#But given what my description states I assume almost no one I was around to know is still here.

[euclydya]

The heartache has finally stopped. Perhaps because I'm not apart of their little group?

[thedevilrisen]

Sunsets & Daisies

Luke Hughes x Reader Word Count: 2.3k Description: Luke Hughes and his fiancée always have an annual spring photo shoot, this year for their fourth anniversary Luke gets some welcome news.

Every year, when September hits Luke and Y/N venture to some decadently and much fought over location for their annual photo shoot. What once started with the two cramming into a Photo Booth, drunk on Luke’s birthday became somewhat of their tradition.

This year Y/N had practically begged Luke to relinquish all control he had and give it to her, given as of recently a huge surprise - a future altering surprise, was now at play. It had been almost nine months since Luke proposed and with the wedding two days away the couple thought this would be the perfect time to have the shoot before the season starts.

The location was about a forty-five out of Michigan, and was scheduled for the late afternoon in an attempt to achieve some sunset lit pictures. Luke’s sling added to the difficulty of getting ready, being sure not to accidentally aggravate his shoulder while also trying to get the polo shirt on was a massive task.

"You're too tall Lukey, can you bend down a sec?" you murmured, making sure to gently thread the bunched fabric over his injured shoulder first. The swollen, bruised skin making you grimace as Luke hissed through his teeth when you rotated his arm to allow the other one to slip through. "Sorry bub."

"It's alright." Luke whispered, "You're doing your best and their isn't much else we can do for the pain."

"You can have another does of pain killers when we get there, I'll put them in my purse for you to take before we get there.” The girl spoke as she put said medicine in her purse, among other essentials as well as today’s surprise. While she was allowed the liberty of preparing the surprise with the photographer by graciously offering to organise this year's photo shoot, claiming that Luke already does to much. However if Luke told you the story, it would have been told so dramatically the person listening would have assumed you held him at gunpoint. Which was completely untrue. You had used a hot spatula.

"Sounds, good." Luke spoke, grabbing a cap, using it to brush his hair back so it sat perfectly. You could see the one handed struggle he was having as you watched his scrunched up face in the mirror.

With a heavy sigh you crossed your arms, staring at him in the mirror, "Luke, if you think for a second you are wearing that cap during the shoot you have a lot more concerning things to worry about rather then your shoulder."

“I wouldn’t dare, it’s just till we get there so my hair doesn’t get super frizzy.” Luke stated, giving a pointed look as he turned back around and started to walk over to where you sat at the vanity, brushing the last bits of makeup across your face with the brush before turning the light switch and watching the bulbs dim till the room was bathed in darkness.

Exiting down the hallway and plucking the seperate car, house and gate keys off of their designated wall hooks in the entry way, playing them into your purse knowing because of Luke’s arm, even though he would insist on driving you will have to. Walking into the kitchen, hand brushing past the marble countertop, fingers drifting over the bunch of bananas sitting on the stone as you contemplated what you wanted to eat as well as a snack to take.

Luke trotted down the stairs quickly, heavy footsteps sounding out, softened by carpet but still loud enough to contemplate whether or not an elephant was storming throughout your house. “Should I wear my white sneakers? Or my blue ones?”

“I’d wear the blue.. well they are navy actually. There might be red dirt there and it will be easier to get it out of the blue rather than the white.” you said with an analytical tone, thinking best about the circumstances. “Besides, they will work well with your shirt.”

You heard Luke shuffle off down the hallway to the mud room, where you had all the shoes stowed away in little cubby cubes under the coat rack.

“Can you grab my black ankle boots please?” you requested as you opened the fridge, still in search for snacks you knew you were going to want inevitably. It was remarkable how dense men were sometimes, Luke, who knows you inside and out hasn’t even put a thought as to why you may be eating more or why you wanted one food constantly. Almost like you were craving, something.

“The ones with the little chain?” Luke called back out, you could hear him pulling the weaved baskets in and out.

“No! The ones with the little ribbing down the side of the legs?” You spoke, albeit louder so it carried down the hall into the room Luke was in.

“So the ones with the chain!” Luke’s tone matched yours, his with filtered confusion. He was holding said boots, they were black with a tan, woody coloured block on the heel of them, although it added little height and across the ribbed stitching on the side of the boots was a dainty little gold chain.

From where you were standing, brow creased as you looked into the fridge, eyes darting from the bread to make some toast, to the eggs which you could quickly scramble and maybe put on the toast. Then your eyes locked with the packet of dark chocolate covered almonds. Now they would be good.

“Y/N!” Luke cried, still looking at the boots as he waited for an answer. Looking at the wall with a expression of concern and disbelief.

“They aren’t the same boot Luke! They are different bo-“ Y/N cut herself off as Luke wandered into the kitchen, boots in hand. “Oh. But they are two different boots! I swear they are!”

Slamming the fridge door shut, discarding the loaf of raisin toast and butter container and jar of strawberry jam on to bench, crouching and letting the items fall from your arms onto the bench with a clink from the glass jar. You rounded the counter, using your hand to prevent you from bumping your hip bone on the stone.

Luke watched as you damn near jogged, more of a hop, skip and jump down the hall towards the mud room. It was cute, watching your light anger in being wrong show through your actions. Listening to the manic shuffling of the woven crates as you pulled them out of each of their cubby shelves only to see they weren’t the pair of shoes you thought existed, but clearly didn’t. When you came stomping back down the hall with a heavy pout and furrowed brow, giving the boots which matched the description you gave with disdain.

“You were right.” Your tone was short and sad.

“Yeah.. is that upsetting you?” Luke asked, eyebrows scrunching together.

“It is. It shouldn’t but it is.” You spoke in an incredulous tone. Moving back over to the bench, fingers toying with the plastic covering the bread loaf. You felt as if you wanted to yell, cry and scream all at the same time. Darn mood swings.

Luke just laughed, a rich hearty sound that made your knees wobble as you screwed open the jam jar, placing the raisin toast into the toaster, waiting and ruffling through different packets of chips in the snack drawer picking out two and throwing them in Luke’s direction.

“What flavours do you want?” You asked, still swatting your way through the chip drawer.

“I’m not going to be hungry. I ate before remember?” Luke looked up from his phone.

“Okay the-“ you cut yourself off as the toaster popped up, bringing the raisin toast with it. You grabbed the toast out, flinging it onto the bench after realising it was too hot to just hold onto.

Smearing the butter and jam onto the slices of toast, shoving one into your mouth holding it in your teeth as you turned and placed the bread and condiments back into the fridge. After taking a solid, hearty bite of the toast you placed it back onto the bench, not minding the crumbs that dropped off it. You grabbed the boots from where they sat next to the kitchen island counter and slipped your feet into them, the black tights you were wearing to battle the brisk september air aiding in your pursuit.

"Are you ready to go?" Luke looked up as you asked him this, stretching his none injured arm out, then slotting his phone into his back pocket.

"Whenever you are!" He replied enthusiastically, standing up and holding his hand out for you. He watched as you grabbed your purse, still holding your piece of toast trying not to let the jam dribble down your hand. Luke held the front door open as you stepped out and followed the path to where the car was parked in the driveway. You pressed down on the key fob to unlock the door so you could slide into the driver seat while Luke situated himself in the passenger seat, awkwardly reach across his body to pull the seat belt over and click it into place.

Mirroring Luke, albeit with more ease you strapped yourself in before pulling backwards out of the driveway, checking both ways for traffic. Heading to the stop sign at the end of the street, pulling away from the suburban area and driving away from the city after taking an entry onto the highway to go south. Luke had taken care of the music, connecting his phone to the car via aux cord and playing the majority of his songs, with your input for a song here and there.

"Play that Garth Brooks one.. the country one Jack really likes." you spoke, voice raised slightly to project over the song that was currently playing.

"Why would I play that?" Luke questioned back, his face skeptical.

"Because Callin' Baton Rouge is a fantastic song. Now play it." you responded, looking in the rearview mirror, checking the lanes next to you before merge into the exit turning lane, heading down a rural street where the sides of the road was lined with fences holding cattle in and big tall trees acting as a windbreak.

Even though he had absolutely no idea where the final destination was Luke was staring to catch on that it might have something to do with a field, something very nature-y. He was right, or by the fact that you pulled up next to a white toyota camry near the entrance gate to a field which was bordered with a small forest. Following you and getting out of the car, he watched as you ambled over, shook the young woman's hand.

"Luke, this is Kelly. She will be doing our photos this year." Y/N introduced the photographer, it was obvious that she wasn't a random due to the high quality canon camera she was cradling in one arm.

"Pleasure to meet you." Luke exchanged pleasantries with the woman before the little group of three set off into the field, heading towards the treeline. There was a dirt track that Luke could hear led down toward a creek, he could see why you had told him not to wear his good white shoes, there was a certain chance his shoes would be getting a little dirty.

With all credit to you, he had to admit that the spot was absolutely stunning and he couldn't imagine a more perfect place for the photos. Particularly when the dense foliage thins out and he can see the beautiful architecture of some kind of ruined building. Nature had taken over, vines crawling all up the elegant arches which were bathed in late afternoon sun.

"This is beautiful darlin'" Luke murmured in your ear as he looked up from where he was perched on a rock, this was just one of the many positions and places Kelly had you too stand, sit, hug, kiss, smile or laugh for the photos. He already seemed elated at the fact the photoshoot was happening, he hadn't even gotten the news that was turning your stomach inside out with nerves. Or was it something else?

"Okay, Luke, can you turn and face the creek? I need Y/N behind you, and then you are going to turn around." Kelly asked, setting up for the final shot of the big moment. She winked at you as you pulled the little reel of photos out of your purse. Taking a deep calming breath as you stood behind him, holding the photos that represented your future with Luke, you hands were shaking but you stood. "Okay Luke. Turn around for me."

As Luke did you met his briefly before they locked onto the ultrasound photos you held for him to see. His beaming smile dropped into a gape as he looked at the photos dumbfounded, but it quickly returned as he opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words he so desperately wanted to say. Instead he scooped you into his arms, spinning you around as the camera clicked. Capturing this moment forever, allowing you to reflect on it and show it to family and friends.

"Your- Your seriously." Luke stammered, placing you down, cradling the side of your head as well as the side of your stomach.

"Yeah.. I am." you smiled back, matching his grin with one just as bright.

He pulled away turning away and pumping the air before shouting into the forest clearing. "I'm going to be a dad!"

Yes you are Luke Hughes, a damn great one.

[katerinaaqu]

So how old is Odysseus exactly?

A small Odysseus age analysis based on a description in the Iliad

Many make speculations of his age, me included. Interestingly we have several hints in both art and the scripts but is hard to pinpoint. In general Odysseus is considered old or one of the oldest generations among the poems.

In art he is always depicted bearded which is something only men in maturity have in ancient greek art (somewhere between the late 20s early 30s) and his beard is full indicating that he is at least in his 30s. Most art of his, ranges from the events of the Trojan war till his journey and the murder of the suitors. In all cases we see him having a full beard. So it is pretty hard to determine his age but we know he was at least 30 in the war making him at his final 40s or early 50s when he comes back home depending on interpretation.

In the Iliad in the 23rd rhapsody/book we have an interesting description by Antilochus

"And this one (Odysseus) is of an earlier/previous generation of earlier men; we call him "omogeronda" (early-old man, green old age); yet he is really hard to be competed against in speed (lit: his feet are troublesome to compete) by the Achaeans, except from Achilles"

For starters he clearly states that he is "one generation older" (προτέρης γενεής) but he also calls him with the interesting word "ωμογέρων" which means "raw old man" literally aka "not ripe old age". The word has two possible interpretations; one that he is a "green old man" aka he just began to grow older or to pass to old age and two "a vigorous and lively old man" 😉

Now it could be a tender nickname that they call him "old" but I think the first interpretation fits better to the description. So we know that Odysseus was already mature man when he entered the war (bearded=somewhere in his early 30s and above) and he spent 10 years in the war. We know that he is "one generation older".

The age of marriage differs in ancient greece (for example in 5th century BC Athens, 300 years after Homer's time and almost 1000 years after the time Trojan war took place, the age of marriage for men ideally was 30 years old when they had served their dues although it is unclear how often it was being done this way) but we are to expect that a man in his middle 20s was expected to have at least considered marriage if not already have a spouse and kids. So if Odysseus is "one generation older" on average he is around 20 years older than younger individuals (anywhere between 15-20 years could be closer) such as Diomedes or Antilochus here or Aias. Nestor who was considered an old man was in his 60s. He was still active on the field just not the same way as characters like Odysseus were.

Given the characterization "ωμογέρων" in the Odyssey and the description of him being a generation older than many young heroes I should calculate Odysseus is in the same age group as people like Agamemnon, making him older than other characters like Patroclus who was also generally older (closer to his early or even middle 30s if we assume that Achilles who was repeatedly said to be very young he was in his middle to final 20s during the war). That would make Odysseus a middle aged man and therefore closer in his 40s at the final year of the Trojan war.

My rough estimation is that he is in his early or mid-40s when this conversation takes place. He is middle-aged and yet he is vigorous, sportive and fast (so much so that only Achilles is said to be easily competing against him while most achaeans have hard time to), he is also strong given the many times his strength in spear, sword or bow were praised but at the same time he is obviously past the age of youth. That would make him in his early 50s at least when he arrives in Ithaca.

But what do you guys think? Agree or disagree let me know to the comments below! ^_^

[blaacknoir]

Hi, you recently reblogged a post about how Nanowrimo is not disallowing or disavowing AI because doing so is classist and ablist and in your tags suggested that you consider this "yikes."

Honestly, it kind of hurt my feelings as a person with a disability who occasionally uses AI as a disability aid. Let me explain.

I use AI frequently for word recall. I have ADHD- a lot of people do. Many people with ADHD, including myself, struggle with word recall. It can be extremely bad, but how bad it is day to day is variable, and not all people with ADHD struggle with this to the same degree. When my word recall is really bad, NLP's (Natural Language Processors) are practically tailor-made to find that exact word I need. As an example, I used AI to remind me just now about the term "Natural Language Processor," which, along with the term "machine learning," is frankly just a better description than AI for these tools. But I will continue using the term AI for convenience.

The fact that people do not imagine this sort of use in conjunction with AI IS a form of ablism. They immediately assume all use is infringing. If they actually talked to people with disabilities (who do use AI), they would discover these other uses, and perhaps the conversation could be elevated to a more constructive state instead of trying to make everyone who uses a tool feel "yikes" for using it. Many of us are extremely conscientious and well informed of the issues involved.

Consider that if someone has said something is ablist (or classist or any other -ist,) they just might have a point and that you should try to discover what that point is before assuming that it's fake. Don't take everything at face value, but don't dismiss it out of hand either. Listen to people who have differing opinions and try to get the nuances of the conversation.

When people think about AI being used in conjunction with writing and visual art, they only consider the egregious uses - which makes sense, as that is how AI is advertised; as a magic technology that solves ALL problems. But those egregious uses are not the only use of these tools. AI does not have to be a magic wand that replaces the creative process of an artist. I have given one example of such a use above, but I could list many more.

If your "yikes" is in regard to the ecological impact - I hope that the overzealous implementation of AI into everything takes the ecological facts into account and that is ammealorated, but please do not throw people with disabilities under the bus while trying to make buses less polluting.

//The only use of AI in this post was to help me remember the word Natural Language Processor - I know my tone is pretty formal and sometimes comes across as AI, but it's not.

Jeezly fucking crow, dude. It was a single-word comment. I hope you sent this to literally everyone else who commented in a similar manner.

I use AI frequently for word recall. I have ADHD- a lot of people do. Many people with ADHD, including myself, struggle with word recall. It can be extremely bad, but how bad it is day to day is variable, and not all people with ADHD struggle with this to the same degree. When my word recall is really bad, NLP's (Natural Language Processors) are practically tailor-made to find that exact word I need. As an example, I used AI to remind me just now about the term "Natural Language Processor," which, along with the term "machine learning," is frankly just a better description than AI for these tools. But I will continue using the term AI for convenience.

I also have ADHD. I also struggle with word recall. You know what I do? I google things. I use dictionary and thesaurus websites. I use OneLook, which suggests associated words, similar words, and similar concepts.

Not everyone who uses AI is stealing from artists, no, but it's well known that AI does scan people's art--almost always without their consent--to generate pieces. It's also been seen around places like AO3, scraping fics from unlocked accounts.

Personally, I dislike the implication that disabled (or poor--that's what "classist" means here) people are incapable of writing without an AI generating something for them. I've written 100k+ words on AO3, and all of them are mine. I've talked to friends, I've written parallel fics, I've rewritten my own stories, but those words are mine. I wrote them. A disabled person. To imply that I need AI to do that pisses me off.

And believe it or not, my primary dislike of AI isn't ableist or classsist or whatever. (I'm not even against all forms of AI! I understand that in some fields, analyitical AI is quite helpful--I've read that it's great at finding breast cancer, for example.) My primary beef with AI, especially generative AI like ChatGPT is the fact that:

It will just lie to you. It will just make up things. There are people who have used it in court cases (it didn't work), and there are people using it to write books--everything from cookbooks to mushroom identification guides. (Guess what amateurs need expert help with when they're starting out? You know, so they don't die?) It's also happened with animal care guides. AI doesn't need to be used in a generative context at all.

There is also a massive environmental impact that I rarely, if ever, see talked about.

[lamnwar]

GOM + Kagami AS GIRLS // KNB Headcanons

no one asked for this, I just thought about fem!aomine one random night back in february and then my mind started obsessing about the concept of fem!gom bc I'm a woman lover first, human second Warnings: it's some genderbend hcs so description of fem bodies, some of them are men haters (as they should 😘), mention of various sexual orientations bc ain't no way some of them would be straight, that's mainly it I think?

AKASHI

fem!Akashi is a QUEEN let me say that first

she's so gracious and smart and pretty omg!! no one can top her

small but so potent, she'd have everybody kneel on her path

fem!Akashi has the most lucious red locks out there, walking shampoo commercial fr

she keeps them long and sometimes tie them in a neat low ponytail

has bangs! (that she cut herself during a mental breakdown but shhh no one can know that she is actually insane)

wear luxury brands because she's a rich girl but has quite a sober look

fem!Akashi is captain of almost all teams/club she's in, and that's because she's a natural born leader (that much wouldn't change)

definitely the kind of girl every other girl fawn over because she's just so perfect, you know?

Doesn't date because she has the highest standards ever for men and she's still not aware of her attraction to women (it's ok boo, you'll get there eventually <3)

manages to look royal even when she's all sweaty in the middle of a basketball match

MIDORIMA

tall, gracious, and has a mean face

but she's also like... stunningly beautiful under her permanent scowl (it's her crazy long eyelashes!!!)

the smartest girl you'll ever meet, she's a walking encyclopedia

ALWAYS has manicured hand, but never wears extensions/crazy colours

that's why it's quite surprising to most that she plays basketball given how much time she spends caring for her nails and hands in general

a bit of a diva, ngl

she just assumes the world should give her the princess treatment and you know what? she's kinda right about that

maybe she's a bit mean, but she's flawless outside of that

rumours have it she's dating fem!takao (fem!takao's the one who spreaded the rumour because she's very blatant about her crush on fem!midorima)

she's not addressing the rumors (she kissed fem!takao once and refused to face her feelings)

has a pixie cut with a 7:3 split that makes her look like these super classy businesswomen, if you get the vision

now... this need to be addressed; my girl has been blessed by the big titty fairy

constantly fighting with fem!aomine for staring too much at her chest

KISE

OF COURSE fem!kise is absolutely gorgeous who are we kidding

a model, who might be on the path to become an idol, too

has absolutely everyone head over heels for her

not to mention that she has that cute, girly look that makes her look so doll-like

and on top of that she's good at EVERYTHING

effortlessly charming, you can't hate her

even the jealous ones are somewhat secretly fans

is that eyeliner or the natural shape of her eyes? we may never know but she's got very enticing eyes

gorgeous blond hair that are kinda wavy, which makes her look like a princess

is a LESBIAN she's for the girls ONLY literally such a woman lover, she lives breathes eats women

has that kind of relationship with fem!aomine where she flirts with her just to see her get flustered because she knows she's exactly fem!aomine's type

I mean... pretty face, hourglass figure, a good D cup, she's THAT girl

yeah... she's just perfect

AOMINE

fem!aomine prompted all this btw

I just started by stating that she's in the itty-bitty titty committee and that makes her live in perpetual rage

especially because fem!kise, fem!midorima and fem!kagami got blessed in that department and just... WHY??

why them and not her? :( (talking like these aren't my headcanons and I have all the right to decide differently)

little does she know that she's one of the hottest girls around

it's that constant scowl on her face and her love for low-waisted baggy jeans

(might occasionally wear a whale tail but that's only when she's trying to subtly seduce her enemies (fem!kise))

known for punching guys, she's their worst nightmare 😈

just can't stand men in general and finds joy in physically fighting them

but women? hehehe... women make her WEAK

she's so easily flustered by a pretty girl giving her attention

still a basketball head, because that's who aomine is across all universes

she likely has a fanclub from that, as I mentioned before she's popular

does fem!aomine also reads gravure magasines? not quite but she's found out about spicy romance mangas and that kinda does it for her

likely to live her whole life denying her crush on fem!kise

MURASAKIBARA

fem!murasakibara is of course the tallest girl in the vicinity everywhere she goes

kinda intimidating, if you'd ask me but she's actually super chill

she might have people question her femininity because of her build but honestly? she doesn't give a fuck

she's comfortable in her looks - yeah she's tall and muscular, but she likes herself that way

pulls the androgenous style like no one else, a walking bi-panic trigger (I'm the first one falling 😞)

you know that girl that walks around with an entire pantry in her handbag? yeah, that's her

likes wearing skirts! also shamelessly (wo)manspreads when wearing one

she braids her hair often, mainly because it's practical when playing basketball

rumoured to have an emo girlfriend (it's fem!himuro and they're not dating, just spending most of their time together)

she's a low-effort girlie and it sometimes frustrated fem!akashi has a 12-step skincare routine and doesn't understand fem!murasakibara's simplicity

regardless, she's effortlessly beautiful and she's totally chill about it

fem!kise enjoys putting makeup on her, because, I quote "she's got such an amazing face"

(I might have a crush on fem!murasakibara 👉🏽👈🏽)

KUROKO

secretly a sweet reviewer on instagram

ik it's weird to start with that but that's what I came up with first when thinking about fem!kuroko

discovered space buns on tumblr in 2015 and doesn't stop wearing them

she's that girl that always listens to music and reads at the back of the class

she's the cute type so she often gets attention from boys

doesn't mind dating but it's not a priority in her life either

that one girl that holds the group of friends together by being everyone's favourite

loves to hang out with her girls!! will tag along in all of their plans

need someone to practice basketball with? she's there. need someone to go shopping with? ask fem!kuroko. need someone to rant to? she's your girl.

also knows about all the GOM's love life because they all go to her to talk about it

imagine her seeing any form of fem!kise and fem!aomine interaction knowing damn well what's happening there hihi

just a great girl overall!

KAGAMI

fem!kagami... my beloved

she's scary in the best way possible

always by fem!kuroko's side and unknowingly becomes her bodyguard

the definition of tomboy! she's really not into traditionally feminine stuff

has a wolfcut because yes

another one with big boobs but she kinda hates it because it sometimes ruins her aesthetic, yk?

like, when she can't pull the oversize look because of the girlies and it's just SO frustrating

also not very practical with her powerful style of playing basketball

they just... get in the way

constantly fighting with fem!aomine over stupid stuff, is not scared to punch her if need be

the fact that she's an amazing cook is surprising to most because she's such a rough girl that doing something as intricate as cooking is out of character

and it's just as confusing to know that she often gives company to fem!kuroko when she's doing her sweet reviews

now to what we're all wondering... is fem!kagami gay?

the answer is yes. like fem!aomine, she's a man hater and a woman lover

she's just more comfortable around girls than fem!aomine

doesn't know how to flirt because her head's empty except for basketball

but she pulls because... come on! look at her! tall, pretty, muscular, she's just a catch

denies the fem!kuroko x fem!kagami allegations (ofc fem!kuroko is her precious pookie but that's all there is to them)

[k9emote]

My final response to every accusation made about me.

Hi. As basically, the entirety of emoteblr knows, I have had a lot of hatred, misinformation, and vague angry paragraphs thrown towards my community and me. Barely anyone has communicated what they're so mad about, but I'll try to stitch it all together from a few people who've spoken to me and answer the best I can. "You spread misinformation about number names! Not all number name trauma is RAMCOA!"

You're right! I misworded that because I hadn't known that RAMCOA wasn't the only source of number-name trauma. Because no one told me. I am a RAMCOA victim and have only heard of number-names related to RAMCOA. I didn't know other forms of abuse used number-names. I know that now thanks to a kind person who opened a ticket in my server, and I will edit my server rules accordingly. My opinion stays the same; people who haven't been abused/tortured etc with number names should not use them. I have met countless other victims who agree with me. You can call that an opinion of mine, sure! If you disagree, kindly block me. I am sorry to anyone I said "You can only use number names if you're a RAMCOA victim." to, I had meant that only people with number name trauma can use them to reclaim the name, I assumed RAMCOA was a broad enough term that it covered all types of number-name trauma, but I was mistaken. I'm sorry. That's all I will say on that matter.

"There was a misinformative carrd in your server that didn't explain RAMCOA correctly!" It's been spread that the carrd was mine! that is not true AT ALL. It was taken down a long time ago and replaced with a much better resource. I hadn't personally looked at the carrd because topics of RAMCOA often trigger me, my partner was the one to send the carrd. My partner had seen the carrd sent elsewhere and had no idea it had misinformation. It was used as a quick resource for someone to know what RAMCOA was, and as soon as a kind server member pointed out it wasn't a good resource literally minutes after it was posted, it was taken down and replaced. People make mistakes, and my partner fixed his almost immediately. If you are angry at that, then I'm sorry but you are REACHING for things to hate me for. "The guillotine (public ban) channel you have in your server encourages hate and death threats!"

I am deeply sorry to anyone who recieved any threats/hate/harassment from my public bans. I have always stated to never contact the people I ban , and it was listed in the channel description as well.

No one had EVER told me that they were receiving hate or threats after being banned, otherwise, I would've taken this channel down much sooner. I have yet to receive any proof of these claims or even speak to the victims themselves. I have only heard this passed around from outside people. When I have asked, I am refused evidence for the "sake of anonymity" which I respect but unfortunately cannot ban any individuals without user IDs or genuine reasons. The only thing I could do in response to this is take the channel down, which I have done.

On the topic of death threats, people have claimed that one of my mods was sending them... but refused to show any evidence or tell me who it was. I have spoken to my mods and all of them have said they would never, so I genuinely have no idea what to do. If anyone has further evidence, please contact me. Most of my mods don't even have an active account on tumblr.

A trend I am seeing with the people who are typing up long paragraphs on how I am toxic and immature are people I've banned for going against my boundaries, reposting hate towards me even after said hate was asked to be taken down by both me and the person I had wronged, and other vile behavior in my server. I have not been given descriptions or details on who feels wronged, so I can not apologize for any actions because I genuinely have no idea what I did. I have not come out to say anything not because I am hiding, but because I am lacking SO MUCH evidence or even witness testimony on what I've done wrong. I have no issue apologizing to people I might've hurt, but I cannot do so without a proper conversation with said people. The one person who offered to tell me things refused on multiple occasions to give me evidence, screenshots, direct conversations or any other sources of people explaining why they hate me. I was only given vague reasons and "maybes" To some individuals I know are spreading the hate about me; To Proxy. You were banned from my server because you were creating a story incredibly similar to RAMCOA experiences while not being a victim of any sort of torture yourself (which you stated.) You said you were allowed to have an OC with a number name because it was based off a media that did the same, and that it was a "lab rat character" and therefore didn't count. When I, a victim of the torture you were using for roleplay, tried to educate you on why it was still wrong no matter your intent, you threw a tantrum and refused to listen. You were clearly uneducated on all forms of numbername trauma and refused to understand when not only I, but multiple other victims were trying to explain why it was wrong. Your roleplay OC was more important to you than a victim asking you to stop. The way you spoke to me was vile, invalidating, belittling and triggering. I am not sorry for the anger I displayed when I was spoken to like my own abuser would speak to me. I had a right to be angry and I started off extrememly understanding and polite despite your actions. Your OC was also affiliated with Nazis and the holocaust, which is fucking disgusting. I don't care what comic/media/etc it's based off of. I don't care if it's fiction or if you don't intend to base it on real life matters. Fictionalizing things that are rooted from real trauma and genocides as someone who has not experienced either is a horrible thing to do. I hope you realize how sickening you've acted.

Proxies messages were accidentally deleted when we banned them, but heres a screenshot my partner took during the arguement. Oh and before I forget, Proxy claimed to be "proshipper neutral" because it was "just fiction." despite knowing what it entailed. They have since been educated, but I wanted to share that their opinion on "fiction does not equal reality" mind set is extremely harmful.

Their reasoning on why they thought it was fine! (both is proxy) ^ Proxy also sent something in my inbox that I responded to publicly, ignoring all that they had done and completely going against my DNI of them. You can see that on my blog. To Alexfroppy. You were banned because my mod pointed out to me that you had reposted a tumblr post promoting the hatred towards me and my community, between an issue I had with another creator who has since forgiven me. Both me and Lemon (the creator) asked the Original Poster to take it down. You still reposted, directly supporting something going against the boundaries of both creators involved. You say "well I also posted something against the threats." Great! That's the bare minimum and resposting something that got me threats in the first place completely contradicts and cancels out you discouraging it. We pulled you into a ticket and tried to politely explain what you did wrong, to which you replied carelessly and with an incredibly dry tone. It was clear to me you didn't care when you stated "I'm only here for the emojis" and never apologized. That is why you were banned.

This is the entire ticket conversation. They were not banned for "just liking and reblogging a post". They were banned for purposely reblogging something that went against both creators boundaries which inherently encourages threats and hate towards me no matter your intent. People say "Hey your guillotine/public ban channel is getting people threatened!" and I apologize and quickly take down the channel. I say "Hey your reblogs are getting me threatened" and I don't get an apology, nor did they take down the reblog and ended up joining the hate train and calling me immature and toxic for being terrified for my safety. To FleurDeMort / Pierce. I don't know if you're directly involved in any of this, but with how open you are about hating me and claiming I ban unfairly, I think It's safe to assume you are. You were originally banned for being involved in a drama that was making me break down and shut down as quickly as I could. I apologize for acting quickly out of fear, that is my fault, and I would've been more than happy to apologize to you directly just like I did the other person involved. However. I, after calming down, apologized for my passive agression and panicked actions a day or two afterwards. I unbanned the person I had directly spoke harmfully to, and apologized as did they. You typed out a message for the other person fighting me to send. It was filled with misinformation, was invalidating, ignored all my points in the debate, and was disrespectful.

If anyone wants more information on my view of this, I made a post here stating all the points that I made in this ticket that they completely ignored. You are an adult. You can be mad at me for being immature, but what does that make you? You , afterwards in anger, claimed that my ADULT MOD was "Jacking me off" for defending me.

That is fucking disgusting NO MATTER YOUR INTENT. I could give less of a fuck if that's an expression. I am an AMAB 16 year old and commenting that an adult who defended me was "jacking me off" at your grown ass age is fucking vile. There were a MILLION different expressions you could've used, but you chose that one. You have not apologized, you've only defended yourself in my friends servers and claimed that I am taking things out of proportion. Instead of apologizing and realizing that your angry statement was weird and sexual no matter your intent, you've chosen to defend yourself and throw a tantrum in partnered servers of mine about how you did no wrong.

Here's them opening a ticket in another server and defending themselves, so that people don't claim I'm not showing the full story. I acknowledge me and my mods didn't handle the situation correctly, I was dealing with a lot of stress and made bad decisions. That's my fault, and I am sorry. I have been forgiven by the person I hurt ( V ). They have forgiven me and are a happy active member in my server, and one of my main defenders. Here is all context provided to the "jacking k9 off" statement, just incase anyone wants to claim im not giving """Full context""" like Pierce has claimed.

This conversation wasn't even about me. They brought me up in a single sentence to say that my mod was "jacking me off" for not siding with them. I don't care what emotional state you were in, you're 19 saying that about an 18 and 16 year old. You should be ashamed. "It's an expression" does not give you an excuse to say that about a child just because you're angry. I am an AMAB 16 year old. Imagine if the roles were reversed and you were to say "They'er fingering k9!", you would get a lot more hate. My body as a male should be held to the same standard, expression or not. I make mistakes and apologize for them. You make mistakes and defend yourself. That is the line of difference.

Here's them being manipulative to V after V had forgiven me, and trying to excuse saying sexual things about a child because it was "taken out of context". Saying sexual things about an adult and minor is pedophilic. I know that's a heavy word. I mean it. Your intent doesn't matter. Think before you speak.

For my final message about this drama; The amount of hypocrisy in the accusations about me is hilariously pathetic. I am not here to defend myself, I am here to state the facts of what happened, to share my story with these banned members, and to state that still even after all the hate sent to me, I do not understand what I've done wrong besides ban people who have wronged me without remorse and make a few accidents in my communitcation. I have not ever used my age or mental state as an excuse for my actions. There is a huge difference between "I'm not sorry, It's not my fault, I'm a child and I'm mentally ill" And "I'm really sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone, I am still growing and not in a good place mentally. My actions have been influenced my by current mental health and I've made mistakes. I have apologized and will try my best to grow" which is my statement and what I've stated in the past. If anyone who I have wronged wants to DM me on tumblr or discord to explain their side of the story and be apologized to, I am completely open for that. I want nothing more than to fix my mistakes and make people happy. That has been my wish from the start. I never act on malicious intent, I've never encouraged threats towards those who have hurt me, and I will never do either of those things. I have over 1,000 members in my server who are constantly telling me how safe they feel in my community, how it's the only place they've actively spoken, how much they love my art and me, and I love them back. To all that have treated me like human and been unbiased in your view of the drama thrown at me, thank you. I love you all. You uplift my life and I couldn't possibly express my gratitude in words. I will continue making emojis for verbal accessability and I will continue to grow, be better, and mature in my responses to threatening or scary situations. You say I'm toxic for being confused and angry, for not reacting well to proofless accusations of my character as a person, of ignoring people who have no evidence or who wont even mention what I've directly done wrong. Yet you chase after my every mistake, you grab at my flaws that I work on every day to improve, and you use FORGIVEN ISSUES against me. This community is toxic because of people like you.

How hard was it for a single one of you to politely DM me and inform me on what I was doing wrong? How hard was it to maturely speak to me about what you think isn't okay? You call me immature yet you spread lies about me like a childrens game of telephone. I am sorry for anyone who I've hurt. I am not sorry for being human. Do not harass anyone I have mentioned in this. I do not condone hatred, even if they have encouraged it towards me. I am sorry if anyone takes what I've said as hostile. I am tired and angry of people demonizing me with little to no proof of what they claim. I am tired of sleepless nights wondering if someone is going to send me more threats or dox me. I am tired. /nav Thank you for reading.

[zabala0z]

S3 is once again killing me again with all the lore and I love it. School started up so I might be slower with my thoughts but I got episodes 92, 93, 94 and 95 to talk about!!!

MAG 92: Nothing Beside Remains

Elias makes me want to eat my phone, similar to that one guy from MAG 65 :) I was like screaming the whole time. Of course he can see everything, he literally called the police before Daisy came. I took that as "oh he has spies" but no he can see everything, I hate that. Is Jon eventually gonna get that ability or does The Eye give different gifts. Elias hasn't shown any "compellling" sort of power so I assume the latter. ALSO MORDECAI LUKAS?? I need to see a statement from a Lukas member cause what is up with that family, I'm dying.

Guess Basira is now working there. Hope Elias is paying her. the fact he won't tell Jon shit is so funny to me. So The Stranger is now, basically, the confirmed main villain. BBEG yknow? Mildly terrified, I hate circuses and mannequins so this season is gonna like body me

Not much to say on MAG 93 but whatever entity has the whole "gross shit" as its deal, I'm guessing this falls under it. Purple fungus, the obsessive cleaning, etc. Also yaaay Breekon and Hopes!! Again!11!! get out! Poor Georgie. Love her for being like "Do you even have qualifications??". Jons explanation helped me a lot because during Elias's explanations, I'm mostly just muttering curses to myself because I HATE Him. Avatars. Baller. So Jude Perry was the avatar of The Desolation (destruction, fire, etc) Michael Crew was the avatar of The Vast (sky??, emptiness, general loneliness) and then like Jon is an avatar and I'm guessing so is Elias. I think you can have more then one avatar but anyways.

MAG 94: Dead Woman Walking

Jon refereed to the entity as "The End" which, using my notes, was mentioned in Mary keys statement when gertrude asked where the book came from and Mary said "The End" and said she could never serve it, not finding death interesting. Wild that she can't feel fear anymore??? Like damn. This kinda read as someone in a depressive state in some form. Or like a nihilistic person. Cause like "everything ends, time, it has already ended". Wild.

Not much to say on MAG 95 but I did understand the context vaguely which is more then what I can say for the other war statements. Also Martin and Basira friendship??? Love it. She gets really engrossed in books. I dunno if she was like lying or this is something supernatural related but I love Basira

MAG 96: Return to Sender

Literally screeching oh my god. The fact these things just hijacked this mans business is almost funny. They also talked with a circus ringmaster. Nikola Orsinov? gregor Orsinov? A different one. the statement was given 1996 and Gregor was the leader around the 40's but Nikola, by her description I think, sounded young. So. Who was this ringmaster? Maybe Im getting the timeframe wrong. or they're like eternal. Maybe they like just shed skin and steal a new body, just going by the same last name- okay I don't know.

Also, SARAH BALDWIN???? Welcome back girl. The fact the gorilla skin was stolen by gertrude means she was trying to stop The Unknowing, and likely that's why its been this long for it to happen, because they need that skin. Ew. The Stranger loves skin a little too much. Also Sarah being filled with sawdust and cloves. Great. If Not Sasha was shot, would we have seen that? Or is it different with every one of those, NotThem.?

Anyways, I think that's everything. Every statement, I'm kinda thinking, "which entity does this fall under" now that I know the surrounding universe. Tough since I only know 6 by name and I think there's more. 6 too many entities for this world though

[bellalaufeyson69]

Peter Quill x Reader

Dinner (can read breakfast first)

Description: After Peter and Yn have their first kiss, Peter takes Yn out to a nice dinner.

Wc ♡ 5.1k

Masterlist ♡

Warnings ♡ Swearing, possible spoilers, suggestive content

———

“Since we’ve known each other for years does that put our relationship at a higher ranking? You know more perks?” Peter grinned laying next to me in his bed. He held one hand up to toss a ball into the air and catch it which left me flinching and or hiding my face into his side after he accidentally dropped the ball on my head once. His other hand was wrapped around me and I laid sideways holding a hand over the side of my face that was in the line of fire to the ball.

“We’ve literally only been dating for like nine hours,” I peeked out from my position to see the ball flying right toward me again causing me to flinch out of the way and get hit in the shoulder. “Peter Jason Quill!” I scolded through laughter. “You’re done,” I sat up to retrieve the ball that’d rolled onto the ground. “You’re done.” I picked it up off the floor and tossed it across the room making it into his clothing hamper.

He let out a little cheer and a laugh showing that he was impressed. “That was hot babe,” he put the arm he used to toss the ball under his head and reached the other out toward me motioning me in by doing little grabby fingers in the air.

I started toward the bed before catching a glimpse of his alarm clock stating it was 7pm. “What?! It’s already seven?! We’ve literally been laying in your bed all day long,” I gasped in realization. “I’m hungry,” I whined out to Peter in hopes he’d take the hint and feed me. Yes I could feed myself but I have a boyfriend now, that’s his job. KIDDING…

He looked to the clock and sighed. He was definitely a lazy boy, but part of him really did just want to cuddle and enjoy this new relationship. Especially since he’d longed for it for so long. He sat up and walked over to his dresser to grab his phone. He spent some time scrolling, what I assumed to be looking something up. Then turned back to me with an excited smile. “How bout this? You go put on a nice dress, and do whatever you need to get ready and meet me out in the main area of the ship when you’re done?” He offered full of excitement and anticipation. He’d definitely came up with some sort of little plan and it made my heart race a little at the thought.

“A dress? How cute? Like fancy? Semi-fancy? Casual? Sun-dress? Tight? Loose?” I rambled off all the questions that came to my mind at the alarming thought of picking a dress out for an occasion I know nothing about. A problem that a guy definitely wouldn’t grasp.

Peter gingerly chuckled at my panicking. He stood close now looking down at me in amusement and love all at the same time. “Honey…” he began with a grin just staring down at me taking in all my features. He softly placed a his hands on both shoulders and rubbed as he spoke. “Get something semi-fancy, it’s for a dinner okay?” He tilted his head while asking to read my expression.

“Okay… honey” I replied in a sarcastic tone teasing the nickname he’d given. Not that I minded it, I just found it amusing he’s moving so quick. Though technically we have known each other for almost five years now.

“Yeah. Honey. Now turn around,” he took his hold on my shoulders to spin me around. “And go get ready,” he said in a playfully fake aggressive tone while smacking me on the butt.

I let out a little squeal at his actions while laughing my way out and to my room to find an outfit. “You two are gross,” Rocket cringed from the hall as I approached.

“Why are we gross?” I chuckled. Rocket is always complaining about something. One second it’s me and Peter are annoying and won’t stop fighting and now that we’re happy and have stopped apparently we’re gross. Complaining is just part of Rockets personality at this point so I never really take it seriously.

He looked at me like I were dumb and his comment was clearly obvious. “You’ve been in his room all day long, haven’t come out to see the light of day,” he started listing off as if it were offenses for a crime. “It doesn’t take a genius to know what that entails”

My jaw dropped and brow furrowed at the accusation. “Hey! I don’t just sleep with people whenever you know, I only do when I’m in love and it’s deep enough into a relationship! I make it a point to be very against stupid hookup culture whether that’s Peter’s past or not it’s gonna be his future,” I defended. Now that I said it out loud that thought kinda does scare me. What if Peter expects that out of me? I mean we’ve only been dating one day I don’t just throw myself around. Though I know how Peter is with girls. He’s been around the block. I just hope he respects me enough to wait, I’m sick of guys using women for their bodies and wise versa. That’s not the relationship I want, I want something real and built out of love not lust.

Rocket gave a little ‘huh’ seeming impressed and or proud. “Well that’s actually pretty cool, I didn’t know that,” he admitted more relaxed now. He was acting like a father and it was kind of endearing in a weird way. “I wouldn’t have cared if you did, just think it’s funny to mess with you, but I think that’s special. Not a lot of people are like that these days and I think you’re something really good for Quill” he spoke whole heartedly and it made my heart melt. Rocket never gets like this and when he does you know he means it for real. “As much as he is an idiot” he quickly added to even himself out from all the mushy stuff.

“Do you think Peter-“ I paused trying to think of how I wanted to word it. “Do you think it’s a necessity for him?” I asked beating around the bush in hopes Rocket got what I meant and wasn’t going to make me explain further as I felt embarrassed enough.

He seemed a little taken aback at my tone and serious attitude. “I mean, I don’t know it’s Peter” he shrugged while speaking in an apologetic tone. “I think you’re not giving him enough credit” he finished with a simple response not wanting to dig any deeper as he truly didn’t know what to say. It’s not like I won’t do it with Peter ever, I just don’t want to rush it.

Though I was unsatisfied with Rockets empty response I took what I could get. I headed into my room letting out an exhale. I sat on my bed stuck in my own swirling thoughts before I heard rummaging in my closet making me jump at the sudden noise. I froze and listened as intently as possible ready to pounce on any intruder that could come at me.

“Owww, you big doofus you stepped on my toe!” I heard mantis’s muffled voice snap at someone behind the closed door.

Feeling safe now that I knew it was just mantis and whoever else I stood up and slung the door open. Drax stood with his arms held straight out in a T-pose while Mantis was in the middle of putting a hanger on his arm. He stood there with a few dresses hanging off his arms like he was a clothing rack which made me laugh in confusion. “Dang it! The surprise is ruined. We have to tell Quill to cancel the-“ before he could finish his sentence Mantis was smart enough to slap her hand over his mouth muffling the rest of the words.

“Nooo, the plan isn’t ruined, Peter said she is the one who’s gonna pick out the dress” she huffed in annoyance toward Drax. Those two bicker like siblings, and honestly get aggravated with one another. It’s kinda cute though, they have such a strong bond they truly do act like best friends/siblings.

Drax didn’t seem impressed with her statement as he was pretty much set on the fact that everything was ruined because I found them in the closet. “Soo, what’s going on?” I questioned in amusement, more specifically with the way Drax looks right now as a personal shelf.

“We were going to surprise you by picking out some dress options so you didn’t have to” Mantis informed sadly, her head dipped down. “I wanted it to be easier for you to pick and Peter told us we could pick any dress that was red, but you had so many and I guess we lost track of time…”

I put my hand on her shoulder in a soothing way. “It’s okay, I’m perfectly surprised! I like what you’ve picked so far, here let’s look at them out here” I motioned for them to step out of the closet chuckling as the dresses swayed back and forth across Drax’s arms which were still held straight out.

We ended up selecting three dress options that I was going to try on and set them across my bed. “Okay Drax turn around I’m gonna change” I showed him with my hand as Mantis spun him around and planted her hand over his eyes for good measure. Though I think we all knew that Drax would never look. He wouldn’t even want to.

He sat patiently with a grumble at my comment. “I would much rather have my eyes gouged then look at that” he scoffed.

I shimmied myself into the first dress which was a little more lose but had red sparkles on it and a few gems. After inspecting myself in the mirror I wasn’t sure how I felt about this one. I’m definitely leaning toward the other two so far. “Okay here’s the first one” I turned to them and stood awkwardly as they examined my outfit.

Drax decided to let out the most insane loud laughter that quite literally made me jump after seeing the dress. “HAHHA…That is….” He choked out through laughter. “The funniest prank…” he slouched over, holding his knees trying to calm his laugh. “Mantis that was a good prank putting that hideous one in there” he complimented whole heartedly.

She smacked his armed with an appalled expression. “I did not put that in as a prank Drax!” She scolded the man.

“Oh… well then Quill must really like you” he said more relaxed now, having zero shame whatsoever. He was very oblivious to many things especially social cues. He could move on from something like that within a split second, heck part of me wonders if he even knows he did anything wrong.

“Okay! Next dress then,” I snickered at the situation. I never took anything Drax said seriously which made his comments all the more funny. I’d never actually take fashion advice from him in the first place.

I decided to save my favorite dress for last as I already knew what I looked like in it and had a feeling I would be picking that no matter what. I showed them the second dress and the reaction was mild yet interested. Then slipped on the final dress and turned to show them the final option.

“Wow.” Mantis’s jaw dropped as she looked over the dress and the way it fit my form. “You look beautiful” she breathed, she was astonished.

“Nice” Drax added. He liked the dress I could tell, he just wasn’t much for theatrics. “Like a hot Cheeto” he mentioned one of the Earth snacks I obsessed over making me chuckle. The dress was all red, and tight, it hugged my body in all the right ways which is why it’s always been my favorite.

I did a little goofy curtsy for the two, I don’t know how else to take compliments I’ve never really been good with that. “So, I’m supposed to go out there now right?”

Mantis perked up and turned to Drax with an eager smile. “Yes! We’ll take you” she looped her arm with one of mine, and Drax did the same. They lead me out of my room and into the main area of the ship. As soon as we stepped foot into the room I was met with a trail of flowers and fake candles leading to where Groot stood holding a bouquet of flowers.

He held them with both hands smiling so widely. He always looked so innocent and right now he looked absolutely adorable. “I picked pink flowers because I think you like pink” he chirped watching me excitedly as Mantis and Drax led me closer to Groot.

“I love them Groot, thank you so much” I couldn’t help but feel my face start to redden at all of this. I’ve never been put in the spotlight before and it feels so nice and a little overwhelming (in the best way possible). “Did you grow them yourself?” I questioned already knowing the answer. I’d seen Groot grow flowers within a few seconds off his own branches and give them to people like the sweetheart he is. He nodded happily then held out an arm and grew a little pink flower. He looked at it for a bit then at me like he was awaiting my approval. “Wow Groot that’s awesome dude! I love it so much, seriously. I love you guys” I started to feel very sappy and emotional. Just seeing how much they care for me is something I’ll never forget. We really are a family.

“We love you too” Groot and Mantis said in sync making each other chuckle. Drax just stood smiling like an idiot, secretly taking in this moment to his heart.

Groot pointed to the door signaling us to move forward that way. Drax and Mantis lead me through and Groot followed behind us. When I got outside I was met with Rocket who stood pretty stylish wearing shades and a vest. “Let’s go princess, Quill’s got me as the body guard tonight” he joked while motioning me to a very nice modern vehicle. I’d only now noticed we were on Xandar, just by the look of the car I could tell.

“Don’t you look handsome” I complimented him knowing full and well he’ll be thinking about it for a long time. Rocket likes to act like he doesn’t like affection and compliments but deep down he revels in it. He turned and gave me a playful scoff swatting his hand in the air. He motioned me in the back seat first then followed suit. We both sat in the back as a xandarian driver was in the front.

“Alright big guy we’re good to go” Rocket gave the okay for the driver to leave. The man nodded, already knowing where to go. I didn’t realize how elaborate of a plan Peter had made, but this couldn’t have been all done over that one little text he sent. I’m starting to realize Peter had this plan for a little bit longer than I thought.

As the driver began to pull away I looked out the window to wave my friends goodbye. I felt myself tear up at this point, they all look so happy for me. So genuinely happy just to make me happy and I couldn’t feel more grateful for it. They’re the best family I have ever had, I would never trade them for the world. “Ah don’t get all teary eyed on me now, we’re not even done yet” he smiled at me softly. He unbuckled his seat to stand up and reach over and wipe a tear that fell down my cheek. He put a hand on my shoulder and rubbed in a friendly way to comfort me. This only made the tears flow more, making rocket go the full one hundred and pull me in for a hug which I took immediately. We sat like that for a few minutes and I honestly feel like Rocket needed it as much as I loved it.

We pulled into a parking space but I had been too distracted with Rocket to even pay attention where we were at which made the surprise a lot more fun. I knew it was a restaurant of some sort but I have only been to a few on Xandar. Rocket paid the driver and lead me into the restaurant. It was absolutely stunning as most things were on Xandar. The walls were a clean steel with large glass windows surrounding each wall to provide natural light through the entire area. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling and each booth had a vase of flowers and a candle. “If you’re amazed by this then just wait” he grinned at my expression then motioned me to follow.

We went toward the back wall which confused me until I saw a few elevators. I’d never been to a restaurant with elevators in it in my life. I couldn’t tell if this place was expensive type fancy or just xandarian culture fancy. We stepped in and rocket selected the key with the letter “R” which only had me even more puzzled. The elevator only took a few minutes until we’d made it to our destination and the doors slowly opened to reveal the rooftop of the building. Rocket took my hand and we stepped out until we found Peter sitting at a little table set up dressed in a handsome tux. Nebula stood next to him and they watched as I approached with rocket.

The roof was completely empty besides us and the one little table so I’d assumed Peter had to have pulled some strings to get this. He stood from his seat and brushed off his clothes while smiling down at me. “Wow, you look amazing” he stared at me taking in my features completely in awe.

“So do you, I mean. Wow.” I scanned his outfit again absolutely obsessed with it. He looks amazing in a tux, I just want to kiss him a million times. Acting on my urges I placed my hands on his cheeks and softly brought him closer so I could kiss him.

“As much as I love the sound of lips smacking together all disgusting like that, I really gotta get going” Rocket chimed in from behind us cringing at the sound of our lips. “Pete, I’m still good for the free meal down stairs?” He double checked before getting the okay “have fun you two” we’d said our little goodbyes and he’d left to go eat downstairs.

I turned my attention to nebula who’d pulled out each of our chairs. I guess my expression was pretty extreme because they’d answered my questions without me having to say anything. “I got us this table up here but the servers are busy in the actual restaurant area so Nebula offered to help out” he looked at nebula with an apologetic smile. “Thanks by the way, and for this!” He motioned to his nicely styled hair.

My eyes widened a bit as I looked at his hair then Nebula. “You did his hair?! What?” I found myself laughing at the realization as I’d never imagined Nebula doing that let alone knowing how.

She shrugged her shoulders. “When you’re on a ship with Tony Stark for as long as I’ve been, doing hair comes easy. He insisted on having it perfect despite it only ever just being the two of us waisting away in space” she found herself reminiscing the time with Tony and seemed to be fond of the memory.

“Sounds like a Tony Stark kind of thing” I chuckled. “Well you did amazing, he looks soooo handsome” I cooed toward my boy making him grin down at me.

“Well thank you beautiful, you ready to eat?” He handsomely questioned.

I nodded with a smile. He placed his hand on my lower back and led my to my seat and pushed it in before sitting in his own seat. “What drinks are you two going to have?” Nebula asked calmly.

“I’ll have wine, any, surprise me” Peter ordered for himself. “Scratch that. Anything BUT white whine” he made a face at the mention of white wine making me laugh.

Nebula nodded taking a mental note then looked at me. “I’ll do the same, thank you Nebula” I kindly put my hand on her arm to show my appreciation. She smiled and nodded as response like she did for a lot of things. It was sort of her go-to in situations like this. She went off to go collect our drinks leaving Peter and I alone.

He reached his hands across the table to scoop mine up in his, he began to rub his thumbs on the side of my hands. “How’d I do?” He asked pretty seriously. It was clear he genuinely wanted to know if I’d liked it which melted my heart. He seemed pretty nervous too, I could tell he put a lot into this.

I found myself sinking into my seat feeling relaxed just holding hands with my boy. “You did amazing Peter seriously, you’re just- just perfect” I stumbled to find the words that fit how my heart felt for a second but found it. “My sweet, sweet boy” I found myself blushing profusely at the way Peter was looking at me right now. His entire focus was on nothing but me. His expression is so soft and loving it makes my heart squirm.

“I told you I’d romance the shit out of you” he smirked referencing this morning. “I’ve always imagined the date I’d take you on before we ever became a thing. The second we kissed I already knew I wanted to do something like this tonight” he admitted through pink cheeks.

I couldn’t help myself but smile at the thought of Peter daydreaming about a date with me. This part of Peter really shocked me, I always knew he was a sweetheart but not like this. It all seems so pure and romantic, I guess I just didn’t expect it. “That is actually the cutest thing in the entire world and I won’t lie I definitely cried in the car because I loved it so much” I chuckled at myself.

He gave a little snicker and continued to look at me. “You’re so pretty” he sighed in content and slid his fingers into mine interlocking them. “And you’re all mine now” he thought to himself out loud. “You hear that? Mine” he teased but part of him was being serious. He may seem nonchalant but in reality he was pretty decently possessive.

I grinned at the comment. “All yours Starlord, all yours”

“Cool. Glad we got that documented because if any guy tries anything with you I’m gonna kick their ass okay?” He raised his brow as he spoke to give off a serious look.

“I’d kick his ass first” I shot back playfully.

He seemed to be really happy with that response. “That’s my girl” he grinned back at me.

Nebula made it back with the drinks which was the only time Peter took his eyes off me. She set each glass down in front of us carefully. “Okay, you two know what you’re going to eat?”

The question alarmed me a little because I didn’t want to be rude to nebula but we definitely did not spend any time looking at the menu. “Uhh” Peter and I both made a similar sound and glanced at each other with a look. “Let me just double check real quick” I said while speed reading through the menu.

“Yeah, me too” Peter added using a very highly sarcastic tone making it obvious now that we hadn’t looked at the menu.

“You’re the one who owes me for this, I’ll charge by the hour” she poked at the fact that Peter found it amusing but he was the one paying up at the end.

At that he’d sped up his search and landed on the classic steak dinner. “I’ll do the steak, and both sides are fine” he quickly replied while tidying up his menu to hand her.

“Me too” I concluded. I’m definitely a picky eater hut steak is one of the few things I’ll always eat. Plus it made it easier for nebula.

She took the menus from us and made her way back down to get the orders in. “So can we skip past this awkward new boyfriend thing and just come up with nicknames now? Because I’ve been dying to call you baby” he asked eagerly. He was pretty much on the same page as me because we’ve known each other for years. If we’d just met then sure it would feel rushed, but the amount of times I’ve wanted to kiss this man throughout the years is enough to make this okay.

I nodded in agreement. “I would love that” I considered adding a nickname to the end of that sentence but I really couldn’t think of what he’d like to be called which sparked my next question. “What nicknames do you like?” I asked perking up in my seat at the conversation.

He sat in thought for a minute before collecting his answers. “Babe, baby, handsome, sexy” he slipped the last one in with a mischievous grin while waiting for my reaction.

I rolled my eyes at the comment. “Two of those were just you complimenting yourself” I called him out on his giant ego. Personally it doesn’t bother me, I think it’s cute.

“Well I plan on calling you the last one, along with beautiful, gorgeous, stunning…” he rambled on a bunch of endearing words making my cheeks blush. “All of those which you are right now” he smoothly flirted giving my outfit another look.

“I hate to say it because we all know your ego doesn’t need another boost, but you look pretty sexy in that tux” I flirted in a playful manner.

“Mmm thank you,” he gave a cocky smirk and leaned in closer to the table. “Although my ego is actually pretty small, and sad right now and I feel like the only thing that can help fix it is if you kiss me” he spoke in a soft grizzly tone while eyeing my lips with a grin.

That. Was hot. “Only because you begged” I teased back and leaned into the table meeting my lips with his. This kiss was long and fiery. His hands held the sides of my face and his thumb traced circles as we kissed. His lips were soft and warm. I felt the little prickles of his facial hair against my face, and the warmth of his breathe against me until we slowly pulled away.

Peter and I sat and talked about random memories we had on missions in the past. Funny moments, and just dumb things that we’ve all done until Nebula came back with the food, this time Rocket followed holding a bottle of wine. She placed the food in front of us on the table and backed up for Rocket to make his way through. He’d used the chairs as leverage when pouring the wine in our glasses to refill them, then once the glasses were full with a satisfied smile he began chugging the remains of the bottle. I take it that was the deal he was made for helping. “Alright you two, we’ll see you back on the ship, have fun” Nebula dismissed and we said our thank you’s and goodbyes to our friends.

We started eating our food which was absolutely delicious and had little conversation in between. “So, you wanna sleep over in my room tonight?” He smirked at me wiggling his brows. Im pretty sure I know what he meant by that especially just from knowing who the guy is.

I felt a little intimidated and I honestly didn’t know how to answer. Part of me feels like I just owe him sex now because he did all of this for me. The rational side of me knows that’s absolutely insane and I don’t owe that to anyone no matter what. But the other side of me with all this guilt and pressure likes to argue. “Uhm,” I felt flustered and I assumed he could tell because his face fell a little bit.

“Oh honey, we don’t have to do anything” he reached his hand out and placed it on mine. “Although I’d never argue with you if you wanted to” he added with a grin. “But seriously Yn, I just like being with you, even when we’re dead asleep just knowing your next to me is all I want”

His genuine response relieved me and made me feel safe. He definitely just earned himself a ton of brownie points. I’ll keep this in mind for the night things do get frisky. “Thank you Peter, that really means a lot to me, and of course I’ll sleep with you tonight” I smiled at the thought of being cuddled up with him all night. “Honestly if I’m ever in my room and you wanna sleep over you don’t even have to ask just come in and make yourself comfy” I offered trying not to sound eager but the sentence itself didn’t really help that. Truth is I want to sleep next to him every night. Cuddle his cute self.

I felt more at ease when I saw his expression at my offer. He seemed pretty excited about it actually, I could tell that he’s going to take that offer quite a-lot. “Well same with you” he replied. “But tonight we’re in my room because I wanna make you watch one of my favorite Earth movies”

Peter and I have been sharing our favorite Earth things together and it’s been so fun. Since we’re both from there it’s kind of become our special thing. It’s always nice having my eyes opened to new things that I haven’t seen too. Especially music. “Sounds like a plan” I smiled and he smiled back.

We spent the rest of the date talking about our lives as guardians, and random things like that until the sun set. Once we were done Peter had talked with the owner of the restaurant to thank him. Apparently he got this all for free because we’d helped to save Xandar from Ronan a few years back. We still had some perks left.

We got a ride back to the ship and made our way to his bedroom where I laid cuddled on his chest, his arms around me while we watched the movie Peter wanted. I got a few minutes in until I started to feel the heaviness of my eyelids, and my world went black into a peaceful sleep.

————

AN// I think I might make another part to this fic series as this is number two now!

[coldshrugs]

this fic is turning out much longer than i was expecting so i don't think i'll have much to show for it for Some Time. but i wanted to share a few things as a little boost :>

very into this description:

In an instant, Saint Valeroyant's Forum takes shape around her. Imposing spires of charcoal stone and metal meet the snow-bright sky above, but on the ground, folks pick their way around crumbling rock and rickety boardwalks. Half of Valeroyant still reclines against the edge of the fountain. Io assumes this courtyard was once elegant to behold, but in its current state, she sees only a fitting metaphor in the fallen statue: how much the nation demands of her soldiers, and the kind of rest they might find in their futures. The air is thicker in Foundation. Smoky, colder, and colored by the scents and sounds of the Forgotten Knight: brewing ale, smoked meats, and rowdy laughter. It is only midday and the tavern is already in full swing. She remembers staying in a dingy Cloud Nine room that was never quiet enough to rest soundly, but Gibrillont made sure she, Tataru, and Alphinaud were warm and fed. That was plenty, after what they'd fled. Nostalgia's inviting whisper almost pulls Io into the tavern... but a soldier clinks past, reminding her why she's here. She bears straight ahead, into the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly.

positioning edmont as a jerk lmao:

Io stares into the flames as she listens to him. His hospitality seemed freely given but she cannot help but recall something he said moons ago: 'How quickly we forget the petty nature of men. I'd wager your friends are no more than pawns in another of my countrymen's games. Such is the way of things between the High Houses...' House Fortemps is no different, she supposes.

then i'm trying out something of a written greek chorus/found "footage" thing that adds a little extra context here and there:

"–daresay it was one of the more awkward sessions of my career. The bride sat beautifully while her soon-to-be husband fidgeted, though I hear he is an energetic man with a racing mind. They did converse during the sitting, as well-acquainted friends; his lordship is a veritable jester and his humor seemed to keep his lady at ease. I had been told they were a love match. Alas, I would liken the flame between them to a bedside candle instead of the roaring fire usually found in the betrothed... " –Renowned portraitist Duremert, overheard while shopping in the Jeweled Crozier

"Ser Varlineau (as I am apparently expected to address you), Your arrival comes as the most delightful surprise. I expected you to stay away for far longer. I forgive you for not seeking me out, but I think you will enjoy the fact I've made a fool of myself in looking for you. Please do come see me. It's been too long. Your friend, Io" –A note found while cleaning the desk of Lord Commander of the Temple Knights.

finally. some angry flirting sjdfjkls:

She is a far more recognizable version of herself tonight. "How come you never sing to me, Gany?" she asks her bird. Ganymede responds only with huffs and chirps, his midnight feathers ruffling as if he finds the idea distasteful. Estinien watches her soothe him. "More keen to claw than sing, that one," Estinien says. She startles, whipping to face him, as deep and blue as the night around them. It only takes a moment for recognition, or memory, to warp her expression into a glare. "Something else you have in common with him." Io throws the cloak around her shoulders and fusses with a hasty knot. "I thought it might just be the pompous strutting." She's angry at him, yes, but she is still herself. Amusement tugs at his lips. "I don't strut."

[crowrave]

The Rotting of the Mind, You’ll Wish You Were Blind

Connors feels the stress of life catch up to him, and goes to take his emotions out on his latest victim.

His poison magic can do far more than just make someone ill.

(Honestly, this fic felt kinda lacking. Not one of my best works, but I worked too long on it to delete it now!)

⚠️ descriptions of violence, body horror, corpse decay, and insects. You have been warned. ⚠️

[please let me know if there’s any more warnings I should add!]

Story is under the cut!

He never liked to hurt people. It was too much for him whenever he had to listen to their screams.

Connors sits at his desk, staring down at the pile of paper Merlot had given to him earlier that day. He quietly shuffles through them, looking at each person’s profile and carefully sorting them out into separate stacks. It appears the masked man had given him a mix of both bounties and contracts this time around.

He’s been thinking about his past far too often than he’d like. He shouldn’t dwell on it; and yet he can’t help himself. The assassin wonders what he could’ve had, who he might have known. Perhaps he’d meet one of them someday?

It feels as if his very soul is collapsing from the pressure in his head. Stress and regrets merging itself into anger and frustration. He isn’t sure if talking to his crew in this state is a very good idea.

He wants to burn something. To cut someone open and hear their pleas, their begs of mercy. To let it rot, to watch as maggots and flies flock towards it, and to consume what’s left of it bit by bit—

They take a deep breath. No, he decided. It is in fact a terrible idea to try and hold any semblance of a conversation with someone on the deck.

Connors pauses in his rummaging of papers, and reads through the one in his hand. An outlaw on a bit of the weaker side. Seems they’ve been causing trouble for the merchant ships sailing about the Bronze Sea.

He remembers hearing of some of the shipwrights complaining about how much work they’re forced to do; thanks to that wretched little thing.

It’s perfect. No one would even miss them. He could make it quick, and he’ll just make it look like a natural death to hide the evidence. Easy peasy!

Suddenly, he feels a stinging sense of guilt before his thoughts can spiral further. What was he even thinking?

Where was the young man who weeped when he had made his first kill? The one who carefully dug grave, after grave, after grave for each and every victim he claimed? The one that would listen to his opponents woes, and confide with them, even when bringing them to their bitter end?

It’s sickening. The idea of change scares him. Hems changed so much already. He doesn’t want to know what happened if he changes more.

But time is forever passing. It waits for no one. He can only hold onto his own mind for so long. To try and slow the passage of time is idiotic, and will only bring hurt.

He makes his decision.

…A few hours later, a rotten corpse of a criminal is found on the outskirts of Ravenna. Their face is unrecognizable from the sheer decay. Maggots and cockroaches crawl across the bloated, disheveled mass of flesh and bone.

Some of their limbs were covered in bite marks, with chunks missing, and several parts of their body completely gone altogether. At first glance, one could assume they had been mauled by a rabid animal.

The death would seem almost natural— if it weren’t for the lingering poison magic that snaked its way around the body. The one who had done it was never found.

And just like he thought. No one had missed them.

He never liked to hurt people. Their screams reminded him of how much of himself he’s lost.

[joons]

more little mermaid (2023) hot takes

i didn't like "wild, uncharted waters" much. i don't know why he sounded so much like bastille? lol. it wasn't an improvement on "her voice" from the musical. it served a fine purpose, but it was my least favorite new song because it was just there. if it had been given more of a broadway treatment, i would have enjoyed it more, i think. the production of it was just odd. "her voice" also emphasizes the mad, obsessive aspect in the music, with minor key resolutions and repetitive, WAVELIKE instrumentation.

"for the first time" was pretty cute and a definite improvement on "beyond my wildest dreams," which is probably one of my least favorite glenn slater songs (!!!). i like the caribbean flavor, i like ariel expressing doubt and embarrassment and frustration mixed with clear excitement. it does a lot more with "look at this new stuff!" than "beyond my wildest dreams," which is just glenn slater listing things, constantly, forever.

"the scuttlebutt," i am sorry to say, slaps. i don't want to explain how much i've been listening to it, lmao. for that matter, awkwafina as scuttle slapped. scuttle was the best adapted character with an incredible design and a fun update of being a diving bird. but i'm a scuttle girl. i'm a "positoovity" stan. i'm insane.

hated that sebastian wasn't a composer in this. i always liked how sebastian is a snob who kind of only gets involved in ariel's life because she ruined his day and he couldn't keep his mouth shut. it's ALMOST as an equal that triton asks him to keep an eye on ariel. obviously he's a subject and does have to take orders from the king, but it's not like actually his job description to advise the king. that's what makes it funny when he's constantly advising the king, unasked for, and then ends up having to put his money where his mouth is and prove that ariel can be controlled. making him the official adviser is so boring.

i am still trying to get my head around some of the changes to ursula's deal. i feel like they have a huge impact, but the movie doesn't necessarily realize that. something about the way mermaids and humans are seen as genuinely conflicting species in this, the way ursula just assumes that without a sweet, mermaid voice, ariel has no chance of captivating eric... it becomes more of an interspecies conflict instead of a gender war, you know? ursula still has a very low view of men, so i almost feel like taking out the "holds her tongue" verse was a missed opportunity to give her mistaken views more relevance. like she's just scuttling her way into telling ariel how love on the surface works. and that should feed into the "our species have misunderstood each other for so long" thing. that it prevents meaningful relationships between species, between genders, between fathers and daughters. and i feel like that theme could have been enhanced by making ursula a bullshitter who delights in SOWING DISCORD and creating these pressure points of misunderstandings. i got the definite vibe, though it was never directly stated, that ursula is the reason ariel's mom died in this version, that she created all the conflicts in the film. so rejecting her worldview is part of the generational healing process. so the more we can dwell on that worldview and knock it down, the better!

i also missed my ditzy sisters! they were too competent!

[the-punforgiven]

This also made me realize that while I assume half-plate was originally intended to be reminiscent of For Honor's Warden (Or most likely the other way around, but with half plate still being in the general ballpark),

let's explore it a bit more, see what we can find, shall we?

So, the description:

You'll note the immense vagueness of this description, which is by design, encouraging creativity, stating basically that you're allowed to do whatever you want armor wise, as long as your character has no leg protection other than greaves, hilariously disqualifying Warden immediately for his poleyns

There is an argument that could be made, implying the use of "plates that cover most of the wearer's body" was supposed to mean "covers most of the torso but leaves some of it exposed" but I'm going to ignore that argument because if we take it that way I feel it would also mean we can't have any armor on our arms as it isn't mentioned specifically like it is with greaves. This would restrict half-plate to being just a breastplate, but also with greaves. Which is silly when "Literally just a breastplate" is its own classification of armor, and like, why would that give you stealth disadvantage when Just A Breastplate doesn't, the plates don't even touch each other

So knowing our armor rules as written are "Do whatever, as long as your character's juicy thighs aren't covered by metal" let's explore some options on the more heavily armored side:

Specifically greaves, it mentions, are a part of it, meaning that something like, say, the Faraam Knight set from Dark Souls 2

Could in fact be underdressed, as this Faraam Knight just has like, no leg protection to speak of at all, including greaves.

This also means that my original statement about the landsknecht could be wrong, though being a mercenary company, their level of armor tended to vary from soldier to soldier

Meaning This could be considered invalid as half plate, as the leg protection employs tassets that cover the thighs, with greaves being absent on this guy entirely

Making him somehow both overdressed and underdressed at the same time

This guy here,

could also be considered underdressed for lack of greaves, despite being almost textbook for what I assume most players would define as "Half Plate" just on instinct alone

This armor is....

This armor would be... well.. also invalid but I just wanted to include it because god, what a fucking vibe this has. Just look at this fucking dude, holy shit

Anyway, given the incredible vagueness of half-plate, I feel like you could make a convincing argument for my beloved Apollyon being acceptable half-plate, as if you flavour the leather surcoat as purely decorative (which I feel would be valid, nobody's arguing that Neo's trench coat from The Matrix should be considered armor), she does indeed have no leg protection on her thighs

Ultimately, Apollyon could be disqualified for having, hilariously, a poleyn, and like 2/3rds of a sabaton on each leg, and the weird chainmaille groin protection flap that Warden also has but curiously, if you're abiding by the "No Fully enclosed cuirass allowed" reading of this, hers and Warden's are the only ones here that pass that bar, with Warden having some weird brigandine thing, and Apollyon's leaving the sides of her torso exposed

This is to say that I believe the immense vagueness of the description is absolutely intentional, meant to offer players a wider range of customization with their characters.

So like, go nuts man, do whatever you want

Idk why the thought only just now occurred to me but I guess in the ever ambiguous definitions of what half-plate is in d&d I suppose landsknecht armor would probably fit pretty well for that

[kaidenya]

Getting Caught ✧ MHA

Description: Headcanons for getting caught in a intimate moment with Hitoshi Shinso, Tenya Iida, Mirio Togata, & Tomura Shigaraki

WARNING: NSFW, suggestive content NOTE: This is a repost of an old SHITPOST headcanon I had on my previous account so if this looks familiar I hope you enjoy it the second time around!

“Nobody will know...”

Shinso

Shinso would go to his grave claiming that you were to blame for this situation

But in all honesty, he had been allowing things to build for far too long

You two weren’t necessarily a secret, but most people just assumed you were bEsT fRiEnDs 🥴

It was an honest misunderstanding

You had decided to keep physical contact to a minimum after an unfortunate attempt at holding his hand left you believing he didn’t enjoy any forms of PDA.

Shinso had just assumed the same about you.

However, as the two of you grew more serious, you found it more difficult to keep your hands to yourself

It just so happened your boyfriend had been working extremely hard in the hero course and it s h o w e d

You had found yourself admiring his changing physique and in turn, found you weren’t the only one admiring your boyfriend.

You weren’t necessarily jealous— you trusted him more than anything, but he tended to be socially constipated

And nobody seemed to know about you. Thus giving the other interested parties an unintentional greenlight to flirt with him. And there was one girl that had stood out among the sea of suitors.

Each time you saw the second-year girl perch next to Shinso it made your skin crawl, but no lines had been crossed.

Until they were.

Your knuckles were gripping the strap of your bag so tightly it ached when you made your way to where your boyfriend was perched outside

The second-year didn’t even acknowledge you as she continued her flirtatious ways and you don’t resist the urge to roll your eyes as you settle into the place next to him.

He had flashes you a lazy smile before focusing back on his phone screen.

Then her hand landed on his upper thigh

Let me tell you: sleepy boy was shocked when she touched him, but he was EVEN MORE SHOCKED when you took her by the wrist and tossed her hand to the side

You waste no time threading your fingers with his, rising to your feet and all but hauling him from his seat

His amusement only grew as he realized just how jealous you had gotten, a smirk forming over his lips as he set to teasing you

‘What’s the matter, kitty? You don’t like anyone touching daddy?’

NO, YOU DO NOT

You have no idea how you ended up on your knees in a supply closet??

Shinso is feeling very sure of himself above you, using the hand that was gripping the back of your neck as leverage to hold you down on his length

k i n g of dirty talk 🤭

Absolutely cannot help himself when it comes to telling you how pretty you look choking on his cock

Honestly doesn’t last long, but what do you expect? Seeing your jealous and possessive response to the girl he had given little to no acknowledgment had lit a fire in his chest

He was desperate to get his hands on you, to remind you that he was just as much yours as you were his.

And when he does— oh MAN he makes you forget all about the second-year girl

He has one of your legs draped over his shoulder as he goes down on you, licking and sucking at you in a way that had you trembling

You accidentally knock over a pile of brooms and mops, neither of you paying them any mind as your head lulled in bliss

If only you had remembered to flick the lock on the door…

Kirishima really thought someone was banging on the door for help. It wouldn’t have been manly— or heroic not to make sure someone wasn’t in trouble

Besides, why else would someone be making so much noise in a supply closet if they weren’t stuck??

So when the door swung open and he locked eyes with you, still panting and moaning as an all too familiar head of purple hair buried further into your heat—

He let out the loudest shout he could muster. Apologies poured from his mouth as he fumbled to shut the door

However, your boyfriend made no move to let you go. Instead, he hummed against your skin, only leaning back to nip at your inner thigh before speaking in a heavy voice

‘Better make this fast, kitty.’

Iida

So you’ve tried to keep your relationship on the down-low bc Iida doesn’t want anyone to think he’s distracted

We all know he just doesn’t wanna be called out for his obvious favoritism

Before you got together you were constantly pushing him, breaking minuscule rules in favor of gaining his attention. Nothing too immoral, but enough to get under his skin.

Like slipping into class just seconds after the bell had rung, nearly avoiding Aizawa’s attention, but never making it past Iida.

Or when a class had gotten a bit too stressful, the room filling with hot air as tensions rose and you had to pop open a few buttons of your uniform top

Then there was your favorite offense; desk sitting. If there was one sure way to get a reaction from your stickler of a boyfriend it was to place yourself on top of a desk.

Which is what you found yourself doing at the end of an unfavorable week. The two of you hadn’t gotten a moment together outside of your studies and you were growing needy.

So with a few moments of free time before class began, you decided to chat with Tsu and Uraraka, settling atop the desk between them when you had grown tired of standing

The desk belonging to none other than Tenya

Your ankles were crossed as you leaned forward to speak with Tsuyu and he was beyond s h o o k

Immediate hand chopping.

He’s towering over you, ranting about how your behavior was improper while keeping his hands clenched in an attempt to keep from running his fingertips along your thighs.

When was the last time you were this close to him? It had to have been longer than he realized for him to have such a strong reaction— are you biting your lip??

Any response between you died off as Aizawa addressed the class and you were sent back to your seat, leaving Iida far more frazzled than you realized

The moment class ends he has you tucked under an empty stairwell to continue his lecture

Only he doesn’t get very far

Tenya Iida has an authority kink. I take no criticism.

When you look up at him from under your lashes, muttering the words ‘yes sir’ as he chastised you, his resolve was shattered

Has you pressed against the wall immediately, fisting your blazer as he dips to press his forehead to yours

‘Why must you push me?’

Doesn’t even let you answer before his mouth is covering yours, hips arching to grind his obvious arousal against you

Knowing he had been just as affected by your as you had him was enough to spur a moan past your lips and he takes the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth

Although he was MORTIFIED at the impropriety of it all, he couldn’t resist the sweet noises you made as he expertly worked against you

His hand eventually slides between you, pushing past the waistband of your bottoms and grinding his palm against you teasingly

‘Now, who do you belong to, darling?’

You you youyouyou—

Your hand was rubbing along Iida’s hard cock, his length straining against his pants to the point you’re almost worried they’ll rip

Somehow the two of you had been so lost in one another that you hadn’t heard the door open at the top of the stairwell

Denki and Mineta honestly weren’t creeping this time— they just wanted a snack from the vending machine adjacent to you!

Got a whole ass meal instead 👁👄👁

A moan tore from your throat, quickly being smothered by Tenya’s parted lips as you came on his fingers

You had barely made out the echoing sound of objects clattering to the ground through the ringing in your ears

But your boyfriend had heard

His lips separated from you in an instant, shocked gaze shifting into something closer to anger as he recognized your classmates

Denki began stammering out an apology, looking close to short-circuiting as his attention flickered between you

Mineta had let his gaze linger on you for too long. His eyes taking in the way your exposed chest— Tenya must have pulled the buttons loose

You cringe away from his gaze, post-orgasm haze™ spurring you to tuck yourself closer to Tenya to avoid their stares rather than snap at them

It was your obvious discomfort that had kicked Iida into gear, twisting to thread your button your blouse together before rounding on the others

If embarrassment wasn’t enough, the thought of them having seen you in such a vulnerable position had him seething as he began his lecture

Attempts hand chopping them into submission, but they kept disregarding his words in favor of catching another glimpse of you in a fucked out state

All fondness for his classmates had vanished as he stepped into their line of sight, shielding you from their gazes. His eyes almost daring them to continue

Whatever words lingering on their tongues died off, heads bowing in shame as they agreed to keep the entire situation to themselves

After all, the potential wrath of Tenya Iida was not something to be taken lightly.

Mirio

Mirio’s love language is touch, without a doubt, so it’s honestly surprising when he’s NOT trying to get handsy with you

He’s always defended his obvious displays of affection by claiming he had so little free time— he’d be a fool to waste the opportunity to touch you!

Mirio jumped at the opportunity to feel you against him. Whether it was a heavy kiss to your lips after walking you to class, a hand slipping under your shirt to caress your back, or his fingers trailing teasingly along your thigh.

However, as much as he was attentive, he was also forgetful.

It was because of that forgetfulness that you found yourself alone in your dorm. Countless boxes of takeout were lined up on your desk and a pre-planned movie was ready to play on your small tv.

After a few hours and countless delivered messages, you succumbed to disappointment.

The following day Mirio can’t seem to figure out why you’re avoiding him, but he refuses to give up without a fight.

Definitely thinks it’s a game of some sort and takes it upon himself to break your silent streak

It wasn’t easy being upset with Mirio. He had an uncanny ability to brighten any room he stepped into and being irrevocably in love with him only strengthened his effect

He’s always hard for you and loves letting you know just how you affect him— so why not place a hand on your hand, pressing firmly against your back when he slips past?

You always look so stunning— why not feed you compliments at every given moment?

How could he not look at you with the most iNTENSE GAZE undressing you with his eyes in front of everyone?

It’s when he realizes that you aren’t reacting to his teasing and flirtatious behaviorist that he caves.

He finds you between classes, stirring you away from the crowd, despite your wordless protests. It isn’t until you’re tucked away in an abandoned hall that he finally asks what was wrong

You had fully intended on dragging it out, allowing anger to push you on. But he spoke to you in the softest voice, looked at you with eyes filled with so much devotion that it was nearly overwhelming

He is shocked when you shove him away— were you tearing up??

Actually gets super defensive because he doesn’t realize HES the one that made you upset

Once you finally cave and remind him about the date he had missed it hits him like a freight train.

The two of you so rarely got time together and he had stood you up.

‘I’m so sorry, baby. I’ve been so busy lately— I didn’t realize I was neglecting you.’

Does not waste time making it up to you. He cups your face in his hands as he starts placing soft kisses on your face, cooing softly as tears roll down your cheeks

Did somebody say praise kink?

How can you stay mad at him when he’s telling you how sorry he is and that he loves you and you’re the only one his dick will get hard for??

It isn’t long before he’s pinned you between him and the wall, hitching your legs around his waist while coaxing you into a heavy kiss

His hips flex to grind against you, his hot length slotting between your thighs as he digs his fingertips into the curve of your ass

Mirio does not care that somebody could see— his quirk leaves him naked all the time and he’s shameless 🥵

But again he’s so forgetful—

And he was meant to go straight to class 1A to talk with them alongside the other members of The Big Three

So when he didn’t show up Aizawa had sent Tamaki and Midoriya in search of their future number one hero

How were you supposed to know they would turn the corner just as you arched from the wall?

Mirio had no idea anyone was there as he used the hand that was wrapped around your throat as leverage to grind you over the edge—

bOY were you embarrassed when you heard the two boys audibly g a s p

Midoriya’s embarrassment nearly gave Tamaki a run for his money. You were quick to turn away, immediately hiding your face in his chest as he greeted the duo in an overly cheerful voice

Absolutely teases the three of you over the incident FOREVER!!

Shigaraki

Shigaraki was obsessed with you.

There was no way around how infatuated he had become and it only seemed to grow alongside your relationship

He was touch starved. The moment you began giving him physical affection and attention it was game over

He had no shame, especially when it came to his desire for you, which is how you often found yourself perched on his lap no matter the company.

That being said, the leader of the League of Villains became intolerable when the two of you were separated for long.

And a recent spiral of events has prevented you from returning to the hideout, thus leaving the others to deal with him

You weren’t expected to return until the following week. Aside from texting Shigaraki endlessly (didn’t he have anything better to do?) and assuring Twice and Toga that you’d be returning as soon as possible, you hadn’t had much contact with the League

Shigaraki was wound up tight, lashing out at the others far more than usual. That was how he ended up sitting at the bar, Father concealing his annoyance as Kurogiri took over the meeting.

And suddenly you were walking in, muttering a quick apology before taking the only available seat beside Toga

Shigaraki could not keep his eyes off of you, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the others. It was the most present he had been since you left.

Of course, that meant Dabi has also noticed and never missing an opportunity to mess with their ruthless leader he shifted closer from his place behind you, muttering small talk into your ear

There is no doubt in my mind that Shigaraki was staring at you both like 😠 behind Father

Luckily the meeting had been wrapping up upon your arrival and the group was dismissed, many leaving to handle their own business.

However, the moment you had leaped to your feet Tomura had vanished from the room

With a sigh you moved over to the bar, sliding into the seat that had once been occupied by your man and Kurogiri placed a drink before you

By the time you had downed the last bit the bar had gotten eerily quiet, though when you shifted to speak to the Misty Man he was already looking over your shoulder. With a single nod, he had left the room.

The moment he was gone leather artist gloves shoved under your top, your heart racing at the all too familiar feeling as a palm settled between your shoulders

‘I’ve missed you, pet.’

There was a harsh tone to his voice, but it was contradicted by the trail of open-mouthed kisses he pressed along your neck and shoulder

Your entire body arched against him, head craning back to catch a glimpse of him, smiling widely as you met his gaze and returned the sentiment

A scoff slid past his lips, though you could see the amusement dancing in his gaze as his hand reached around to wrap around your throat

Despite the gloves, he kept a pinky in the air

His mouth covers yours in a sloppy kiss as his hips jolt sharply against you, knocking you against the countertop

Absolutely cannot control himself as he ruts against you, wasting little to no time in pushing your bottoms down past your thighs

Heat pooled in your stomach as his free hand reached between you to pull himself from his jeans

His dick slid between your thighs, a throaty whine sliding past your lips and despite the slick from your arousal the thick head stretched you perfectly

You had been completely lost in him, moaning and whining freely as he continued to rut against you.

There was a click throughout the room, similar to the door handle being twisted and your attention was adverted to the source

However, Shigaraki was faster.

He grabbed the back of your head and using his hold as leverage to press your face flat against the bar-top while his other hand worked against your sensitive center. A loud moan that was undoubtedly his name tumbled past your lips

‘There’s my little slut— louder, make sure they know who makes you feel this good.’

Unbeknownst to you, the person he wanted to be sure knew you were his had entered the room, Tomura meeting his gaze with a smirk as you began chanting his name like a prayer

A harsh thrust of his hips sent you over the edge as you came on his cock, filthy praises slipping past his lips as his hot release rolled down your thighs

He placed another sloppy kiss on the back of your neck before parting from you.

The moment you lift your head and begin adjusting yourself you lock eyes with Dabi

Embarrassed didn’t even begin to explain how you felt as Tomura let out a loud laugh, reaching down to pull your bottoms up after he had tucked himself away

‘Go wait on my bed while I speak with Dabi and I may let you come on my tongue.’

You wasted no time hurrying away from the two, heart pounding from both excitement and humiliation as you rushed to do as you were told

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos​ (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills. 

You’re his only solace. 

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often. 

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns. 

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks. 

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves. 

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings. 

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing. 

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent. 

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight. 

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex.  It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows. 

It’s grim in its predictability. 

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone. 

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.” 

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.) 

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen. 

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them— 

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand. 

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was. 

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future. 

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.) 

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted. 

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze. 

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings. 

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming. 

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.” 

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest. 

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face. 

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?” 

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. 

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa. 

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least. 

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind. 

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively. 

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap. 

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?” 

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do. 

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you. 

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible. 

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words. 

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy— 

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none. 

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments. 

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could. 

“Do you see now?” 

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch. 

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky. 

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning— 

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.” 

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side. 

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness. 

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.” 

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do. 

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan. 

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see. 

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection. 

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep.  The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue. 

It bothers him— 

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror. 

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while. 

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can. 

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant. 

All the same, the trim feels good. 

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back— 

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!” 

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!” 

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him. 

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.) 

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity. 

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning. 

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much.  The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering. 

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with. 

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach. 

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it. 

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree. 

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was. 

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh. 

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.” 

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet. 

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress. 

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely. 

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone. 

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

 Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes. 

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile. 

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up— 

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart. 

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later. 

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard. 

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead. 

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too— 

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement. 

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try. 

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered. 

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks. 

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.) 

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business. 

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat. 

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders. 

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—” 

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough. 

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands. 

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night. 

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?) 

But you’re not in the common room. 

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath. 

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten. 

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard. 

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him. 

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more. 

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone— 

...

Keigo leaves the next morning. 

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn. 

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse. 

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died. 

All disgusting reminders. 

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had. 

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he. 

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time. 

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave. 

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes. 

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.  

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter. 

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it. 

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears— 

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some. 

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought. 

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?” 

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe. 

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self. 

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

[galaxyedging]

When the West Was Wild

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Silva x OFC (no description, a last name is given in later chapters)

Story summary: A women making her own way in the lawless West has her quiet night interrupted by a stranger in need. While helping him she finds a few unmet needs of her own.

Chapter summary: Some light is shed on Silva's past but it creates more questions than it answers.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy loss and racism. Nothing explicit.

"Raymond Becker, Sir." Silva held out his hand to Sheriff Rockwood, who eyed it before taking it. "Sheriff Rockwood. Mr Becker?" Silva nodded.

"So now I have a name, can I ask why you are here? Are you a relation or something?"

"Not quite. I've worked with the family on and off over the years. We've become close friends. When William decided to move out here, he asked me for my help getting them acquainted."

During this whole interaction she had just been trying to react appropriately. The news of her husband's apparently demise hadn't hit her yet. The Sheriff kept glancing over at her, while Silva did an incredible job of spinning a tale. It was almost scary how believable he was. Had he ever lied to her with that much ease?

Finding her voice she looked the Sheriff in the eyes. To protect Silva she would have to sell this. "Will, asked Raymond to stay with me while he tended to some business in New York. Since his father thought he'd run off...I guess he didn't even..." That's when it hit. Huge sobs spilled from her. Hot tears streamed her cheeks. She may not have loved her husband anymore but no one deserved to be left for dead at the side of the road. He'd set off for home but haven't even made it. Life could be cruel with our plans.

Silva quickly carried over the chair from her writing desk, holding her hand her encouraged her to sit down.

"I'm sorry to upset you Mrs Ahlborn. Especially given your current condition." Her eyes whipped up to him. "The doctor shared the good news with me. He thought I should keep a watchful eye on you out here."

Had the doctor told him Silva was her husband? Did they have any idea when William died? She thought it best to remain silent, wait to see what the Sheriff knew. She quietly sobbed into her handkerchief.

"Not that I wasn't already looking out for you. I knocked than night someone was shot, we believed, not too far from here. Remember? You told me your husband was in the bath after hunting with the neighbour."

"He wanted to get cleaned up for his journey."

"So your husband left...?"

"The day after." She knew she had just effectively revoked Silva's protection from his past crime but the way the conversation was head she was more concerned about them being accused of this crime.

"Oh, I must have misunderstood. Doctor Robinson said your husband was here."

The Sheriff stated, leaving it hanging in the air.

"That would be my fault. The good doctor never asked my name, he was too concerned with his patient. He assumed and I didn't correct him." Sliva explained.

"You often let people think another man's wife is your own?" Sheriff Rockwood cocked an eyebrow at him.

"No sir, but honestly I was in shock. My good friend had asked me to look after his wife. Not his pregnant wife. I don't know anything about looking after a woman who is with child. My wife and I were never blessed before she passed. Sadly."

A gasp slipped from her lips, which she disguised with a sob. Was that another lie or a truth he hadn't got around to telling yet?

"But I will try my utmost to care for you both before we can get you to your family. I gave William my word. I won't break it now." Silva had crouched down to look her in the eye.

Sheriff Rockwood seemed appeased for now. He cleared his throat. "Well, I'll leave you to your mourning. My condolences. If there's anything I can do just let me know."

"My husband..William...his body....when can we lay him to rest properly?"

For the first time Sheriff Rockwood softened. She didn't know what to make of it. Maybe he had been in a similar position once upon a time. "Your husband is in the care of the Undertaker. He will be expecting you to make arrangements when you can."

"Thank you." Her voice was small but genuine. It was a comfort William was being cared for.

The Sheriff gave Silva a nod before letting himself out.

The next couple of days blurred. Arrangements were made. Silva, or Raymond, was a constant comfort as she spoke to various people about the funeral. It was held quickly as it was best to buried the remains as soon as possible. By the time they were found, decomposition had well and truly started. Even after the grave was filled with earth the stench lingered. The fresh flowers on the grave helped slightly. The Father spoke some lovely words and then it was done. William was gone.

The next day a telegram came. William's father wanted to her to settle his estate. He was contesting her claim to any money as William had left her before his death. The paper work could be filled out with a lawyer in the nearest city.

When she told Silva this he blanched. "I wouldn't be able to go there with you. I might be recognised."

"It'll be fine. I need to go sign the paperwork, there is a doctor I can see to make sure everything is going well" She reassured him.

"You can't go alone." His voice was small, almost pleading.

"I didn't say I would. You can't go but Thomas could. Sadly, no one will look twice at a well built black man escorting a well to do white woman on her travels."

The trip wasn't too bad. Well it was uncomfortably, hot and dusty but uneventful so she was grateful for that. The doctor's office was cool and clean, a welcome change once she had freshened up from the journey. After a few questions, he conducted a physical exam, during which he had made noncommittal 'Mmmms' and 'Aaaahhs.' The doctor sat her down in front of his desk.

He came around to perch on the edge of it. "Ma'am, I'm sorry to tell you that you are not pregnant."

Her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest. Had she don't something wrong to hurt the baby? Was it because she hadn't been excited, that she didn't feel like a mother? Has she wished this on her child? "You mean I lost the baby?"

"No, Ma'am. Apart from the swelling of your stomach. There is no sign that you were pregnant. From what you told me of your illness and all the changes in your life it's more likely that you have introduced something to your diet that doesn't agree with you. That coupled with the stress could cause irrigation in the stomach. Apart from that you are a very healthy woman. I can give you something to help resolve the issue and you'd have to stay away from what ever it was that caused it but you'll be fine."

"But the doctor said..." He cut in. "How did the doctor come to that conclusion?"

"I..." She had no idea. Silva had spoken to the doctor. "I don't know. I had fainted. My husband spoke to him."

"Your doctor wouldn't be advanced in years would he? It wouldn't be the first time one of my older colleagues saw a woman of childbearing age have some symptoms and just assumed."

"I..." She was speechless. Later when she looked back on the moment she would be able to name the emotion that flooded her. Relief. It that moment all she felt was relief. She wasn't sure she ever wanted to be a mother. It wasn't that she didn't like children. She enjoyed their company. The way they looked at the world. Their innocence, their boundless joy. She just didn't see herself being a mother. She wondered what that said about her.

The doctor had sent for Thomas who escorted her back to the hotel. She explained as best she could to him befoe he left her in her room to rest. The events of the of the last couple of weeks had left her numb. The wind rattled the windows as she lay on the bed. She thought about Silva. She hadn't been in the cabin in the cold weather. She wondered if he'd be warm enough. He always seemed to run a little warm when he lay his hands on her. When his firm body pressed against hers.

What had happened to her? A handsome, mysterious stranger shows up at her door and she loses her mind. She knew very little about this man. In her heart she felt like she knew him. His company was easy, it was as if they had known each other for a life time. He was smart, kind, helpful. Thomas and Mary thought so too, it couldn't be all in her head. Thomas and Mary were the sharpest people she knew. Mary could spot a liar from a mile away. Thomas had a way with people, she had seen him break up a fight between two men at the saloon who were ready to kill eat other. He had them drinking together by the end of the night.

Still, she had to look at the facts. Whether it was self defence or not, he killed a man on her property. Thomas found a wanted poster on the dead man. It had a drawing of Silva, his description but no mention of his crime. The amount for his bounty was odd, it wasn't terribly high for murder. It was also for his capture and conviction. Someone cared about getting justice not just outright killing him. That was a rare thing out here for murder.

She weighed up her options. Silva had said he might get recognised. So it was possible that someone here might know about him. No one knew of her connection to Silva. She could find out some information, get an idea if someone was still out looking for him. As well as satisfy a few questions of her own.

The police station was only a short walk from her hotel. On the walk she debated what her cover story would be. Should she go with the guise of researching an article? Maybe not, it could lead to follow up questions, they may want to know what other articles she had written. Grieving widow it was, looking for any information on her husbands killer. Luckily, the station was fairly busy. A deputy greeted her on his way out but that was all the attention she got. There was a waiting area to the left of the main desk. There, wanted posters were displayed on the wall. The first one she saw was a man who liked to scalp people. The second was a pair of men wanted for stage coach robbery. She shuddered, it could've been them that killed William. They could have taken the life of the man she once loved. Suddenly, 'grieving widow' wasn't an act. William was gone. He wasn't in New York where her mind had tricked her into thinking he was. He was in the ground, not far from the home she had basically convinced him to move to. She was complicit in his death. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Ma'am are you alright." A short, rotund man with greying blond hair spoke softly to her.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I...my husband was murdered a little while ago. He was travelling by stagecoach. I guess I hoped to find someone who may have done it. Having a face to blame, even if I'm not sure it's them, may have made me feel better. It's silly." She tried to look embarrassed at being caught. She wasn't the most gifted at lying. Unlike Silva seemed to be.

"It's not silly Ma'am, grief can be hard on us." As she averted her eyes they fell on Silva's likeness, the poster was partially obscured with another. Without thinking she lifted it. "Ma'am you might not want to look at that one. It's unseemly."

"Sodomy?" She read the poster.

"Yes, Ma'am he was caught..." He leaned in conspiritorily, lowering his already soft voice. "...laying with another man. A local Sheriff's widowed son. This was a while back but the Sheriff insists we keep it up."

She straightened her back in an effort to keep herself together. "So it should for that ungodly behaviour. If you'll excuse me, this had been a little too much for me."

"Of course. Ma'am." The bid each other a good day before she left with more questions than she came in with.

Tags @kirsteng42 @babydarkstar @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica

@rise-my-angel tagging you so you don't miss it.

[hercleverboy]

persistence

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ when spencer finds out that the reader has a stalker, he is determined to not let history repeat itself. 

category ↠ angst/fluff

warnings/includes ↠ stalker-like activity, death threats, few swear words, descriptions of blood, puking, spencer being kinda emotionally manipulative

word count ↠   8.2k

“Normality is a paved road. It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow.”-- Vincent Van Gogh

Y/N stared down at the letter in her hands.  Her fingers trembled, tears blurring her vision as she reread the words over and over.  Written in an ominous red ink, a chicken-scratch-like writing filled the page. 

‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’

*

It had all started two months ago. 

First, it was the dark blue Sedan that she began noticing sat across the street from her apartment complex. Of course it easily could’ve belonged to one of the many people who lived in the complex, or perhaps even a friend of theirs. At first, it went unnoticed by her. It was only when she started taking note of the hours it was parked there that she began to get slightly concerned. 

8am to 8pm. Every single day. 

Like clockwork. 

She’d peak through her living room curtains at 8am, and watch the car pull into its usual spot. It wouldn’t move all day but as soon as it struck 8pm, it left again- only to return the next day. 

However, ever the sceptic, she didn’t want to blow the situation out of proportion. Her mind came up with countless possibilities. The owner was staying with a friend who lived close by (but then why would the car not be there overnight?), or perhaps it was an plain-clothed officer doing some form of undercover work? Honestly, there was nothing she hadn’t considered. So while the presence of the unexplainable car was a little unnerving, it wasn’t enough to make her paranoid. 

The paranoia began when sheets of paper began being posted through her letterbox. They always came between the times that the blue car was parked outside, and had only a few words on each one that was delivered. 

‘I’ve been watching you, you know.’ 

‘You’re so beautiful.’ 

‘That boyfriend of yours, does he hold you like I did?’

‘Does he touch you like I did?’

Whilst they weren’t exactly threats, they were enough to set her skin alight. She was constantly looking over her shoulder, jumpy and paranoid. 

Spencer noticed it, too. 

He’d seen the subtle change in his girlfriend’s body language, but didn’t want to push her on the matter. He had asked once, but she’d reassured him that she was fine. So he decided that he’d let her confide in him when she was ready, but that didn’t mean that this change in behaviour didn’t make his heart ache. 

He was a profiler, one of the best, he knew the behavioural tells that signalled fear. 

So what was she so afraid of?

Then the phone calls started. 

Y/N heard the buzz of her phone, assuming it was Spencer calling. He was out of state on a case, but he always called to check up on her, or to notify her he was almost home. Although they didn’t live together yet, Spencer spent most of his spare time at her apartment. (He’d joked once that it was because her place was bigger than his, but really it was because his work took him away from her so often that he wanted to spend any spare minute he could with her.)

Reaching for the device, she frowned as she saw ‘Unknown Number’ flash across the screen. 

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

and then she heard it. 

Heavy, husky breathing on the other end of the line. 

The caller didn’t speak. 

Unease filled her as she pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up. She placed her phone down beside her, biting down on her bottom lip as she attempted to rationalise what’d just happened. 

Probably a butt dial, or maybe even a wrong number? 

She pushed it to the back of her mind, distracting herself so that she wouldn’t have to confirm what she already knew was true. 

The second call came two days later. 

Spencer had returned earlier that day from an exhausting but overall successful case. He hadn’t even stopped by his place after landing, instead opting to go straight to Y/N’s apartment, unable to contain his excitement of seeing her for the first time in a week. 

He let himself in with the key she’d given him for their one year anniversary, as he quietly made his way into the home. He called out her name, announcing his presence so she’d know he was home.

When she didn’t come to greet him in the hallway, or even call back to let him know she’d heard him he frowned. He slipped off his shoes before moving down the hallway, his eyes finally landing on her figure in the living room. She was stood by the large window that overlooked the street below them, her phone pressed to her ear. Spencer took in her body language, noting how her shoulders were tensed, and how the hand not holding her phone was gripping tightly onto the curtains as she peaked between them. 

The unknown caller hung up, and Y/N looked down at her phone in her hand, eyes welling with tears- still unaware of Spencer’s presence behind her.  

“Y/N?” He asked quietly, trying not to startle her but still managing to. 

She shrieked, turning around to face him, relief filling her features as she saw the familiar sight of her boyfriend. She forced a smile on her lips and pushed her worries away, wiping the tears from her cheeks quickly and hoping he hadn’t already seen them. “Spence! God, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you were home.” She chuckled. 

His frown only deepened as he moved toward her. “Is everything okay? Who was that on the phone?” 

Y/N’s breath hitched as she quickly came up with an excuse. “Oh, It was no-one.” She waved it off, hoping she’d played it off well enough to ease his worry. 

Once he reached her he put his arms around her, enveloping her in a tight hug, his arms around her waist. She sighed, hugging him back with her arms around his neck. 

He nuzzled his face into her neck, placing a kiss there that was so soft and delicate that it almost moved her to tears. “You know you can tell me anything, right? If something’s bothering you or worrying you then you don’t have to keep it to yourself. I’m here.” He whispered. 

“I know.” She whispered back, squeezing him gently to comfort herself. “Thank you.” 

Truth is, she knew she could tell Spencer what was happening. She knew that he would immediately inform his team, and with their wonderful minds and Garcia’s infinite systems, they’d have their unsub within days. So what was stopping her?

or more specifically, who was stopping her?

The answer would be Maeve, the woman that Spencer once loved, who he lost so suddenly and so tragically. She’d heard what had happened, and had comforted Spencer when he cried as he told her of the only other woman he’d ever loved, apart from Y/N. He’d confided in her about Maeve around four months into their relationship, and Y/N was grateful that Spencer trusted her enough to tell her such a thing. Losing the person you loved like that? Y/N couldn’t fathom it. Her heart ached for Spencer, and the heartbreak he’d endured.

She didn’t want to worry him over what might be nothing. After what happened with Maeve, she didn’t want to make him suffer all that again, to make him think that it was all happening again. She never wanted to be the reason for his hurt, and she knew that telling him is exactly what it would do- make him anxious, worried. She knew her boyfriend like the back of her hand. He’d go into overdrive trying to protect her, to prevent what happened to Maeve from happening to her. But still, she refused to be the one that set those events into motion. She knew it was stupid, he boyfriend was in the FBI- who are exactly the type of people you’d go to if you had a stalker. 

She had tried to tell him a few times but when she opened her mouth to say the words, nothing would come out. 

The final straw was the letters. 

The first one was pushed through her letterbox on a Friday afternoon. Spencer was at work, thankfully only on a paperwork day instead of being called for a case. There was no name or address on the front of the letter. 

She felt sick. Immediately she knew it was from him. At least she presumed it was a ‘he’, from the possessive tone of voice in the notes. 

She ripped it open, taking out the letter. It was a single sheet of paper, both sides filled with that chicken scratch writing. Her eyes skimmed over the words written before her, tears blurring her vision. It was a love letter. Her stalker even gave her a nickname, ‘Dove’. 

‘My darling dove, you were made for me.’

‘My love for you knows no bounds.’

‘You’ve got such a beautiful laugh, I’ve heard it.’

‘And your skin, so perfect, so soft looking. I’d love to run my fingers along your-’

Y/N let the letter drop to the floor as she felt the bile rise in her throat, dashing to the bathroom and throwing up her stomach contents in the toilet. 

She felt sickened. She couldn’t bring herself to read what was left of the letter, instead screwing it up and throwing it away. The words she had read haunted her, made her feel disgusting. She spent hours in the shower that night, as though she was scrubbing his filthy words off of her skin. 

The letters continued, and with each one, the comments became more and more repulsive. Instead of declaring his undying love for her, her stalker began to get enraged. With each letter he became increasingly angrier, and it shook Y/N to her core. 

‘You whore, I could hear your moaning for that little boyfriend of yours from across the street’

‘When I get my hands on you, you’ll be begging for me to show you mercy’

‘I’ve protected you, watched over you! I’ve taken care of you for months now and this is how you repay me?’

‘Fucking dirty slut. I’ll kill you for that.’

‘What a shame it would be for that pretty flesh to be torn so carelessly, but it seems I’ll have to teach you a lesson, dove.’

‘You’ve made a mistake, choosing him over me.’

All of those led to one final letter. 

Written in red ink, eight simple words with a sinister underlying message. 

‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’

*

Dropping the paper as though it had burned her, she desperately tried to slow the breaths that were increasing rapidly, willing the air to fill her lungs. 

The realisation hit her like a freight train. 

She was in danger, real danger. Now that her life had been threatened, she knew she couldn’t hide it any longer. 

No matter the consequences, she had to come clean to Spencer. 

She scrambled around her apartment, grabbing any evidence she had in the form of letters/threats and made sure she had her phone so she could show them the phone calls from an unknown number. 

She glanced out the window to the street below. It was only midday, and she could see the familiar blue Sedan parked opposite her complex. She just had to get to her car safely, which should be a relatively easy task, given the numerous people who were walking down the bustling street- the perks of living on a main road. 

She made it to her car thankfully unscathed, locking the doors behind her. She didn’t dare look across the road at the car, afraid of what, or who she would see.  As she drove to the BAU, she anxiously tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She anticipated what Spencer’s reaction was going to be- he’d be angry, definitely. Y/N was torn, she wanted to stand by the decision she’d made two months prior to not involve her boyfriend with what was going on, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a poor choice. If she’d have told Spencer earlier, things would’ve been resolved. But by telling him the truth, she couldn’t help but ponder if she was putting him or his team in danger. 

Shaking her head clear the thoughts, she pulled into the car park that was next to the building. Taking a few deep breaths, she grabbed her bag and headed toward the buildings’ entrance. Her palms were sweaty and her throat was dry. What the hell was she going to say? ‘Hey Spence, I have a stalker who’s threatening to kill me that I neglected to tell you about, how’s your day going?’

After being granted access at the front desk, she was given a visitors badge and headed up to the sixth floor of the building. As she stood alone in the elevator, she tried to take a few breaths, feeling the familiar clawing at the back of her throat that indicated she was close to breaking down. She’d been holding it together for so long, been so fucking scared for so long. 

As soon as the doors opened she was greeted with the smiling face of one Penelope Garcia. 

When Spencer and her had begun dating he brought Y/N along to one of Rossi’s pasta nights and the whole team immediately took a liking to her, especially after seeing how happy she made Spencer. However Penelope in particular absolutely adored Y/N, and the two had even hung out together a few times. 

Garcia gasped with a grin as the doors opened. “My sweet Y/N! I got the notification that you’d checked in downstairs and thought I’d come greet you!” She moved toward her, hugging Y/N tightly. “Are you here to see our boy wonder? He’s around here somewhere-” She pulled back when she noticed the tenseness in Y/N’s shoulders. When Garcia met her teary eyes she gasped at the sight. “What’s wrong?” 

Y/N finally let the tears tremble down her cheeks, reaching into her bag to grab the handfuls of threating letters from the person who’d made her life hell for two long months. She handed them to Garcia, who after years of working that job knew from the first few words what they were dealing with. 

Y/N met her worried eyes. “It’s bad, Penny. Really bad.”

Garcia nodded, shocked but still placing a comforting arm on Y/N’s back. “Reid- He never mentioned-” 

Y/N shook her head. “I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want him to worry over nothing but- this is the first time he’s threatened my life and I’m scared, Pen. I’m really scared.” 

Garcia burst into action, coaxing Y/N with gentle words to head into the bullpen. As soon as they walked through the glass doors, all of the team member’s heads turned toward them. Spencer’s eyes immediately fell on his girlfriend’s tear stained cheeks and within seconds he was by her side. 

“Y/N, what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

She shook her head, moving forward and wrapping her arms around him. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her, holding her to him as she cried into his chest, her shoulders shaking as she let out everything she’d buried so deep inside. 

He looked over at Garcia, bewildered. She simply walked up to Hotch’s office. The team could faintly hear Garcia presenting him with the papers Y/N had brought with her, explaining what she had told her when she arrived. 

Minutes later Hotch came out of his office, walking down into the bullpen to where the team all looked at one another, confusion on their features. 

“Y/N?” He asked as he approached her, and she pulled back from spencer to see him, wiping her tear stained cheeks. “You’re gonna need to tell us everything. You may be in immediate danger.”

Y/N nodded and Hotch headed off toward the round table room, Garcia scurrying in behind him. The rest of the team, with concerned glances to one another, followed into the room. This left Y/N and Spencer alone in the bullpen. 

She felt Spencer gripping her hand, squeezing gently. Worry laced in his tone, he moved to stand before her and locked onto her eyes. “Please tell me what’s going on.” 

Y/N nodded and cleared her throat, her voice quiet with shame as she spoke. “I have a stalker. He sends letters, calls just to breathe down the line and scare me. In his recent letter, he said he’s gonna kill me.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, his hand dropping from hers and he turning and stalked toward the board room. He had to see the evidence for himself. 

He reached the room and the groups gazes all shifted to him, but he could’ve cared less. He reached out for one of the sheets of paper, eyes quickly scanning over the threatening words as Y/N entered the room behind him. 

“When did this start, Y/N?” JJ asked, that caring, motherly tone present in her voice. 

“About two months ago.” 

“Did you notice anything odd about the neighbourhood beforehand? Cars that weren’t normally there, people stood on street corners at odd times of day?” Derek queried, his eyes scanning over some of the notes she’d received. 

She nodded. “There was a car I noticed, right at the start. I didn’t think much of it until I started taking note of the timings. It would sit there all day, but be gone overnight. Then it would return the next day.” 

“Do remember the colour, or make of car?” 

“Yeah, a dark blue Sedan. Then a few days later the phone calls started.”

“Garcia I need you to run through Y/N’s phone records, see if you can trace the number they were calling from.” Hotch ordered and Garcia quickly left the room, heading to her bat cave. 

“Here, listen to this.” JJ started, holding up one of the first letters. “I’m doing this because I love you, pretty dove. So very much. It’s okay, you’ll see.” She looked up to her team. “He’s planning something.” 

Hotch turned his attention to her. “Y/N’s safety is our primary concern. This unsub seems to have fixated on her, for whatever reason. Y/N, do you have any ex boyfriends or enemies we need to know about?” 

“I have five ex’s, but I don’t think any of them would be capable of this.” She reasoned, but there was a seed of doubt in the back of her mind. 

At her words, Spencer stood up, slamming the letters down on the table with an audible thud before leaving the room. Y/N stared after him hopelessly, Hotch clearing his throat before speaking again. 

“I’ll need a list of their names.” 

Derek piped up. “We also need to know locations of spots that you frequent, anywhere you may have met this guy. Coffee shops, restaurants, even the library. No detail is too small, okay?” 

Y/N nodded, turning back to stare out the door that Spencer had stormed out of moments before. “I’m just going to go check on him.” She murmured, earning an apologetic smile from JJ. 

* 

She found him outside the building, sat on one of the stone steps of the staircase that led up to the buildings entrance. He had his head in his hands, trying to calm down the thoughts that sped through his overworking mind. 

She sat beside him, draping his coat that she’d grabbed from his desk over his shoulders to combat the cold winter air. “You’ll catch a cold.” She muttered, offering a small smile as he looked over at her. Despite how he felt, he let the smallest of smiles find its way onto his lips at the comment. She had a stalker threatening her life and she was worried about him catching a cold?

They sat in silence for a little before Y/N broke it. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.” 

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.” He mumbled, looking out to the street, watching people walk by. When Y/N didn’t answer, he spoke again. “You could’ve told me, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t.” She whispered sincerely. 

“Why didn’t you say something, Y/N? I would’ve dropped everything to make sure you were safe.” He promised, trying to make his voice sound strong, but failing as it cracked with his words. 

“I didn’t think it was important. He wasn’t threatening at the start, and I thought I could handle it.” Now the words were leaving her mouth, she knew she sounded stupid. 

“You didn’t think it was important?” Spencer repeated back to her, his breaths heavy as he failed to understand her reasoning. “Y/N you are the most important thing in the world to me. Okay? Please tell me you know that.” He turned his body toward her. 

“I know. I know and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. It’s just I know- after everything that happened before with Maeve-“ She paused for a moment. “I didn’t want to worry you over nothing.”

His breath hitched when she said Maeve’s name, and Y/N could almost see him replaying the moment he lost her in his mind. The curse of an eidetic memory. 

“I’m not going to let that happen to you- no, not you. Never you.” He sniffed, reaching over to take her hand in his. 

She nodded, tears filling her eyes once more. She cuddled into his side, her head dropping on his shoulder. She sniffled. “I’m scared, Spencer.” 

“It’s okay. He’s not coming anywhere near you, Y/N. I swear to you, he’s not going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.” He brought her hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of it. 

*

Over the next few days, the team spent hours analysing ever piece of evidence Y/N had received, and Garcia went through tons of security footage, trying to get a good look at whoever was in the blue Sedan. She’d ran the license plates, but they’d come back as being fake, so that had been a pretty dead end, and the phone number she’d traced had come from a payphone, so there was no lead there either. 

Spencer was evidently over-working himself, not taking breaks from work to eat or sleep. He reread the words a hundred times, desperately looking for what it was he must’ve missed. He was filled with this overwhelming need to protect her, to keep Y/N safe. To succeed where he’d failed previously. He couldn’t afford to make the same mistake he’d made with Maeve. He’d let his emotions cloud his judgement and it cost Maeve her life. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again. 

There wasn’t time for that, not when Y/N was in danger. 

Y/N spent most of her time alongside Spencer at the BAU, mostly because he insisted that she was somewhere he could keep an eye on her at all times. She only went home in the evenings so she could change and sleep in her own bed, but always with a police escort that Spencer had himself done a thorough background check on and knew could be trusted. 

Eventually, It had been an entire week. Spencer had only had a handful of sleep, only when the exhaustion became too much did he pass out and actually get a few hours of sleep before he was right back at it. Members of the team who attempted to gently voice their concern for him received a scowl in response, with Y/N even trying to get through to him, but he just shrugged her off. Ultimately, Hotch had to pull him aside to talk. 

Hotch walked into the room where Y/N sat reading silently in the corner while Spencer’s eyes ran over the words he’d already read a hundred times. 

“Reid, Can I speak to you?” 

Spencer’s head snapped up, pissed that he was being interrupted from the task before him. He grunted under his breath, standing up and walking out of the room. 

Hotch brought Spencer up to his office, closing the door behind them so there was some dilution to the raised voices that were definitely going to come from this conversation. He sighed, turning to face the younger man and crossing his arms. “The Bureau don’t want us using any more of our time on this case. The unsub has been inactive for a week, and we have other cases building up that take priority.” 

Spencer scoffed. “You want us to stop? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid not. The order came from above me, I have no power here. The best we can do for now is send Y/N home with police protection until this guy resurfaces.” 

“You wanna send her home? No way, Hotch! There’s some son of a bitch after her and you want her to be at home?” He was angrier than Hotch had seen him be in a long while. 

Hotch sighed. “Reid. It’s out of my hands. I recognise how hard this is for you, but we have no choice.”

“But I- I can’t protect her if she’s not with me! I can’t keep her safe.” His tone changed from angry to more of a begging. “Please, Hotch. There’s got to be something you can do.”

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer huffed, his anger returning. “Bullshit! You know as well as I do that she’s vulnerable as soon as she leaves here. Police presence or not, if something happens to her-” 

Hotch shot him a warning look, which made Spencer stop mid-sentence.

“You’re done with this case for now, understand? Until he resurfaces, we have other priorities.” Hotch spoke. Spencer scoffed, walking and brushing past his unit chief. “That’s an order, Reid.” He warned. 

Spencer ignored him, heading back to the room he’d left Y/N in, his mind refocused on getting back to his previous task-  despite Hotch’s orders. 

He stepped into the room, slamming the door closed behind him, earning a surprised squeak from Y/N, who still sat in the corner with her book in hand. He looked over at her, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “He wants you to go home, and we have to put the case on hold because we have others to work on. Can you believe that? How could he ask that of me?” He laughed humourlessly as Y/N shut her book, placing it next to her. 

She sighed, standing, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What?” 

It was just the protective side of him coming out, and at first Y/N thought it was endearing, but he couldn’t neglect his own needs to favour hers any more. She wouldn’t let him. 

“Spencer, you gotta stop this. I know how hard you’re working, and I’m so grateful, but you’re killing yourself here.” Her voice was gentle, hoping she’d be able to appeal to him. 

“No! No Y/N I’m not stopping until we get this guy, until you’re safe.” He snapped. 

“You heard what Hotch said, you have other cases that need to take priority.” She moved toward him, still trying to reason with him. She was still scared to death, and she didn’t particularly want to leave Spencer’s side- after all he made her feel safe. But there were people who needed him and his team, and if she was no longer in imminent danger, his talents were needed elsewhere. It made her feel sick, but it’s the way it was. They were just going to have to wait for this guy to make his next move. 

“But Y/N, you are my priority. Don’t you get that?” He asked, moving back as she came toward him. The motion hurt her, so she stood still. 

“I do, I promise you I do, but there’s people out there who need that beautiful mind of yours more than I do right now.” 

He scoffed. “So you just expect me to give up?” 

“Of course not, but Hotch is right. What if this guy never makes any other moves? What if he just wanted to scare me? You can’t waste your time. It’s too valuable.” 

“And what if the second you walk out of those doors he gets you?” Spencer shouted, his arms coming out by his sides to exaggerate his point. 

“Then you’ll find me. If that happened, which is a worse-case scenario, I have faith that you and this team would find me and bring me home.” 

“And if I can’t? If I fail, again? If I have to watch you die like I watched-” His breath hitched, his voice catching. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “No, No. I will not lose you, do you understand? I will not stop looking for this son of a bitch, not ever. I’m not letting you go home, Y/N. I’m sorry, that’s final.” 

“Spencer, you can’t keep me here. You’d be disobeying Hotch’s direct orders-” 

He shook his head. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Y/N. I’ll talk to Hotch, change his mind. Just- stay here. Please.”  The last word was quiet and pleading, a stark contrast from the tone he was using before. He picked up the evidence files he was going through and walked away, feet stomping as his anger still radiated off of him. 

* 

Y/N had stood there for a minute, collecting herself before she took a shaky deep breath, bringing her hand up to wipe the tears that trickled down her cheeks. 

She walked out to the bullpen, ignoring how Spencer had asked her to stay. Her eyes met Derek’s who offered her an apologetic smile. 

“Hey.” He called out to her as she passed by. “Whatever the kid said, he didn’t mean it. He just wants to keep you safe.” 

She gave a sad smile. “I know. Um, is it alright if I just step out the front for some air? I’m feeling a little boxed in.” 

“Sure thing. I’ll keep you company, make sure you get back alright.” He stood up from his desk chair, grabbing his jacket and accompanying her downstairs. 

When they got there Y/N turned to him. “Is it alright if I have a moment alone? I’ll stay where you can see me, I just need a minute.” 

Derek was hesitant, but nodded. She pushed open the doors, out into the cold night. She remained stood by the front doors, where they bright lights from indoors seeped outside, lighting up the pavement. She took a few deep breaths, letting the cold air fill her lungs, hoping it’ll help alleviate the stinging pain in her heart. She looked up at the sky, willing herself to keep her tears at bay. She appreciated what Spencer was doing, and adored his instinct to protect her, keep her safe. She knew how stubborn he could be at times, but now she thought about it, maybe when she sided with Hotch earlier it made it seem like she didn’t have his back, which was certainly not the case. 

Derek watched as Y/N collected herself, seeing that she was about to turn and come back inside. Suddenly someone bumped into his side, his attention turning from Y/N to the person who collided with him. He looked over to see a young man he didn’t recognise. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going. My apologies.” The man apologised before walking off. 

Derek furrowed his brow, before turning back to look outside. 

Y/N wasn’t there. 

He bolted forward toward the doors, flinging them open and looking left and right for any sight of her. 

She was long gone. And so was whoever took her. 

Hearing a crinkle beneath his feet, Derek looked down at the sound, noticing a scrap piece of newspaper on the floor where Y/N had been stood. 

He picked it up, unfolding the paper. On it, written in the familiar blood red chicken scratch was the same threatening message Y/N had received before. 

‘If I can’t have her, no one can.’ 

* 

Derek placed the paper down on the roundtable, that the team was now gathered around, shock and worry on their faces. 

Hotch closed his eyes with a sigh as he looked at the paper, guilt rushing over him. Just then Spencer came into the room, immediately picking up on the mood that had settled over the team. 

“What’s’‘-” His eyes landed on the message, the realisation spreading over his features. “Where’s Y/N?” He asked, a sort of denial in his voice. 

“He has her.” Derek confirmed, bowing his head down in shame that he hadn’t protected her like he was supposed to. 

“Morgan, What happened? You took her out to get some air and then what?” Emily asked, trying to establish where it’d gone wrong. 

“I took my eyes off of her for a minute, some guy bumped into me and it distracted me, and when I looked back she was gone.” 

Emily’s mouth opened as she connected the dots. “It must’ve been a distraction, one guy bumps into you so that you take your eyes off of her while the other guy grabs her.” 

“So what, we’re looking for a partner here as well?” JJ posed, looking up at her team. 

“It would seem so. He waited for his opportunity, and when it came he took it.” Rossi chimed in. 

“This is now an active investigation, we have a missing woman who’s already been gone for nearly an hour. We’ve got to work fast.” Hotch ordered, which sent the team out of their seats, each with a task assigned to them. However, Spencer still sat in one of the chairs, trembling fingers trailing over the words before him. The air in the room seemed thinner, his lungs working harder to fill themselves. 

“Reid? Reid.” Morgan tried, but all he got from Spencer was little incoherent mumbles. 

Finally, he looked up to meet Morgan’s eyes, the words he’d been whispering falling from his lips in a more audible whimper. “He’s gonna kill her.”  He choked on his words, the realisation crashing down on him. “I’m going to lose her too.” 

* 

Time was a precious thing. 

Spencer had never been more aware of how quickly the seconds passed than he was at that moment. 

He was on his knees, hunched over the toilet, hands gripping the sides in a vice-like grip, desperately trying to push down the nauseating feeling creeping its way up his throat. After the note that Morgan found, Spencer had rushed into the toilets, standing over the toilet bowl as he dry-heaved, holding himself back from being sick. He took heavy breaths, eyes screwing shut as he tried to think of anything other than the danger that Y/N was in. 

He tried so hard to ignore the familiarity of the situation. 

The thought set in motion a memory that he’d much rather forget, one that he pushed so far back in his mind so he could deny it had ever happened, that he’d ever allowed it to happen. 

Ultimately, it was the curse of his brilliant memory, having the ability to perfectly recall things that happened years before. 

As if he could ever forget that day, eidetic memory or not. 

“Diane, Diane, there’s still a way out of this.” 

“You never wanted me. Never! You lied!”

Diane has her arm around Maeve, gun pointed at her head. The bullet she’d shot into Spencer’s shoulder felt numb, the scorching pain felt irrelevant to the fear spiking his heart. 

“I didn’t. Diane, I offered you a deal and you can still take it. Me for her. Let me take her place.” His eyes lock on Maeve’s, so full of fear, and he tries to reassure that she’ll be fine- because he knows she will. How many times has he talked down an unsub waving a gun around? She would be okay, she had to be. 

“You would do that?” 

“Yes.” 

“You would kill yourself for her?” 

“Yes.” 

Of course he would. In a heartbeat. 

“Thomas Merton.” 

Maeve’s voice was small but sure. What scared Spencer the most was how certain she sounded, as though she’d accepted that this was her fate; her end. 

“Who’s Thomas Merton?”

“He knows.” 

She loved him. And he loved her. Oh how bittersweet. 

“Who’s Thomas Merton, who is he?” 

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us.” 

Its only a moment’s hesitation, a moment that he should’ve reached for a gun, a moment where he should’ve taken his shot. 

“No.” Diane scowled. 

Time is a precious thing.

and Maeve’s was up.

“Wait-” 

The shot still rung clear in Spencer’s ears, a sound he was sure he would hear for the rest of his days. His breaths were heaving again, his eyes flying open as he willed the image of Maeve’s body to leave his head. But when his eyes screwed shut again, it was someone else in her place. 

It wasn’t Maeve’s body on the floor anymore. Instead, in her place lay Y/N, blood gushing from the open wound at the side of her head, her lifeless body cold against the concrete floor. 

That’s the thought that made him sick, throwing up into the toilet at the thought of watching Y/N die the same way he watched Maeve. 

Taking gasping breaths, he sat back against the side of the cubicle, hands running down his flustered face, feeling the streaks of tears that trembled down his cheeks. 

He shook his head, as if that would erase the horrific thoughts swimming around. He reminded himself that Y/N was still alive, and they had no reason as of yet to believe that she wasn’t. It was that thought that made him pull himself to stand, raking his hands through his hair and trying to calm his quivering hands. 

Y/N was still out there, waiting for him to save her. 

He grit his teeth together as he walked out of the toilets. 

He wouldn’t hesitate this time. He was not going to lose her. 

*

He walked back into the roundtable room, ignoring the looks he received from the team. They had been bouncing theories off of one another, trying to use their profile to figure out who their unsub was, and where they would’ve taken Y/N. 

“Is it possible a woman is our unsub, or perhaps even the partner?” Emily posed, her eyes scanning over one of the letters. 

Derek shook his head. “I don’t think a woman would use language like this, it’s very derogatory, it exerts a power over Y/N.” 

The team fell quiet in thought, only interrupted when Garcia came scurrying in, her laptop in her hands. “You’ll never guess what I just found!”

Everyone looked up to her, Hotch speaking. “What is it, Garcia?” 

“I looked over the list of Y/N’s exes, and only one of them jumped out to me as a little suspicious. So I did some digging.” She tapped a few keys on her laptop before grabbing her remote and  broadcasting to the team what she’d found on the TV. “Daniel ‘Danny’ Stone, 29, dated Y/N three years ago. He was her last boyfriend before she met Reid.”

“Three years? You don’t think he’s still bitter about the relationship ending?” Emily asked, confused. 

“Three years is a long time. Why surface now?” JJ chimed. 

“Reid, did Y/N ever mention her previous relationship ending on a rough note?” Rossi asked, turning to face the younger boy. 

Spencer frowned. “She said the breakup was a little rocky, but nothing awful. The last time she spoke about him was a few months ago, said he got in some sort of accident?” He looked to Garcia for confirmation, and she nodded. 

“Indeed. Stone was involved in a road collision four months ago.” 

JJ hummed, looking through the medical reports on her iPad. “Says here he suffered brain damage, specifically to his pre-frontal cortex.” 

“Well that would explain why this stalker seemingly came from nowhere. People who suffer damage like this are impulsive, unable to make rational choices.” Derek posed. 

“So what’s the theory here? He wakes up after this accident, and because of his injury chooses to track down his ex? Three years after they break up?”

Morgan shook his head. “It isn’t a choice. Not anymore. He has to do it. He’s become fixated on her. He knows she’s with Reid, and like he said, If he can’t have her, the neither can Reid.”

“Okay, but why stalk her? What does he gain from that? Instead of just taking her and getting what he really wants?” Emily questioned. 

“This newfound impulsivity would make him a risk-taker. He’ll do things that the average person wouldn’t dream of trying. But it’s unlikely that Stone actually staked out Y/N’s home, or delivered the letters to her door. He wouldn’t have the self-control to span this out over months. He just pulled the strings.” 

“So that was his partner, then.” JJ deduced, earing nods from the team. “Then  what does the partner gain from this? Why help Stone?” 

“Maybe Stone manipulated them. Perhaps he has some form of information on them he’s using as blackmail?” 

“Did you get an address on Stone, Garcia?” Hotch asked, and Garcia nodded enthusiastically. 

“You know I did, It’s already been sent to your phones.” 

“Alright, let’s go.” 

The team all stood, heading for the doors. Spencer was quick to get up and follow, hope sparking in him now that they had an address. He was just about to leave the room when Hotch’s voice stopped him. 

“Reid, you know I can’t let you come with us.” His voice was firm, he knew there could be no room for error here. Not after what happened last time. 

“Like hell you can’t.” Reid snapped, turning around to face him. He’d regret his smart mouth later when Hotch undoubtedly told him off for it, but at that moment who couldn’t have cared less. 

“We will get her and bring her home, but you can’t be involved in this. It’s a conflict of interest, you know that.” 

“Oh, so it wasn’t a conflict of interest when you went after Foyet?” 

It was a cheap shot, one that Spencer really regretted the second he said it, but amends could be made later. 

Hotch’s face didn’t falter, despite the petty jab. “Yeah, and look where that got me.” 

Spencer’s defesnive stance dropped, his arms falling by his sides. “Hotch. You were there when when Maeve died. Do you remember it?” 

“Of course.” 

“Not like I do. I can see every second of it every time I close my eyes. I can’t go through that again. I almost didn’t make it out the other side, If it happened again I don’t know if I could cope-” He stopped, his voice catching in his throat. “Just- Please.”

Hotch grunted, giving in. “Fine, but you can’t allow your emotions to cloud your thinking. I know it will be difficult but I need your head to be in this.Y/N’s life depends on it.” 

Spencer nodded and they headed down toward the SUV’s. 

*

They pulled up to the address, lights blaring and sirens sounding. They all quickly jumped out and regrouped, strapping their kevlar vests to their chests as they moved. They were stood in front of an abandoned apartment complex, one that had ben uninhabited for years. 

 “Alright Morgan, Prentiss I want you to go around the back, find a way in through there, see if you can find this partner of his. JJ, Rossi and Reid you’re with me. ” Hotch ordered, as they all drew their guns and prepared to head in. 

As they stealthily walked through the building, they listened for any noise that indicated where the unsub was. Hotch, who was leading the group, pushed open a door to the staircase, and they were about to head up when they heard a bang coming from the floor below them. 

They headed down the stairs, seeing that they were entering the buildings basement. They rounded the corner, guns at the ready, and stepping into a small boiler room. 

In the centre of the room, Daniel stood. He held a struggling Y/N to his chest, his arm around her neck and gun placed at her temple. 

Spencer recalled how it the sight was all too familiar, how Diane had held Maeve the same way. 

Daniel’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “If you step any closer, she dies.” 

“Okay, okay. We’ll stay back, but I need you to put down the gun.” Hotch tried, shooting a look over his shoulder to Spencer, a look that told him to stay put. 

Daniel shook his head. “No. You’re going to ruin everything!”

“Ruin what?” JJ asked. 

“My chance do what’s right. Y/N doesn’t want me. But I love her, can’t she see that? I would do anything for her, and still she would choose him over me?” Daniel’s eyes moved to meet with Spencer’s, narrowing. 

“Daniel, we know what you went through. We know about your accident, how you’ve felt so out of control since, but if you come with us we can get you the help you need.” Rossi was next to attempt to convince him, but to no avail.

“No- No!” Daniel scowled, clenching his teeth as his gaze fixated on Spencer, who’s eyes were locked with Y/N’s, trying to silently reassure her that she was going to be okay. “She’s mine. I protected her, I’ve looked out for her. She’s finally going to understand.” He looked down at Y/N, his grip on her tightening, causing her to let out a frightened yelp. 

Spencer gulped, tearing his gaze from Y/N and onto the unsub, putting on a strong and unbothered facade. He wouldn’t let himself be clouded by his emotions, not this time. “You’re right. You kept her safe, and I’m very grateful that you protected her when I failed to.”

“Thats right. You failed her. I’m so much better for her.” He seethed through his teeth. “ And that’s why, if she won’t chose me, she’ll have to die with me.”

“You don’t want to do that, Daniel. Put down the gun. We’ll bring you in, and if you tell us all about this partner of yours, we’ll tell everyone that you co-operated.” JJ suggested, her gun still aimed up at him. 

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N gasped out, still struggling against his hold. 

“Because if I can’t have you, the neither can he. No, No.” He grinned, bringing the gun up to his his own head. From where it was angled, the bullet would pass through his own head, and lodge itself in Y/N’s too. “You’re mine, Y/N.” 

This time, Spencer didn’t hesitate. 

One single gunshot. 

Daniel collapsed to the floor, a bullet between his eyes. 

Y/N fell to the ground with him in a fit of sobs, scrambling to get away from the man who lay dead on the floor, the pool of blood growing around him.  

Spencer holstered his gun, immediately surging forward to wrap a trembling Y/N up in his arms. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” He cooed, rubbing a hand on her back in a soothing manner. 

She sobbed into his chest as he held her, tears forming in his own eyes at the sound of her cries. But Spencer allowed himself a moment to breathe, looking over Y/N’s shoulder at the man he’d just shot without hesitation. 

And he’d wouldn’t be losing any sleep over it, either.  

He tightened his arms around her, thankful that she was safe. He brought her up to stand, his arms still tight around her. He looked toward his teammates, nodding gratefully at them as he walked Y/N out of the building. As he passed, he overheard JJ and Hotch’s conversation. 

“Emily and Morgan found the partner fleeing out the back. They say he’s agreed to talk.” 

With an internal sigh of relief, he held Y/N closer as they stepped out the doors of the building, guiding her toward the medical staff so she could be checked for injuries, despite how she told him she was fine. After it was concluded that she’d come out pretty unscathed, with only a few cuts and bruises, Spencer came and sat down next to her. She smiled weakly up at him, and he knew it would take a while for her usual bright smile to return, but she was alive- and right then that was all that mattered. 

He immediately took her hand in his, gripping it tightly. 

“Is it over?” She asked quietly, and he nodded. 

“Yeah, they got the partner, and he’s going to co-operate in return for a reduced sentence, but he’ll still be going away for a long time.”

She nodded, her head dropping onto his shoulder. “Thank you so much, Spencer. You saved me.” She whispered. 

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m sorry about the argument we had, I was being a jerk. I just wanted to protect you, but in the end you still ended up getting hurt.” He frowned, looking down at the gravel ground. 

“It’s okay, I understand. I’m sorry you had to relive all of this again, I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been for you.” She sighed, guilt overwhelming her. 

“Hey, no. You’re safe, that’s all that matters.” He promised and she nodded against him. 

Giving her hand a squeeze, he turned slightly to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. 

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”