#like it’s functional but i still have pains and i don’t really want to explain to my physio that i broke myself by trying to do a tiktok

[fingertipsmp3]

I swear to god, if Taylor Swift ends up being the reason I take up running and stick to it, it’s going to be the most embarrassing but also on-brand thing that’s ever happened to me

[seeingivy]

obsessions

sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friends (older brother) series

previous part linked here

--

sukuna always considered himself an entirely different entity, especially when he was comparing himself to you. labels were something he learned quick and fast – that he was gifted, that he was juvenile, that he was his mother’s angel boy, but he could never seem to do right by her, or anyone else for that matter, besides it.  

he doesn’t understand it. sukuna wasn’t quite gifted, school just seemed to be something that functioned without requiring any effort from him. that the connections formed in his head, that he was athletic, that people just wanted to be around him. 

that deep down, he wished he could have had the struggle, something that would help him relate to his peers – just so he could be a little bit more touchable. a little more human.

that sometimes without explaining, he would have this tensing energy in him, that always culminated in him pulling a girl’s hair or punching one of his classmates when they made him too angry. that sometimes it was the only way he could relieve that tension that had been building for days.

that he was an angel boy to his mother, who was too spineless to stand up for her sons, and instead left him to do it for the group of them. it didn’t matter if he was eleven, if he was cowering in fear or sixteen and grieving, because someone had to stand at the plate and he had to be the one to do it when no one else would. 

that despite the selflessness it took, it made him angry. that deep down, as an eldest son, as an older sibling – he should have been overjoyed. he should have been happy that no one else did it for him, because it meant he was spared the pain. 

he should have been glad he got to protect them. that at the end of the day, it was his job. 

but no matter how hard he tried, it would still never be enough. the expectations were high and he would never be tall enough to reach them.

it’s why it sends him into a spiraling hole when he fails to deliver for you. quite possibly, the only person he’d want to fill that role for. 

“sukuna?” 

“hm, dollface?” 

he watches as you pace around the room, clasping your necklace around your neck, and smiles at the light pink ribbon in your hair. 

“were you able to wash my sweater? the pink one?” you ask. 

sukuna bites hard into the softness of his cheek, the pit in his stomach rolling in waves. 

the pink sweater, for valentines day. 

he walks closer to you, as you plate the little heart shaped cookies and grab your bouquet of flowers as you look up at him, expectantly. there’s a certain franticness in your demeanor, like you’re ready to bolt out the door in his old college sweatshirt that you were wearing over your skirt without giving it a second thought.  

there’s pink glitter smeared over your eyelids, a sweet flowery smell from your freshly sprayed perfume, and a white ribbon in your hair – you’re so perfect and it makes him feel like a failure. 

“baby, i’m so sorry. i can go throw it for a wash right now.” he murmurs. 

you wince. 

“honey. i’m already running late.” you groan. 

you shake your head, locking your phone as you place your cold hand on his cheek and press a kiss to his skin. 

“no problem, s’my fault anyways. i’ll yank something from kugi’s closet and see you after bestie-tines, okay?” 

sukuna gives you a halfhearted nod, something you don’t notice as you rush out to your little party, and he can’t help but feel his heart sink. 

there’s only one reason that sukuna’s able to read you so well – so keen, so aware about how obsessive you can really be. 

it’s because he’s the same way. 

for you, the comments regarding your looks, the perceived slights of awkwardness you seem to experience, they send you tumbling. make you meticulously brush your hair multiple times, vigorously rub your skin till its nearly pink. 

and for him. the small things he fails at, that he can never seem to do anything right – by his parents, his brother, his beloved girlfriend. 

it nearly drives him crazy. and makes it unable for him to stop.

--

bestie-tines is a simple tradition that was established three years ago, on february 13th. 

valentine’s day, originally, was always a day that you and yuuji reserved for one another. it started out simple – that the two of you could bond on this holiday, be a soft place for each other when other people couldn’t.  

it was always your friends – who felt smarter, prettier, more intelligent and more interesting than you. it was like there was a secret, that there was something fundamental about them that you lacked. that you could pin it to that inherent thing that you would never really possess, which is why you always ended up alone on this day. 

or begging for a text back. 

and for yuuji. it was the teasing comments. from his dad, a classmate, something said in passing that would never leave his mind. and really, the deep rooted despair – that this holiday, in its entirety, would never be one that he would get to enjoy. that even if he was happy, he wouldn’t ever be normal, that maybe he’d always get a weird look or turn a head just for being how he was. 

and when kugisaki came along, it was nearly perfect. you’d each plan a little activity together. you’d get the two of them to bake with you – or more appropriately, stick their fingers into the batter and watch you bake – and kugisaki would make you participate in some ear-splitting karaoke. 

yuuji always liked the warmth of it all, that you’d both fall asleep on his shoulders halfway into the stupid rom-com he picked, and that in the confined walls of his room, he could pretend for one second that things weren’t as they were. 

and years later, megumi was added to the bunch and by translation, whichever girl nobara seemed to be talking to at the time, ended up tagging along too. 

it dampens the mood a little bit. that yuuji and megumi will be holding hands and making the batter together – in a way that seems entirely romantic and antithetical to what the point of bestie-tines was. and nobara’s partners were always in that stage, that stage of talking where the chase became so intoxicating, that other people didn’t seem to exist anymore. 

it didn’t bother you much. the underlying theme was still there – and being the person barring partners from a valentine’s day event seemed to be too pathetic of a hole to crawl into. 

yuuji swings the door open after your first knock, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. you nearly cowering at the touch and wiping the wetness away from your cheek. 

“i haven’t seen you in forever, dude. where have you been?” yuuji asks, nearly pulling you in by the arms and taking the little platter from your hands. 

you tuck the ends of your hair behind your ears, giving side hugs to both nobara and megumi as you respond. 

“just around. you know. senior year, thesis stuff.” 

“i feel like i could usually find you holed up in the library somewhere. d’you find some new secret spot that you aren’t telling me about?” yuuji asks. 

yes. your brother’s apartment. 

and you would tell him – you have every intention to let all of them know that you were dating sukuna by the end of the night, because at this point, it was almost stupid not to. 

because really, at the core of it, it’s not like you're embarrassed of him. actually quite the opposite. 

and it’s not that yuuji can police who you date. and if it’s something that makes you happy, it should be something that makes them happy too. 

and deep down, you know it will. that the fact that you were finally, almost being rewarded with what you were given – someone who was patient, was understanding. 

someone who would be able to love you. 

“university of reading? who goes to the university of reading?” 

you look down at your sweatshirt, biting down on your cheek, as you give megumi a peachy smile. 

“sukuna did. like back in the day.” yuuji answers, halfheartedly, into the conversation as he and maki, nobara’s guest for this bestie-tines, set up the karaoke machine. 

megumi gives you a weird look, before leaning against the counter and nobara joining you at your side. she leans her head against your shoulder, one of the little heart shaped cookies trapped in between her lips, as she mumbles through the crumb. 

“are they stale? i had to make them yesterday.” 

“nope. s’perfect.” 

you hum in response. 

“are you bringing anyone, y/n?” maki asks, flipping all the little strobe lights on the little machine. 

“oh-” 

“y/n doesn’t bring anyone to bestie-tines.” yuuji answers, unwrapping the coil of the microphone. 

“our little baby. y’know, she’s always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” nobara states, pinching the side of your cheek before she reaches forward to flip in through the little catlog of songs. 

you pinch your lips into a straight line – swallowing down that acidic feeling in your throat. 

the jokes don’t work the same anymore. not that you were going to be sukuna’s bride, but the implication is entirely different. 

and maybe the phrasing was a little weird. it’s not like you would never bring someone to bestie-tines, it’s just that it had to be someone who was an established partner of yours. and at the core of it – it was always about friends, not romantic partners, and you never felt the need to front.

not that you would ever say that. it almost felt wrong to – to police something for yuuji when what he got to experience, at least in the romantic sphere in public, was always going to be met with some level of scrutiny.  

but it was always wrong. what you used to reach for – lipstick on a pig, always an angel never a god, the poet but never the poem. 

but…but it didn’t ring true. at least not anymore. 

and it goes fine and well. yuuji – and a megumi who takes a little convincing – sing lover and nobara gives you her annual loving serenade to the song one less lonely girl. 

and it all comes crashing down when they ask you to sing all by myself by celine dion. 

“oh, c’mon. you sing it like every year! it’s like your anthem!” yuuji whines, pressing the microphone into your hand. 

you shake your head, bringing your hands up in protest. 

“no singing from me this year. i’ve retired.” 

“dude, it’s like a tradition!” nobara adds, a hand lazily slung over maki’s shoulder. 

you swallow down the retort. that actually, the tradition was that ALL of you sang all by myself together. not you alone, while they sat there and watched you. and that you all baked the cookies together, not you alone the night before in your apartment. 

“not this year!” you respond, getting a resounding group of boo’s before maki takes her place. 

if they really cared about traditions, megumi and maki wouldn’t be there right now – they’d celebrate tomorrow. on valentine’s day, like intended. 

yuuji comes out at your side, megumi distracted by recording the god awful mess coming out of maki’s mouth, and places his hands on your shoulders – leaning his chin right against the top of your head. 

“you okay?” he asks. 

“mhm.” 

yuuji pauses, before digging his fingers into your muscle and forcing you to spin around to look at him. it’s gives you a weird twinge for a split second – how similar he looks to sukuna – before you muster your best smile for him. 

“we’re good, right?” 

“yeah! yeah, of course. still on for friday?” 

“yeah.” 

you hum in response, the two of you giving each other tight lipped smiles in the awkward silence, before yuuji leans against the counter, the two of you watching maki and nobara make their attempts to strangle megumi. 

“maybe next year we can keep bestie-tines to just you and me.” yuuji states. 

you frown. 

“no! no, it’s always fun with the group. plus, it’s nobara’s karaoke machine. doubt she’d let us use it without an invite.” 

yuuji smiles in response, an airy laugh leaving his lips. he leans his head against yours, his cheek smushed against your head before squeezing you hard. 

“i like the group too. but, we rarely get any me and you time anymore. so, just our thing. i can live one day without megumi.” 

you grin. 

“i find that hard to believe. and don’t worry. i’m really not upset or anything, you-you don’t have to change plans and stuff. i just…didn’t want to sing the song. for my own reasons.” you state.

yuuji gives you a nod. 

“yeah, i know. but still – just feel like i barely know what’s going on with you anymore. what rom-com are you going to watch tomorrow?” 

this is your segway. 

yuuji knows that you always spend valentine’s day the same way. that you make the ten minute sheet valentine’s day cookies, light your peony and rose candle, and pick a rom-com before you head to bed early. 

“ah. i’m having an early brunch before class.” 

“fancy. it’s always nice to treat yourself.” yuuji states. 

you bite your tongue. 

“yeah, yeah it is. but…i’m going with my boyfriend.” 

yuuji leans off of your body, eyes pinched in confusion as he looks down at you. the rolling wave of embarrassment, of nerve-wracking doubt courses through you. 

“you have a boyfriend?” 

you swallow hard. 

“yeah. um, we’ve been seeing each other since after christmas. he’s um…really good to me and stuff. i really like him – well actually i told him i was falling in love with him and he said he was too and-” 

“woah. that’s kind of fast.” yuuji states. 

“yeah. but, i’ve also known him for a long time, so…so we kind of skipped some of that like – are you a murderer? talking stage.” you state. 

“the odds are low, but never zero.” yuuji jokes. 

the two of you laugh, as you dig your nails into the hardness of your palm. 

“you should have brought him. though in hindsight, that probably would have scared him off.” yuuji states. 

“it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before though. but i couldn’t exactly bring sukuna here without telling you first. or everyone else too.” you murmur. 

yuuji pauses, before fully turning to face you. 

“you…you’re dating sukuna?” 

“yeah. that’s where i’ve been, i guess. he gave me a key to his apartment since mai is mai and i just kind of stay there a lot.” you state. 

yuuji’s nodding, like he’s rolling over the information on his mind.

the immediate hesitation, the silence – it speaks volumes.

he doesn’t approve. 

“is he going to come on friday?” 

“no. not if you don’t want him to.” you state. 

“yeah. s’just…the mix of the parents. and him and you and sammy stuff. just give me a second to get used to all of that.” yuuji states. 

you bite down on your cheek. 

“you’re okay with it?” 

yuuji smiles, the sentiment not meeting his eyes. 

“not like that’s going to stop you, right?” he asks, an almost jeering tone in his voice. 

“yuuji.” 

“i’m kidding! if he makes you happy, then good for you. just don’t want it to change things between us. don’t go forgetting all about me because you have him.” 

that’s rich coming from him. 

“of course. you and me, first. always.” 

yuuji gives you an affirmative nod, before pushing off the counter and leaving you alone. 

--

you’re tipsy when you get on the train. and by the time you’re pushing the key through sukuna’s doors, the tears that have been streaming down your face for the past twenty minutes are obstructing your vision. 

you’re not sure when it was that you started crying. somewhere between fifteenth street and your stop and that overwhelming feeling with no real source – of the embarrassment, the bleakness, the disappointment – it’s enough to bring everything coming to a head. 

and the thing that pushes you right over the edge is the fact that you can’t slide the key into the lock. it's so frustrating that you give up and lean against the door, the wood of the frame surely indenting your forehead as you heavily pant. 

after five minutes, you nearly collapse into sukuna’s arms when he opens the door you were leaning your entire weight against. he’s fast with it, his hands at your sides holding you up against him. 

“jesus fuck, y/n. i thought someone was trying to break in.” sukuna utters. 

you instinctively wrap your arms around his frame, burying your face into the warmth of his neck. you can tell that he’s confused by the gesture – his arms not coming up around yours immediately. 

“sorry. didn’t mean to scare you.” you sniffle, leaning your burning eyelids against his cold skin. 

“are you crying, doll?” 

“maybe a little.” 

your voice comes out all muffled against his shirt, as he wraps his hand around your neck and lolls your head back with his fingers. the sparkly glitter is spread all over your face now, accompanied with black streaks running down your cheek. 

sukuna immediately frowns, thumb rubbing against the wetness as his eyes soften.

it nearly makes you start crying all over again. 

“do you want me to kill someone?” sukuna jokes. 

sukuna can see the smallest makings of a smile on your face. 

“your key hole. i couldn’t open the door.” you whisper. 

“done. fuck the door.” 

sukuna watches as you laugh, bringing the palms up to your face as you wipe away at your cheeks. he watches as you eye the mess of glitter on your hands, trying to wipe it away, before you look back up at him. 

“you smell like detergent, sukuna.” you murmur, wrinkling your nose. 

his eyes go wide, an almost pink flush creeping up his neck as he shakes his head. he tries to change the subject

“why are you crying?” 

you heave, the tiredness sitting in your limbs as you frown at him. 

“sukuna, honey. i’m really tired and i…i just want to get into bed. just tell me why you smell like you rolled around in the laundry detergent for an hour.” 

you watch as sukuna pinches his lips in a line, before bring his hands down to lock them with yours. he lifts them briefly just to press a kiss on top of your knuckles, his eyes downcast, before he murmurs against them. 

“let’s get ready for bed. i’ll tell you, okay?” he murmurs. 

you give him an affirmative nod, the two of you shuffling around each other in the bedroom and bathroom as you wordlessly go through your routines. the two of you brush your teeth together, sukuna pulling a piece of floss for you, and sukuna carefully helps you change without sparing a second glance.

the smell of detergent is almost worse in the bedroom – overwhelming at first before your nose adjusts and you crawl under the sheets with sukuna. you watch as he swipes his shirt over his neck with one hand, necklace hanging loosely around his neck, as he digs one of his arms underneath you. 

sukuna leans over to your side, as he reaches for your hair and he twists one of the loose strands in his fingers. 

“your stupid thing didn’t go well?” 

you sigh. 

“no. i told yuuji i was dating you. guess it wasn’t the reaction i was expecting.” 

“you told him?” 

in the pale light, your eyes having adjusted to the darkness, you reach forward and press your fingers against his dimple. 

“course i did. i’m serious about you…and i don’t want to hide that.” 

sukuna can feel the sweet ache blooming in his chest, his eyes nearly squinting with a soft joy. 

“i just feel like it’s weird. i think they got used to my whole…personality being that guys treat me bad, that my love life is lame that…maybe they don’t know what to do when that doesn’t apply anymore.” you murmur. 

your palm is flesh against sukuna’s lips and he uses it as an opportunity to press a kiss to your skin. 

“and it’s not just them, i guess. i feel that to some extent too. i feel like…i held onto everything that happened and that it became a part of me. but now that i have no reason to feel that way and sometimes it feels like i don’t know anything. i don’t know what music to listen to because the sad songs don’t really hit anymore. spending time alone isn’t a curse, it’s actually really enjoyable sometimes. and it’s weird to try to figure out who i am when i’m not sad, especially when it feels like…people might not like me if i change.” 

it comes out quietly when sukuna says it. 

“i’ll love you regardless.” 

you hum in response, the words making your chest ache, as you lean forward and tuck yourself into his arms. you bring up one of your hands to his bare pecs and squeeze and you can hear the disdain in his scoff as you can’t help but quietly giggle. 

“i’m going to break your hands if you do that again.” 

“just so comforting, y’know? really helps me feel better.” 

“right. me telling you i’ll love you forever pales in comparison.” 

you smile.

“you said you’ll love me regardless. like you will, in the future. now you’re saying you’ll love me forever, which kind of insinuates that you do right now.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes, one of his warm hands enveloping your cheek. 

“do you want to hear me say it, brat?” 

you grin. 

“maybe a little.” 

your heart beats faster as you wait in anticipation, for the three words leaving his lips. 

“i love you, pretty girl.” 

sukuna watches as you smile wider, the sweetness in your face as you press a kiss to his lips. he can feel you smiling into him, your hands featherlike around his neck as you pull him closer. 

“i love you too, stinky.” 

“you ruined it.” sukuna groans. 

you press your cheek against his shoulder, before you mumble again.

“now tell me what happened with you today?” 

sukuna groans, before ghosting his hands under your his shirt. 

“princess.” 

“you could never say anything that i’d find weird, y’know? i’m never going to pass judgment on you, i just want to know so i can help you if need be.” you whisper. 

sukuna gives you a quiet nod, before talking. 

“i took every piece of clothing you had here and threw it in the laundry.” sukuna states. 

“huh?” 

that had to have taken hours. you’ve nearly transferred your entire wardrobe over here at this point. 

“you…you asked me to wash the sweater for your party. and i know that you take time to pick out your outfits and match your accessories and, and themed parties like this are like your shit or whatever.” 

his voice gets quieter. 

“i’d hate to think i ruined something for you, y/n.” 

“sukuna. it’s just a shi-” 

“it’s not just a shirt to me. because i’ll forget to wash your shirt but then i’ll be to tired to help you do dishes. won’t be able to tear myself from work to pick you up from school when you ask. forget to respond to your emails and become neglectful. i’d hate to have you be disappointed at me when i can’t do these things for you.” 

you’re quiet. you can tell that there’s something he’s trying to say, at the tip of his tongue, but he won’t let it go. 

“c’mon, baby. keep going for me?” you whisper. 

the gentleness in your voice feels like a promise. and maybe if there wasn’t something so intoxicating about baring himself to you, giving you his secrets to keep, he wouldn’t be so keen on doing it all the time. 

“i’ve disappointed my mom time and time again. been able to mediate fights between her and my dad, but barely control my temper at school. and yuuji – i know he needed me, but sometimes i was…it was too much for me that i couldn’t do it for him. i’ve failed them in more ways than one and i can’t do that with you. you…you have to be the exception when it comes to this.” 

the desolate tone in his voice is nearly enough to bring tears into your eyes as you tuck his head into your neck, his breaths labored, as you run your hands through his hair. 

“i…i can’t promise you that it won’t be weird. when i get like this, my mom would almost get pissed sometimes because i’d try to do everything to make it up to her. open the door for her, answer her phone. one time i even tried to make her drink water while i held the glass. i-i know it’s weird but i-” 

you dig your fingers into his scalp, feeling the pulsating near his temple. 

“okay, sukuna. i’ll be more than thankful if you decide to help me with the little things. but, sweetheart. please don’t think you have some debt against me. you don’t owe me anything.” 

“i know it’s not a normal habit and i-” 

“that’s not what i meant, sukuna. i know that you’re aware of that. but…but just let me say these things till they sink in for you, okay? you’re my boyfriend and that doesn’t mean you have to be the end all be all. i can wash my own shirts here and there and help you out too. i love that you want to be helpful honey, but lean on me too, okay?” 

sukuna feels small. not in the infantile, reductive kind of way. in the rare kind of ways he’s felt only a handful of times. like when he got sick and his mom had to take care of him. or when yuuji had to help him out by carrying his books after he broke his arm. 

“what’s that weird shit you told me about once? about the little you inside you or whatever?” 

“oh. an inner child?” 

“yeah.” 

“what about it?” you ask. 

“you just kind of…remind me of it sometimes.” sukuna states.

“in a good way or a bad way?” 

sukuna smiles. 

“good. sometimes i forget that’s in there. s’nice that you see that part of me. bring it out of me sometimes.” 

the earnestness almost makes you cry. you love him so much. 

“me too, baby.”

--

next part linked here

an: no one look at me. this is for me and me only. (the headspace goes crazy at the current moment) the next chapter gives me second hand embarrassment but also its for the plot so im excited

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[dekusleftsock]

I thought everyone was exaggerating when people kept bringing up the whole “bakugou says he’s Kacchan bc of kaminari” thing, but they actually believe that… what?

WHAT

Literally how do you guys function

AND THEY CALL ME DELULU???????

It’s such a stretch too. Like “oh yeah he said Kacchan no Bakugou in this movie” ITS NOT EVEN IN THE MANGA HELLO???

The whole reason Kaminari calls Katsuki Kacchan is because he’s making fun of him. It’s poking fun at the fact that Katsuki can’t say anything or get mad at Kaminari because then it would raise the question, “Well why can Midoriya say it?”

He literally side eyes him every time he does it but ultimately doesn’t react because he can’t. He can’t if he wants to keep up the act that he is uninterested in what Izuku represents, who he is.

SO WHY, IN THE EVER LOVING FUCK, WOULD IT BE KAMINARI?

WHO is present in this battle?

WHO is the person that made eye contact with him the second he woke up?

WHO is the one that grabbed his hand immediately upon Katsuki flinging himself towards them??

I don’t think THEY even believe it either, I think it’s just some way to cope and explain away the fact that this moment is inherently romantic.

Because I don’t think he’s making fun of the name Kacchan, I think he’s wearing it proudly. I don’t think it’s a joke at all. It’s a joke in the disbelieving way—the way you act when you’ve made an enormous accomplishment or won some prize, and you just can’t help but act absolutely insane at the fact. Because it’s funny that you’re here, in this situation. It’s hilarious in that disbelieving way.

Because he’s laughing at the truth, he’s been laughing at nothing this ENTIRE CHAPTER.

“Ouch! Haha! I’m so fast!”

“I can’t even stop! Ha! Ouch!”

Note: (I’m not using the official translations because for some reason they lack the maniacal crazed laughter and I’m confused as to why?? I even checked with pikahlua and they specified that there was laughing so…. I’m confused.)

What’s even weirder about this is the fact that afo also says (in pikahlua’s translations) “just who is this brat?!” Instead of “what is wrong with him” which implies less crazed bakugou ness imo. Confused as to why, again.

Because this can’t be happening.

Now, I know it could very well be him teasing afo and calling him dumb, saying basically “you’re too young/old to even know how to pronounce my name, use Kacchan instead like the child you are.” Especially since in the context of names like Katsuki’s, he has that tsu sound that can be hard for children to pronounce. (I’m not 100% on this but I’m pretty sure that the u sound is also meant to be silent since it’s a double consonant. So Katsuki’s name is technically pronounced “Ka-ts-ki”)

BUT IDK I THINK HES JUST FUCKED AND A LITTLE CRAZY RN!

That maniacal laughter at the fact that he’s in pain, the disbelief that he may even surpass Izuku, to me it’s holding a double meaning. The meaning that afo is dumb and needs to be treated like the child he is, and the meaning behind the fact that it’s a name Izuku owns for him. That’s his.

It can be both.

It’s not fucking Kaminari. It was never Kaminari. Even if you don’t read it as the second definition it’s still not about Kaminari.

But it’s also undeniable that it has to do with Izuku some way some how.

I also believe that the western side of the fandom is making an extra big deal out of this because, to us, we don’t really have a proper understanding of what a nickname like Kacchan means in its cultural context.

We can TRY to understand, comparing it to endings with ie or y given to children, and then sometimes going with that nickname into adulthood, but it still has its own distinct cultural context. Because a name like “Gracie” over “Grace” does to an extent sound childish, but I have a feeling that -chan has its own childish feeling. There’s a reason none of Katsuki’s other friends in middle school call him Kacchan, and there’s a reason Kaminari decides to make fun of him for the name in the first place.

I just think it’s important to use our thinking brains before we start yapping about things we don’t quite understand yet :)

Like it’s so unbelievably important to understand that horikoshi won’t tell you what’s happening in his story and why, he’ll show you instead BECAUSE HES A GOOD FUCKING WRITER

If it was about Kaminari, he would have specified, but he didn’t. He showed you that Kacchan is Izuku’s nickname for Katsuki, and he showed you that Katsuki cared more about Izuku than he let on for a long time. Just like he showed you that Izuku pushes down his emotions, showed you that Izuku struggles with projection and anger, showed you that Ochako was the one with this crush and not Izuku, and showed you that the feelings he had about Katsuki were deeper than anyone had realized.

He showed you parallels, he specified the important parallels that you absolutely had to see as a viewer (ex toga and ochako), just as he showed you the ones that were more subtle but still there (ex toga and deku). He showed you the pieces, and that doesn’t make his character’s underdeveloped or unspecified, that’s just how writing fucking works. “Good writing” DOESNT MEAN that you have to be pulled along through your baby steps with your hand held, the fact that you don’t get it is on you. Reading comprehension is a learned skill that has to be practiced over and over again, and that is not the writers job. The writer is only supposed to deliver you their story, and however you decide to misconstrue that story is, and hear me out friends, on you.

So I’m sorry if I’m tired of hearing arguments like “toga is a predator and Horikoshi wrote her to be horny”… she’s supposed to represent love. I’m sorry if the representation he made of love was uncomfortable for you, but maybe that’s the point? Because she’s an outcast? Because she’s supposed to be hard to empathize with, but that we have to empathize in the first place?

Arguments like “Katsuki was referencing a joke about Kaminari bc Kaminari said this in this movie” is just about the largest fucking reach I’ve ever seen. And I know, I know that when bkdk eventually get their implied or canonical ending that people are going to be mad. They’ll blame shippers for pressuring him, or they’ll say he’s a bad writer, or they’ll send him homophobic slurs because “how dare the character I see myself in be gay”. And I’m done with the stupidity and lack of common god damn sense.

So if you are going to be upset by the fact that you’re going to be proven wrong, then I again say, it’s on you.

[whump-imagines]

Ice

Will & reader (could be platonic or early relationship.)

900 words

For anyone else who was missing a certain red head on Wednesday...

You felt like Bambi trying to make your way across the parking lot toward the hospital. Between sleeping through your alarm and the icy road conditions you were running very late for your shift. In your haste to get out of the house, you’d thrown on your regular shoes rather than your boots.

About halfway to the door your tractionless shoes slipped and you took a full cartoon style fall– both feet up in the air to land hard on your back. The hit knocked the wind from your lungs and it took a moment to suck in a breath.

Seconds later, the pain registered. Your back and head hurt. Before you could even think of what you should be doing next, Will was kneeling beside you.

“Don’t move,” he said. He started to run his fingers down either side of your neck in search of any abnormalities. “You hit your head pretty good. Does it hurt?”

You coughed, your lungs still trying to function properly. “Uh, yeah. My back too, kinda like up between my shoulders.”

“Okay, can you squeeze my fingers?” He placed two fingers against both your palms and you did as he'd asked. “Good, and push against my hands like you're pushing the gas pedal.” Again, you did as asked.

“Fuckin’ ice,” you muttered quietly.

“Okay. Do you think you can sit up?” Will asked.

You took another deep breath. “Yeah.” He offered his hand and very slowly pulled you into a seated position. You closed your eyes tightly as dizziness set in. “Woah.”

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You peeled your eyes open, locking into his concerned ones. “Just dizzy. Really dizzy.”

“You probably have a concussion,” Will suggested.

A shiver ran down your spine. “Yeah, well, won't matter if I freeze to death out here.”

Will chuckled. “We are going to move slowly. I don't need you passing out because you stood up too quickly.” He shifted so he could stand to help you up. “Ready?”

“Yup.” You winced as you straightened up, pain flaring through your back. You took half a step to get closer to Will and your feet slipped slightly. You gripped onto his arm so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“Okay, you're okay. I got ya.” He started to walk slowly and carefully towards the doors.

Once you made it to dry flooring, you sighed in relief. Will kept your hand wrapped around his arm as he headed towards the nurses station.

“Hey, Mags,” he greeted. “What's open? She took a hard fall outside.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She rubbed your shoulder gently. “Take treatment one.”

“Thanks,” said Will. “Can I get thoracic and cervical spine x-rays and a head CT?”

“And something for the pain? Please?” You asked.

“Let's get 50 micrograms of fentanyl, too,” Will added. “Oh, and a warm blanket.”

“You got it,” Maggie noted all the requests in the tablet she was holding. “Any blood work?”

“No, just the scans for now.”

About an hour later, you had finished all the scans and were trying your best not to doze off under your second warm blanket. April had brought a new one when she'd come to check your vitals.

Will came in with the tablet in his hands. “How're you feeling? In too much pain?”

You gave him a thumbs up. “I'm possibly too comfy. I'm fighting the nap hard.”

“Good news then. You can nap shortly,” he said.

“Yay!” You said lazily.

“You do have a mild concussion,” he explained. “As well as two bruised ribs. So you're stuck here for observation until at least tomorrow but you can sleep if you want.”

“Well that's gonna hurt tomorrow. Awesome,” you added sarcastically.

Will squeezed your hand gently. “At least nothing is broken. Get some rest, alright?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, already giving into the pull of sleep.

You had no idea how much time had passed when you woke up. It seemed a safe guess that the pain was what had roused you. It felt like someone was digging a knife into your shoulder blade and breathing made it even worse.

You groped around the bed for the call button as tears welled in your eyes. A moment later, you found it and proceeded to push it several times. April pushed the curtain back soon after.

“You're awake,” she stated.

A tear rolled down your cheek. “It hurts. It hurts a lot. I feel like I can't even breathe.”

She quickly moved closer and took your hand. “Just squeeze as hard as you need to. Take slow breaths.” Within a few minutes she had calmed you down quite a bit. “I'm gonna go find someone to get you something for the pain. I'll be right back.”

She leaned out the door and you heard her tell someone that you needed something for pain. Will came in a second later and gave April a dosage for morphine.

“That should help,” he started. “I'll make sure to get you a prescription before we send you home too. Sound good?”

“Thanks, Will,” you said. He took your hand. “What would I do without you?”

He laughed. “Probably would have just frozen to death in the parking lot. So my shift is over soon and you're getting moved upstairs. What do you say to some pizza and a movie?”

“Ooh, yes. Please! Hamburger, bacon and extra cheese for me.”

“Okay. I'll see you upstairs in an hour or so.”

[lavendertales]

HELLO! If you’re open for request I’d like to ask for something with Mando helping/comforting the reader on their period (if thats ok with you). Like I imagine him being kinda clueless and lowkey panicked but he’s trying his best to take care of us and Grogu

this is so cute🥹I imagine a clueless Din because let's face it, they don't hold biology lessons when they train you to be a Mandalorian, but he's trying his best!

a little tender—Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 710

You had a feeling this would happen, and yet here you are, still flabbergasted that you were right.

The conditions are far from ideal to be having this sort of situation; you’ve always managed, but being aboard a Mandalorian’ ship with a magical green baby who needs attention and maintenance as well is surely a challenge. Grogu curled in your lap a while ago and remained there, cooing sweetly once in a while, which, in a bizarre way, helped with your cramps.

When Din arrived back on the ship and saw you and Grogu curled together like that, he cocked his head to the side, thus revealing his confusion.

“He’s been sitting here with me for the past hour,” you giggle. “He’s really cute.”

“Are you okay?”

It still takes you by surprise whenever Din proves himself to be this receptive. You have to remind yourself over and over that, as a Mandalorian, his observation skills should be more than keen. And perhaps caring for you isn’t above that.

“I’m fine. Just some cramps.”

“Cramps? What’s wrong?”

Din kneels down, inspecting you like you’re in need of repair. Truthfully, the whole idea and situation makes you laugh a little bit because he’s adorably clueless. But then it hits you that he probably didn’t get the 101 on women while training to be a Mandalorian, so periods are most likely not something he’s familiar with.

“I got my period,” you explain to him. “Basically… I’m bleeding out of parts you wouldn’t want to bleed from.”

He looks at you and you just know he has a terrified face under the helmet.

“It happens every month,” you continue to explain.

“Every month? How do you—function this way?”

You chuckle, taking his gloved hands into yours. “Lots of practice.”

“Are you in pain now?”

“Moderate. Grogu being here helps. And you.”

Din huffs. “I’m not really sure what to do, how I can help you…”

Seeing him make such a fuss over you is probably more endearing than it should be, but you can’t help it. You know Din to be a practical man, someone of labor who fixes visible, hard issues. Fixing something he can’t see or feel… an entirely different story.

But he’s there, and he’s trying. And that’s what matters.

“Usually keeping warm on the belly helps,” you explain, gently stroking Grogu’s ear. “But this little guy helped with that.”

There’s something so domestic about that image that manages to take Din aback. He never truly thought he’d settle down, at least not while he still has some good fighting years. Then Grogu came along, entered his life abruptly, and yet the prospect of settling down still hadn’t occurred to him, not fully.

Now, however…

“Anything else I can help you with?” Din asks with a lump in his throat. “Are you in any pain? I can go out, see if I can find something that—“

“Din, I’m fine now. If you want to help, why don’t you sit here with us?”

Grogu coos, apparently excited by the prospect of having Din around. The latter curls his legs next to you and simply watches you and Grogu play. For a moment, he forgets the piece of information you just shared with him, and it’s remarkable to him that you don’t even look like you’re in pain.

“So this happens every month?” he asks. “You… bleed out every month?”

Normally you’d laugh at someone’s lack of knowledge in this area, maybe offer a coy response, but the way Din is so keen on finding out more information and admits his gap in knowledge is simply so endearing.

“Yes,” you respond. “Unfortunately, we don’t get a break from this.”

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips. “For what?”

“That you have to go through this.”

Oh, sweet Din. He’s probably the first man you’ve ever heard mutter such words and truly mean them. You reach for his hand, squeezing it lightly.

“I appreciate you being here with me,” you tell him. “And being so sweet.”

Din blushes, thankful you don’t see him.

But maybe one day you will. Maybe one day you will get to see his skin turn auburn with flattery and desire for you.

[not-neverland06]

If requests are still open, how about headcanons of Heisenberg with a reader that is a fifth lord. Reader's Cadou allows them to manipulate sound (radio) waves, and go as far as sonic scream. No pressure or rush, just curious on your interpretation :)

Karl Heisenberg x GN!reader A/N: This is only the second time I’ve done HC’s and I’m still struggling to get a grasp on them. Thank you for the request, your prompt was interesting to think about. This is a little short, so if I didn’t give you what you wanted let me know and I’ll try again.

He really doesn’t give a shit about you at first

Unless you go out of your way to catch his attention he’s treating you the same as he treats the rest of the family

Whatever your powers are, he’s gonna assume you’re just as bad as the rest of them and dismiss you

You have to actively make him notice you

It wouldn’t take a lot, maybe one snide comment towards Mother Miranda and suddenly you have value

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” You scoffed, glaring down at the horde of Miranda’s worshippers that had surrounded the old church. You’d just been passing through town, picking something up from the duke before heading back up the mountain. 

Heisenberg happened to be there at the same time. You weren’t sure what his deal with the Duke was but it seemed to be complicated. His head perked up as you glared at the villagers. “What’s your problem?” He muttered, tone bitter. 

You nodded towards the villagers, “They are. All their Mother Miranda bullshit, I’m sick of it.” You walked back towards your lair, the old radio tower up in the mountain. It was the best place for you to be with the way your powers functioned, your strongest point. 

He watched as you went, staring at you contemplatively and wondering how he’d missed that hatred in your eyes. 

When he and Alcina start to argue, Miranda will just look at you and you’ll let out a scream so loud bits of drywall fall from the ceiling

It’s painful but it’s effective, you’re essentially used as a mute button when things get out of hand

You tend to avoid the others, keeping quiet and to yourself

When Miranda had first experimented on you, your experience with the sound waves had been less than pleasant

Learning to control them was difficult. The first time you spoke after waking up from her little experiment, you’d blown out your own eardrums. 

Even after you finally harnessed them, you figured that it was better to just be quiet. The times you did speak you kept your voice below a whisper. 

“You don’t talk a whole lot do you?”

You shrugged, “Only when I have to, really.” You sat in his workshop, mostly against your will. He’d invited you to dinner, though it felt like more of a command, and you’d tried to get him to make the journey up the mountain to you. 

He’d, of course, refused because he was a stubborn bastard. You didn’t even want to sit down anywhere, there was oil and blood on nearly every surface. And if it wasn’t covered in that, it was sticky with dried lycan drool. 

At least Moreau managed to keep his quarry clean.

Heisenberg hadn’t stopped staring at you since you sat down, it was starting to bug you.

You don’t normally speak with your family, mainly because you don’t really care for any of them. Having his attention on you was disturbing.

He sets his fork down on his plate and gives you an odd look, “How do your powers work, anyway?”

It was easier to show than it was to explain. You focused on the large pile of metal scraps on his desk and opened your mouth. The noise was nearly silent at first, a high pitched ringing that you questioned if you were actually hearing. 

Then it got louder, the ringing clear now. It was painful to anyone outside of the focused stream of sound waves, but it was lethal once you stepped into the stream. The metal shook, vibrating loudly against his desk. A few toppled over, the rest exploded in a violent display of clashing metal shards and sparks. 

Heisenberg clutched his ears, a small stream of blood leaking from between his fingertips. You want to apologize to him. You’ve always had a little difficulty controlling your powers in such close spaces. 

But he doesn’t look mad, he doesn’t even look like he’s in pain. Instead he’s grinning widely at you, something glinting in his eyes that had you feeling on edge. 

He sees the uniqueness of your powers, the untapped potential for violence and how helpful someone like you could be to his cause

He waters the seedling of resentment you already hold towards Miranda and helps it grow

He whispers words of hate and anger into your ear until you’re just as passionate about taking Miranda down as he is

You two work together, using your odd understanding of radio and sound waves to improve his soldat designs 

Slowly, your loyal followers from the village start to abandon you and move to different lords. Your connection to Heisenberg has soured your influence among the sheep in the village, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care

Your status as a lord meant little to you when you had him

He’s intrigued by your powers and loves to experiment with them, but more than anything there’s something soothed inside him because he’s no longer alone

He’s grateful for the support you provide when he feels like he’s just stagnant in his progress taking down Miranda

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Resident Evil Village, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[serashalala]

Generation Loss's Mind Manipulation; A theory by a tired college student

OK. GENERATION LOSS. That was a ride and it’s not even done!

Fuckin loved it, by the way. It was so good. I loved everyone's acting and Sneeg's realization part gave me literal fucking chills as well as Slime screaming and Austin freaking out while Ranboo n Sneeg were just chill.

FUCK that was cool. Thank you @ranboolivesaysstuff for sharing this with us.

Anyway, here’s a nerd dump on the entire mind control thing. I’m not exactly a genius but I’m studying neurosci as one of my college units and this is basically the gist of how I understand the mind control aspect that this is showing.

SO. 

You recognize this? This is the device that we think is controlling Ranboo’s mind. It’s at the back part of the brain, and easily this leads to two possible structures that it can influence: the occipital lobe of the cerebrum and the cerebellum. However, we don’t really know HOW deep this device goes considering Ranboo’s lucious locks of hair covering the rest of the mask and the fact that we don’t know if this is the only thing penetrating the brain.

Anyway, let’s discuss what we know which is that it’s likely latched onto the back part and thus likely embedded onto the cerebral occipital lobe and/or the cerebellum

The occipital lobe is at the back part of the head, and as you see on the picture below, it’s the visual area (mostly).

To make me sound more professional and shit let me introduce to you the brodmann areas. Brodmann areas divide the cerebrum by its function.

Area 17, 18, and 19.

Area 17 is the primary visual area. This is where you see shit. If the device’s influence is only as deep as area 17 then Ranboo is either literally blinded by the device OR the device intercepts what his eyes are really seeing. Damage to this area will lead to literal blindness or difficulty to see.

Area 18 and 19 however are the secondary visual area, otherwise known as the visual association area. This is where you recognize the things that you see. Damage to this leads to dyschromatopsia (color blindness), and visual agnosia (inability to perceive visual stimuli.). 

Basically to explain, as an example you see an apple. That’s the job of area 17. However, you don’t really know yet that it’s an apple. To know that an apple is an apple, you tap into area 18 and 19– the visual association area.

The device LIKELY reaches into this area because the entire time, Ranboo doesn’t recognize that he’s on a show set and he doesn’t see the people on the set like the directors and the staff. What he does see is a 4th wall.

Upon deactivation of the device, only then does he recognize that oh shit, that isn’t a wall. 

Does it stop there? Ok, why not go deeper?

Next to Area 19 is area 37. This is the Facial Recognition area. It's self explanatory if Ranboo's mind control device goes that deep.

How about Area 39 and 7? They're both Someasthetic areas. 39 and 40 specifically have a lot to do with memory, emotion, behavior, sex. rage, fear, and pain.

Area 7 integrates sensory inputs-- it draws upon stored memories of past sensory experiences. This area aint that deep tho ngl, it's basically the part that goes: yo, this fire thing burns you, maybe don't touch it. This can be as deep as you want to interpret it being.

Edit: I WAS RIGHT ABOUT THIS. Ranboo's stream confirms it SCREAMING RIGHT NOW. THEY SAID. "Change someone's perception of reality, and they will act how you want." SCREAMING CRYING WAILING SOBBING. I KNEW IT. The next parts of the theory will be further discussing the things that MAY still apply, alongside the things that Ranboo almost confirmed.

Next suspected area:

The cerebellum. 

The cerebellum is mostly responsible for a lot of important things (as are the rest of the brain but let me get into it)

The cerebellum has 3 main functions: maintenance of posture and balance; maintenance of muscle tone; and coordination of voluntary motor activity. 

You see where I’m going for here?

The cerebellum is a likely attachment site of the device because it is gunning for that motor activity and posture and balance. It controls the agonist and antagonist coordination of the muscles to make sure that there’s no jerky movements going on. As for posture and balance, it can affect your movements so that you don’t look robotic, and so that you don’t have to voluntarily maintain your posture. Maintenance of muscle tone has the same idea.

It is also the best bet because it has its lapses.

While it controls a lot of motor function, it isn’t the only site of motor control in the body. There’s other areas, like the Basal Nuclei, the motor area of the cerebrum (brodmann area 4 and 6) and the spinalcord (though this is more on reactionary shit).

It makes the device fallible where the fine motor movements (such as in the fingertips, where the cerebellum controls less of) is less prone to influence by the device, leading to this nifty clip right here:

And this here too:

They're able to do morse code with his hands, the fingers.

And, chances are, the reason they have a mask in the first place is because it’s significantly more difficult to reach the area that controls the facial expressions since that is a direct connection from the brain to the face via the Facial Nerve that stems anteriorly to from the brainstem. It’d be hard to reach from behind especially. (unless the device yanknow, snuck around the spine or something idk)

So if the connection is posterior, they’d have difficulty reaching that (to a safe extent, at least. We have no idea how deep it goes.

Then again, we don’t know the function of the rest of the mask.

Now for some close competitors of where the mind control device is attached/penetrating!

"But sera, what if it influences at a lower level than the occipital lobe or the cerebellum?"

Cervical spine C1 Level

Difficult to defend. That leaves the problem of Ranboo's speech control. The lower the level the less things it's able to influence. At C1 level, a person's speech, which is something Ranboo's clearly being influenced over, can't be damaged from this level.

"How are we so sure that it's at the back??"

Because it's the clearest shot we've got with that weird circle thing.

Frontal Lobe

This one is a good contender. The Frontal Lobe has the Decision and / or Judgement Center of the brain (area 10, more to be mentioned about this later), as well as the motor areas (areas 4 and 6), and twisting that could lead to being able to change what a person does when faced with a stimuli as well as a bigger portion of voluntary movement.

However, this one is difficult to visually justify.

While it's true that we can't see much behind the mask, we also can't see it penetrate towards the frontal lobe. Let's say it penetrates through the mouth somehow-- how is Ranboo's diction so clear?

But the reason why it's a very good contender is that it could possibly go through the nose. Did you know that the cribriform plate, the part of the skull where the olfactory nerve goes through, is the easiest to break? and thus it's also the easiest to penetrate?

Issue with that though is that Ranboo has a working sense of smell. The Olfactory nerve (smelling nerve) is easy to disturb.

Anything deeper? More anterior?

Any deeper structures are likely too unimportant-- the diencephalon, pons are all mostly on the hormonal / nonvoluntary actions (breathing, sweat, thirst, hunger, etc). Those aren't too fun to control especially when what you want is a puppet.

The most likely candidate is the basal nuclei, which has a lot to do with movement. However it's mostly useless when you target it because it's goal is to make sure that when you want to raise a glass, you don't yeet it to the sky. It makes sure that you have the right amount of output to the muscle without overcompensating.

So what does the device control?

Both.

Well, not both. All-- err, mostly. Ding ding ding! They're all winners.

Only at its best, though, which was during Episode 1 (when undisturbed)-- NOT episode 2.

At its best, the mask is able to take full function of the brain-- most strongly at where it's sourced, though, which is at the posterior regions. Weaker control is evident when you see the finger taps that Ranboo is still able to do. Think of it as some sort of energy gradient-- most concentrated at the back of the head, and weakest at the front.

At its blinking state, influenced by the outsider, Ranboo regains Control of most of the more anterior parts of the brain, but you'd notice it's still blinking-- it never really fully released Ranboo. Its still got a strong influence at the back portion of the brain.

It takes a lot to rip away its influence from Ranboo, as you can see from what the weird shadowy figure from the TV says in the end where he had to do something to disable it fully before Ranboo breaks the fourth wall.

How do we know that? Let's go back to the clip where Ranboo FULLY 'wakes up':

It took some effort by the hacker to fully release Ranboo, but until that point Ranboo hadn't even seen the 4th wall despite being able to gain autonomy of most their function.

Then let's go back to the part where, when Ranboo's device was 'reset':

You notice how the showbizz person isn't someone they interact with? They don't SEE these people. The device is still on, because it's intercepting with Ranboo's perception.

Let's go back to the announcements then.

We don't get to choose a lot this episode, instead we're subjected to puzzles that have more to do with everyone else BUT Ranboo.

I present to you, Brodmann Area 10

This is the largest area in the frontal lobe, and is incharge of decision making (among other things). We, the audience, can't make decisions as flexibly anymore because they needed a stricter control of the device.

The hacker is able to intercept that flexibility and thus the showfall media reduced the extent of which we're able to control ranboo, taking all that control for themselves. It isn't interactive anymore.

Literally being gatekeeped from the audience, smh.

Now what?

A summary of course.

I suspect that when the lights are on (in the mask), it has a stronger pulse and thus influences a larger chunk of his head, ABLE (but not necessarily) to reach the frontal lobe.

It blinks, then it indicates that its pulse is weaker, but still present (the cerebellum is slightly further to reach than the occipital lobe) which is why his sight might still be influenced.

And lights being gone? That's Ranboo's full autonomy baybee. They're back in business!

As for the others' mind manipulation system, I'm not quite sure yet. Probably could reduce it to having already been subjected to being conditioned, not like our 'fresh' protagonist. I'll probably add onto this when something clicks in the future.

This ended up a lot longer than intended...

Anyway, that’s just a theory, a tired-college-student-from-an-allied-health-course theory. Thanks for reading.

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 25

Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Dieter Bravo X OFC New as of 10/25/2023

SUPPORT YOUR CREATORS. REBLOGGING & COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

Series Rating: Explicit (18+)

Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives. 

Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk. Chapter Warning: Heavy themes in this chapter. That is all I will say so as not to ruin anything. Feel free to reach out for more details before reading.

Chapter Quote: "Just let me come home. Please."

I was only vaguely aware of the flurry of activity around me. As the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush started to set in, I began to feel like the room was spinning around me. Struggling to breathe, I did my best to fight off the fainting feeling that had suddenly overtaken me. Even though I felt like I may have blacked out briefly, I found myself still upright on my knees, hunched over with one shaking hand resting on the floor to balance myself. Two nurses quickly appeared by my side, attempting to coach me through the panic attack I was currently experiencing. The heavy, constricting feeling in my chest was growing increasingly worse. I roughly rubbed at the aching area, trying to shake off the feeling. I thought I knew how to handle these episodes, but this was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Then again, everything related to Dieter had been unlike anything I had experienced before. The good and the bad. 

One of the nurses began to ask me questions about my symptoms, specifically about chest pains. They were discussing doing an EKG as I started shaking my head and pushing them away from me. That was the last thing I wanted or needed. I somehow managed to get myself up out of the middle of the floor and moved over to a chair, leaning forward to lower my head between my knees. It helped with the faint feeling, but it did not do anything to dampen the anxiety I was currently feeling over the situation.

After several minutes one of the ER doctors came out to check on me. I couldn’t focus on anything he said as tears continued to pour out of my eyes. I was an emotional mess. I stared at the floor, expressionless, while listening to Lauren and Gabby explain to the doctor what had triggered the episode. Lauren asked if he could give me something to help calm me down. He returned a short time later with a bottle of water and a tablet in a small plastic cup, offering it to me. I glanced at him as I knitted my brows together.

“I don’t need that,” I said quietly. My voice was hoarse, and my mouth dry. I wiped at my face, trying to appear more put together than I felt.

“Yeah, I don’t really agree with that assessment,” he replied with a sympathetic look.

I let out a small huff, looking away from him as I thought about it. “What is it?”

“It’s a two-milligram diazepam tablet. It’s for anxiety and will help you relax so you don’t have another panic attack.” He held out the plastic cup and bottle of water again.

Gabby and Lauren were now at my side, encouraging me to take it. I sighed in defeat as I took the pill and water from the doctor; I did not have the capacity or will to actively argue with them about it. The chalky tablet stuck to my tongue as I opened the bottle. I gulped down the cold refreshment, thankful it washed away the cottonmouth sensation and lingering taste from the medication.

The doctor gave Gabby and Lauren a pointed look as he told them to alert one of the nurses if they needed anything else from him before he turned and disappeared behind the double doors. I could feel Gabby and Lauren’s eyes on me as I sat staring at the floor.

“Seriously, you two, gawking at me isn’t going to help things.” I felt slightly annoyed. I just wanted to be left alone to suffer without them looking at me like I was about to have a nervous breakdown. I glanced up at Lauren as she narrowed her eyes on me and let out a heavy sigh. She shook her head out of frustration before standing and motioning toward Gabby to follow her to the other side of the waiting area to sit with Alex.

I turned slightly in the seat, pulling my knees up to my chest and leaned my head against my legs. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm my still racing heartbeat. After a short time, I could feel the medication taking effect as relaxation overtook my body and drowsiness set in. I soon slipped into a hazy dream state as dark images that I couldn’t quiet decipher played out behind my eyelids, inducing feelings of worry and loss.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I was awakened by Gabby’s hand gently nudging my shoulder. When I raised my head, she let me know the doctor was there to speak with us. I took a deep breath as I stood slowly, still feeling a little off balance. Gabby must have noticed because she looped her arm with mine, guiding me over to where the doctor stood chatting with Alex and Lauren. As we walked toward them, I noticed Lauren was holding Alex’s hand tightly, while her other hand rested on his bicep. It was now clear to me that they had come here together. I smiled as I watched them, noticing the way they glanced at each other as Alex talked with the doctor. At least there was one piece of good news today. I was genuinely happy for them.

The doctor got straight to business as soon as he noticed us approaching. I could feel Gabby’s grip tighten on my arm as he started to speak. Realizing she was holding on for herself just as much as she was for me.

“We got him stabilized and admitted him to the Critical Care Unit for monitoring and supportive care while we wait for everything to cycle out of his system. We’re giving him fluids and oxygen. We’re going to keep an eye on his glucose, respiration, and cardiac activity and run labs every few hours to check all his levels.”

There was a collective sigh of relief from each of us with that news. I think we had all been expecting the worst. The doctor raised his hand to get our attention again, a grim look forming on his face. He hesitated before speaking but decided to continue with his thoughts.

“I don’t think I really need to say that it’s good you got him in here when you did, but I’m going to anyway. He was definitely on the decline. Mixing alcohol with the medications he’s taking is a huge risk. The alcohol with the antidepressants alone can have a sedative effect on the body and slow organ function down significantly. It can be fatal. He got very lucky.”

We knew what he was suggesting, and we all knew Dieter’s behavior couldn’t continue. We shook our heads in understanding. Gabby spoke up to ask if we could see him. We were told one of the nurses would provide us with his room information and that we could see him as soon as he was awake and alert. The doctor did warn us it could take some time since they were waiting for Dieter to sober up to further assess his condition.

A short time later, we found ourselves crowded into an elevator, making our way up to the CCU waiting area. I had finally calmed down enough to be functional, but my mind did feel a little cloudy from the medication. There was an underlying drowsiness that I had trouble shaking too. Then again, by this point we were creeping into the early morning hours when I would normally be sleeping, so the fatigue wasn’t too surprising. Once we finally found the waiting area, Alex offered to go get everyone snacks and coffee while Gabby stepped aside to call Ty and let him know what was going on. 

I was happy to find an area in the back corner of the waiting room with a handful of seats that was cordoned off by a half wall and away from everyone else. The last thing we needed was for prying eyes to recognize one of us and snap a picture. I sank down into one of the oversized upholstered chairs with my legs splayed out in front of me and my arms crossed, attempting to find some relief for my lower back. The lightly padded wooden chairs in the ER were not ideal for long-term sitting and had unfortunately caused some pain and stiffness to set in.

I sat staring at the wall in front of me, trying to think about anything other than Dieter laying in a hospital bed hooked up to several machines. It wasn’t a picture I needed in my head if I was going to keep my shit together. Lauren tentatively walked over to sit next to me. She seemed unsure of how to approach me or what to say. I glanced in her direction, and she gave me a tight-lipped smile before asking how I was doing.

“I’m ok, I think. Better now that I know he’s stabilized.” I furrowed my brows, now focusing on the collection of magazines haphazardly strewn about on the table in front of me. I raised one hand and rubbed at the crease above the bridge of my nose. I could feel a slight throb forming there. I let out a measured breath before dropping my hand and looking back over to Lauren. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she looked around the room. Her eyes eventually landed back on my face.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“You got anything for a headache? I don’t know where my purse is. I’m not even sure if I grabbed it before I left the house. Fuck, I don’t even know where my keys are.” I sighed heavily, realizing that the last several hours were a complete blur. I shook my head out of frustration.

Lauren gave me an empathetic look before she started to dig through her purse, quickly finding what she was looking for and passed it over to me. She also pulled out my half-drunk bottle of water from earlier that I had completely forgotten about. I gave her a small smile and thanked her as I swallowed down whatever pain reliever she had handed me. As I screwed the cap back on the bottle, I looked over at her with a genuine smile.

“So, you and Alex, huh? How long has that been going on?”

Her cheeks tinged pink as a wide grin spread across her face. “Hard to say when it actually started…he came into the shop the morning before we went to that club thing, and we chatted about charcoal drawings.” She chuckled at the memory. “He kind of just kept coming in after that, always asking questions about supplies. Then he came to a couple of the ceramics classes, and I asked him if he wanted to go out to lunch after one of them. It went from there. It’s been a slow process. He’s shy as fuck.” 

We both laughed. It amazed me how he was the complete opposite of Dieter. They seemed to be nothing alike. I sat for a moment, thinking how long it had been since the night we went to the club. My eyes widened as the realization hit me.   

“Geez, that was like seven months ago. You’ve been keeping it from me for that long?”

Lauren grimaced slightly, “Well, we weren’t sure where it was going and didn’t want to make things weird for everyone in case it didn’t work out. Then the whole thing happened with you and Dieter…I just didn’t want to upset you with news I was dating his brother. I knew it would make it harder for you to separate yourself from him. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

I leaned forward in my seat, reaching over to grab her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Seriously, I’m fine with it. I would’ve been fine with it if you had told me sooner. Dieter and I wouldn’t have encouraged it otherwise.” 

Lauren stood and squished herself down in my chair beside me, pulling me in for a tight hug, which I returned. Before I pulled away, I asked, “So do I want to know what was happening that night when I Facetimed you and you said you had a stray cat?” 

She pulled away, her face turning beet red as she shook her head “no”. I couldn’t help but to snicker at her.

“I guess he isn’t that shy then, huh?” I said with a chuckle. She gave me a mischievous smirk before shrugging, “He has his moments.” We were both fighting back laughter as Gabby and Alex came walking around the corner. They gave us both a questioning look as they divided out the coffee and snacks but didn’t ask for details on what was so funny.

The mood seemed lighter after that. Knowing that Dieter was doing ok seemed to take a lot of the stress off us as we waited for him to wake up. Gabby spent time updating us on how the kids were doing and let it slip that she had known about Lauren and Alex’s exploits for a while. Apparently, they had been routinely joining her for dinner and were doing a shit job of hiding things. We all had a good laugh about it now that the truth was out in the open. Alex seemed more relaxed and chattier than I had known him to be in the past. It was sort of heartwarming to see and made me realize how much I had missed all of them. I suddenly felt a wave of regret for pushing them away since the infamous phone call that changed everything. 

My attention was suddenly drawn to a light brown head of hair wandering around just on the other side of the short wall that separated us from the larger waiting area. I instantly tensed when I realized who it was. Gabby noticed my change in demeanor and followed my line of sight as I watched Anna walk around to where we were sitting.

I heard Alex and Lauren mutter a low “fuck” under their breaths in unison. Gabby stood up, defiantly blocking Anna from walking any closer.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Gabby asked her, rather curtly.

“Ty called me and said Dieter was in the hospital. He’s my friend and I’m coming to see if he needs anything.”

I couldn’t help the admonishing laugh that slipped from my lips. She sounded so ridiculous and clearly had no idea what was going on. My sudden outburst caused Anna’s wide eyes to focus on me over Gabby’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I said anything that was funny.” Anna’s eyes shifted back to Gabby, “What the hell is she doing here? He doesn’t wanna see her anymore.”

I wasn’t really sure what came over me as I shot up out of my seat without even realizing what I was doing. The complacent look Anna shot my way gave me the urge to smack it off her face. I had a similar urge the last couple of times that I was graced with her presence but managed to control it. The feeling was stronger this time, knowing that she had no doubt been Dieter’s biggest enabler when it came to the use of any kind of substance. Lauren must have recognized my fury because she jumped up behind me, grabbing at my arm.

“You wanna know why I’m here, Anna? Because he fucking called me right before he passed out.” I could feel anger radiating throughout my body. I knew she could see it on my face, but she wasn’t backing down this time.

“You say that like it’s a big deal. It’s not the first time he’s passed out from drinking too much. I’m sure he’s fine and you’re overreacting.”

I scoffed as I took another step forward. I could feel Gabby stick her arm out to block me from walking around her. Lauren linked her arm with mine and held on tightly. Alex stood off to the side with his right hand on his hip, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand, unsure of what to do.

“Overreacting? Are you that fucking stupid? He was unresponsive and almost stopped breathing. If I hadn't gone over there when I did, he wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Anna’s hand flew up to her chest. She had the audacity to look upset by my comment, like she finally understood how bad the situation was.

“Is he…is he ok?” She asked in a concerned voice.

I shook my head as I let out a small laugh, “You know, if you were such a good friend that really cared about him, you wouldn’t have enabled his behavior. You would’ve cut him off before he hurt himself. You were the only one out of all of us that he was speaking to and knew what he was doing… and you did nothing. Hell, you were probably encouraging him as you handed him more shots and who knows what else.”

One of the nurses came over and asked us if there was a problem. We assured her there was not. She looked between Anna and I, not convinced by our assurances.

“If you’re not family, I'm afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re disturbing everyone else in the waiting room.”

I exhaled loudly before shaking my head in agreement. I moved to leave, but Gabby grabbed my wrist tightly, stopping me in place. She turned to Anna and gave her a sweet smile, “Anna, I’ll let you know when you’re allowed to come see him. IF he wants to see you after he wakes up.”

Anna moved to leave, but paused, looking between Lauren and me.

“What about them? Why do they get to stay?”

“Because it’s my call. They’re more family to him than you’ll ever be.” Gabby’s words were laced with venom. I couldn’t see her face, but I was sure she had the expression to match her tone.

The corners of Anna’s mouth turned up into what I am sure was meant to be a menacing smile, but it didn’t quite hit the mark. “I’m sure that’ll no longer be the case once he’s awake.”

She gave Gabby and I both a pointed look before she turned on her heel and walked toward the exit. Once Anna was out of sight, Gabby let out the breath she had been holding and turned to look at me. She had a look of frustration on her face.

“She is such a fucking miserable person.”

I gave her a half smile, “You don’t have to tell me that twice.”

We both turned to face Lauren and Alex. Alex was still standing with his hands on his hips, his brows were drawn down together and he had a smirk on his face.

“Something wrong, Alex?” Gabby asked him.

“You two are fucking terrifying together. You know that? I wasn’t about to get in the middle of that mess… unless I absolutely had to.” 

Gabby, Lauren, and I chuckled at him. Surprisingly, there was something in his stance and his reaction that reminded me so much of his brother in that moment. Maybe they were more alike than I had realized.

We all sat in silence, continuing our wait. After an hour, Lauren announced that she needed more caffeine, so she and Alex went in search of more coffee for all of us. After they left, I could feel Gabby’s eyes on me. I looked in her direction, meeting her gaze. I could tell she wanted to ask me something. I raised an eyebrow at her, “What is it?”

She scrunched her face up in thought, exhaling loudly as she leaned forward. “You don’t have to tell me, but how did you know Dieter had alcohol poisoning?”

I rubbed my hands over my face for a moment, trying to decide how to answer her question. I sat up straight and squared my shoulders, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly before responding. I could feel my face tense before I met her eyes and started to speak.

“I think you know I was in a shitty marriage before?” She nodded. “Well, let’s just say it got to a point where I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I was feeling pretty fucking hopeless and had a close call myself.”

I watched her shoulders drop and her brow furrow as she processed my words.

“I don’t think I was as bad off as Dieter, but it was enough to scare the shit out of me. I’ve had a complicated relationship with alcohol ever since. I don’t manage my emotions very well, so I have to watch myself.”

Gabby moved to sit next to me, then pulled me into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry I tried to dump things on you when Dieter stopped talking to us. I shouldn’t have done that, and I should’ve been there to support you more than I was,” she said as she pulled away.

I shook my head at her, “Gabby, no. It’s fine. He’s your brother. I totally get where you were coming from, and I pushed you all away. Some of that’s on me. I should’ve handled this whole situation differently than I did.”

Our conversation was interrupted by Alex and Lauren returning with the next round of coffee. It was nearing 4 AM, so I was thankful for it. Once it had cooled off, I gulped it down quickly. I was beginning to feel restless sitting for so long. I got up and started walking around the waiting room to keep myself busy, looking at the cheap stock art that hung on the walls. Every minute seemed like ten as the night stretched on. The wait was maddening. We did get a couple of updates during that time that Dieter was still doing ok, and all of his tests were coming back normal, but he hadn’t woken up yet. We at least had that bit of information to keep our positivity up while we waited.  

It was close to 8 AM when I sat scrolling through my phone, but not really reading anything. Lauren had fallen asleep on Alex’s shoulder. He was dozing off with his head laying on top of hers. Gabby was in one of the oversized chairs with her head leaned against the back and her knees pulled up to her chest, asleep. I gave up trying to focus on my phone. I slid it into my back pocket as I stood to walk around for a minute. As I rounded the edge of the dividing wall, I saw the CCU physician, Dr. Wilson, walking toward us. I turned to get everyone’s attention to let them know he was coming.

We all crowded around the doctor as he walked into the small waiting area that we had claimed. I noticed the look on his face was concerning compared to how he looked when he had spoken to us earlier. I suddenly felt knots in my stomach and braced for the worst.

“Alright, first, let me say he’s awake and he’s fine… physically. Which is surprising given that his BAC was off the charts. He’s seriously lucky that you got him here when you did.”

Gabby and I exchanged a nervous glance, not really understanding where this was going.

“We didn’t find any drugs in his system, other than what he had been prescribed and those were all at normal levels.” 

I suddenly felt guilty with that news. He had said he wasn’t on anything and none of us believed him. I started rubbing at my chest and shoulder. The anxious feeling was returning. I didn’t like where this conversation was going. I started inhaling deep breaths to try and keep myself calm.

Dr. Wilson paused, thinking through his next words carefully. “When he woke up, he was obviously confused. He got combative and he’s a little overly emotional. I’m not a mental health professional, but I think he may be having some type of manic episode. One of our consulting psychiatrists is evaluating him right now.”

To say that we were stunned was an understatement. We were quiet for a moment, silent glances of worry passing between each of us. Gabby looked overwhelmed as she ran her hand through the top of her hair, bunching it at the crown of her head.

“So, what does that mean?” She finally asked.

“Well, it’s possible it could be the medications he’s currently taking. If he has some sort of undiagnosed disorder, it could be causing a bad reaction. That’s the theory I’m going with. Is he currently seeing a psychiatrist?”

Gabby gave Dr. Wilson a blank stare, then looked at me with panicked eyes as she shook her head. “I don’t know anything about what he’s doing.” 

I reached out and grabbed Gabby’s hand in an attempt to comfort her before I spoke up.

“As far as I know… but this was months ago… he was seeing a therapist who was working with his primary care doctor for medication.”

“But he has prescriptions from two different doctors? Do you know if he was drug seeking?”

I drew my brows down together at the question and shook my head from side to side.

“No, I don’t… I don’t think he would do that. I know when he was in Canada filming… he was referred to someone because he was there for five or six months. I assume that’s why there are two. I know they gave him something new while he was there. An antidepressant… I think.”

Dr. Wilson shook his head in understanding, “Alright, I’m going to recommend that he see a psychiatrist who also does therapy. I think he needs someone who is a little more experienced with certain types of disorders and medication. I can provide some suggestions. These Hollywood types around here tend to hand out drugs like they’re candy without figuring out what’s actually going on.” 

Dr. Wilson paused, then waved someone over to us. An older woman with graying hair joined us. Dr. Wilson introduced her as Dr. Stevenson and indicated she was the consulting psychiatrist who had been evaluating Dieter. I could feel Gabby’s grip tighten on my hand as she stared at the psychiatrist, unblinking. Alex stepped forward and put a hand on Gabby’s shoulder in comfort. Dr. Stevenson gave us a reassuring smile as she motioned for us to have a seat. She sat down on the table in front of us before she spoke.

“I just had an interesting talk with Dieter. He’s…definitely exhibiting signs of a mixed manic episode. Do any of you know if he has been diagnosed with anything?”

Gabby and Alex looked at me, clearly, they knew nothing about what was going on with their brother. I inhaled sharply before speaking.

“The only thing I’ve ever heard him talk about is anxiety and depression.” 

Dr. Stevenson nodded. “Can you tell me how long he’s been acting like this?”

Gabby spoke up, “We really don’t know. He was away filming for a while then wouldn’t really speak to any of us after he got back.” She glanced at me as she spoke, a questioning look on her face.

I shut my eyes tightly, rubbing the wrinkled spot that had formed between my eyebrows as I tried to think back. “He’s always been kind of moody… but umm, they made some medication changes right before he left for Canada, then again a few weeks after he got there.”

I exhaled slowly and dropped my hand before meeting Dr. Stevenson’s eyes. “I know when I was there visiting, he was skipping meals, which is unusual for him. His mood was one extreme to the other, but I just figured that was because he was upset about me leaving. He seemed like he had a short fuse… like he was quick to get mad or frustrated. I know he’s been having trouble sleeping for a long time. I think it was like three weeks after I left, he called me and broke things off and wasn’t really making sense. That was like six months ago. I’ve not really talked to him since then.”

Dr. Stevenson listened intently as I talked. She reached out and gave my hand a pat, before she spoke again. “It’s my opinion that he would benefit from inpatient treatment. He needs to be supervised while they get him off all of these medications so they can get a base level reading and evaluate him properly. It’s possible he could have some withdrawal symptoms that would need to be managed during that process. I really feel that he’s been misdiagnosed, and his current medication regimen is making things worse for him.”  

Gabby reached for my right hand again and squeezed it. I could see her eyes glazing over from the information overload. I covered her hand with my left one to try and offer comfort. My leg started to bounce from the building anxiety I was feeling.

“Umm, how long is inpatient treatment?” Gabby finally asked.

“That depends entirely on him. It would be helpful if it’s something he’s willing to do. If he’s cooperative, it’ll go faster and be more beneficial for him. It can take several weeks or longer to get medication figured out though.”

Gabby sagged back into her seat with that information, “How am I gonna get him to willingly go along with that?” She let out an exasperated sigh as she looked in my direction.

“Could one of you talk with him… help him calm down…convince him to do it? I can force the issue and require that he go, but I would much rather that he chooses it.” Dr. Stevenson added.

Gabby balked at her statement, “So you want me to convince my brother to choose to do something that he really doesn’t have a choice in?”

Dr. Stevenson nodded, “It will make it easier on him if he is a willing participant.”

Gabby sighed heavily, “Alright, let us talk through this. We’ll see what we can do.” 

The two doctors left us to discuss things. Gabby looked like she was now on the verge of having a panic attack herself as her breathing sped up.

“I don’t know how to handle this. What the fuck do I say to him?” She asked as she looked between Alex and me with wide eyes.

I took a deep calming breath, closing my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, everyone was looking at me. I knitted my brows together as I met Gabby’s stare, “I’ll do it.”

She vehemently shook her head, “No. I can’t put this on you.” 

I reached out and grabbed her hand to reassure her, “Gabby, I’m fine. I can do it. We have a way of calming each other. I think he would respond better to me right now.”

Alex shook his head in agreement, “She’s not wrong, Gab. They do have that weird thing they do where they mellow each other out.”

I raised an eyebrow in Alex’s direction, surprised at his comment. One side of his lips slid upwards as he reached over and squeezed my shoulder in solidarity.

Gabby gave me a concerned look, “Talia, are you sure? I don’t want to put you through that.”

“Seriously, I’m good. Besides, I think I kind of owe it to him at this point.”

I watched Gabby’s nose crinkle and her nostrils flare as she fought back tears. She pulled me into another tight hug. “Thank you for doing this for him. I know it’s not easy for you.”

I gave her a small smile as I pulled away. Dr. Wilson came over to check in with us and we let him know that I was going to talk to Dieter. I did ask Gabby to come with me and wait outside the door in case I needed her.

As we walked back toward Dieter’s room, Dr. Wilson spoke up, “We did give him a sedative because he was amped up and giving the staff a hard time. He’s a little calmer now and it’s possible he may fall back to sleep.”

Gabby looped her arm with mine and entwined our fingers, squeezing tightly. I could tell she was nervous by her sweaty palms and fidgeting. As we approached Dieter’s room, we could see him through the window in the door. I audibly gasped, putting my free hand over my mouth. I could feel Gabby stiffen beside me as she took him in. He looked completely broken. He was sitting upright in his bed, rocking slightly while rubbing the thumb on his right hand between his thumb and the pointer finger of his left hand. He was staring downward, unblinking. Even from this distance I could see the deep crease between his brows and I could tell his eyes were red and swollen. His dark hair was standing up in all directions creating a stark contrast with his pale scruffy face.

His appearance shocked me. I could feel another anxiety attack creeping up as a result. I released Gabby’s hand and pulled away. “I need a minute,” I said weakly. I laced my fingers together behind my neck as I backed against the wall, leaning down toward my knees with my eyes shut willing the dizzying feeling to go away. I took several deep breaths to center myself. Gabby asked if I was ok as she stood awkwardly beside me. I could tell she wasn’t sure what to do based on the tone of her voice. A few seconds passed before I popped back up, somehow managing to get my emotions in check. I had to if I was going to get through this. I gave Gabby a small nod before I turned and pushed the door open to enter his room.

I took a few steps inside, allowing the door to close behind me. I wasn’t really sure what to expect from him since our last two encounters had been less than friendly. I paused just inside of the entryway, trying to gauge his reaction before I went in any further. It took him a moment to tear his attention away from whatever he was focused on. Once his gaze met mine, he stopped all movement as his eyes widened.

“Why…what are you doing here?” he asked in a flat tone. 

“You called me. So, I came over. Do you remember that?” I spoke in a quiet voice, choosing my words carefully. I was so afraid of saying the wrong thing to him. I felt like I was talking to a scared puppy from the way he was looking at me; his big brown eyes wider than usual, filled with apprehension and disorientation.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, his eyes seemed to unfocus as he searched his memory. He slowly shook his head as his gaze met mine again.

“Can I come sit with you?” I asked hesitantly.

He started rubbing at his chest with one hand and ran the other through his hair as he shook his head from side to side, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m a fucking disaster. I don’t want you seeing me like this.”

“You look a hell of a lot better than you did last night.”

His head snapped back up in my direction as he met my gaze, “You saw me last night?”

I took a steadying breath as I walked further into the room and sat down in the chair next to the bed. I reached out to grab his right hand away from his chest and pulled it to rest on the edge of the mattress, holding it tightly.

I could feel the crease form between my brows as I decided how to answer him. I didn’t want to push him over the edge, but I didn’t want to keep anything from him either.

“Dieter, I’m the one that found you. You called me and I could tell something was wrong, so I came over to check on you. You were unconscious.”

His face tensed; his eyes quickly pooled with tears as they darted around the room while he processed my words. A quiet sob suddenly escaped his lips as he pulled his hand away from me to cover his face. A rush of words spilled out of him through the sobs, “I’m such a fuck up. I never wanted to do that to you. I’m just like my fucking mom. I knew this was going to happen. I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

I could hear the beeping of the heart monitor speed up. His anxiety was clearly ramping up again. I leaned across the bed, grabbing both of his hands and pulled them away from his face.

“Hey… stop that, look at me.” He turned his head away as the tears ran down his cheeks.

“Look at me,” I said again, more forcefully. He hesitated but finally met my gaze. I leaned in slightly, compelling him to look directly into my eyes as I spoke.

“If you hadn't called me, you wouldn’t be here right now. I would much rather see you like this than have the alternative. I’m glad you reached out. As long as you ask for help when you need it, you’ll never be like her. You understand me?”

He shook his head, the vacant expression returning. He started to slowly rock again, mumbling about how he was sorry for ruining everything, he’s a fuck up, and this is all his fault. He kept muttering it repeatedly on a loop. It was painful to watch him sit and quietly berate himself. I could feel the lump forming in my throat and it was taking everything I had in me to stay calm.

I squeezed his hands a little harder to try and bring his attention back to me.

“Dieter, I need to talk to you about something, ok?” It took a few seconds, but he finally focused back on me, full of confusion.

“Ummm, the doctor thinks that maybe your medication is making you feel this way…making things worse.”

“No. No…no. It’s supposed to fix it. It’s just not working. It’s not working.”

I shook my head, “No… this can be a side effect. They think you were misdiagnosed. This can happen if it’s not the correct medication for you.”

He scoffed, “Ok, so give me something else then.” There was a slight edge to his voice.

“It’s not that simple. They have to take you off everything slowly and you need to be monitored while you come off of it.”

His eyebrows shot up as his dark eyes widened, “Wha…What does that mean?”

“They’re recommending that you do inpatient treatment so that they can get your medication figured out and a proper diagnosis.”

He let out several stuttered breaths before he responded, “So like a mental health facility? Is it that fucking bad?” His eyes widened.

My eyes started to sting, I briefly closed them and exhaled slowly before opening them again. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold back my tears. I nodded, “You’re gonna need a little extra help to get through this.”

He started shaking his head, “I can’t. I have to work… and I…I just can’t.”

“You can’t work like this... You can’t live like this. Take some time and get the help you need. We’re all here to help you through it.”

I could see the panic setting in on his features. A deep crease had formed between his brows as his whole body started to tremble. His eyes were round and his chin quivering. “For how long? How long do I have to be there?”

I knew this was the part he was going to have the hardest time with, and I didn’t want to say it, but I couldn’t lie to him.

“They said it can take several weeks to figure out your medication, so I don’t know exactly how long it’ll be.”

His heart rate spiked as he started crying again. “Please just let me come home with you. I’ll do whatever the fuck I have to, just let me come home. Please. Please…” 

I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore. They started running down my cheeks while I worked to steady my emotions. I stood and crawled up on the bed beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He buried his face into my neck as he sobbed and continued to beg me to come home.

I ran my fingers through his hair to try and comfort him and talked softly in response, “Listen, you can’t do this at home, ok. I’m not gonna lie to you. It’s gonna be hard. They said you might have withdrawal symptoms and they need to be able to manage those and monitor you around the clock.”

I paused for a minute to steady myself, taking a few more deep breaths.

“I promise you, once you're better, you can come home to me if that’s what you still want.”

I could feel him nod slightly against my neck. He let out a slow breath, “I’m so fucking scared. I don’t know if I can do this.” It was almost a whisper, and I could hear the fear in his voice.

“If you wanna get better, you have to. You can’t keep living like this.”

He pulled away from me, nodding his head in agreement. “I’ll do it. You’re right, I…I can’t do this anymore. I just wanna be happy and normal. I want to come home.”

He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes suddenly seemed clearer as they looked over my face. He leaned his forehead against mine and sighed, “I missed you so fucking much. I should’ve told you what was going on instead of pushing you away. I just…”

He started crying harder again, I pulled him back against me, hugging him tightly. He knotted his hands in the front of my shirt, trying to get as close to me as possible. I shushed him as I rubbed my cheek against his forehead before placing a gentle kiss there. “Don’t worry about that right now. You’re forgiven. Just focus on yourself. I’m fine and I’m here for you however you need me.”

We sat in silence for several minutes as I continued to hold him and run my fingers through his messy curls. Once it seemed like he had calmed down, I asked if he wanted to see Gabby. I could see her standing in the hallway, across from his door, watching the exchange between us. She looked like she was having a hard time keeping it together too.

“I do wanna see her, but I don’t want you to leave me.” he said with a trembling voice. I raised my hand and motioned for her to come in. She walked in hesitantly and came to sit on the opposite side of his bed. He didn’t pull away from me, but he did reach over with his left hand to grab hers. She let out a sigh of relief as the tears finally escaped her eyes. She gave me a questioning look; I gave her a small nod. This was a good first step.

Gabby spoke up and asked him if he wanted to see Alex too. He shook his head as he pulled away from me, “Not right now. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay awake. I feel like shit.”

I reached up and continued to run my fingers through the hair at the nap of his neck as he wiped at his tear-streaked face, his head leaning back into my touch. He seemed a lot calmer than he had been and maybe even a little more focused. He looked at Gabby with a slight smirk, “Can you make sure they don’t send me to some shit hole with doctors that don’t know what they’re doing please? I’ve had enough of that.” Gabby and I both let out a small laugh.

“No worries, hermano. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” She smiled at him as she rubbed the back of his hand.

Gabby’s phone vibrated in her back pocket. She stood to pull it out and look at it. After unlocking her phone, she rolled her eyes. She looked at her brother, irritation lacing her tone as she spoke. “It’s Anna. Again. She is insisting on seeing you.”

Dieter shook his head, “I don’t wanna see her. Like…at all. I’m done with her.”

Gabby and I exchanged a questioning look, wondering what had brought that on. I would have to remember to ask him about that later.

Dieter glanced up at me, he suddenly looked very sleepy, “How about we let you get some rest. You can hardly hold your eyes open.”

He let out a loud huff, “I don’t want you to leave. Will you stay until I fall asleep? Please?”

Gabby smiled at us, taking that as her cue to leave. She quietly made her exit as I got up to sit back down in the chair beside the bed. Dieter lowered the back of the bed down and got comfortable. Once he was situated on his side, facing me, he reached over and held out his hand. I took it in both of mine, rubbing over the top of it as we sat in silence. It didn’t take long before he was asleep.

I watched him for a few minutes, taking in his features. The worry was gone from his face and his color was already starting to look better. I could feel guilt settling in the pit of my stomach. I should have gone to him sooner and made him talk to me. Gabby was right, if I had forced it, he would have opened up to me. I could have kept it from getting this bad, cut it off before he spiraled out of control. I gave up on us too easily and I could only hope he didn’t hold that against me.

I knew he and I still had a lot to talk about, but it could wait until he was in a better place mentally and emotionally. In the meantime, I needed to work on sorting out my feelings as well. I now realized how much I had kept hidden away and avoided processing. Some of it had nothing to do with Dieter and everything to do with my own personal demons. A lot of it didn’t matter anymore given what was actually going with him. I could tell we still had a long road ahead, but I was willing to go on this journey with him as long as he still wanted me to. 

A/N: I am peeking out from under my rock to check in and see how you all are feeling after that chapter? Was it angsty enough for you? Any predictions for what is to come with D and Talia? Topics for discussion...How are we feeling about Lauren and Alex? Or just Alex for that matter? We haven't seen much of him so far, but I do have a little bonding moment planned for Alex and Talia in the next chapter that is kind of sweet. How about that private chat between Gabby and Talia? Do you think the group made the right call letting Talia talk to D? Or should Gabby have done it? Do you have any predictions for what is going on with D? I mean, how pitiful was he? Does this make up for all of his dummy asshole behavior? And last but not least, we can't forget about Anna and her drama...how bad did that piss you off? As promised, I also prepared another Deconstructing Dieter Bravo post. Be sure you jump over there and check it out. The topic is Psychiatric Medication and goes along with this chapter. We will obviously get into things a little deeper once we have his diagnosis. As usual, I have included the mood board for this chapter below. I have been lazy and haven't put together any of the chapter playlists... but just a reminder, you can find the full playlist here. A good portion of the Lifehouse songs on the list I attribute to Dieter, especially during the last half of this fic. So, feel free to jump over there and give those a listen while you read. Last but not least, a huge thank you to my beta, @for-a-longlongtime. She deserves an award for putting up with me and always makes everything so much better! 💜

Next Chapter

Tag List: @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @pedrostories

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[bloody-bee-tea]

June of (minimal) Doom 2024 Day 9 - I made a mistake

Satoru fucked up, he knows it. He knows it, but there’s no way to take it back, and that might just be the worst part about it.

He’s in dire need of some advice, so he barges into Shoko’s room, absolutely frantic to get some help.

“Shoko, I need your help,” he rushes out and Shoko only throws him a lazy look, clearly not convinced of the urgency of the situation.

“I’m not here to help you manage your social life,” she eventually says and Satoru frowns, momentarily forgetting his own very real, very serious problem.

“How do you know it’s that? I could be actively dying.”

“You have a voice for that.”

“A voice.”

“A very Shoko-I-somehow-got-my-arm-unattached-from-my-body-and-now-I-need-help-voice. This is not that. This is your Shoko-I-socially-fucked-up-voice. And with that I cannot help.”

“That’s—uncalled for, actually,” Satoru mutters before he gravity of the situation slams into him all over again. “But please, Shoko, I really do need your help.”

“You’re not going to leave without at least telling me about whatever you fucked up, are you?” she asks, clearly already somewhat resigned to her fate and she only sighs when Satoru shakes his head.

“Nope,” he still says for good measure, just so she knows just how serious this is and finally Shoko gives him her full attention.

“Okay, hit me with it, then,” she says and Satoru takes a deep breath.

“I may have implied to my family that Suguru is my boyfriend,” Satoru rushes out, in case Shoko changes her mind again and because it’s actually painful to admit that and immediately Shoko’s eyebrows fly up.

“Oh, damn,” she whispers. “You really fucked up.”

“I did,” Satoru cries out and buries his face in his hands. “Fuck, I fucked up so badly. How am I ever going to explain that to him in a way that doesn’t make him lose it?” he desperately asks and he doesn’t even need to look up to know that Shoko is wincing.

“I’m not sure that there’s a way,” she carefully says and Satoru almost sobs at that.

He knows that this is bad, that Suguru is probably going to hate him for it and he has no goddamn clue how he’s every going to fix it.

“What if I just don’t tell him?” he tries and Shoko hits him over the head for it.

“You know that your family is going to approach him if they think you’re together. Things are not quite that easy for you prominent clan members,” she reminds him as if Satoru could really have forgotten that.

“I know,” he whines out because it doesn’t help with his problem at all. “He’s going to cut me out of his life, I just know it. And then I’ll have lost him and I’ll have to tell my family that we broke up and I’m not going to survive it.”

“Oh, Satoru,” Shoko helplessly says, because what else is there to say, really.

Satoru is right after all.

Suguru is going to blow a fuse, he’s going to be incredibly mad at Satoru and then he won’t want anything to do with him anymore and just like that Satoru will have lost his one and only and all because he’s stupid and can’t function properly when he talks to his mother.

Fuck.

“Maybe he won’t take it so badly?” Shoko suggests and now that makes Satoru snort out a desperate laugh.

“Yeah, right. That seems likely with how vehemently he has always protested any kind of notion in that direction,” he gives back because people have mistaken them for a couple several times already and every time it was brought up, Suguru almost exploded with anger and he always rushes to set things straight: we’re not together, how dare you even suggest that, never say something like that again.

Satoru always found his reaction a little bit over the top, especially since he didn’t mind it at all and what does it even matter if some strangers think they are together, but Suguru was always quick to shut such suggestions down.

It made it more than clear that he’d never see Satoru in that light, that he’d never want a relationship, no matter how much Satoru wished for it and to fuck up like this now is probably going to cost him Suguru entirely.

Satoru just wants to hide himself away for the rest of his life, hoping that like this he doesn’t have to see Suguru be furious with him for a change.

“What are you going to do?” Shoko asks and Satoru deflates where he stands.

She’s right when she says that his clan will most likely contact Suguru somehow so there’s not really much he can do.

“I’ll have to tell him,” Satoru whispers and Shoko hums.

“That sucks,” she says and that’s the understatement of the year. “I know it’s not much but you can come here to get smashed afterwards if you want,” she then offers and Satoru knows how jealously she hoards her alcohol so for her to offer this, he must really be in deep shit.

“Thanks, I guess,” he mutters and turns back around to the door. “I’ll go destroy the best thing in my life now, then,” he adds on and while it sounds overdramatic, that is exactly how it feels to him.

But there’s no way around it—he already knew that before he came to Shoko—and he just has to be a big boy and get it over with.

He makes his way over to Suguru’s room, dragging his feet a bit, but he still arrives at his door sooner than he’d like.

Satoru takes one deep breath before he knocks and then he shuffles unsurely around as he waits for Suguru’s call.

Instead of doing that, Suguru comes to the door himself, and Satoru flinches.

“Satoru? What’s wrong?” Suguru asks and of course something must be wrong because Satoru normally never knocks. He never needed to, he was always welcome to barge right in, but he knows that he’s going to lose that privilege as soon as he tells Suguru what’s going on, so he better starts behaving accordingly as soon as he can.

“Can I come in?” Satoru asks and Suguru’s face clouds over with worry.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asks and then reaches out to take Satoru’s temperature. “Are you sick?”

“No. Suguru, can I come in?” he asks again and cherishes the way Suguru’s name feels in his mouth.

He’ll probably have to refer to him as Geto once this is all over and that alone is almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“You’re freaking me out,” Suguru says but he does step aside to let Satoru in.

“Sorry, I just—there’s something I have to tell you,” Satoru mutters and he can tell that his words do nothing to alleviate Suguru’s worries.

“Okay, spit it out then,” Suguru says once the door is closed behind Satoru and Satoru wrings his hands in front of his chest.

“I just want to start this off with the fact that I didn’t really mean to and I’m really very sorry. If that helps at all.”

“It would, maybe, if you could tell me just what exactly it is you did,” Suguru gives back and Satoru knows that there’s no way around this, that he has to come clean about this and yet he still stalls for a few more precious seconds.

A few seconds more where Suguru doesn’t hate him yet and Satoru hoards them as greedily as he can.

“I made a mistake,” he finally starts with and Suguru frowns.

“Okay. What kind of mistake?” he asks and Satoru starts to pace in his room.

“My mother called me today, and you know how talking with her always gets me,” he explains and Suguru nods, because it’s not news to him that talking to anyone from his family fucks Satoru a little bit up every time. “And she keeps pestering me about finding someone to settle down with and to preferably start producing heirs as soon as possible.”

“You’re not even eighteen yet,” Suguru interjects and Satoru shrugs, because that really has never mattered to his family.

If it were up to them he would probably already be a father, preferably a few times over, just in case they can have more overpowered Gojo’s.

“Not the point,” Satoru mutters.

“What is the point then?”

“The point is that I may have panicked?” he asks and then falls silent again, unable to find the words.

“And done what? Satoru, seriously, do I have to pull every word out of you?” Suguru wants to know, clearly getting impatient now and Satoru takes a deep breath before he finally spills it all.

“I may have blurted out that I’m already seeing someone, but that I wasn’t ready to tell them yet, just so she would get off my back, but of course she didn’t and instead pestered me to know who it was and her guesses were getting increasingly disturbing so I eventually just blurted out that I’m seeing you.”

He doesn’t dare to look at Suguru, doesn’t want to know what kind of face he’s making at hearing that and he’s sure that the yelling is going to start any moment now.

Instead Suguru stays quiet. Eerily so.

“Suguru?” Satoru finally asks and when he looks at Suguru he’s not prepared for the crestfallen look he sees on his face.

“Why would you do that?” Suguru asks, his voice barely above a whisper and he looks so hurt that Satoru feels like the scum of the earth, knowing he was the one to put that look on his face.

He would have preferred anger, he thinks.

“I just—I panicked. I didn’t think.”

“How is that the first thing you can come up with, though? Shoko is right there. Why did it have to be me?”

“Maybe—” Satoru starts and then decides to fuck it. Suguru is going to hate him one way or another, so it’s probably best to put it all out there. “Maybe because it was the first thing I thought of.”

“But why?” Suguru demands to know again and Satoru locks his eyes with.

“Because it’s something I wish was true, so I couldn’t think of anything—anyone—else,” he admits and then waits for the unavoidable anger that’s sure to follow his words.

“You—want me to be your boyfriend?” Suguru mutters and Satoru shrugs.

“Yeah. I have, for a long time. I know how you feel about that, though, so I get it. I know you must be mad, I know you must be disgusted. And I wish I could change it, I wish I could take it all back, but things with my family are not quite that easy and they are not going to ignore this. I expect them to contact you some time this week, so I thought it’s best to warn you before that.”

“Wait, hold on, stop,” Suguru rushes out and holds up his hands as if that could force Satoru’s words to a stop. “What do you mean, you’ve felt that way for a long time?”

“Just that. I’ve been in love with you for months now, Suguru. What else do you want me to say?”

“But you never said anything!”

“Right,” Satoru lets out a bitter laugh. “You think I am that eager to get rejected? I know how you feel about that, I’ve seen the way you react to people assuming this about us, so I always knew I had no chance at all. But I didn’t think with my mother, and now it’s all fucked up.”

“How I feel about that?”

“Suguru, please, can we just skip ahead to the point where you yell at me and tell me to get out and never come back? I can’t do this,” Satoru begs him, because he’s not a fan of dragging the inevitable out like this but he was not prepared for the way Suguru steps forward and takes his hands in his.

“Satoru, I love you,” Suguru says and it’s so out of left field that Satoru doesn’t even understand what’s happening.

“You’re mad at me,” he gives back and watches how Suguru shakes his head, his hair flying.

“I’m not, gods, I’m not! Satoru, I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“But you—that can’t be, you always yelled at people who assumed things about us,” Satoru mutters out, because he wasn’t imagining that. “Even Shoko knows that you’re going to kick me out of your life for this, that’s how much you hate the notion of a romantic relationship with me.”

“Fuck, that’s so not true,” Suguru rushes out. “I’m sorry it came across like that! It’s just—whenever people assumed that I was so hurt because it wasn’t true and there was no way in hell that you’d ever feel that way about me, so I got defensive.”

“What do you mean, I’d never feel that way?”

“I just mean—what would you ever see in me?” Suguru asks and squeezes Satoru’s hands. “I thought I had no chance. I’m not from a big clan, I am nothing special, so why would you ever feel that way about me?”

“Because you’re Suguru,” Satoru gives back as if that explains everything and to him it does.

Suguru is Suguru and that’s why Satoru loves him.

“I didn’t know,” Suguru mutters and rests their foreheads together. “Satoru, I didn’t know. I never would have expected this.”

“So—you’re not mad,” Satoru has to say, because it still makes little sense to him what is happening.

“I’m not mad. I’m overjoyed. I want to be your boyfriend.”

“Really?” Satoru has to ask to make sure.

“Really,” Suguru immediately gives back. “I’m sorry I ever made you think otherwise.”

“It’s not as if I ever said anything to make you think you have a chance, apparently,” Satoru replies even though he wonders how that can be, but maybe that’s a conversation for a later point.

“But I know better now,” Suguru says and tilts his head to brush a kiss over Satoru’s lips. “Boyfriend.”

The word makes Satoru all tingly and he can’t help the big smile that breaks out on his face.

“Boyfriend,” he agrees and dives right in for a real kiss. “I like how that sounds.”

“Me, too,” Suguru admits and when he pulls Satoru in for a bone-crushing hug, he goes easily.

They stay like that for a long time and even though Satoru knows that there will have to be at least one more conversation to be held about this—at least about the expectations his clan will have for Suguru—he thinks that all of that can wait because there’s no power out there that could make him pull away from Suguru at that moment.

Or ever again, but he thinks it might be a little bit too soon to admit that as well. Small steps, he thinks, and buries his face in the crook of Suguru’s neck. He already has what he wants in his arms after all. Everything else can come later.

[ionfusionpunk]

hello, what’s this about awake craniotomies and clone chip removal? (I don’t follow you, I just saw your note in the reblogs and went “oooo this seems interesting!”)

Heyo! Of all the things I've commented on a post, I think this is exactly the one I expected to hear about the least lolol. I'm warning you, this is... a long post. It got away from me, I'm so sorry T-T (It's heckin long. I'm really sorry. I'll summarize at the top and you can read more beneath the break if you want.)

Long story short, I hyper fixated on this tiny little detail that really doesn't actually affect anything within the SW universe lmao.

TL;DR: The clones should be awake for their chip removal procedures with the exception of extenuating circumstances. Also, disclaimer, I'm not in the medical field, I just love research. If I get anything wrong, anyone is free to correct me :)

If you have any questions, please ask, I'm not very good at explaining things in way others understand at first. So it all makes sense to me, but you might not follow my leaps in logic 😅

Longer story: I was reading a fic this morning, and the clones involved got their chip removed. The text said something about 'waiting for them to wake up from the surgery', and it just kinda... idk, hit me that I have never ever read any fic where the clone doesn't have to wake up from being completely sedated for brain surgery.

Now, look. Write what you wanna write, like I said, it's not a big thing. But one of my neurodivergent quirks is that inaccuracy/misinformation/ignorance (willful or innocent) kinda bugs me? I like knowing that other people know things - know correct things. It brings me satisfaction and helps me sleep at night. So I kinda notice trends in what people seem to not/know.

My first thought when I realized the trend of complete sedation for brain surgery/chip removal led to me to draw two conclusions: a) As happens in fandom, most everyone just writes clones completely sedated for this procedure bc everyone else does. No biggie. It's easier, and again, doesn't really matter. b) Most everyone is working off misinformation pulled from inaccurate medical dramas and the assumptions made by the average fic writer. Again, not an issue. It's fiction. I just like... accuracy. So my brain took this and went ham.

Kay. So, there's this really cool thing about the brain that I'm starting to think isn't common knowledge? I'm kinda a nerd for weird medical things, and it's been a long time since my high school biology class where I first learned about this, so maybe it's just me. The brain doesn't have any pain receptors. None. Like, if you had just a living brain in the palm of your hand and you stabbed it or punched it or whatever, it wouldn't feel pain. Pressure maybe, since it still has touch receptors, but no pain whatsoever. The only pain receptors present around the vicinity of the brain are the ones around the brain.

This little fact led to a really cool and helpful medical advancement several years ago: this thing called awake craniotomies, or brain surgery where the patient is still conscious. The benefit is that it allows the surgical team to engage the patient and actively monitor cognitive function; this is a far step from waiting for the patient to wake up in order to determine if the surgeon done effed up and turned the patient into a vegetable - if they woke up at all, that is.

Originally this was practiced on epileptic patients bc, yanno, epilepsy. It's a really finicky condition, after all. Since then however we've managed to find other treatment options for epilepsy and other related conditions, so awake craniotomies (or conscious craniotomies as I call them, since it alliterates lol), so we've moved away from brain surgery there. Instead, awake craniotomies are now most often performed when removing or recessing a brain tumor. Again, it's a really finicky process, and the surgeon and their team really like being able to check on the patient during the whole process.

Before anyone freaks out about the pain receptors around the brain, there's an answer for that, too. A local anesthetic is used to completely numb the skull and scalp. Think of an epidural; it's the same idea.

Now, you may ask, how this all relates back to SW? Well, that's a great question lmaoooo. Now, in all of canon SW, there are only... seven (maybe eight) instances of a clone getting their chip removed. Tup, Fives, Rex, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Omega (and Crosshair if his chip actually was removed like he said, I haven't watched TBBS2 yet). Actually, did Kix? I don't remember. Anyway.

I'm operating off the assumption that SW medical knowledge/tech is about equal to our own - i.e. that they still use many of the same procedures/practices/techniques for most things bar canonical exceptions. My friend in the server however pointed out that they weren't sure any clone medic could perform a complex brain surgery. Now, that's a fair point. The Kaminoans wouldn't care to teach the medics how to perform those surgeries on each other; they're products, they can be replaced, so what's the point?

But. Here are my counterpoints to that.

First. In the event of an emergency, it would only make sense that a clone medic be prepared to perform any sort of necessary procedure on a natborn officer or even their Jedi general/commander in the event they could not make it to a medical station or a proper surgeon in time. If there were natborn medics trained in complicated procedures and stationed on the ships, then there's always the chance there would be far more clone medics than them, and thus if they die, the clone medics would need to be able to step up in their place. So. Clone medics can probably perform brain surgery.

Second. With Fives, Rex, and CF99 (minus Crosshair), they remove their chips via surgical droid/machine. In fact, both Rex and CF99 do so on a GAR class ship. This shows that not only did the clones have access to the necessary technology, but it could also be easily operated. And not only that, but the only thing they needed was a program to locate and remove the chip. I think the importance of the program is that the machine itself can't perform a Level 5 Atomic Scan, so the program is needed to triangulate the position of the chip for the surgical machine itself.

Now. As to why an awake craniotomy is the way to go. Again, it allows the team to actively monitor cognitive function. Only in extenuating circumstances will the patient be completely sedated. This could be preference on the patient's part or due to certain circumstances.

Look at Tup, for example. His chip was rotting in his skull, and it's treated like a tumor (technically it is). Keeping him awake risked damage to himself and others. In light of this, it was safer for him to remain fully sedated. Additionally, he probably couldn't be revived completely either due to the already existent brain damage. This is an extenuating circumstance. Note however that there was still a qualified individual present for the surgery: the AZI droid maybe Nale Se, maybe Fives, I legit don't remember I'm so sorry). Now, there is another side to Tup's case: the Kaminoans. Nale Se wouldn't have cared for Tup's continued functionality; she only wanted his chip. She would have kept him sedated out of convenience, because the intent was always to have him decommissioned anyway.

Now for Fives. Fives learned about the chips. He had his removed. Who helped him? AZI. However, my theory here is that it isn't actually AZI performing the surgeries. I think he just... holds the programs for various surgeries and programs the surgical machine. We don't see anything of Fives' actual chip removal procedure, only the aftermath. I hypothesize that Fives was awake in the machine however, just properly anesthetized by AZI - who, as a medical assistant droid, would most likely be programmed as an anesthesiologist - and also observed by AZI. What I'm saying is that AZI probably was monitoring Fives' cognitive functions while he underwent an awake craniotomy to remove the chip in his head.

Rex. We know nothing about that procedure, just that it happened (unless we do, idk). Either another clone medic helped him and was there to monitor cognitive function, or Rex involved the help of another droid in order to be properly anesthetized for the process. Given the intense nature of the circumstances, he wouldn't have wanted to be fully sedated for the process in case he had to respond quickly to the chaos - which he did, leading ultimately to him and Ahsoka escaping with their lives. So, he wouldn't have been monitored (except maybe by a droid), but he definitely wouldn't have been fully sedated, either.

Then for CF99. For these procedures, we see Tech program the machine and then stand watch as they go in. They aren't sedated, with the technical exception of Wrecker (iirc, he was stunned unconscious). It's not just caution or paranoia that makes him observe, and not even just his knowledge of what's happening: it's procedure. He's there, as the only one who would know how to check, monitoring the cognitive function of his family.

Now, the conclusion, lol.

I mentioned my two hypotheses earlier about why fandom as a whole writes the clones being completely sedated. After going through all of this, I'm leaning more towards a simple abundance of misinformation. It's technically and tactically safer and more correct for the clones to be awake for their chip removals, and in fact seems to be subtly portrayed in canon (though it's really written in a way that can be interpreted either way).

The moral of this story is that TV medical dramas are shit and should never be taken at face value. Honestly. No one wakes up after CPR. They remain unconscious for a while. Defibrillation doesn't wake a person up, either. If you're hit hard enough to be knocked unconscious, you have a concussion. It takes seven minutes to kill a person by choking them, not seven seconds, but you can make them pass out in seven seconds if you apply pressure to the write spots on their neck in order to cut blood flow to the brain. Stuff like that. Oh, and yeah: awake craniotomies are a thing and are the safe way to remove a clone's chip.

[thedreemer-artrequestsopen]

my Final Family Au!

(but it’s mostly me just explaining my design choices)

I’LL THINK OF A CREATIVE NAME, TRUST!! but it’s set during/slighty after episode 8 of season 3. I haven’t really thought of much plot wise, it’s mostly been silly little sceneries from my headcanons but, first things first, I’m redesigning the dolls they’re in! I think there could be a lot more nuance in what vessels they’re in! These are just my interpretations! Jake Wheeler is GOING to be in a good guy doll, but- seeing as good guy was such a large brand, it would be a good guy that already has a skin tone and hair color similar to his. Still in the Chucky mold. I don’t think I have to say much as to why this is really deep, but for so long Jake’s been trying to kill Chucky, and to be in something that looks so much like him… inside of the monster he’s being trying so desperately to destroy. the other idea is that it’s a unreleased/rare prototype for a slightly darker skinned doll or a rip off good guy all together! A lot of baby dolls have/had plush bodies. With plastic head, feet, and hands. which would make mobility difficult at first— but not impossible.

Devon is literally a Teddy Bear because “Fuck you Devon.” technically stuffed animals aren’t dolls. But I just like the idea of having different vessels, and seeing how you can become more human in them. Because truthfully it’s a scary thought, bonding with this empty husk. Your organs are in there, your soul. You start to feel pain and other human feelings more in more, while your skin sort of… morphs onto this form like a coat of paint. the drawing of Jake shown is him pretty far into his assimilation to the doll! His hair starts to curl up first probably. This is probably halfway assimilated And, I haven’t drawn Lexy but I think she could really work well staying as a marionette doll. All her life she’s felt controlled and tied down. Literally putting on a show for the press because of her mother. And being a slave (or puppet) to her addiction for so long! I didn’t have many ideas for Lexy, other than a fashion doll. But— seems too unoriginal, she’d look too close to Tiffany (BUT IF SOMEONE DOES WANNA MAKE IT WORK THEN GO AHEAD)

Basically I want my plot to be about Nica saving them all and taking them in, and maybe Nica or Andy— or hell even the couple from Bride researching Voodoo and trying to find the Trio’s bodies. the fic will have drawings btw!!! @high-functioning-fang1rl @barclaysangel @nicascurls @fairchilds-glasses

:3 SORRY FOR TAGGING I JUSYDFBSFZBS *dies*

[bunny-rambles]

“You watch yourself in fragments.”

characters; wanderer/scaramouche, gn reader

cw/tw; burn out, vent post, hurt/comfort, scara is a little teasing but he’s nice I promise

word count; 1.1k

notes; this one’s been in the drafts for a while and I had to post it so it would stop haunting my wips. it’s very personal tbh, and kind of explains why I took such a long break. thank you to venven for helping with the title and reading this over <33 please enjoy (read more function just isn’t working so I’m sorry </3)

Please reblog if you like this!!

‘I want to give up.’

The paper underneath you is blank, much like your mind. The clock ticks, mocking you with its monotonous sound that permeates the otherwise silent room. Your eyes are glazed over. This felt like hell.

The pen slips from your hand and you let it fall to the ground, watching as it rolls away on the floor. You wanted to scream. The deadline was tonight, and you hadn’t written a single thing.

This is supposed to be what you’re good at.

The only thing you could even call a talent was the way you could weave sentences together to create something beautiful, something wonderful - something better.

Your hand closes harshly around the neatly written words, destroying what little you had and throwing it across the room. It was hopeless. Nothing you made felt right anymore. Nothing was up to your standards. You just wanted to stop.

There’s no point to any of this.

Quietly, you stand, and leave.

The fresh air does little to quell your nerves and worries, your doubts still weighing heavy on your fragile shoulders. If anything, the serenity of your surroundings only makes you sink further into your thoughts, doing very little to distract you from your own self-inflicted demise.

Lightly, you drag your finger over the surface of the waterbank you were sitting by. When the calming ripples finally cease, your empty stare focuses on the now clear reflection in the water, only to see a pair of violet eyes staring back from behind.

“Frowning like that isn’t a good look, you know.” The man behind you drawled, folding his arms over his chest. You weren’t in the mood for his teasing, the look of mild shock on your face replaced with a sharp glare at the warbled figure in the river.

“Please just go away if you have nothing better to say. I don’t want to hear it right now.” Usually, the back and forth between you was playful, very rarely stepping over the line - you knew deep down he wouldn’t ever hurt you, not on purpose. That thought was solidified when his smug smirk changed to a frown of his own, his entire demeanour changing.

He turned away.

A shaky sigh left your lips, hugging your knees tight to your chest to try to soothe the sudden sharp pain stabbing your chest.

Oh.

He really didn’t have anything to say, huh? Well, whatever. It’s not like you cared, anyway. It’s not like he did, either…

The young man seated beside you cleared his throat quietly, your breath stilling at the sound. Oh.

“Talk to me.” His words were blunt, but the softness in his voice was undeniable.

You heave a heavy sigh. Where do you even start? And how do you even describe this to him - how do you put this sensation into words? Aren’t you supposed to be good at that? Or, you suppose, weren’t you? What kind of pathetic excuse of a human were you, when you couldn’t do a single thing right? And when you finally, finally could, it was never enough. Someone was always going to be better. So…

“What’s the point anymore…”

From the sound of your voice breaking, to the way your fists were clenching the grass underneath you so tightly your knuckles had become white, distressed was a term that was an understatement for what the wanderer beside you was seeing. Still, he said nothing, his reflection in the river blurry both by the unsteady water and your forming tears. “I used to be so good at things. People used to really care about what I had to say. Me! Can you believe that?” A shaky laugh left your lips. “Now, I… The art that I’m so familiar with - It feels like I’m a stranger in my own home. It doesn’t feel so welcoming and warm. Feels empty, and suffocating. And if I don’t belong at home…” Where do I belong?

You sniffle quietly, rubbing roughly at your wet eyes. “Sorry..”

Still, he’s quiet. Strange. He usually never shuts up. And now all you want is for him to spew an insult at you, or tell you to get over it and stop being pathetic. Or just… Something. Anything. When the silence finally started to become too much, he opened his mouth.

“This isn’t what I expected from you.” At least he’s being honest, you supposed. That thought alone made you scoff quietly to yourself. “Then again… You never are what I expect out of humans. Weak, selfish, cruel… No. You’re different.” The puppet chuckles. “Still annoying, though.”

Lightly, you shove his shoulder. “Not funny.” You lie, finally smiling. He considers this a small victory.

“You remind me of the handful of good humans I’ve met in my lifetime. They all had one thing in common.”

“And what’s that?”

“They were completely unique. Had their own way of doing things, and did it in a way no one expected. From the overly kind to the too smart for their own good, each of them excelled in whatever they did. And every single time, they doubted themselves, over and over. I’ve never understood it.” The mechanical life form shakes his head. “Always asking if they came off a certain way, or if what they did was good enough. It was always more than enough. But is it even important?”

“What?”

The uncrowned god turns to look at you. “Why does it matter if it’s enough for someone else? Aren’t you doing it for yourself, anyway?”

“I…” You’re at a loss for words.

“Being enough shouldn’t even come to mind. Why do the opinions of others matter so much? You know that deep down, you’re better than what you think. And if no one recognises that, it’s their loss.” A cold hand is set on top of your own, the weight comforting, grounding. “You’re enough for me, if it truly matters to you. But really, it shouldn’t. Do it for yourself, and if you enjoy it, if you like it, then it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks.”

For once, you have no comeback, especially when his fingers tighten around yours. There’s nothing more to say to that, other than, “You’re right. Thank you.” All you receive is a nod, and a gentle squeeze. “You’re nice when you want to be, you know?”

The one of many names scoffs. “Hah. Nice? I was simply just pointing out the obvious. Don’t think anything of it.” That makes you smile. He’s won the battle against yourself for now.

And so, troubled minds quieten and the riverbank stills once more. All is tranquil again. Until the next time. But if he is here with you, guiding you through these harsh storms and steering you away from the strikes of self doubt, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The two of you stay there until sunrise, the silence that was once crushing now a blanket of comfort, warm and loving. The ink-stained sky blends with the bright, golden light of the dawn - the world is bright again.

Hand in hand, you’re ready to face this new day.

[unicyclehippo]

reminder to self: finish the dang wash prompt

[have read it too many times & now my brain is fried so that’s it!! im done!! for @possibilistfanfiction​ the ray fic as promised, i hope u enjoy it!! for everyone else, if you think you’ve read this before, that’s because the start is functionally identical to the thing i posted a few weeks back for the “wash” prompt]

//

you should have listened to your brother. 

the thought makes you shudder and you ignore it valiantly as you start your morning, because at the heart of it, that’s what you do: you’re a runaway. 

hop out of bed; don’t think about it. make breakfast in your tiny kitchen, the overhead light a little dim but bright enough against blue pre-dawn morning; don’t think about it. get ready for work, check the to-do list note in your phone twice to make sure you’ve got everything you need; don’t think about it. not thinking about it works just fine until, asshole that he is, he calls you as you’re climbing into the car. 

you think about ignoring him but as much as he ticks you off—and you know that the first or maybe last words out of his mouth are gonna be, when are you coming home, ray—it’s been three weeks since the last time you spoke and you miss him. plus, it’s not as if he’s wrong (ugh). it is lonely here, sometimes, and you have friends closeby but no family, and your stomach hurt all last winter because no one wanted to learn to surf when the water was fuck-off cold and the jobs you got to cover those in-between months didn’t ever last long enough, and he’s right about all of that but he’s wrong about it not being worth it. he’s wrong about you needing to come home, because there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here and maybe, yeah, maybe that makes you selfish or reckless or any of the other things he’d called you in anger, regretted quickly, but the smell of seasalt and smog clings to you and you feel good, healthy, when you swing into the drivers seat of your car and excitement swells up inside of you—like always, every morning without fail—because this was never about running away, not really, it was always about this. about running to something, about having a different home, about making a place where you feel right in yourself, braver and better too. maybe when you explain that to him this time, for what feels like the hundredth time, he’ll get it. 

you put the phone in its clip, up on the dash, and answer his call. 

‘hey,’ he says, voice gravelly with the early hour and the crackle of your shitty reception. ‘didn’t think you were gonna pick up. figured you were still ignoring my calls.’

god, you miss him. but he’s your brother so you won’t ever say that except under pain of torture, maybe. Instead, you say, tone clipped,

‘thought about it.’ it’s not helpful to be short with him but hell, you answered, didn’t you? It doesn’t fall on you to fix all of this. 

he sits with that for a second, then clears his throat. you can picture him clear as day: he’ll be leaning back against the counter of his kitchen, arms folded, face folded up as he listens hard to every word. there’ll be coffee brewing in a pot, and all the stuff for the kids lunches laid out ready for the assembly line. 

he tries again. you love him for this, you admire him for this—not that you’ll ever admit it to him. he never stops trying. 

‘you off to work?’

‘yeah.’

‘how’s that going?’

for a second, there’s another short answer on your lips. something terse, something not quite unkind but not welcoming or inviting. but then you think about him standing in the kitchen pre-dawn making your sandwiches, day after day, and glance to the passenger seat to your bag where you tossed the sandwich you’d made this morning in your tiny kitchen—exactly the way he used to make it, and makes now for his son and daughter—and instead you say, 

‘i have a new student.’

‘oh? kid or adult class?’

‘adult.’ 

there’s a smile in his tone, just exactly as teasing as when you were fourteen and admitted to having a crush on sophie perez (a year older than you and so much cooler), when he says, ‘is she pretty?’

‘oh, come on marco.’

‘what! i’m just asking.’

‘you’re just being nosy is what you are.’

‘sorry, sorry,’ he laughs. ‘but that’s totally a yes, by the way.’

you roll your eyes. there’s not really a word for what beatrice is. pretty, yes, absolutely. but it’s sneaky, the ways in which she’s really stunning, and even after three sessions teaching her how to surf you still feel kinda knocked around by her, not quite able to find your feet. she’s so composed, always, that it makes you feel awkward. listens so intently to your instructions and advice that under that close attention you feel singular, like the only person in the world. and, you don’t tell him, cannot tell your brother without seeming like the world’s biggest weirdo, you’ve seen her smile two and a half times. the half had been an accident; you’d turned to her at just the right moment to witness it—she’d been looking at nothing in particular, an empty spot on the beach, eyes gone wistful—but it wasn’t for you, and it wasn’t exactly happy, so it doesn’t seem right to count it as a full third. each time she smiles, it makes you want to see another with a fierceness that startles you. you are no stranger to want, nor attraction, and you know that makes up part of your fascination with beatrice but, if that were not enough, there is even more to her. 

all the rest, your brother could wheedle out of you eventually, but this is something you keep locked tightly away, something you have not ever spoken to him about. 

you should, eventually. you will (you might). 

the first time you met beatrice, spoke with her after wading up and out of the hissing surf, with her lingering on the outskirts of your lessons to “inquire how to take part”—she’d taken the sheet you’d handed her and filled it out right there and then in careful script, beatrice, she/her, twenty four, england, never surfed before, email, phone number, emergency contact, the last of which had made her pause for a long time—something in you had recognised something in her. grief, still painful, had welled up in your chest, nailed your tongue to the roof of your mouth, stung in your eyes powerfully that you’d had to turn away and run your fingers through your hair, dig your heels into the sand, step back into the wet sand and the water pooling around your ankles. the ocean takes away everything you’re not ready to feel; while you are out there, it holds you up, weightless. two minutes into talking with beatrice, you know that she wants the same thing. 

none of which you particularly want to tell your brother, so you say, ‘yeah, she’s pretty.’

‘single?’

‘i haven’t asked.’

‘you should.’

‘should i?’ 

pulling neatly into the park by the boardwalk—your favourite, for no particular reason other than this was the same one you always take, the same one you took the first day you came here, ended up here—you turn off the car but don’t make any move to get out. the engine quietens, then goes silent. marco fills the silence. saying things like how long has it been since you went on a date and you never know unless you try. you pull the keys from the ignition, toss them into the little waterproof bag you’ll take down to the sand with you. sunscreen, food, first aid kit. 

‘what happened to, it’s time to come home?’ you interrupt his teasing. 

he sighs. the line crackles, weirdly high-pitched, as the kettle begins to make noise on his end. 

‘listen, ray. i miss you. i’m not gonna pretend that’s not true, or that i don’t worry about you all the time. and with all the shit that’s been going on lately… i want you nearby. but asim said, and i guess he might be right, that i’m being overprotective. and an ass.’

you’ve thought similar things about him before. twice, just this morning. but hearing him say it, voice warm and tired and a little ashamed, makes you want to take the first plane home and hug him until all the weird, unsettled, lonely parts of you find their place. like all it’ll take to fix everything is a hug from your big brother. but you know that isn’t true. knowing it makes you feel a little old and sad. resolute too, because you’re good here, better than you were. you made this place for yourself and you’re filling it with good, important things. 

that’s far too many feelings for four a.m. so you say, ‘say asim was right again,’ and marco laughs. and then, because he was open first, and that makes it easier to follow, to admit to your own missteps, mistakes, you say, ‘i think about it all the time. coming home, i mean. i love you guys, and i do miss you guys, and you’re right. it’s hard out here. but…i love it. my life, the beach.’ he laughs again at that, which is fair. you could have said one or the other; the beach is your life, after all. ‘hey marco, i gotta go. before the waves get tired.’

‘yeah. yeah, i get it. hey - talk later?’

‘yeah. anytime.’ 

‘love you. be safe out there.’

‘always am. love you too.’

//

beatrice is waiting on the sand when you finally get down there; she’s not looking for you, just watching the sun rise, and you’re going to call out to her when something changes—maybe some ephemeral thing, little more than a change in the quality of the light when you take a step closer; maybe the way she’s holding herself, one hand folded over her wrist where you’ve seen the black ink in the divot of her wrist, delicate letters small enough that you haven’t been able to read it when you’ve snuck a peek or two before. whatever it is, you decide to give her a second on her own. 

the sand is hot on the surface and cooler beneath. you shift your weight, dig your feet down until the sand covers the tops of your feet, just to give yourself something to do. and then you stare out over the ocean and breathe. 

it’s beautiful. it’s so fucking beautiful. you’ve known this was where you were gonna end up since you were eight years old and your cousin gabriel had pinned a photo of it to your wall—no one will ever consider it a masterwork of photography, that old blurred snapshot of sand and water and the sun, and just a tiny bit of his fingertip, no one but you because it had been his and he gave it to you, because he’d stood on the beach—maybe this beach, maybe right where you are now—and loved it so much he’d taken a photo of it and you’ve got the proof of it (proof of him, always) tucked into a book on your bedside. 

‘good morning.’

you drag your eyes away from the sunrise—super gorgeous, thin wispy clouds like cotton-candy, pink in the sunlight, striped across the distant horizon, and everything shimmering in what, logically, you know is the smog haze but for a second it can just be beautiful too—to find that beatrice has wandered up to join you. she’s watching you with the attentive curiosity you’ve come to expect—warmer than polite, cooler than inviting. 

‘hey, morning. sorry i’m late—got caught up talking to my brother.’

she nods her understanding. it has a thoughtful tilt to it, or maybe questioning. ‘does he live elsewhere in the world?’

‘excuse me?’

‘it’s early for a call. is he in another timezone?’

you don’t think she’s interrogating you, or she doesn’t mean to interrogate you. you actually think she’s trying to be nice and show interest, so you say, ‘well, he’s home—mexico—so… i think it’s an hour later for him. something like that. but he’s a get-up-and-go kinda guy—has been, ever since i took up surfing. he used to drive me to the water when i was a kid.’

‘older brother, then.’

‘only by a couple of years.’ you roll your eyes, ‘that’s all he needs to get up in my business.’

‘that’s what brothers are for. so i hear.’

‘true.’ you think about saying something more, because all you want to do right now is keep talking to her as long as possible, preferably forever, but that urge seems like a you problem, and something that’ll get washed away the second you dunk your head in the water. ‘okay! hey - mind taking this board and i’ll run back for the other one?’

when you return with your board, hauled down off the roof of your car, beatrice has set her sandals neatly beside her tote a few meters up from the tideline where it’ll all stay dry. you dump your bag right beside hers and jog to join her, check her out with a quick look. of the wetsuit, that is, that you had advised her to buy if surfing was something she wanted to keep doing. 

she crouches, wets her hands, and secures the leash of her board carefully around her ankle. 

‘good job!’ you compliment, because it’s four-something in the morning and, yeah, it’s your choice to get up this early but that doesn’t mean you’re firing on all cylinders yet. you want to say something impressive and kind and get her eyes on you because she’s pretty and interesting but, here’s the thing, most of the time you’re teaching children so the compliment comes out the way you would say it to little jayla (eight years old and nervous about everything and therefore, in your opinion, the bravest little soul in the world for keeping at it). 

beatrice looks over at you, amused, and you earn your third full smile from her. 

she’s laughing at you, definitely, which you don’t mind, have never minded when it comes to girls; years of report cards scrunched at the bottom of your bag, with comments amounting to smart enough but needs to spend more time listening and less time clowning around for the girls will back you up in that regard. your mami despaired of your grades and your attention (or lack of it) and she had chided you then, sat you down at the kitchen table opposite her as you made dinner together for the whole family, splitting the excess. she scolded—and pressed a ripped piece of bolillo into your hand to tide you over to dinner—she lamented—and passed over a bowl, diced tomatoes, crisp and red—and she talked to you about hard work and the importance of school and respect for your teachers and you know now that it was all love, that loud bright kitchen and how she made you handle it all together, space and work and life; you didn’t have the words to explain then—though you remember trying, loudly—that you knew, or thought, you were only really any good at two things, that most of the time you feel like you’re sleepwalking through your life and it’s only when you’re out there in the water, or making your friends laugh, that you feel totally real and vital and incredible. 

here, today, beatrice’s eyes are on you and you’ve made her smile (laugh, even). you feel invincible.

you laugh at yourself. run a hand through your hair. ‘you wouldn’t believe how many people put their wetsuits on backwards, or don’t bother with the leg rope, so. really, you’re doing great.’

she shrugs very slightly, cheeks gone a little pink under the compliment, or the sunrise, or maybe—a girl can dream—your singular attention. ‘thank you, then.’

‘sure,’ you say, and, ‘i can get your zip for you, if that’s okay? it’s not quite all the way up.’

‘thank you, yes.’ 

she turns away from you so you can fix it and you do, immediately and without lingering. she has freckles across her shoulders; the teeth of the zipper tug closed, swallow up the sight of them. you think, briefly, about kissing her there on the back of her neck, her shoulders, of taking a zip between your fingers and pulling it down. 

‘how does it feel? i know the wetsuits can be weird at first.’

‘it’s fine. i’ve worn stranger.’

you desperately want to ask for details but, aside from her first name, you don’t know anything much about her except that she wants to learn surfing, and probably the first time you ask for more information shouldn’t be about what she’s worn, even though your brain is filled with all kinds of theories. so instead you swallow back a flirty comment—also she is paying you to teach her, you remember abruptly, and maybe you should wait until after the lesson to flirt with her—and nod to the water. 

‘let’s hit it, then.’

the sand is golden, and the ocean is starting to turn gold under the sunlight, and you feel a bit golden too. you think idly, self-indulgent, you want heaven to be like this. a golden beach, with everyone you’ve ever loved on it with you. you take it in—a great start to the morning—and, smiling, run forward into the water.

/

she’s lighter, after surfing. 

in your first few lessons, you weren’t sure whether it would be like that for her. it’s not the physical part—she’s obviously fit and athletic enough to be good at surfing (you’ve noticed); there’s this…relaxation isn’t the right word, meditative is close but too dramatic for your tastes.

it’s like this. you paddle out to the calm, past the small waves that break close to the shoreline, and sit on your board and wait, legs dangling in the water, fingers drifting over the surface of it. maybe you sit in silence, maybe you chat with your buddy. and then you pick out a wave and then there’s this feeling when the wave swells and you catch it just right—you’re a little outside of yourself, entirely out of your head, and you experience it totally, trusting the wave to carry you and your body to move the way you’ve taught it to. you thought, when you first met her, that beatrice was too contained for that, every movement so precise, so controlled, intentional and intelligent and totally present, always watched, always watching herself. if there’s anyone who needs to get out of their head, you thought then and think now, it’s beatrice. 

and now. it’s only been four lessons, four days of knowing her split up over a couple weeks. you’re sitting on your board, legs in the water, cold spray in your face. august and siti—a couple of the regulars, friendly, you talk sometimes enough to say hello at the least, and lent august your sunscreen last week when they forgot to pack some even though it is not cheap—are a decent way further out. you see a good wave start to roll in and before you can say anything to beatrice, she’s already spotted it and moving. you stay where you are, watching as she catches it alone so you can check her form and you see it happen. she pops up smooth and rides it all the way in. a second later, you’re searching for a wave you can catch and wave at her to stay; you tumble off in the shallows, not your most graceful wave ever, and rush up to her. beatrice is smiling (four and a half, you think, totally brainless), big and so pleased, and you can’t help but grin back at her. 

‘you felt it!’ you call out—accuse, almost—when you’re close and she laughs. slicks her hair back off her face with a trembling hand. 

‘i - i think - yes, i did, yes.’ she’s breathing hard, from excitement you think—she’s caught waves before, bigger ones even, but this is different and you can tell. it’s entirely confirmed when she reaches out, clasps your wrist, and smiles—all for you. (five and a half.) ‘thank you, thank you.’

‘yes,’ you say, a little brainless, a little helpless. ‘of course.’

(fourteen years old, madly in love with sophie perez and madly heart-broken when you spotted her hand-in-hand with some scruffy-haired unfunny boy, your cousin gabriel had driven far across town to pick you up and, ignoring the impressive sulk you’d sunken into, packed you into his car and took you to the beach. he hadn’t spoken to you at all while you cried into his shoulder, his arm thin and strong around you, holding you tight, a tether, and when you roughly scrubbed the tears off your shame-hot face, he’d smacked your hands away and pulled a pack of tissues from his bag, cleaned you up carefully. nodded when he was done, approving. and then he stood and walked knee-deep into the water, not seeming to care that he was in jeans or that you’d have to get back into his car in wet clothes. 

love is like the ocean, he’d said. 

you remember rolling your sore eyes because at fourteen years old you already knew that love wasn’t the ocean. love was enjoying all the same music and turning up early to class to get the seat across from hers and the way your heart sped up when you passed her in the hall and staying up way too late dreaming of ways to make her laugh in class the next day. but gabriel was your favourite so you listened carefully, and you’re thankful for that now because you can remember so much. his dark curls, the smudge of his eyeshadow, how cold the water had been on your skin, how warm his arm had been around your shoulders.

not everyone loves her the same way. some people stay for a day and then head back to the mountains. he’d paused. mountains are, i dunno, a loveless marriage in this metaphor. you’d laughed at him. some people paint it, or make movies, but they never swim in it. some people sail out in their nice boats and go fishing. take what they want from her and head back to dry land. but for people like us? gabriel wore rings on his fingers and a shirt, tight, in a dusky kind of orange. love for us is like the ocean. we could drown in it and it wouldn’t be enough. he had a boyfriend in the city, and was beautiful and proud and kind, and you’d looked out over the calm sea and thought the world must be really different for him, vibrant and strange and wonderful. you felt special, nestled into his side. 

people like us, he’d said, and you remember because you remember everything about that afternoon, that in amongst his kindness, he’d sounded sad.)

you’re not fourteen anymore. you love the ocean more than you love anything else. when beatrice smiles at you, your heart swells, crashes, drags you under. you love her, too.

/

‘i love surfing,’ you tell her later, pleasantly tired. 

you trudge up toward the car park, stumble a little at the tide-mark where wet sand turns dry and gives way under your weight. you swear under your breath; every spare moment of your life has been spent at one beach or another, and you’d think that would earn some kind of loyalty perk, like, never tripping over your feet in front of cute girls, but apparently it doesn’t work that way. but beatrice only laughs, kindly, and puts a hand out to steady you and you don’t need it but you take it, of course. beatrice is slimmer than you, and a little taller, and far more graceful; you wonder if she’s ever tripped over anything in her life. her hand is cool from the water and calloused and scarred, which you didn’t entirely expect but makes a kind of sense in the collage you’re putting together in your head of what little scraps of information she’s given you.

beatrice takes her hand back; you keep your observations to yourself. 

‘you love surfing,’ she prompts. and then, ‘i’m starting to love it too, i think.’

‘it’s okay if you don’t, i won’t think less of you,’ you say, only lying a little bit, which you think she knows because she arches an eyebrow in your direction. you grin back. ‘of course i hope you do. but if you’re only coming to lessons for my many charms, i completely understand.’

‘is it hard? surfing, with such a large head?’ she snarks, unimpressed but eyes bright.

‘god never gives us more than we can handle,’ you say, absolutely facetious, absolutely cocky. she looks away. you put “doesn’t like jokes about god” in the collage of beatrice and move on. ‘you thanked me. earlier. you don’t need to. you’re paying me, first of all,’ you tease, ‘but. i love surfing for what it is, for myself, out there alone. i love every bit of it. but the teaching part… i didn’t expect to love that. it’s turned out to be so cool. getting to know all kinds of people, introduce them to surfing. and the water, too, sometimes. watching them fall in love with…’ 

you stop at the rocks and look behind you. the strip of sand, the greedy suck of the tide crawling higher up the beach, the shimmering green-glass sea.

‘with all of that.’

you think about being embarrassed about your tone—way too sincere, way too holy—but when you meet her eyes you see she understand this, too: that holy can be found outside the cathedral, that hymns can be the raucous gull shriek and wave crash and breath. 

‘getting to partake, and teach, and do what i love every day? honestly my genuine pleasure.’

the words bring something complicated to her face. sad? wistful? a little angry, definitely. her eyes return to the view; you stay looking at her, not keen to lose whatever she might say to the crash and hiss of the waves. 

‘i wish…’ she holds herself still. she’s lost the lightness surfing brought her; you don’t know if it’s your fault, you hope it isn’t, or if it was never going to last very long for her. ‘i wish i had that.’

if you were thinking about it properly, you don’t know beatrice or her situation well enough to give advice. but you like her, and you want to be able to help, and you get the impossibly strong (if slightly uncertain) vibe of queerness absolutely radiating off her and that you understand. plus, surfing makes you brave—a little stupid in that invincible way, like nothing can hurt you, like nothing can truly go wrong, like anything that does go wrong can be fixed—so, picking up your board again, you head off toward your car once more and she follows. 

as you walk, you say, ‘i think you can have it. i think you can make it. joy, passions, a life you want to live… that doesn’t fall out of the sky, you know?’ she flinches at that but you keep going, since you already dove in. ‘most of the time, you have to work for it. all of the time, it’s about making decisions and figuring out what’s important. figuring out who you are—how you feel, how you want to exist, what you want to do. and then you have to find your way there.’ scraping your fingers through your hair, pushing it back out of your eyes, you take a second to think. ‘once you know the life you want to have, you can go out and get it. a little at a time.’

she stops where the sand hits concrete, which you get. the beach feels worlds away from reality, sometimes, and you get wanting to stay there as long as possible. everything seems smaller, compared to the ocean. more manageable. you stand there with her.

‘what if what i want is impossible?’

‘…damn. great question. i don’t know. set yourself an easier goal?’ that startles her, and for a moment you think it would have been better to be gentle or sincere but then she laughs, louder than before. god, you think, thank you for letting me meet her. thank you for letting me make her laugh. ‘i don’t always turn into a life coach and give unasked for advice after surfing, i swear. it costs ten bucks more for that package, if you want to spring for that next time, but hey, first one for free.’

‘perhaps i will. you seem to have all the answers.’

‘maybe not all of them but yeah, i know some stuff.’ you let sincerity bleed through, here, because you joke around but there’s something serious and seriously healing about being with other people, being able to be open and honest with them, and you can be that for beatrice, if she wants. 

‘what about you?’

‘what about me?’

‘you made the decision to come here,’ beatrice says, with that faintly accusing, faintly interrogative tone she gets. ‘why?’ 

ah. here is what your invincibility gets you—the sting of salt in your eyes; a heavy pressure against your head, your ears, like you’ve dunked you head beneath the waves and all you can hear is the slam of your pulse; and that feeling—one that doesn’t hit so often anymore—that you are just one little creature treading water at the top of the vast ocean, alone, with no one around to help you out. 

it only lasts for a few seconds. 

you’ve talked to people, on and off, for a few years. and you know how to ground yourself in the here and now—the heat of the sand, the sun on your shoulders, your hair drying into careless waves and curling a little around your ears, tickling your jaw, the taste of salt and lip balm when you lick your lips, the click of your wrist when you flex it. 

you step off the sand and into the parking lot, toward your car. for a minute, you work in silence getting your board up onto the rack; the work helps but the collar of your wetsuit is soaked and heavy, tight around your throat. when you turn back to help beatrice with her board, you grab for the zipper and tug it down an inch, let it slacken so you can breathe better. 

it has been a long enough delay in answering her that she’s starting to make assumptions, observations of her own. she also has the faintly horrified look of someone who has stepped in something gross—dog shit, or, in this case, brought up a more deeply personal conversation than she was prepared for—and looks like she’s searching desperately for a way to change the subject. but it was a direct question, an honest one and not unfair, not one you’re unhappy answering, so you say, 

‘when i say you make decisions, choices…things happen to us in life and we can’t control that shit. but you get to decide what to do after that. something… something kinda rough happened in my life.’ you look at her, and think of a grief so profound that you have to wear it on your skin. you flex your hands, and look down at the tattoo on her wrist that you still haven’t taken the time to examine, not visible under the sleeve of her wetsuit. ‘my cousin died,’ you tell her. ‘he was really important to me. and after that, i chose to come here. left my hometown, my family, and started again. i’d wanted to do it for ages and i guess i realised this was the only life i was gonna get. so here i am. and that,’ you say, tone much lighter, ‘is all you’re getting out of me this morning. you know how it goes—just a little of a great thing at a time. can’t risk you getting sick of me, can i?’ 

beatrice looks at you for a long moment, fingers resting on her wrist. eventually, she shakes her head, passes over her board. ‘i’m not sick of you.’’

‘oh yeah?’ you hoist up the board and fix it in place. when you look back over your shoulder, you mean to say something teasing but lose your head because she’s looking at you—your back, your arms. you flex a little more than you need to and her eyes dart to your muscles, your wrists, and linger on your tattooed hands. 

she turns away with pink cheeks you’re certain isn’t the sun’s fault. clasps her hands behind her back. 

‘thank you,’ she says, sincerely. ‘for sharing that with me.’

‘sure, of course.’ it’s not really an of course. you can count on two hands the number of people you would talk to about gabriel. but it’s an of course for her. you don’t think too hard about it. 

‘and for the lessons.’

that makes you laugh. ‘the ones you are paying for? you’re welcome.’  it’s kind of obvious at this point that she’s just looking for things to say, to hang out a little longer, and you take pity on her. and also, you want to spend more time with her too so, hey, works out perfectly. ‘if you’re not busy, if you don’t have to run off, maybe we can talk some more? i don’t have to be anywhere for a while and there’s this place down the road—a few minutes that way, walking distance, easy. decent coffee, great view. we could get coffee. breakfast, even.’

beatrice turns super slowly and stiffly to look in the direction you point. it’s a long, long moment before she looks at you.

‘as a date?’

‘hopefully, yeah.’

‘oh.’ her eyes dart around the mostly empty parking lot—it can’t be later than six, if that—and suddenly contained seems a little more like hidden. ‘I’m—that’s kind of you—’ she swallows. sets her shoulders, her jaw, and meets your eyes. ‘i have a partner.’

‘that makes sense.’ you wonder, briefly, what her partner is like. you hope they’re stoic and serious as beatrice is, because if they’re hot and funny like you it’ll be vaguely devastating. maybe you’ll get to meet them. ‘as friends, then.’ beatrice hesitates. ‘would your partner be cool with that?’

beatrice smiles again, one of those not-for-you smiles. you think again, more fervently, that you’d like to meet her partner—they must be something seriously special to have captured beatrice’s attention, first of all, but to get her to smile like that… 

‘she’d be delighted, actually.’ she touches her wrist and nods. ‘yes. thank you. i - we - can do that. get coffee.’

she makes it sound revolutionary, like she’s never had coffee before, which you know is not the case because you’d mentioned, offhand, that if one more goddamn politician or bank twitter account advised people to save money and make coffee at home you were gonna lose it, and she’d agreed that she preferred homemade tea and store-bought coffee, and mentioned an article she’d read on how coffee was produced and how it worked, which she though was “quite interesting” and when she forwarded it to your e-mail it wasn’t a think piece like you’d been expecting but rather a fourteen page research article, peer-reviewed, on the social aspects of caffeine consumption, or something like that. there’s genuine nerves in her rigid posture, and you think of how revolutionary, world-changing, bold, fucking terrifying and a little bloody it’s been to get here, where you’re standing now. 

‘cool. if you’ve got time after, there’s this surf shop—it’s a bit of a hike but,’ you flick your eyes to the cloudless blue sky overhead. ‘nice day for it. we can look at a couple of boards for you. i’m happy to go with you, help you find something good. borrowing a board is fine while you’re learning but it’ll be easier and feel better when you’ve got one that’s properly suited to you.’

she nods seriously, the way she always does when you talk about surfing, student to teacher. ‘i - would like that.’ 

‘yeah? awesome, alright!’ 

//

the cafe is a decent size and decently popular, which normally makes it hard to get a seat sometimes but today is a day of miracles and a couple is clearing out right as you get in, freeing up a table in the laneway. it’s in a good spot, shaded by one of the wide umbrellas and not in the way of the servers, so you sit sideways in your chair and happily stretch out your legs, pluck off your sunglasses and hang them off the collar of your t-shirt. opposite, beatrice tucks herself into her seat prim and proper, no surprises there; what does surprise you is how still she sits and how, even though you know that she agreed—wants—to be here, it’s like she’s trying to go invisible. 

the server who brings out your drinks is young and harried, doesn’t even pause when you thank him. you’d ordered an espresso, and beatrice had asked for the same, but now she’s staring down at it doubtfully.

‘did you want something else?’

she shakes her head no. ‘i’d like to try it. this is your preferred coffee?’

‘my abuelo makes the meanest espresso you’ve ever had. this is water in comparison.’

‘oh.’

‘but it’s a nice place and i like the beans they use here. i really should ask what their blend is one of these days but,’ you shrug. ‘i don’t have a machine at home so what’s the point, right?’

she nods. picks up the little cup and sips at it. immediately, her nose wrinkles and her lips twist and her perfect posture breaks for a second as she bodily fights the urge to say, presumably, judging by her grimace, ‘yuck!’ she lowers it but doesn’t set it down, like it would be impolite to abandon it immediately, and watches with the tiniest grimace as you drink it happily. 

‘not for you?’

‘at risk of sounding like a stereotype, i am more of a tea drinker. this is…rather a powerful taste.’ she looks a little guilty setting it back down. ‘do you mind if i order something else?’

‘no, course not. but i might judge you on what you get,’ you tease, grinning, and she just rolls her eyes, nods. you split your attention between enjoying the morning and watching the line creep forward until she’s at the register, shake your head when she folds another note into the tip jar. 

she comes back to the table with another coffee—an oatmilk latte, with lavender of all things—and, as promised, you tease her gently about it.

‘really settling in, aren’t you? very LA of you,’ you say, and pretend to gag. ‘lavender. gross.’

beatrice smiles over the lip of her cup, shakes her head. ‘your favourite drink tastes like battery acid, i don’t think your opinion counts.’

‘ouch.’ 

‘you mentioned your abuelo,’ she says. ‘do you have much family?’

talking about family is easy, even if beatrice does make it a little of an interrogation—she gets everyone’s names and ages, nodding with this intense look in her eyes like she’s filing it away somewhere in her brain, like if you never spoke again and ran into each other in ten years she would still remember. you don’t have anything to hide, happy to tell her: yes, you’ve been here a while, a little over five years; surfing has always been your favourite thing to do; no, it’s not your only job, you have a very boring desk job but the boring bits are compensated by the fact that you get to work from home and your boss is kind of amazing about letting you take your afternoon run down to the beach and back; yes, you’re queer, you’ve known forever and so has your family, and yes they’re fine with it, very supportive, and they love you the same as they always did after you came out. 

‘barely needed to, really. my mami said she knew since i was like ten, eleven, maybe. all because i followed my tennis coach around like a duckling, which makes sense because i can’t think of why else i would play tennis, it fucking sucks.’ beatrice sips guardedly at her coffee, looking away, and it’s so carefully inoffensive that you have to laugh. ‘tell me you don’t love tennis, beatrice, please.’

she shrugs carefully. ‘i’ve enjoyed it in the past. both playing and spectating.’

you groan. ‘no, beatrice! christ.’

‘it’s an olympic sport—‘

‘it’s dead boring,’ you insist.

beatrice frowns at you, considering. ‘you’re bad at it,’ she announces after a moment, very confident. ‘if you were better at it, perhaps you’d enjoy it more.’ you laugh, shrug a little, because she’s hit the nail on the head. she continues, ‘to its credit, tennis has serena williams, the most incredible athlete—‘

‘messi.’

‘team sport,’ she counters, and you cede the point with a nod.

‘certainly she’s the greatest tennis player of all time—‘

‘oh undoubtedly.’

‘—and it’s also one of the only sports that pays men and women equal prize money, and has mixed competitions.’

‘great points,’ you allow. ‘and yet, somehow it’s still fucking boring.’ beatrice fully scowls, shaking her head, and you have to ask, ‘are you rethinking being friends with me?’ 

she relents after a moment. sets down her drink with a sigh. ‘we can be friends,’ she tells you after a moment. ‘so long as we’re on the same page regarding serena williams.’

‘i’d love to regard serena williams.’

‘you should watch tennis, then,’ beatrice tells you bluntly, and smiles, pleased, when you laugh hard at that.

‘okay. you know everything about me now so what about you?’

‘what about me?’

you push a hand through your hair, ruffle it; her eyes follow the movement, your hands, and then she stares down at her coffee. ‘how long have you been in LA?’ 

‘a month. perhaps a little less.’

‘and you came here because…?’ when she hesitates, you say, ‘wait, wait, let me guess—you’re going to be in movies, right?’ she laughs like that’s ridiculous—even if one in five people you meet here is an aspiring actor, and none of them as compelling or, honestly, attractive as beatrice is—and relaxes. ‘ok, not movies. tv?’

‘no, i’m not here to act. i’m here to…’ she picks up a knife off the table, turns the cutlery smoothly between her fingers. ‘settle, i suppose. i’ve been travelling for some time.’

‘oh yeah? where to?’ 

it takes a little nudging for her to get going but when she does, she speaks very sincerely of the world, of its people and religions, of sights natural and man-made. she’s light on details but you can tell that the travel was important and life-changing, which you sort of understand. you haven’t been many places but every town away from where you grew up felt like a whole new world, like freedom, and you can only imagine that beatrice’s travelling was like that but no doubt on a far grander scale. 

‘and your partner? what are they like?’ you ask, and immediately know that you’ve fucked up, because beatrice looks abruptly striken. ‘sorry, i -‘

‘no. it’s fine. she - ‘ a little of the horror in her fades the moment she says she, like even the thought of her partner is enough to soothe, but most of it stays. she picks up one of the paper napkins, twists it harshly between her fingers. ‘she’s sick.’

sick, she says, voice thick, unsteady. it occurs to you that she’s lying, trying to soften the blow or maybe deny it to herself again, but beatrice doesn’t seem like a liar. you choose to believe her. this is what it was, you realise. the source of that grief you’d felt, seen, ever since you first met her. you recognise the grief in her eyes—loss, fear, confusion too, like she doesn’t know quite what to do with herself. you remember that. the fog, the ache, when he was gone like an organ removed and your life having to close and heal around the lack. trying to find something that filled in that empty space, or fit enough that it didn’t hurt so much. 

love for us is like the ocean. that’s true for you, then and now. you don’t think it’s the same for beatrice. 

there’s love in every part of her—the joy and the waiting, the grief and the hurting—and there’s a cross around her neck that drags low, heavy, and there are words on her wrist that stand out stark against her skin and you think for beatrice love is like religion, holy, dedicated, faithful. you’re terrified that she’s waiting for a miracle that will never come; you hope, of course you hope and will pray for it tonight, that she gets it.

it’s also far too much to consider on a weekday before coffee, and you’ve already planned to keep her in your life in whatever capacity you can, so. you can talk about it later. 

‘oh. that’s -’ beatrice looks like if you say another word she’s gonna bolt; if she does, you’re not sure that she’ll come to her next lesson, even if she has already paid for it. instead of condolences or well wishes, you say, ‘do you wanna hear about the time i hopped a fence and ripped my pants? right in the butt.’

she wasn’t expecting that in the slightest, obviously. a small smile curls her lips upwards and she resettles, looking dramatically less like she’s going to flee. ‘yes. that sounds very amusing.’

‘it’s funny now, sure, but back then? first of all, i got teased a lot. and second, it fucking stung,’ you bemoan, grinning when she looks a little unsure of whether this was, like, the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. she relaxes a little more and you thank god and your parents and brother that you get to be the person you are, someone who can make other people laugh. that’s not a bad life–surfing at the beach, a boring job, and making your friends laugh? not bad at all. 

‘sounds like a pain in the ass.’ beatrice says, looking very pleased with her joke when it makes you groan, which is a lot better than her looking devastated. ‘what happened?’

‘usual idiot kid stuff. playing footy with my brother, kicked the ball over the neighbours fence. i thought i could jump it, get it back for us, and i did. mostly,’ you add after a tiny pause. then, slyly, you say, ‘the only reason i didn’t rip my boxers and my pants is because i was going commando.’

‘no.’ 

‘better a cut up my ass than ruining my good boxers,’ you wink, and beatrice laughs.

it’s just as easy as that to turn the conversation to lighter topics. she knows what you’re doing—you can tell, because her smile is occasionally too grateful than is deserved for just a chat over coffee—but she allows you to do it, and all too soon it’s been an hour and she’s buying you a second coffee, takeaway this time, and tipping, like, two hundred per cent with the most pristine notes you’ve ever seen tucked away in this slim handsome wallet, and you’re walking lazily, slowly back the way you’d come toward the beach. it’s not really a surprise that she declines the offer of heading to the surf shop—she still seems a bit unsteady after the mention of her partner—and you’re a little worried that she’ll disappear from your life now so you slow your pace when you see your car, twirl your keys around your finger. 

‘what is it, ray?’ she asks, a touch cautious but mostly good-natured, curious. 

‘busted. i was just thinking… you have a partner—major bummer, by the way,’ you tease, which is a fucking risk, but she manages a tiny smile. ‘mostly for you, because i was gonna ask you out and it would’ve been a good time, i know all the coolest places in LA.’ her cheeks go a little pink but she’s still smiling, so, ‘so despite being heart-broken, i’m going to this party tomorrow night. just a small thing, house party with a bunch of folks i go surfing with. you’ll probably meet most of them, if you keep up the dawn patrol, but it might be nice to get to know them out of the water. y’know, wearing clothes.’ much more seriously, much more sincerely, you tell her, ‘it’s absolutely cool if you want to be with your partner, or if you’re not going out much, but i wanted to invite you anyway. i think you’d enjoy it. very casual scene—music, some beers, a disproportionate amount of queer folk. plus, i’ll be there looking hot, that’s always a plus. you can be my wingwoman!’

beatrice frowns, considering her words carefully. ‘my partner is… she’s in a speciality hospital so i don’t get to visit her. i - promised her i would have some fun,’ she tells you, fingers brushing against her wrist. in this life, you’ve managed to read now, sitting opposite her for an hour in the morning sunlight, drinking coffee that almost tastes like home, sitting in a body and a life that entirely feels at home, and you look across at beatrice and see someone who is almost there. almost certain, almost sure, almost happy. ‘yes,’ she says, after taking a bolstering breath. brave, you think, with sudden fondness, protective. it comes to you, a splinter of a memory, being afraid of the ocean; gabriel plunging in ahead of you with such joy that you forgot. ‘yes,’ she says again, ‘i’d love to come to the party.’

‘amazing!’ 

‘and, while i find it difficult to imagine you would have a problem finding people to go on dates with you, yes, i will be your…wingwoman, if you require it. what is the dress code?’

‘too hot for leather, unfortunately,’ you tease, and have the extreme delight of watching beatrice stumble over literally nothing, ears going pink. so, so valiantly you manage to not comment on it. instead, you say, ‘wear whatever makes you feel good and happy. hot, if you want to feel hot. that’s always the rule.’

‘you get to decide what you do.’ it takes you a second to place her words—they’re your words, from this morning, which makes you smile because she’s quoting you, very seriously and kindly like that actually helped her, maybe. ‘i do best with rules, or a guideline,’ she mutters, but sets her shoulders and nods, decisive. ‘i’ll find something to wear. you have my number.’

‘from your form, i do, yeah. it’s cool if i text you?’

‘yes.’

‘alright. awesome, i’ll pin the address for you.’

‘good.’ 

beatrice walks you all the way to your car, shakes your hand like you’ve just concluded a job interview, and then continues on quickly. she’s got a white-knuckle grip on the handle of her tote bag and walks away with this quick, neat stride that makes you feel self-conscious about your own walk, like maybe you’ve been doing it wrong for your whole life. more importantly, there’s about a thirty per cent change that beatrice will actually turn up at this party but you’ve hoped for things with worse odds that were way less important to you than this, so you easily, recklessly hope that she’ll turn up. 

//

the likelihood of beatrice actually showing up is still low, you remind yourself, even though she had texted this morning to accept and had thanked you very sincerely - and formally - for the invitation. the uber drops you off on the corner where you had agreed to meet and you hop out, saying a cheerful goodbye to your driver, rajeev, who had taken one look at you and nodded and switched his playlist to something titled GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS which…accurate. he totally earned his five stars and you’re clicking through to leave a quick review—clean car, GREAT music—when beatrice calls your name. 

‘hey! you came!’

beatrice strides up the street to join you. the timing of her arrival three seconds after yours is odd enough that, for a second, you wonder if she’s been waiting and for how long. then, you get distracted by beatrice in her gay ass outfit—lightwash jeans, loose, that fall to her ankles; a soft-looking crewneck, blue; and birkenstocks that are either brand new or excruciatingly well-cared for, with not a speck of dirt on the white sandals—and realise you’ve made a huge mistake. there’s no way beatrice can be your wingwoman. every queer woman in this house will flock to her and her damn british accent and her freckles and her polite, comfortable, slightly masculine air, and the way she looks at everyone like they’re important. god. beatrice is devastating at four in the morning in a wetsuit, hair slicked back with ocean water; she’s devastating now, with the sleeves of her crew folded just once, precisely, enough to show off the dip of her wrists, and her hair pinned up in a pristine bun. 

she stops mid-step, looks you up and down, and you stop calling yourself an idiot long enough to preen. with beatrice coming tonight, you felt like getting a little dressy and picked everything with slightly more care, ending up in a satin-type top you’ve tucked into high-waisted pants. it drapes open rather handsomely almost to your belly button—you’ve only done up half the buttons tonight, because you believe sincerely in being god’s gift to women and it’s your duty to parade around with a little skin showing, enough to tantalize. maybe a little slutty, just for fun. you’ve got a few chains hanging around your neck, and some rings on your fingers. 

‘oh, i am gay,’ beatrice mutters when she gets a good look at you. ‘sorry - that’s,’

you wave off her apology or whatever she’s going to say, because a compliment is a compliment and that is a damn good compliment, especially coming from her. 

‘delighted to be of service, honestly. any time you need reminding.’ you stroll over to greet her properly—not a hug, but an obvious once over, so she can see how much you approve of her look too, and then a tap to her elbow in hello—and she examines you a second time, looking marginally less embarrassed to get caught. this time, her eyes linger on your necklaces; no, your cross. 

‘catholic?’ 

‘born and raised. you?’ 

she only nods, lips pursed. glancing around, she says, ‘the party is around here?’

‘yeah. oh, yeah, it’s on this street. one minute walk, maybe two.’ she looks a little confused and you admit, ‘i wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to come. i wanted to meet up with you first, make sure you were comfortable.’

rather than being offended, beatrice relaxes. ‘that’s kind of you.’

‘well, i want you to have fun. it will be fun,’ you insist, and start in the direction of luis’s place. ‘i’ll take care of you tonight, i promise—you can drink, if you want, or smoke. no pressure. i’ll stay sober anyway. but what i really want is to introduce you to my friends, i really think you’ll like them.’

‘because we’re all queer?’ beatrice guesses, a note of something odd in her tone. it’s not suspicion, but something akin to it. 

‘yeah, sure. i know what it’s like moving to a new place and not knowing anyone, it’s rough. especially for us,’ you say, light on the emphasis but apparent enough that beatrice looks at you again, and nods to herself. ‘but aside from being queer, i just really think you’ll like them. luis is the one hosting tonight. they’re super smart, they’re finishing a phd in anthropology, movement in borderlands—oh, and they will offer you weed every half hour but that’s not you, and you don’t have to accept, it’s just their idea of hospitality.’ beatrice nods very solemnly. you can practically hear the information being locked away in her brain and the image makes you smile. ‘it’s this one, up ahead.’

as promised, the party is pretty chill—low lights, not too packed, good music. it’s a really nice night and there are a few folk standing around on the porch, drinks in hand; when you get in, you’ll probably find most of the guests have spilled out into the back yard. plus, you’re only a few streets back from the beach—based on the last few parties luis has hosted, the beach is where you’ll end up in a few hours. 

beatrice stops outside the house, stares in through the open door. she touches two fingers to her wrist. you stand with her, beside her, and part of you aches because you know that there is someone else who should be here, who she wants very badly to be here, and it seems terribly unfair that something this simple - a party, new friends, the distant sound of the ocean - isn't simple at all.

‘all good?’

‘thank you,’ she says, softly. ‘for inviting me. and don’t say you need a wingwoman because i sincerely doubt that.’

you grin. run a hand through your hair in a way that makes you look particularly douchey, according to your ex. ‘thanks. i appreciate that. and no, i don’t need a wingwoman but it can’t hurt... except if the girls hear that accent, actually,’ you say with a thoughtful frown, like it’s only occurring to you now that beatrice is hot. you step in front of her like you’re blocking her way to the house, even as you back up toward the house, the party. ‘this is bad, i’ve made a huge mistake, you gotta go,' you insist, teasingly.

beatrice laughs and follows you in.

[ashe-smash]

cw: implied gochi x reader, (afab) reader who menstruates, period sex, no mention of birth control or protection, tiny mention of breeding kink kinda ?

A/N: Idk what this is, it’s just been sitting in my drafts for ages and I need it to not be rotting there anymore. It’s not unedited but it’s been sitting around for a while so there may be overlooked mistakes.

Thinking about how Saiyans probably aren’t phased by a little blood during sex when it’s your time of the month.

Specifically thinking about Goku.

You’re curled up in bed waiting for the pain reliever to kick in. Goku comes in, particularly riled up about something- probably coming off the heels of a training session or fight.

Goku’s libido is just as insatiable as his appetite. He’s got all this energy buzzing around inside him and this opportunity is far too perfect to resist to expel it. “Chi said you weren’t feeling well.” He says as he slips into the bed with you.

“Cramps.” You whine. You should protest about him being sweaty but he's all warm as he snuggles up to you. You really can’t bring yourself to complain about it but in your lethargic state, you really can’t bring yourself too.

You’d change the sheets and take a shower after a nap.

His hands are big and warm and feel nice when he kneads your hips and tummy. But you do whine a little when he starts getting a little handsier. Goku wasn’t exactly what you’d call subtle, especially in situations like this.

“We can’t- I’m on my period.“ You squirm, but wriggling out of his hold is a lost cause. Honestly if you weren’t as hazy, you’d have realized he probably already knew that- saiyans have a very sharp sense of smell.

“And?” Goku presses the heel of his palm into your soft stomach.

That makes you pause. Goku isn’t an idiot, but sometimes- unless it involves fighting, some things just slip his mind.

“M bleeding.” You remind him.

Goku shrugs around you. “You really think a little blood bothers me?” Your face wrinkles. Periods are completely normal bodily functions but they’re still… gross. His nose meets your cheek, nudging it. “It’ll make you feel better won’t it?”

You’re eventually bullied onto your front with a pillow under your hips.

(We’ll skip having to remove menstrual products, can you imagine having to explain what a diva cup is to him?)

He certainly wouldn’t mind eating you out either, you’re glad you can’t see him cause it’d be just too embarrassing. Now, I firmly believe Goku eats pussy as eagerly as he eats anything. Blood isn’t going to change that, you’ve seen him eat raw meat before.

He doesn’t stop when you cum either. It’s too much and you have to beg him to move on, not that he needs much convincing to slot himself into you.

You’re so sensitive and the slide of his cock against your walls is so much more. You just have to lay there and take it, but that’s okay because you don’t have that much energy to do so. The pressure of his weight on your hips eases the ache there.

Goku is always a little unintentionally rough. He gets overeager and forgets himself. But you can tell he’s trying to be gentle.

By the time both of you are satisfied and Goku flops down next to you so you can see him again, he looks feral. Blood is smeared on his cheeks, his hands and up his forearms. His pelvis looks like a massacre and based on the stickiness on your thighs, you’d hazard a guess that you look similar.

A cheeky grin cracks over his face before he rolls over closer to you, forcing you into a kiss. You’re tired, too tired to continue to fight him. “You’re so nasty.” You whine.

“Feel better now, sweetie?” Goku pulls your sticky sweaty body to his. He kneads at your hip and tummy best he can with one hand, the other wrapped around you to keep you close.

“Mhm… better but gross…. And tired. We need a bath and then a nap?”

He stretches a little. “Gimme a minute.” You pout at him. It’s not a matter of his stamina, he’s just being a bit lazy. Wants to have you close for a little longer, even if you’re absolutely filthy- and not in the good way. Sticky.

ChiChi would surely scold her husband for staining the bedding, even if technically it was you that caused it. She knows it was only a byproduct of her husband’s meddling, and would never blame you for it. Send you off for a hot bath while she makes him strip the bed for washing.

Goku joins you for round two of course, followed by a snack and the nap after. You won’t admit it aloud, for fear it’ll only encourage him more but you do feel better.

He’ll also tote you around cause you don’t feel good but he will try to steal off your snacks. And lay on you. And joke (you think it’s a joke, he does not) that he can help make your period go away for a while if you let him.

Extra: I think Saiyans know when you’re going to get your period. Just instinctually- they’re all about emotions and the moon and stuff ?

[coramatus]

Black Reshiram AU - part 3

Part 1 - Part 2

Emmet has to take a few days off work. The revelations that Ingo shared were just too much.

He spends the time cuddling his and his brother’s Pokémon teams. The gathered Pokémon do their best to take care of him in turn, keeping him fed and functional. They can do little more than watch in sadness as he cries.

To know that he was so close to getting his brother back, only to lose him to the machinations of higher powers…

It’s not fair… why did they both have to suffer for another’s amusement?

If Emmet ever meets Reshiram, he’ll… Well, he won’t be able to do anything really. But he’ll certainly give that feathery jerk a piece of his mind, Legendary Unovan dragon or not! And to think he liked Reshiram too!

It’s a lot to reconcile.

He wonders how Ingo is doing…

Ingo is not faring much better. He hides away in a cave, curled up in his dragon form, struggling to come to terms with his new reality.

But it feels impossible. Anger and guilt keep bubbling up, constantly reminding him of the unfairness of it all. Why should he have to suffer for the poor choices of others?

But that’s not fair either.

Everyone made the choices they thought best. His parent did it out of a love so misguided and oblivious that only a near-immortal could conceive it. And the old Ingo hadn’t known the full picture before agreeing to essentially die.

Current Ingo didn’t ask for any of this. He’d been perfectly happy living as a dragon, doing whatever he pleased. And now he’s stuck with a mess he didn’t even cause.

But Ingo is not so heartless as to be blind to the greatest victim in all of this:

Emmet.

Ingo’s heart aches at the thought of his once brother left all alone, going through life with half his soul ripped out. He had no voice in the matter and yet he still lost half of his world. Emmet deserves better. He deserves his Ingo, whole and home again. He doesn’t deserve some sad echo of his dead brother. Perhaps he would heal with time, but to even make him suffer through that pain in the first place is unconscionable.

Ingo doesn’t want to abandon Emmet.

But it’s better for everyone if Ingo stays away. He’ll only complicate and confuse things with his identity issues. This mess doesn’t need new layers of mistakes added on top.

Yet he still has no idea what he truly wants out of all this.

Ingo shifts and catches sight of Chandelure’s ball tucked in a safe corner. The urge to talk to someone suddenly proves too strong and without thinking, he releases her.

Chandelure pops out looking a bit rough around the edges, her flames dimmer and glass cloudier than it should be. Her eyes grow wide upon seeing him, her glass ringing out in surprise at the black dragon laying before her.

“…hello,” Ingo awkwardly greets her, lowering his head to her level.

Chandelure stares at him long and hard before asking, “…Ingo?? Is that you?”

Ingo winces and sadly informs her of his circumstances, that he’s just her trainer’s reincarnation and not the actual person she knew.

Chandelure floats over him, carefully scrutinizing his massive feathered form. Reincarnation certainly explains why his soul is in a dragon’s body now.

Ingo tries to argue, but Chandelure doesn’t care as she happily cuddles up against his feathery cheek. To her, Ingo is still Ingo even if he is a Legendary Pokémon now.

Her words remind him of his parent’s odd reassurance over a century ago, that he is Ingo no matter what. Now that he knows what his parent meant, it makes even less sense.

“I don’t understand. I have the old Ingo’s memories but… but they just don’t fit anymore. It feels wrong… like I stole his place.”

“That’s not how I see it,” Chandelure hums. “At your core, you’re still that little boy who caught me as a Litwick all those years ago.”

Ingo winces, “Then, why doesn’t it feel like that?”

Chandelure sighs sadly, but with understanding, “Reincarnation is tricky, even for ghosts. But sometimes bonds can transcend lifetimes. Maybe a bit more literally in your case.”

Ingo isn’t what to make of all this. Everything was dumped on him so suddenly; he isn’t ready for any of it.

Chandelure senses his distress and presses him to talk to Emmet again. She knows how desperately Emmet has missed Ingo. And it's clear to her that even with the reincarnation, part of Ingo desperately misses Emmet too.

Though he can’t deny it, Ingo is still reluctant. He doesn’t think that’s fair to Emmet. It’ll only confuse things between them. He just can’t be Emmet’s brother. He’s physically not that person anymore.

Why not? Chandelure points out that Emmet’s soul is still linked to Ingo’s, there’s nothing stopping them from forging a new bond. It doesn’t have to be that of siblings; they can still be friends, can’t they?

But Ingo still worries. It can’t be that simple… Emmet probably hates him for what he stands for…

At this, Chandelure bonks his snout with a sconce. Emmet doesn’t have a single hateful bone in his body! He is upset and he is hurting, but there is absolutely no way that he hates dragon Ingo. Emmet wouldn’t have given him her ball if he were that upset.

Besides, Ingo is hurting just as much. He needs someone besides just her to be there for him.

Ingo considers Chandelure’s words. He isn’t sure if she’s right, if Emmet would want him in his life at all. But she has a point. Moping in a cave won’t give him answers. If Ingo talks to Emmet, if he gets that ultimate rejection… at least then he’ll know he can move on from his past life completely.

With a soft sigh, Ingo shifts back to his human form. Chandelure floats up to him and he presses his forehead against her glass globe. He agrees to go back to see Emmet. Possibly for the last time. But he has an odd feeling that won’t be the case.

Four days after Ingo’s last visit, Emmet gets a knock at the door. He’s still shaken up and not feeling particularly sociable but answers it nonetheless.

He’s surprised at what he finds.

He hadn’t expected to see Ingo again. At all.

Ingo looks just as tired and miserable as Emmet. His black, feathered dress is a ruffled mess. He keeps his gaze lowered, ashamed.

“…you came back,” is all Emmet can say, clear shock coloring his otherwise dull, hoarse voice.

Ingo visibly winces and says with an uncharacteristic softness, “I… I wanted to talk to you.”

Part of Emmet’s spirit lifts with hope but the more realistic side of him knows better. If Ingo wanted to come back, he’d have said so already. What Ingo wants from him this time, he has no clue. But Emmet is patient and lets Ingo in. He has to hold himself back from simply clinging to Ingo as hard as he can.

Though Emmet is encouraged to see Chandelure hovering at Ingo’s side, her flames burning much brighter than before. She gently bumps her glass against Emmet’s forehead in a familiar act of comfort and he closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. With that, he follows Ingo to the kitchen table.

Their talk is an uncomfortable one.

Ingo speaks first. He expresses his hopes that Emmet can offer some insights as to their next steps. Does he want to be brothers again? Does he want Ingo out of his life? There’s so many ways to move forward but Ingo doesn’t have a clue which tracks to follow.

But all his questions do is uncover the uncertainty that Emmet feels. In growing frustration, Emmet openly admits that he doesn’t know the right choice any more than Ingo’s parent did. Hell, he knows even less about whether or not there is a right choice!! As Emmet starts to break down and cry, he buries his face in his hands, whimpering that all he knows is that he is so tired of being by himself.

Without another word, Ingo steps forward and wraps Emmet up in a hug. Emmet sobs and hugs Ingo back, practically collapsing in his arms. As they sit there embracing each other, Ingo decides that maybe this is enough to start with.

That night, Ingo stays by Emmet’s side, gently comforting him to the best of his ability. Emmet eventually falls asleep crying, cradling Ingo’s hand against his chest.

When Emmet wakes up, he’s alone. For a moment he wonders if last night was just a dream. Then the smell of cooking catches his attention. He gets up to find Ingo making breakfast. He looks a little strange doing this in his feathery dress and long hair, but otherwise it feels like a normal morning before Ingo… Emmet shakes himself off and shyly approaches. Ingo quietly passes him a plate of food before going back to cooking for the Pokémon. Emmet feels his heart twist in his chest at seeing the meal made for him. It’s all his favorites. He sits down with a soft thank you and starts to eat. It’s not long before he’s sniffling, his eyes stinging slightly from forming tears. He laughs between a full mouth as he starts to cry. Ingo drops what he’s doing and moves to Emmet’s side, but Emmet shakes his head and swallows his food. He just… he needs a moment… the food tastes just the way his brother made it…

Ingo hovers uncertainly before reaching out to rest a hand on Emmet’s back. He quietly rubs between Emmet’s shoulders as he cries, at a loss. As Emmet slowly calms down, Ingo apologizes for causing him so much pain. He knew that being here would just make things worse. If Emmet wants him out, he’ll go, no questions asked.

To his surprise, Emmet is quick to grab his hand, asking, almost begging Ingo to stay. It will be strange and uncomfortable and heartbreaking, but he does want Ingo to stay. He meant what he said before; he does not wish to be alone anymore.

Ingo considers this solemnly.

He gently squeezes Emmet’s hand.

“I’ll stay,” he softly promises.

If the pain in their hearts eases for just a moment, then they don’t say anything.

[creepslayer7]

Tim: Oh, so when crows remember people who wronged them and hold grudges, it's “intelligent” and “really cool”.

Tim: But when I do it, I’m “petty” and “need to let it go”.

Bruce: Real life should have a f***ing search function, or something.

Bruce: I need my socks.

Jason: You seem familiar... have I threatened you before?

Danny, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll drink my sorrows away.

Danny or Jason: I have one foot in the grave but in a kind of fun flirty way, the way one might slip on a fishnet stocking.

Jason: Get in, loser, we’re committing vehicular manslaughter!

Tim: It's not like I try to blow things up, exactly. It just sort of happens. You've got to admit though, fire is fascinating.

Baby Jason: Did you just call me a shrimp, you a**hole?! I'm still growing, dammit!

Jason: I have no respect for Santa. Don’t sneak in through the chimney and undermine my authority by bringing my family presents. Walk in through the front door and fight me like a man.

Tim to Damien: Could you maybe just like… stab me… right in the gut. Just REALLY twist it in there. ‘Cause that honestly seems less painful than this conversation.

Danny: Yum, thanks!

Kidnapper: *puts more tape over their mouth* I said stop eating it.

Steph: I love sarcasm! It’s like punching people in the face, but with words!

Damien: I wish I was a cat, but not in a furry kinda way, more like a “I can sleep all day and hit people with no consequences” kinda way.

Danny: *in a jail cell* What about my Miranda rights!? You’re supposed to say I have ‘the right to remain silent’”! NOBODY SAID I HAD THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT!

Tim: *in the cell next to them* You have the right to remain silent, what you lack is the capacity.

Jason: Lol. Heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you’ll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this.

Damien: What did you do Jason?

Jason: A Mistake.

Damien: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated!

Jason: Killed without hesitation.

*Tim is comforting Dick when Damien stayed the night at the Kent farm*

Tim: Stop crying because he's gone. Start smiling because Damien is someone else’s problem now.

Dick: Damien, when’s your birthday?

Damien: Why? So you can look up my natal chart? So you can figure out my weaknesses? So you can destroy me?

Dick: …So I know when to wish you a happy birthday.

Dick: Nice rock.

Jason: Thanks, Damien gave it to me.

Damien: I threw it at you!

Jason: Isn't he the sweetest?

Bruce: Where are your parents?

Random black hair, blue eyed child he found: What are parents?

Bruce: You're coming home with me.

Jason or Danny: The next time I open up to someone, it'll be my autopsy.

Damien: I don't follow the rules. I follow dogs on social media.

Bruce : Like they say, "If you can't beat them, curl up in a ball and protect your organs."

Damien: Of course I have a lot of pent-up rage, you fool! I've been the same height since I was twelve!

Dick: Why aren't there friend pick up lines? Pick up lines to make friends like-

Dick, to Danny: Hey, that's a cute outfit. You know where it would look better? On nobody else, because you're a beautiful individual.

Damien, to Jason : Be my friend or I'll set your entire family on fire.

Tim: There are two types of people.

Bruce: You three, explain right now!

Damien : It was Danny.

Tim: It was Danny.

Dick: It was Danny.

Danny:

Danny: …fuck.

Tim: Do you think I'm plastic?

Jason: No.

Tim: Phew. Oka-

Jason: Plastic, at least, has some use in life. You're not plastic.

Danny: Gatekeep, girlboss, and what's the other one again?

Damien : There isn't another one. You're crazy.

Danny: If I can't cause tiny bits of chaos every day, I think my body will shut down.

Danny: Damien is late again.

Jason: How did this happen? I called him at 8 o’clock this morning and pretended it was 11.

Dick: I printed up a fake schedule for him saying we were starting at 9 instead of noon.

Tim: I set his clock to say PM when it’s really AM.

Danny: Oh boy. We may have overdone it.

*Damien bursts through the door*

Damien : WHAT TIME IS IT?

Tim: Well, if you're not at least a little bit gay for your friends, then what kind of friend are you?