#And this person just argued that sprinkling water on someone is the “same” as a mikvah. Honey no. That's baptism. Not a mikvah.

[fdelopera]

You're gonna come into MY house and tell me that Jews practice WITCHCRAFT??? Naw, honey, go get blocked. I don't care if you "claim" to be Jewish. Fuck off.

[kurogane2512]

Evening, so about coquelic uhh I'd thought of a scenario when she doesn't like to believe that chief(fem) was actually treating her sinners with care including garofano and sumire as she thought that the chief of bureau only captured sinners to use as tools though that change when she witness it herself and got the same treatment as well when she got captured by chief which days went by she begun to feel comfortable and always tease chief whenever she likes which her liking for the chief deepen more resulting her desire for the chief only grew wider. So I guess this might be nsfw when her desire grew because she's having wild thoughts about chief whenever she focuses her gaze on chief working on her office desk and coquelic was scanning every part like her hands, face and stuffs. So yeah that's the scenario I had in mind I hope it's not confusing and I tried my best to explain it🥲

A very cute scenario anon, I actually wanted to write something like this for Coquelic ever since her event <3

18+ CONTENT

Game: Path to Nowhere

Characters: Coquelic x fem!reader (Chief)

Type: Smut and fluff (kissing, fingering, bath sex)

A/n: Let me see how many of you recognize this scene ;)

The Garden may not exist anymore, but its flowers were alive and blooming. Coquelic knew her lovely flowers had found their new home, but could she really rest easy that they had been left in the right hands? She remained suspicious and uncertain ever since Sumire left, but when she saw Sumire go to the ends of the world for you, she knew you were special. And then there was Garofano, almost transforming into a monster and sacrificing herself for you. Both of them did everything to find you, to protect you and to care for you.

The Mentor wasn't easily convinced you deserved such importance from her flowers, just what was so special about you that they couldn't stay away? Coquelic had to find the answer; fortunately, it did not take long for her to find it and she was still alive to experience some of it herself. A considerable amount of time had passed ever since her arrest, her days in the MBCC were boring for the most part, but she was glad to see her flowers were living well here. She was proved wrong about you, now the Mentor wanted what you gave to her students.....

You just finished dealing with the exhausting chores today and were planning to catch up on the pending paperwork left behind since you went to the Rust, but it seems a certain someone had other plans for you. A knock was heard on your office door but before you could reply, the door already swung open and an unexpected guest walked in.

"Oh, you are still working so late at night?~" it was Coquelic, the infamous Mentor of the Garden.

"Well, anyways. The bath bombs you bought last time were good so I bought some more myself. I'm about to take a bath, come and help me prepare it."

"Uh.... help you prepare your bath? Are you sure you want me to do that?"

"Why not? In this place, you are the only one who understands my preferences. Now, make haste."

"W-Wait, I have work to do. There's all these bills from the logistics department, field mission reports, analysis from the hypnotherapists, test results from the researchers an—"

Coquelic sighed in exasperation, "You can't do all of that in one night anyway. Come now, don't waste my time."

You knew it was pointless to argue further, you nodded with a sigh and followed Coquelic towards her personal bathroom and started preparing.

"You know what I want, right? I'm looking forward to see how you perform so don't disappoint me~"

Coquelic smirked and stood at the door quietly, adamant to see you do it all by yourself. You looked around and thought for a moment before starting, "Chilled milk with ice cubes.... water temperature at 45 degrees.... sprinkled with white rose petals..... Then, bath towerls, shower cap and robe.... oh, and the scented shampoo with conditioner...."

Coquelic watched you meticulously prepare the bath, each and every step was done perfectly as she wanted despite her telling you her preferences only once. She was taken aback but had come to realize this was your nature, she couldn't help but feel warmth in her chest as her heart started beating loudly.

"....There are many members of my Garden here in the bureau, right?" Coquelic spoke softly.

"Hm? Yes, there are." you replied without looking at her, still preparing the bath.

"Is everything here arranged by you? The schedules, treatment etc?"

"Uh, for the most part, yeah. I personally approve every document and requirement pertaining to each Sinner, that includes their diagnosis, treatment methods, diet, among other things."

Coquelic nodded then silently walked closer to your figure, her footsteps as silent as the moon, she stopped when she was inches away from you then slowly wrapped her arms around your torso and embraced you from behind. You were caught by surprise feeling her arms sling around you and her body press into you, "C-Coquelic? Is everything okay?"

"....You, perhaps you can really make a difference and change this wretched world."

Your eyes widened at her words then she continued, her voice as soft as silk, "Thank you for taking care of my flowers."

Silence engulfed you both for a while until you spoke, "I.... I just treat every Sinner equally, I want everyone to be well. Your Garden is beautiful.... and so are you."

Coquelic's heart skipped a beat at your words then she chuckled, "Heh~ Never expected to hear such words at my age but I understand, I know my beauty is eternal~"

You chuckled as well then she let go of you and you turned around to face her, but before you could say anything she pulled you down by your chest harness and connected her lips with yours for a quick kiss.

"Let's relax together, Chief. You are tired from working all day, aren't you?~"

Coquelic stepped back with a gentle smile, then her hands moved to the string on her gown to untie it. The pure white satern fabric slid down her body, revealing her perky breasts with light pink nipples. She tied her flowing silver hair in a messy bun then walked towards you and kept her palms on your chest, flirtasiously rubbing them up and down.

"You are staring so much, Chief. Hehe~ I know I'm pretty, that's why you can't keep your eyes off of me. But are you really satisfied with just looking?~"

Coquelic walked towards the bathtub and climbed inside then beckoned her finger at you. You were still quite shocked by the turn of events but more than that, you were definitely turned on from her body. You quickly discarded your own clothes then climbed in the bathtub as well and sat on the opposite edge, directly in front of Coquelic.

"Hmm, you are quite shy, Chief. I thought you were more assertive or.... dominating from the way Sumire and Garofano described you~"

"W-What?! What did they say about me?!"

Coquelic laughed lightly, "Oh, nothing much. Both of them are too infatuated with you to care, they'd accept any form of pleasure you give them~"

Your face flushed at her words and you shyly looked down when you suddenly felt the water move and looked up to see Coquelic crawling towards you.

"But I'm not them...." she straddled your lap with her arms wrapped around your neck, "....I want to see what's special about you, and I'm not easy to satisfy~"

Coquelic's smaller frame looked delicate, you were almost afraid to be rough with her. You gently kept your hands on her hips and pulled her close to initiate a soft yet passionate kiss, her tongue licked your lips and entered your mouth, and you were quick to return the action by swirling your tongue with hers in a heated manner. Soft moans and whines left her lips, sounding too sweet and addicting to you.

Your hands roamed down her thighs and rubbed her skin, making her release the kiss with a soft gasp. You then leaned forward and snuggled into her neck to lick, softly biting and sucking on her fresh. She squirmed, her fingers intertwining in your hair and grasping the strands as she threw her head back, letting you kiss further up to her jaw.

"O-Oh.... Eager to mark me, are you? Mhm.... give me more then, let us stain each other~"

Coquelic hugged you and bit your shoulder, a muffled hiss leaving your mouth and she grinned against your skin then licked the mark. She felt your hands caress her inner thighs followed by your fingers rubbing her outer folds.

"Ngh.... is that all you got? I don't believe Sumire and Garofano were satisfied with just this~"

You licked her ear lobe then began pushing your finger inside her, gently parting her folds with 2 fingers and sliding deep inside. She moaned out as your finger prodded her sensitive spot, her head shooting back in ecstasy and her grip tightening around you. She moaned out near your ear as you thrusted your fingers in and out of her, scissoring and curling to scrape her insides.

"Aaaahn~ Yes.... more.... more.... r-right there!~"

Coquelic's eyes rolled to the back of her head as she approached her release, her nails clawing down your back making marks. She finally came with a soft scream, her juices drenching your fingers as she laid panting in your embrace.

"Hmm.... n-not bad.... mhmm~"

She kissed your cheek in satisfaction and the two of you bathed together afterwards. You were seated in the bath in each other's embrace when she suddenly spoke out

"Both of you, are you done spying?"

You were confused but soon realized there were 2 presences around you, sensed by your shackles. The door of the bathroom opened and Sumire and Garofano walked in, their faces flushed red.

"A-Apologies, Mentor. We weren't spying, we were just—" Sumire tried to interject but was stopped by Coquelic.

"Yes yes, save your excuses. Come inside already, Chief is ready for you both~"

You looked at Coquelic wide-eyed then at Sumire and Garofano who were already in the process of removing their clothes..... Well, you wouldn't complain relaxing with such lovely beautiful flowers, would you?~

[ghost-likes-drawing]

Just wish I knew what caused it

(Fitpac Exs to Lovers)

Ch.3 (to be named later)

Translations done with assistance from: @caracolast (Portuguese and Beta reader) @keezers and @iridescentpull (Spanish)

First Chapter Previous chapter

The next few days went by in a blur. But a blur with a pattern

Wake up. get dressed. Question if he should be showering because seemingly everyone else in the house is but doesn't. eat breakfast, that Cellbit made. Fill up water bottles. Put on sunscreen. Ramon goes off with Pac to help with anything that needs mechanical repairs or the plumbing and Fit goes with Cellbit and Richarlyson to learn the ropes about everything else. They go back to the house where Pepito had prepared lunch, which were ham sandwiches, that caused Richarlyson to grumble about not waiting till someone got back, who Fit missed but assumed it was the ranch hand. on the first day Cellbit made sure Fit knew that lunch would continue to be covered by him even after the guest house was back in working order. After lunch Richarlyson, and Pac half the time joined in, complaining about the heat and trying to get Cellbit to pause work until it started to cool down again. Cellbit refused but did insist on water bottles getting refilled and sunscreen reapplied for everyone including Richasrlyson, who always insisted he didn't need it because his skin was dark and was no longer to tired to argue about it, before everyone went back to their tasks, with Pepito following along this time. Pepito did some smaller tasks that don't require much effort for Fit or Cellbit physically but would make Pepito feel useful. Pepito would also hold some boards in place for Richarlsyon when he hammered or bring Tools over from their spots so Fit, Cellbit and Richarlyson could keep working. They'd go back again for a snack before being dismissed until dinner. They had Dinner that Pac made. Fit did the dishes then they showered and went to bed.

There was a lot of kind of avoiding looking at Pac or being to near him while also trying to check in and make sure Ramon was okay sprinkled in.

Not to mention he had to sit next to Pac half the time because Pepito wanted to talk to Ramon, clearly happy to have a new person around. But the other half Ramon sat next to Pac to talk about that day’s or the next days projects and Pepito would talk to Cellbit.

Days off were staggered. Each kids day off paired with an Adult’s. Pac and Richarlyson’s lined up, Pepito And Cellbit’s, apparently Bobby and Roier shared one, and Ramon shared his day off with Fit.

Fit managed to piece together that Bobby was 1) the extra room in the hallway without a lock. 2) Roier’s son, around the same age as Ramon and Richarlyson from bits and pieces he over heard. He wasn't paying much attention just trying to get through the day and keep his son safe.

He was One full week into working on the Ranch when the routine got disrupted.

When they came up to the house for Lunch there was another car there. Everyone paused and he hadn't seen Cellbit that happy before.

Cellbit ran ahead and took the steps up to the house two at a time to run in, presumably to see whoever was inside. Which struck Fit as odd but who knows if he missed Phil enough maybe he'd take the steps two at a time to meet him.

Richarlyson pumped his fist “Real lunch!” He cheered and followed his dad up the steps in a normal fashion but clearly still excited.

“What's got them so excited?” Ramon asked noticing the extra car walking side by side with Pac.

Pac huffed in fake annoyance “they always get like this when Roier come home from a trip. Cellbit can be co-dependent and Not enough people to cook when he's not home so lunch is different when he's not home .” Pac chuckled “although I think Richas misses Bobby too and just pretends. They're very close.”

Fit felt his heart ache again and just tried to push it away as Ramon moves to walk with Fit into the house and Fit goes along. Pac following behind.

When they walk in Fit notices the scene in the kitchen. A guy Fit thinks he recognizes but not from recently, is finishing up cooking a showing a very interested Pepito an only half listening kid, who he's presuming to be Bobby, on either side of him. Richarlyson is standing next to Bobby arms thrown around him casually.

Cellbit is leaning on the counter on the living room side watching them with a very soft smile. He takes out his phone and gets a picture. Which makes a noise alerting the 4 that they're being watched.

“Okay culero! Quieres espiarme? Quieres ser un raro?” Roier starts throwing at him while laughing.

“Não não não, vocês só fofos. Foi uma cena estavam bem doméstica” Cellbit put his hands up in defense also laughing

“Te voy a mostrar violencia doméstica. Richas, agarra a tu papá, Bobby pásame un zapato” Roier said back and Bobby and Richarlyson beemed.

“Não, não, não escuta ele!” Cellbit laughed as Richarlyson ran around to the dining room grabbing on to his dad as Bobby found a sandal handing it to Roier.

Roier raised his arm as if he was going to hit Cellbit with it, hard, but he didn't instead just booping Cellbit gently with it before taking everything off the heat “maybe that'll teach you your Lesson Gatinho” the giggles calm down slowly. “Termina de poner la mesa” Roier hummed before making Pepito wash his hands.

Bobby and Richarlyson moved to the table to sit next to each other and talk. Pepito followed shortly after sitting one seat away from Bobby but listening to their conversation Pac squeezed into the Kitchen to wash his hands putting away his phone. Had he been filming?

Fit turned to Ramon who seemed to be considering the scene. He turned to fit and wordlessly signed “Family” With his eyebrow quirked making it a question.

Fit shrugged and signed “Gossip” back which earned a chuckled from Ramon.

Pac squeezed past to go to the table helping bring food over. Fit and Ramon went into the kitchen to wash their hands trying to help with the food too but there wasn't much left so it ended up being Ramon bringing a side dish back out while Fit followed.

Roier had set himself between Bobby and Pepito and Cellbit sat on Pepito’s other side. Pac had sat himself next to Richarlyson. leaving a seat next to Cellbit and next to Pac.

Ramon slotted himself into the seat next to Pac saving Fit the embarrassment of actively sitting himself away from Pac. He sat between Cellbit and Ramon and waited for everyone else to have gotten good before serving himself.

“Así que Pepito, cómo has estado? Me extrañaste?” Roier hummed ruffling Pepito’s hair a bit.

Pepito giggled “Mhm! Pero he estado bien. Y he sido bueno, lo prometo.”

“Te creeré por ahora. No es como que Cellbit me diría si no fuera verdad”

Cellbit shrugged “Ele sempre foi bonzinho. Eu não entendo o porquê de você insistir no contrário”

“He cries pretty frequently. Very sensitive” Roier shot back.

“Isso não significa que ele é malvado. Ele só tem sentimentos mais

complicados. Você não pode ficar a vida toda comparando ele com aqueles dois." Cellbit gestures to Bobby and Richarlyson.

Bobby had been showing Richarlyson something under the table but hearing Cellbit pointing focus at them they looked up.

“O que isso deveria significar?” Richarlyson asked

“You and Bobby didn't cry much” Pac spoke up in English “O mesmo de sempre”

Bobby restrained a snort. “One of these years Tío Doied is going to come over and- ah hey!”

Roier had flicked a bit of Rice at Bobby “don't talk like that.”

“Tío va a venir a mi cumpleaños, verdad?” Pepito asked Looking between Roier and Cellbit.

“Lamentablemente…” Roier frowned but Pepito cheered and Roier did smile at that “Oh qué? Lo quieres más a él que a mí ahora?"

“Nooooo, no lo hago!” Pepito giggled wrapping his arms around Roier as Roier lifted him into a squeeze of a hug.

“Seguro? Porque estoy seguro de que le gustaría oír eso.” Roier rolled his eyes

“Estoy seguro! Te amo más a ti.” Pepito nuzzled into Roier and Fit really was trying to mind his business, he swears he is, especially considering he couldn't actually understand almost any of what was being said but this unit was… diffrent then what Fit was used to but probably wasn't to weird… right?

Eventually lunch was over and there were dishes to do so Fit went to get started on those which confused Roier but Cellbit made him drop it.

Fit listened as the sounds of the daily heat complaint rolled in, Pac was joining in adding bits about staying back and hearing about Roier and Bobby's trip.

“We can do that after snack.” Cellbit reminds him getting up and filling his water bottle “Roier and Bobby you're still excused for the day, Descanse da viajem, tome banho e tal."

And the rest of the routine went normal. Richarlyson complained about the sunscreen, they went out and back to work, they came back for snack, then Ramon and him were free for the evening until dinner. Richarlyson, Pac, Pepito, and Cellbit went to the living room to listen to Roier and Bobby talk about the trip.

Fit tried to push it aside but he was almost certain that as Pac was getting himself and Richarlyson more water, while Fit climed the stairs to take some time for himself, he saw Cellbit sit himself down right against Roier and Roier leaned right into it… odd… but probably nothing. Pac and Mike were close like that when Fit and Pac dated so yea nothing, probably just childhood friends and unknowably close bonds stuff because who would be stupid enough to two time Pac?

Fit shouldn't be thinking like that. He'd stalled halfway up the stairs and his knuckles on his flesh hand were turning white around the hand railing. He needed to calm down… besides why did he care, Pac ended things suddenly. Sure Fit had been running late but Pac could have- and he felt a hand on his shoulder

“Dad are you okay?” He heard and nearly jumped before looking to see Ramon just next to him. He looked like he was going down the stairs keys in hand

“I'm okay, just lost in thought… why do you have the keys?” He asked “my boy attempting to get into some trouble?” He poked at Ramon’s ribs teasingly and Ramon swatted him away.

“No. No, I was just going to make sure none of the lights turned on and look listen to the engine, the drive here was long and basically constant then she hadn't moved in a week so I'm worried about how she's holding up..” Ramon messed with the Keys in his hand looking down and his face gave it all away. He was doing worse then he wanted to let Fit know.

“Alright kid, well umm… you know… I was looking to get away from the house so… maybe I can join you. Make sure the car doesn't slip out of park… or if you really want to be alone we should go into town for gas and icecream after dinner.”

Ramon bit the inside of his cheek clearly thinking about it. “Can we do both?”

“Of course Ramon.” Fit put his hands on Ramon’s shoulders.

Ramon nodded “maybe we drive the truck a bit away from the house?” He asked cautiously.

Fit nodded, “let me get a cooling rag for us both.”

20 minutes later and 20 minutes dirtier Ramon hadn't started talking about what was bothering him and Fit was at a loss. He didn't want to pressure Ramon and make him shut down but at the same time he can't help and be his dad without Ramon saying anything.

“You know, if the pressure of keeping up with Pac is to much or if he's giving you like looks you can stop. Cellbit will understand and your part of the paycheck was going to you or for after graduation. We don't need it.” Fit called, leaning out of the car to talk to Ramon who was under the truck.

“It's not that! No Pac’s been great.” Ramon huffed tightening something, Fit couldn't say what if he was looking, under the car. “He's professional. The most intrusive he's been is I was tense the first few days and he asked if you'd said something about him.” Fit hopped out of the cap of the truck. “And I said no I'm just not used to having a professional looking over my work as I'm doing it since I'm self taugh.” Ramon got himself out from under the car “And then he laughed and told me he wasn't a professional at all, he was taught by his friend who is self taught and then was taught during the war a bit more so whatever I'm doing is probably great.”

Fit nodded “well that's good”

Ramon hopped into the Cab and started the car back up listening intently for any problems before going and checking under the hood

“Sometimes he goes to make a joke then stops halfway through as if forgetting I'm the one with him and not someone else.” Ramon shrugged

“Probably Mike.” Fit recalled aloud “honestly suprised he's not here with him.”

Ramon looked to Fit “what's the story there?”

“Not your business.” Fit teased and Ramon shrugged but his face said he was waiting for Fit to keep going “Mike is probably Pac’s soulmate honestly. They have a bond that makes them as close as you can manage to be to a person emotionally.”

“I didn't know you ever were in a Polycule” Ramon hummed adjusting something inside the engine.

“Oh no Pac and Mike weren't Romantic. They threw up in sync when I asked after meeting them, it was w-” Fit gasped and looked at Ramon in shock as Ramon held back a giggle. “Sneaky, Sneaky, Sneaky. Trying to get your old man's gossip against his will now, huh?”

Ramon shrugged clearly proud of himself “So you and Pac dated.” he stopped what he was doing in thought “so bad breakup I assume?”

Fit hummed “don't worry about it Ramon. As long as it doesn't have an effect on how he treats you none of that matters.”

Ramon shrugged and went back to working. And thing settled into a silence

“I feel kinda isolated.” Ramon finally admitted “and I don't know how to try and like make friends with Richarlyson or Bobby because I don't even like work with them.” He shrugged and closed the hood of the truck “and they're clearly like best friends already so they probably don't want me around away” Ramon started to try and clean some of the grime off his skin.

Fit frowned, he was glad Ramon told him what was bothering him but he didn't know how to help with all of that. “Yea that's pretty stressful to handle with the move and all. not a lot of other options around…”

Ramon groaned Just figiting with the rag now “I wanted this to be a new start Fit… a chance to make new friends and I chocked it!” He threw the rag on the ground. He and Fit stared at it Until Ramon bended down to pick it up “sorry…”

“Don't be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong.” Fit sighed thinking “listen you didn't choke it… you just… need to work at it somehow. Figure out what they like that you like. Find openings. Would it have been easier to make friends with Richarlyson and get him to introduce you to Bobby? Sure. But that doesn't meant you failed fully because you couldn't get that”

Ramon looked at Fit curiously. He gestured for him to keep talking.

“Alright, you don't do work with them.” Fit tried not to let Ramon know he didn't actually have much clue what he should do either. “But we still do meals together, right?”

Ramon nodded hopping onto the hood of the truck and pulling his legs to sit with them crossed infront of him.

“They actually seem to talk to eachother during meals, in English, which means you can understand them. Don't try and listen on anything personal but get a reference for their interests. Listen for something you enjoy too and can talk about. Find a way to get them to talk to you about it if you can.” Fit offered as advice. He wasn't sure if it was actually any good. He kinda made freinds by accident he never was in a situation where he had a limited number of people and felt the need to make freinds.

But the advice clearly made sense to Ramon and he smiled and hugged Fit around the shoulders “Thanks Fit.” He checked the time and started walking to the passenger seat “let's get heading back we need to clean up a bit”

Fit got into the drivers seat and drove back toward the house. And out of the corner of his eyes he could see Ramon preparing to take physical notes. Fit let out a soft sign with a smile.

Sorry for the delay. Life got crazy and I changed jobs and also my Portuguese translator left and I needed to find a new one and then I went though a break up then said translator deactivated and I've been in mourning.

Hope it was worth the wait

Please feel free to send me asks!

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Demonology: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: What makes someone evil? The things they do or because of what’s inside them? If children are born innocent, at what point does evil enter them? Everyone’s beliefs and faiths are tested on a religious level.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

You and Rossi walk back over to the interrogation room to continue watching Emily and Paul.

"What caused their deaths?" Emily asks.

"Medically?"

"Yes."

"I can't say," he shrugs.

"Were they under stress?"

"We all were."

"Did you sprinkle holy water on them?"

Emily must have remembered what you said at Patrick's house.

"That's part of the exorcism ritual."

"What was in the holy water? Sarin? Vx? The smallest amount would trigger respiratory failure."

"I'm not familiar with them."

"No? Really? Because that's what a lot of people think killed Father Del Toro in Spain."

Hotch comes into the room with determination on his face. He interrupts Emily and Paul with an apologetic look on his face.

"Father, You're free to go. We're sorry if detaining you has caused you any hardship."

Emily is pissed but she can't do anything since Hotch is her superior and will get fired if she fights back.

"I hope you find peace," Paul says to Emily before leaving.

"My office," he glares at her.

Hotch keeps his door open when they go inside so you can hear everything they're saying from your spot by the door to the briefing room. Even if he kept the door closed, you can still hear them because Hotch is pissed and Emily is pissed and two pissed people make for a very loud conversation.

"Are you actually accusing the Italian Government of authorizing this man's assassination list?"

"He admits he was present at every death."

"The case is over."

"You said you'd give me leeway!"

"I did. I understand your frustration. There are some things that we cannot control. Take some time off."

"What?"

"I don't wanna see you in the office for the next few days."

Emily immediately leaves angrily, and she walks past you without looking at you. You turn to Rossi who has heard everything they said, too.

"Something is going on here, Rossi. I saw it in Patrick's room. Paul is guilty, he's on a warpath, and he wants to kill whoever was responsible for Father Del Toro's death. He's gonna kill again."

"Come on."

You and he meet up with Emily in the elevator before the doors can close.

"Are you up for another drive?"

Rossi takes you and Emily over to Matthew's parent's house. She doesn't want to see them because they'll hate on her, but this trip is necessary. If you have any hope of finding out who Paul is targeting next, then you need to talk to them. Andrea isn't too happy to see Emily when she opens her front door.

"What are you doing here?"

"We know Matthew died during an exorcism performed by Father Paul Silvano. He's performed three In the last few weeks. Each person has died. We believe he's planning another one."

"That's none of our business."

"Matthew's gone. You've accepted that. At least let us warn the last family so they know what kind of choice they're facing. This isn't about me. This is about other families and the people they love."

Andrea can't argue with that so she lets you three inside her home. Tom gets up from the couch and walks over to you since they don't want you further into their home. They want to keep this as short as possible.

"Father Paul didn't kill Matthew," he says.

"Why are you so willing to accept that? I'm just trying to find the truth about how your son died."

"Then listen to me. Father Paul never laid a hand on Matthew."

"How do you know that?" you ask.

"I was there."

That's why you saw his energy in Matthew's room. You thought it was just because this was his home. Of course, you were going to see his energy in his own home. Emily is angry that his father just watched his son die, but you put your hand on her shoulder to calm her down.

"You stood there and watched Matthew die?"

"He wasn't the person you knew. Something horrible happened on that trip to Spain."

"You only believe that because Father Paul said it. You can't think for yourself?" she scoffs.

"Young lady, do not speak to me like that," he glares.

"How could you allow him to perform a ritual over Matthew?"

"I loved my son. I was trying to save his life. That thing killed Matthew! It was inside him for years. I know you know that's true."

"No, Matthew was a sweet boy. He was just troubled."

"He was never troubled until he met you," Andrea glares.

"Look, we need to know about the demon that possessed your son," Rossi says, trying to ease the tension.

"Father Paul explained that Matthew was a conduit. If you opened yourself up to him, you were putting yourself in danger of being taken over."

"Who else was Matthew with while he was in Spain?"

"I don't know."

"Who did he see once he was back in Washington? If Father Paul believes Matthew was a conduit, anyone he spent time with could be a target."

"He was not to see anyone until he was better."

"No, that's not true. I know for a fact he saw our friend John Cooley. His parents worked with my mother at the embassy in Rome. You called him to tell him Matthew had died."

"I haven't spoken with John in over twenty years, not since you were kids in Italy," Tom shrugs.

"John is next. Rossi, Paul is going over there next."

"Go. Call Morgan."

You and Emily rush out of the house while you're calling Derek. All three of you meet at John's house. Father Paul is already inside, you can feel him and John's panic. Derek breaks down the door and you can hear John yelling from the second story. Much like what you saw in Patrick's bedroom, the same thing is happening in John's. Three men are holding him down while Father Paul performs an exorcism.

Even when you announce yourselves, Paul doesn't stop the ritual. Most of the people in the room get down on their knees in fear of being shot at if they don't comply, but not Father Paul. He continues to throw holy water on him despite you trying to get him to stop.

John is sweaty, he's panicking, his anxiety is skyrocketing, and he's crossing his eyes as if he's hallucinating. Derek manages to get Father Paul out of the room while Emily tends to her friend. You're just trying not to break down because this entire room is filled to the brim with anxiety and panic.

"John, shh. I wanna untie you but I need you to calm down. Look at me. It's Emily. John!"

"Emily?"

"I'm gonna untie you. Just stay calm, okay?"

The paramedics come just as the rest of your team comes. John is looked at by the paramedics even though he doesn't feel the need.

"Emily, come on. I'm fine," he sighs.

"No. Look at you. Stress can tear your body apart. That's what happened to Matthew."

"Emily, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you in Italy."

John was the father of her baby. You leave to give them privacy and join Hotch's side. When Emily sees him, she finishes with John and heads over to him. Derek walks out of the house with Father Paul in handcuffs.

"If you want my gun and badge, I understand."

"There's a plane ticket in your name to Rome. Agent Morgan and I will drive you to the airport. Any of your belongings can be shipped to you," Hotch says to him instead of commenting on Emily.

"You have no right to deport me."

"The Vatican intervened. The Italian Government has rescinded your diplomatic status. They'll do with you as they see fit when you're back in their jurisdiction."

"You've all just made the world a much more dangerous place!" he yells as he's placed in the back of the police car.

"I saw that guy up there. He was certain he was fighting against some kind of evil."

"We all have to be certain," Rossi says.

"Rossi, don't tell me you believe in evil."

"Don't tell me you do this job and you don't."

"I believe there are evil acts but those are choices. What do you think, Y/N?"

"I've seen evil before--true evil. I've even come face-to-face with it. I've stared down the devil and survived. You're right, there are evil acts but demons are real. There are things out there that are pure evil and I've seen it more times than I'd like. What about you, Hotch?"

"I think deep down, we're all capable of unspeakable things. Where it starts or what you call it, I don't know. Let's get him out of here."

"Thank you. To the both of you," Emily says to you and Derek.

"You're welcome."

Since your birthday is this weekend, you got some pretty awesome gifts from some pretty amazing people. You're only twenty-six, but you have this family that keeps you grounded in this line of work.

"Now, for my present," JJ smiles. "Close your eyes. Both of you."

You and Spencer give each other weird looks but does as she asks. Seconds later, you feel tiny hands grab at your face.

"No way! You brought him!" you grin and take Henry from her arms. "Look who it is! It's your Godparents!"

"You two can watch him for the weekend if you want."

"Yes! We will take good care of him. Don't you worry about a thing!"

This is going to be the best weekend ever.

There is no heresy or no philosophy which is so abhorrent to the church as a human being. - James Joyce

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑺𝑶𝑫𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬

A few things to keep in mind; after the fallout with Tommy instead of heading to Boston Joel heads to the woods to escape it all, and the 20-year time jump doesn't happen. Which means, for now, no Tess, no Ellie. Joel is 32-33 here (since in the prologue he's around that age) and reader is in her mid-twenties

**for full series summary please check masterlist

chapter summary: You show Joel your home and the photographs you took over the past months.

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

word count: 1.7k

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni

warnings: angst, joel having anger issues, heated arguing

SERIES MLIST || PREV CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

You never thought you would have another person in your house. Ever, really. 

But here Joel is, walking up the steps of your humble cabin, taking in the details, assessing what he could take just in case. At the time, inviting him over seemed like a good idea. You wanted him to know where you lived, if something were to happen to where he lived, you wanted him to know where to come. 

However, your good intentions were not reciprocated. 

“I’m not telling an Infected where I live,” he had said. “Feel free to show me if you feel that’s the right thing to do, but don’t expect me to do the same. We are not the same.” 

The words still echo in your head as you finally reach the top of the stairs. You don’t think it was wrong of him to think like that. Technically, you two aren’t the same, not even the same species. But it frustrates you a little bit to see that he’s still so reluctant about your intentions. All you want to do is make your life less miserable. 

“This is the bathroom,” you point out. “However, there’s no real plumbing. I pull in water from the nearby river and wash directly there.” 

He hums, eyes uncaringly looking inside. “What else?” he grunts, walking ahead. 

You dart ahead, grinning as you make an effort of bowing and opening the door. It’s stupid maybe, being so excited about wanting to show him the photos you had taken—But you couldn’t help it. It feels like having a friend over after years, it’s…it’s nice. 

“And here’s my bedroom slash office,” 

“Office?” he scoffs. “What work are you doing?” 

“I like taking pictures,” 

You don’t miss the way his face falls, hands tightening into fists and loosening up again. Confusion crosses your face but you manage to erase it by shaking your head. 

“Uh…anyway, do you want to see?” 

“Do I have a choice?” 

His voice is emotionless, so you have no way of telling if he’s annoyed or not. You only understand his intentions when you turn and see him smiling, the expression sprinkling relief over your heart. It’s a very small smile, something that wouldn’t be considered smiling before 2013, but now it’s the broadest smile in the world. 

It’s odd, feeling this light when doing something. You feel your fingertips tingling as you pick up a medium sized box from your desk and place it on the bed. Before he moves closer, you snatch Joel’s picture from on top of the pile and place it facing down on the sheets. 

“You really have been busy,” he remarks, picking up one of the photographs. It’s one of dandelions. “Not bad,” 

“Thanks. It is hard to find polaroid films and the one’s I find are quite old, or expired, hence the reason why all the pictures look faint or discolored. But it’s better than doing nothing,” 

Joel gives you a faint smile that makes your heart flutter, his eyes grow soft. “Guess so.” 

You show him your favorite photographs, one by one, with insightful commentary on each. He nods, a man of few words, but you appreciate having someone to talk to, other than your own echoing voice.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a golden light through the windows, warming your skin, you realize with a startle that hours have passed. You find yourself sitting on the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Joel, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The light dances on your skin, and the colors come alive, and for a moment, all is right in the world. No virus, no loss, no grief. Just the two of you, smiling and talking. 

It feels like a glimpse of another life, an alternate universe. The sudden urge to cry overwhelmes you. It’s so strong that you press your nails into your palm, the sting of pain forcing a hiss to stumble from your lips. 

“You alright?” 

The deep baritone of his voice makes you jump. Joel doesn't seem to notice, as he carefully places the photographs back into their box and slowly stands up. While you nod and open your mouth to say that you are, his eyes lingers on the backwards photograph sitting on the bed. 

He reaches out before you can stop him, “It seems like we missed one,” he says, picking it up. Your fingertips touch the photograph as he pulls it away, slipping from your grasp before you can prevent what’s about to happen. 

“Joel, wait—” 

You watch him, transfixed as he studies the photograph, his eyes scanning every inch, his mind working furiously. First, his eyes go wide, then they narrow, brows scrunched angrily. His eyes snap up, his gaze hardened like the first time you met him. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

“I can explain.” 

Joel doesn't pay attention to her explanations, his gaze glued on the photograph. It's like looking into one of those distorted mirrors at a theme park. In the picture, he's standing, gun strapped to his back, fingers curled around the straps of his backpack. He doesn't remember this moment, every day blending into one. It's hard to tell which day it is just from a single photograph.

He looks tired, cheeks hallowed and eyes sunken. His hair and beard has more grays than he remembers, and there's a scar above his right eyebrow that he hadn't noticed before. How could he? He doesn’t like to look at himself. 

But what really sets him on edge is the sight of his own gaze. In retrospect, it's a beautiful picture, the setting sun casting a golden glow on his skin and eyes alight. But he knows what he used to look like, how he used to be tired but happy, content with the life he had built for Sarah and him. Now, he looks tortured, eyes lacking life and love.

This physical copy of his grief and pain is a stark reminder of all that he has lost. He turns the photograph over in his hands, tracing the edges with his fingers as the weight of his past presses down on him. He can't bring himself to look at it any longer and feels a heavy ache in his chest.

He rips the photograph into two pieces, then four—He tears it until the pieces slip from his fingers, fluttering to the wooden floors. 

When he looks back at her, he feels anger. Nothing more nothing less. He never should have came here. 

Her lips are pressed tight, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. She looks so small right now, ears pointed down, and her body curling in a way that makes him think she wants to disappear. 

Maybe she should. 

Or better yet, he should. Only if he wasn’t a damned coward.

“Why the fuck would you take my picture without asking?” he spits, venom behind ever word. 

“We weren’t really on speaking terms at the time…” 

He senses her need to lighten the mood, but it’s too late. The lid is popped wide open, and he’s not strong enough to close it back. The sickening part is that he doesn’t want to close it. Joel wants to lash out, he wants to scream and throw a glass at the wall, watch it shatter into a billion pieces. He wants it so bad in fact, it feels if he doesn’t his chest might explode, his breathing hitches, eyes darting around. 

Joel spots the box of pictures, for a brief moment he imagines himself ripping it all to shreds. Pouring gasoline over them, watching it burn. 

“You shouldn’t have taken it anyway,” 

His gaze then falls upon the camera, sitting idly on the desk. She follows his gaze, noticing the way the air around him becomes tense when he picks it up. It’s hard to breathe. She starts begging him, her voice trembling, as his fingers tighten around the device.

"Look, calm down, please. I'm...I'm sorry, okay?" she says quickly adding. "I understand how you feel—"

"No, you don't," he snaps, the weight of his grief and pain pressing down on him. "You know nothing of my pain. You don't know what loss is."

With a snarl of anger and frustration, Joel throws the camera to the ground. It crashes with a loud sound of shattering glass and plastic. He watches as the pieces of the camera litter the floor, its once precious film now spilled out like entrails. His chest heaving with each breath, his anger slowly dissipating, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of regret. He stares at the broken camera, with a feeling of emptiness and a heavy weight on his chest, the feeling hadn’t gone away. 

As a response, her anger starts to rise as well, competing with his own. Her gaze traces along the broken camera pieces, her hands balling into fists. 

“You’re not the only one who lost people, Joel.” you say, eerily calm. He doesn’t like the way a chill has settled over the bottom of his spine. “I’ve lost people too. You don’t get to say who’s pain is bigger.” 

Joel steps forward, then another, crowding her space. He expects her to cower in fear, but instead she glares at him, staring at him with an unwavering gaze he’s never seen before. 

He’s so close that he can see the small flecks in her eyes. 

“Yes, I do.” his voice drops. “You talk mighty big for someone who prances around and takes pictures all day. You can fool yourself and think that you’re in pain but you ain’t fooling me. You’re happy.” 

She blinks away her tears quickly, her lips parting with shock. It’s too late for him to feel guilty now; he’s sure he’s run out of guilt. 

Anger briefly flares in her eyes, and much to his surprise she attempts to push him away. Joel grabs her wrist, holding them tight as she thrashes around. She refuses to look at him, his words cutting too deep and into something that she fears might be true.

“That’s not fair,” she cries out managing to pull one hand away and slam the side of her fist into his chest. “Fuck you Joel. Fuck. You.” 

“Good,” he replies cruelly. “That’s how you should be feeling.” 

[hanzi83]

Return of the Scattered Mess

I haven’t written one in a bit, it is weird because I went almost 3 years without writing one because I didn’t need to as much since doing the podcast, but then recently I got in the habit, whether for better or worse to the people reading and consuming it, and now that I haven’t done one in a while it feels weird. Normally I have irrational feelings always flowing through my head about the state of the world and it is moving further to the right and all there really is to counter it is sports entertainment and limiting narratives, even if you say you oppose the evil of the far right because then you have to automatically blindly defend the democrat side and people who think they are smarter will scoff at the thought of both parties being the same, like I know there are bad faith actors who will just use that as an excuse to defend the new right’s personalities and sprinkle in some “anti war” talk and then think you are better than everyone else and it makes you more anti imperialist while always defending these sensationalist culture wars that really are about product placement with outrage marketing, and argue in favor of the far right leaning point to put people in marginalized communities in danger. But people who scoff at the notion of both parties being the same, when apolitical people who have lived through conditions of systemic shit that has happened to them and it has been happening under democratic leadership and republican leadership, people are not gonna look for the nuances of why the parties are different, maybe if people explained it like pro wrestling, it would be easy to kind of explain to the people who might not be as smart as the people who want to be thought leaders but act too elitist to distribute the information in a relatable way and then let dumbed down people continue to be lured into right wing cult like social circles online. Like here is the thing. I don’t know the exact rules of politics and what is legal and what is not but is it fair to say that someone who has committed so many fucking crimes and has people who are breaking the rules to defend him, and nothing is happening to them and they are still able to run for president and go to Waffle House for a photo op, and his ilk going on podcasts showing off about crimes they may have committed by “accidentally admitting” it, and nothing happens to these people, is it safe to say the parties involved don’t play by the rules that every day person plays by. It is like pro wrestling in that in kayfabe within the program, they have these legalities within kayfabe and it comes off as a parody and people often say “That would never happen in the real world, that’s not how it goes” but is that really true when literally all the crimes committed that we have learned about the last 20 years from the corrupt elements of government, are still able to just walk around and be free while the social climbing accounts just boo and hiss. I know it is frowned upon to be a conspiratorial person, and yes some of the “conspiracies” are coping mechanisms because it would break my being from within that people’s death and oppression is used to fuel sports entertainment in the MSM and that includes the alt media and the online funded shit, I know I am not supposed to think people in the alt media are compromised because they play clips of the MSM being dumbed down caricatures with overproduced promos, and pretend they are better because in 2023 making your entire personality dunking on the MSM is the most revolutionary thing you can do, people think there is no corporate interest in the alt media, because most of the takes from a bunch of alt media people are just as much establishment bullshit 90’s contrarian shit which is why they want to reboot the 90’s and early 2000’s where the “anti establishment” persona was coming off more genuine but the “anti establishment” establishment persona is one of the most overplayed hands with how watered down it is, like if someone like Tucker was really tugging on the cape of the establishment, you wouldn’t hear about him online or anywhere else, he would not be allowed to catch traction, but instead he has a bunch of shit heads who pretend to be anti war then go on his show and not call him out about the other pro war shit he has said, and the thing is there has never been a time where I haven’t felt more confused because it feels like the supposed anti establishment types are the ones who are being booked to be these “truth tellers” while they don’t disclose to their audience the problematic shit their guests are up to but if someone is supporting Ukraine, then it is like their entire personal character is attacked for everything they might be pure about and because this narrative online is that people in the legacy establishment and media say things about certain people on the right, you don’t want to sound like an establishment person so it feels like by the right wing think tanks and billionaire funded personas that cater to the online contingent, they are the ones who come off like they are telling the truth because they might adopt an anti war persona and might have a couple of “conspiratorial” things that might be true to people who are apolitical, while adding a bunch of other twisted right wing shit to the theories and you think you will have establishment liberal types will give nuances of what is going on around the world when they blindly shit on any conspiratorial thinking. Like I know right wingers have doped the 9/11 inside job thing and then they have then gone onto an anti trans panic to fuel their audience and following to act reactionary but it feels the only “woke” thing the progressive types can say about it is that it was funded by the Saudis, like they imposed something on poor old innocent US empire, and corporations, and other institutions and other public figures and officials do business with them and we think the money is being forced upon them, but don’t you think they do it because maybe people agree with their fundamentalist bullshit? For some reason, you cannot think that and the right wing who claim 9/11 was inside job then have no issue doing business with people who helped fund it, one would think that maybe powerful people don’t give a shit about the people oppressed, taking away people’s rights and somehow I am supposed to trust people who call out other foreign governments who never hold their own accountable. This is why a lot of people who have felt the lies and suffered from it might not give a shit about what the US has to say about shit because there have been so much shadiness. My whole thing is, they are still presenting a country vs country aesthetic when it is more about the far right powers taking over all over the fucking place. They want to self preserve about the warnings of what is to come, but then at the same time you levitate these threats with comedy and America’s dumbest criminal presentation, because these kinds of things could never be presented in a way where it has to be a fucking shitty reality show, because of a bunch of shit heads have to pretend they are side characters on Succession while people are gonna be harmed by the rhetoric going on, and this is why it is easy not to root for people who socially climb up in a system, because on the surface it feels they purposefully get worse, I get told a lot to get some help so I can feel better, and I can cop to my mental issues etc, but there are things that are not exactly facts that will ensure I will never fucking heal mentally because in order to get backup, I have to cosign from a side, and people thought once I got kicked from the Stern Show that I would then get lured in to get back up from the right wing side who would only attack Stern for being more PC when he has always been a system puppet, so if I were supposed to get back up, I would have to do what other people, who got fucked by the system, would do and align with problematic people and by the time they get their story out, people are not gonna give a shit about the root cause because now that person is going to the far right wing side. I have been left in the dark and I had to watch what I say or do because people who control my life could make shit even more uncomfortable and it can be so fucking under the table that no one will give a shit until they can officially prove it and make it into a fucking documentary for the future. That is the world I am supposed to get better in when everyone else has gotten worse, maybe their aesthetic is better because everyone judges the book by the cover while grown ass adults who are supposed to be leaders in whatever clique or institution are some of the most fucked up people on the planet and constantly make sure everyone is in constant misery and pain and gaslighting people into acting more reactionary. People will say this is what life is and the more people sell out, they will justify why people should be able to spread hate speech without and repercussions and make excuses while condemning people from the marginalized side because they will use a propped up sensationalist viral moments to justify it and get their takes propped up by more and more right wing leaning people and because they have fooled people into thinking because Lockeed Martin is holding up a fucking pride flag, that somehow the system loves the marginalized, when it is designed for pushback at an even more aggressive rate to discredit everyone from the general community, they make it seem like everyone is on the left, they think showbiz is run by liberal satanists, when to me it is run by conservatives fundamentalist shit that is under the guise of “liberation” because they are not the caricature right wing fundamentalist, but it is 2 sides of the same coin. 

It has been a while, so I am all over the place. But I think people have lowered their expectations when reading one of my blogs, they will definitely make fun of a dumbed down guy trying to articulate, and also some of them with evil intent will use the anecdotes of the experiences I have had being dumbed down and not use it for the sake of good, they will use to then double down on brainwashing dumbed down people into buying into their propaganda, and what is scary now is that people who want to sell out and not admit they are fucking phoney scum who built a reputation being anti establishment and they can’t give up on that one and maybe these people chose the wrong era and year to do this which is why they need the aesthetic of the 90’s and early 2000’s because they want to retread everything from that era even though it is watered down but if you get a bunch of people to prop it up and you are protected, you can use the guise of a progressive or someone who claims to be left/anti war and then find a way to constantly defend the right wing and when you attack the right wing, it is normally because you want to buy into Veep level in fighting which then forces people to have to advocate horrible people’s argument because you are training people to side between 2 people who have fascist aspirations, so the same people who are better than MSM are the ones who are lessening the threat of what is going on and this is who is supposed to be thought leaders. It would be one thing if people just sold out, but they can’t admit it and they will send people to lure me and others into that kind of thinking because as someone who is dumbed down and would just repeat and regurgitate talking points from people I viewed smarter than me, so you agree with the sentiment of what they say but then they will start cosigning other shit that is fucked up but because it is not as established as the the other corrupt and fucked up things, it means that I can’t ask any questions because at a certain point, these thought leaders just want to be cult leaders, they claim to be atheists but they want to be the gods/religion you worship. They can pretend to be anti establishment, but at the end of the day they have all become Steve Austin in the main event of WM17 shaking hands with Vince McMahon and then still later on try to do their anti establishment persona after the fact but by then people already see you as a caricature and parody who plays the hits for the live. And because these social climbers want to get up there as well, they will do work at their behest, they will be the soldiers and court jester for the billionaires, but people should study what I call the Sal Govenrale method, and this might be a deep cut but most Stern fans still consume my shit for the most part, but the method goes he is someone that was allowed to torment people Howard worked with and other people and he would be full of life and feeling good he is getting approval from Stern and he would help bury people for him and then he got his dream job of working for them, and then that is where he was put on display to become a sports entertainment caricature who dumbed himself down despite being talented and he would be the one who would keep Howard’s ignorance alive while Howard would scale back from being that guy because he was presenting himself as a more liberal guy. But I can assume the humiliation Sal felt where they chastised him for it on air was designed to happen like he was the only stupid one doing that kind of shit. And that is what everyone who is an online social climber will be forced to succumb through. How will anyone ever get better being in that kind of system where you will have to act worse and get worse mentally. I know the future of what is possible with how things are playing out and I don’t want to be here. It becomes disheartening to see people I used to hang out with become these caricatures and elitists, and then the news I would consume because I didn’t trust the western MSM media, and now it has become useless because they all ended up becoming shit and there is no one I feel other than a few at the current moment, but now I have to keep my fucking guard up with what information is being put out there. I used to think I was a free thinker because I listened to what the internet says, because it was easier and less established than the bullshit and lies MSM have told, and people in the establishment never explain why people can be lured into those circles and how sophisticated all this shit is, but we limit the conversations of racism, misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia etc by what it was presented as 30 years ago and think it is the exact same, the tactics are a lot more trickier because we don’t think they are orchestrating shit to happen so it helps the media fear monger so they manufacture consent into buying into upgraded ignorance. But what do I know huh? I am a dumbed down guy and my life is utter shit, you can tell me all the things wrong with me and you will just give me more ammo for why I shouldn’t have to be here. I don’t have anyone or anything really. The only hope at this moment is that if I drop dead now at my current irrelevant status, then at least I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone really knowing or giving a shit. 20 years ago I couldn’t articulate my visions but I could see the world was moving in a fucked up place and I just wanted to drop off from it and then I got famous and for a while it gave me a thrill and made feel a bit better even if it was being put on front street to be reduced to a whack pack parody and people would take their cues from Stern to drive me insane and push me into more mentally ill tirades and when someone has mentally ill tirades and now with everyhing that they accuse of being in my head solely and my own imagination, this is what is left of me, trying not to succumb to the pressure of being lured into becoming a reactionary because I used to buy into this shit back 10 plus years ago, when I was consuming alternative entertainment and media and now it feels like they are gonna be in the position as MSM 20 years ago when they are cheering on an illegal invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan. This is why my current conflict with Ukraine and Russia is not as intune as other people, because I have been used to the lies from western media, that for some reason to be considered a cool “anti war” person, I have to think that this is on the same level as what happened 20 years ago, and the ones who are doing the pro Ukraine shit, some of them who are establishment will basically do it in an imperialist mindset of acting like saying the US did bad shit in the past is the biggest moment for them to let out an audible scoff.  Sometimes I feel like neoliberals and neocons do the same shit of opposing each other but either way you will cosign their view and you will be lured into some kind of fundamentalism regardless. It is just the same people who claim to be anti war because they say they oppose wars happening but you are pro racist shit head by defending cosigned public figures being uplifted by racist groups but then claim anyone who shows support for Ukraine not to be invaded as the Nazis. These people use to be respectable in that they would call out the obvious caricature like shit in the MSM but now all of them with their platforms have become the same people they would make fun of. They have all become Jay Leno or they have all become Dennis Miller and they want the same type of cults from the Opie/Anthony/Howard Stern pipeline. I have never seen so many people who make their entire personality trait being anti MSM but then think they are in better positions than everyone else because they will cosign white supremacy in a grander view but they won’t view what they do as helping white supremacy because we limit the narratives of that to be this over the top example, it is so over the top, people think it is framing the MAGA types, and there will be claim of Feds etc, and I agree with the right on that on some level, but not that they are framing the right wing, but they are making it look that way and why can’t I believe that there are feds much like law enforcement that have white supremacists in it and that are actually helping the far right by making it look like they are specifically targeting them, even if they gotta throw some of them under the bus, but between these FBI whistleblower talking about corruption within it, and suddenly the right wing trusts the FBI when it comes to that, not that they couldn’t organize and book the storyline to look that way that people are being punished for being anti Biden and if the democrats were the most dangerous, we wouldn’t know that they are covering shit up but it is all over the internet purposefully leaked because we still view the internet as some underground chit chat room, so we don’t think we are supposed to know this shit, but literally everyone is talking about the stuff that people claim is censored, it is like when Gorilla Monsoon suspended Vader, yes officially in front of our eyes we saw it happen but it wasn’t really happening behind the scenes. Same logic, it is kind of like discussing who is president while horrible shit is happening because it is like blaming the world champion of a company but ultimately the bookers who run shit are the ones creating it, and by that we buy into this anti establishment candidate because you can spread the system didn’t want them to rise up even though we are seeing them nonstop and hearing about them. 

I am trying to go over jotted notes I had written down so I am gonna be moving from thought to thought, like I will improvise from the top so when I look at the list, hopefully I have gotten more of the topics off my mind but this list has been compiled for the last week or so and I just wanted to fucking write. I am not Hemmingway or anything, just a dumbed down conspiratorial thinker who lives in his parents basement from a grand conspiracy which you are not supposed to believe because there are no forces at the top to suppress me and it is all made up in my head so you shouldn’t take any of my theories seriously since you have helped reduce me to that and weaponized my mental health, so apparently it is frowned upon for me to weaponize it back of what I think is going on even though I have no clue what this world is and I really never understood it from the day I was fucking born. I know a lot of people feel how I feel, some people have crossed over to the system where their problems will get worse for them because they will either be put on front street and the system will humiliate them for shit that they were initiated into or you become a powerful person who then puts people’s lives through chaos and there will always be cults to defend these people nonstop and we have these conversations by limiting it and act like it is a regular relatable thing when none of this shit is relatable to regular people. It just bugs me seeing political shit which affects people’s lives on the long run being used armchair quarterback shit and dumbing it all down while a bunch of you anti establishment types are doing free promo for politicians who want fascist shit to take over or some pretentious product placement under the guise of talking about diversity so people can use that as an excuse to sensationalize against marginalized people and because I have almost been brainwashed to some extent and I have caught myself when I can see the thoughts going in the wrong direction, it makes me worried that as everyday passes by there is gonna be more sophistication of ignorance that will resonate at some point because all of us are susceptible to being brainwashed and being ignorant. People get mad at me for not being completely brainwashed. Bad faith actors have use their bad intentions while pretending they care about people in their community but then advocate for problematic shit and downplay the systemic shit that goes on in the entertainment world. Thing is when the establishment narratives are shit by default, I know people will get offended that I don’t trust the establishment, but because they have had lies nonstop all the fucking time, it is easier for people to fall for the lesser established things and they won’t recognize they are being conned into fascism, I know these words are overused but it perfectly describes what the world really is but the establishment have overused it so it doesn’t seem like it is cool, like it is with how discredited establishment type might pick on hip hop for some of the destructive themes within it, but those same people never mention the incentive to perpetuate and sensationalize the art and even the artists themselves, so it is like you throw it under the bus and then people who do propaganda with their art will then point out at a corrupt system as why they shouldn’t be called out for doing propaganda. So who would want to be on the establishment side, how can you point out the dangers within the entertainment when the other side of the argument are establishment types or the fundamentalists. Entertainment has played a role in manufacturing consent to get us to think certain ways and people only think corporate think is only being incorporated into this shit in this current day when it has always been there and it is now been incorporated in the areas where showbiz has expanded, which is in politics and social media. The legacy shit is the stuff that still makes the main money but the real entertainment is now what our lives is because we have manifested all our favorite stuff into our realities, and we continue to double down, we all think we can improve but when it is a mafia system, there is no way to ever be completely sane anymore. And this is why we will never ever get to the full root causes if we just pretend that entertainment has played a role in it, and they are using sports entertainment to bring in more fascism, like you can bring on experts from different fields to the surface to cover these topics, but ultimately they all have to do sports entertainment, and the right has been able to do that better which is why they get so much social traction, it also helps that by fooling people into thinking the underground shit is online so the information we are seeing, we don’t think that is part of the grand view, we all think we are taking in information that we are not supposed to see, and they can present their “awakening” as fighting back when they are on the side that is favored, which is why all these products they are boycotting will give into them, they can talk about how their objective is to fund this and talk in code so they can have plausible deniability just like that dude Clay Higgins who is giving vague military coded messages about knowing bridges and then suddenly the 195 highway is fucked up from some random tanker that had gasoline in it, but again we are not allowed to get conspiratorial and these people who think that, they will say “we can beat them with ideas” but they will shutdown conspiratorial thinking but then pretend that Matt Walsh’s shitty hate filled documentary is just words and we should beat them with ideas but they limit the ideas and these people get to call themselves progressives and go on right wing platforms and act like they represent from progressives despite someone like Cenk shitting the bed when he ran for congress. They can pretend they are regular fucking people but they are in the know of where this shit is going and that is why they are attacking the democrats in the easiest way possible because it is a lot better than how the MSM does it. They have someone like Ro Khanna on and grill him about the gimmicked debt ceiling talk but then don’t question his support for Modi all of a sudden even though he condemned him in the past, but because you grilled him a couple of times about the incompetence of the debt ceiling talk, I am supposed to think you are the most true to everything and everyone. And now because anyone can be media personalities in this space, now we have to subjected to a bunch of uncharismatic jerkoffs, before when I just took them as journalists or media who weren’t supposed to be these personalities and actually were being a bit more true, it is easy to stomach but once these people sell out and become a lot more horrible, it becomes obvious how shitty their pretentious personalities are with their sitcom level banter.  I have to hear from anti establishment types about how the establishment doesn’t want MAGA CM Punk and MAGA Steve Austin, in Tucker/Trump, to win. Yet they are doing whatever the fuck they want, and because I point that out, then it means I don’t know shit because I am not falling for the kayfabed reasons why they are allowed to get the traction they get. Even the people who say they oppose that shit are still limiting themselves, like you can’t expect people to get mad at Saudi related shit, and I am not saying you shouldn’t be mad at what they do, but when acting like your own government or the corporations within the country are doing business, you think these people are being forced into doing business, and not that they enjoy doing it because this is the liberal take from people, for some reason they can’t talk about the overall plan of it because we buy into country vs country shit. And I think everything in this current day is a lot more advanced and this is why we will constantly talk in circles etc. We kayfabe the information of why we are seeing shit now or we know about shit now, the fucked up thing is if we admit this life we are born into, we are put into a game we didn’t volunteer to play, then it would expose that in this system we can never get better and we will never have the correct information no matter what the new narrative is supposed to be for the next several years that is agreed upon by delegations within the system. 

I have noticed they have used product placement and advertising for movies etc and use identity politics with it that the right wing will be ignorant about because they hear about diversity, in this era they are gonna push back, there was a push for it in the 2010’s to be more progressive and we thought we were going in a more positive direction even if we weren’t all the way there, but it feels like much like how it was in the 90’s that there was some kind of social consciousness going on and now in the 200’s and late 90’s, people started pushing back against anything be called racists and the people who would call out something for being racist, it would have to be on the level of Ben Affleck breaking down and almost crying when talking to Sam Harris and Bill Maher, even though they were being anti Muslim but it made Ben look like an emotional reactionary who couldn’t handle the “truths�� from these Muslim experts in Bill Maher and Sam Harris, so recently with the claims of racism that exists with the Little Mermaid, it didn’t do well in other places and there is blind call of racism even though Black Panther did well, I have no idea, every movie seems to break records for some milestone they just made up for the discourse but it felt like one of those obvious claims of racism where it might not be there and people are being too reactionary so it makes people think that anything can be racist now and it helps push back against any claim of racism in other areas and at the end of the day, this is Disney funding this discourse, they probably fund the racist and negative shit heads and they fund the ones who will limit their opposition to the racist shit heads. And all we are doing essentially is using real problems for this product placement, I notice people who associate with TYT are doing it a bit more and it is not a coincidence they are doing it while the main hosts of TYT are moving into more of a right wing trajectory where Ana Kasparian is quoting a Koch Bros think tank poll about how Gen Z and Black people want more government surveillance, and she chastises them in a general way for complaining about oppression but want more surveillance, and she never retracts what is inaccurate, but she will retract for right wing accounts to use. Those are tactics she is using to change people’s narrative and she wants to pretend she is better than MSM. I am waiting for the prank to be over, and this whole time Marlon Wayons has been playing her in this elaborate real life version of a White Chicks sequel. You think any of them who get conspiratorial about going anti left, why wouldn’t they go conspiratorial about the organized efforts happening to create chaos into this world and help fund viral moments so people use that to create more culture wars. I feel a lot of stuff that goes viral, is designed to go viral because it is supposed to persuade us into buying into more horrible shitty culture war bullshit. You think anyone in the alt media has the balls to maybe call out the right wing for having people on their payroll to do shit and organize more chaos, we just deny what they are saying but you are also limiting what you can say about how the system could operate even if the new right will mislead and act like they are calling it out but they will project because whatever they are accusing others of and feel so confident about it, makes me think they are the ones behind it, like the Aryan Freedom Network, they will claim its feds, but there is a faction called that, but people will scoff at the fed talk, but it’s possible for factions to exist in these places where some of them would be into that kind of shit, but that conspiracy the right wing won’t like because I am supposed to think that they would be framing the right wing for shit and they will use how they have done it to other people in other communities, but then when they have an alleged radical BLM person doing something violent, they automatically believe the story 100 percent. I am all over the map but I needed to write this today in case the world is ending today with the potential of a civil war breaking out since 2020 was just the calm before the storm of what is to come and how vitriolic everything has become. It makes me regret even falling for some of this supposed “leftist” front from people who have now become people who aligned with far right wing people, and only cosign victims if they agree to align with the far right, and dumb down their dangers because they seemingly are not “corporate” because they are streaming on Steam Yard on a bad wifi connection. The way some of these people got me was criticism of Israel and defending Palestine, and no one in the western MSM establishment would never cover it properly and throughout the last decade, I would fall for more normalized propaganda that would be anti Semitic, and then other years I would figure it out and think these people are the ones who are telling me the truth, but now they are ending up promoting anti woke garbage, talking about how RFK is gonna change the fucking game, or eating one of those realistic cakes in the theme of Putin’s asshole. And now it is like I feel I have wasted time with people who seem like they are speaking truth to power. And I notice this attitude from that contingent online where they purposefully become negative about everything because it comes off more genuine than being overly happy which can also be toxic, but people really think that people into positivity are the only assholes, it is just the people who are into dark shit will be more seedy and shady with making themselves look like the Jim from the Office while they are creating scenarios to make it look like people into positive shit as the people who are the main ones who are sociopathic, to go to that much trouble to look sane, wouldn’t that be insanity? It is like the same people who pretend to be online fans of shit, who clearly work for these showbiz places to put pressure on women to have sex appeal, otherwise they won’t prop them up so they will want that from their favorite celebs, but then they will spend their time online partaking in shitty gender war shaming women for being sex workers while prostituting themselves mentally for edge lord fundamentalism. Forcing people to do shit is the issue, if you want to be more reserved or if you want to be more liberated by showing titties, go ahead. I support what people truly want to do but if either side of the argument is forcing a narrative, that is the issue I have. I mean what kind of world am I even living in at this point. I am living in a shitty fucked up world where 20 years ago, I never thought I would be alive to be on a glorified internet message board to see Barbara Streisand quote Memphis Bleek lyrics to own Donald Trump who happened to steal nuclear secrets. That would’ve been a scene in a Mike Judge movie. Now I worry about waking up and worried about the air and the fires, and I know climate change is responsible, but I can also think people are given incentive to cause the world to completely fucking burn, because that is the direction we are going, I actually had a vivid dream about this 12 years ago about the world burning and I chose to stay in the basement as it was happening because I didn’t have the desire to save myself and it was probably better for humanity for me not to be here anymore, and sometimes it feels like that shit is happening and it feels more of my dreams are manifesting into this real world to some extent.  

I am going in circles and I am not making much sense, but for this Trump shit, I will say this, they have managed to keep this guy in the news for so many fucking years even if they said they hated him and you would think by him being in the news, I figured people would move into the direction of exposing what is really happening but both sides are limiting the argument. I just know enough that this guy is never doing time, I would love for him to do time, I don’t get people who say they are against the powerful, but then they somehow always find a way to defend Trump because they are not getting him for the right crime, and there are other corrupt people who haven’t gotten theirs and listen if you tell me that other powerful people will get theirs then I don’t give a shit, and I figured the anti billionaire, kill the rich type of people would be happy that one billionaire is getting exposed, but at the same time I don’t buy into the hoopla of anything bad happening to him because he has been able to do so much the last 10 years that it feels like the “hatred” from the establishment has made him more powerful and he is able to be seen as the victim being picked on by the system. I don’t know if Biden did any corrupt shit they say he did, but he is a politician in the mafia system so yeah a lot of apolitical people who think it is corrupt will believe that Biden could be doing shady shit, but I can also recognize that the people pointing it out don’t mind other corruption but as long as their people are the ones doing it and then projecting onto everyone else. And the closer it gets to all of this really imploding and becoming the worst shit ever, it feels like more and more trusted people in the alt media especially are crossing over to the right wing side and they get mad if Biden will pardon Trump, but then they want Biden to pardon him if he does get arrested so he can beat him at the ballot box. They are lucky no one understands politics completely because these supposed “smart” people can basically dumb their arguments down to shit, and then I am the asshole because I don’t understand political rule when they are ones who have to make up all these rules for why this is happening when it makes no fucking sense. Even going as far as putting out the narrative of this case going past the next election if Trump wins it then he will pardon himself, like if these guys are playing by the rules advertised why does someone who have this much corruption tied to his name allowed to run? Because they don’t give a shit and they never have and all of this Trump shit has helped the new entertainment dollar while watering down everything in the process. MAGA people will call this shit a hoax because they will deny he did anything even though it can officially be proven, but I call it a hoax in that it is just serving as a culture war and sports entertainment and the end goal is to take us into a more fascist world. MTG can keep derailing shit and nothing happens to her, all these people can call for the guns to be used and getting ready to fight because they can make it look like Trump is going away so they were pushed to this, but this shit has been in their favor and some people who oppose Trump or claim to, will only get off on owning the right wing with shitty jokes because we need 50 more Trump impressions because he didn’t say a word properly, people have helped lessen the threat of him and the funny thing as shady and shitty the MSM is, they at least on record have self preservation of being right about a lot of things on paper even if they have been shit, but the lesser established alt media are the ones who in the future are gonna be the people who look like what they accused the establishment of being 20 years ago. But no one is preventing Trump from running, they can say it is officially on record, but if we know about it, and he is still doing it then they are not stopping him. Anyways this has been just a scattered opinion piece to get thoughts in written form to put out there because I haven’t done much writing lately when it comes to blogs. Not that it really makes a difference nor does anyone really give a shit, I am not some expert in writing obviously. I kind of just write where my mind goes at the moment and sometimes I can do some decent work but you can tell most of the time, I have no idea what I am doing and that is basically the story of my existence on this shitty planet, and I know I will never get better and I wish every day I could be off it, but I am stuck in here. This can’t be reality, I have to believe we have already died and this world is just fucking purgatory

[rayshippouuchiha]

Yamada: so how did you and izuku start dating

Aizawa: I saw him crush a watermelon with his thighs and I accidentally said out loud “oh god I wish that were me right now” and here we are now

~The way this immediately and completely ate my entire brain~

Of three things Aizawa Shouta is absolutely sure:

One, he simply was not built for operating during the daylight hours. Nighttime really is where it's at in his opinion. The general lack of crowds and eye-searing sunlight just can't be beaten. (Dusk and dawn hours also get a pass but they're both on thin ice.)

Two, the beach is a sandy hell-scape whose only redeeming factor is the convenient access it provides to the eldritch horror that is the ocean aka the place he'll doubtlessly end up drowning himself when he finally, and according to Hizashi inevitably, snaps and runs gibbering mad into the abyss.

And three, he's absolutely and irrevocably cursed. He's being singled out and punished from on high by the gods themselves. His name is writ large across the cosmos in mockery. There is a cosmic "kick me" sign taped to his spiritual back and Shouta's going to hunt his former student Sero down and give him detention for life for encouraging his family's patron god to put it there.

By this point it's really the only logical explanation.

Which, as a card-carrying atheist, he's pretty sure is saying something about the depth of his feelings regarding his current circumstances.

Because there's no other explanation for why or how he's managed to find himself in this current situation.

The situation being, of course, Shouta, in full hero gear, standing in the hot sun on a pristine sandy beach, surrounded by screaming fans as he provides extra security and crowd control for the 20th Annual Heroic Sukiwari Charity Drive.

Shouta has seen hell and it is both Ms. Joke's open mic night and this exact moment right here.

Because, again, he's absolutely 100% cursed.

And the avatar of said curse is, obviously, his soon-to-be ex-best friend who somehow roped him into this entire thing.

Because some people say divine retribution when talking about cosmic revenge plots but Shouta tends to just says Yamada Hizashi. The two are, in many ways, interchangeable.

Shouta's going to put purify salts in all of Hizashi's hair products and also his sugar jar and possibly his energy drinks the next chance he gets.

Because if he never sees another shirtless pro-hero or another watermelon again in his life it'll be too soon.

He's pretty sure he has permanent hearing damage from all of the screaming and screeching the crowd's been doing since this thing started.

And if, after all these years of friendship with the personification of a megaphone, watching a bunch of pro's crush watermelons with nothing but their personal strength on a beach to raise money for various charities is what finally destroys his hearing Shouta is going to shave Hizashi bald before he finally embraces sweet death.

Or enacts Nezu's birthday plans and becomes a supervillain.

The jury's honestly still out at this point.

Shouta does his best to shut out the screaming behind him as one of the cameramen slides up beside him, getting a better angle on the stage as Hizashi, who's currently screeching about Miruko's performance, practically dances across the sand in front of where Shouta's standing.

"Wow, wow, wow," Present Mic chants as he dramatically fans himself, "that was one on heart-stopping, hare-raising show. Let's give it up for everyone's favorite bad, bad, bunny, Miruko!"

For her part, Miruko just struts off the small stage with a nonchalant wave to the crowd, her tiny white bikini in place and the pulverized remains of the half dozen watermelons she'd dropped kicked into soup left behind her.

"But don't lose that rhythm yet listeners," Mic announces gleefully. "Because we've got one more hero set to take the stage! So, without further ado, it's the moment I know a lot of you have been waiting for, myself included if we're being honest. The pièce de résistance of our little shindig, the showstopper himself, the one, the only, the #1 Can Do Hero Dekiru."

The crowd is absolutely deafening.

And, for once, Shouta has to grudgingly admit that he can't actually blame them.

Shirtless, sculpted shoulders and tight abs on display thanks to his low sitting and almost criminally short green swim shorts, and with his trademark bashful smile in place, Dekiru trots out from behind the curtained-off area with a crate of watermelons resting on his shoulder like it's no big deal.

Shouta's pretty sure someone to his immediate right faints but considering they're not currently a trample risk he ignores it.

But the casual show of strength with no quirk use in sight is more than a bit impressive.

For all that people, romance specifically, and attraction in general, have all been things to be considered on a firm case-by-case basis for Shouta, even he has to admit that Dekiru is ... captivating.

Rather drastically so for Shouta considering he's never actually met the man before in person.

Though Shouta does feel like he almost knows him on some level considering the fact that it really would take an act of the actual gods to get Yagi to shut up about his erstwhile protege during staff meetings.

Dekiru waves his free hand at the crowd as he sets his crate of watermelons down on the stage.

"Show us what you've got!" Mic demands from a few feet to Shouta's left. "And let's give him some encouragement listeners!"

The crowd starts up a loud and steady chant of "De~ki~ru!" as the hero pulls his first watermelon out and begins his set.

With an effortless flex of muscles, Dekiru digs his fingers into the watermelon and wrenches it completely in two.

Shouta reaches up to tug at the top of his uniform, relishing the small sip of cool air it grants him.

Shoulders and biceps flexing, another watermelon meets its end between Dekiru's palms.

Shouta really needs to add a water bottle to his utility belt because hydration is important. Or so he's been repeatedly told.

"Those hands, those muscles," Mic groans dramatically. "He really is the Can Do Hero!"

Cheeks noticeably flushed, Dekiru sits down on the stage and fits a watermelon between thick, toned thighs.

His hips twist, those thighs flex, and the watermelon cracks, spilling juice and sweet pink flesh all over Dekiru's lap.

"Oh god," Shouta can't help but say, "I wish that was me right now."

On stage Dekiru's eyes go wide as his attention somehow abruptly zero's in on Shouta.

It's at that moment that Shouta becomes aware of the deafening silence that's fallen over the beach.

Head-turning agonizingly slowly to the left, Shouta's confronted with the sight of Mic, microphone in hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

His sunglasses are askew and he's staring at Shouta with a look on his face that's one part horror and one part unholy glee.

As a matter of fact, the entire beach is staring at him in much the same way.

For a moment Shouta just freezes, body going still at having so much attention turned in his direction.

This ... was not the turn he was expecting the day to take by far.

His first instinct is to, honestly, use his scarf to slingshot himself directly into the sun so his soul can be cleansed with cosmic fire.

But then ...

"Ah," Dekiru speaks up from on the stage, one hand ruffling the back of his hair and cheeks darker than before, "maybe we could go on a date first though? If you'd like?"

There's suddenly a part of Shouta that doesn't actually want to delete himself from existence via self-immolation.

And there's an even large part that doesn't want to outright reject Dekiru's seemingly sincere offer.

Because, when it all comes down to it, Dekiru seems to be, by all accounts, what passes for exactly Shouta's type.

Whip-smart if his very public arrest record and tendency to argue online and on the air with people he disagrees with is anything to go by.

Cute, with that dark green hair and sharp undercut, matching wide eyes, and a face sprinkled liberally with freckles.

Leanly built and small enough that Shouta's sure he could move him around easily but obviously muscular enough to be able to put up just the right amount of resistance in the right situation.

And, above all else, if the stories are to be believed, obviously some degree of batshit insane.

More than one story Yagi had told during breaks had Shouta questioning if the man had imported special American demons back to Japan and then stuffed them all into the deceptively charming and approachable-looking hero that is Dekiru.

So there's really only one logical way to proceed forward in this situation.

Shouta grins.

Several people in the crowd around him step back.

He's pretty sure he hears someone start reciting a prayer.

But Dekiru just blushes, eyes locked on Shouta's and teeth tugging at his lower lip.

"Hope you like coffee," Shouta finally says into the breathless silence that's fallen over them, "and cats."

Dekiru lights up, a smile brighter than the sun and twice as deadly blossoming across his face.

Just off of Shouta's side, Hizashi's busy having some kind of hysterical seizure.

Around them the crowd is going absolutely feral.

Yagi's going to birth actual kittens in the middle of the staff room when he finds out about this.

Shouta can't wait.

[beatleszeppelin]

You're A... Inexperienced Chapter 2

Summary: On watch one night you find out some thing that Daryl has never done. And you offer him some experience.

Category: Friends to Lovers, Eventual Mild Smut, just a good ol’ time

Paring: Daryl x reader (second person)

Warnings/Includes: General Walking Dead grossness, Smut (but not in this chapter), swearing, use of weapons, non-graphic hunting, mention of past child abuse, (let me know if you see anything else)

Word count: 3k

Chapter 1 Masterlist

Chapter 2 Naked in a Lake

The next few days were fairly uneventful. Seeing Daryl only in passing. He stayed outside when you were in; you stayed outside when he stayed in.

Not even shifts brought you together. Since the fall of Woodbury, there have been plenty of new people taking shifts to give you all a break.

Most of your time was spent helping with the kids in the library when Carol was too busy doing important things to “babysit”. Or you occasionally helped out at the farm on the south side of the prison. Rick and Hershel had started it over the past few months, and already it had yielded some fine meals.

Those meals were also made courtesy of Daryl, who went out into the woods on the daily, not going far, but far enough to be out all day and come back with a belt full of squirrels and rabbits by night. You had no idea how he did it or how far he went, but he seemed to be used to the days of solitude, in nature alone.

That was all until he planned to go out a bit farther, only for a couple days, but that was more that he had been gone in a while, more than anyone had been alone for a while. When he shared these plans, you decided that you would go out hunting with him, you know, because there is safety in numbers, (and you were dying to see what he spent so much time doing everyday).

So when morning came, and it was time to leave you brought your bag and followed him to the gate. He squinted at you being blinded by the morning light that rose over the prison. “I’m coming with you, is that alright?” You asked him knowing that he couldn’t argue. You awaited his response, but it never came, instead he had the gate opened and held his arm out like a gentleman letting you lead.

You guys walked past the spikes that guarded the outside of the gates, just as the queens guards once did outside of Buckingham palace. Kicking rocks and dust clouds along the path, walking went fairly slow. Not much to say, not much to do this early in the morning. You hadn’t even waited for Carl and Carol’s shift, which normally signified morning, to start before you had left. (You were sure he had said good-bye to them, Rick, and Judith the night before though. He was good like that.)

When the sun, which was barely peering over the land when you left, had risen enough to give you a long shadow, stretched out in front of you; you decided it was time to eat. Taking the backpack off your shoulders, and unzipping it when it was in front of you, you pulled out a small loaf of bread. You broke it in half and handed some to Daryl. He gnashed into it like a rabid dog, grunting a thank you in between bites.

You nibbled off bites as you walked, trying to savor it as something to do. The scenery of trees and a dirt path was getting old. You couldn’t understand how someone could go out along this path all day every day.

It was hot, too. Hot and sweaty. By mid-day you felt as though you were dragging, lifting your legs in a pedantic manner. Daryl’s hair was stuck to his forehead, and he had stripped his poncho, just left in a cut off flannel. He seemed to be perfectly fine in the heat though, barely even touching his water.

You wonder if he stayed outside a lot before as well. There’s something about him that makes it so hard to imagine him in his house, in a domestic setting. Did he do the dishes, and make himself food? Was his room clean, did he make his bed every morning before work? Did he have a job? What did he do? But you know that wondering these things will only pass the time, because there is no way he’d ever casually mention his previous life.

People had tried guessing, to no avail. Beth’s new boyfriend, Zach, was the leader of the guessers, being followed by the children, and you’ve even discussed it with both Michonne and Carol before. It would really take something special to make him confess his stories to someone, who knows who could get that close to him though.

You spent the majority of your walk picturing him in an office setting, wearing a tie and answering phones. Or at a gas station glaring at little kids who try to stuff candy bars up their sleeves, scaring them into obeying the law.

Mechanic seemed to fit best. Not a sleazy mechanic that finds more things to break to get

some extra cash, but one that spends day and night tracking down an original piece to some old beat up motorcycle. He wouldn’t charge extra for labor, cause he’d be doing the thing he loved most. He would treat each bike as his own, tirelessly making it perfect until the finishing pieces were in their exact place, like the sprinkles on a sundae.

“Gonna cut into the woods, right here.” He nodded, directing you.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” you said, snapping out of your little daydream. “Ya’ okay?” He ducked down, meeting your eyes though his hair.

“Yeah, I’s just thinking.”

“‘Kay, just watch out in here. Can’t make too much sound.”

You walked through the dense forest, making as little noise as you possibly could. Heel, toe; heel, toe. Only cracking branches and crunching leaves every few steps, listening to Daryl’s deep steadying breaths in between.

He taught you how to lay traps, and snares; different knots and when to use them. By the end of the day you could set your own, with the reassurance that he would help kill whatever you caught. No matter how many walkers you would kill, and how much bad shit you’ve seen. It still felt weird killing animals to eat.

The trapping, and mapping out your paths came to an end as night fell. The darkness made it too difficult to achieve the superb knots you were tying, and the sub par snares that Daryl would set, so you two decided to call it a night, sleeping in shifts back to back.

The next day went the same, but it was now time for the actual hunting. You left the killing to Daryl, using your lack of a silent long range weapon, like the crossbow as an excuse. You guys sat up wind, and out of the line of sight of any animals that may pass. It was quiet, and you understood why he liked it.

Hunting wasn’t all killing like you had imagined; hunting was 99% sitting quietly in nature, 1% killing.

You can’t lie about the fact that when a deer came into sight, you closed your eyes and didn’t open them until you heard the click of the trigger on the crossbow. You didn’t want to see the animal die, but you can’t feel bad about how many people that deer could feed.

Daryl took care of the dirty work, cleaning, and “prepping” the deer to be taken home. You sat by and watched.

Once the task was complete, you started back for the prison, hoping it would cut some of the time of the walk back tomorrow. This time was cut short by the approaching darkness of night.

You two set up a small camp to spend the ever closer night. And with cans on strings, as tripwire, and your backs to each other, you two felt it was safe enough to get some rest, that was until the cans rattled.

The sounds of metal clanking, shook you from your not so deep sleep. You whipped around to see a walker reaching over your barricade of tangled fishing wire and old soda cans. It stumbled over and grabbed Daryl's boot, luckily he tied up his pant legs with cords to keep from being scratched. You scrambled over to a half awake Daryl and pulled his knife from his pocket, stabbing it into the undead's brain. He nodded graciously as you handed his knife back. You both sat still in the early hours of the morning, breathing heavily until your adrenaline died down.

Your eyes stung from lack of sleep, but it was nothing compared to how Daryl looked. His eyes were puffy, and had dark purple craters around them, and what little you could see of his eyes were bloodshot. His hair stuck up in every which direction, the bangs that normally cover his face, were defying gravity, and exposed his forehead.

“You can sleep, but let's face each other this time,” you planned.

“You sure?” he said groggily.

“Yeah, if you saw yourself, you’d be sure too.”

He scoffed, and pulled his vest out as an acting pillow, tucking one arm under it, and laying his head down. He fell asleep shortly, and you watched.

The expression he made was soft, and innocent, less like a child and more like a puppy that tired out running in a field all day. He subconsciously held his thumb to his mouth. He breathed heavily through his mouth, with quiet snores escaping occasionally.

You didn’t sleep at all that night, you couldn’t let anything disturb the peace. You weren’t tired, though, you actually felt like you had gotten a full night’s rest.

The two of you started home at the crack of dawn, with dull yellow light illuminating the grass you stood on. You took to the woods for your trek home, rather than the long road you took to get there.

Halfway through the day you happened upon a lake that looked beautiful, a direct juxtaposition to everything you had been used to seeing. The water sparkled, and light refracted off the ripples in every which direction. Birds made chirping sounds that echoed through the dense forest, and made a song through the trees.

Daryl grabbed a plastic bottle, and some of the sandy silt that covered the edge of the water, making a makeshift water filter. As he did so, you took off your shorts and threw them aside, wading into the water. The water was greenish, but you could see your feet, and the dust clouding around your steps. The water was warm enough to not give you the chills, but cool enough to be refreshing.

Once the water hit your hips, you took your shirt off and threw it a few feet away from Daryl, joining your shorts, and shortly after your bra. You watched him finish his contraption and fill it.

“Should have some water in an hour or so…” he looked up and saw you, then quickly looked back at his bottle.

“Maybe we could catch a fish or something, too,” you said, smiling at his back. “You should join me in here.”

“Nah” he shook his head.

“Yeah, when was the last time you got cleaned up?”

“I ain’t gonna, someone needs to be a lookout.” He looked up at you, standing his ground. “Anyway, I gotta piss.”

He started walking away and you yelled to him, “Yeah, sure you do, Dixon.” You splashed his way, but he had already walked behind the trees.

A noise came from your left, behind a couple of thick trees. Two walkers stumbled out, slipping on the sandy hill. You didn’t have any weapons on you, and getting back over to your clothes seemed like a death wish. They were closer to the clothes and things than you were. Daryl didn’t even have his crossbow with him, it was in the pile next to the water filter.

You yelled for Daryl, hoping he’d get back before the walkers could reach you. You yelled again, and it drew their attention. They were about at the edge of the water now, and you were fucked… but a whistle came out of the woods.

Daryl showed up and whistled loudly to catch the attention of the dead walking toward you. It worked. They started toward him at a slow pace, and you ran over to the pile of stuff. You picked one off with the crossbow. Daryl tripped backwards on a rock, and the walker stumbled towards him, wishing to bite into the leg that was trying to kick it backwards. He grabbed the rock, lifted it over his head, and smashed it down onto the walker, and hitting it again smashed his head open, covering Daryl in it’s blood. He leaned back and dropped the rock. He took a second to catch his breath.

“Hey, thanks” You said to him as you were naked and dripping like a wet dog.

He sighed and raised his eyebrows. Which you will take as a “no problem.”

Daryl’s hair dripped with blood, guts, and rotting chunks of flesh. His shirt was wet, red, and sweaty. The muddy sand covered his pants and hands, leaving him dirtier than before.

“I guess you have to join me now” you said, still mostly naked.

He begrudgingly kicked off his boots, and slid his vest off down his shoulders, letting it drop on the floor. He started walking to the edge of the water, when you had to stop him.

“What, NO!” You said haulting him, “You are not still wearing your socks.”

He took off his socks, and his pants. He walked into the lake, a couple feet in and the water hit the bottom of his shirt.

You never took Daryl as the type of person to not be okay with taking his shirt off, but here he was: standing in a lake with his shirt on, contemplating whether he should take it off or not. He stood there for a couple seconds before looking at you, and when you gave him a reassuring smile, he took it off. He looked good with it off, you didn’t see a problem, until he turned around.

He whipped around fast to throw his shirt on land, and as he did, you saw his back. He was covered in scars. Yeah, some could be new, from fighting, from surviving, but you take it he’d been surviving for a lot longer than the rest of you had.

The slashes that riddled his skin were old. He could have gotten most of them when he was still a kid. You swallowed hard, he turned and faced you but neither of you met each other's eyes. He got quiet. And as his hand pensively rubbed the back of his neck, as he thought about what you must think of him.

“Hey, come on in the water’s fine,” you said to ease the tension.

It seemingly worked, because the next thing he did was dive under, swimming to you in a second. The water rippled along the path he had swam, and broke around his emerging body. You met his eye. He nodded to you as a thanks, and you shook your head back at him in a no problem kind of way. This practice had become routine, it was easier than constantly owing thanks to the other person for some trivial task such as saving their lives.

He broke eye contact and looked down, “Still gotta piss.”

You snickered. Then stepping back a couple of feet you gestured for him to go right ahead.

He looked at you, head cocked a little, and then the realization hit and his ears turned bright red. He turned around, and you got a better look at his scars. Some were short slashes, some longer, and others crossed over each other. You couldn’t fathom the person that would hit a child, let alone Daryl; Daryl was sweet, and could never have done something that deserved this treatment.

He finished up and faced you, but didn’t meet your eyes. You got a look at him, the man that just pissed in the pool in front of you, his ears were red as well as his cheeks making a bridge across his nose. The blush trailed down to his upper chest in splotches, like watercolors splaying out.

He chewed the corner of his thumb and said, “Ya’ know, I used to piss the bed as a kid.”

“I mean we all did,” You said. “Come here.”

He complied, “Nah, I mean ‘til I’s like 8 or so.”

“Bend over,” you told him.

He leaned back and you started washing his hair for him, detangling it with your fingers, and picking things out of it like you were monkeys.

“I remember a couple times it happened, had to sneak out late at night and do my laundry in the bathroom, so no one’d hear me. But this once, my dad wasn’t home so, I didn’t get… but my mom had this whole ‘nother way of doing it. She took my clothes. Pinned me down, Merle helped. She put a diaper on me, made me sleep outside.”

“When you were 8?” You cupped some water and dumped it over his head.

“Uh huh, made me wear ‘em to school, too. Under my clothes. Said if I took ‘em off she’s gonna tell my dad, so I didn’t.” He went back to biting his thumb.

“That shouldn’t have happened to you,” you said, moving to wash his shoulders.

He shrugged, and flinched away when you ran your finger over a scar on his back.

“You know, stress and trauma cause children to start wetting the bed later on in childhood, it's called enuresis, it wasn’t your fault,” You splashed water on his shoulders, noticing the freckles made by the sun.

“Done?” He asked, standing up straight.

“What?”

“Am I done?” he asked and shook his hair out like a dog.

“Yeah, you’re good.”

Daryl quickly made his return to land, you however stayed in the water until the filter was done giving you each a bottle. Every once in a while you catch him glance over at you floating naked in the lake, but his eyes would quickly divert.

[blueknightdg]

Consideration and Generosity

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

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug and Chat Noire, DCU

Characters: Marinette, Damian

----------

She sat on a park bench that day; the weather was hot yet, cloudy.

Despite the uncomfortable sweat clinging to her being and the buzzing noise of her surroundings, she smiled happily. She would do anything for inspiration, even endure the blistering feeling of the sun.

Soon enough it has been hours since she began to sketch and draw designs for clothing she wishes to make true.

She feels her head is off, so she takes a break to answer a text from her mother.

----------

(Mom) Marinette, are you still at the park? It's been five hours.

(Me) Yep! Just taking a break.

(Mom) Just now? It's really hot outside, have you eaten? What about water?

(Me) Don't worry! I'm fine! I stayed in the shade the whole time.

(Mom) Okay, but I want a picture of you eating.

(Me) Okay, I will. I love you!

(Mom) I love you too.

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

Marinette, packs her sketch books and other materials a way in her bag. She stands up, only to tip over onto someone walking past her.

"Hey, you-"

The person stops to keep her from falling all the way down.

"Uh... I'm sorry, I guess I should have taken a break earlier."

She tries to break a way from the strangers grip. They let her go easily. They began to walk a little further a way with a eye in her direction. She sits down again to collect herself. She takes a few breaths and thinks about how to get up without falling and embarrassing herself.

"I wish I packed a water bottle or something, I knew it was hot but I thought I would be fine....", she thought to herself.

She checked her bag in case she just forgot. Lo and behold there was a water bottle in one of the outside pockets.

"Huh....? That's strange, I was sure I......oh well.", she shrugged it off as her forgetting.

Feeling a little better, she carefully stood up. Having not fallen, she smiled and picked up her full bag. She walks in the direction of a small restaurant to eat, since she wouldn't make it home before hunger got to her.

She walked like she wasn't being followed. Casual and slow, she took in the buildings a round her. The same as her memories told her, but still just as beautiful.

Once she got to an empty table, she sat her bag down in front of her. The waitress walks up to her with a smile.

"Hello! Here is the menu, please take your time. Though I do suggest today's special! Mushroom soup with broccoli, carrots, and rice."

"Thank you."

"No problem!"

The waitress leaves her be and she focuses on the menu. It seems that this restaurant is all about healthy living.

She hums to herself as she thinks of her order. However, everything sounded wonderful and she couldn't decide. Then she heard a waitress bring someone's order of a tofu and veggie stuffed bell peppers with a side salad. So she looked over to see the meal and found that it looked delicious. She also saw they ordered tomato juice.

Looking at the menu one more time, she located the meal, drink and picked out a dessert on her own.

As soon as she put her menu down, the waitress came up to her with her pen and notepad out.

"Ready to order?"

"Yes, I would like the Tofu and Veggie stuffed Bell peppers with a side salad, tomato juice, and the vanilla, soy bean ice cream."

"Would you like a topping?"

"Yes, let's see....oh! The coconut sprinkles and strawberry drizzle."

"To repeat: Tofu, veggie stuff bell peppers, side salad, tomato juice, vanilla soy bean ice cream with coconut sprinkles and strawberry drizzle?"

"Yes."

"Okay, we will right on it!"

Marinette took out her phone as she waited. She texted her mom, that she was at a restaurant nearby. Her mom reminded her to send a picture of her eating.

A few minutes later and her food was brought to her.

"Thank you so much!"

"It's no problem, dear, tell me if you need anything!"

The waitress leaves to let her eat. She sends a picture of her food to her mom, who responded with the words 'smile and heart'.

--------

Change perspective

--------

His day was normal. He woke up and dealt with the hooligans that plagued his life. He was currently in Paris as a part of a stake out group. His family dispersed during day to do individual actives. His father wanted him near by, but he argued that he didn't need to be monitored.

His father conceded by saying he must practice being considerate of other people and to update him on how it is going and if he needs help. He was more than reluctant to agree. Regardless, he did.

He didn't like the loose nature of his apparel for the day, but had no chouce due to the heat.

Though by no means is his clothing loose in comparison to others definition. He prefers to be dignified at all times.

Most of the day, he had nothing report to his father that was particularly considerate until he notice the ragged look of a girl a round his age. She looked dehydrated and ill. He scoffs at her lack of self preservation until he notice she was immersed in some kind of sketching. He also remembered his has to be 'considerate' today so he will say she was lost to passion. After all, this is Paris, the city known for passion.

He watches her as she unconsciously squints and makes a grim expression at times. She sways ever so slightly.

In his observations, she stopped her work to look at her phone. Her condition is not well. He walks a little closer with a water bottle he bought. The moment he walked next to her and she stood, he stabilized her and slipped the water bottle in her bag as she spoke, trying to clear her head. She was drenched in sweat.

"Father better be grateful, I am being more than generous with being 'considerate', disgusting.", he thought with distain.

He hurried a way from her only to stop a short distance a way to watch her more and to sanitize his hands; to rid himself of the horrid feeling of her sweat.

The girl swayed less than before, but after updating his father of what happened, he was ordered to tail her. What if she collapsed? His efforts would have been in vain if that was so.

He was slightly frustrated and her slow pace did nothing to help. He only felt a bit better at her choice of eatery. He saw that she was heading for a Healthy Living Restaurant and went a head of her to sit down. He typed to his father that the girl was trying to decide what to eat. He was instructed to do what he thought best if he were to interfere at all. So he picked the most sensible option for her condition, in return, she followed and added something to her order.

He ate quietly and finished before her. He then left a large tip; the service was quick, the food palatable, atmosphere was pleasant and he doubted the girl had much on her. Enough to pay perhaps, but she would then be left with nothing else.

She seemed to be middle class, and the middle class does not make much little wealth, to him at least. Sure, her clothing was quite good with quality, but her manners weren't all that remarkable and nothing else about her was either.

Polite, is what she was. Quiet, unnoticeable, and polite.

To him, she was a foolish girl that dreamed too much and did little for her own well-being. Truly the epitome of moronic whelps.

After he left the restaurant, he watched from a distance. Through the window, he saw her tempt to pay, only to be denied. He smirked, perhaps he should visit this particular restaurant again and maybe even invest a bit?

He felt his phone buzz, his father typed, wanting to be updating on the status of the girl. It became apparent that some of the hooligans are now aware of his sudden punish- mission. Yes, this is a mission.

Protecting such weak plebeians is the duty of his father and him, also the unsightly hooligans- not well in his opinion- but he shall add them this once.

"Father is surely proud of how 'considerate' and 'generous' I am.", he believes, "Excessively so."

------

The day ends with Marinette safely returning home and the still mysterious young man facing his mismatched family.

The young man remained considerate as he ignored the jeers of the hooligans until he realized, he didn't have to any more and retorted as though his words came from the high heavens.

---------

The next time he checked in on the young lady, he had some knowledge of her background he shouldn't and decided to continue to see to it that she is well taken care.

"It's called being an arrogant, egotistical xsshxle with a God complex. She doesn't need your 'consideration', she is not a charity case!"

One loud problem claimed as he tuned him out.

---------

The young man did visit the restaurant once more and she was there. She would visit often and order the same thing as he had the first time. There were times she ordered something else and he would try things she experimented with, minus the meat.

She ordered meat less and less the more she came to the restaurant, he noticed. He had no clue why, since she obviously had no problem eating it.

He didn't order sweets as often as she did, but he would on occasion, get something with a little bit of sweetness to it; like the dried fruit sandwich with any type of sauce it can come with. The sandwich had fresh, and air dried fruit. There would be other ingredients and such to change the flavor of the sandwich, making it a popular item on the menu.

------

Change Perspective

--------

She felt like she has seen the same guy a lot over the past two months and is slightly worried. After some thought to it and the more she believed she was over thinking it and that it was pure coincidence. She did know, however, he had good taste in food and art. Plus that animals are so cute!! He couldn't be all bad if animals liked him.

She would walk a little closer and sometimes walk a little farther from him and since he never moved, she felt better. It really was a coincidence to her knowledge.

Eventually, she would would stop seeing him. He was a tourist, so of course he would leave at some point. Still, she was a little sad.

Oh well, school is starting soon, maybe she'll make friends to fill the loneliness her pretend friend left her.

She liked to pretend this stranger was her friends and that they hung out, since she saw him in most places that she was. She saw him at the restaurant and sometimes the park and rarely he would be at the museum. Technically he wasn't everywhere and not as frequent as she made it seem like he was, but if was often enough to remember him.

"You should have talked to him, get his number."

"But then he might have thought I was hitting on him! I just wanted a friend..."

"Sweetie, look on bright side! Either you can cherish memories that made you happy or you can forget him and move on. You don't know what life has in-store for you, it could be fun!"

"Thank you, mom. You too dad, I will see what happens."

"On that note, want help me frost some cakes?"

"Yes!!!"

-----

The end.

[writers-worst-nightmare]

Delaying my nightmares:

Pairing(s): L x reader

Glossary:

y/n = your name

y/f/c = your favorite color

y/f/o = your favorite outfit

y/h/c = your hair color

A/N: this is a collab piece for @elektrosonix here you go love ❤️

Summery: L has a rough day at work but you cheer him up with some good old nostalgia

Warning(s): mentions of death, L being out of character, minor cussing

Your eyes screwed tightly before opening as you saw L leave his bed. L’s messy black hair flew all over the place as he grunted and stretched his hands in the air to make himself looser then he already was. You almost immediately perked up and sat up on the bed. “Where are you going?” You asked finally, choosing your words carefully. L looked back and softly smiled at you before he gently patted your y/h/c hair.

“Work, somebody has to catch up on this Kira guy.” The male answered plainly, you rubbed your eyes. Tiredness hung thickly in the air and you desperately needed L’s warm and comforting scent. He smelled like fire just beginning to start and there was always a hint of liquor scent on him even though you knew very well that he hasn’t drank liquor in his life.

“But it’s like three in the morning...” You grumbled sleepily, getting out of bed and wrapping your arms around L’s slim shoulders.

“Yeah, I am running late,” L stared plainly before kissing you on the cheek. You sighed in defeat, turning around and seeing L go off into the distance of your house. You stayed where L had once been. Refusing to believe that he actually left you again.

It wouldn’t be anything out of the normal that he did, it is just that usually he would stop for breakfast. But ever since this Kira guy has been popping up all across Japan L has been spending more time at the office. Hell, Light knew him better then you did at this point. It was for a good purpose. It is going to all play out for us... you thought before getting a text by L.

Grumpy panda😡🐼: what are you doing still standing around the room?

You let out a sigh in defeat before waving at the camera that L had placed in your guy’s rooms

Y/n👸: I was just thinking baby

Grumpy panda😡🐼: ok then…

You decided to get out of the bedroom and get in the shower. As you undressed you began to think about all that has happened with Kira.

Kira was a now well known killer who killed his victims in a strange way. He didn’t need to be near the person to kill them. But the death was usually in a case of heart attack. His victims that he killed where always criminals, his first murder was a mere test to see if whatever power he holds works.

You stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water, waiting patiently for it to warm up before you stepped inside and began to continue your train of thoughts.

Everyone in person called Kira a monster, however, everyone online seemed to agree with the Kira. It was logic, if somebody does something illegal they deserve to get punished. It might seem wrong on the outside, but, we are all secretly glad that somebody did the work that tons of others feared to do. Your thoughts on Kira? Same but different as everyone else’s. If someone does something bad and gets punished by going to jail to something bad happened in their lifetime then it’s not that enough? They don’t deserve death! That’s the main reason that you sided with L, a lot of times you disagreed with your husband. A lot of times you argued with him (or didn’t even have time to argue with him). So Kira brought peace in the marriage of L and you, and you silently thanked Kira for that. Sighing to yourself you slipped out of the shower and grabbed a robe to wrap around your body. The robe was y/f/c colored and very fluffy. Sometimes, you used it as a blanket when all the other blankets that you owned where being dried/washed. Stepping outside the bathroom you gripped a pen tightly in your hand and pulled out Life Note. Life note was something that was passed down from generation upon generation in your family. Life note had a white book cover and spine, there was silver lettering that read “life note”, on the back of the book there where introductions on how the life note worked.

You needed to picture somebody in your head and write down their name, if you do it less then a minute then the person you wrote in the journal would come back to life.

You needed to reverse Kira’s work, he had destroyed what you where working on in a instant and you where pissed to say the least.

“Haruto will come back to life at 7:00 PM”

You wrote out hurriedly, your hand now use to writing fast that your handwriting was almost unreadable to everyone except yourself (and sometimes L). You where about to write another name when Tenshi showed up and stopped your hand.

“You should focus on L more sweetie,” Tenshi suggested. Yoy clenched your jaw tightly and narrowed your eyes before sighing and nodding your head reluctantly. Gently you put down your pen and closed life note. You stored the life note in a secret compartment that on you knew. Not even L knew about this spot. Only you. You and nobody else. That is how it has always been in the family, if someone finds it then it will be snatched from the grasp of the l/n family and into another’s. Somebody who might use it for evil or their own selfish needs and desires.

“Fine…” You mumbled, a slight pout forming on your lips as you got up from the desk and went to the living room. Your living room was to your left and the kitchen was to your right, their was a narrow front door (you owned a bar so you and L decided to live in the basement). Looking around and thinking back to your husband L, the first thought that came to

Your mind was that he didn’t have much of a childhood. He was always separated from everyone at a young age. So, the most logical and childish thing to do was to build a pillow and blanket fort. You smiled widely at the idea, L wouldn’t be able to hold back and he would have to cuddle you! You happily gathered the pillows and blankets and made a tunnel that went around the coffee table and led to the guest room. In there you spread out the pillows wide enough that is almost took up the whole room. You brought into the opening a blow up mattress, twinkle lights, and lots of blankets. You then backed out and quickly changed into y/f/o and began to bake some vanilla cake.

You had been making cakes for L since you could remember. You where the only friend that L was allowed to have because you where equally as smart as him. Unfortunately for your parents you dropped everything and became a bar owner with a side job of professional cosplayer. And from time to time you went with L on meetings if the crew had their eye on annoying L. You popped the cake into the oven and waited for a few moments.

The oven alarm alerted you that the cake was done, you silently thanked the gods and brought the cake out for it to cool down a little. As it cooled down you pulled up some recipes for orange icing and began to make the icing.

Once the icing was finally done the cake was more then ready to be decorated on with icing and other things that bakers may put on it. You coated the cake with light orange icing and lemon yellow sprinkled on it. Happy with the result you brought the cake to the big opening of the fort and then brought some plates, knives, forks, and napkins. Your phone ringed the tone of “Arcade” in violin and you quickly answered. Knowing that you picked the ringtone especially for L.

“Hey L!” You chirped on the phone, grunting as you got up and left the fort. Ready for L to say that he was ready to come home or that he missed you so much.

“Hey y/n.” L answered back, his voice quivered slightly and you could tell that something was up with him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something happened…”

Your eyes widened as you forgot everything you where planning and grabbed your purse, your breath hitched in your throat and tears started to bubble at the corners of your eyes. But, just as you swung the door open you saw L standing there in front of the door. He looked perfectly fine and he still had the phone to his ear, hanging up the phone and glanced at you and giggled softly.

“Light got mad at me for not taking care of my beautiful significant other so of course I had to prove him wrong and show up…” L smoothed, looking at you and smirking knowingly.

“L!!!” You exclaimed, jumping into the black-haired man’s arms with excitement buzzing through your body. “Come on, I have something to show you!!” You explained, grabbing L’s wrist and dragging him to the entrance of the fort. L cocked his head to the left slightly and stared at you for a few minutes with a confused expression on his face.

“What is that?”

“That is a pillow fort! Since you didn’t have much of a childhood, I thought I would show you them…” You trailed off, now suddenly thinking that the idea you had in your mind was pretty stupid now saying it out loud.

“REALLY?!” L exclaimed, his eyes uncharacteristically beaming with joy. His voice all of a sudden got playful and childish. “How do you get in?” L inquired, bending down and trying to see if there was a gap but enough for him.

“Over here, you open this pillow and it opens into a tunnel! Follow the tunnel and you will get to the main part.” You showed L, opening the pillow door and smiling at him. L went directly in and crawled to get where he was suppose to go. You followed closely behind and heard a happy Yelp from the pale skinned male as he jumped in pure excitement. You followed closely behind and had to push him forward so you could go in as well.

“And you made cake?!” L asked, stars seemed to gleam in his eyes as he saw all the effort you out in. You chuckled slightly and scratched the nape of your neck before giving a coy smile to L.

“Yeah, it’s vanilla cake with orange icing and lemon sprinkles!” You answered sweetly, L still kept on a smile as he climbed on the blow up mattress and grabbed a piece of cake. You silently called it a victory for yourself to see L so happy at your house.

“Can you cuddle me?” L requested in a baby voice that made your heart squeeze. You gave your husband a warm smile and flipped over L so he was laying on your chest. L happily obeyed and even let out another smile as he ate the cake.

“How was work?” You hummed, not really wanting to know the answer but still wanting to hear L’s soothing voice that brought the angels at peace.

“Boring, more and more paperwork. You would think that in my job I wouldn’t complain about being bored but…I guess that’s just how it plays out!” L responded, his tone deepened a little. Like his hopes slowly drained away from him. You rubbed circled on his back to reassure him that everything is fine. L looked up at you and giggled playfully before playing with your hair. You hummed in contentment as he twirled your hair in his fingers. Rain started to patter on the window, making the sound echo through the walls, the silent sound of the bar coming through to the fort.

[mysticpetals]

Farewell, sunshine

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Jake × f!mc (Syianne)

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: angst, a sprinkle of fluff

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 4.9k (oof)

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: All Jake ever wanted was to find his sister and protect the person who had helped him more than anyone. Only, he slowly began to realise that bringing Syianne into this had caused more harm than good.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: mentions of blood, physical attack, violence, hospitals, medical coma, panic attack.

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨: Anonymous asked: 5. “Wake up! Please wake up.” MC and Jake finally get to meet for the first time, but everything is heavily dipped in angst. 😂 Also I adore your writing and keep up the good work!

Anonymous asked: Can you give us the most angsty jealous filled over protective short with Jake x MC i want all the ANGST to be seeping out of my screen

@mnrangera asked: Here's a nice angsty scenario for you: MC is in Duskwood continuing their investigation but is caught out in town after dark. They are on the phone with Jake when they are attacked by the Man Without a Face like Jessie was.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: I know this has been LOOOOONG overdue and I apologise for the wait. Thank you to all my followers for being patient, especially those who sent the requests in. I hope the long wait is worth it and you enjoy it. Also, please read the warnings before proceeding, I don't want any of you to be triggered by something I wrote. There may be inaccuracies in how I progressed medical conditions and general working of the hospitals so I apologise for that. Please do not repost or translate this fic anywhere else!! I'm literally begging you, please don't ruin my hard work like this. I would love if I could get some sort of feedback, whether it be reblogs or comments or just anon asks. I've tried to improve my writing and I hope it shows a little in this. This is my Christmas and New Year present all wrapped in one! I hope you all have a great 2021 <3

It was a cold, winter evening with the sky painted in a plethora of warm colors and Jake felt like finally things were going his way.

He, along with Syianne, had been working tirelessly for the past few weeks to find out what happened to Hannah. They had faced a lot of challenges along the way, with cryptic diary entries and threats directed towards them and their loved ones, but still, they'd prevailed and spent every ounce of free time, getting more information about Hannah's perpetrator.

They finally had the facts about what happened the day she was kidnapped and only the identity of the criminal was hidden. Syianne had suggested that she should go to Duskwood to try and find the last puzzle piece, to which Jake had been a little apprehensive. She argued that the rest of the group had already been through enough, with getting stalked and receiving threats and insisted that she should be the one to carry out her search in secret.

She never once asked for him to come along because she knew how dangerous it would be for him and she didn't want him to get caught. Jake was instantly warmed by the thought that someone cared so much about him, to think of his well being first.

So that night, as she called him to update him on her findings and plan after she went to Duskwood, he found himself speaking his thoughts impulsively.

"What if I came too?"

There was silence on the other end and Jake thought he might have overstepped or made it weird but she answered before he could stammer an apology.

"I'd like that. But only if you're comfortable and safe."

She told him to ruminate on it for a while and bid him goodnight. Jake thought about whether it was a logical thing to do. If Syianne planned to go undercover, he couldn't very well let her go into the lion's den alone. So he made up his mind and texted Syianne to let her know.

Jake [10:46 pm]

I'll come to Duskwood too.

Is it okay if we don't meet straight away?

I...I don't think I'm ready yet.

Syianne [10:47 pm]

I was lowkey hoping you'd say that ahaha

And of course! Take as much time as you need :)

That night, he slept with a smile on his face, excitement churning in his stomach.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Syianne was looking forward to her trip to Duskwood.

She knew it was a potentially dangerous situation and she was only going there to investigate but knowing that Jake might be there too, sent a spark of thrill through her body. They had been speaking non-stop for the past few weeks and she really liked talking to him. His answers to questions about him or his life were adorably confusing and Syianne realized that she really wanted to get to know him, be his friend or possibly something more, if their flirty banter was anything to go by.

Her bag contained all the essentials she could need, along with a sketchbook and pencils to use in case of boredom. She couldn't leave Matrix with any of her friends as they were either busy or allergic to cats so her only option was to take her along.

She had never booked a flight so fast. Knowing she would have to take a car from the airport to the rest of the way to Duskwood did nothing to damper her excitement. She couldn't wait to meet everyone once they found Hannah, some more so than the others.

The trip was nothing eventful, just a lot of travelling and it made Syianne a little tired but the idea of meeting her friends and finally putting a stop to all this madness, made her keep going. She wouldn't admit it if you asked her but she was looking forward to possibly seeing Jake as well. She knew he might not be comfortable enough to meet her yet and she completely respected that, but the thought still lingered.

She checked in to the only hotel Duskwood had, not meeting the receptionist's - Lilly's - eyes and was eternally grateful that she had only leaked her number and not her photo in that video. It would have been much more difficult to move about Duskwood, if that were the case.

The room they had was pretty basic, but not too bad for a few nights. Matrix prowled around the room, getting herself comfortable in the new environment while Syianne slowly unpacked the few clothes and necessities she brought.

In the corner of her mind, there was the thought that Jake might be staying at this hotel too and that sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. But she was a woman of her word and would wait until Jake was ready and would not try to look for him.

She had a mission here and she wanted to be damn sure that that's what she would be focusing on and save Hannah.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake was supposed to be in Duskwood about two nights ago.

He had encountered some issues with removing his tracks from the internet, as well as trying to find a safe way to drive to Duskwood without exposing himself. Working as a hacker did have some benefits and finally he managed to find a guy who made him three fake number plates that he would interchange every once in a while, so his whereabouts couldn't be traced.

He had let Syianne know of the unexpected delay but to his surprise, she was enjoying herself in Duskwood. She had told him that Jessy gave her a virtual tour of the town once and she was excited to explore all those places in person. She talked to him at night, describing the beauty of the small town and Jake felt himself growing wistful, wondering what they could do together if he had been there. But then again, hadn't he said that he wouldn't show himself right now? He was cautious - just as he had been all his life - but something about Syianne just made him want to let his guard down, to just be selfish for once.

He had no time to think further on it because finally, all the preparations and precautionary measures were done and he could drive to Duskwood. He couldn't leave Glitch at home because he had attachment issues and couldn't go without Jake for a long period of time. So he ushered him into his carrier and told him he could claw all the wood he wanted when they reached their destination and Glitch meowed in agreement. He had always been a smart cat, after all.

Changing the number plates every hour was exhausting, especially when he didn't do much manual work but he endured it, if it meant he was one step closer to finding his sister.

When he finally reached Duskwood, he was in awe of how normal it looked, how silent; how someone who didn't know that a girl had been kidnapped would think of this place as the perfect getaway. But he knew better, didn't he? This town held dark secrets, secrets that people weren't willing to acknowledge and he was going to expose them for what they were, no matter what it took.

Signing into the Duskwood hotel was as awkward as he imagined it to be, his half sister having no idea who he was and looking at his dark, baggy clothes suspiciously. He wasn't blaming her, he would have probably done the same if a strange man came out of nowhere to stay in Duskwood of all places. Lilly gave him a tight smile as he picked up his bag and key and made way to his room.

Syianne had texted him earlier that day that she would be checking out the lake in the evening, where Jessy was attacked. Jake was against it from the start but he should have known how stubborn she could be and eventually, he had to agree but only on the condition that she stays on video call with him the whole time. Syianne was evidently bewildered by his request, judging by the way she kept writing and erasing her reply but after a while, she managed to ask if he would be comfortable with that. Jake's heart warmed at her considerate words, never really having anyone who would care about his emotions, he was always surprised when Syianne said something like that. He replied that he would just turn off his camera or point it at the lamp or something but he had to be sure about her safety.

And that's why, he was sitting with his phone in front of him in the evening, camera turned off as he watched her fondly, pointing out the strange birds she saw.

"Ah, I wish you were here! The lake is so pretty this time and the light from sunset is reflecting off the water and it makes an amazing view," she said, voice breathy with the exertion of walking for a while and a tone of awe towards the scene in front of her.

"That's sufficient sightseeing, don't you think?" Her voice suddenly took a serious note and Jake straightened up in his chair. He was afraid but couldn't say anything. He had already agreed to let her go with a condition and he feared if he asked her to not investigate, she would probably end the call and keep looking for clues by herself. At least on the phone, he could look at her surroundings and made sure no one sneaked up on her.

"If you say so," he said half-heartedly, glancing at the surroundings behind her as she narrowed her eyes at his dismissive tone.

The next twenty minutes were spent with Syianne looking around the lake and Jake looking over her shoulder virtually. She had scouted the edge and went a little deeper into the forest, looking for a car, a boat, a mask - anything, really - but the search had proved to be futile so far. Everything was as peaceful as ever, no signs of any disturbance and it made Jake a little antsy. Nothing was ever this perfect.

"Well, since we can't find anything here, I think you should come back. It's getting late," Jake said, looking at the already darkened sky. It was an ominous red color and Jake was getting more and more worried as people left the lakeside.

Syianne frowned but didn't argue and that made him sigh in relief.

"Yeah, you're right. No use trying to find something that isn't there," she said and started walking again.

"Wait, you walked here? Didn't you bring your car?" Jake asked and she shook her head.

"Nope, I wanted to enjoy Duskwood and being in a car wouldn't have helped," she smiled at the camera and Jake let out an almost inaudible sigh. Why couldn't she care about her safety a little more? She was going to give him grey hair before he reached his thirties, that was for sure.

As he began to reply to her, he caught movement from the left side of the screen and instantly grabbed his phone, expanding the background.

There was a silhouette of a hand.

"Syianne, run!" He shouted, as the figure's arm came into view and she looked back in surprise before starting to sprint, the camera shaking from her movements.

Jake scrambled to get his car keys, not bothering with what he was wearing and ran towards the hotel parking, getting into his car and connecting the GPS to his phone, all the while listening to Syianne's panting breaths as she ran away from the man without a face.

Getting her location was no problem for him and he just hoped he would arrive there on time.

"Jake, I'm scared. I'm hiding behind a big building and I think he went on ahead," she whispered, voice shaky and trembling and Jake's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he glanced over at his phone to watch her looking around herself in a panic.

Five more minutes and he would reach her location. Jake had never been more thankful that Duskwood was a small town and the hotel wasn't so far away from the lake.

"I'm coming, Syianne. Just a little while more and we'll go back together."

"Okay, I think I'm safe for now," she said. There was a sound of slow careful footsteps as Syianne came out from behind the building.

The abrupt sound of a gasp almost made him lose control of the steering wheel and he increased his speed as he heard what sounded like a scuffle. Syianne had probably dropped her phone because it only showed the dark sky and sounds of her struggling against her attacker.

"No! Let–"

Jake let out a harsh breath, jaw tightening as he heard Syianne's scream. He drove straight for a bit and turned the next corner and saw the man trying once again to restrain her. His eyes saw red and he honked and honked like it was nobody's business, speeding towards them.

The man without a face seemed to have realised that someone was coming to help as he pushed Syianne roughly into the wall and ran away towards the forest. As much as Jake wanted to go after him, Syianne was his first priority and he quickly got out of the car, dashing towards her crumpled form, lying on the ground.

He fumbled with his phone, calling the local police and asking for an ambulance, his body shaking all the while, as he knelt down next to Syianne.

He felt tears welling in her eyes as he looked at her battered form and realised that she was bleeding.

"Syianne?" He spoke in a scared voice.

"Syianne!" He said more forcefully, repeatedly patting her face in hope she'll look at him but her eyes were still glassy and unfocused as if she couldn't comprehend anything.

"I'm...so sorry. I…" her voice trailed off as she struggled to breathe and Jake cried, seeing her in so much pain, when he couldn't do anything except wait for the ambulance to arrive.

After a moment, Syianne's eyes fluttered closed and Jake's panic rose to new heights.

"No, no, no! Wake up! Please wake up!" He shouted and begged but she didn't respond to his calls.

His hand was soaked in her blood from where he was applying pressure on the wound at her side. The blood hadn't stopped flowing and Jake was worried that she was losing too much, too soon.

"What do I do? What do I do?" He muttered to himself, adrenaline coursing through his veins, with only one thought in his head – to save her.

He heard sirens in the distance and was relieved to know that help was coming. He pushed up the fallen hood of his jacket up on his head and looked at Syianne for any signs of consciousness. Her breaths were shallow and eyes still closed.

Soon enough, paramedics rushed to the scene and immediately started tending to Syianne's wounds. Jake felt as if he was just a spectator, not being able to do anything but watch. Someone came up to him and started asking him questions, about how he found her, who he was to her and if he knew anything about the attack. He answered all the questions as carefully as he could, giving a fake name, because he still wasn't sure if the police department was in league with the kidnapper or not.

As soon as he was done with the questioning, a paramedic approached him, letting him know that they were taking Syianne to the hospital and he would have to come there for a bit of paperwork. Jake hesitated and said he'd drive there in his own car and the paramedic nodded in response and left.

He got in his car and put his head in his hands, shaking at the unfortunate turn of events. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Syianne was just going to check out the lake and then surprise her friends the next day by telling them she'd be here for a few days and enjoy Duskwood together.

Jake was even thinking of meeting her in person and telling her that she had changed his life for the better. But his cowardice, his meticulous nature to not let anyone know who he was or where he was might have cost Syianne her life tonight. Even thinking about it had tears pooling in his eyes and he took a deep breath to bite back the sobs that were threatening to break once again.

He felt guilty, so so guilty and couldn't bring himself to start the car. He was pretty sure that if – no when – Syianne woke up, she would want nothing to do with the man who put her life in danger. With that thought rooted in his mind, he opened his phone and with trembling hands, sent Jessy a text about Syianne's accident. He received a reply almost immediately.

Jessy [8:46 pm]

What?

How did she come here?

You know what? If she's not okay, I'm going to hunt you down and make you pay.

Jake had no trouble believing she was telling the truth. All he wanted to do was help and now everything was falling apart. Taking a deep but shaky breath, he started the car but instead of going to the hospital, he turned towards the hotel.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jessy had no trouble believing that the hacker was telling the truth. His texts were frantic and he practically begged her to go to the hospital to see Syianne. She had no idea how she got here, but hearing that she got attacked, just like she was, was enough to make her worry and drive to the hospital, after letting Cleo know. She figured that the rest of them deserved to know too.

She rushed to the front desk, breathless and worried, and one of the nurses told Jessy that the doctors were with Syianne and she'd have to wait until they were done to know how she was.

After some time of relentless pacing, Cleo arrived and Jessy filled her in on everything that the hacker told her, which wasn't much, but it gave them a good idea of what had happened. Cleo said that she hadn't told anyone else yet and that they should do so as soon as the doctors had an update on Syianne's condition.

About an hour later, a nurse came upto Jessy and Cleo, asking if they knew Syianne and upon their confirmation, led them to the room she was kept in. They weren't allowed to enter yet as the doctors were still in the room, but Jessy gasped when she saw Syianne's scratched up face, with bandages covering her head.

"Oh my gosh." Cleo breathed and Jessy felt a rush of sorrow as she averted her eyes.

The doctors after completing their examination, told them that Syianne was stabbed in the side but luckily it didn't puncture anything important and they closed up the wound to allow it to heal. What was more concerning, was the fact that she was hit on the back of her head.

"She most likely suffered from a concussion, in which case, it is of the utmost importance that the patient doesn't fall asleep," the doctor said and Jessy and Cleo looked at each other uneasily.

"But Syianne fell asleep…" Jessy began and the doctor gave her an apologetic smile.

"That's right. She was unconscious when she was brought here. The superficial wounds are taken care of, we just don't know when she'll wake up."

Both of them were too stunned to say anything and a call for the doctor from one of the nurses broke them out of their stupor.

"So, she's in a coma?" Cleo asked.

The doctor hesitated before answering.

"Essentially, yes. But we can't know for sure without further observation. If the injury isn't severe she'll wake up soon, we just have to monitor her constantly and look for any changes." He then walked off when his pager went off, most likely to see another patient.

"Don't worry, Jessy. She'll wake up soon," Cleo said, placing a hand on her shoulder, as they looked into Syianne's room, seeing her sleeping peacefully, as if nothing was wrong and she was just taking a nap.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

As soon as she got home from the hospital, Jessy sent out a row of furious texts to the hacker, clouded by her anger and hopelessness. In her head, it was all his fault that Syianne was twittering between life and death. He was the one who asked her to come to Duskwood without letting any of them know, which caused her to be in such a terrible condition.

Everything was crumbling.

They were a tight knit group, always there for each other but when did it turn into a nightmare, Jessy didn't know. Emotion overtook her and she suddenly collapsed against the wall, keeping a hand on her mouth to muffle her sobs, and cried.

She cried for Hannah, who she had no idea whether she was alive or not. She cried for Syianne, who had become such a great friend to her. Most importantly, she cried for her relationship with everyone, that was slowly but surely, withering away.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake had been pacing in his hotel room ever since getting back, waiting on a word from Jessy. Glitch watched him with big eyes, as he stubbed his on the bedside and cursed. Sighing in defeat, Jake realised that it won't do any good to worry himself to death, but that didn't mean that his mind didn't drift off to the earlier scene.

Syianne lying on the ground. Blood pooled around her.

He shook his head in frustration, trying to get that image out of his head but to no success. Glitch, sensing that something was wrong, strolled towards him, rubbing and purring against his legs. Jake softened at seeing his efforts to calm him and he picked Glitch up, moving to lay down on the bed. He petted him, smiling at the way the cat burrowed himself further against Jake, curling his tail around his wrist.

After a few peaceful moments of cuddling, Jake's phone lit up with a text, which had him scrambling to grab it from the bedside. Glitch meowed in protest but Jake was too wound up to notice.

Jessy [10:25 pm]

She's in a coma

They don't know when she'll wake up

Jake felt all breath leave him as he read Jessy's text. He didn't know what to think, what to do, what he could do. Jessy didn't give him a chance to respond.

Jessy [10:26 pm]

Don't contact any of us ever again

I don't want to find Hannah this way…which leads to everyone else getting hurt

Please leave Syianne out of this

Saying her mind, Jessy went offline again. Jake took a shaky breath, trying to ground himself. Syianne might never make up.

No, he told himself.

He couldn't think like that. He knew she'd wake up, it might take a little time but she will. Because if she didn't, Jake wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He got another text from Lilly, saying she was sorry that it happened but he couldn't bring himself to write back. His mind was empty, body numb to everything around him and he was cursing himself for being so careless.

If he hadn't been so selfish, if only he didn't put all of this on her, if he had just reached on time, if, if, if.

That's all he thought of, as tears continuously trailed down his cheeks, an arm covering his eyes, the only thing on his mind being Syianne, just as it had been ever since he started talking to her.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

The next day, Jake found himself holding a large flower bouquet and walking to Duskwood hospital's reception. He was trembling, scared out of his mind but he just had to see Syianne. So, he had braved his anxiety and was now standing in front of the receptionist, who looked at the abnormally large bouquet in his hands and raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat.

"I'm here to see Syianne King, she was admitted here yesterday."

The receptionist's gaze sharpened as she looked him over and he partially hid behind the flowers.

"Only family members are allowed to visit," she spoke slowly and Jake bit his lip in frustration.

"I'm her fiance," he said and before the surprised receptionist could say anything, he continued, "I drove here as soon as I got the call but they wouldn't tell me what happened. Only that Syianne had been in an accident and I needed to get here as soon as I could and I—" he cut himself off, shuffling nervously and wiping away the tears that had managed to escape from his eyes.

The receptionist softened, seeing his genuine sorrow and care for his fiance and warmed her voice.

"Of course, I'm sorry for what happened. She's in room 309, third floor. The elevator is down the hall," she pointed and Jake thanked her profusely before walking ahead.

Him being Syianne's fiance might have been fake but everything he had felt was the truth and he felt overwhelmed now that he was here. Should he see her? Did he even deserve to see her after he put her in danger? Thoughts like this plagued his mind all the way to Syianne's room and they only stopped when he saw '309' written in bold letters on a grey coloured door.

His breath stuttered in his chest. He was second guessing his presence in the hospital, thinking whether he shouldn't have come. He stood in front of the door for about ten minutes, contemplating but when the nurses started giving him suspicious looks, he swallowed thickly and with shaky hands, opened the door.

Nothing could have prepared him for the utter despair and helplessness he felt, as he saw Syianne's motionless form on the bed, breathing as if she was just sleeping and would wake up any minute. But he knew that wasn't the truth.

She was here and it was his fault.

For the longest time, he just sat on a chair beside her bed and just looked at her. His eyes traced every injury, every bruise that was visible and he felt sick, blaming himself for letting it happen. She was still sleeping and suddenly, it just got too much.

There was too much light, too much beeping, the walls were too white, the flowers in his hands digging into his skin and he got up hastily, dropping the bouquet and backed into the furthest corner of the room.

His breath was coming in short bursts, it hurt to breath, to think, to stay upright—!

His legs gave from under him and he slid down, back against the wall, shaking hands coming up to wipe the wetness on his face.

He didn't even realise he had been crying.

His vision was a blur of dark shapes and in a distinct corner of his head that was still sane, he thought of what Syianne would have done had she been awake. He was sure she would kneel down in front of him and take his hands, running her thumbs against the back of his hands to calm him.

'Breathe slowly, Jake. Deep breaths with me, come on,' he heard her in his head and tried to slow down, breathing harshly at first but after a few minutes, his vision cleared and his breathing stabled to an acceptable rate.

His whole body shook with the sheer suddenness of the panic attack and he slowly tried to get up, holding onto the wall as a support as his gaze, once again, landed on the bed and it's occupant.

All at once, his head cleared and he knew what to do.

Snatching a sheet of paper from the notepad lying near her chart, Jake penned his thoughts, all his anguish, and his apologies on it. Not once did his hand shake as he wrote the note and not once did his mind waver from the decision he had made. At last, when he had said everything he wanted to, he put the pen down and glanced at Syianne's peaceful face.

His throat closed up but he swallowed once to make sure he didn't cry. No, Jake had no time for tears. It was his fault that this happened in the first place, so it was his responsibility that he would make it right.

He didn't know when she would wake but whenever it might be, Jake had everything he wanted to say, already written for her.

He bent down towards her and placed the softest of kisses against her forehead, knowing that it would be the only time he would ever get to do it.

She did not open her eyes and Jake stepped back with a miniscule tilt of his lips.

Yes, he would make everything right.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 40

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, smut - please go easy on me, this is my first smut

"Darling, as much as I appreciate your concern, I'm still not dead," Loki mumbled, his head thrown back. 

You shushed him, lighting yet another candle and staging it around the bathtub. A shelf in the bathing chamber was full of them, just waiting to be used. 

Loki sighed as the flickering flame joined the others like a lone violin bringing an entire orchestra together.

The water was a blessing made of warm touches and muscles slowly relaxing. Whatever oils and foams you added to the bath were clearly a good choice judging by the soft, fresh aroma filling the air. Loki was not sure how long he had spent in the tub, and he cared little in finding out.

Your hands worked wonders on his scalp and he couldn't help a small groan from leaving his lips. 

"Someone's enjoying himself," you said into his ear, fingers washing the soap from his neck. The loose robe draped over your shoulders slowly came undone the more you moved. He kept an eye on it from under lowered lashes.

Loki wished you'd join him in the tub.

The air was heavy, and not only because of the steam fogging up the room. 

"How could I not?" he asked, craning his neck to look at your kneeling form behind his back. 

You put some of the foam on his nose. Loki didn't mind, and even if he did, he did nothing to stop you. He was spread lazily in the huge tub sunk into the polished, tiled floor. He took up much of the space, and looked good doing so, with the thick foam covering most of him, and only certain, oiled parts of his body rising above it like a greek statue half-submerged in the ocean.

Your fingers followed the curved lines of his arm and down to his hand, raising goosebumps in their wake. Loki's chest rose with an uneven breath.

You were glad about his magic working again - Loki spent a lot of time healing the cuts and bruises you'd  earned during the day's events. You could certainly get used to having injuries wiped away so easily. And you could certainly get used to having him so close. 

The robe's sleeve slid a little further, uncovering some collarbone that Loki wanted nothing more than to taste. 

Violet light seeped through the windows and the light breeze from outside playing with the thin curtains. A few yellowish lights passed through them soundlessly, hovering in the air for a moment before disappearing again. 

"I wish this peace could last," you said into Loki's shoulder. 

"It's not like I enjoy being chased by spiders the size of a cow either. The Edge isn't always so… hostile, though, we just chose a bad time to pay it a visit." 

"How many times have you been here?" 

"Twice, as a part of my father's court during official visitations. The first time happened when I was a child and had read hundreds of volumes about this place. I wanted absolutely nothing more than to visit its secret treasure trove. It's speculated to contain some truly marvelous things, but no one from the outside has ever seen it in person."

"I think I can see where this is going…" 

Loki felt your smile in the crook of his neck, raising goosebumps. 

"It didn't take me long to excuse myself from the welcoming feast, but sadly, neither did it take long for Thor to notice my absence. By the time he caught up to me, I had already been halfway through the locks and protection spells, so we both agreed to have just one look inside, just a peek, really."

"Was it worth it?" 

Loki's face lit up with the memories. "It was more than worth it, love. I only saw it for a few seconds, but the sheer aura of the collection was enough to take my breath away. The Edge is a space of high magical density, and the things that sometimes grow or appear here are one of a kind. I wish I had seen more, but I only had a few seconds before Thor waltzed into one of the traps…"

"So you overlooked some?" 

"I didn't," Loki stated with dignity. "I simply didn't think anyone would be stupid enough not to notice that one. I admit I might've overestimated my brother's wits, but that's all." He raised a hand and waved it as if he were dismissing the thought. 

"Wait, is that why Thor's no longer welcome here? He mentioned an old incident. So you left him there to take all the blame?" 

A barely noticeable blush crept onto Loki's cheeks. 

"That was not my plan. I had only recently begun training with teleportation, and in my childish pride I thought I'd manage to get us both to safety. A few miscalculations later, I found myself in that beautiful river near the castle walls, and Thor was left in the trove, where he was taken care of long before I managed to scramble to the riverbank and back to the feast. "

"Your father must've been delighted."

Loki closed his eyes. The rage of Odin on that day was something the Asgardian were talking about for weeks to come. "...you've got no idea."

You chuckled and kissed his cheek before standing up. "Don't think about him now. Focus on something more pleasant. We've earned ourselves an evening off." 

Loki watched you head toward the bedroom. The robe you wore was a thin, flimsy thing that fluttered over your knees and occasionally rode higher. Despite the bath turning cold, Loki was far from feeling its chill. To think that even after almost having been killed on the same day, you were still in the mood for jokes and teasing… He was lucky. Very lucky. 

There was little he could do to show his gratitude - being locked up in that suite made things difficult from a logistical side, but there were still a few ideas up his sleeve. 

Loki got out of the tub, sprinkling the scented water around the tiles. A few wild faeries - strange, bird-like creatures the size of a sparrow - were chittering outside the window, apparently arguing over a dead bug's corpse. Loki eyed them carefully while he took a robe in palest shades of green, but nothing suggested they were thinking about entering the bathroom. Still, Loki made sure to close the door firmly behind him. The last thing he needed right now were third-party intruders. 

The carpet was soft under his bare feet as Loki neared the chimney. Fire slid down his fingers and burrowed into the wood. You watched him, sprawled on the bed. 

"Someone's in a good mood," you noticed. Light played tricks with the shadows over your face. 

Loki stalked closer with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. The mattress moved under him as he laid down next to you - close enough to let you feel the heat radiating from him. 

"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked in a voice low and pleasant. 

"I didn't think being chased by a monster had that effect on you." 

"Maybe it was the company that made it that way?" 

You couldn't help the soft smile from spreading across your lips, despite how cheesy he sounded. And why should you try to stop it? You were happy. The Edge was not exactly what you thought it'd be. Its magic was stranger than you'd prefer. The investigation got more and more complicated, which made this whole situation widely different from what you'd expected. And yet, there was no denying that there were still moments of simple, unapologetic fun. There were moments of wonder. And there was the person that made everything better. 

"I love you," you said, hand brushing over Loki's brow. 

He kissed the inside of your palm. "How convenient then, that I share this feeling." 

He leaned over you, doing what he'd imagined a hundred times. He'd never get tired of how sweet your lips felt on his, moving slowly and patiently, learning every part of him. A half-breathed groan escaped him when Loki felt you open up. Blush blossomed on his face as he mapped the soft inside of your mouth with his tongue.

Your arms wrapped tightly around Loki's shoulders, pulling him further onto you, and he was more than happy to oblige. Your bodies joined, sharing the warmth and the softness, save for the thin pieces of clothing still somehow between you. Loki could feel you moving, your muscles tense and shifting with every stroke of his hand venturing over your side. 

Cautiously, Loki slid his leg between yours, in a question and a plea. He wouldn't push you into anything you didn't want, so he waited for you to choose. 

You felt him smile into the kiss that was stealing your breath away quite literally, as Loki settled between the legs you opened for him. With the heat rising in every place he touched, you couldn't help but nudge his hips even closer, too needy to wait. 

Loki devoured every whimper you fed him like a starving man. He accepted the silent request your knee was writing on his hip, and pulled more of his weight on you, his flustered face a mirror to yours. 

"Is this okay?" he whispered into the soft skin of your cheek, flushed and shining with a thin layer of sweat. His hand froze around the hem of your robe, your bare skin so close he could almost feel it, but wouldn't dare to just yet. 

"Yes," said the lips already swollen, half bare without the cover of his. 

Loki felt his body start at the intensity in that word, and he couldn't help but mark his thanks into your skin, and over the soft, sensitive edge of your earlobe that sent the shivers down your back and made your fingers clutch his hair oh, so tightly. 

"Are you sure?" 

The bastard toyed with the fabric, his knuckles brushing ever so slightly over the skin that was more than ready to be painted by his touch. He twirled it between his fingers in a manner that made you imagine all sorts of things they were capable of elsewhere. 

"You really are an asshole, Loki," your voice came out raspier than you expected. 

"Isn't that why you love me?" 

The heavy-lidded mess you'd become looked at him in a way that made Loki's resolve melt between one heartbeat and another. 

"Of course it is." 

A sigh escaped him, barely audible over the blood pulsating in his veins. It sang poems he wrote down word by word over the accepting curve of your neck as he moved slowly, meticulously down, not sparing an inch of skin from his attention. It tasted like heaven and he made sure you felt it with every nip and lick he took, tasting your desire on his tongue. 

His hand finally listened to your requests, and left your robe, moving it carefully away. The calloused fingers palmed at your heated thigh, drawing patterns of devotion with each stroke they made. The goosebumps he could feel made his hand shake just a little, as if he was struggling to keep it from squeezing too hard and too needily. Loki wanted to take his time on you, expressing everything that had been growing in his heart for so long, in every way his dreams had already teased him with. It'd been so difficult to stay focused and slow when all he wanted to do was devour you whole, to claw and bite his name into your very being so thoroughly no one would ever dare mistake who you chose to stay by your side, in this world and all the others. 

Loki growled your name into your collarbone with lips of a heathen discovering the absolute. His hand reached in the dark, following the curve of your hip to the soft expanse of your belly. Your robe was hitched higher as he went, and you whimpered at the fabric still separating you. You fumbled with it impatiently, blinded and deafened by the only thing that mattered, by the only person who would ever matter, to the point where everything else felt irrelevant and not needed, and so annoyingly in your way. 

Faster than you could notice, Loki stopped your hands with a wicked gaze and a smile that made your hips buckle. "Patience, my love, is a virtue." 

"...I don't need virtues, I need you closer, and now." 

Loki's mouth went dry as he let your hand slip from his grasp and slid over the soft fabric of his own robe. 

With a gentleness that broke his heart into a million shards, you brushed its edge off his collarbone and then further down his arm when he didn't protest. His chest heaved slightly as you reached to his rapid heartbeat and stopped your hand there. 

The muscles shifted under his velvety skin as Loki moved back to where he finished. Something ached in his chest, and his throat clenched as the kisses he trailed over your chest and stomach became more sloppy, and heated, and did wonders to the feeling rising in your core, so close to where his mouth now hovered--

The intensity of his heavy-lidded gaze was enough proof of his own pleasure. You might've wanted to say something in the moment you looked down at him, settled between your legs like he owned every inch of bare flesh, all now exposed to, and for, him. Loki smiled, holding your eyes as he slung your leg over his shoulder and lowered himself again. 

A throaty curse ripped from your lips as Loki licked, and sucked, and devoured what'd been rising in you throughout that night. Your hands flew back into his hair, burrowing in the soft strands brushing over your skin like feathers. 

Release rippled through your body, and you felt pleasure wash over you, over every place Loki had left his signature. One of his hands splayed over your hips, holding them in place as the other one, alongside his tongue, worked you through it until you were just a weak, shuddering mess gasping for breath on the silk covers of the bed. The velvety darkness did little to hide the sweat coating your limp body, and the blush radiating off your cheeks. The fireplace was still alive, and its light touched the few surfaces it could reach with tenderness reserved only for certain nights. The light brushed over your hand, still clutching the bed sheets tightly. It lightened up the curve of Loki's back as he let his robe fall off, exposing flesh, desire and the eyes burrowed into yours as if nothing else in the world was worth admiring. He rose on his knees, admiring his work with pride seeping out of his every pore. 

It also shined over the glistening mess around his lips and chin, where saliva and your juices mixed. And it showed the bastard putting his fingers, covered in it too, straight up to that damned mouth and licking them clean. 

"Thank you for the meal," he grinned, memorizing every piece of you laid out in front of him. 

You nudged him with a trembling leg, already missing his touch. 

"Where is mine?" you cooed softly, and watched the light flash in his eyes at the rasp and raw need in your words. 

Loki stretched over you again, pushing you closer and closer to him, until there was nothing separating your bodies. His hand found its way underneath your back, holding you with both gentleness and demand, as he positioned himself where he had always wanted to be. 

And as he entered where his fingers used to be just moments ago, he felt your back arch even more into him, and he drank the moan that escaped from your perfect trembling lips, and drowned in it as you moved together, nothing more than two separate beings that had finally became one, and nothing less. 

The world shattered around you, blurring the edges. Your nails dug into the flesh of Loki’s back. The moment of bliss lasted as the final waves turned into shivers and then into an embrace so tight it was barely different from the heated moments. But it was all you needed right then, and so the two of you stayed together, limbs interlaced, and fingers grasping for a hold as the night darkened, and sleep finally took you over.

*

A/N: I really hope this wasn’t weird, I’ve never written smut in my life, so please be merciful on me! I kept the reader gender neutral through the whole series, so I did my best to  keep it that way even in smut, although it was really hard.

[connordavidscamera]

Christmas Confessions | Connor Brashier

A/n: this is absolute trash and I’m sorry, but sometimes you gotta put out the bad stuff to get to the good stuff. This is also for @wondershawns winter writing challenge, so I hope you enjoy it! My prompts were “old Christmas family photos” and “we’d make a cute couple.”

Summary: Christmas time brings up some feelings for these long time friends

Warnings: friends to lovers, fluff

Word count: 2.2k

***

Christmas vacation has always been a big thing in our family. It just became even bigger once the Brashier family started joining us. Which, while I like to say our moms are the reason for that – they are, for the most part – it’s really because Connor and I have been attached at the hip since we were in preschool. But it also helps that our moms became best friends too when Connor and I had our first play date. Then if we flashforward a couple more years, Sam and his family joined us too.

Yeah, Christmas vacation is quite an adventure, but it’s truly the greatest time to be surrounded by the people I love for two whole weeks. No responsibilities, just a fuck ton of cookies, egg nog, and Hallmark Christmas movies. The boys claim to hate the movies, but by the middle of the movie – every single time, without fail – they’re arguing over whether or not the main character should be with the big shot lawyer guy that she was supposedly getting engaged to at the start of the movie, or her old high school crush. (Sam votes lawyer, Connor and I say high school crush. But it’s funny how this is the argument every time and even though we’ve seen hundreds of these movies in our lifetime, Sam still votes for the big shot.)

“Kids! Look what I found!” Mrs. Brashier comes into the living room where the three of us are sprawled out on the floor arguing. We all turn to look at her and I furrow my brows at the scrapbook she’s holding.

“A scrapbook?”

“Yes, it has all kinds of pictures of the three of you from all the trips we’ve taken here. You should look through it. Take a trip down memory lane.” She hands the book to Connor, who in turn hands it to me since I’m in the middle. “There’s the cutest photo of you three in there from two years ago, when you’re all under the mistletoe.” She says before heading back to the dining room to sit with mine and Sam’s moms.

“Pause the movie,” I tell Sam. “I wanna look through it.” I reposition myself, taking my pillow off Connor’s back, where I was previously resting my head.

The first few photos are just of me and Connor, and a few with Dylan too, but Dylan hated being in front of the camera as a kid, so he was rarely in any photos with us. “Awe, look at little y/n missing her tooth,” Connor laughs.

“Mhm, that was the Christmas where I wouldn’t stop singing ‘All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.’”

“Oh, I remember. You were tone deaf,” he dead pans and I gasp, slapping his arm.

“Don’t be an ass! I was six!”

“I’m aware. You’re better now.”

“Well, only a little,” Sam says.

“You both suck! I’m a great singer.”

“Mhm sure,” they say at the same time.

“I did not ask to be attacked like this.”

“You don’t have to, it’s our job as your best friends to keep you humble,” Sam nods, nudging my arm with his elbow.

I hum and turn the page, and Sam makes his first appearance. He’s putting way too many sprinkles on his cookie that looks like it was supposed to be Santa. The next photo is of all of us with our decorated cookies. Mine looks almost bare because I didn’t have enough frosting on it – I was never a frosting person, it’s too sweet. Connor’s somehow has the perfect ratio of frosting to sprinkles. Of course, it’s kinda hard to mess up a candy cane.

The next couple photos are of us in the snow – snow angels, snowball fights, another one of just us smiling at the camera, arms all locked around each other. It takes a few more pages before we get to the photo Connor’s mom was talking about.

I’m squished between the guys, Sam on my left, Connor on my right and they’re both kissing my cheeks. My eyes are shut tight and the picture is a little blurry from where the camera tried to catch my hands pushing them away.

“Hey, if you take Sam out of the picture,” Connor starts, going to cover Sam with his hand. “We’d make a good couple.”

“Don’t be a dick!” Sam shoves his hand away so he can cover Connor’s face. “Obviously we’re the better couple. You’re just the third wheel.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Turn the movie back on. We have like three more to watch tonight.” I change the subject, but I look back at the photo and I can’t help but think that Connor’s right. We do look like a good couple.

---

After we’ve all eaten, the guys and I make our way back to the living room, all the siblings following, scattering on the floor to watch movies with us. The parents have resorted to their rooms, the moms most likely wrapping last minute gifts while our dads all start drifting off so they don’t get asked to do anything. It’s their own tradition.

Once it hits midnight, most everyone has gone to their rooms, except for Connor, Sam, Dylan, and me. But Sam and Dylan are asleep and snoring loudly beside Connor and me. He’s scrolling through his phone and I have my head on his shoulder, watching the movie that’s still on. It’s one of my favorite Christmas movies. Sam hates it, which is why I turned it on after he fell asleep.

“What is it about this movie that you love so much?” Connor asks quietly.

I shrug, “I don’t know. I guess I’m just a sucker for a good ol’ friends to lovers story. It’s the best of all the clichés, I think.”

He just nods. “Yeah. I guess friends to lovers is kinda nice.”

“What? Are you gonna tell me that you don’t like the idea of knowing someone your whole life and slowly realizing that they’re your soulmate?”

“No,” he shakes his head staring down at me with a fond smile. “I – I like the idea. But, I don’t know if it would happen for me.”

“Why not?”

“Well, what if she doesn’t feel the same?” he asks seriously.

“What if she does? What then?”

“It’s not possible.”

“Says who? Any girl would be crazy not to be in love with you.”

He clears his throat, “Any girl?”

“Yeah, any girl,” I say, but I don’t think he quite gets what I’m saying. Because he just nod and looks back at his phone.

“Hey,” he says a few minutes later. “It says it’s snowing. Let’s go.”

“But it’s late.”

“So? We always go out for a walk when the first snow hits. Go get dressed. I’ll get blankets.”

I don’t argue because he’s right. It’s our tradition. Since we started coming here, we always go on a walk together during the first snow. Sam came with us once, but that just resulted in a snowball fight and this was the only quiet time that Connor and I had. So we made it a thing to go when it first started snowing, and then we’d go back out with Sam and go as crazy as we want.

I shiver once we get out there, shrugging my jacket on. “Oh god.”

Connor just snickers and takes my hand. “Come on, let’s go. It’s really coming down out here.”

I follow him and we soon fall into step with each other, our feet crunching the snow beneath us at the same speed, our breathing synchronized.

“Hey, y/n?” he says on our way back to the house.

“Yeah?” I breathe out.

“What you said inside, about liking the whole friends to lovers cliché.”

“Mhm, what about it?”

“Did you mean that you would like it if it were to happen to you?”

“Oh,” I nod and think about it. “Yeah. Yeah, I would. Why?”

Connor shrugs, “I don’t know. I was just – just wondering.”

“Do you want a friends to lovers cliché?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he looks down at his feet while he walks. “I mean, I could see it happening maybe… with you?”

“With,” I clear my throat, “with me?”

He sighs and climbs the steps, walking over to the porch swing where we left the blankets. He sits down, “I mean, I’m just thinking like… if I were to have a crush on you or something. Would – would it be possible that those feelings would be reciprocated?”

“Um,” I sit down next to him and look down at his hands that are clasped together in his lap. “I think that if you had a crush on me, it is very, very possible that those feelings are reciprocated.”

He looks up at me with wide eyes, “Wait, you’re – are you serious?”

“What you said earlier, about us looking like a good couple. Did you mean that?”

He licks his lips and I glance down in time to see his pinkie twitching. I reach forward and place my hand over his. He winces. “Fuck, your hands are cold.” And he covers mine with his, blowing on them to keep the heat. I stare at his rosy cheeks, and eyes that seem even brighter in contrast with the bright white snow. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I meant it.”

I nod once and exhale deeply. “So… what does this mean?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t even really know what just happened.”

“Well, I think we might have just admitted we have feelings for each other.”

“Yes,” he confirms. “We did that. So where do we go from here?”

“I have no idea,” I admit. “But hopefully inside, it’s freezing.”

Connor laughs, “Yeah, it is. Let’s go.” He stands, still holding my hand and he pulls me to my feet, leading me inside. We’re quiet walking back in, careful not to wake Dylan and Sam who are still sleeping, the movie still playing on the TV, but long forgotten. Connor leads me to the kitchen, and he pulls two mugs from the cupboard and gets the kettle from near the coffee maker, turning on the stove before filling the kettle with water.

“So,” I say, hoisting myself up on the counter. “Are we gonna talk about this next move thing?”

“Yes,” he answers, jumping to sit next to me, our legs touching. “I think we need to go on a date.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks, and it’s clear he wasn’t expecting that to be my response.

“Well, actually, I would like to be asked on a date.”

He blushes and looks down. “Sorry.” But then he looks back up and he has a very bright smile on his face and I’m reminded why I fell for him in the first place. His smile could light up the whole world, and no I do not take constructive criticism. “Would you, y/n, like to accompany me on an outing, one that is often referred to as a date?”

I can’t help but laugh, “Sure, yes. I would very much like to accompany you on an outing often referred to as a date.”

“Yeah? That’s – that’s great! I’ll start planning tonight.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Okay. That sounds good.” I nod and swing my feet as we both fall silent, waiting for the water to boil.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“I really want to kiss you.”

I choke on air. “What?”

“Sorry,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t – I wasn’t going to say that out loud. I just – well, yeah. I want to kiss you. Because I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to kiss you since I was fourteen and now that we’re going on a date I feel – excuse me for assuming – like I’m that much closer and it’s absolutely killing me to not know what it’s like to –”

“Connor, kiss me,” I interrupt his rambling.

He only hesitates a second before his hands are on either side of my jaw and his lips are covering mine in a heated kiss. I hum against him and reach for his hair, tugging a little, which in turn causes him to moan against my lips. And holy hell, what wouldn’t I give to hear that again over and over for the rest of my life. His tongue teases my bottom lip and I part my lips, allowing him to roam. This kiss is heaven. It’s everything I could have ever wanted with this boy in particular. It’s the type of kiss that leaves your toes curling and your mind spinning. It’s perfect until –

Eeeeeekkk!!! The kettle squeals, startling us both, and causing Connor to bite my lip as he pulls away.

“Ow,” I hold onto my lips while Connor jumps from the counter to take the kettle off the stove. He pours the water into our mugs and then grabs the tea bags from the cupboard above him, placing one in each of our cups before turning and handing me mine. “Thanks,” I say, still holding my lip.

“What’s wrong?”

“You bit my lip when you pulled away.”

“Oh,” his face falls. “I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay. Is it bleeding?” I ask, taking my hand away.

He leans closer to inspect it and shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry.”

“You’re okay. Why don’t you kiss it and make it better?”

Connor raises an eyebrow, “You want me to?”

“Please?”

He sets his mug down beside me and I do the same. And then he’s taking my face again and kissing my lips softly. He pecks my lips six times before I groan.

“Kiss me like you mean it, Brashier.”

He chuckles and pulls me closer, doing as he’s told.

***

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[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes : RELOADED

Abducted in a decent hotel room. That's the summary.

Table of Contents

Previous Chapter : Lurking in the Shadows

Chapter 19 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

forgive the piccrew ;-;

Vlad the Janitor

Samantha Coleman

Happy Traveler Inn - Room 240

Moscow, Russia

"Room Service!" Someone knocked at the door and something in Russian followed. Samantha assumed it's the same thing but in Russian. She carefully eyed the three men whom she knew were secretly armed. They were members of Shepherd's secret force, the one he calls "Shadow Company".

She's tired of being held hostage, she just wanted to live a normal life. And if Alex was correct, she can't believe that she chose to forget him just to get another shot at a normal life. She felt stupid. And she actually missed him. Even with all the jumbled and altered memories, her heart reacted to his presence.

The three abductors looked at her threateningly as the janitors entered. She knew she wasn't supposed to act suspicious or she's dead.

"We don't need cleaning!" One exclaimed as he shoved the janitor to the door, out of surprise the two janitors immediately grabbed mops and brooms and began fighting the abductors.

Samantha described it as a scene straight out of the movies, the trio worked together, hitting enemies until they were knocked down by severe hits in the head. They quickly disarmed and bound the abductors.

The tall janitor approached her, his eyes felt familiar but Samantha was reluctant to accept help. She eyed his name tag which said "Hello I'm VLAD"

"Thanks, Vlad?" She guessed, Vlad quickly removed his hat and face mask.

"Aw come on, Samantha. It's me!" Alex smiled, behind him, Roach and Soap stood and looked happy to see her.

Samantha's heart skipped a beat. She was right. He did go to the ends of the world for her multiple times. That meant that whatever they shared back on her memory lapses were far too significant for him. She hugged him tight and he reciprocated it quickly. She wanted to kiss him already but in their situation, it was better to keep it for later.

"Here you go, Alex." Soap tossed him the abductor's uniform as they quickly changed from janitors to bodyguards as they escorted her back to safety.

"Ghost this is Alex. The package is secure. Prepare for exfil."

"Roger that, pal." He replied as they effortlessly exited the hotel, leaving a message to Shepherd that he should not mess with them.

The elevator ride was the most awkward place for Samantha. The tension between her and Alex were reaching new heights. Their eye contacts felt more intense and small grazes from their hands felt like small jolts of electricity. Her heart raced so fast that she bit her lip.

"Thanks for saving me guys. For a second I thought you were never going to find me." She breathed as Alex slowly locked his hand on hers. She felt her cheeks warm up as his touch sent her on an ecstatic feeling. Was he really like this to her?

"You're still our priority, Samantha. Disbanded or not." Roach grinned as the elevator dinged upon reaching the Parking lot. In front of them was Price, driving the van and Ghost slowly sliding the door open.

"Welcome back, Samantha." The masked man greeted them as they entered the vehicle.

~

Safe House 110197

Brazil

Alex somewhat expected familiarity or nostalgia from Samantha, but all she remembered was the name of the safehouse. The number combination was somewhat familiar. She felt guilty and frustrated once she stepped foot on the house, as none of the items rang something from her memory while Alex took effort in recalling everything they did during their stay there, things that Samantha didn't expect she'd do but wanted to feel all over again.

Amidst the stress of the things happening around them, Maxine and Francine were getting along as they prepared a little feast once they heard that Samantha's on the way here. Maxine cried as she hugged her best friend and Samantha couldn't help but also shed tears.

"I missed you. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" She asked, those same words also came out of Alex's mouth earlier, guess she was that important to the two of them?

"I'm fine, Max. They didn't hurt me or anything. Shepherd was actually out to use me as a bargaining chip so that my Dad would help him." The room fell silent. This was what they needed to hear. Intel.

Before lunch was even served, they already gathered around the dinner table. Alex finally sat beside Samantha, and that meant Ghost was the only one without a partner.

Samantha discussed the case at hand. How Shepherd would give Nero an IP Address in exchange for blueprints of an EMP Nuke. He'll then use such machinery to combat Nero's assault as well as avenge 30,000 of his defeated troops in Afghanistan. He also has his own elite troop called Shadow Company, which were trained the same way as the 141, but they had strength in numbers.

The rest of the evening was devastating. Now that they had information on Shepherd, Price and Jack started to call in some favors and prepared for the best window to fight back. Ghost got a text from Agent Ryder of interpol that she was too late to stop the trade of funds and now Shepherd has put the remaining 141 as most wanted people. Laswell also called Price that the initial plan of creating a task force was not going to work considering they're already fugitives and they should be more careful outdoors. Everyone else looked like they saw this one coming, they already knew the risks of the things they've done and proceeded to live their lives.

Samantha caught a glimpse of Max and Roach sprinkling each other water while washing the dishes, Soap and France arguing about how the word 'whimsy' was supposed to be used in a sentence and Ghost was always on his command center. She felt that she was never gone.

"How are you holding up, Love?" Alex plopped beside her, giving her a glass of water. Samantha smiled and raised her eyebrows.

"I don't remember you calling me that." She questioned, as she noticed the faint smell of Alex that she began to admire.

"Of course you don't. That's why I'm helping you." he grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear. She giggled and inhaled once more.

"You smell good today… Are you still trying to win my heart? I thought you already did." She mused, blushing as she ran a hand across his strong inked arms. She was always scared of heavily tattooed men, but this guy was an exception to the rule.

"Well, I wore clothes from two different people today… so… but nevermind that reason. Is it working? To you…? Are you… smitten?" He wiggled his eyebrows in an attempt to be seductive and Samantha just laughed. Was it possible to fall in love with a guy whom you already love? If so, then she's all for it.

"I can't say for sure, Vlad." She teased as he quickly fished his wallet, revealing a letter inside a small ziploc container. He gave it to Samantha as she uncrumpled it and started to read the contents.

"What's this?" she asked, looking at her own writing, she started to feel scared and nervous about the letter.

"You left that note to me before you forgot me… I tried to keep it for as long as I could, to the point that I almost wanted to throw it away." he held her hand while she held the letter.

"My Dearest Alex…" She spoke softly. Her hands began to tremble as he gently tightened his grip on her, making her feel more at ease.

"...In a span of three weeks, you managed to make me feel love once again. You allowed me to realize that even after a horrible loss, I could still open my heart and feel the joy of falling in love." This was clearly her creation, she slowly turned to Alex as he smiled and nodded his head to continue.

"...I always told myself that no matter how painful it is, I'll never forget your face, your smile, your eyes and all those memories we shared together. I actually convinced myself that we were a happily married couple back in that safehouse, an illusion I made because my heart felt like it. It was a good feeling, and I want to thank you for it." She leaned on his shoulders, looked at him once more and mouthed "Sorry".

"It looked like I forgot…" tears started to well on her eyes and Alex smiled. He wasn't the crying type but his eyes were already starting to get wet.

"I can't help but think about a lot of things, one being that if we were destined to meet and not end up together, it would be better if I don't meet you at all. I'm sorry to say this but I do love you so much and I know I promised, but I think my heart couldn't carry the idea of you existing and not within my grasp. It's utterly heartbreaking." she sobbed, hot tears fell from her cheek and Alex immediately wiped them off with his thumbs as she continued reading, her voice was shaky.

"So, your office offered me a chance to alter my memories of meeting you, along with the memory that made Nero look for me. You were on a briefing and I wanted to talk to you personally, maybe feel your warmth one last time. I'd want to kiss you too, but I guess the world didn't want that to happen." She looked at Alex one more time, then their lips met, it was a small peck, their lips immediately parted upon contact. She looked back at her letter"

"So I took the offer, and by the time you read this, I'm already on my way home to resume the life I've lost. I'm sure Maxine misses me right now...

I know you'll agree to this because I feel you always want what's best for me. If our paths would cross again, I hope you'll remember me the way I remembered you before I take this operation, A good memory that's supposed to last forever.

Apologizing in advance if I don't remember you anymore.

Don't you dare forget about me,

- Samantha" Teardrops splattered across the paper as she folded it and reached for Alex's mouth, this time they went all out. Like teenagers who shared their first french kiss, sloppy, needy yet satisfying. They didn't care about their surroundings. All they both cares about was that they were within each other's grasp after a very long time.

"I guess you kept my word. You never forgot me…" She exhaled as they broke the kiss.

"It's because I can't… and I told myself that I won't." Alex replied as they kissed once again. This time, they could hear Maxine and Roach cheering in the background.

"Geez! Get a room you two!" A loud Scottish yell was heard from the distance. But despite all the noise, the two of them didn't mind.

~

Samantha was brushing her teeth when Alex snuck up from behind, wrapping his arms around her. She remembered how she admitted to the letter that they acted like a married couple, maybe this was always their thing for weeks. She was happy as they both swayed harmoniously, looking at the most handsome man in the world, hugging her.

"Do hmm haa hoo heemmmi hoo?" She mumbled while her hands brushed her teeth.

"We don't. But if we had one what would you think it'd be?" Alex mused, turning to her. He already knew what she meant despite it being inaudible. She spat the contents of her mouth and finished brushing her teeth before turning to him, all while still under his warm embrace.

"Have you heard of Way Back into Love?" she asked, Alex's reaction was a very wholesome smile.

"Like from that movie? Yeah." he chuckled, minty breath traveled to her nostrils.

"All I want to do is find a way back into love…" she sang softly, her singing voice made Alex smile.

"I can't make it through without a way back into love…" Alex sang or more specifically, said the words near the tune. Samantha giggled as they swayed to their little song.

"And if I open my heart again

I guess I'm hoping you'll be there for me in the end" They sang together, Samantha doing it in tune while Alex sounded like he's narrating the song. They both were spinning around on the small area in front of the sink, enjoying the moments that they were together once again. Samantha wishing that she'll never get separated from Alex ever again.

Next Chapter : Undying Admiration

Notification Squad my Beloved

@enderio @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @samatedeansbroccoli @smokeywhalee @ricinbach

[nicnacsnonsense]

Okay so this is going to be part Good Omens meta, part head canon, all ramble, but I promise I have a point. Well, technically it’s a question, but I am going somewhere with this; there’s just going to be a lot of pit stops and detours along the way.

We’re starting with Crowley. I know Aziraphale’s the soft one, but Crowley’s pretty soft for a demon. He’s not a total cuddly marshmallow like I see him portrayed as sometimes – he does seem to genuinely enjoy the “annoying people” parts of his job. Though even then he doesn’t seem to enjoy the annoyance for its own sake as much as the fact that it represents he has been successful; what he really seems to enjoy is the cleverness and artistry of it – the way he describes knocking out the telephone systems in the book is like a beautiful symphony of irritation. (Actually it’s weird to me that Hastur and Ligur’s method of chipping away at one soul at a time for years is called craftmanship while Crowley’s method is presented as a matter of efficiency. Like H&L are over here making artisanal meals with only the finest ingredients while Crowley is slinging out fast food burgers. Because to me Crowley’s method seems the one that takes more consideration and skill and is, taken for what it is, a thing of beauty, whereas H&L thing just seems like blunt-force trauma. I’m sorry you sat on this guy’s shoulder whispering in his ear for ten years in order to win his soul over? Unless he’s literally Job or Jesus Christ, I’m not impressed.) Crowley isn’t a total marshmallow, but he is soft. He’s not cruel or sadistic and he doesn’t like seeing people get genuinely hurt or killed. Now when other demons are sadistic, he doesn’t like it, but he seems to largely accept it as the way things are. When Heaven does terrible things, he seems kind of disgusted but not terribly surprised. But when it’s the humans or God doing terrible things, that’s what hits him hard. For slightly different reasons in each case, but ultimately it boils down to “I thought you were better than this,” and he cannot emotionally handle it when they prove they aren’t.

Moving on to Aziraphale (I promise we’ll come back to our soft demon boi in a minute). There’s a lot of different takes out there about how book Aziraphale differs from show Aziraphale, but the most compelling one I’ve ever seen argues that it’s not so much that Aziraphale is inherently different as it is Heaven is different in the two versions, which in turn impacts how Aziraphale behaves. In the book Heaven shows up on three occasions: when Aziraphale calls Heaven and speaks with the Metatron, when Aziraphale accidentally gets himself beamed up to Heaven (which could be considered a continuation of the same event), and at the airbase to try to restart the Apocalypse. In all of these cases either Aziraphale reached out to Heaven first or his presence was incidental to Heaven showing up. The general implication is that no one is checking in on him really; he has his own personal loyalty and sense of duty to Heaven urging him to do what they expect of him, but unless he’s really blatant about it, no one’s going to know if he breaks the rules here and there. Book Aziraphale’s life is basically one long “who you are in the dark” test, with the plot twist at the end where he flicks on the lights switch and flips everyone off while he does the thing he wasn’t supposed to because it turns out that was the right thing to do all along.

By contrast in the show Heaven is showing up all the time. Aziraphale is dragged up there multiple times for reports, archangels are constantly popping down to Earth to talk with him, and they actually proactively uncover Aziraphale’s involvement with Crowley. Granted, we can assume this is a higher than normal rate of involvement because of the fast-approaching Apocalypse, but the point remains that show Aziraphale is dealing with a lot more oversight. If he breaks the rules, there is a good chance he will be caught, and even if he just does something perfectly allowed but considered to be unbefitting an angel, he will be met with scorn and disapproval. That’s why show Aziraphale is more anxious, less likely to break any rules, and more cautious if he does so.

An extension of this difference in how Heaven behaves that I haven’t seen mentioned before, is it impacts how Aziraphale perceives Hell to be. Aziraphale doesn’t have any real firsthand experience of Hell, so he has to make inferences as far as what they’re like to work for. His main two sources of information are going to be what Heaven tells him – likely to be sparse and often inaccurate – and what Crowley tells him – honestly also likely to be sparse and often inaccurate. Obviously, Crowley knows what working for Hell is like, and there are probably some areas that he’s willing to be fairly open and straight-forward about. But when it comes to things like punishments for failure or disobedience, Crowley’s going to spend most of the time evading and downplaying with occasional bits of shocking honesty to make a point and blatant overexaggerations for dramatic effect. With limited information to go on, Aziraphale is forced to use what Heaven’s like and extrapolate from there. And since the book and show versions have two such different starting points, even if book Aziraphale concludes Hell is more overbearing than book Heaven and show Aziraphale concludes Hell is less thorough on following up than show Heaven, they are still going to come to very different conclusions as to how present and aware of what Crowley is up to Hell is. Which is relevant because not only is show Aziraphale dealing with a Heaven that is more like to catch misbehavior, he also perceives Hell as being more aware and therefore Crowley more likely to be caught and punished than book Aziraphale does.

Circling back to Crowley and his emotional upset at the cruelties of the world. The reason we had to talk about Aziraphale is because how he behaves has an impact on how Crowley copes. Now with the book we don’t have our “a love 6000 years in the making” backstory, and Crowley and Aziraphale are just generally less prominent than they are in the show, which means we have less to go on. The only real reference we get is Crowley’s reaction to the Spanish Inquisition. He gets a commendation for it without having done anything, goes to take a look, and then gets drunk for a week. This would imply that drinking is how he handles these sorts of things, but I don’t think we’re getting the full story here. I say think because this is the most head canon-y part of all this; I don’t have any real evidence other than if you assume this is true then it does explain some things I’ll get to in a minute. The book tells us that after looking in on the Inquisition Crowley “had come back and got drunk for a week.” But back to where? The implication is back to the cantinas in the nicer parts of Spain where he had been before going for his look, but I think he went back to Aziraphale (who may very well have already been in the cantinas with him anyway). Because honestly, an actual literal demon with actual literal snake eyes getting shitfaced drunk in the middle of the Spanish Inquisition, knowing full well he’ll melt into a puddle of goo and die if anyone even sprinkles any holy water on him, is pretty fucking stupid. But if that demon had an actual literal angel watching over him… Aziraphale is by nature a guardian/protector, and in the book he isn’t constantly concerned about their relationship being discovered. I think over time Crowley has learned that if he needs to fall apart or be vulnerable for a while, he can go to Aziraphale and rely on Aziraphale watching over him and supporting him until he’s ready to pull himself back together again.

Show Aziraphale does not have the same freedom as his book counterpart, and so cannot always reliably be there for Crowley in the same way. Which is not a dig on Aziraphale at all; he’s in a different situation where he has to be focused on keeping them safe from their superiors, so he simply does not have the additional emotional capacity sometimes, and that’s not his fault. Despite that, Crowley does still get the emotional support he needs from Aziraphale, it just has to function in a different way.

Our episode 3 cold open lets us watch this develop quite well. Our first two scenes (aside from the one with God asking about the sword, obviously) are Noah’s Ark and the crucifixion, where we see Crowley approach Aziraphale to essentially needle him about what’s going on. At this point Aziraphale isn’t so much support as someone he can redirect his anger toward – I assume this is how Book Omens started too, and we’ll get to the divergence in a second. Crowley is willing to drop the anger with Aziraphale much faster in the crucifixion scene, suggesting they have grown closer over the intervening 3000 years, and Crowley no longer finds as much emotional catharsis in being angry at Aziraphale, but he continues to approach Aziraphale that way out of habit.

Then we get to Rome, where Crowley has, according to the script book, come to town to tempt Caligula only to be shocked and upset when he learns how very much Caligula doesn’t need tempting. Crowley goes to a bar where Aziraphale happens to be – whether he knew Aziraphale was there or not before he arrived is irrelevant, but I am assuming he was aware of Aziraphale’s presence by the time he walked in the door. And here is where book and show diverge. Because Crowley has approached Aziraphale about things he’s been upset about in the past, but it’s one thing to needle an angel about things Heaven is responsible for; it’s quite another to walk up to your crush and just start complaining about some jerk who’s put you in a bad mood. Book Crowley, who has been dealing with a slightly more relaxed Aziraphale, says fuck it, goes and sits down across from him and says, “You would not believe the day I’ve had.” And from there we develop into the dynamic mentioned previously for Book Omens.

As mentioned, show Aziraphale is more anxious about their relationship, resulting in show Crowley falling on the other side of this choice and not approaching Aziraphale. This leaves it to Aziraphale to approach Crowley this time. Now as much as we may tease, Aziraphale’s not actually an idiot. He can tell Crowley is upset about something, and he’s picked up on the pattern where when Crowley is upset, he likes to be able rant a bit about Heaven. Obviously Aziraphale can sometimes find those conversations uncomfortable, but he’s feeling good today, so he’s happy to engage in some banter, especially if it’ll cheer his friend up. But Crowley’s the one who usually starts the conversation, so Aziraphale wracks his brain for something he can say about the nature of good and evil and ineffability and comes up with “Still a demon, then?” Shockingly, this doesn’t work. Still he keeps the conversation going and tries again with “Oh well, let me tempt you to... Oh, no, that's, that's your job, isn't it?” This still doesn’t work the way he’s expecting it to, but they do have a very nice meal and a good conversation that’s not really about Heaven and Hell at all, after which Crowley seems to be in much better spirits. Which leads him to the conclusion that it’s not the specifics that are important, just the fact of having the conversation and giving something Crowley to distract himself with.

Skipping ahead to the Globe, two quick things to point out. This is the first time we see Crowley do his little circle of Aziraphale, proving that by this point they established the dynamic where Crowley protects Aziraphale. The second is this is also the first time Aziraphale really intentionally uses his puppy dog eyes on Crowley, meaning their acts of service dynamic is established as well. Knowing these have been established helps inform the decisions Aziraphale makes in the Bastille scene.

Bastille scene. We can assume everything about this incident is something Aziraphale has staged, from actually getting arrested to his claims that he can’t rescue himself because he was reprimanded for too many frivolous miracles. I will say I don’t think that last one is a complete fabrication; I think either that it is something that has happened, but a good while ago such that he’s not worried about it anymore, or it did just happen, but Aziraphale actually had been using an unusually large amount of miracles recently – possibly as part of getting his bookshop set up – and has since dialed it back enough that he can use one or two at the Bastille, be it to free himself or just to change his clothing, without getting in trouble. However, while I do think it was staged, I don’t think the primary propose was to indulge in Aziraphale’s damsel in distress fantasies; that was just an unexpected bonus. Aziraphale’s main objective was helping Crowley.

Aziraphale knew about the French Revolution, knew Crowley was in the area, and knew Crowley was liable to find the whole situation upsetting. His response was to put on his prettiest outfit, and get himself locked up. He’s broadcasting to Crowley, don’t worry about the humans, just focus on me, don’t think about what they’re doing, just look at the silly angel all chained over here in need of rescue. Of course this isn’t completely divorced from the current situation, but in a way that’s actually better, because it takes that situation and lowers the stakes – Aziraphale isn’t going to die, worse case scenario he’ll just get discorporated – and puts Crowley back in control of the situation – he can’t stop the Revolution, even if he’s capable he’d be risking too much trouble with Hell if he tried, but he can save Aziraphale and fly under Hell’s radar while doing it. Basically, we’ve taken the “Crowley needs a distraction” conclusion Aziraphale came to back in Rome and refined it in the intervening 1750 years.

Even Aziraphale’s suspicions that Crowley is behind the whole revolution can be seen as an extension of the indirect comfort he’s offering. He knows that Crowley is going to have to tell Hell that he is behind all this stuff that’s upsetting him, so when Aziraphale accuses him of the very same, it gives Crowley an opportunity and a safe place to assert that, no, he is not responsible. And not just to say it, but to say it and have someone believe him, that it isn’t his fault and he would never do anything really terrible like this.

This gives us the final form of how Show Omens dynamic works. Instead of offering Crowley a safe haven, Aziraphale emotionally supports Crowley by offering him opportunities to be the savior.

What’s especially interesting about this is if we take these two different dynamics, where in Book Omens Aziraphale serves as Crowley’s safe haven and in Show Omens Crowley is Aziraphale’s savior, that actually explains four of the big differences between the book and show: Crowley’s reaction to being called nice, Crowley crossing the M25 with optimism vs imagination, the whole run away with me subplot, and Crowley’s post bookshop fire reaction.

A demon being called nice is a pretty risky thing for the demon in question. As Crowley points out during his and Aziraphale’s conversation in Eden, a demon can get in a lot of trouble for doing the right thing, and I can’t imagine being accused of being nice would work out much better for him. But book Crowley is used to being vulnerable like that around Aziraphale. He still snaps at Aziraphale when he says it, because Crowley is stressed out and right now is not the time for that, but it is ultimately an established part of their relationship dynamic so it really only annoys him. By contrast, in the show a lot of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship is built around avoiding saying those things for their own safety. Given that, it’s no wonder his negative reaction would be more extreme.

There’s a whole long meta out there about how both Crowley’s are optimists, but in different ways (and if someone knows where to find it, please let me know so I can link it). Book Crowley is a more passive sort of optimism; he just generally believes that eventually things will work out for him. This is consistent with the way he handles it when he’s upset about things; he just goes to hang out with Aziraphale, lets himself be upset for a while, eventually it passes, and he’s good to go again. Whereas show Crowley has a more active sort of optimism, believing things can and will work out fine, as long as he steps up to make it happen. Again, this ties into how he deals with being upset; he goes out and does something about it. Granted, he’s not usually fixing the actual problem itself, but he’s being active related to what’s upsetting him, e.g. he can’t stop WWII, but he can go save Aziraphale from some Nazi spies. So when book Crowley drives through the M25 he has his optimism that things are going to work out as sort of a default mental state in his head, and it turns out The Secret really does work for demons so he gets through. Meanwhile show Crowley is actively applying himself to believing the car is fine, and that’s what pulls him through.

This passive/active difference also explains the addition of the “we could go off together” subplot in the show. Despite being more passive, book Crowley is not complacent; when they realize Warlock is not the antichrist, he and Aziraphale make efforts to find the real one. But when their initial search runs dry and they both agree the best thing to do is to have each of their “networks of human agents” look for the boy, Crowley is willing to step back and wait. Either one of their agents will find the kid or something else will turn up; somehow it’ll all work out. Show Crowley can’t do that. He can be optimistic that things will somehow work out, but not if he’s not doing something to fix it. Except there’s nothing else he can do to solve this problem, and when he can’t solve a problem his default is to instead save Aziraphale. The world is going to go up in flames, so Alpha Centauri it is then.

And now the one everyone loves to talk about: the bookshop fire. “Aha!” you said twenty minutes ago and then patiently waited for my rambling to get back to this point. “Aha! There is a flaw in your logic; after the bookshop fire it is book Crowley that copes by getting up and saving things, whereas show Crowley gets drunk and has an emotional breakdown.” But what you didn’t realize, gentle reader, is I already solved that problem weeks ago (this meta took a lot longer to write up than I was expecting). In fact, it’s not a problem at all, but further proof of these dynamics. Because after the bookshop fire, Aziraphale is gone. Aziraphale is gone, which means Crowley’s normal coping strategies don’t work. Book Crowley can’t have a breakdown about Aziraphale being gone precisely because Aziraphale is gone; he’s lost his safe space. So instead he just has to keep pushing forward and he’ll figure out how to deal with the rest of it later. Meanwhile show Crowley can’t save Aziraphale if Aziraphale is dead, and lacking that distraction, he has a breakdown.

Now that I’ve gone on for an obscenely long time about the different dynamics of book Crowley the protected vs. show Crowley the protector, I’m going to say that the specifics of how they are different aren’t ultimately that important. At least not in comparison to the way in which they’re the same. Despite how very different Heavens (and in theory a very different Hells could have a similar sort of impact) changed the details of their relationship dynamics, in both the book and the show, Crowley leans on Aziraphale for emotional support to deal with trauma. (As a side note, I don’t want to imply that this is a one-way relationship. Aziraphale also receives emotional support from Crowley; I’m just not touching on that now because I have to draw the line somewhere.) And that emotional support is a key factor in what makes Crowley different from other demons.

Obviously, we can see how being stuck in Hell would have made Crowley a worse person – though I use the word worse lightly here, as I think it’s very likely that rather than getting meaner for being stuck in Hell, Crowley would develop a learned helplessness. But even if Crowley was on Earth, being on Earth without that emotional support would have eventually had a huge negative impact on him and his attitudes and behavior. Because seeing humans being cruel to each other hurts him, and with no way to process that hurt, it would keep building up until eventually he would have to retreat into apathy to protect himself. But where the apathy of a Hell-residing Crowley would be underpinned by a sense of hopelessness because cruelty from demons is just what he expects, the apathy of an Earth-residing Crowley would have underneath it a lot of anger and betrayal. He did expect better of them, and they let him down time and time again until he stopped seeing the good in them. This betrayal-fueled apathy is the recipe for getting a Crowley that presents as a stereotypical demon, selfish and cruel.

And now finally we reach the point. All of this, all 3767 words of it (well, most of it) was all just context building up to this question: what the fuck did Heaven and Hell do to Crowley and Aziraphale in the 1992 script version?

[an-annyeoing-writer]

god!Chen x Reader: indulgence.

word count: ~2,5k

genre: fantasy

warnings: mentions of death, brief descriptions of violence

宝藏

He sits at the lake’s edge, on a thick, curvy branch that extends from the forest surrounding it. His feet dangle right above the water’s calm surface, his eyes fixated on something far away, his hands holding onto other branches around him to keep balance. And he’s doing it perfectly: despite his feet swaying mindlessly, he’s nowhere close to slipping off the branch, and he doesn’t seem even half as focused as any human would be in this life threatening position. Although maybe the lake isn’t really that deep – but he still doesn’t seem to fear of falling into it.

His white, fox ears perk up at a sound and you hold your breath; you can’t be heard. You stay still and grasp onto the small brooch on your chest, stopping the little bells attached to it from echoing around – why are you still wearing it? it’s so annoying – praying so that you make no more noise than you already, apparently, have.

Yet, his peace has been disturbed and the man stands up; standing on the branch and turning in your direction, maybe not seeing you just yet, but acutely aware of your presence. He doesn’t hold onto anything anymore, but it doesn’t stop him from tiptoeing up the branch, from where he sat seconds ago to the main trunk and then off, onto the forest’s floor covered with pieces of wood, dead leaves and grass.

He walks to the side. His hands bury in the opposite sleeves of his coat: it doesn’t look like the type of clothing you’re familiar with, it’s traditional, but not like the Korean hanbok you know, or Japanese yukata, although it seems to have something from both of these, and even more. Gods and demons don’t care for human clusters. Which one of these species is this man – you can only hope to guess it right.

You hold onto the small glass bottle in your hand as he steps closer to where you’re crouching. He’s not looking at you, but you’re positive he knows you’re there. Will you manage to capture him? Or will he suddenly disappear, or even try to attack you first?

He suddenly jumps to the side, so strangely (why did he do that?!) that it startles you; the bottle almost slips from your hand and you only barely clutch it again before the adrenaline takes over and you throw it at him, so chaotically that you don’t even know if you threw it in the right direction, but it’s done, you can’t take it back now.

The bottle lands in the man’s extended hand; it wouldn’t have hit him, but he catches it, as if knowing exactly what to expect and where would it come from. Nothing else happens. The bottle stays in his hand as he glances at you. The thick bushes surrounding you and the tree trunk that you hid behind – he sees through all these things with his mesmerizing eyes, boring into yours.

He doesn’t speak, although the command is obvious – come out, there’s no use hiding anyway. Come out before I make you. Instead of speaking, he glances at the bottle and the small paper wrapped around its neck. Reading it makes him smirk.

You finally gather your courage; face the consequences, you pitiful hunter. You scramble to your feet and straighten your clothes; your hand brushes the brooch on your chest, making you flinch as the rough metal scratches your hand – not deep enough to draw blood, but the light pain is there – and you sigh, realizing its sound must be exactly what gave you away. What a useless item.

Soon, you emerge from the bushes, finally standing face to face with the man, whose lips are lifted in a small smile, a polite, yet careless one; his head tilts to the side in curiosity.

“Someone fooled you. You won’t catch a demon with this, even if I was one.”

“You’re not?!” Your eyes widen.

He shakes his head, eyes squinting. His head is tilted backwards which only highlights the way he looks down at you, as if taking apart all the elements you consist of, judging them, or even their potential use. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why do you want to catch a demon, though?” he asks. The bottle is thoughtlessly tossed away and lands in the grass, and he pays it no more attention. Instead, he steps closer to you, slowly, as if approaching a wild animal – although you felt as if he was closer to being one, the tables turn; you’re surrounded and he’s not scared, merely curious, and he’s the real threat to you right now. If he’s a god, the last thing you want is to upset him.

“I-I need it” you answer evasively.

“For?” he pries.

You hesitate, but you know there’s no use in trying to hide anything. Don’t upset him, you repeat to yourself.

“The King wants one.”

“You’re the King’s servant?”

“No. But he will release my brother if I give him a gift.”

“Why is he keeping your brother?”

“He’s… He’s in the prison. He stole money from a tax collector. He was imprisoned for stealing the King’s money.” You say the words in shame. You know, though – your brother isn’t a bad person, it’s just that, sometimes, the temptation is too big, the chance of getting money easier than through endless labor – too enticing. “He’s sentenced to death. I have to help him.”

“So you want to sacrifice an innocent being to save a criminal?”

There’s no use in arguing. The god smirks.

“What a noble deed to make. Well, I can help you. I’ll catch a demon with you and you’ll give me something in return. How does that sound?”

You know not to be too trustful.

“What is that, you want from me?”

His eyes go over your silhouette and he tilts his head.

“Something physical, something small, nothing you should worry about. It’s for your brother, so it’s worth it, right?”

That doesn’t sound right. Yet, it seems to be your only chance. Whatever it is that you’ll need to do in return, he’s right, you’re saving your brother’s life, so what’s there to lose? Nothing that you should be mindful of, certainly, even if it was to be your own life.

“I agree. Please, help me” you finally state.

The god smiles widely, but you can’t say that you like this smile.

成交

The night is deep, and the sky is the clearest black, but sprinkled with stars that brighten up the world underneath. There’s no single cloud and the sight takes your breath away while you pass through the wild fields, the sky surrounding you from each side, far till the horizon, with nothing to cover it, all exposed for you to admire.

It’s chilly, the lost wind tugging at your clothes and hair – you wrap the coat tighter around yourself as you walk forward, your eyes fixated on the sight above you, because you can barely see where you’re going anyway.

You reach a small clearing, a circle with no grass even, and a few stones forming an irregular pile in the middle. The small, tear-shaped bowl you’ve been keeping by your side all this time, careful as to not shatter the porcelain it’s made of, is being placed on top of the stone and you kneel in front of it, taking two small bottles from one of your pockets and pouring the oil from one of them inside. What’s in the other – you drink up with only a moment of hesitation. It has no taste.

The oil’s scent is pleasant, but its intensity overwhelms you so you move away as soon as it’s lightened up. The wind picks up again and you fear that it’ll fade, but the fire stays strong, the flame dancing in the wind that’s pushing it around.

You stare at the lantern only a few moments more before choosing to look around you. The sky view is long-forgotten, there are other things you ought to worry about now. You try to see through the darkness, but the lantern, so small and placed so low above the ground, doesn’t make it much easier. What’s to come – you can only guess.

The wind picks up further. It puts the fire out and you move to light it up once again.

But before you reach the lantern, a wave of cold wind pushes you backwards and onto the ground, and does the same to the lantern – the oil spills, the bowl hits the lower stones and shatters like the thinnest glass. You feel your fear arise, but don’t find it in yourself to move from your spot, until there’s a silhouette appearing on the other side of the pile, and you feel as if it was there for quite a while already, but only allowed you to see it now, and you’re just a mere human that can’t possibly see a demon until the demon himself allows her to...

“What are you trying to do, human?” he scorns.

He walks around the pile and reaches the shattered lantern; he brushes its surface with his finger and then puts it under his nose, the oil’s aroma clearly satisfying to his senses as he glances at you once again.

“Well?” He approaches you and crouches down, his hand reaching and touching your forehead, leaving the oil on your skin as if to mark you with its scent. You’re frozen in spot. “Are you going to answer me?”

You don’t say a word. Your forehead tingles where the oil was put.

“Well then, if you can’t speak, seems like there’s only one use left for you.”

He grabs your shoulder and pulls you forward, the free hand catching the front of your clothing and tearing it off your body. And in no time, he bites you, sharp teeth burying in your chest and ripping the flash away. You scream in pain.

But so does he.

You’re being thrown away and he stumbles backwards, clutching onto his mouth and trying to get the flesh out of his mouth with his fingers. But it’s too late, your blood – poisoned with what you drank moments ago – runs down his throat, burning, hurting. He falls to the ground.

You know what you should do now – he’s powerless and that’s your only chance. But the blood seeping from your chest is too much, the world is spinning, you’re struggling to even find your balance. You pull another bottle out of your pocket, praying so that it didn’t break upon your fall. But you can’t move anymore, everything hurts, everything becomes blurry, the night’s darkness seeping into your very soul.

And when you think it’s over, suddenly, the bottle is gently taken from your hand. A small smile appears in the range of your sight, and it’s all that you’re seeing right now, until it disappears, when the man walks past you and approaches the demon’s silhouette – moaning and writhing on the ground, suffering.

The bottle is thrown at him carelessly and he lets out the last scream, before being pulled inside, his body turning into shining dust, matching the stars above, but brighter, filling the glass with its sparkling essence, lightening up way more than any mediocre oil lantern could ever hope to do.

The light soon fades, and so do you.

庥

Something tickles your neck and you start to wake up. It takes a few moments of blissful rest, before you finally pry your eyes open, sighing quietly at the loss of peace, although it’s not fully gone – the world you welcome is peaceful as well.

The first sight is that of the lake extending in front of you. You’re laid on its edge, inches from the water’s surface, the sun peeking through the foliage above and warming you up despite the chilly breeze arising from the lake.

You think it’s the grass stalks that tickle your face, but as you start analyzing your place further, it turns out to be a white tail that dangles nearby, lazily swaying from side to side and brushing your cheek in the process.

The god sits next to you, staring into the space in front of him, just like the first time you saw him. At the sound of you moving, he glances down at you and smiles slightly.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”

“Huh?”

You’re confused with the weird rhyme, but soon realize it’s the last of the things you should be concerned about. Pain ghosts in your chest and you put your hand there, but there’s no source of concern – no real pain, and, as you notice slipping fingers under the clothes, no bruise left even.

“Did you…?”

It wouldn’t be too haste to assume healing a wound like such is not out of god’s powers, would it?

But the god doesn’t respond; in fact, he doesn’t spare you a second glance, until he suddenly looks as if he recalled something very important, and, out of the robes covering his body, pulls out a glass bottle with grayish, sparkling essence churning inside like a small storm, although more mesmerizing than terrifying, looking, in fact, harmless.

You take the glass carefully, scared of damaging it in any way, and observe it for a few moments before gently putting it in your own pocket. Then, you glance up at the god, whose eyes follow yours curiously.

“Thank you” you utter.

“Well, you’re welcome.”

“So…” You hesitate; it’s the time to pay. You only hope so that whatever is that you’re to give away, won’t stop you from getting the trapped demon safely to the King.

“This.”

He points at your chest without further explanation and your heart drops for a moment, scared to ask what he means, exactly.

Seeing your uneasiness though, and the way your face contorts in fear, he laughs, his eyes squinting in pure amusement.

“What are you thinking, human? This is what I’m talking about.” He raises his hand and pulls at your brooch, and you quickly take the hint and unpin it, patting your clothing down to hide the small holes from the needle. The bells ring as the god takes the brooch in his fingers and admires it for a few moments, letting its elements sparkle in the sun as he extends his hand beyond the shadow’s range. “I heard it when we first met.” He hesitates for a moment, before smirking, glancing at you mischievously. “Do you think I’d bother talking to a human if I didn’t find something worth my time? Isn’t it a beautiful sound?”

It doesn’t really sound so beautiful to you; the bells are old, they sound harsh and unpleasant, although quiet enough not to bother you too much. You only kept it because of the appearance – you don’t like the bells at all.

But the god seems mesmerized, completely infatuated with the little, shiny object and its plain noise.

“Go and save your criminal brother” he tells you, not bothering to look at you anymore, as if his new property is all he cares about at this point.

And you don’t bothered to argue, to make him act nicer.

Not like there’s any chance he will agree with you, anyway.

理

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