#i can also hear all the frogs

[theusernameiwantisntavailable]

So I have officially finished watching the first episode of tdp and I am once again asking Netflix to stop releasing seasons that are like 3 episodes long

[curiouschaosstarlight]

Hey, if anyone's having a hard time pronouncing "Don Gero Mask", here's two helpful clips for you! 'w'

[dykecrawler]

the hardest part of having a reptile from a humid environment is that they're denied the simple joys of paper towel tube as it would get soggy for the misting system

[boypussydilf]

dororo and koyuki love trying to cheer each other up but its always like “koyuki do you think my friends forgot about me again :(“ “whaaat noooo they’re just uh. being considerate of your time <3” “dororo do you think anyone will even visit our house for halloween when we live in the middle of nowhere and no one knows we exist :(“ “whaaat. of course they will. we just have to like. hope really hard <3”

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[headspace-hotel]

Nature is healing.

I burned the Meadow a couple weeks ago. At first it looked like nothing but charred ashes and dirt, with a few scorched green patches, and I was afraid I'd done something terrible. But then the sprouts emerged. Tender new leaves swarming the soil.

My brother and I were outside after dark the other day, to see if any lightning bugs would emerge yet. We had been working on digging the pond. That old soggy spot in the middle of the yard that we called "poor drainage," that always splattered mud over our legs when we ran across it as children—it isn't a failed lawn, and it never was.

Oh, we tried to fill in the mud puddles, even rented heavy machinery and graded the whole thing out, but the little wetland still remembered. God bless those indomitable puddles and wetlands and weeds, that in spite of our efforts to flatten out the differences that make each square meter of land unique from another, still declare themselves over and over to be what they are.

So we've been digging a hole. A wide, shallow hole, with an island in the middle.

And steadily, I've been transplanting in vegetation. At school there is a soggy field that sadly is mowed like any old field. The only pools where a frog could lay eggs are tire ruts. From this field I dig up big clumps of rushes and sedges, and nobody pays me any mind when I smuggle them home.

I pulled a little stick of shrubby willow from some cracked pavement near a creek, and planted it nearby. From a ditch on the side of the road beside a corn field, I dug up cattail rhizomes. Everywhere, tiny bits of wilderness, holding on.

I gathered up rotting logs small enough to carry and made a log pile beside the pond. At another corner is a rock pile. I planted some old branches upright in the ground to make a good place for birds and dragonflies to perch.

And there are so many birds! Mourning doves, robins, cardinals and grackles come here in much bigger numbers, and many, many finches and sparrows. I always hear woodpeckers, even a Pileated Woodpecker here and there. A pair of bluebirds lives here. There are three tree swallows, a barn swallow also, tons of chickadees, and there's always six or seven blue jays screaming and making a commotion. And the goldfinches! Yesterday I watched three brilliant yellow males frolic among the tall dandelions. They would hover above the grass and then drop down. One landed on a dandelion stem and it flopped over. There are several bright orange birds too. I think a couple of them are orioles, but there's definitely also a Summer Tanager. There's a pair of Canada Geese that always fly by overhead around the same time in the evening. It's like their daily commute.

The other day, as I watched, I saw a Cooper's Hawk swoop down and carry off a robin. This was horrifying news for the robin individually, but great news for the ecosystem. The food chain can support more links now.

There are two garter snakes instead of one, both of them fat from being good at snaking. I wonder if there will be babies?

But the biggest change this year is the bugs. It's too early for the lightning bugs, but all the same the yard is full of life.

It's like remembering something I didn't know I forgot. Oh. This is how it's supposed to be. I can't glance in any direction without seeing the movement of bugs. Fat crickets and earwigs scuttle underneath my rock piles, wasps flit about and visit the pond's shore, an unbelievable variety of flies and bees visit the flowers, millipedes and centipedes hide under the logs. Butterflies, moths, and beetles big and small are everywhere.

I can't even describe it in terms of individual encounters; they're just everywhere, hopping and fluttering away with every step. There are so many kinds of ants. I sometimes stare really closely at the ground to watch the activities of the ants. Sometimes they are in long lines, with two lanes of ants going back and forth, touching antennae whenever two ants traveling in opposite directions meet. Sometimes I see ants fighting each other, as though ant war is happening. Sometimes the ants are carrying the curled-up bodies of dead ants—their fallen comrades?

My neighbor gave me all of their fallen leaves (twelve bags!) and it turns out that piling leaves on top of a rock and log pile in a wet area summons an unbelievable amount of snails.

I always heard of snails as pests, but I have learned better. Snails move calcium through the food chain. Birds eat snails and use the calcium in their shells to make egg shells. In this way, snails lead to baby birds. I never would have known this if I hadn't set out to learn about snails.

In the golden hour of evening, bugs drift across the sky like golden motes of dust, whirling and dancing together in the grand dramas of their tiny lives. I think about how complicated their worlds are. After interacting with bees and wasps so much for so long, I'm amazed by how intelligent and polite they are. Bumble bees will hover in front of me, swaying side to side, or circle slowly around me several times, clearly perceiving some kind of information...but what? It seems like bees and wasps can figure out if you are a threat, or if you are peaceful, and act accordingly.

I came to a realization about wasps: when they dart at your head so you hear them buzzing close by your ears, they're announcing their presence. The proper response is to freeze and duck down a bit. It seems like wasps can recognize if you're being polite; for what it's worth, I've never been stung by a wasp.

As night falls, bats emerge and start looping and darting around in the sky above. If the yard seems full of bugs in the day, it is nothing compared to the night.

I'm aware that what I'm about to describe, to an entomophobe, sounds like a horror movie: when i walk to the back yard, the trees are audibly crackling and whirring with the activity of insects. Beetles hover among the branches of the trees. When we look up at the sky, moths of all sizes are flying hither and thither across it. A large, very striking white moth flies past low to the ground.

Last year, seeing a moth against the darkening sky was only occasional. Now there's so many of them.

I consider it in my mind:

When roads and houses are built and land is turned over to various human uses, potentially hundreds of native plant species are extirpated from that small area. But all of the Eastern USA has been heavily altered and destroyed.

Some plants come back easily, like wild blackberry, daisy fleabane, and common violets. But many of them do not. Some plants need fire to sprout, some need Bison or large birds to spread them, some need humans to harvest and care for them, some live in habitats that are frequently treated with contempt, some cannot bear to be grazed by cattle, some are suffocated beneath invasive Tall Fescue, Kentucky bluegrass, honeysuckle or Bradford pears, and some don't like being mowed or bushhogged.

Look at the landscape...hundreds and hundreds of acres of suburbs, pastures, corn fields, pavement, mowed verges and edges of roads.

Yes, you see milkweed now and then, a few plants on the edge of the road, but when you consider the total area of space covered by milkweed, it is so little it is nearly negligible. Imagine how many milkweed plants could grow in a single acre that was caretaken for their prosperity—enough to equal fifty roadsides put together!

Then I consider how many bugs are specialists, that can only feed upon a particular plant. Every kind of plant has its own bugs. When plant diversity is replaced by Plant Sameness, the bug population decreases dramatically.

Plant sameness has taken over the world, and the insect apocalypse is a result.

But in this one small spot, nature is healing...

[xyaehir]

“hold still!” —

SYP — self care night w ur sweet bf!

GEN. — fluff, crack

WARN. — gn!reader, male characters

REQ. — “Hi! Can I mayb request a skincare or spa day for any blue lock characters? If you don’t except this req, that’s totally fine! Thanks anyway!!!”

NOTES. — omg xyae!!! you finally posted!! no need for the applause guys 🙄🙄 also, i know some characters like reo, childe, kaeya etc would already know about skincare but we’re gna ignore that kay 😛

“stop moving!”

“i can’t help it, you’re smothering my face with this — this cleanser stuff!”

you sigh in mock annoyance, reaching your clean fingers to adjust the frog headband sitting on his hairline.

“do you do this everyday?” he tilts his head, squinting his eyes when you continue rubbing the product on his cheeks.

you hum in agreement, “its a way of taking care of your skin. you know, getting it to clear up.”

“my skin’s just fine. i just wash it with soap and not this — ‘hydrating cleanser’ stuff,” he rolls his eyes, using his fingers to air quote.

“how the hell do you have such nice skin when you wash it with hand soap?” you deadpan.

“genetics? i don’t really know,” he shrugs, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning into your gentle touch.

you hum. “ok, go wash this off,” you trail off, turning your back and grabbing the masks and serums. “so we can start with these!” you beam.

his eyebrow twitches.

“what’s that for?” he cocks a brow, pointing at the small package on your lap. “you’ll see in a sec,” you smile, tearing it open.

walking over, you adjust his cute sanrio headband again before gently placing the face mask on his face. he shivers but before he could open his mouth to complain or make some sassy quip, you slap a lip mask on his face.

that was 30 minutes ago.

now you’re stuck on the floor with a sleepy man twice your size, quite literally squeezing the life out of you.

“babe, we were supposed to take the masks off like 10 minutes ago,” you sighed, patting his head. you hear him grumble, mumbling incoherently.

“i’ll do it then, stay still,” you smiled softly, reaching for your mask and then his masks. “tilt your head back a bit.” he complies and you reach for the serum bottles.

applying a small drop of serum on his forehead and cheeks, you take notice of how his eyebrows furrow slightly at the cold liquid.

“it’s a lil cold,” you chuckle, kissing his forehead before spreading the serum all over his face.

he hums sleepily, voice breaking softly as his eyes flutter close.

it’s quiet for a while, before..

SLAP!

“oww!” he yelps, eyes flying open as he sits up hastily. “why are you slapping me?” he manages to get out in between slaps. you hum, “it helps your skin to absorb the product better.”

he side eyes you.

you hear him groan. ignoring it, you continue with your skincare routine. “ugh!” he groans, way louder and more exaggerated. you feel your eyebrow twitch.

by the time you chose to stop ignoring his whining, he’d already kicked the blankets off the bed.

“what do you want? i already finished your skincare so just go to bed,” you sigh, reaching for your eye cream.

“yea but when are you gonna finish?” he asks softly. ‘i can’t sleep without you.’

you smile at him through the vanity mirror.

“baby, just one more thing alright?” the sleeping mask you reach for clatters on the table softly. “five more minutes. can you wait for me, hon?”

he hums tiredly, standing up and making his way behind you.

he kneels down, wrapping his arms gently but securely around your waist and rests his head on your back. “hurry up, w’na hold you so bad.”

your heart flutters and your movements stutter. you gulp, patting the product into your pink cheeks.

you both slept horribly that night since he fell asleep holding you and you couldn’t drag his heavy ass to bed.

— (bllk) NAGI, sae, REO, rin (genshin) KAEYA, CHILDE, xiao, venti, ITTO (star rail) sampo, JING YUAN (haikyuu) SUNA, tsuki, OIKAWA, KUROO (KNY) TANJIRO, giyu, sanemi (assclass) KARMA, ISOGAI () YOUR FAVES

@xyaehir 2024. This is my content, inspired or not. Do not translate, copy or plagiarise my works in any way. Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated. <3

[inkskinned]

the car broke down by the denny's where you used to work and therefore could never return to. i am trying to pick out the satisfying parts of my life, one-by-one, like i am 12 and in a frog dissection. everything in my life all viscera and formaldehyde. if i can sort the good things from the bad things, i will have a nice clean pile.

i call you and make it sound like i am happy and hangin' in there! when really i am kicking a rock and i am outside without a jacket and i am so in love with you it makes the little bones in my ear shake. someone called my tinnitus an angel choir. i like that it means i carry the echo of every concert.

this isn't the right setting for love. this is a roadside, and a denny's, and i am nauseous and ashamed i never escaped the town where i grew up. the clouds here are this strange yellow, like spilled sour milk. "someone once told me that the orange coating on the teeth of a beaver is due to the particularly high rate of iron in their enamel," i tell you. "the beaver is the largest rodent native to north america."

your voice is crackly on the other end. i'm going into a garage soon, i might lose you.

what i should be doing is calling the tow truck and explaining that my brother's car (that i'm borrowing) (that i broke now, i guess) needs to be lifted by another, bigger, stronger car (which is love too, i guess).

i shouldn't say so much. i should wait, and let you ask about my mom, and ask if i ever got over that cold, or how it's going at work. i should let you lead the conversation, for once, so the love doesn't leak out of me into the gravel. i open my mouth anyway. "if you had to choose between being a beaver with very few trees or being a tree around a bunch of beavers, which would it be?"

i don't know. your voice always has this warm cast to it when you talk to me, but maybe i am just imagining that - i am a poet, though, so i imagine things sort of chronically. through the static, you sound like you're laughing. are you the beaver?

i know, like, logically, not to fall in love with a girl-that-is-your-best-friend. like, who would i even call if we broke up? you're my best friend, you're the person i'd want to speak to. so what if these last few months we keep sleeping over at each other's houses, calling each other for hours, sending each other poems. so what if you keep wrapping your fingers into mine. no best friends. that is the first rule. what you are supposed to do in that situation is leave the situation.

but my car broke down, so. where exactly am i going to go? the car is a very-old chevvy and also where i almost-but-not-quite kissed you after you'd raised one shoulder and looked up at me and said i don't know, i think i'm straight, but for the right person - i'd try anything. the music had been good and it had been raining and your thick eyelashes had made me feel god crawling up my throat like a spider. and i didn't kiss you, because i am a coward.

anyway on the chevy the whole exhaust pipe fell out, and is now scraping on the ground like one silver finger stroking the back of the highway. recently we were watching netflix in my bed and you pushed my hair back from my face like you were making the slowest, most desperate prayer, and then your boyfriend called. i remember us both jumping. i couldn't look at you in the eyes for like a week after. i kept feeling the heat of your fingerprint; computer science, you'd unlocked something dark in me.

google says the closest tow (joe's pick up) is 50 minutes away and also closed permanently. so that's not great. you live in another state and i should be calling my insurance company. i should be calling anybody else. this is not helping. i need an uber. i need to get moving. instead i say: "i need three words for a poem."

yesterday i said love you, goodnight after our 2 hour call like always and then you just, like. paused. all i could hear was your breathing. and then you'd said what a pretty three-word poem. i love you too, sweet thing. the words made my tinnitus act up again, and i must have some kind of synesthesia, because the sound travelled into my mind until it became the shape wedding rings.

orange, you say. the static is now chewing through most of your words and i only catch - borrowing the chevy -

the call dies. i have 12% battery. i never get the 3rd word, but i know you're still going to get a poem from me. actually this rest stop is kind of pretty, and so is the exhaust pipe, and so is joe's pick up, and so are the clouds. the light here is the color of a glue trap. before you worked at the denny's, we used to get milkshakes every wednesday and called it a friend date. you said you'd wanted to work there because it reminded you of me.

the sign's gone dim. the letters now spell out deny. and isn't that something.

[xiao-come-home]

Boothill relationship headcanons;

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓

✰ Characters: Boothill x reader.

✰ Words: ~1k.

✰ SFW+N//SFW ; SFW mentions no pronouns or gender of the reader. N//SFW section was written with fem!reader in mind.

Warnings: THIS HAS A NSFW PART. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS skip this section if possible. some of these hc are based on this post, since i wanted to write a little more about it.

A/N: BRAINROT gRR he truly gives me doctor by Miley Cyrus vibes. idk how to explain it but take it

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

Boothill:

SFW

he's such a gentleman! opens doors for you, pulls out a chair, kisses your hand when he sees you first for the day, it doesn't get boring for him at all. if you ignore some of his unhinged behaviors, then he's a perfect man.

like i mentioned in my previous post, he's VERY possessive of you. he does like to go to unknown clubs or bars with you to try out their best drinks in his spare time, though he doesn't have you attached to his hip (even.. if he wouldn't probably mind at all), he does keep a sharp eye on you. if a weird guy approaches you and you're clearly uncomfortable, he tries to intimidate the guy away and clearly let him see that you're his (aka placing his arm around your waist and pushing you into him), if being polite doesn't work, well, they have a rough night. not in a good way.

this man SCREAMS BACK HUGS!! since his body is like 90% metal and machines, he loves to embrace you from behind and wrap his arms around your tummy, while his chin rests on your shoulder. he misses the softness of his own skin, so having you gives him a lot of comfort; the warmth you're radiating makes him reluctant to ever pull away. boothill often finds himself touching his cheeks with his robotic arms, when they get warm enough - the feeling almost long forgotten in his mind.

speaking of back hugs: he's also very big on neck kisses, mostly giving than receiving, depending on how he feels, they're either very innocent and loving - very soft, paired with butterfly kisses, or biting you and then kissing it better, when things get steamy.

boothil finds it funny when his hair tickles you when he hugs you from behind. if he's feeling particularly like a little shit that day, he can annoy you the entire day like that, only to respond with "hmm? what do you mean? I'm not doing anything, baby!" ...don't tell him his smirk gives it away, but honestly, at this point, he probably doesn't try to hide it that well.

he DOES slap your ass when you go past him. EVERY time. it doesn't get boring for him, he likes the sound it makes AND how soft it is, bonus if it jiggles, then he's even more proud. he might offer "an apologetic massage," which you rarely agree to (but he'll try until u say yes).

if someone ever tinkers with his Synesthesia beacon, he cannot swear for his life. you might catch him trying to cook, spilling something, and then hearing loud "YOU LITTLE DAISY FLOWER! CUTIE PIE! CURSED FROG!" it's kinda impressive how colorful they can get...

speaking of his voice, he's probably able to manipulate it so it sounds the best according to your taste. although his flesh heart has been gone for so long, he still feels that familiar, warm feeling and squeeze of his own, mechanical one, when your answer is always the same - to modulate it so it sounds the closest to what it used to be, or that the current one is just as pleasant to hear.

he likes to kiss you. no matter where, or when. if he wants to, he'll get one, pressing you against him, cupping your face with one hand, and kissing your puckered lips. once you give in, he kisses you properly, caressing your cheek ever so slightly to ease any discomfort left, only to hold you tightly on your hips and whimper on purpose just to tease you more (i believe in boothill is a little shit theory).

if we assume his face is the only human part of him left (besides his eyes). In that case, he just truly loves the softness of your lips on his. he kisses you as much as he can, and will get all fussy and whiny if he doesn't get his good morning kiss, we-see-each-other-for-the-first-time-today kiss (note: this is not the same as good morning kiss), goodnight kiss and so on. yes, he could get it by himself, but he wants it from you first. he's just very stubborn.

watch out! he likes to draw blood on your lower lip when his intrusive thoughts win. he licks the blood off later, and gives it a loving kiss.

his hair is genuine, so he loves whenever you play with it, brush it, or take care of it in general. it's probably one of the very few human features of his, so if your boothill lets you carefully pamper it, let alone without flooding his cords, he's not only very impressed, but also very willing to indulge in more sessions.

finds it absolutely adorable when you wear his hat when he isn't looking. or, well, when you think he isn't looking.

N/SFW. minors and ageless blogs shoo!

the council has decided that he has a vibrator in place of his real junk. but if you're into experimenting and want him to feel a bit more, hm, natural - he's more than happy to change his parts. shape, size and pace - everything for his lady.

you can probably guess, but that's an absolute ass man. he sees you in tighter pants that hug you just so nicely and might go feral.

eats pussy like a starved man. he has no shame and licks, sucks, and fucks you with his tongue and THE SOUNDS could put the devil himself to shame. boothill always wants everyone to know that you're his, how you scream and moan for him, so in return - he never lets a drop of your juices go to waste, slurping and moaning into your slit.

he's literally so flexible, that he'll fuck you in every position you want him to. if it means he'll get deeper, he's on board. and probably on top of you too.

likes to grope you through your clothes. sounds very tame, but it really gets him going, and might sometimes cause trouble in public.. unless you WANT that trouble.

adding to the headcanon above - he truly just gets turned on by your skin, especially imperfections. stretch marks? he'll kiss them all, scars? he has them all memorized. when he touches you through your clothes, he already remembers what is where, it's like he's edging himself knowing that soon enough he'll undress you completely and see it clearly; he quite literally worships what truly makes you... you.

he. is. so. SO over when you pull on his hair. when you make out, when he fucks you - doesn't matter. DO IT and he'll go absolutely crazy, hissing in pleasure and grinding into you.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows 03

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it. Carmilla and Velvet feud because I also live for that. I also really favor Zestial for some reason as a calm mediator.

Song for this chapter: Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61

A/N: Thank you all so much for your positive feedback & feedback in general on the last two posts!! I really didn’t think this would catch so much attention but I’m so glad people like it. For some reason Tumblr’s being weird and doesn’t want to let me tag certain people, I don’t know why but if anyone does please let me know because I really don’t like that ;/ But I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! Please note that some blogs cannot be tagged, so I recommend checking this post and to check your settings to make sure I can tag you! If anything I can always just message you when the next chapter comes out, and yes I am making this series longer :) it’ll also be posted on my Wattpad soon!

Word count: 3890

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote @froggyferrets @frompeach @absurd-ash @sillysillyxinnabun @urdariingdoll @delectableworm @immahuman @justaproudslytherpuff @local-mr-frog @angeli-fucking-cat @coldsweetsenthusiast @jadekomaeda @iaaeav @coffeethoughtsandanxiety @lunalixya @pretty-puppy-stuffies @lemonrolls @asimplikeallyall @lunalixya

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part two. // Part four.

Engaging with guests throughout the night had become an exhausting endeavor, and a part of you yearned for the solace of your absence. Nevertheless, you maintained the façade, acknowledging every sinner whose smile dripped with crimson mischief. Having greeted each guest, you discreetly slipped into a shadowed corner, your shadows enveloping your figure quickly, seamlessly disappearing from the expansive room in mere seconds and emerging into an intimate gazebo outside, meticulously arranged beneath the sweeping branches of a weeping willow, you marveled at its unique ambiance. Unlike the earthly counterparts that stood white, the willow in your realm bore a deep crimson hue, its leaves adorned with a subtle, luminous sheen. A gentle smile graced your lips as you leaned against the sturdy black iron railing, delicately cradling a piece of the weeping willow between your fingertips. In the distance, the grand mansion hosting the gala loomed, its opulence contrasting with the simplicity of your secluded retreat. Despite the awareness of etiquette dictating against leaving guests unattended, the need for a mental break led you to this haven, a safe space for you. Reflecting, you acknowledged a desire for better preparation and rehearsal with the shadows, realizing the repetitiveness of conversations with the familiar sinners had rendered the night somewhat lackluster. It almost felt like you had come out of hiding for nothing. Quite the disappointment.

You sigh, massaging your temples, the lace fabric on your fingertips only slightly soothing the growing headache. However, not too far behind, you hear the sound of soft grass. You straighten up and turn around, seeing none other than your long time friend Zestial, who just smiled, nodding at you.

���Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial inquired, standing by your side with his back against the railing. You resumed your original position, taking a moment to appreciate his father. Mentally noting how much of your grandfather Zestial reminded you of, you kept the sentiment unspoken.

Tonight, Zestial adorned himself in an outfit resonant with his time period, preserving his distinctive color scheme. A dark, meticulously tailored coat with lime green accents draped over his slender frame, capturing the essence of his demonic class. The cloak, adorned with lime green spider webs, unveiled a mesmerizing display when unfurled—his lime green eyes radiating, the upper pair embellished with vivid red irises. Instead of the customary big top hat, Zestial selected a smaller, more appropriate hat with a touch of flair. Dark as the shadows you command, it featured a light grey patch at the front and was finished with a grey-colored skull and a lime green and red-striped feather on the right side, adding a distinctive touch that mirrored his nature.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial repeated, shifting toward you a bit. Yet you resumed your original position, savoring the quiet ambiance before finally answering him. “What shall we discourse upon during our repast this eventide?” Zestial asked. Though his wording occasionally posed a challenge for others, having grown up in a family of eloquent speakers, you easily deciphered his intent. Something he truly appreciated. Though he was learning to speak more ‘modern’, or as modern as he could be.

“Quite unsure of that. Everything is changing, and I fear I might be left behind,” you expressed bluntly. Zestial sighed in response, a mix of understanding and concern evident in his lime green eyes.

“Madame, thou art timeless,” Zestial said with a bow, his cup proofing into smoke. “I pray thee, vex not thyself o’er so trivial a matter,” he added, his words resonating with both reassurance and genuine care.

You nodded, handing him a card. His surprised expression upon finding two cards instead of one didn’t escape you. “What manner of thing is this?” Zestial inquired, prompting you to summon a shadow for yourself, knowing he would find his own means back to the Gala.

“Carmilla. I am no fool to the both of you,” you said, amusement coloring your words as Zestial shook his head.

“Thou dost astonish me on every occasion,” Zestial remarked, standing by your side as you walked into your portal. Two seats vanished, leaving four empty seats at your table and six occupied.

In your study, you floated scripts in front of you, checking off names on the table list for tonight. With a few overlords left to choose from, Alastor and Charlotte secured seats based on trust and connections. Vox, Zestial, and Carmilla, an unspoken but potent couple, promised intrigue. Reconsidering Velvet for her potential devolution, you weighed each decision with strategic acumen.

Valentino, the Von Eldritch twins, and other weaker options were dismissed, maintaining a careful balance of power and influence. As you weigh the option of inviting Rosie to the gathering, her unpredictable nature adds a layer of excitement and potential surprise to the upcoming discussions. However, this unpredictability could also introduce challenges, creating an air of uncertainty around her contributions. Hopefully with Alastor around, she’d feel more inclined to behave. You check her name off the list.

In considering Stolas, the Goetia prince, his personal issues and tarnished reputation pose significant hurdles. Divorcing from his wife, sleeping with an imp for fun, as well as losing control of his daughter on Earth, it all seemed too risky to get involved with. While his wisdom and influence could contribute positively, the shadows of his struggles may complicate the dynamics, stirring potential conflicts and requiring delicate handling. Someone might get out of line with a comment towards him. His power was incredibly useful, but not worth the risk.

Husk’s transformation from a former overlord to a bartender signals a decline in power and status. While his laid-back demeanor might bring a sense of unpredictability, his diminished influence raises questions about the relevance of his involvement in the current political landscape of hell. Though he was your friend, you needed to keep your reputation pristine.

As the you contemplate the overlords assets, a mix of excitement, caution, and uncertainty envelops the decision-making process. Each overlord’s potential positive contributions are balanced by the looming negatives.

“Madame?” One of your shadows materialized, prompting a nod for them to proceed. “There seems to be some trouble in the lobby between the guests. What would you like us to do?” it inquired. A grimace crossed your face, hoping the disturbance wouldn’t mar your night. “Let me handle it,” you declared, snapping your fingers, causing the script to vanish. The shadow nodded, blending back into a wall for you to step through.

Upon reappearing, you assumed the form of a taller shadow. The room surrounded by guests revealed Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla standing in the middle. Zestial, seemingly composed, stood close behind Carmilla, observing the situation. Carmilla appeared visibly upset, with Velvet in proximity, a pointed finger dropping as soon as she noticed your arrival. Alastor maintained his usual wide smile, though it bordered on the eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The scene unfolded, presenting a potential challenge to the serene atmosphere you aimed to maintain during the gala.

Everyone seemed to stop, slowly turning toward you to see your face. Except there was no expression, just the large shadow you had taken form of. In seconds the shadow disappeared, leaving you in the fog, the expression on your face anything but calm.

"Madame I-" Velvet began, but her words were halted by the sight of your lace glove, your hand rising to silence her. Approaching the overlords, you spoke with an air of cold authority.

"My quarters. Now," you commanded, and with a snap of your fingers, smoke enveloped your spot as you vanished. Shadows materialized around the overlords, guiding them to your quarters, leaving the stunned guests in the lobby.

"Well, that was interesting," Valentino remarked.

In your study, the overlords found you seated in your tall, black chair. Its ebony surface featured intricate carvings of black glass, elegant swirls, and patterns tailored to your essence, creating an atmosphere of undeniable authority and refinement.

"I hope you all had fun acting like children," you chided sternly. The overlords lined up, forming a unified front. Leaning against the right side of your chair, you crossed your legs, elbow on the armrest, pinching the bridge of your nose with a sigh. Annoyance laced your words as you questioned, "What did you feel the need to argue about now?" Before Velvet, Vox, and Carmilla could respond simultaneously, you halted them. "One at a time. I'd assume you all handle this like adults, if you even can." The tension in the room hung thick as the overlords awaited their turn to address your inquiry.

“She wants me at her table Vaggie! Me!” Charlotte said excitedly. Vagatha just smiled.

“That’s good! Now you can tell them about the hotel, and maybe someone will be interested.” Vagatha said, and Charlotte just nodded.

“Maybe they-“ Charlotte stopped, observing as people began to crowd around the center of the lobby. Charlotte and Vagatha stood from their spots at the bar to walk toward the center, where the overlords stood. Velvet and Vox were next to each other, while Carmilla, Alastor and Zestial were across. Carmilla and Velvet were face to face. “What’s going on?” Charlotte asked as Vagatha and her pushed their way through the crowds of people.

“Come on, Carmilla, always the mood-killer,” Velvet scoffed, a disrespectful tone tainting her words. Carmilla shot her a stern look, ready to assert her authority.

“Watch that tongue, Velvet. I will not let your insolence slide,” Carmilla retorted, attempting to rein in the escalating tension.

Vox, ever the smooth talker, chimed in, “Ladies, ladies, let’s not turn this into a drama fest. We’re all here for a reason.” Vox said, sternly giving a tight lipped smile to Velvet, silently telling her to keep her shit together.

Carmilla shot a glare at Velvet, who replied with a defiant smirk, “Drama or not, Vox, some of us aren’t here for the ballroom charm.”

Alastor, drawn to the brewing chaos, couldn’t resist adding his flair, “Well, well, a bit of spice never hurt a party, does it?”

Carmilla, unfazed by the chaos, spoke with a calm authority, “Velvet, your insolence is unnecessary. This is not a playground; it’s a gathering of overlords. Act accordingly.”

Velvet, seemingly undeterred, shot back with a dismissive laugh, “Poor Grandma, always trying to play the responsible one. Maybe loosen up a bit? Have a drink will you?”

Vox, ever the smooth talker, added with a slick comment, “Perhaps we can focus on the matters at hand. Save the theatrics for later ladies.”

Alastor, intrigued by the unfolding drama, simply grinned, “Oh the picture box has spoken! Quite intriguing.” The room continued to buzz with tension as each overlord, except Rosie, added their own flavor to the brewing turmoil. As the tension thickened, Vox, with a sly grin, couldn't resist adding his own slick comment to the mix.

"Ah, Alastor, the radio days were quaint, but it seems you're a bit outdated. Television is the future, perhaps you should tune in sometime," he quipped with a wink, the words delivered with a calculated smoothness. The room momentarily hung in a charged silence before the verbal sparring resumed, adding another layer to the complex interplay of personalities at the gala.

With Vox's comment about Alastor being outdated sinking in, the radio demon responded with a sly grin, sharp teeth on display, his eyes displays dials, as the rooms lights began to deepen, "Ah, Vox, your television endeavors are impressive, but remember, I'm not just audible; I'm unforgettable. A little screen time won't change that," he retorted, “This face was made for radio.” He said with a grin, tilting his head to the side, a sharp snap in his neck, his words carrying a mix of amusement and confidence. The verbal exchange between the two overlords added another layer to the already charged atmosphere, each comment becoming a piece in the intricate puzzle of conflicts and egos at the gala.

“See what you did grandma, now you’ve got the two of them fighting.” Velvet said, pointing a finger into Carmella’s chest. She scoffed, shoving her away.

“Don’t you dare get disrespectful on me you brat.” Carmilla said, beginning to heat up with anger.

That's when Madame stepped in, reappearing in the form of a taller shadow, casting a lengthened silhouette in the room brimming with guests. Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla found themselves at the center of the unfolding tableau, and Zestial, seemingly composed, lingered just behind Carmilla, quietly observing the escalating drama. Carmilla's visage betrayed a hint of distress, her pointed finger lowering as she registered your reappearance. Alastor, with his trademark grin, bordered on eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The unfolding scene disrupted the serene atmosphere you had meticulously aimed to maintain during the gala, presenting an unexpected challenge.

A hush fell over the room as everyone turned their gaze toward you, anticipating your reaction. However, your face remained expressionless, concealed within the depths of the large shadow you had taken form of. In mere seconds, the shadow dissipated, leaving you in a misty veil. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a storm brewed, ready to challenge the delicate balance of the evening.

Now, here you all were, sitting in the study after Carmilla had explained the situation.

“Madame, with all due respect,” Carmilla spoke, looking down. “I truly do not believe Velvet is mature enough to be at our table tonight.” Carmilla said.

“Are you questioning my judgment?” You asked sharply, to which Carmilla stiffened quickly, shaking her head then.

”No Madame, I would never-“

“Then do not say foolish things.” You said. Sighing, you shut your eyes, feeling the weight of the situation. Tonight sensitive information would be revealed and Carmilla did have some point here. Velvet clearly could not hold her tongue.

”Vox, control your associate please, or you both will be cut from the dinner tonight.” You said finally, to which he nodded nervously.

“Of course Madame.” He said, nodding to you.

“I wasn’t finished.” You said, looking to Alastor.

“I want none of this technology talk either.” You spoke, staring at Alastor who just smiled with lidded eyes. You knew he was very much upset, but you had forbidden anyone to fight in your home, anyone but you of course. “You all will act like mature adults wether you like it or not. I am not your guardian, I should not be having this conversation with overlords who should know better.” You said, standing. ”Now, all of you, out.” You said, snapping your fingers. Quickly the shadows began to move, ushering everyone out of your study. Everyone except Carmilla. “Not you.” You said to her, Zestial nodding to you and her as he stepped out, giving you both privacy.

“Madame, I didn’t mean what I said-“ Carmilla said quickly. You waved her off, straightening yourself out.

“Nonsense Carmilla, I know you meant well.” You said with a stoic expression. You sit back down, crossing your legs and snapping your fingers to form a chair in front of your desk, ushering her to sit. “I wanted to speak to you about your weapons.” You stated. At this her eyes went wide, before dropping again.

“Oh, very well then. What would you like to know?” She asked. You grinned, before standing again.

“Well, how much would I need to give you for you to make me a personal bayonet?” You asked. She went silent for a moment, before answering.

“Nothing at all Madame.” She said, standing to look at you. “May I ask what for?” She questioned. You shook your head.

“No, just to have on display. I want a new one, the old one I have is quite out of style for me.” You replied. She just nodded, before you waved to her, sitting back down and summoning a script again. “You may go now, and please, do not argue with children.” You commented. She just smiled and nodded, leaving you to your own vices.

It was half-past eleven, five minutes till the midnight bells chime. Everyone in the lobby was beginning to get excited for the entertainment you had planned for the night. Oh, you knew you would not disappoint.

“Madame would like everyone to accompany her on a journey tonight. She has sent me to retrieve you all. She would like to formally welcome you to tonight’s entertainment.” The large shadow said, standing from the topic of the stairs. Behind it was a large portal. It stepped backwards, into the portal, and nodded for the guests to start coming through.

The custom-built coliseum stands as a testament to Madame's vision, a grand fusion of opulence and dark elegance. The circular structure boasts towering columns, but instead of conventional pillars, thick chains rise, intricately linked and serving as both ornamental decor and structural support. The arches, molded in black, curve gracefully around the circumference, evoking a Victorian Gothic aesthetic that permeates the entire venue.

Two larger-than-life statues of Madame herself flank the entrance, capturing her regal poise and adding a touch of imposing authority. The statues serve not only as decorative elements but as a representation of the gala's hostess, a constant presence overseeing the proceedings, she is always watching, all seeing, perfection.

The overall ambiance is one of grandeur and mystery, with the black molding on the arches casting shadows that play into the darker undertones. Every intricate detail, from the chains to the statues, contributes to the unique Victorian Gothic feel of the coliseum, matching Madame’s home perfectly, matching her perfectly. The venue, finally being unveiled to the guests, now welcomes them who are treated to an appetizer course, surrounded by the striking architecture and entertained within the darkly enchanting atmosphere Madame has meticulously crafted.

Numerous shadows, dark and formless, line the entrance walls, extending silent greetings to the arriving guests. Their presence adds an air of mystique and intrigue as they blend seamlessly with the Gothic architecture. As attendees make their way into the coliseum, these shadowy figures create an ethereal welcome, embodying the unique atmosphere of Madame's custom-built venue.

At a separate entrance reserved for the handpicked members of Madame's esteemed dinner table, a solitary shadow stands guard. This entrance, reserved for a select few, hints at the exclusivity and importance of those who will partake in the upcoming dinner. The shadowy sentinels serve not only as silent greeters but also as guardians of the event's secrets, casting an enigmatic allure over the gala.

A singular shadows escorts Charlotte, Alastor, and the rest of the overlords to the exclusive section, leading them to an elevator to bring them to the best seats in the coliseum. The elevator’s interior is a striking display of elegance, with white and black checkered flooring lending a timeless touch. The walls, enveloped in darkness, exude an air of mystery, while black, smokey glass engravings on the ceiling add intricate detailing that dances in the ambient light. Each number on the elevator, indicating the ascending levels, glows a vibrant red, creating a vivid contrast against the monochrome palette.

“Oh I’m so excited! What do you think we’re gonna see? Gladiators? Sinners fight? Oh actually I hope not, I don’t want people to die.” Charlotte said to Alastor. Carmilla just chuckled at her antics while Zestial eyed her with curiosity. Where did Alastor find such a girl and why the princess of all people?

The elevator stops at the top floor, revealing the opening in the middle, which was surprisingly covered with water.

“What is Madame playing at?” Carmilla questioned as the overlords sat in a row at the top. From there they could see everything and everyone.

“I am quite uncertain, yet my anticipation is stirred nonetheless.” Zestial said. The lights around began to dim, and shadows began to pour glasses of water in front of all the guests. Down in the middle of the coliseum was the tallest shadow, the one that seemed to be Madame’s favorite, since it always spoke for her.

“Greetings all. It is Madame’s pleasure to invite you all to the special entertainment tonight. Madame has put together some of hell’s finest performers for your entertainment tonight. I would like to present, preforming here tonight, The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra preforming Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61.” The shadow said with a bow, before it vanished just as quick as it came. Then, other shadows appeared, but this time they were different. They were people, performers, with clear outlined silhouettes, faces and expressions, even clothes.

“Hey, Al?” Charlotte asked, leaning over in her seat to Alastor. He let out a ‘hm?’ In response.

“Does Madame own those souls down there?” Charlotte whispered, but before Alastor could answer, a shadow had already cut in.

“Yes. All the shadows here, even yours, Madame owns.” The shadow said quietly, filling Charlotte’s glass cup with water. Charlotte nervously, perked up, but said nothing as she shadow carried on with it’s catering.

The ethereal notes of the music filled the air as the performance unfolded. Around the musicians stood ballet dancers, their movements a delicate poetry in motion. Clad in all black, the performers created a stark contrast to the dancers, who emerged with an otherworldly grace akin to figures rising from the depths of water. The dancers moved with an angelic fluidity, their forms intertwining seamlessly with the haunting melody, creating a mesmerizing tableau that captivated the audience. The visual symphony of black-clad musicians and the whisky-hued ballet dancers painted a scene of enchantment and mystery within the grand coliseum. Even down to the dancers, this had Madame written all over it.

Velvet's keen eye captured the essence of the dancers' ethereal movements on paper. With each stroke of her sketch, she depicted the dancers as if emerging from a watery abyss, the fog enveloping their feet creating an illusion of water flowing upward. The intricate details on her sketch paper brought to life the dancers' graceful forms, their figures seemingly intertwined with the rising mist, evoking the enchantment of a waterspout captured in a moment of sublime artistry. Velvet's artistic interpretation added a layer of depth to the performance, transforming the ephemeral dance into a tangible and captivating visual narrative.

Water had begun to swirl, the dancers moving around it, the water getting taller and taller, similar to the way it had when you had first made your entrance at the beginning of the Gala. Now, it was water, and from Charlotte’s seat, she had struggled to make out what was going on. She turned to Alastor to see him holding a pair of opera glasses in his hand. Without you having to ask, he tapped the armrest of her seat. Charlotte turned to the side to see a pair tucked neatly against the front of the armrest. She grabbed them quickly, before looking through them and at the waterspout now forming in the middle. Her jaw flew open, as well as the loud screech of Alastor’s track playing. Vox had short circuited, and Carmilla gasped loudly. Velvet stood silent, but there was evident confusion on her face, while Zestial sunk into his seat, conflicting emotions flowing through him.

“Madame- she’s-“ Charlotte stuttered, and Alastor nodded, swallowing thickly.

“With an exorcist. I know.”

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

Bing Bang boom, Kakagai confession part 1 is done! Takes place during the 3 year gap between og narts and narts shippuden starting

Kid: Race you back! Kks: Let's go, Gai Gai: Papa

Kks: He's too important to risk Kurenai: You can push him away, kakashi, but that's /his/ choice to run back in. Punishing yourself will only leave you with regrets. Asuma: You and Gai have always been a pair

Dai: I don't have to worry about him knowing the two of you look out for eachother. Rin: You like him, don't you? Kushina: Have fun with Gaaaiii~! Kks: UUUGH Gai: Found a quiet place to space out, Rival?

Kks: Ooo!...Mm!

Gai: Do you not savor /anything/? Stop/doing/ that, you'll choke. I don't want to hear at all about your stomach hurting later Kks: Oh, I will. I'll have Pakkun track you down just so i can tell you

Kks: You didn't have to leave your brats. You looked to be having fun. Gai: Nonsense! They met up with their other friends! We always spend festivals together! Kks: Just letting you know

Gai: What's gotten into you?I knew you were up here brooding. Kks: I like watching you with them. You act like more of a dad. Reminds me of Dai

Kks: You just need a mustache Gai: I could never grow that beast. That's a relief! I thought you were mad at me. Ruined a date or something like that. Kks: A date? That'd be a first Gai: Eh? Kks: Never been.

Gai:... You've never been on a date? Kks: Not seriously. Never seemed appealing to me. Gai: People throw themselves at you daily! You could truly have anyone what do you mean?? Kks: I'm not interested in any of them/ I was also working non stop back then, you know that. Gai: Is there any person in this village you /do/ want to kiss?

Kks: Yeah Gai: WHO??? Kks: You seriously want to know?? Gai: Only if you want to! As your trusted rival, your secret would die with me! That's my self rule!

Kks: Fine

Kks: It's you.

Kks: Now you know... Gai?... Yup, ok... I made it weird. Sorry-

Kks: Forget i-

Tenten: GAI SENSEI!!

Tenten: I GOT THE TURTLE Lee: Can you believe it, sensei?! Tenten: [maniacal cackling] Gai: AAAAAAA!!

Gai: Excellent work, tenten! Tenten: Here ya go! Gai: For me? Tenten: It reminded us of you, so we had to win it! For the best sensei! Lee: Neji's idea Neji: Lee! Kks: Hm, Naruto gave me a frog in his pocket once Gai: I truly have been honored with the best students!!

Neji: The fireworks are starting soon Tenten: Kaaayy! Lee Right! LEt's go, kaakshi and Gai sensei! Gai: Uuhh Kks: Lead the way, Lee

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap has a bad habit. But he doesn't think it's... that bad. Just a joke between him and Ghost that he'd started, really. Well- it wasn't completely a joke to him, but it was to Ghost, so it didn't really matter. Or, it did but that was kinda... it was his own problem to deal with. Not that was the real bad habit of his, he jumps head first into everything and has to do damage control after.

It was him and Ghost on watch tonight, price and Gaz were soundly a sleep in the other side of the safehouse. They'd been tracking a target for the last three days, and hopefully wouldn't have too much longer before they could go take him into custody. That's not to say they haven't been busy, infact it would be more accurate to say they've been a little stretched thin between this target, and taking out a seperate enemy warehouse.

The night was quiet, interrupted only by the incessant frog chirps and cricket calls. Somehow it felt both tired, and restless. And like always, he opens his big mouth to break the tension that sprouts from somewhere he can't see.

"Go out with me, L.T?" He asked, tying the straw wrapper in his hands into a finger sized ring, and presenting it to the man.

"I don't want to do this tonight, Sargeant." Ghost says curtly. Ouch, he got ranked? In all fairness, soap supposes, Ghost is tired, worked to the bone like the rest of them. Soap doesn't fault him. So he drops it.

But ot does get his mind spinning. In two years, Ghost hasn't snapped at him about this stupid joke once, not like he just had anyway. Sure it wasn't harsh, but soap could read between the lines just fine. Ghost was tired of it, or maybe just too tired to deal with the uncomfortability of it. He's gotten that Ghost didn't want him the first time he rejected him, but he'd also laughed it off as a joke, so he'd been keeping his alibi ever since. Not that those attempts were ever disingenuous either, just that he was expecting the Answer. But he wouldn't have kept it up if he'd known it made Ghost uncomfortable. Maybe he should have known. He definitely should have with how much he studies the man. Looking at him now he can see the way Ghost's eyes flick to him, then away as he does an uncomfortable little shift, so small that if you weren't looking for it you wouldn't see it. But he does see it now.

"Ahm sor'y, Ghost." It takes him a very generous amount of time to put together the words he needs in a way that sounds genuine enough to his own ears. Longer still for him to speak them. "I hadn't meant to make you uncomfortable, I should have known." He rips at the straw paper as he speaks, "it never meant anything, if that makes you feel better." Then he falters a little, but he plows on, "ah'll um- ah'll stop joking about it." The once paper ring, now just a scrap of litter on the wooden table beneath his hands.

Ghost doesn't respond, just looks at him silently, and he feels a pit drop in his stomach. He wishes the ground would just swallow him up so he wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions of his own actions. The tension in the air pulls tight, tight enough to strangle them so he opens his mouth. Again.

"So.. did you hear about the kidnapping at school?.... he woke up." Soap chuckles, answering his own joke. It does not solve anything. If anything it makes it all worse, if the way Ghost doesn't even acknowledge it had anything to say about it. "Okay.." he resigns himself to a silent and uncomfortable watch for the night, he'll sleep it off tomorrow, stop making the jokes, and it'll all be fine.

I'd be fine for them. For him it wouldn't be, it wasn't since the first rejection, and it wasn't for the 83 other accumulated attempts, but he'll live. He has been, so he'll keep doing so. Even if it ached to breath around the thought. He'll just... not think about it.

"So it never meant anything?" The question catches him off guard and leaves him floundering. Ghost is looking at him when he glances up now. Yes! Yes! It did! It does! Everytime! All the time! His mind screams.

"No- never." He chokes out instead, the lie tastes sour on his tongue, and he's so sure Ghost has noticed. He's gonna get visibility uncomfortable with soap any second now. Soap knows it. Braces for it.

"You're lying?" But it sounds more like a statement. Almost sounds offended. Like Ghost is hurt that soap would try to lie to him. Which, quite frankly, doesn't make sense. Why couldn't he just accept it and move on, why does he have to torment soap about it.

Soap can't muster up another ill-tasting lie, so he just looks away.

"You did mean it." That one is a statement, one which soap cringes internally at. "Did.. did you mean it the first time?"

Soap doesn't want to answer. He really really doesn't. But he forces himself to nod, just once. The first one had meant the most to him.

"I thought you were joking... messing with me to have a laugh." Ghost admits quietly.

"I was. Kinda," he sighs, folding his arms on the table and dropping his head onto them, he mutters, "not... not really. I- I um- it was just... easier to laugh it off." His finger dejectedly traces idle shapes on the table. "This'll make an even 85, suppose that's as good a number as any to stop." He laments to himself.

"Ask me again."

"What?" He head shoots up in surprise.

"Ask me again." Ghost repeats.

"O- okay..." he picks at the skin around his thumbnail, "uhm.. I- uh.. would you.. gooutwithme?" He rushes the question out, not really wanting to drag out the inevitable answer.

"Ok." He said it so simple.

"I- huh?" He freezes.

"I want to go out with you." Ghost looks him in the eye. It makes soap's heart do a weird thing.

"Okay." He can't help the smile that spits his face, his knee bounces with giddiness, and he can't help but nudge Ghost boot with the toe of his own. Ghost does it back.

Tags: @queermentaldisaster @spottlessspectre @27potatochips @opiumprincess @canyoubethestalkertomytango @unhingedpolycule @bluebrryice @softberrybi @coquetterie-dancer @stuffireadandenjoy

Prolly gonna shove this on ao3 later

[satowooo]

" YOU'RE THE ONE I WANT IN PAPER RINGS. . ."

I like shiny things but I'll marry you with paper rings ft. gojo satoru, geto suguru, choso kamo, nanami kento.

contents. fluff, fluff, fluff, not proofread.

౨ৎ GOJO SATORU

“Shush, don't look!”

Satoru had been focused on folding a piece of paper for the past 30 minutes now, ever since you two sat on a table and planned to make paper flowers for the students to celebrate the year end. You just asked him about what he's doing, only to be replied with a scolding and him turning his back on you to hide the piece of paper. You could hear his small grunts and complaints every single time he messed up and redid it all over again, noticing him folding it in a different way from a paper flower and it was even cut smaller. It was the first time you had seen him struggling over a matter as small as folding papers, when he wasn't even having a hard time on the paper flowers earlier though, and Satoru seems to not be fond of not getting everything his way on an easier path either.

Since when did making paper rings become so difficult anyway?

“Okay. You don't want me to help with whatever that is?”

“No. Just stay put.”

You bite your lip to stop a chuckle, noticing the way his shoulders slumped when you heard him accidentally tore the paper, so you obeyed and looked away. He turned around again, leaning on the table to get another paper, and got to work. His slender fingers carefully folding and twisting, his eyes solely focused on it, with his brows furrowed in determination and even a small pout for the thousand of times he messed up and probably on the verge of giving up, if not because he was making a paper ring because wanted to please you.

It took him another good 15 minutes to do it right, a little wrinkled on one side but the heart on the ring was perfect. He scooted over to your side, and you finally looked at him.

He took your hand, and slipped the paper ring on your ring finger, making you gasp as you finally see the blue material fit you perfectly. “I did my best, baby.”

“Satoru!”

“I know it's not much, and I mean, I can probably give you a more expensive one with diamonds and shiny crystals but I just thought this one would mean more and much more endearing and I tried to make it after watching a video that I saw using my memory and I just think–” He stopped, blinking as he realised how much he had rambled. Satoru sighed, gazing at your hand, lifting it up to press a kiss on your knuckle, right next to the ring. “Do you like it?”

“Of course, I do!”

“Then should we call a priest right now?"

౨ৎ GETO SUGURU

It was originally Mimiko and Nanako’s ideas. The two girls lay on their stomach right by the floor with their feet swaying in the air, their homeworks long forgotten on either side of them. There were tons of papers around them, in different colours and shapes when Suguru caught them slacking around in their bedroom.

“Papa! Make a paper ring for Mama!” Mimiko suggested, patting the space between them so Suguru could join in the fun.

“Are you done with your homeworks, sweethearts?” He chuckled, taking his spot, laying flat on the stomach with his feet also high in the air like some teenage girls.

“Of course!” Nanako, who was obviously lying for the way she blushed and can't look Suguru straight on the face, as she pressed something on the origami that she made which was shaped in a frog, and it jumped towards his side.

Suguru couldn't help but be amazed, but also wanting to tease his girls. “Really? Can I see?” He said as he reached for their notebooks.

Mimiko was quick to act, slapping her dad’s big hands away with her small ones so he would drop it, then thrashing a bunch of paper in front of him instead. “Mama would like paper rings!”

And that's exactly how he found himself making one. With the help of his daughters, they instructed him on what to do for a good 15 minutes. He'd get confused sometimes every time they talked at the same time, instructions unclear when they talk about different things. But he got the hang of it, and it was perfect, as expected from Suguru.

Now, he's sitting on the bed, with his back pressed on the headboard, as he got you straddling his lap as you two talked about your day, while the two girls had gone to sleep.

“The girls were very enthusiastic today.” He said, his thumb caressing small circles on your inner thigh as he gazed at you. “They taught me how to make origami, and something else…”

“Hmm? What is it?” You replied, eyes filled with curiosity as you waited for him to continue.

You watched as he pulled something out from the bedside cabinet, a red paper shaped in a small circle. You couldn't see much because his hands were covering it a bit, but when he took your hand and wore it on your finger, you realised what it was.

“I made it, but it took all our efforts.” He whispered, watching as you gaped at the paper ring. “They're not the best teachers though.”

“It's beautiful…”

Suguru didn't expect the next thing you did. As you clutched on his shirt and immediately crashed your lips together, your hands coming to the back of his neck and deepening the kiss. Your lips dancing in harmony to the rhythm of your heartbeats.

He pulled away, breathless as he cups your cheek. “I'd ask you to marry me right now, but we'll save that for some other time.” He chuckled, pulling you in for another kiss.

౨ৎ CHOSO KAMO

It was a sweet gesture. Your boyfriend prepared all the materials needed and even borrowed his brother Yuji’s ipad so you could watch tutorials on YouTube. Ever since he saw you scrolling on your Instagram reels about making paper stars, flowers, little animals, hearts, and all other cute things, he was determined to do the activity with you. And he wanted to make sure that you'll enjoy it as much as he would.

“Let's make this one!” You scrolled onto a video, showing him a tutorial on how to make a scrapbook, which he agreed to.

You two worked on it right away, both of you busy while you cut some papers and draw on it, while he folds some others into shapes that would look good on the scrapbook. Once in a while, he would try to steal kisses on your lips every time he finishes one.

After a few minutes, you got up to go upstairs and print some pictures that you'd add on the book, leaving Choso alone with folding a new set of papers. This time, he made a mini bouquet, which was unexpectedly quite easy. And then last, the paper ring.

When you got back, you placed the printed papers on the table as you two got to work again. But your eyes caught the mini bouquet resting beside the others, and your eyes glinted.

“Choso! That's so cute! How did you make that?” You scooted closer to him, taking the mini bouquet in your hands, the paper tiny in your hands. “Are you putting this on the book?”

Choso blushed, nuzzling his face on your neck. “It's actually for you.” He muttered, his breath fanning on your skin that made you shiver. “They're small and cute, I thought you'd like it.”

You smiled, cupping his cheek so he could look at you. “Really?”

“Mhm. And I have another one too.”

He showed you the pink paper ring, and your eyes widened in shock. He was about to put in on your ring finger when you turned around, snatching something from underneath the table.

“Cho! I made you one too!”

Was it fate? But nevertheless, it got Choso blushing and almost kicking his feet as butterflies filled his stomach. His palms covering his mouth to probably stop him from reacting exaggeratedly while you slipped the paper ring in his finger. It was even the same colour as the one he made, and he swears his heart was about to burst.

౨ৎ NANAMI KENTO

How many times did you and Nanami get married this year? Three. Three times in a row. The first time was in a shrine, doing the Japanese traditional way of weddings, a wedding held privately with only your families. Second was at the church, with both your families and friends this time, with you wearing a beautiful white wedding dress as your husband awaits in the altar, looking as dashing as ever. And this might be the third.

“Honey, marry me.” He muttered, his feet tapping on the floor impatiently, watching you type on your laptop for a school document.

“We're already married, Kento?” You asked, glancing back at him once before you're back to rapidly tapping on your keyboard. The noise filled the air, together with Nanami’s sighed.

“I know. But you seem married to your laptop for the past few hours, honey.”

Nanami is not one to complain about this type of thing, in fact, he's a very understanding man that he wouldn't mind if you're stuck doing paperworks all day, unless you wouldn't be sparing him a glance, giving him a kiss, or a hug during the said day, and that would make him open up his concerns a bit. How many hours had passed anyway? Four long hours of torture for him, that he had convinced himself enough that he was the clingy one in the relationship and not you.

“Are you asking for my undivided attention, Kento?” You laughed, finally tearing your gaze away from your laptop as you spun your swivel chair at him.

He pulled the chair from underneath so you're closer to him, his right knee between your thighs as he leaned down to press his lips against yours. “Indeed. And I don't think I can live another second of you not talking to me for another hour, not even a kiss since this morning.”

“I'm sorry,” you giggled, kissing him one more time to show that you were truly apologetic. “Were you lonely?”

“A bit.” He sighed, caressing your cheeks, then pulled away as he leaned back on his chair. “You do look adorable when you're focused, honey, which I'm always pleased to see. But I have to give you something.”

He slid his swivel chair backward a bit, grabbed something on a nearby table and went back to your spot right away. He took your hands, sliding a white paper ring right next to your wedding ring. “I don't think you noticed me making this while you were busy.”

“Kento, how..?” Your eyes smiled with you, a testament of your appreciation and affection towards the man you love. You knew Nanami Kento had always been perfect, but he's even more perfect now that he took his time to make this for you.

He laced your fingers together with his, his heart warming up to the sight of you appreciating his small efforts. Kento loves it when you're happy, and would do anything to keep it that way for as long as he can.

“A few videos.” He shrugged, pulling your chair closer to him again. “Now, will you marry me?”

[david-talks-sw]

Debunking more myths in the GFFA: the Jedi and the clones.

I wrote a post debunking the various myths about how "the Jedi condone slavery", a while ago. Something I had omitted (because it's such a big topic) was the following two statements that concern the clone troopers' relations with the Jedi:

"The clones were genetically bred to have accelerated growth, so they're technically child soldiers."

"The clones were slaves of the Jedi."

Both the above statements are inaccurate, let's explore why. 

"The clones were child soldiers"

Let's get the easy one out of the way first, because it's a logic that cuts both ways. If age is our only determination of the maturity of a Star Wars character, then Grogu is not a baby. He is aged 50, and is thus a middle-aged man.

Who cruelly eats the babies of a woman...

... and knowingly tortures animals for his own sadistic pleasure.

Of course, I'm kidding. Grogu's none of the above things.

The narrative frames him as a cute baby who does innocent baby stuff. Him eating the eggs is played off as comedic, as is him lifting with the frog. To this day, some fans still call him "Baby Yoda".

Conversely, despite the clones being 10/14-years-old, their actions, behaviors, way of thinking, sense of humor, morals etc, are all those of an adult.

Like, Ahsoka is technically older than Rex in this scene.

The scene doesn't portray them as peers, though. This isn't written as "a teen and a tween talking". No, Rex looks, acts and behaves like a grown-up and is thus framed as such by the narrative.

You can make the argument "they're child soldiers", but (unless you're doing so in bad faith) you'd also have to argue that "Grogu's an adult".

"The clones were the Jedi's slaves"

Nope. For all intents and purposes, they're in the same boat as the Jedi, who George Lucas stated multiple times had been drafted to fight in the war.

Again: both the Jedi (monk/diplomats untrained for fighting on a battlefield) and clones (literally bred en masse only to fight) are being forced to fight by Palpatine and the Senate.

Though, on paper, the clones were commissioned by Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, it was actually done by the Sith (who either manipulated or assassinated Sifo-Dyas then stole his identity, depending on the continuity you choose to adhere to). The rest of the Jedi had no idea these clones were being created.

So while the clones are slaves... they're not owned by the Jedi.

They're the army of the Republic, they belong to the Senate. This isn't exactly a scoop, they refer to the clones as something to purchase...

... and manufacture.

As far as the Senate’s concerned, clones are property, like droids. 

Like there's a whole subplot in The Bad Batch about this very point: after the war, the clones are decommissioned and left out to dry because they literally have no rights, they served their purpose.

The only trooper to ever canonically blame the Jedi for the clones' enslavement is Slick, who the narrative frames as having been bribed and manipulated by Asajj Ventress into betraying his comrades.

Also, the only canonical Jedi shown to ever be mean, dismissive or mistreating the clones in any way, is Pong Krell.

And it's eventually revealed he’s in fact a full-on traitor, hence why the story frames him as an antagonistic dick from the moment he's introduced. He doesn’t represent the Jedi in any way.

We know this because the other Jedi we’ve been shown are always prioritizing their clones’ lives over theirs, if given the chance.

Finally, if we wanna get even more specific... as Commander-in-Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR), the clones belong to Palpatine. 

Palpatine who is a Sith Lord. 

Palpatine who arranged for the creation of the clones and had them all injected with a chip that would activate upon hearing a code-word...

... and forced them to murder their Jedi without hesitation or remorse.

When you bear all that  ⬆️  in mind and when you read this quote by George Lucas...

"The Jedi won't lead droids. Their whole basis is connecting with the life force. They'd just say, 'That's not the way we operate. We don't function with non-life-forms.” So if there is to be a Republic army, it would have to be an army of humans."    - The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005, 2020  

... narratively-speaking, everything falls into place.

Sidious knows that:

If he orchestrates a war designed to thin the Jedi's numbers, corrupt their values and plunge the galaxy into chaos...

If he wants to draft the Jedi - peace-keeping diplomats who’d never willingly join the fray - to fight in his war...

... then the only way they won't resist the draft and abstain from fighting is if they think joining the conflict will save lives.

So he creates a set of cruel, sadistic villains for them to face, opponents who will target innocent civilians at every turn...

... and instead of lifeless droids, he prepares for the Jedi an army of men... living, mortal people who, despite being well-trained, will be completely out of their league when facing the likes of Dooku...

... Ventress...

... Grievous...

... Savage Opress...

... or the defoliator, a tank that annihilates organic matter.

Thus, in order to save as many clone and civilian lives, the Jedi join the fray despite knowing that doing so will corrupt their values. 

And as the war rages on, a bond of respect is formed between the two groups.

Clearly, the Jedi don't like the fact that the Republic is using the clones to fight a war, but for that matter, they don't like being in a war, in fact they advocated against it.

However, it's happening regardless of their issues with the idea or personal philosophies. Said The Clone Wars writer Henry Gilroy:

"I’d rather not get into the Jedi’s philosophical issues about an army of living beings created to fight, but the Jedi are in a tough spot themselves, being peacekeepers turned warriors trying to save the Republic."

And bear in mind, the Jedi are basically space psychics, the clones are living beings that they can individually feel in the Force... 

... so the Jedi feel every death but need to move on, regardless, only being able to mourn the troopers at the end of every battle.

We see this in the Legends continuity too, by the way.

(that is, when the writers actually try to engage with the narrative)

Also, if you ask the clones, they’re grateful the Jedi have their backs.

When Depa Billaba voices her concerns about how the war is impacting the Jedi's principles, troopers Grey and Styles are quick to make it clear how grateful they all are for the Jedi's involvement:

So the clones aren't the Jedi's slaves. If anything, they're both slaves of the Republic (considering how low the Jedi's status actually is in the hierarchy).

Only I'd argue the clones have it much, much worse. 

The Senate sees the Jedi as "ugh, the holier-than-thou space-monk lapdogs who work for us"... but a Jedi has the option to give up that responsibility. They can leave the Order, no fuss or stigma. 

A clone trooper cannot leave the GAR! If they do, they’re marked for treason and execution. Again, they’re not perceived as “people”.

And it doesn’t help that the Kaminoans, the clones’ very creators, see the troopers as products/units/merchandise. A notion that the Jedi are quick to correct whenever they get the chance.

How The Clone Wars writers describe the clones' relationship with the Jedi.

George Lucas hasn’t spoken much about this subject aside from the quote from further up. But to be fair... the Prequels aren’t about the clones’ dynamic with the Jedi, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t talk on that subject so much.

He did mention that part of The Clone Wars’ perks is that he could:

“Do stories about some of the individual clones and get to know them.”

But that’s as far as it gets. 

So for this part, I'm just gonna let Dave Filoni, showrunner of The Clone Wars and the upcoming series Ahsoka, and TCW writer Henry Gilroy - both of whom worked closely with Lucas - take the wheel. They make themselves pretty clear on how the clone/Jedi dynamic is meant to be viewed. 

Here’s Henry Gilroy:

"In my mind, the Jedi see the clones as individuals, living beings that have the same right to life as any other being, but understand that they have a job to do."

"The clones see the Jedi as their commanding officers on one hand, but also, at least subconsciously, they look to them for clues to social/moral behavior."    

"Some clones may find themselves getting philosophical leadership from the Jedi that helps them answer some of the deeper questions of life."    

"We thought this was a great opportunity to show how the Jedi interact with clones. Specifically, Yoda in a teaching role of the clones, who were socially new, who kind of grew up— who were created to fight, and he really broadened their horizons and helped them realize there was a great big universe out there that was bigger than just fighting and killing."    

And here’s Dave Filoni’s comments:

"I truly believe that the Jedi try to humanize their clones and make them more individual, as Henry says."    

"I think we saw that in Revenge of the Sith, when the Clones were colorful and named under the Jedi Generals, and then in the final shots of the film with Palpatine and Vader near the new Death Star, the ships are grey, the color and life is sucked out. The Stormtroopers are only numbers and identified by black and white armor or uniforms in A New Hope." 

"The soldiers have become disposable to the Emperor."    

"That is something the Jedi would never do."    

"Yoda teaching the clones much like he taught Luke. ‘Cause that was kind of natural for [the Jedi], a natural instinct to take to these clones like they’re students."    

None of the above quotes from two different writers of The Clone Wars, who had many interactions with George Lucas, frame the Jedi and the clones’ relationship in a negative way. 

How much more proof do we need that "the clones were slaves of the Jedi” isn’t the intended narrative?

My point being that while the clones' ordeal is indeed horrible, the Jedi have nothing to do with it. The narrative of The Clone Wars always frames it as the fault of the Sith, the Senate and the Kaminoans.

If you go by the intended narrative, the Jedi were the clones' teachers and brothers-in-arms. The clones and the Jedi were not just comrades.

They were friends.

[firewasabeast]

Can you please do a hurt/comfort Eddie + Tommy friendship with Bucktommy - Tommy gets hurt in some way (mentally/physically/sick/etc) and Eddie helps him until Buck can get there

you gave me a reason to finish the fic I started earlier today! thank you!

His teeth were chattering. Had been since he woke up after hitting the ground.

He didn't hurt anywhere, which was never a good sign.

He laid there, surrounded by trees. Cold, wet leaves underneath his body. He could hear crickets and frogs all around him. Could smell smoke somewhere nearby.

There were distinct sounds of metal creaking mixed in with nature.

Slowly, he moved his head to the right, then to the left.

Fire.

It was about fifty yards away. Thankfully, due to the recent rain, the fire was contained to the helicopter that had so gracefully fallen out of the sky.

He wasn't sure how he ended up so far from it. Had no memory of being ejected or jumping or whatever happened that made it so he wasn't inside those flames.

He lifted his hands to his face, could barely see them as the sun set below the trees. He was sure there was blood. Dirt, mud, leaves, and blood.

They shook so fiercely he wasn't sure how he had any control over them at all.

His breathing was labored, heart beating rapidly. No matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to calm himself down.

Suddenly, in the distance, he heard something.

People talking.

Not just people, familiar people.

Family.

“H- Here,” he barely managed to get out, figuring they'd be running toward the fire instead of him. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Here! I'm here!”

The talking stopped, then there was running.

He could feel the pounding of the footsteps as they approached.

“Hey, we gotcha, Buddy!”

“Howie?”

“Yeah, it's me. Saving your ass, once again.”

Hands were on him now. Lights shining in his eyes, causing him to squint. He could hear others talking. Hen, Eddie, Bobby. Couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

Chimney had him focus on him. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

“T- Tommy,” he answered. God, he wished he could stop shaking. He couldn't barely get out a word.

“Year?”

“2024.”

“Best paramedic you know?”

“Hen,” Tommy replied, choking out a laugh.

“Hey now!” Chimney exclaimed, mocking offense.

“I knew I liked you,” Hen said with a smile. She patted him on the shoulder before getting back to work.

Chimney chomped on his gum a couple times before asking his next question. “Can you wiggle your toes for me, Tommy?”

Tommy shook his head. He lifted his arm, tried to pull Chimney closer to him so he could whisper. “I c- can't feel anything,” he paused, sucked in a shaky breath, “b- below my waist.” He knew what this meant, and he also knew he was in shock. The adrenaline pumping through him was the only thing keeping him remotely alert.

Chimney nodded, sharing a glance with Hen. “Cervical collar for our dashing pilot here, please, Hen.”

“Already on it.”

“Ho- Howie?”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Ev- Evan?”

“Buck went home early today,” Eddie answered, moving into Chimney's place so he could do whatever work needed to be done. “Chief is cracking down on overtime, so he had to be sent home.”

“We've... We've been sa- saving f- for the wedding,” he explained, although he wasn't sure why. Everyone there already knew that.

Eddie took Tommy's hand and wrapped it up in his own. “You were probably already up in the air when Buck sent you the text complaining about being sent home.”

“He'd say... He'd say th- the chief didn't want us t- to have the good hors d'oeuvres.”

Eddie nodded, tried putting on a smile. “He did mention that on his way out.”

Tommy squeezed Eddie's hand. “We m- might have to re... reschedule.” His lip trembled at the thought, tears welling in his eyes. Evan was so excited for the wedding. Had been working diligently and meticulously on every detail since they got engaged in October. He wanted a winter wedding, and didn't want to wait another whole year, so February it would be. With it being December now, Tommy didn't see any way he'd be able to fully recover by then.

If he did at all.

“Let's not worry about that right now, alright, Man? I don't think Buck will care when the wedding is, as long as there is one. Let's focus on that, okay?”

Tommy nodded. Blinked a few times to rid himself of the tears.

A few fell anyway.

“Ed- Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do I... Do I still have my legs?”

“You certainly do, Kinard,” Bobby interrupted. Tommy wasn't sure how long the captain had been on his other side. Bobby gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “You've got all your limbs right where they should be. You ready to move now, Kid?”

Tommy could've laughed at the nickname. He'd been called that by Bobby a couple of times, many years ago. It'd been a long while since then.

He nodded. “Ready.”

Eddie didn't let go of his hand as they lifted him and began carrying him to the ambulance. Tommy was a bit surprised. He didn't remember ever being moved onto the spine board. Hadn't felt a thing.

A part of him had wondered if they'd even been working on him during that time. That maybe Eddie was the chosen distraction until he drifted off and his breathing stopped.

He was glad to know he was wrong.

*****

Bobby drove them to the hospital, with Eddie staying in the back beside him. It was a bit cramped with him, Eddie, Chimney, and Hen all back there together, but the fact he was surrounded by these people made him feel a bit more comforted.

Tommy looked over to where his and Eddie's hands were still tightly gripped together. He wasn't sure if Eddie was refusing to let him go, or if he was refusing to let Eddie go. Didn't really matter either way. He needed something to keep him tethered to reality.

He shook his wrist back and forth a few times to get Eddie's attention. “Can you... Can you call Evan? Please?”

“Of course,” Eddie replied, grabbing his phone out of his pocket with his free hand.

“You've got some cuts on your arms, Tommy,” Hen explained as Eddie pressed Buck's name. “We're gonna work on those on the way to the hospital, so you might feel some stings, okay?”

“Yeah. That's okay.”

Eddie put the phone on speaker and Buck answered on the third ring. “What's wrong?”

“Buck-”

“Who is it, Eddie? I just left work an hour ago. Is it Bobby? Hen? Chim?”

Tommy took a deep breath. “B- Baby.”

Silence.

Then.

“Tommy? Is that you?”

“Had a... a little accident.”

“What hospital?”

“The usual,” Eddie replied.

“I'm heading there now.”

“Evan? Evan!” Tommy exclaimed, wanting to get his attention before he got in the car and started to drive.

“I'm here, Tommy,” he answered. “I'm gonna meet you at the hospital.”

“I don't wanna... wanna scare you,” Tommy said, and he could feel the tears burning his eyes again. “I can't. I can't feel my legs.”

“He's stabilized,” Chimney added quickly, before Buck could ask. “Likely a lower spinal cord injury.”

Another pause, followed by a quiet. “Okay. Okay.”

“He's doing well, Buck,” Eddie reassured him. “We're all right here with him. He won't shut up about you, like always.”

Tommy smiled. He hoped Evan did as well.

“Feeling's mutual,” Buck replied. His voice was softer now. Tommy knew the words were meant to keep him focused and thinking positively.

It worked.

“Need you t- to be safe.”

“I will, Baby. I'll drive safe and I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay. L- Love you.”

“I love you, too. So damn much, T- Tommy.”

Tommy wasn't sure who hung up first, but he could tell by the way Evan's voice wavered at the end that he was probably close to falling apart.

“Thank you,” Tommy said as Eddie put his phone back into his pocket.

“Whatever you need, Bud, I'm here.”

“Just... Just keep ho- holding my hand.”

Eddie nodded, squeezed a little tighter. “I can do that.”

[zepskies]

Wake Me Up - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD-verse! Let me tell you, I’ve had this mini series outlined for months, but now I thought it was finally time to get to it. If you’re not tired of the Break Me Down world yet, I very much hope you enjoy Wake Me Up.

**As a reminder, this story is set shortly after Love Actually, and will contain references from that three-part story. 

Song Inspo: For this whole series it’s “I Can Read Your Mind” by the Doobie Brothers. (I pretty much listened to this on repeat.)

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Starting off strong in this one: with mature themes, show level violence, angst, kidnapping, PTSD, mentions of torture (not too graphic), and character death.

💚 Wake Me Up Masterlist || Break Me Down Masterlist

Part 1: “Familiar Territory”

The start of a new year continued a steady rhythm for you and Ben. Namely, another successful mission for the Supe Affairs team.

While you were patched into the team’s communications line from the safety of your desk back at the S.A. headquarters in New York, your friends were a few states over in Denver, Colorado. They’d just arrested a supe that had been committing a series of bank robberies by literally slipping away from the police, thanks to his particular superpower.

“Somebody better get this shit off of me,” M.M. groused.

He wasn’t too happy about some questionable ooze this particular supe secreted as a defense mechanism. According to Frenchie’s research, it was the same shit that certain frogs could produce to repel predators.

“Need a good hose down, more like,” said Butcher. “You smell fuckin’ foul.”

“Like Satan’s ass crack,” Ben remarked.

You couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement.

“Let’s just get the fuck outta here,” M.M. said, his tone all surly, as per usual. You didn’t envy his plight.

“Good job, guys,” you said, to change the subject. “Now it’s just a short flight back to New York.”

“No layovers this time. I’m not being paid to rot in a fucking airport with a bunch of mouth-breathing assholes and their screaming brats,” Ben said.

Charming. You rolled your eyes, but a smile played on your lips when you imagined his taciturn face.

“Okay, your majesty. I’ll make sure it’s a nonstop flight,” you said. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”

That last bit, you said with a hint of more behind your words. You drummed your nails on your desk and crossed your legs underneath it. A week was a long time for you and your boyfriend to be apart, and you’d been missing him.

“You better be,” Ben said. His voice was deep and cocky. He was smirking, you were sure, and you knew that he’d understood you perfectly well.

“Anybody else hearing this blatant foreplay?” Hughie quipped.

“I sense cheeks will be cracked tonight,” Frenchie muttered.

“Ugh!” you heard Annie shudder.

You knew she supported you and Ben, but you also knew that she didn’t want to hear about the gushy details. You laughed through your embarrassment. 

“Okay, guys. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” you said, before you officially signed off. 

You grabbed your purse that was stowed away in a desk drawer, fished out your cell phone, and you called Ben’s cell. He picked up on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he said. 

“I love you,” you said with a smile. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“Mhmm,” he replied. “I’ll see you soon, baby doll.”

You pouted. “Come on, say it.”

“Say what?”

You sighed. You knew he was being deliberately obtuse.

“You know exactly what,” you replied.

Part of you was upset that he didn’t say it back as often as you liked. God forbid Butcher and the others hear him express his affection for you.

But you supposed you understood that any kind of vulnerability was difficult for him, especially in front of others. As much shit as you gave him, you also knew how to pick your battles with Ben.

“I told you. I’ll see you soon,” he said.

You once again tapped your nails, on your armrest this time. After a moment, you relented.

“Okay, baby. Have a safe flight,” you said, even if you were still frowning.

When Ben hung up with you, he let out a deep sigh.

An entire week with these juvenile cocksuckers was almost too much for him to fucking take. While he often felt your presence with you on the comm line during the actual mission, and the occasional phone call on long nights in between, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.

He was ready to go home.

The flight itself was fine, though dealing with civilians and the tiring experience of a long-ass flight made him even more antsy to land. Because even when they got to JFK, he still had a hired car waiting for him to drive him from the airport to get to Scarsdale, and to the apartment he shared with you. It had already been almost a year of you two living there, in a three-bedroom spanning two floors.

Ben hadn’t thought he would get used to such a small place, but it was all right. It had become his home, far more than the penthouses and party mansions ever were, at least.

When he finally got home and unlocked the front door of the apartment, he stepped into darkness. All the lights were off.

Odd, he thought. He called your name while he shut the door behind him, then flicked on the foyer light. He realized then that he hadn’t seen your car in the driveway. Were you still working? It wasn’t unlike you to get caught up with the paperwork and other logistics after a case.

After a quick look around of each room, from the kitchen to the living room, Ben knew you hadn’t come home yet. A frown marred his face.

He went upstairs and entered the bedroom next. He unclipped his wrist guards and took his gloves off first, followed by loosening the collar of his supe suit. The bed was made, untouched since this morning, he was sure.

Then he noticed the scrap of paper resting on his pillow. He picked it up, and his brows furrowed as he read.

By the time you find me, she’ll wish she was dead.

Ben called Grace Mallory first.

When she didn’t answer, he called Butcher next. Ben’s hand shook the slightest bit while holding the phone up to his ear.

“Evenin’, guv,” Butcher answered with a tired sigh. “What’s this about—”

“We have a fucking problem,” Ben growled.

Ben pushed the limits of his Mercedes Benz while driving himself to Supe Affairs.

The others met him there in a conference room, except for Grace, who was on an active case at the moment. There Hughie and Frenchie tapped into the S.A. security footage on their laptops. 

They eventually found you getting into your car in the S.A. garage, about four hours ago. Then two later, the street cameras picked you up somewhere in the Village. Ben recognized the street. 

You probably had dinner with your friend Yvette and her family, but you intended to make it home on time to meet Ben when you left around 9:00 p.m. 

You had parallel parked at a meter on the street. According to the footage, it looked quiet and empty when you headed back to your car. 

You were stopped by someone before you could get the driver’s side door open. It looked like a man’s height and build; he grabbed you by the shoulder and threw a punch you managed to dodge.

You put up a good fight, but you were eventually knocked out with what looked to be a crowbar, at first glance. When Hughie zoomed in, it was actually a black baton. Ben watched it all with a deepening frown. Anger churned in his gut and ignited his blood as he watched your unconscious body being hauled into a black SUV.

“That looks military-issued,” M.M. said, pointing at the baton that the suspect used to hit you.

Butcher nodded, and also noted the man’s fighting style. “That’s a professional.”

“He would have to be, to take her out,” M.M. said, glancing at Ben. “And the timing. They knew you were coming home. That note was personal, besides the fact that they were casing your place…they’ve probably been watching both of you, waiting for the chance to get the jump on you.”

“The question,” Butcher said, “is who the fuck would wanna tangle with Soldier Boy that badly?”   

“Shit. That’s a laundry list, isn’t it?” Hughie said. M.M.’s glance told him to shut the fuck up.

Ben was silent, but his fury was mounting. His head turned sharply to Butcher.

“Get Mallory on the line. Now,” he barked. When no one moved quick enough for him, his temper snapped at its thinly held leash.

“I said right fucking now!”

Slowly you blinked your eyes open. For a moment, you were seeing in double vision. It soon cleared up to reveal dark, damp, musty surroundings.

It smelled familiar; after that mission to find and subdue Sapphire a couple of months ago, you’d recognize a New York sewer anywhere.

Fuuucking shit, you thought with a groan. Your head was aching. You felt a trickle of blood down the side of your neck, and you found yourself in a familiar position—seated on a metal chair with your hands secured behind your back. Your restraints felt like zip ties.

“You finally with us, sweetheart?” asked a man. His voice was smooth and commanding.

“Jackson, I don’t know about this,” whispered someone else. Another man, though he sounded slightly younger, reminding you of Hughie.

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Jackson snapped.

At least you had a name. He stepped into the light that came from a couple of small lanterns. One was propped on top of a bucket by the wall. The other was on a plastic fold out table that you saw a few feet beside you.

The man who stepped into your line of vision was tall, maybe around Ben’s height, if just shy of his build. He was blonde, just like his skinnier friend. They shared some notable facial features and coloring, but while Jackson’s eyes were dark brown and self-assured, the younger man’s were blue and apprehensive. If you had to guess, they looked like brothers.

“Nice digs,” you remarked, gesturing with your gaze at your surroundings.

Jackson rose a brow, crossing his arms.

“You’re taking all this pretty well,” he said. 

You huffed humorlessly.

“This isn’t exactly my first kidnapping,” you said.

He quirked his head and drew closer.   

“All right. Well, since we’re on the clock, let me tell you why you’re here,” he said. He bent down in front of you so that his face was level with yours. “I need you, sweetheart. You’re going to tell me how to bring down Soldier Boy. How to kill him. How to end him. Then maybe, I’ll let you go without gouging out those pretty eyes.”

You stared back at Jackson with an expression that didn’t change.

Then you spat in his face.

And you expected the hard, back-handed slap that made your head whip to the side. It rattled you for a moment as you caught your breath, but you recovered enough to lean back in your seat. Your eyes met Jackson’s directly after he wiped his face with his shirt. “Tommy” stood off to the side behind his partner. He’d looked away when you were hit.

You focused on the other man, Jackson. He was wearing black cargo pants to match his boots, and a belt with a gun on his hip. He carried himself like a trained killer.

“Military, government agency, or private sector?” you asked.

His head tilted. He studied you, just like you were studying him.

“None of the above really,” he said. “Not anymore.”

He walked over to the fold out table, where he grabbed a black bag and unzipped it. A flash of silver gleamed as he pulled out one sharp instrument after the next. You had to hide your apprehension, and fear that made your insides tremble.

He glanced over at you.

“Let’s get started,” he said.

Hours later, you were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

After the last hit, you spat a wad of phlegm and blood onto Jackson’s shoes. He rotated the ache out of his hand. He looked down at you through furrowed brows.

“Damn, bitch,” he said, catching his breath. “You can take a hit. I’ll give you that.” 

“My dad was a Marine, numb nuts,” you managed to reply, through labored breaths. “He used to hit harder with his open hand than all the strength in that limp-dick wrist of yours.” 

Jackson smirked. “Christ. Daddy issues, huh? Why doesn’t that surprise me.” 

You gave him a droll look. Again, to cover your fear, because you weren’t willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

Angered and frustrated by that defiance, he reached down and grabbed your neck and jaw with one hand. You winced at the force of his grip, but when he started squeezing, this was the one thing that made you truly whimper. You tried not to think about the ghost of your father’s hand around your neck.

“Don’t you get it, asshole?” you gritted out while struggling for breath. “You can’t kill him. No one can. Stronger, smarter people than you have tried.” 

Moments ticked by while Jackson contemplated your words. 

Then he released you. You sucked in gulps of air and tried not to cough out a lung.

“Maybe,” he said. “But Soldier Boy’s got a weakness. If anyone knows it, I’ve got a feeling it’s you.” 

You can’t say anything. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

That had been your mantra for every minute you had spent in this hole. You shook your head.

“Look, Jackson.” You sucked in another breath to steady yourself, and blink a drip of blood out of your eyes. “He’s going to kill you. You and your brother. Take your family and run, while you’ve still got a chance.” 

“…You know what? You’re probably right,” Jackson said, scratching the back of his head with his crimson-stained hand. “But I just realized something.”

He leaned down again, until he was level with your face.

“When he finds you, drowned in your own goddamn blood…I think the look on his face might just be enough for me.”

Your eyes widened. 

It took days. Three painful days to pick up the threads, which led closer to home than anyone could’ve anticipated. 

Grace Mallory put pressure across the chain of command, and even reached out to the FBI for assistance. An alert email finally came to her phone, and she realized that an agent on her own payroll had been flagged for never reporting back for his debriefing on a reconnaissance mission.

That agent was Jackson Rawlins.

The further she read into his file, the worse her frown became. She immediately sent the lead to Ben, Butcher, and the rest of the team to run down. For the first time in years, Grace actually prayed.

She prayed that they would reach you in time. It wasn’t until then that she realized it; she hadn’t thought of you as a cog in her system for some time now—not even as leverage against Soldier Boy. She was genuinely concerned about you.

Grace worried that she was setting herself up for disappointment…if it was too late. However, she also worried about what would happen if you didn’t survive. She considered how Ben might react, with that nuclear power within him that he was still learning to control. The consequences of this mission could very well be catastrophic. 

You were losing track of time in this windowless pit. You knew it had been days, but you didn’t remember how many. The cellar was cold, and the way sound and air traveled, it felt like you were underground. It certainly smelled like it—damp and gross. It made you certain this was a sewer.

Now this is Satan’s ass crack, you thought. You winced at the pain that radiated…pretty much everywhere. Blood had dried from various lacerations across your face, neck, chest, and arms, and bruises were dark against your skin.

Your blouse was in tatters, and your jeans had bleeding rips as well, though at least he’d kept your ankle boots on. You were too weak even for hunger. And a large, heavy chain attached to manacles on your wrists had replaced the zip ties. One end of the chain was fastened between the wall and a line of plumbing.

Footsteps echoed down the hall behind you. You closed your eyes and steeled yourself.

“Are we actually gonna have a conversation today?” Jackson asked.

“Depends,” you replied, your voice dry and coarse. “Are you going to tell me why you hate Ben so much?”

An angry sigh escaped Jackson’s lips. He pointed up in frustration.

“Ben.” Jackson rolled and cracked his neck, like just the mention of your boyfriend’s real name was disgusting to this man.

“You talk about him like he’s a real fucking person. Not like the animal supe he is,” he said.

“He is a person,” you said, both in exhaustion, and in pain. “And he’s trying to be better. Look, he’s done terrible things. I’m not saying he hasn’t. I don’t know what he’s done to you in the past, but—”

Jackson shut you up with a sharp backhand. It made black spots encroach on your vision as you caught your breath.

You noticed his brother Tom come in the room as well, to watch and worry. He didn’t seem comfortable with this way of things. He looked like a civilian. Maybe you could use that to your advantage…

But you lost track of thought after that, when Jackson started in on you with either his hands, or the creativity of the instruments on the table nearby. 

You tried to block out the pain, along with his questions about Ben. If you couldn’t talk about him, you couldn’t let yourself think about him. So you couldn’t say anything.

Not about the Novichok nerve agent, one of the few things that had been found to incapacitate him. Not his imprisonment by Vought or the S.A.—nothing that your captor could one day use against Ben.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

Even though all you wanted right now was him. 

Ben, please…

You zoned in and out of consciousness from there.

When you next registered being awake, mercifully, you were left alone. You raised your head when Tom came to blot at least some of your wounds and give you water. You’d only eaten small pieces of protein bars for days. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispered.

“Why does he want Ben?” you wheezed. “Why are you going along with this if you’re so damn sorry?”

Tom looked up at you with pain and grief in his blue eyes. He sighed and dragged a nearby chair from the table. He sat beside you while he fed you half a protein bar. It was a struggle to even get the pieces down.

“Last year,” said Tom, clearing his throat. “I lived in the building that Soldier Boy blew up when he got back from…wherever the Russians had him.”

Your eyes widened as you processed that. “You…but you made it out. Why—”

“I wasn’t home. I was at work,” Tom said. His voice was pained as his eyes became red and glassy. “Our mom wasn’t so lucky.”

You sighed, closing your eyes.

“She was retired, and I was taking care of her,” Tom said. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Jackson wasn’t here. He was on a mission in Colombia. Told me he was cleaning up some cartel shit.”

At that, you had a sneaking suspicion that coiled in your gut. Ben had left a bit of a mess when he peaced out of Colombia, with an entire plane filled with drugs and weapons from whatever cartel he’d infiltrated. (In his words, he’d cut the head off the snake.)

Grace told you she’d sent a team in to handle that mess…

“Your brother—who does he work for?” you asked. Though you had a feeling you knew the answer.

Tom seemed to read your understanding, and his face turned grim.

“The CIA,” he said.

Fuck, you grimaced. So not only had Ben been responsible for their mother’s death, but Jackson had been part of the team that cleaned up his mess in South America. It explained why Jackson was somehow able to find your information; Supe Affairs had become a subsect of the CIA, thanks to Grace. 

“I didn’t know he was planning this. I swear to God. All he said was that he had a way to get at Soldier Boy,” Tom said. You let out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I really am,” you said. Tears welled up hot in your eyes. “But you need to let me go. For your own safety, believe me.”

You saw the guilt, the sadness, the regret on Tom’s face. The brief indecision was overtaken when he glanced down the hall. You knew then that he was more afraid of his own brother than he was willing to do the right thing.

Your tears spilled over, though you tried to breathe through it. You’d tried to save them for when you were alone, those seldom few, cold hours, but you were reaching your breaking point.

“Okay, before I go, do you have to use the bathroom?” Tom asked. There was a bucket in the corner, and Jackson preferred it away from the chair. It was the only time Tom was allowed to unchain you from the wall and let you stretch your legs.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, you nodded in agreement. It was humiliating to know you were going to have to do this yet again, in a bucket, with company. With the manacles still on your wrists, he brought you over to the “special” corner.

Tom sighed and looked away to give you some semblance of privacy.

That was when you used every scrap of energy you had left in you.

You grabbed the chain and yanked it out of his hands long enough to wrap it around his neck from behind. You cut off his sounds of strain and kicked out his knees, so he was forced to kneel on the ground.

You wrapped the rest of the chain around your thigh, giving you the leverage you needed to tighten your grip and choke him out, until he was unconscious. His body fell to the side, and you heaved for breath. Once again, there were black spots in your vision, but you did your best to blink them away.

Now set with determination, you made your way to the plastic table and searched for the key to your chains. After the manacles were unlocked, you rubbed at your raw wrists and rapidly scanned the room. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you calculated which way you should go to try and escape.

There were three possibilities in this clearing under the sewer: left, right, or straight ahead. Every time Tom or Jackson emerged, it sounded like it was behind you. The chair was facing to the east, which meant you had to take the left tunnel.

You ran in that direction and tried to find a metal ladder that would take you to whatever manhole cover these guys had detached. Someone couldn’t just open up any of those iron plates without the right tools, from the inside or the outside.

You walked as fast as you could manage, even though your entire body protested in pain. Then finally, you saw a black duffel bag lying on the ground, against the wall. Next to it was a metal ladder that went all the way up to the top.

“Jackson, don’t!”

You heard Tom’s voice, but you felt the presence behind you too late. Jackson hit you in the back of the head with that damn baton, so hard that even he grimaced at how the sound echoed on the walls. You crumpled to the ground.

Jackson stood over you with a grim set to his face. He turned to his brother with a shake of his head.

“She’s a walking welt, and you couldn’t handle her?” he said.

“This is too much,” Tom said in worry. He bent down and held two fingers to your neck. He still felt a pulse, at least, but when he felt behind your head, he found blood. His hand shook as he stared at it.

“If you didn’t want in on this, you should’ve said so from the beginning,” said Jackson. He spun the baton in his hand and clipped the hilt to his belt, from a small metal loop on the end of it.

“You didn’t say anything about…about this!” Tom argued. He cleaned your blood off on his jacket.

Jackson regarded his brother with disappointment, and he hefted you up into his arms. Tom followed him back to their setup with your makeshift prison. There Jackson left you lying on the ground, and chained you back up by your wrists for good measure. He then literally and figuratively wiped his hands of you.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” he said. “For good this time.”

Tom looked at you, then his brother in shock. There was even emotion in his eyes.   

“We’re leaving her to die,” he said, his voice unsteady. He knew then, that their mother wouldn't have wanted this in her name. If she saw both of them now, she wouldn't recognize them.

Jackson grabbed his younger brother where his neck met his shoulder. An iron grip.

“And what do you think Soldier Boy is going to do if he finds us?” Jackson asked. His gaze encouraged Tom to explore that reality for a moment.

Jackson nodded at your unconscious form. “Trust me, that bitch was never going to talk. But this is almost better.”

It wasn’t right, Tom thought. He knew it, deep in his heart, but he wasn’t strong like his brother, or even like you.

That was when they heard it. The rumble of engines dying and tires rolling overhead, dislodging a few stray pebbles and dust from the ceiling. Jackson’s eyes widened. 

“Fuck!” he muttered. “All right, let’s go.”

Jackson forced his younger brother to leave the sewer with him, and leave you chained up on the floor.

Ben, Butcher, M.M., and Frenchie had done much of the legwork in tracking down Jackson Rawlins and his brother Tom (with help from Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie of course). Frenchie had found your likely location with a powerful thermal scanner, courtesy of Grace.

Now, they’d driven up to the wide alley in the city and blocked off all the exits on the block. Ben was the first to get his boots on the ground and stride toward the point of entry, where according to Frenchie’s scanners, more than one body was holed up in the sewer. He held his shield at his side and at the ready when the manhole cover loosened, and slid open.

A small gas bomb rolled out towards his feet, but it was just tear gas, not the kind of thing that could actually affect him. Ben picked up the little round ball of metal and crushed it in his hand. While the rest of the team dove for the oxygen masks stored in the car, Ben stalked forward.

Seeing the silhouette of a man, Ben threw his shield hard enough to rattle a supe.

Jackson Rawlins was thrown clean onto his back with a force that stole the breath from his lungs, even through his gas mask. It also broke half a dozen ribs. Ben was soon bearing on top of him and ripping off the mask.

Jackson cried out as remnants of the tear gas seared his eyes.

“Got us a runner!” Butcher shouted. He intercepted and grabbed up a second man who tried to escape. Tom Rawlins wasn’t the threat, but he still wasn’t going free. M.M. and Frenchie also dove down into the sewer to try and find you after they got their gas masks on.

Meanwhile, Ben hauled Jackson up by his neck and walked him back until he hit the brick wall beside a nail salon. Jackson grunted in pain. Every breath he took was now agonizing, thanks to his now battered and broken ribs.

“Where is she?” Ben demanded.

Jackson actually laughed in his face, despite his now bloodshot eyes.

“All you fucking supes are the same,” he said. “But you…you’re the worst. Quite literally, the original asshole. And what does the government do? What does the world do? Gives you a pass on decades of indiscretions, fuck ups, and straight up murder.” 

Ben didn’t outwardly react, but he knew what Jackson’s problem was. He knew he killed the man’s family. Collateral damage—something that had caused Ben more than one argument with you in the past.

But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care, because all he could see in his mind’s eye was a metal bat hitting the back of your head and knocking you clean out. He saw you being taken against your will. Taken from him. And that, he couldn’t abide.

“Where. Is she?” Ben said, as his grip flexed around the other man’s neck. It would be easy. Easier than snapping a toothpick. And he warned, “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

“Dead, probably,” Jackson spat, despite his red and bleary eyes. “Real tough bitch. I see why you’re fucking her…I had me a little taste myself.”

In that moment, Ben couldn’t compute.

His green eyes widened. His breath stilled.

Then his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth were grinding. A fire in his blood and behind his eyes, and fury that burned hot in his chest, almost giving it that nuclear glow.

His hand tightened and choked any salacious words Jackson might’ve spewed out next.

“He didn’t!” Tom shouted out. He was being restrained by Butcher. Ben glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.  

“He didn’t touch her. Not like that,” Tom said. He looked sincere.  

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” said his older brother. 

It earned Ben’s attention back. Jackson had the look of a man who knew he was going to die either way.

Ben’s lips curled into a sneer. He took the man’s head with both hands, and slowly crushed his skull. The scream echoed between Ben’s ears, but he was only satisfied when Jackson’s lifeless body dropped at his feet.

He turned to the other Rawlins next.

Tom had screamed as well to watch his brother’s life ended before his eyes. He now stared straight into Soldier Boy’s, pleading wordlessly for his own life. Ben started toward him.

“Please,” Tom said. He tried twisting away from Butcher, who held firm to the man’s arm. The Brit knew all too well, the rage that Ben had in his blood.

“Ben,” Annie tried, and she even stepped forward. Butcher held a hand out against her with a knowing look. It wouldn’t be wise to stand in the way.

“Hey!” M.M. shouted up from down the open hatch of the sewer. “We found her! Need help getting her loose.”

Ben paused in his steps. Tom was shaking, lips trembling, petrified.

Tilting his head, Ben let out a subtle breath through his nose. He began to turn back toward the sewer.

At the last moment, however, he drew his gun and shot Tom Rawlins between the eyes. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

Annie and Hughie flinched, but Butcher and Kimiko weren’t surprised in the least.

Meanwhile, Ben made his way back towards M.M.’s voice, and into the sewer. He heard M.M. and Frenchie arguing about first aid and head wounds, the further in he went. Ben’s dark mood blackened even more along the way.

Once he reached them, he also reached you, held in M.M.’s arms as he cradled your head.

You were unconscious with your wrists locked into heavy chains. The furrow between Ben’s brows deepened, but he got down to his knees beside you and first, broke your chains. He guided you out of M.M.’s arms and into his own, making sure to support your head. Blood was already staining his half-glove and fingers.

It was then that he noticed the small crimson pool lying where your body had been, likely from the wound he could feel at the back of your head. Ben’s mouth trembled the slightest bit, mostly in anger as he drew himself back onto his feet. Your body was littered with bruises, cuts both shallow and deep made by what looked like a blade, and God knew what else.

“I had me a little taste myself,” Jackson had taunted.

No, Ben internally shook that thought from his mind. No, you hadn’t been touched like that, at least, according to the sniveling, cock-sucking brother.

But can you trust that little cunt’s word?

Ben briefly closed his eyes, pressing his lips to your forehead. He continued walking down the hall and towards the light and fresh air of the world above.

You’re gonna be just fine, he promised you, if just within the safety of his mind.

Yeah, you would be all right.

He was going to make sure of it.

AN: 🫣 I'm sorry...BUT, I can promise it will get better (eventually). First, it's going to get worse.

Next Time:

It was a slow process, and it hurt, but you managed to turn your head. You saw a man sitting in the corner with a laptop balanced on his lap. He typed with two fingers at a time, which reminded you of your grandfather. His brown hair fell over his furrowed brows, but his beard was well trimmed.

His head soon raised, possibly feeling the weight of your gaze. His eyes widened a fraction, and he hastily closed the laptop and set it down on his seat before he went to you. You frowned when he came to sit at your bedside, and even touched your cheek with a gentle hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth. “How’re you feeling?”

You didn’t have the energy to lean away from his hand, but you did give him a look of weary confusion.

“I…I don’t…who are you?” you asked.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

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