and not get eaten by the Leviathans was his main problem (= surviving was just enough, nothing was asked of him), which, compared to all he’s done, wasn’t that hard or difficult. He found himself running away from Leviathans which could mirror running away from consequences of his actions - but it was Purgatory, it was at the same time atoning for what he did. It was EASY.

Cas basically confirms that he officially stayed in Purgatory because he didn’t think he deserved to go back to Earth and that is true but what he doesn’t say is: ‘Purgatory was pure and easy and kill or be killed and no other worries than that, no thinking, no real responsibilities which actually was a nice escape from the real world after all I did and been through in the past 3 years’. He wanted out, he wanted an easy choice. Okay, maybe he wasn’t actively looking for an easy way out but when it presented itself - when they appeared in Purgatory - he took it like a gift. We’re talking about a character who spent all his life following orders, who finally broke free and found himself completely lost in the freedom of choices, directionless and maybe wanted an escape. He must have felt overwhelmed but all this freedom (which he basically confirms in 6x20 freedom is a length of rope and god wants you to hang yourself with it). I COMPLETELY understand that choice to escape. 

So in seasons 8-12 Cas has a lot of stuff going on in his head, he gets lobotomized for most of season 8, he is hurt and tortured and treated like shit for most of season 9 and 10 and he ultimately gives himself up to Lucifer in s11 and then he almost dies in 12x12 and he never really got to talk about all of this or work this things out with anyone because Sam or Dean are not really the most talkative guys and Dean in 10x09 basically tells Cas to ‘let it go and not think about it’ which is a shitty advice to someone who suffers from some mental issues if I am being honest (this is like. ur depressed? oh go for a run and smile and stop being sad!!! kind of advice if you ask me). So these issues only grow and grow and start eating him up and please remember that at the very same time Cas is falling in love. I said it previously but I think the moment he realizes what he really feels is 12x12 when he is dying. In that moment he is able to name this feeling but it’s of course covered by: ‘I love you. I love all of you’. 

Now in season 12 he finally gets a proper arc with Kelly (god bless her, honestly, she and Cas had one of the most healthy relationships ever portrayed on tv and it wasn’t even romantic, I could go off about this but it’s getting really long anyway). So he kind of is on his way to find a purpose again - Dean is saved (from hell, from Michael, from the Mark), so he focuses on Kelly and unborn Jack and maybe in his relationship with her he rediscovers love (not necessarily romantic but he sees how she loves Jack) and he does all he can to protect her from basically everyone including the Winchesters. And he promises he will take care of Jack and then. Then he is killed by Lucifer (shattered at the altar of Winchester because he gets involved in the Apocalypse World because of them while having built something for himself with Kelly and Jack BUT still not having properly processed all his previous trauma). 

Okay, so fast forward: Cas is woken up by Jack in the Empty. He is of course confused and stuff (we still don’t know what was he dreaming about all this time he spent there now that we know this is a place where angels and demons dream about their mistakes and regrets <- fanfiction gap #1). He wakes up, he is ‘greeted’ by the Empty and one of the first things he says is that he has to go back because Sam and Dean need him. 

This is his first, automatic thought - I (probably) don’t want to go back, but Sam and Dean need me so I have to, I don’t want to go back for myself because I never wanted to since Purgatory but I know I have to. He doesn’t even think about Jack in this moment. I... maybe it is a stretch but I sense a kind of fear in these words. It’s like he thinks: ‘if I had the chance to come back and chose not to come back from selfish reasons then if the Winchesters ever find out about this they will be angry at me’. But I might be reading too much into this, but on the other hand Jesus fucking Christ this is precisely what happened in Purgatory. He chose to stay although he had a chance to return and the effect was Dean being mad at him. Talk about trauma--

Then the Empty (who was in Cas’ mind) voices his biggest fears: 

'I know who you love, I know what you fear. There is nothing for you back there. Wouldn't you rather be a fond memory than a constant festering disappointment?'

There is a lot to unpack here because this is the Empty’s (who, as stated at the beginning can be read as a manifestation of not only death but also Cas’ depression and self-worth issues) reaction to Cas saying that Sam and Dean need him. She says: uh oh you’re wrong<3 I know who you love, what you fear, the is nothing there for you, sweetie. Essentially: they don’t need you. No one needs you or wants you there. They are better off without you. Wouldn’t you rather be a fond memory (of actually being useful as in: saving Dean from hell, helping to stop the Apocalypse, helping to fight the Leviathans) than a disappointment (failing powers, makes mistake after a mistake, chooses to protect the unborn Antichrist rather than killing him before he’s born - and not to make this whole thing worse but this is what Dean has the audacity to say to Cas in 15x03: why if something goes wrong it always seem to be you).

I will now allow myself for some privacy, because I am a person who dealt with these kind of thoughts in my head for years, these are straight up suicidal thoughts: no one needs you, no one wants you, you are a disappointment and if you die you will be fondly remembered, everyone is better off without you. And we know Cas was suicidal because he literally tells us in 8x08 and we have no proof that he somehow got rid of these thoughts, ever. If anything, they were always there, present, if not growing. Thoughts like that don’t just disappear. Please remember one more time what was happening to Cas in seasons 8-11. He wasn’t healing. He was getting worse, while all this time managing to keep his head above water for someone else, while the guilt was rising and rising. 

If the Empty represents all his issues: depression, suicidal thoughts, guilt, self-hate, lack of self-worth, and what she offers is: eternal sleep. Maybe not entirely peaceful sleep, but sleep nevertheless, no consequences, no facing your fears, no dealing with anything, an escape, sleep - 

And she prompts him to stop fighting, to go back to sleep because there is nothing to fight for (now the symbolism of him being waken up by JACK who was his new found purpose just before he got killed), but she makes a mistake to confront his thoughts and fears with him. She makes a mistake of taking a ‘physical’ form, putting on his face and voice his fears. And Cas is a warrior and he kind of hates himself, so his instinct was to fight. Of course it was easier not to think about all of these stuff at all, to push it back, to try to forget. But once he was forced to face all of these? He fought back. AND HE WON!!!!! 

WHAT A MESSAGE TO SEND RIGHT?!!! You might have all these issues and not want to face them because you feel you will crush under them but look: when you are forced to face them it turns out you are somehow way stronger than them!!! The moment you choose to fight you already won, you are already saved!!! Because ultimately these are your thoughts and this is your mind and you control it, no one else! The moment you decide, you choose, to take control: you win. You are saved because you chose to save yourself because you decided you are worth saving. And the Empty (and everything she represents) immediately gets angry and lets him go, ultimately annoyed because he dared to defy her and she just can’t win with someone who decides he wants to be free. WHAT. 👏🏻  A.  👏🏻 WONDERFUL. 👏🏻  MESSAGE.  👏🏻

So... Having said all that. There is only one thing left: I have NO IDEA. NO IDEA. HOW HE FOUND THE STRENGTH. TO STAND UP AND SAY THIS:

I'm already saved. You can prance and you can preen and you can scream and yell and remind me of my failings but somehow, I'm awake. And I will stay awake and I will keep you awake until we both go insane. I will fight you. Fight you and fight you for... ever. For eternity.

A FUCKING ICON. STRONGEST CHARACTER EVER. YOUR FAVE COULD NEVER--