#He has no plan. He has no healthy outlet for his feelings. He is looking at his half naked crush and losing his shot.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy.

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[angelbaby191]

Midnight Comforts

Hanta Sero x Reader

The dimly lit dorm kitchen is a sanctuary at this hour, humming softly with the residual warmth of evening. A light golden glow from the overhead lights illuminates the countertop, casting a soft halo around you and the mixing bowl in your hands. You move quietly, not wanting to break the peaceful silence that wraps itself around the room, stirring the bowl of thick chocolate batter in a steady rhythm. It’s just you and the chocolate cake—a little midnight indulgence you hadn’t planned for but now find yourself grateful to make.

The familiar clinking of metal against ceramic fills the space around you, a meditative sound that soothes the edges of your mind, calming the churn of anxious thoughts beneath your calm exterior. You don't let them show, of course; the small waves of anxiety find an outlet in your productivity, keeping your emotions in check in a way that feels healthy. The simple ritual of baking has become a kind of therapy—a moment of creation, and sometimes, solace. The batter is rich and dark, its sweetness filling the air around you with a deep cocoa scent as you work.

Your fingers lift a small handful of flour from the bag on the counter, sprinkling it into the bowl. A few flecks drift up, landing on the counter and smudging across your cheek as you swipe your hand absently. You don’t mind the mess; it makes the kitchen feel warm and lived-in, cozy even. The quiet is comforting, only occasionally broken by the muffled laughter from the nearby common area, where a few of your friends linger, unwinding from a long day. Kirishima’s deep voice followed by Mina’s laughter cuts through the stillness, reminding you that, despite the peace of the moment, you’re not alone.

But then, a sound closer than laughter catches your ear. You hear the quiet padding of footsteps moving across the tile, approaching slowly, though they don’t startle you. Somehow, you know exactly who it is before he even steps into view.

“Hey there.” comes the familiar voice of Hanta Sero, his tone warm and sleepy. He stands in the doorway, his lean frame relaxed, his dark eyes reflecting the soft light, making them look almost gold. There’s a hint of a playful smile on his lips, and you can’t help but return it, a little warmth creeping into your cheeks despite yourself.

“Hanta,” you reply softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you glance down, focusing on the way the chocolate batter thickens under your spoon. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

He shrugs, a soft chuckle escaping him as he moves further into the room. He has this way of existing in any space, effortlessly filling it with his presence while somehow keeping the mood light and comfortable. “Figured I’d find you here,” he says, watching you work with that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “Whenever it’s late and you’re not around, I know I’ll find you baking up something good.”

You chuckle softly, cheeks warming a little under his gaze, though you keep your attention on the bowl. You can feel his eyes on you, the familiar comfort of his presence settling over you like a cozy blanket. Sero smells like oranges, warm and bright, with a faint earthy undertone lingering on his clothes. It’s grounding, and you find yourself breathing in a little deeper, enjoying the mix of scents that now fill the kitchen.

Without warning, he reaches out, scooping a bit of flour from the counter and brushing it across your cheek with a mischievous smile. You scrunch your nose, brushing it off with a huff, only for him to laugh, clearly pleased with himself.

“So, what are we making?” he asks, settling himself on the counter beside you, swinging his legs as he watches you stir, his attention steady and soothing.

“Just a classic chocolate cake,” you answer, focusing on the batter’s texture as you lift the spoon and let the mixture drip slowly back into the bowl, thick ribbons leaving trails in the dark, glossy batter. “Nothing fancy. Just wanted to keep my hands busy.”

Sero hums in acknowledgment, watching as you pour a splash of vanilla into the bowl, its sweet, rich scent mingling with the cocoa. You glance over at him, noticing his calm, easy smile and the way he’s looking at you—like he’s known you forever and can read you without any effort. It’s comforting, grounding even, in a way that makes you feel seen.

You reach up to grab a whisk from the cabinet, but before you can, Sero’s already there, leaning over and handing it to you with a lazy grin. His fingers brush yours, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Can’t let my angel do all the work, can I?” he says lightly, though there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes you pause, cheeks tingling. He shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours, and you can feel his breath warm against your neck as he watches the batter swirl.

You don’t say anything, but there’s a quiet understanding in the air between you both, something unspoken but clear. He leans over, one arm casually draped across the counter beside you, but the closeness feels intimate in a way that makes your heart quicken just slightly.

He moves behind you, his hands slipping around your waist, his fingers grazing the soft material of your shirt. He doesn’t say anything, but his touch is gentle, grounding, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your sides in a way that’s both reassuring and comforting.

“Hanta…” you say softly, the word barely a breath as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His scent—warm and familiar, with that hint of citrus and something more earthy—wraps around you, filling your senses. The steady rhythm of his breath against the back of your neck sends a calm shiver down your spine.

With the kitchen bathed in a warm, golden glow, you lean back against him, feeling his warmth seep into you. For the first time in a while, your mind feels at peace, the ever-present buzz of anxiety fading in the quiet of this moment.

Then, without a word, he leans in, his lips brushing softly against the back of your neck in a way that’s both gentle and full of meaning. The contact is tender, and you let out a soft sigh, your shoulders relaxing as you sink into his embrace.

[cringefailvox]

where would alastor fit into the staticbelle au, :0 ?

staticbelle au

OKAY IT REALLY DEPENDS BC!! we still don't know exactly why alastor is at the hotel! it could be because he's there on orders from someone else, or he's there to entertain himself, or to manipulate charlie for reasons unknown, or something else entirely—and the reason will really impact whether or not he'd choose to try and get involved with charlie if she was already supported by vox. a lot of his sway over the hotel comes from the fact that it was crumbling into disrepair when he arrived and he fairy godmother'd it into a somewhat functional project, therefore winning him a ton of emotional brownie points with charlie, but he wouldn't have that opportunity at all here because i really don't think there's anything he could offer charlie that vox isn't already providing (or wouldn't be willing to START providing if it meant spiting alastor).

however. presuming instead that alastor is not at the hotel to protect or look after charlie, or help her project succeed (since these would already be satisfied by vox), it'd be fascinating if instead alastor comes back after seven years and immediately antagonizes vox into losing his shit and making charlie go "ooookay! i'm gonna have to put my therapy techniques in action because vox is clearly not over his situationship." and that's how her and alastor meet. i think she knows about the alastor thing but hadn't really seen what the problem was before he came back; everyone in hell has enemies after all, and a little healthy rivalry never hurt anyone, but seeing it in action is totally different. after the third time vox plunges the city into darkness because alastor called him an insecure freak on air she's like umm. we might need to talk about this.

she's super worried about vox because she's never seen him this upset about anything before. vox is relapsing hard into his paranoid-obsessive shit that he'd worked on really hard in the seven years alastor has been away, and now it's all rushing back and threatening to ruin everything he's built—but also, his sorta girlfriend princess independent contractor person (???) is now insisting he try to "make amends" and "practice healthy emotional regulation" and "please stop brooding over your pit of sharks with a bottle of tequila i'm really nervous about you falling in and electrocuting yourself even though i know you're waterproof, come watch a movie with me instead?" and he can't decide whether he resents it or appreciates it (both. it's both).

maybe having charlie around to redirect him and encourage healthier outlets for his anger, unlike how val and vel normally handle his radio demon bullshit, DOES actually get him to calm down a little bit. maybe even enough to reluctantly agree to supervised counseling sessions with alastor, because fucking dammit charlie has gone behind his back to talk to al about repairing their broken friendship and he was so excited, vox, you should've seen him, he practically insisted on having me arrange a meeting, i think he really regrets how things ended between you two and wants to do better, please just give it a chance?? cue the worst couple's counseling session in the universe with vox stiff as a board and shaking with repressed rage in his seat while alastor sips tea demurely across from him and asks oh-so-politely how him and charlie met, and isn't this such a charming little affair, and ooh, redemption? how interesting! charlie is eating this the fuck up, overjoyed at the thought of meeting TWO overlords interested in her plan while vox can't do anything about it but seethe and fantasize about shooting alastor in the face when charlie's back is turned.

this actually sort of turns into vox feeling protective over charlie completely without meaning to, because he knows alastor isn't being genuine, he knows he has ill intentions, and vox has invested too much time and energy and honest commitment into both charlie and her dreams to let fucking alastor destroy it all by taking advantage of her desperate need for validation. only vox gets to capitalize on her daddy issues, dammit. but there's real affection there too, reluctant and uncomfortable as he is with its existence, and it's making it extremely difficult for him to handle alastor's Everything without betraying the fact that he's become emotionally compromised and isn't just looking out for his business interests.

charlie, meanwhile, thinks she's going to get to kill two birds with one stone here: she can help vox get over / assuage a broken relationship that's clearly causing him a lot of distress, and she can rope another influential overlord into endorsing her project, which prods the door open that much further for her to enact real change in hell. but alastor isn't the same kind of monster as vox, and she might be a little in over her head this time—because she just can't stop herself from having faith in people's better natures, even when every indication is pointing the other way. it's a kind of earnest and willful naivete that's like blood in the water to people like alastor and vox. at least she knows—she hopes—vox would hesitate now. she can't really say the same for al. either way, she's going to keep trying, and it's really a race between charlie's ability to infect people with soft mushy friendship emotions by double-bluffing their manipulative plots and alastor's ability to pry people open like clamshells and inflict horrifyingly intimate betrayals on them.

(hint: charlie always wins the long-game. there's only so many times you can sarcastically banter about your feelings over scones with your archrival and your girlfriend supervising before you start actually making breakthroughs and unwillingly understanding each other. charlie has weaponized "ironically committing to the bit too hard" in her favor and it works everyyy time)

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 26**

So much happening in this chapter so it's a long one! And a happy chapter! Again, this is a series of scenes I've had in my head since the beginning, the events that take place as they finally make it to New York and I had a lot of fun planning them and finally writing them.

Series Master List

Warnings have their own post, please heed them if needed

Word count: 14k (you'll either hate that or love it 😅)

Morrow, the raider, turns out to be a decent guide. Either that, or the thinly veiled threats Pope hisses at him as he tugs on the man’s rope keeps him perpetually terrified enough to not try anything. He leads you all on back roads that avoid towns and main routes, and the closer you get to New York, the more confident he gets as he takes you into buildings, skirting around hordes of infected. It’s clear that this is territory he’s crossed many times as a smuggler, just as Frankie and Pope had around Arlington. 

It takes almost three days of walking to reach Hoboken, the broken New York skyline slowly getting closer. You only realize you’ve reached the city when you see a shattered sign that reads Hoboken Beer & Soda Outlet, hanging off a bombed out building. 

“You’ve done good, Morrow,” Pope says to the young man, as you all catch a glimpse of the Hudson River between demolished buildings. 

“Thanks,” he replies, less nervous now than when he first started out. He’s still restrained but as he continued to lead you safely through the devastated urban landscape of New Jersey, the guys became less hard on him, sharing rations and making sure he was at least as comfortable as the rest of you at night. You thought it showed some humanity on the guys part but Frankie shook his head when you brought it up, out of earshot of Morrow. 

“We treat him well so that he feels less inclined to fuck us. If we treat him fair he’ll think we’ll let him go without harm once we don’t need him anymore and that makes him want to make sure we’re happy with how he aids us.” 

“But you’re not gonna let him go?” you ask, glancing over at Morrow where he and Pope are discussing the best way forward towards Sinatra Park. 

Frankie shrugs, “We’ll let him go, but we’ll probably hand him over to FEDRA once we get to the intake area.” 

Morrow had told you about the FEDRA intake area located at Sinatra Park in Hoboken. It was a small temp QZ where people were scanned, assessed and then allowed to take a boat across to the main Manhattan QZ if they passed. According to Morrow, most people were admitted as long as they were healthy. The QZ needed people to rebuild the city, the hope was to bring back some sort of normalcy inside the walls. He’d said there was even talk of a vaccine research facility, FEDRA attempting to locate and bring in any surviving vaccine researchers from across the country. It sounded hopeful but like most people, you were jaded at this point. You’d settle for a safe QZ devoid of fascist tendencies, decent food and an apartment where Frankie could make good on his promises about where he wanted to spend his time. 

“C’mere, guys,” Pope waves Benny, Frankie and you over to where he’s been talking to Morrow. He points to a building about a block away, it’s been bombed and is tilting precariously to the right. “The plan was to go through that building, that’s the way they’ve been coming, the boat they use to sneak across the Hudson is moored on the other side. But, look at that,” he points to the first floor corner, bright orange and red tendrils visible through a broken window. “Morrow says those are new.” 

“Fuck,” you hear Benny hiss behind you, and you mirror his sentiments. The bright red and orange hues means fresh cordyceps growth. Someone in the building has been infected, died and now the fungal growth is creeping out from their body, seeking out new ways to spread itself. Step on it and any infected within several miles will feel it and come running, the large underground mycelium network working to alert every part of a potential threat or victim. 

“So we’re not going through there,” Frankie says and Pope nods. 

“No, clearly not. The only other option is the building next door,” he indicates a large red brick building on the other side of a partially destroyed street. The building looks unharmed and the large glass door to the ground floor coffee shop stands open. “But that building hasn’t been cleared by anyone in a long time according to Morrow, it’s even possible whoever is responsible for the new cordyceps growth came from it.” 

“So potentially a nice little horde of infected?” Benny sighs, pulling off his cap to run his hand through his hair and shoving it down again, backwards as usual. 

“Probably not a horde, we would’ve seen more growth coming out of the building and I see none, but yeah,” Pope shrugs and looks back at the three of you, “definitely potentially infected inside.” 

You take a deep breath and look over at Frankie, he’s looking at his boots, adjusting the leg holster on his thigh and he feels your eyes on him, looking up to meet them. You don’t even have to say anything, he takes a step closer, his hand finding yours, giving it a light squeeze of reassurance. 

“Are there any options of going around, Morrow?” he asks the young man standing next to Pope. 

“I don’t know how far we’d have to back track, the main path to Sinatra Park used to be a few miles back and further north but FEDRA blew up those buildings about a year ago because it got swamped by a horde.” 

“So we either face this potentially infected building, or we backtrack and definitely have to deal with more infected,” Frankie looks over at Pope and Benny. “We’re pushing our luck the longer we stay out here, traveling through this kind of area I mean, we’ve already been out here three days.” 

“Yeah, I agree,” Benny says, “we go slow, be careful, and go through this building, dealing with anything we find. It’s better than going into unknown territory.” 

“Ok,” Pope nods, “we go through here then, everybody ready up.” 

“What about me?” Morrow asks, his voice worried, “I don’t wanna go through there with my hands tied.” 

Pope looks over at the three of you and you nod without thinking, letting him into the building with his hands tied would be cruel, and where is he going to run to now? Benny and Frankie seem to agree and Pope cuts the cable tie that’s around Morrow’s wrists. 

“Do I get a weapon?” he asks and Pope scoffs. 

“Don’t push your luck.” 

Pope takes the lead, Morrow behind him with Benny taking up the rear as you all as silently as possible enter the building through the open doors. Inside the entrance you get a better look at the busted coffee shop, looted of anything useful years ago it seems. Tables and chairs are scattered across the interior, broken mugs on the floor, but thankfully no sign of fungal growth. Pope glances back and signals for you all to move towards the back door of the coffee shop, you can see it hanging half open next to the Please dispose of your trash here sign on the back wall. 

You hold your breath, gun in hand and pointed towards the floor, as Pope puts his shoulder to the door and carefully pushes it open. The hinges protest slightly, a low squeak making you all freeze and listen intently. When nothing stirs, Pope slides off his backpack and slips through the opening. One by one you do the same and follow him through. Behind the door is a hallway, lined with cardboard boxes filled with supplies for the coffee shop and knocked over trash bags that makes the place reek of years old fermented coffee grinds and rat droppings. You pull the top of your sweater over your mouth and nose, wrinkling your face at the stench. 

Pope spots a sturdy looking door at the end of the hallway, it looks like it leads to the outside and you pray for it to be that easy. But of course it’s not, as you get closer you see Pope mouth a silent Fuck, there’s no door handle on the door and it’s locked tight, he gives it an experimental shove. Turning back he motions down a hallway that runs along the outside wall, at the end of it is what looks like an internal fire escape staircase. Pope makes a couple of hand signals, and you all nod, up the stairs, try to find a way out and down to ground level again. 

Pope and Morrow silently climb the stairs, Frankie and you following close behind. At the top is another door, leading into a hallway with doors on one side and three windows lining the opposite wall. Holding up the door, Morrow lets you all through it before he silently lets it slip shut, only the faintest click as the lock catches. But it’s enough to elicit a noise that you know too well.

The second you hear it, everyone freezes in their tracks, the tell tale sound of a clicker somewhere nearby, the screeching like inhumane fingernails over a chalkboard. You bite back a whimper, briefly closing your eyes as Frankie’s hand shoots out and grabs yours. 

Everybody knows the drill, spreading out and silently finding cover out of sight. The clickers’ echo location, their screeching, works in the same way as a bats. Even if they can’t see you, when they screech towards you, the sound will bounce off your body and tell the clicker exactly where you are. Staying hidden and silent is the only way to escape them. They can be killed by a gunshot to the head, but that noise will attract any other infected in the building. The best, but very dangerous, way to kill them, is to sneak up behind them and stab them in the head, hoping they don’t suddenly turn and hear you. Killing them straight on is almost impossible, the infection giving them inhuman strength. 

The space upstairs seems to be made up of a number of small apartments, the doors to them all open, four in total down the length of the hallway. There’s no shelter in the hallway and you all shuffle into the nearest apartment. Pope signals window back to Benny and Frankie and they nod.

“How?” you mouth to them. How will you all sneak out into the hallway, open a window and climb out without alerting the clicker? It seems impossible. Pope opens his mouth to whisper a reply when you hear feet dragging across the hallway and the tell tale sound of the clicker’s screech. 

You move immediately, as quietly as possible you all sneak further into the small apartment, Frankie pulls you down behind the kitchen counter in one corner, Pope and Morrow duck behind the couch on the other side of the apartment door. 

You turn around and glance towards the door and your stomach drops as you see Benny. His back is pressed against the wall and you realize what he’s about to try. His hunting knife is in his hand and he’s poised, ready to strike as the clicker staggers into the opening of the door, stopping and screeching loudly into the room. The grotesque creature, fungal growth erupting from down the middle of its head, obscuring almost all human features, lurches into the room. Benny makes his moves, the knife makes a sickening crunch as it connects with the clicker but it jerks out of the way and his hand slips, the knife sinking into the neck instead of the temple. Instantly the clicker wrenches itself away from Benny who struggles to get the knife out of its neck. You see Pope rush forward, the clicker screeching, the sound being answered by another screech somewhere in the building. Benny’s knife is still lodged in the clickers neck, Benny’s got one hand on the handle, another around the clickers neck, desperately trying to keep the snapping jaws away from himself. Pope skids around the clicker, his own knife drawn, avoiding the creature's flailing arms, and sinks it down to the handle into the soft tissue of the temple. The clicker screeches again, going limp under Benny’s grip and Pope wrenches his knife out and jabs it in again, twisting it deep in the fungal growth that’s taken over inside the skull. 

Another screech goes up just outside the apartment door and you yell a warning to Pope, he’s just by the door, struggling to wrench his knife out again. The second clicker slams into him and Benny scrambles to shove the body of the first one out of the way, reaching out to stop the infected from sinking into Pope’s neck. Frankie rushes forward, pushing past you as Morrow bolts from behind the couch, heading for the front door, ducking around Pope as Pope gets his arm up under the creature's neck. 

Benny grabs onto what’s left of the clickers jacket and it staggers back, slamming into Morrow who tumbles with a yelp as the clicker rips itself from Benny’s grip and snarls. It’s a tangle of limbs, the clickers wide open mouth, tendrils waving from its maw, Pope kicks frantically on the floor as Morrow’s arm hits him over the head. Morrow fights to get back on his feet, the clicker scrabbling to latch onto any living thing. It takes only seconds, but you feel like you’re watching in slow motion when Frankie reaches the clicker, gun in hand, and fires directly into its temple. 

Both Pope and Benny stumble back, shoving the clicker away, on top of the first one. Morrow sinks down against the door, breathing heavy as Benny drags Pope to his feet. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you ok, Santi?” Benny yells, searching any of his friend’s visible skin. Frankie rushes forward too, pulling back Pope’s collar to check. Pope breathes heavily, running hands over his throat, his chest, wrists and finally ankles and legs. 

“I’m good,” he exhales before drawing a long breath in, “You?” he asks Benny who nods. 

“Yeah, they never got close enough.” 

“Guys…” you say, and they turn to you. You’ve crossed the small apartment and you’re looking down at Morrow. He’s silently staring at the back of his hand, blood and teeth marks clearly visible, his hand is shaking as he lets a sob escape, turning to look at the four of you. 

“Fuck,” Pope exhales, the four of you are frozen in front Morrow, his fate sealed. He looks up at you all with fear in his eyes. 

“Please, kill me,” he sobs, “please.” 

Frankie reluctantly raises his gun, aiming at the young man's head, but you quickly put your hand on his arm, “Wait;” you say, “Is there anyone in New York you want us to give a message to, someone who should know?” 

Morrow gasps for air, sobs threatening to take over as he shakes his head, “Just tell the captain I’m sorry I fucked up.” 

“Your FEDRA captain?” you ask. 

“No, The Captain, he’s my boss, and my friend I guess, he’ll find you once you’re inside, just tell him I’m sorry.” 

“Ok, we’ll tell him, don’t worry, Morrow.” Frankie glances over at you for confirmation that he can carry on, and you look at Morrow who nods, closing his eyes. The gunshot is painfully loud in the small room and it makes you wince, the young man slumps over against the wall, his eyes still closed. 

The irony of it is that it doesn’t take you long to get to Sinatra Park once Benny’s forced open a window and you’ve all scrambled down the side of the building. A few short, easy blocks, and then you’re standing again in front of FEDRA soldiers with guns trained on the four of you. Morrow was so close to making it.

You’re quickly scanned, all of you negative, and let into the small temporary QZ area. So quick and easy, you almost feel guilty. Morrow had led you safely through the urban hellscape that was New Jersey, and then, at the last moment, he’d fallen. 

“He was trying to run,” Frankie says, to make you feel less guilty but even if that was right, who were you to blame him? The clicker went for Pope and you’d been frozen, Frankie had saved him while you remained frozen to the floor. 

“We all have our strengths and weaknesses, cariño,” his thumb running over your cheek as he cups your face, “your job is not to take down clickers. Your job is to be mine, let me be yours, keep me sane, grounded, give me purpose.” He’s leaned his forehead against yours as you blink back guilty tears. 

“But what if it’d been you, and I was frozen while you were attacked by a clicker?” 

Frankie shakes his head, “I don’t think you’d be frozen if you were on your own with me or Ben och Pope, you’d be as ferocious as you were with Myers or when we first came to Arlington,” he’d said, his thumb still gently caressing the apple of your cheek. “You find your courage when you need it, I’ve seen it.” 

“I want us to find his friend, The Captain, and tell him, we owe it to Morrow.”

“Yeah, we will, I’ll ask around when we get to Manhattan,” Frankie pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you, and you close your eyes, trying to not see the clickers and Morrow’s last moments in your mind again. 

You’re all kept at Sinatra Park  for a few days while they gather enough passengers for the ferry ride over to Manhattan. While you’re there you’re supplied with ration cards for food and supplies, a simple paper ID card and an address for your new accommodations. Once in the QZ you have three days to get settled, then you need to report to FEDRA’s work detail to be assigned jobs. 

The ferry to Manhattan is surreal, it’s really just an old sailing boat, and you sit on deck, watching the broken skyline glide closer. It’s a beautiful day, late August, warm sun on your back and glittering water. If it wasn’t for the jagged, crumbling ruins of skyscrapers you’d think you were on a romantic weekend break with Frankie, taking a sightseeing tour on the Hudson. The illusion shatters the second you step ashore though, your papers are checked and then you’re scanned again by FEDRA before you’re let through the final checkpoint. 

Once on the other side the four of you made your way to an address on the Upper West Side. You can’t help but giggle as you see the building, you’re in a fucking brownstone on the Upper West Side. The area is less bombed than other parts of Manhattan, so most people live here now, but still. You and Frankie are now living in a studio apartment within spitting distance of Central Park, worth more before the outbreak than you and Frankie earned combined in probably about ten years. If it wasn’t for the whole ‘end of the world’ thing, you’d be ecstatic. 

You’ve been given accommodation in the same building as Pope and Benny, they’re just a floor below you two. Frankie and you had registered as husband and wife with FEDRA in Arlington, even if you’d never had a wedding or a ceremony. There had been some religious men of different faiths in Arlington who’d married people for a few ration cards, but it seemed so pointless to you both. Frankie was yours, and you were his, a glum ceremony in the apocalypse wouldn’t make any difference. So when FEDRA asked how you were related, he said you were his wife and then you were. The ring was still on your finger, the three diamonds a permanent reminder of the little threesome you’d almost become. 

Walking into your new apartment feels like a massive relief. You love Benny and Pope and you’re happy they’ll be just downstairs, but to finally be able to close the door behind you, and have your own place with Frankie again, it makes your breath a deep contented sigh.

Frankie drops both your backpacks on the floor and wraps his arms around you from behind, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. 

“Wanna check what the water pressure’s like?” he mumbles, his hands already slipping up to cup your breasts through your t-shirt. 

“Oh god, a shower…” you moan, “I’d forgotten about showers.” 

Frankie chuckles into your ear, “I’ve been dreaming about showers for a month.”

“You’ve been dreaming about us in a shower for a month,” you correct him and you can feel his chest vibrate as he laughs. 

“True,” he says, grabbing the old Ikea bag filled with towels, sheets and hygiene supplies you’d been given when you’d been assigned the apartment, “so make my dreams come true, hermosa.” 

“Cheesy, very cheesy,” you laugh at his wink but accept his hand as he pulls you through the small studio apartment. It’s just a room, not a very big one even, with an alcove for a double bed at one end, kitchen at the other. Apart from the front door, there are only two doors, one leading to a tiny storage room, the other on to the bathroom. It doesn’t have a bathtub, just a small shower in the corner with a glass wall shielding the rest of the room from the spray. 

“If we try anything sex related in this shower we’ll either soak the room or injure ourselves,” you say, giving the small space a critical look. “Bedroom?” 

“You mean the bed in the middle of the living room? Sure. But I’ll let you shower before I make good on that hour between your legs,” Frankie grins, “Make you think about how I’m gonna let you test the sound proofing in this building.”  He pulls you in by grabbing your ass, his mouth finding yours as he pushes you up against the counter with a playful growl. You giggle into his mouth as he grinds into you. 

“Never known a forty year old to be so horny, Frankie, you’re hornier than the guys I dated when I was a teenager.” You laugh as he growls into your mouth, his rapidly growing cock firm against your hip.  

“Wish I’d known you when I was a teenager,” he mumbles, his lips moving down your jaw when he suddenly pulls back, “No, wait, the sex would’ve been terrible, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing back then.” 

“Inexperienced little Francisco Morales? I would’ve loved that too,” you chuckle, pushing him off you. “I’m gonna shower, make the bed and I’ll let you show me your new moves.”

“You already know all my moves,” he nips at your bottom lip with a smirk before leaving.  

The pressure in the shower is low but at least the water is hot and clean, steaming up the small bathroom. Frankie comes in after a little while and sits on the toilet, peeling off his layers as you dry off and step out. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes on your damp curves and you have to slap his hand away with a smile. 

“You’re all grimy, Frankie, shower first, then hands.” You wink at him and quickly jump backwards out the door as he tries to catch your ass. 

The bed must’ve been the one originally in the apartment because it is nice….you groan as you sink into the large plush mattress. Or it might just be that you’ve spent most nights on a camping mat, because it’s like a cloud under you. By the time Frankie comes out of the shower, his damp curls like a halo around his head, you’re almost asleep. 

“Nice bed?” he asks, grinning down at your sleepy face as he crawls on top, caging you in as he drops onto his forearms. 

“Very nice bed,” you reply, smiling as he sinks down further to take your bottom lips between his teeth, making you open your mouth for his tongue. His warm body is like a weighted blanket over you as he slowly works to replace your sleepiness with arousal, when you let a first soft moan slip out he pulls back and looks down at you.

“Still tired?” he smiles as his warm hand grabs the back of your thigh and slides your knee up, opening you up to the heavy weight of his erection. 

“Yeah, but you can keep going, if you’re good enough I won’t fall asleep.” 

You shriek with laughter as your comment makes him slip down and blow a wet raspberry into your belly button, squirming under his fingers.

“So cheeky, as if you could fall asleep with what I have planned, hermosa,” he purrs, slipping down further to nose at the top of your slit. You feel his fingers caress the smooth skin on your thighs and spread you open as he makes room for his shoulders, the sight of his broad back between your legs never ceases to turn you on. You reach down to thread your fingers through his curls, making Frankie hum into your core. 

“Time me, cariño, I said an hour,” he says, unfurling his tongue and letting the tip run the length of your fold. It’s such a slow, teasing movement that makes you clench around nothing, gasping as you sink further into the bed, trying to stop the giggle from getting the better of you. 

“I don’t even have watc-oh shit, Frankie….” 

You wouldn’t be able to say if it’s an hour or not, you lose track of time as soon as he starts teasing your clit, it has been a long time since there was time or safety enough for this. And you’ve missed it, holy fuck you’d missed it. His hot mouth pressed against your core, the thick tongue sliding into your entrance as his perfect nose circles your clit. He groans into you, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as you fist his hair, crying out as he pulls the first orgasm from you. He pulls back, strokes your hips, letting you catch your breath before he moves up over your damp skin, trailing wet kisses over every inch he can reach. 

“Your old moves still work, Morales,” you smile at him as he reaches your mouth. Tasting yourself on him always makes your arousal flare up again, something about him mixing with you. He chuckles, letting his hand slide down between your legs. 

“I noticed,” he says, his damp nose sliding down over your jaw as he slowly slips in a finger, “and you taste just as good as I remember.” 

He lets his fingers open you up before he leaves your mouth, moving down between your legs again. This time his fingers slowly fucks in and out of you while his groans, vibrating over your clit makes you cant your hips against his face, chasing his tongue. He leaves you hanging, just on the edge, with a pained protest, as he removes his fingers. 

“Turn over,” he says, his voice rough, helping you onto your belly, “keep your ankles crossed.” 

“New move?” you ask with a grin over your shoulder, earning you a nip on your butt, before he runs his tongue over the mark. 

“Maybe, I had an idea in the shower,” he gives you a crooked smile and bends down over you, pushing your head down to place a wet kiss on your neck, keeping you flush against the bed.

“Push your hips up, baby, like this,” he grabs your hip, guiding them up against his own. His heavy cock pushes in between your thighs, his hand guiding the head to run through your slick folds. The angle and your closed thighs makes him feel bigger than usual, the stretch making you moan into the sheets as he pushes in, his heavy pants blowing hot air over your neck. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” he growls, he’s moving his hips, shallow thrusts into you as he slowly works his cock deeper in. “So fucking tight, hermosa, gorgeous girl, so good to me…fuck…can you take more?” 

“Yes, please, Frankie, more,” you turn your head to find his lips, messy and uncoordinated as he groans into your mouth. He’s struggling to hold himself up, each thrust makes him want to fall over you, grind into your wet heat and cover your body with his own. You push back against him, taking him deeper as the angle pushes his hard cock to drag over every nerve ending inside you. The tight fit of him is making you whimper as he snaps his hips faster, grinding into you as he bottoms out. He’s pushing you into the bed, his heavy body trapping you under him as each thrust rubs your clit against the soft cotton sheets. Each groan from him makes your pussy clench harder, your orgasm suddenly hitting you, the sheet bunching in your fists as you cry out. 

Frankie stutters and curses, a string of filth in Spanish slipping out as your pussy tightens around him. 

“Where, cariño, where, I’m…fuck…close.” 

“Inside, it’s ok,” you moan, his erratic thrusts making your climax hum through your body, arching up against him as he cries out. He suddenly drops down on you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder with a growl as heat fills you, he’s shuddering, his face buried against your shoulder, with a low gasp, he exhales. 

“Fuck…” he moans, his mouth pressed against your skin and your hear the smile in his voice, “Fuck me that was intense,” he chuckles, panting as he tries to catch his breath. 

“I think we ruined the sheets on the first try,” you laugh, flopping onto your back as he pulls out with a hiss, his spend dripping down your thighs. “I know, but it was worth it,” he puts his head on your arm and lets you pull him onto your chest, his head resting on your shoulder. “I’ll sleep on the wet patch.”

“I think you need a haircut,” you smile, pushing back his damp curls from his forehead. His hair has gotten long since you left Arlington, “a haircut or a ponytail.” 

“Imagine Pope’s face if I turned up with a ponytail,” he chuckles, closing his eyes as you rake your fingers through hair, his breathing slows down and he hums, moving his head to give you better access, “I always love when you do that.”

“I know, Frankie,” you whisper, pulling the covers up over you both, Frankie’s warm body pressed against you. 

It takes a few days for the four of you to settle in and start picking up odd jobs. You try to get a job in the FEDRA kitchen but you’re turned down, apparently any job inside a FEDRA facility is reserved for family members of FEDRA soldiers. And since none of the guys have any intentions of joining FEDRA again, you resign yourself to the same odd jobs as the guys. But there are other plans, and they start taking shape only a week after your arrival in New York. 

One of the benefits of the four of you living practically next door is pooling your resources and making them stretch further. So most nights finds Frankie and you in Santi and Benny’s apartment, cooking dinner and hanging out, months on the road together had knitted you together into a family more than ever now. Their two bedroom apartment was bigger than what you and Frankie had and the kitchen had room for a large table where you often found yourself, if it wasn’t your turn to take care of the food. 

This evening Benny’s peeling potatoes while the two of you wait for Frankie and Santi to get back from their job. They’d both signed on to dig up a new field for vegetables in a nearby park and it was hard work that left them tired and dirty each night. So when the front door opens and Pope steps in, grimy and sweaty, you throw him a sympathetic look. 

“Hey, Santi, you’ve got time for a shower, dinner’s not ready yet,” you wave at him and he grunts a thank you, toeing his boots off. 

“Frankie went to shower at your place, he’ll be here soon,” he tells you, pulling off his shirt as he heads towards the bathroom. 

You lay the table and warm up some arepas while the potatoes boil on the stove. The door opens again and Frankie arrives, looking tired but smiling at you as you drop the last arepa on a plate and go over to him. 

“Hello my sweet man,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the damp, now shorter, curls at his neck. 

“Hello, mi vida,” he smiles back, his hands finding their way to your waist before he pulls you in for a kiss. Blame it on being safe, or the amount of sex you’ve had the past week or maybe ‘that time of the month’ hormones, but you can’t help but deepen the kiss, licking into his mouth and relishing the little surprised moan you pull from him as you tug at his locks, keeping him tight against you. You hear Benny sigh, pointedly, behind your back but Frankie’s got the message now and his hand is sliding up your back to grab your neck and hold you firmly against his mouth. The ‘welcome home’ kiss turns into a much more heated affair, dragging on until you finally have to pull back for air, Frankie’s lips chasing yours for a final press before he opens his eyes and smiles at you. 

“You guys done now?” Benny huffs, mock indignation in his voice, from the kitchen. 

“No,” Frankie says, his hands trying to get you into his arms again as you giggle and turn your back to him, pulling him into the kitchen. 

“Sorry, Benny,” you apologize while your husband pulls you down onto his lap on one of the kitchen chairs, making you squeal when his fingers dig into your waist. 

“I swear you guys are worse than teenagers,” Benny sighs but you hear the smile in his voice. “And Frankie, it’s technically your turn to do dinner so you owe me one.” 

“Yeah, I know, we got delayed on the way back, we worked with a guy today who had some interesting information and we wanted to talk to him.” 

“What kind of information?” you ask as Santi walks in, fresh from his shower. 

“Remember ‘The Captain’ that Morrow mentioned, his boss?” he says, dropping down on a chair across the table from you. “Turns out, he’s the main boss, the guy who runs the smuggling in the QZ. And according to this guy we worked with today, he’s elusive. When you buy from the smugglers, you buy from one of his guys, never from him, he stays hidden because he’s pretty high on FEDRA’s wanted list.” 

Benny puts down a stewpot on the table before he straightens up and looks at Pope, “Why is that interesting? Do we wanna meet this captain guy just to tell him Morrow died? Seems like a lot of hassle if the guy’s a ghost.” 

“If we’re gonna start smuggling again we need to figure out how, and if this guy runs smuggling in the QZ, we need to work with him, or take him out. But,” Pope says, holding up his hand to silence Benny who’s opened his mouth again, “the guy we talked with said they haven’t been able to supply as usual the past few weeks. And we know why.” 

“You guys took out a bunch of his guys….” you say, nodding as it dawns on you. 

“Exactly,” Pope grins, “we’ve already started undermining him, there’s a gap in the market. So we pick up their slack, send a message and we have a better chance of getting in on the smuggling market.” Pope looks pleased with himself as he starts scooping up stew onto his plate. 

“Isn’t it pretty likely that The Captain is gonna be pissed off when you start taking his customers?” You look down at Frankie, he’s been quiet the whole time, his hands holding you steady on his lap. 

“Yeah, most likely,” he agrees, “but we can handle that, and it means he’ll be more inclined to work with us, if we’re already supplying what he can’t.” 

You look at Frankie, chewing your lip, you have more things to say about it but you don’t know how to say it without sounding dismissive. Truth is, you’re worried it’ll be a lot more dangerous than in Arlington; a rival gang, new territory, new connections need to be made and new routes, all while staying under FEDRA’s radar and avoiding any infected. But you can’t tell them not to, smuggling makes them use their skills, the things they’re good at and at the same time bring in things you all need. And you know their smuggling made a difference to the people in Arlington. When FEDRA rationed food and medicine too harshly, what Frankie and Pope brought in could help someone who needed it and at the same time keep you all fed. 

They make plans during the dinner and you don’t say much. Frankie notices your silence and he doesn’t like it, his hand keeps reaching out to touch your leg, wrap his fingers around yours, or pull you closer as you all stand from the dinner table. You feel his worried eyes on you as Pope and Benny pour over an old New York map, strategizing. He can see your mind working and he has an inkling about where it’s going. 

You bring it up later, when you’re alone and back in your own apartment. Frankie’s crawled into bed, pulled down the covers for you to join him, but you remain standing after you come out of the bathroom. 

“I want to be part of the smuggling,” you say and Frankie drops his chin to his chest, this is where he feared you were going. 

“I know you don’t want me too, but, firstly, I am not sitting at home waiting for the three of you while you’re away doing something dangerous. Again. I did that in Arlington and it sucked.” 

Frankie opens his mouth to protest but you cut him off. “And I know you said you need me safe to be able to focus out there, but we’ve been traveling across the country for months and we, all of us, work well together. And you know I can handle myself.” You kneel down on the bed in front of him, making him look you in the eye, “Let me be your lookout, or let me do the trading while you three stand behind me and look like bad asses.” The last thing makes Frankie give an involuntary smirk and you smile, “Frankie, you know it makes sense, I’m a good asset, I can be useful too.”

“I knew you were going to bring it up again,” he says, sighing while he traces his fingertips across your temple to push a strand of hair behind your ear. “If it was anyone else, I’d say yes straight away. But it’s you.” He stops and locks eyes with you, those warm brown eyes you’ve loved from the very beginning, anxious, “You’re everything to me, and the thought of you getting hurt, or worse, scares the shit out of me.” 

“The thought of you getting hurt scares the shit out of me too,” you say, letting him pull you closer, his arms looping around your waist so that you're sitting on his lap, knees on either side of his hips. “But it scares me even more to think about you getting hurt when I’m not there. Frankie, my very worst nightmare is you just disappearing, and I don’t know what happened to you, like what Hannah had to go through with Will, never knowing.” 

“That’s my worst nightmare too,” he whispers, his voice low and pained. 

“So don’t make me wait at home for you again,” you plead. He tilts his head and leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes with a sigh. 

“Ok,” he breathes, “ok.” 

It takes a couple of weeks for things to get set in motion, gather the necessary supplies and information to start thinking about leaving the QZ on a smuggling run. FEDRA has taken the rifles but you’d managed to hide your handguns in your backpacks so you weren’t entirely without weapons at least. The first run is short but successful, Pope seems to have a knack for sniffing out passageways. After studying the map and walking around the north eastern end of the QZ for a few days, he’s found several potential entry points into old service tunnels that should run under the wall, next to the bombed metro tunnels. With you as a lookout, the three of them try two before getting lucky in the third one. It’s relatively undamaged, free from infected and leads straight to the 116th street Metro station in East Harlem. The entrance to the metro is blocked off but it doesn’t take the three guys long to clear a narrow passageway that they can easily hide from the outside.

A few days is also spent clearing two more ways in and out of the QZ. Pope has told you about how he’d learnt the hard way to never just have one route. Early on in Franklin the tunnel he’d used had collapsed while he was outside the QZ. He was trapped with no way back in so he had to crawl through the rubble of the collapsed tunnel, narrowly escaping two runners, who came through from a broken wall. Pope was flippant about the way he told the story, making you laugh, but he also told you he’d never been that close to death before or since, even in the army. It was a sober reminder to always have an escape route and he was adamant about having at least two back ups. 

Finding connections takes a bit longer, building trust isn’t easy in the best of times, and these are not the best of times. But not surprisingly, it’s Benny who brings in the first real trade and solid connection for future deals. He meets an older man at one of the odd jobs he takes, clearing one of the streets, a rough and far too heavy job for the older man. Benny, in his usual manner, helps the man get through the day so that he can collect the ration cards he sorely needs. Grateful, the man tells Benny he has a sister who lives up in New Haven who sails down to Orchard Beach and trades in a number of things. 

“She and her husband can get you almost anything you need, just place an order with The Captain’s gang and they’ll sort it.” 

“What if I wanna trade directly with them? I can go out there on my own if I have to.” Benny asks and the old man hesitates, but Benny’s good natured charm serves him well and a few days later he has a time and a place to meet the old man’s sister.

The sister’s name is Jodie Graham, her brother contacts her via one of the two non-FEDRA radio centers set up, and vouches for Benny and his friends and the four of you set out for your first trade. It takes you only half a day to get to Orchard Beach, despite it being slow going in the bombed and ravaged terrain. The trade goes well, Jodie and her husband Damon seem relieved to see a woman together with the three big men flanking you. Despite their best efforts at looking non-threatening, they fail as they approach. Guns at their sides and heavy boots, they look very much like the ex Special Ops soldiers they are. It’s clear that it’s only her brother’s word that lets the four of you approach the boat they’ve come in on. 

You don’t have much to trade with them yet but this first time feels mainly like a show of good faith. 

��Any prescription drugs you can trade with us, we’ll be interested,” Jodie says, “that’s something we can’t seem to get from other smugglers. And the other New Yorkers, the ones who work for The Captain, they’re always reluctant to trade it.” 

“Why?” you ask, you’ve been doing most of the talking, it felt natural when Jodie seemed to trust you more than the three men behind you.

“A misplaced sort of moral it seemed like,” Jodie scoffed, “as if anyone cares about drug addictions today, seems like one of the nicer ways to go.” She takes the bag of coffee beans you’ve handed her, “They won’t trade them, but I’ve got plenty of people who want them, so if you get your hands on any, we’ll pay very well for them.” 

“I’ll see what we can do, we haven’t got any at the moment,” you say, keeping your tone non-committal. You already know you won’t be trading any drugs, it was a line Pope had drawn in the sand early on. One you wouldn’t be prepared to cross with Frankie’s history either. But it spiked your interest about the rival New York gang, maybe it was a common ground you could start with, some sort of honor among thieves, or smugglers in your case.

“Any supplies you need for your ship?” you ask, “We might be able to get you extra gear for it, there’s plenty of boat clubs around Manhattan and most of the supplies in them aren’t of much use to anyone without a boat.” 

“Yeah, any sail cloth you can find, and rope,” Jodie says and you make a note in your book to search around the Manhattan coastline before the next trade. 

Once you’ve agreed on when to connect again on the radio, the four of you make your way back towards Manhattan. By the time you get back to the apartments it’s late but you’re all in a good mood, the day has been a success. 

You do four more trades with Jodie and Damon, filling your backpacks with an assortment of goods each trade, before the first hint of trouble crops up. Jodie’s the one who gives you the heads up. 

“I like trading with you guys, you’re punctual, well prepared, and never give me grief, so I’m gonna warn you,” she says while Benny and Pope fill the packs with wares. Frankie and you are standing guard, keeping an eye on the beach. “The other guys, The Captain’s gang, they’ve noticed that someone’s taking customers, and they’re not happy.” 

“You still trade with them?” Benny asks and Jodie nods. 

“Yeah, of course, I’ll trade with anyone who’s fair, and they’ve been doing this for years now, always been decent. They had a slump but they were out here a couple of weeks ago.” 

“Did you tell them about us?” Pope asks, glancing up at Jodie, unable to hide his annoyance and she scowls at him.

“I’m not stupid, I didn’t say anything. But they asked, didn’t they? Asked if I’d been approached by another gang and I said no.” 

Pope closes his backpack and looks over at Frankie and you, you’re both still facing away from the ocean, but obviously listening to what Jodie’s saying. 

“Did they say how they know there’s someone else?” you ask over your shoulder. 

“One of your customers didn’t want what they usually trade, said they had another source.” 

“Fucking idiot,” you hear Frankie say under his breath and you have to agree. You’d asked all your customers to be discreet. Your excuse being that you didn’t want FEDRA to find out, but you also wanted to keep things low key until you were established enough to have a good deal to offer The Captain. The last thing you needed was a gang war, fighting over territory. 

“Thanks for the heads up, Jodie,” Benny says, hoisting his bag up onto his back. 

“Watch your backs, they seem pretty pissed,” she gives the four of you a final wave as you turn back towards the city. 

Jodie’s warning makes you extra cautious when you leave the QZ, but you didn’t expect them to find you inside the QZ. Benny makes the door frame rattle as he slams the front door to the apartment as he and Frankie come in. You and Pope jump to your feet from the couch at the sight of the two men.

“What happened?” you gasp, gently taking Frankie’s chin in your hand and tilting it up so that you can get a better lock at the gash over his eyebrow. 

“We got fucking jumped,” Frankie growls, wincing as you brush hair from his forehead, it’s got stuck in the dried blood that’s smeared across his face. 

“The Captain’s gang,” Benny expands, “must’ve followed us into that warehouse down by the high line we were planning on checking out. Five of them, think I lost a fucking tooth,” he grimaces and grabs his jaw. 

Pope’s peeled off to the bathroom and now he returns with the first aid kit, pointing both men to the couch. 

“They even said, and I shit you not, ‘regards from The Captain’ before they attacked, like we’re in fucking West Side Story or something,” Benny snorts, wincing when the movement makes blood drip from his split lip. 

“Any internal injuries?” you ask Frankie as you help him take his jacket and holster off, he’s grimacing as his shoulder twists. 

“No, I don’t think so, they got a couple of good hits in, but that was it. One guy slammed me shoulder first into a wall, but I didn’t dislocate it.” 

“Please tell me you took care of these fuckers,” Pope growls while you grab alcohol and gauze to clean Frankie’s cut.  

“One got a way, which is good I suppose, sends a warning to the others,” Benny says, “the other four we eliminated.” 

“Gun fight?” Pope asks and Benny nods. 

“We had to-fuck! Be careful!” he yelps when Pope prods a cut on his forearm. “I want her to do it,” he points to you, “better bedside manner.” 

“Just shut up and tell us what happened,” Pope says, rolling his eyes at Benny’s wincing. 

“We had to run,” Frankie says, “Only one of them had a gun, which was lucky, but a FEDRA patrol obviously heard the shots and we had to bolt. Didn’t even get a chance to get a good look at the warehouse or what they’d were carrying.” 

“How did they know it was you?” you ask, “It’s worrying if they know what we look like, we won’t be safe in the QZ.” 

“Someone we traded with must’ve told them, Benny does stick out, easy to recognise.” Pope holds up his hands apologetically when Benny protests, “sorry, but it’s true, you’re a huge blonde dude, not many guys are built like you.”

“We’ve got a trade in three days, outside the QZ,” you remind them, “we’ll have to be extra careful, this is a new trade too, it could be a set up.” 

“You wanna cancel?” Frankie grabs your hand as it comes down from his forehead, his eyebrows knitted together in that familiar worried look. Glancing over at Benny and Pope you think it over, if you said you wanna cancel it you know they’d go with it, somehow you’ve become the one who says yes or no on a trade, trusting your gut instinct implicitly. 

“No, this connection came from Jodie, I can’t see her setting us up,” you decide eventually, “but maybe we take a different route this time?” 

“Sounds like a smart idea,” Pope agrees, “I’ll have a look at the map.” 

You turn back to Frankie and clean up his knuckles, they’ve split where he’s hit someone, and place bandaids on the larger cuts. When you’re done he wraps his bandaged arm around your waist and pulls you closer on the couch, enough for him to bury his face into the crook of your neck. You can feel him inhaling deeply as his hand fists the back of your shirt and you dip your nose to his soft curls, sweaty and kinda dusty smelling from the day. 

“I’m glad you came back in one piece, Frankie,” you mumble and he nods against your neck, pulling you tighter. He doesn’t have to say anything, you know why he does it, a silent thank you offered to the universe for letting him return home to you one more time. 

One of the first things you traded Jodie for, in exchange for a large, brand new sail, were two walkie talkies. Battery powered, they were invaluable if you needed to split up. And today, with the new trade going down, they served their purpose. And in light of the new situation with the rival smugglers, Pope led you all out of a different tunnel, a detour, but worth it to minimize the risk, and bringing you out at 125th Street Station. You were meeting your new contacts at a nearby park down by the river and since your first meeting with Jodie you’d worked out a system where one of you stayed behind and kept watch from afar. Pope knew the city best and he would suggest a spot for a trade where he knew there’d be a good vantage point for someone to keep an eye on things. This morning youcame out early to the meet up point, taking time to make sure the lookout point was clear before the three men left you up there with one of the walkie talkies and a rifle. You weren’t the best shot, but you didn’t really need to be. So far everything trade had been smooth, but if things did go bad, a few shots from a hidden sniper would make anyone run for cover, whether or not you hit them. But the real advantage was that you were able to give the guys a bird’s eye view of the area and a head’s up if something seemed off, your gut instinct serving you well. 

This morning all of you were on edge, the attack on Frankie and Benny making you extra nervous. It was difficult to say if it was the knowledge that The Captain’s gang was after you that made you jumpy, or if something was wrong with the trade. You’re splayed flat on your belly at the edge of a broken window in the half bombed out apartment tower, using the scope on the rifle in place of binoculars, those being next on your list of things you were hoping to trade Jodie for. Nothing stirs in the wide open park next to the river and when you scan the streets you can see from your perch, everything is quiet. You watch the three men make their way down a street and into the park, disappearing briefly from view before they reach the agreed upon location. In the distance, on the other side of the park, you see two men walking across and you relay what you see to Frankie, he’s got the other radio today. 

The trade goes off without a hitch and you watch as the two men retreat across the park, back towards the small White Plains QZ that’s up north. It’s when you swing the scope back towards Frankie and the others that you see it. Three men crouching behind a car further down the street your guys are walking down. Fumbling for the radio you hit the button. 

“Catfish, three men hidden behind a white SUV about a block and half down the street. Over.” 

“Copy that, Jefa.” 

Jefa… The call sign they’d given you still made you roll your eyes, and was only ever allowed to be used in situations when your real name shouldn’t be used. It had been Pope’s idea, of course, but Benny loved it and Frankie conceded that he couldn’t call you ‘cariño’ over the radio or in front of traders. So Jefa, boss, it was. 

You didn’t feel very bosslike as you watched them slowly walk down the street, you could see Frankie telling them about the three men. At the next crossing they turned down a side street and you lost sight of them. 

“Jefa, we’re going to flank them, let me know if they move. Over” Frankie’s voice came over on the radio almost as soon as they disappeared from view, you could hear them running along the street. 

“Ok, I’ve got eyes on them, they’re still stationary. Over.”  

Frankie clicks the button on the radio and follows Pope’s back down the street, Benny close behind. There’s a small neighborhood park, a ballpark only really, at the back of the block and they cut across it, quickly covering two blocks parallel to the main street they were on. It’s only a few minutes before they turn back towards the street again and they slow down, moving silently. They come out just below the black SUV, expecting to see the three men but the street is empty. 

Frankie brings up the radio, “Jefa, come in, did they move? We can’t see them. Over.” He clicks the receive button and waits for a response while Pope and Benny quickly scan the street.

 “Jefa, come in, do you copy? Over.” Only static comes back over the radio and lead drops into his belly. His eyes meet Pope’s at the same time as the realization hits, decoy. Benny curses under his breath and looks towards the tower, while Frankie tries the radio one more time, already starting to run towards the building. 

“Loop the chain around it, it’ll hold her,” the voice comes from far away as you blink your eyes open in the darkness. “The captain’s gonna see her when he gets back.” The voice, a grumpy sounding man’s voice, retreats and you hear a door closing and locking. The back of your head hurts, as does the side of your face and the side of your ribs. 

You’d heard them just a couple of seconds before they were on you, in the tower, someone’s shoe scuffed against the floor and you turned, but you weren’t fast enough to get off the floor. As you blink again, trying to shake the darkness around you, you feel the handcuffs around your wrists, and a chain rattles. It takes a few more seconds before you realize you’ve got a hood over your head, the scratchy material making your nose itch. The world is tilted sideways and it takes you a few tries to get upright, the handcuffs are tight behind your back. You wobble, almost tipping backwards, but a wall stops you from falling and you gratefully lean against it, trying to collect your thoughts, stopping the panic from rising in your throat. 

Breath, in and out, stay calm, always number one, stay calm. Fuck, easier said than done, Frankie.

Focusing on your breathing, mentally going through your body to check for any serious injuries, you suppress the panic to the pit of your stomach, making you feel nauseous but it’s manageable. For now. 

You don’t know how long you’re left sitting on the floor, you really need to pee, so it’s probably a pretty long time. When the door finally opens you’re stiff, hungry, pissed off and not happy about the rough hands that suddenly yank you off the floor. It takes all your willpower to not snap at whoever is shoving you through the door, a hard grip on your shoulder, an equal measure of anger and fear making your legs jellylike. 

The air feels raw and it smells like you’re in a basement, being taken down a hallway, up some stairs and into a warmer room. Through the tight weave of the hood you see the light change, this room is brighter than the room downstairs that you were kept in, and it smells like food, making your stomach grumble 

“This the lookout?” a man asks from behind you. 

“Yeah, she was right where you said they’d put someone, perfect view of the park. Had a rifle and a radio.” 

“Nothing if not predictable,” the first man says, as he moves through the room, you hear the springs of a couch or chair squeak as he sits down. “Who are you working for?” he asks. 

It takes you a few seconds to respond, something is triggering at the back of your mind, the rough, low cadence, the accent so familiar. 

“I don’t work for anyone,” you reply eventually, “I was just asked to be a lookout for a few hours, easy ration cards.” It’s a weak lie, but you’re not about to give them any more information than they obviously already have and your answer seems to have given the man food for thought as he doesn’t reply straight away. 

“Let’s show her some good faith,” he says, talking to someone else in the room, “Get some water and some of the leftover rice.” There’s a word of protest from behind you but he cuts them off, “What’s she gonna do? She’s handcuffed and hooded, let’s treat her nice.” 

The door opens and closes as someone leaves. The man left in the room gets off the couch and comes over to you, you flinch as you feel his hand grab the hood. He pulls it off and you blink against the sudden bright light. 

“Holy shit, it is you…” the man whispers and as you see his blue eyes it hits you, the voice, the cadence, William Miller. 

You lose your voice as tears well up in your eyes and Will puts his hand on your cheek, partly checking the cut you most likely have there, but also almost checking to see if you’re real. And you could ask the same of him, if your voice wasn’t cut off by a sob. His smile is watery too and he makes you stumble as he suddenly pulls you into a bear hug, so reminiscent of his brother’s hugs.

“I can’t believe it’s you, you’re here, how the fuck are you here?” he asks incredulously, pulling back from you and you grin, trying to swallow down another sob. 

“I’m with Benny,” you choke out, “And Frankie and Pope.” 

“Benny’s alive?” Will eyes go wide, he’s holding on to you with both hands on your arms, “he’s here in New York?” 

“He was with me this morning. They all were and- “ you’re cut off by the sound of boots in the hallway and Will throws the hood over your head again. “You don’t know me,” he hisses before stepping back and you’re left confused as the door opens again. 

“We’ll take her down again, let her eat, and then I’m sure we’ll be able to come to an agreement,” Will says, his voice sounding rough again, giving an order to the other man. Will’s hand takes hold of your arm, turning you around and you’re marched back the way you came, downstairs and into the damp smelling room. 

“Take off her cuffs, chain her to the radiator, so that she can eat.” Will leaves you standing in the middle of the room but before he lets go and leaves, he gives your arm a quick squeeze. The other man locks a chain around your ankle and removes your handcuffs, leaving the hood on while he leaves the room. 

It’s good that he does because you don’t think you’d be able to contain the grin on your face. Will is alive! William fucking Miller, alive and well in New York! And a smuggler…that thought hits you like a brick, Will is a smuggler, and Benny, Frankie and Pope have been taking out his guys, his friends. And Will caught onto that faster than you did, that’s why he put the hood back on. Whoever the other guys are, they won’t forgive you or the guys for stomping in on their territory and killing their guys. Even if it is Will’s brother. And Will knows that. 

“This could get really fucking messy,” you whisper under your breath as you pull off the hood and sink down on the floor again. 

Again you’re left on your own for several hours, the sun moves outside the small window high up on the wall, sinking low before it goes dark outside. Your thoughts keep flitting between joy at Will being alive and how happy the others will be when they find out, and worry about your three guys, Frankie especially. You know they’ll be in the process of tearing up the city to find you, putting their considerable talents to use to force information from anyone who might have some.

There’s a bare bulb in the room and at some point someone turns it on, casting yellow light over you. More hours pass and you start to wonder if you’ve been forgotten down here, or if something’s happened to Will. You’re also half expecting Frankie and the guys to burst in, guns blazing, in some wild rescue mission. Falling asleep is impossible, you’re too anxious, so when you finally hear footsteps outside the door, you’re already on your feet. The door opens and Will steps in, closing it softly behind him. A few quick steps and he envelops you in another bear hug, longer this time, and you can finally put your own arms around him too. He’s just as big and imposing as the last time you saw him, almost six years ago, a little bit more tired around the eyes, a few more silver strands in the blonde hair and you give yourself a few seconds to just enjoy the fact that he’s alive and here. He seems to do the same, holding on to you for a long minute before he finally lets go and steps back. 

“It’s so good to see you, Will! I kept thinking it was a dream all day, but you’re actually here,” you say, grinning down at him as he crouches to unlock the chain around your ankle. 

“Same, I kept thinking I was being delusional,” he chuckles softly and stands up, “When I heard your voice under the hood, I immediately thought of Frankie, that’s how I knew it was you.” 

“You were faster than I was, I heard your accent and I couldn’t figure out who it reminded me of,” you smile, poking his chest just to make sure he’s real again. “You look good, Miller!”

He smiles but it drops off his face as something hits him, “You said you’re with Frankie, Pope and Benny?” 

“Yeah, we got to New York a few weeks ago.”

“And Hannah?” 

His question hits you like a punch to the gut, you can’t stop tears welling up in your eyes, you have to shake your head and drop your eyes, you can’t look at him as the realization sinks in. 

“Do you know what happened?” he asks, his voice low and you force yourself to nod, the image of Hannah in Benny’s arms flooding your mind as you feel tears run down your cheeks. Will suddenly pulls you into a hug and you press your face to his chest. He’s holding you almost too tight, and you hear him inhale deeply, a long, ragged intake of breath, before he exhales and lets go of you. 

“Tell me later, when you can tell me everything. I need to get you out of here now,” his voice is rough but determined, “I want you back with Frankie before he kicks down my door with a shotgun.” 

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” you reply, your voice shaky but you swallow down the tears, hastily wiping your cheeks as Will goes for the door. Making sure the coast is clear he waves you forward and silently you make your way down the hall and up the stairs. It looks as if you’re in an old office of sorts, long hallways, conference rooms on the sides. The place is dark, only the dim light from the outside comes through in places, but Will knows his way. He leads you to what looks like a backdoor. 

“I can’t leave, it’ll raise too many questions,” he says when the two of you reach the door. “Where do you live? I’ll come find you guys tomorrow.” 

He opens the door and glances outside, stepping out a second later. You hear a door behind you open as you follow Will out, and Will grabs your arm, pulling you out fast. 

“What the fuck?!” comes an angry, gruff voice, “What the fuck is going on, captain?” 

“Nothing, Conway,” Will says quickly, “Go back to your shift, our guest wasn’t feeling well, I’m taking her out for some air.” 

The man looks you up and down and back to Will, he’s got his hand on your arm, still holding the door open and you’re frozen, staring at the man. 

“Where are her fucking handcuffs?” He takes a few steps towards the door and Will squeezes your arm, and you take a step back. 

“Turn around, Conway, and go back to your shift, that’s an order, I’ve got her.” Will’s voice is solid, clearly in command, but it doesn’t work on the man .

“You’re either about to fuck her or let her go,” he says, another step towards the door, “and if you’re doing the first, I want in,” he leers at you, “If you’re doing the second, then we’ve got a big fucking problem, captain.” 

“I’m just letting her get some air, now turn around and walk away, Conway.” 

“She’s got air now, so bring her back in then,” he challenges, he’s at the threshold now, only a step away from Will. 

“Conway,” Will says, taking half a step back and glancing back at you, “You really should know when to walk away.” The punch comes out of nowhere, Will swings and hits Conway’s jaw with a sharp crack and the man drops, his head making a nasty thud on the floor just inside the door. Will shakes out his fist and bends to grab the man’s limp body. “Get the top of that dumpster,” he says, motioning further down the alley, and you run over, pushing the lid back as Will grabs the man and tosses him over his shoulder. Whatever happened to Will in the past six years, it certainly hadn’t impacted his brute physical strength, he barely makes a noise as he hoists the man into the metal container and you slide the lid shut. 

“Ok, wait at the end of the alley, stay out of sight. If I’m not back in five, go home, I’ll find you there.” 

You nod and make your way over as Will disappears inside the building again. You wait anxiously in the shadows by the street but it doesn’t take long for Will to come back out. This time he’s got a jacket on, a backpack and your own backpack, gratefully you take it from him and the rifle he hands you. 

“Let’s go,” he says, stepping out into the street. 

“Are you leaving them?” you ask in a whisper as you follow him, nodding at the backpack and his gear. 

“Yeah, I’ll tell you more later but it’s been coming on for a while, I’ve been wanting to punch Conway for months.” Will pulls a disgruntled face as you hurry through the quiet streets. There’s a curfew in effect as usual and you stay in the small alleys, hurrying across any avenues. You’re pretty far from the Upper West Side and it takes you over an hour to make your way back, Will telling you bits and pieces of what’s been going on while you duck in and out of shadows. 

“I got reports a few hours ago, the guys took out four more of my guys, they’re trying to find you”, Will says as you skirt around Central Park. 

“We were taking out your guys, Will,” you say, “Aren’t you pissed at us? We basically came in and started taking over your business.”

“Not pissed, just annoyed,” Will looks over at you and shrugs, “you did what I’ve done many times over, I have no right to be mad at anyone coming in and trying to take over the smuggling. I did the same thing, only I was successful. And since then, there’s been several attempts at trying to take over from me.” Will gives a low chuckle, “I’ve got to say, no one has come as close as you guys, you put a real dent in my operation, I was getting worried. The fucking irony of it being you and the guys, my own fucking baby brother.” 

You can’t help but smile, Will has a point, the guys had used their Delta Force tactics against the one person who really would know how to counter them. That’s how Will had known there’d be someone in the apartment tower. 

“And now they’re trying to find you, and I can’t blame them,” Will says as you stop and crouch, waiting for a FEDRA patrol to drive past. “I wouldn’t wanna get between Frankie and you. I’m assuming he’s as crazy about you as always?” Even in the dim light you can see Will’s smile. 

“We got married,” you say, holding up your left hand, “not in a ceremony of anything, just registered as husband and wife with FEDRA.” 

“Congratulations,” Will grins, “but I have to say, kinda disappointed I wasn’t invited to the wedding.” 

“Dumbass,” you smile at him and he chuckles silently, “c’mon, the apartment is just down this street.” 

You see dim lights on in the building as you approach. “We’ll check at Benny and Pope’s place first, they might all be there,” you say as you let the two of you into the brownstone. Will only nods and you wonder what kind of emotions are running through his head, only minutes away from seeing his baby brother for the first time in almost six years. 

You give a low knock on the front door and by the speed it’s opened, you know they weren’t sleeping. Pope yanks the door open, he must’ve looked through the peephole because he grabs you and hugs you before you even have time to react, he doesn’t even notice Will standing slightly to the side behind you. 

“Pope,” you protest weakly, “I’ve brought someone, get Benny.” You feel Pope’s arms fall from you and as you look up you catch the look on his face as he spots Will. 

“Dios mío…” he breathes and Will grins as Pope looks as if he’s seen a ghost. 

“Who is it?” you hear Benny call from inside and you quickly grab Will and pull him inside the door, forcing Pope to back up so that you can close the door. This is going to get noisy.

“Benny!” Pope shouts, stepping forward and grabbing Will into a hug, “you’re never fucking gonna believe who it is!” 

“Who?” Benny calls back from the kitchen, he sounds tired and annoyed as he steps out, Frankie behind him, looking even worse than Benny sounds. 

It takes Benny several seconds to register who he’s looking at, the two men staring at each other across the room until Will moves, stepping away from Pope and grabbing Benny. 

“Come here, baby bro,” he chokes as Benny throws his arms around him, a strangled growl coming from his throat. 

“How?” Benny splutters, his face buried in his brother’s shoulder, “How and how the fuck!?” He pulls away, grabbing Will’s face between his hands, “Where the fuck have you been?!”

“I could ask the same of you,” Will chuckles, his voice thick with emotions as he seems to just take in the sight of Benny’s face. “It��s good to see you again, baby bro, I didn’t think I would.” 

“I never gave up on you,” Benny says, grabbing Will into a hug again, “I never fucking gave up on you.” 

You put your arms out to Frankie as you see him and he’s on you with a few long steps, pulling you into his arms, his lips finding yours in an instant. 

“We’ve been looking for you all over the city,” he mumbles, pulling back a little to run his thumb gently over the cut on your cheek. 

“I know, and we have a lot of catching up to do,” you reply as his hands tugs you closer to him, his nose bumping against yours. 

“Fish, give me a hug, I got your wife back for you,” Will says, letting go of Benny and enveloping both you and Frankie in a hug, Frankie grabs his shoulder and they bump their foreheads together. 

“I owe you everything, brother,” Frankie says, locking eyes with Will, “It’s so fucking good to see you, you’ve got to tell us everything.” 

It’s a long story and Will tells it as Pope makes coffee and Frankie cleans your cuts. 

“From the beginning?” Will asks, and Benny nods. 

“Yeah, from the beginning, outbreak day, what happened to you? I went to your office, it went up in flames.” 

“When it all started going crazy, my phone died, I couldn’t get hold of any of you and I was thinking I’d just stay put in the office until it calmed down,” Will sinks down on the couch next to Benny, "But then the coffee shop, the one on the first floor, caught fire and we all got told to leave. It was chaos on the street outside and I tried getting behind the building to stay out of sight. But then I saw Emma, you know the barista you always used to flirt with Ben?” Ben nods and Will continues, “I saw her through the window, she got trapped by the fire, behind the counter so I had to get her out, got the back door open and managed to pull her out. But I think something collapsed, I don’t remember too well. All I know it hurt like a bitch and then I woke up in a triage tent somewhere, I got pretty badly burnt.” Will pulls up the sleeve of his t-shirt and shows the painful looking scarring on his shoulder. 

“Fuck, that looks gnarly,” Ben says, leaning forward and running his fingers over his brother’s skin

“It goes down my back too, took fucking forever to heal.” Will lets his shirt drop back down, “They were gonna leave me in the local medical camp but I got lucky, you guys remember Colonel Middleton?” He looks over at Frankie and Pope who both nod. 

“Yeah, from that fuck up in Yemen,” Pope says, “worst fucking officer I’ve ever met.” 

“Well, he came through for me, he got me on a chopper to D.C, they had a burn unit still up and running there, military only. I was out of it for the most part but they patched me up. By the time I was able to stand up without the skin on my back falling off, it had all gone to shit. QZ:s going up everywhere, all the major cities bombed, including Arlington and D.C.” 

He leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, looking at Pope, Frankie and you, “I tried finding you guys, but I couldn’t get back to Arlington and then Middleton offered to get me to NYC, help rebuild. I…” Will’s head drops down, “I needed a distraction, a purpose, to keep going…” He turns his head and looks back at Benny who’s grabbed his arm, “I’m sorry, Benny, I should’ve looked harder for you, and for Hannah.” 

At the mention of Hannah’s name, Benny shrinks, the big man visibly sinking lower in his seat as his eyes go dark, it makes your heart ache and you feel Frankie take your hand, squeezing it tight. 

“I know she didn’t make it, Benny,” Will says, “it’s ok, I knew it was a long shot to hope that she was still alive. I just wanna know how she died.” 

Benny’s jaw goes tight and you feel tears pressing up hot in your eyes, Pope’s exhaling slowly behind you and the silence seems to stretch indefinitely. 

“Things in Arlington got bad,” you hear Frankie say, he’s looking at Benny who can’t seem to take his eyes off his shoes, “There was this guy, head of FEDRA there, who got power hungry. He had men around him who kept him in power thanks to the favors they got from him.Things started rumbling and Hannah got caught up in it, defending a kid.” Frankie stops and shakes his head, he’s struggling and he looks at you for help but Benny speaks up. 

“She got taken to FEDRA lock up, Will,” Benny’s eyes are back on his brother, “and they killed her,” a sob racks his chest, a sharp inhale and Will’s arm goes around him, you can see his knuckles white from the grip on Benny’s shoulder. 

“But we got them, we killed the ones who did it, Will, and I, we all, put her to rest, she wasn’t alone and I said goodbye for you too, I said goodbye for us both. I made sure she knew.”

Benny’s shoulders shake and you know he sees in his mind the same as you, Hannah’s body, just before Frankie and Pope wrapped her, bent over her face, whispering into her ear, before carrying her to the fire.

Frankie’s arm pulls you into his chest as the sobs overtake you, Santi pulling you both in closer as Will seems to have a battle raging inside him. 

“You got them?” he asks quietly.  

“Yeah, we got them all,” Pope says, his voice rough. 

“Ok.” 

Will’s head remains low between his shoulders for several long minutes, Benny inhales deeply and Will looks over at him. 

“I know you took care of her, Benny, I’m grateful it was you.” He sighs and drags both hands over his face, rough stubble scraping against his palms, “I need air, I need to process, I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“I’m coming’ with you,” Benny says, standing up at the same time as his brother, and Will nods, his jaw still tight. 

“I’ll see you guys in the morning, alright?” he nods to the three of you, still on the couch. 

After Will and Benny have left, you slump back against Frankie, you feel drained. It’s early morning, and the stress of the day is finally catching up with you. Frankie senses your fatigue and gently pushes you up off the couch.

“C’mon, hermosa, time to sleep,” he says, wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you steady against him. 

“Sleep well, Santi,” you say and he nods, he looks drained too. 

“Sleep well, hermana, let Frankie spoil you, ok?” 

“I always do,” Frankie replies and leads you out the door. 

Back in your own apartment you pull your clothes off and collapse on the bed, not even bothering to wash off. Frankie falls into bed next to you, tugging you tight against his chest, his arm as your pillow. 

“You scared me,” he whispers, lips pressed against your forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble back, “I knew you were looking for me though,” your nose buried in his sparse chest hair, tickling you as you speak. He’s tugging the covers up over you both and you tangle your legs with his. 

“I’d never stop looking, cariño, you know that, right?” He’s got his arms properly wrapped around you now, his nose skimming over your cheek in the darkness, you can feel his lips brush over yours as you turn your face up towards him. 

“I know, I’d never stop looking for you either, Frankie,” you whisper, finding his soft mouth and sinking into his kiss. It’s slow, warm and calm, letting you close your eyes and relax against him, his warm breath against your cheek as he pulls away and lets you fall asleep.  

Chapter 27

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics

[sporco-filth]

slob superhero

A story I wrote a decently long time ago.

In Slob City, 'Villains' intend to ruin everyone's lives by cleaning up the city or making everyone healthy but Slobguy always saves the day.

I wanted to write more about other villains but i never got around to it (and don't have many ideas for them) so the only story i have is this one: Captain Health arrives in Slob City and terrorises the populace with things like 'vegetables' and 'exercise'. Slobguy puts aside the important business of lounging on the couch to stop him.

It was a beautiful day in Slob City. Trash filled the streets, noxious fumes filled the air and the city's overweight residents pigged out on junk food from the fast food outlets on every street corner. Bob Gutt sat in his house, watching TV as usual. It was an uneventful day and Bob was trying to work on getting his full twenty-three hours of sedentary activity and stick to his 200 step limit. He scratched his gut lazily and slurped on a milkshake. He could sit like this all day.

Unfortunately, the world had other plans. Just then, the reality TV show Bob had been watching was interrupted by a news report. 'We apologise for the interruption,' the news reporter said. 'But this is breaking news.' The reporter was dressed in a food stained T-shirt and was overweight, just like Bob. It was highly likely he was wearing nothing but an old smelly pair of underpants under the desk, but then again lots of people in Slob City walked around in their underwear, so that wouldn't be much of a surprise. 'A strange man has appeared in the city square, home to the world's largest food court, and is apparently forcing people to eat healthily. We turn now to John for an in-person account.' 'Thanks Mike,' the screen split in two to show another reporter, this one standing at the city square.

He was dressed similarly sloppily to the first reporter. 'That's right: a mysterious man who calls himself Captain Health has been terrorising innocent civilians and making them eat things such as "vegetables" and "fruits".' 'What are they?' Mike asked. 'I don't exactly know,' John replied. 'It's the term that this Captain Health is using to refer to these strange foodstuffs. I have yet to see one in person, but an eyewitness saw one and said it was a green coloured object.' 'Green?' Mike said confused. 'Yes, green. A far cry from the normally golden brown deliciousness we eat daily.' 'How are the victims?' 'Terrible, Mike. One of them told us she was feeling healthy and refreshed, like she could run and jump about all day.' 'That's horrible!' 'I know. To make matters worse, it even appears certain victims have begun to lose weight.' Mike shuddered. 'I can hardly stand the thought.' Just then, a brightly dressed man appeared beside John. 'Hey there,' he said. 'I'm Captain Health. Would you like something to eat?' The reporter was initially scared but suddenly a calm washed over him. 'OK,' he said. 'Sure.' 'No! John!' Mike cried, but it was too late: John had already accepted an apple from. Captain Health and had taken a bite. His eyes lit up and he looked more vibrant instantly. It even seemed like he was a little thinner. It was disgusting. 'Wow!' He exclaimed. 'I feel so much energy! I want to go for a run or something.' John dropped his microphone and dashed off. Mike was left speechless as the feed cut off. 'We apologise to any parents watching with their children for any traumatic images they may have been exposed to,' he said. 'We will keep you updated on this situation as it unfolds. We recommend you stay indoors and continue to eat junk food.' Mike took a bite out of a hamburger sitting on his desk and slurped some soda. 'Belch. For the time being, we will return to scheduled programming, but keep on the look out for any updates throughout the day, burp.' The show Bob was watching returned and he sighed.

'I guess that puts an end to my plans to do nothing.' He got up and went to the toiletroom (houses in Slob City didn't have baths, or showers for that matter) where he pulled the flusher of the toilet in the opposite direction. Suddenly the toilet moved to reveal a capsule and a tunnel in the wall. Bob hopped in, kicking a few empty soda cans out of the way, and the capsule brought him down deep underground. Soon, Bob arrived in a large cavern. It looked like a cross between a garbage dump, a garage and an office: trash littered the floor and a few large vehicles sat in front of a garage door, while off to one side a desk covered in papers faced a widescreen TV. Bob went over to the computer at the desk and typed a code into it. From the wall, a glass cabinet containing a superhero costume appeared. It wasn't exactly your typical superhero costume. It did have visible underwear, but that was because there weren't any pants to speak of. The top was just a dirty singlet and it didn't even have a mask. To the untrained eye, it would just look like someone's dirty laundry if it weren't for the big SG emblem on the singlet drawn on in food stains and the smaller, brown one that emblazoned the back of the undies, drawn using something better left unmentioned. In reality, it was a high-tech outfit designed for a superhero. Bob swapped his regular clothes for his costume and typed at the computer a bit more. A map of Slob City appeared with the city centre shown by a red circle. 'It's not too far away,' he noted. 'I think the ol' Slobmobile will suffice.' He pressed another button and the vehicle in mention turned on and the garage door opened. Bob's chair moved him to the car and he hopped in. 'OK, Slobguy is go!'

Bob, you see, was no ordinary man. He was Slobguy: defender of the gross, the dirty and the unhealthy. Slob City's saviour.

The Slobmobile sped through the city streets, leaving a trail of dirty exhaust in its wake. Very soon he reached the city centre and saw the havoc unfolding: everywhere people were exercising and running about. It was unlike anything Bob had ever seen before. 'I have to save these poor people,' he said. He turned to the nearest person he could find, a woman doing push ups. 'Ultra-lazy Yawn!' Bob cried and let out a loud yawn. The woman slowed down and seemed tired all of a sudden. 'Oh, I'm feeling… sleepy…' she yawned. 'I better take a nap…' Bob smiled. This shouldn't be too hard. Just as he was about to move on to the next person, he noticed the woman stirring. 'Ah, that was a refreshing rest,' she sighed. 'I feel even more energetic!' Suddenly she started doing push ups at an even faster rate than before. 'Alright, looks like that just made things worse.' He thought about the problem. 'What I need to do is fight this at the source: the vege-watchimacallit things. Maybe if I can get them to eat some junk food, they'll go back to normal.' Bob pulled out a slice of greasy meat lovers pizza from his underwear (one of the special abilities of his undies was that they could store anything). He offered it to the woman. 'Hey, would you like something to eat?' The woman shook her head. 'I'm still full from the celery I ate. It's full of fibre!' Bob didn't know what "celery" or "fibre" were and he didn't want to find out. 'OK, that didn't work either.' He took a bite of the pizza: no use having it go to waste.

He got an idea. 'I'm looking at this all wrong: the source isn't the food, it's the guy giving it out! Captain Health!' 'You called?' Captain Health himself appeared before Bob. Bob was shocked: he had never seen anyone so thin and muscular in his life. The guy looked horrible. 'Would you like something nutritious and fresh to eat?' he smiled. Bob shook his head, but soon felt a strange compulsion rush over him. He felt a desire for something healthy. It was unsettling, but Bob could barely control himself as he took a carrot from Captain Healthy's outstretched hand. Just as he was about to eat it, he heard a cry. 'No Slobguy! Don't!' Before he could put the vegetable into his mouth, he saw something come flying from the direction of the voice. It landed into his mouth and Bob chewed. It was a doughnut. A delicious, sticky, sweet doughnut. Bob was broken out of the trance and quickly let out a yawn. Captain Health was overwhelmed by the yawn and fell to his knees. 'Whew,' he sighed. 'I feel, tired, all of a sudden…' Bob looked at the carrot in his hand and used his slob powers to rot it and then create slimy muck that held Captain Health in place. 'That was a close one,' he said and looked to try to find his rescuer. It was a young guy, in his late teens, overweight and slobby like the average resident. He waddled over to Bob, panting. 'I was worried,' he said. 'I thought you might eat that thing and lose your powers or something, then we'd all be doomed.' 'Thanks kid,' Bob smiled. 'What's you're name?' 'Federico, but you can call me Fed.' 'I'm Slobguy, though you know that already.' 'Here,' Fed said, giving Bob an XXXL soda. 'Drink this so he can't do that same trick on you again.' 'Thanks, I could do with a quick-thinking assistant like you,' Bob grinned. He couldn't dwell on this for long, since he had to deal with the matter at hand still. 'So, Captain Health,' Bob said dismissively as he sucked on his drink. 'What have you done here?' Captain Health groggily opened his eyes. 'I was… trying to make everyone here healthier,' he explained. 'So I formulated some ultra nutritious vegetables designed to improve weight-loss and health. I knew you all would probably resist my efforts though, so I decided I would have to use some mind control to get you guys to eat the fruit and vegetables in the first place. I know it was a bit heavy handed, but it was for your own good.' 'How do you control this hypnosis thing?' 'It's the vegetables,' he said. 'It's a mix of scent and sight cues designed to make them look appealing.' 'And where are you keeping them?' 'In those boxes over there,' Captain Health pointed. Bob walked over to them and stopped drinking for a moment in order to let out a massive belch. The vegetables decayed quickly in the noxious fumes.

'That's that dealt with,' he said, scratching his bum as he headed back to Captain Health and Fed. 'Now we just need to get everyone unfit again.' 'Eventually they'll get hungry again,' Fed said. 'And when they do we just need to feed them junk food.' 'Ha, that's where you're wrong!' Captain health exclaimed. 'My hypnosis make them hate junk food so much that they'll only eat vegetables!' Bob thought this over. If only there was a vegetable that was also a junk food. Unfortunately, Bob didn't actually know what a vegetable was. 'Hey, Health dude,' he said, turning to Captain Health. 'What are vegetables?' 'Do you mean an exact, scientific definition or do you really not know what they are?' 'I really don't know,' Bob said. 'But let's just make it easy: give me some examples.' Captain Health was a bit confused, but obliged. 'Let's see… Carrots, broccoli, cauliflower… lettuce, kale, asparagus… Potatoes, I guess… Artichoke, cabbage, tomato, but technically that's a fruit…' 'Wait a minute,' Bob exclaimed. 'Go back.' 'Cabbage?' 'Further.' 'Artichoke? Potato?' 'Yes, potatoes!' Bob had an idea. 'Fed, get me all the potato-based food you can find. If anyone asks, tell them it's for Slob Guy and that he'll pay them back.' 'Will do, sir!' Fed headed off and so did Bob, buying all the potato-based fast food they could get: chips, potato cakes, fries, potato mash with gravy, those potato swirl thingies, and so on and so forth. When they had enough, Bob went over to one of the victims. 'Hey, I bet all that exercise has made you hungry. Want something to eat? It's made of vegetables.' 'I don't mind if I do,' the woman took the packet of chips and ate a handful. 'Wow! These taste so good!' Suddenly her healthy radiance faded and she stopped doing star jumps. 'Ooh, why I am exercising?' she asked, confused. 'I need to go home and sit down for a while…' Bob's plan had worked! He and Fed went around, handing out potato goods to everyone and eventually they were all back to normal. By the time they were through, the police had arrived to deal with Captain Planet. 'Sorry we're late, Slob Guy,' one of the officers said, licking a bit of icing sugar off his top. 'We had to stop to get some doughnuts.' 'That's all right, I'd have done the same.' 'What do we do with this guy?' 'I think I've got a punishment that'll fit his crime…' Bob grabbed a potato cake from the pile of junk food and brought it over to Captain Health. 'Eat up, Captain Health!' 'No! No!' Captain Health squirmed but it was no use and Bob forced it down his mouth. All of a sudden, his vitality drained out of him and he looked tired and weak. 'Junk food is my one weakness,' he explained. 'My powers have been lost…' Bob smiled. 'Now you can enjoy a life of laziness and fast food just like the rest of us.' He turned to the officers. 'Take him away, boys. I doubt he'll be causing any more trouble anytime soon.' The ex-captain Health was taken away and Bob was left with Fed. 'You know, Fed, I think there might be an opening down at Slob Guy HQ for a sidekick. How would you like to be it?' Fed's eyes widened. 'No way! It'd be a dream come true!'

And so the day was saved and Slob Guy now had a new assistant: the Piglet!

[pb-dot]

WIP Wednesday: Meet my new protagonist

So, in these days leading up to November I've spent some time trying to capture my vague and ephemeral plans for the unnamed horror project I really should settle on a title for one of these days. I still have a ways to go, but I figured it was time to talk a little bit about the poor sap who's going to go through my made-to-order horrors. Well, I say poor sap, but the fact of the matter is that our hero is a bit of a bastard in some respects.

Oscar H. Skerry would never dare to call himself an expert on art, but he will also be dead in the ground before he concedes that anyone on god's green earth knows more about art he likes than he does. From his home in San Franscisco, he has made a modest but sustained success as an art critic, paying the bills by a series of freelance consultant gigs, mostly for "particularly daft multi-millionaires looking to get some art into their portfolios," to quote the man himself.

While he may make a living advising people he has nothing but contempt for make what could be argued to be wise investment decisions, it is far from Oscar's passion. You're unlikely to hear him talk about his true passion unless he deems you to be of considerable intellect or in a position to further his goals, though. It's not a secret, exactly, but Oscar considers it "need-to-know information."

In short, Oscar is captivated by the work of one Tomasz Gildebrant, a reclusive artist who made his name with his unique visual style, other art critics than Oscar has called it "pleasantly unpleasant" or "containing angles and strokes evocative of the nightmare," and an unflinching dedication to his reclusivity that has him placed in the category of "outsider art" because nobody can figure out enough about him to put him anywhere else. Oscar believes himself to be the one to write the definitive, defining work on Gildebrant and form a thesis that'll open the art world's eyes fully to his beloved artist. So far it's not going very well, and Oscar is struggling to even explain why he likes the paintings.

Leaving the topic of Oscar's fascination for more biographical details. Oscar Henry Skerry was born to Linda and Harold Skerry in Rochester, MN on September 12th 1989. Oscar, named after his great-grandfather, had a childhood that was considered normal at the time, but that in retrospect probably contained more bullying than what's healthy. This bullying came to a peak in Oscar's early teens, around the time Oscar realized he was queer. Unfortunately for Oscar's tormentors, he also realized he wasn't going to take it on the chin anymore. Oscar grew into somewhat of a problem child as his many fights and waning interest in academia saw his grades decline.

Art became somewhat of a salvation for young mr. Skerry, as his sympathetic if not somewhat willfully ignorant parents, encouraged him to explore his artistic side as a possible outlet for what they percieved to be baseless aggression. Although Oscar did take to the creation of art, he seemed to rapidly change his mind through high school and towards college. Oscar is tight-lipped on this part of his life, but may be plied to confess that this was the time he saw his first Gildebrant painting, and have since been striving to understand the experience and the feelings this awoke in him.

So that's Oscar in a nutshell. He's not as fleshed out as I want him to be when all of this is done, but then again I'm planning to pants a lot of the finer detail since that worked pretty well with Clockwork Boy. Expect many ask prompts and tag your OC posts about this boy, the target of his obsession, and Mara, his bitchy-but-wise frenemy with benefits.

[lil-cutesy-things]

Understanding BPD, part 2 (Kisses from July 2024 #4)

Or How I Successfully Recovered from BPD

Hi pumpkins 🧡 Welcome back to "Kisses from July 2024"!

TODAY'S TOPIC

In the fourth part of this series, I will talk about my personal recovery from BPD.

THE ORIGINS

As you may already know, I was bullied by some of my classmates when I was a child.

Because I suffered from urinary incontinence, they said I was disgusting, that I had no hygiene, etc. They would move away and call me names whenever they saw me. They would verbally abuse me whenever they saw me.

Because I was autistic (non-diagnosed at that time), they said I was weird. They would laugh and imitate my posture (I was very much curled up in myself), my way of walking (I was always tip-toeing around), etc.

Nobody cared enough to defend me. My friends thought the verbal abuse was no big deal. They would hear my bullies call me names and yet do nothing about it.

On the few times I tried to talk about it with the adults I knew, they put the blame on me. Depending on who I was talking to, I was too shy to fit properly, too haughty, not forgiving enough...

As for myself, I was terrified of what could happen if I dared fight back. Would my bullies hurt me? Would the verbal abuse turn into physical or sexual abuse?

Because I was constantly worried about my security and well-being, running through the worst-case scenarios, I developed stress and anxiety issues.

Because I firmly believed that everyone would eventually leave me behind, I developed a strong fear of abandonment, which is one of the main symptoms of BPD.

FROM CHILDHOOD TO ADOLESCENCE

When I left middle school, the bullying stopped since me and my bullies were going to different schools.

I did my best to be the good girl people wanted me to be. I suppressed my feelings of despair and anger; I put on a smiling mask and hid the me who was deeply hurt and insecure.

This game of hide-and-seek lasted for several years before my mask started to crack and chip. It eventually shattered, exposing my vulnerable true self.

To quote my post on anger management and acceptance, "I hated myself, but I was the only person I could trust to take me forward. Even if I was blaming myself for the traumatic events that were happening to me, even if I felt completely powerless, I could not afford to rely on anyone else."

Driven by a fierce desire to live, I swore to myself I would ensure my own safety and keep myself healthy.

NO HOPE WHATSOEVER?

When I was diagnosed with BPD in early 2023, I was not that surprised. I have been suspecting I had it for a few years.

Despite that, I could never bring myself to hope recovering from this disorder. While doing some research, I read that BPD has a high rate of suicide.

Because I still believed that I would eventually succeed in taking my own life, I did not hope for a complete recovery. I did not think this was even a possibility.

WHAT ABOUT NOW?

In early 2024, I asked my psychiatrist if I still have BPD. He said no, I do not suffer from BPD anymore since my symptoms have changed over the years.

CONCLUSION

Just as there is not a single universal cause of BPD, there is not a single universal way to recover from this disorder.

Nevertheless, I will leave some basic advice below.

★ Choosing yourself over and over again helps a lot with the fear of abandonment. You will feel less and less scared of being left behind if you know for sure that you can rely on yourself.

★ Finding some healthy ways to express your feelings helps a lot with self-harm. Try to find creative outlets to get your anger out. If you can't think of any options, I would suggest taking a look at the first part of this series, "It's okay to feel something", which offers advice on expressing your feelings instead of suppressing them.

★ Anticipate your mood swings. Identify your triggers – how does this or that make you feel? What coping mechanisms do you end up using?

★ Prepare an emergency plan. Therefore, when you find yourself in a stressful or dangerous situation, you will be ready for any eventuality. I would advise you to have a list of emergency contact numbers.

★ Get yourself a first aid kit to carry everywhere. A fillable drinking bottle, snacks, pain relievers, medicines, sanitary pads, tampons, condoms, contraceptives, you name it. If it helps you, then take it with you.

BLOGS TO FOLLOW ON TUMBLR

• @borderlinereminders ➙ Kind reminders and positivity for people with BPD.

• @traumasurvivors ➙ Support and validation for trauma survivors.

Love,

Bay 💋

[frogs-in3-hills]

Day 2 of the @domaystic prompt challenge: "A stash of…"

Hunter x Hunter | Gen | SFW | 1,362 words

Relationship: Killua & Gon

POV Gon Freecss

Summary: "…Chocolate. Killua has procured a very extensive snack collection."

Gon isn’t sure he’ll ever completely understand just how, exactly, Killua had apparently once managed to spend a full ten million dollars on only a year or two’s worth of snacks.

Even without the influence of Aunt Mito’s watchful eyes, Gon’s diet has remained fairly healthy during the course of their adventure. And Leorio could really only take, like, twenty percent responsibility for that. The only times he ever really indulged was when Killua was trying a particularly interesting new snack—which, to be fair, was pretty often—but the point still remains that he literally can’t wrap his head around how it’s even possible to spend that much money so quickly.

Killua once sat him down and tried to explain the logistics of it, recreating the specific budget plan and everything in his tight, messy scrawl. Something about inflation, scarcity bias, monopolies, and commodity investments. As soon as numbers started getting involved, though, Gon feared the whole thing might make his brain explode. It made him feel pretty bad, honestly. He was genuinely curious, and Killua was trying really hard to be patient and explain it all, dumbing his words down progressively further until his words sounded like some kind of jumble between caveman-speak and yet-undefined-technical jargon.

Well, it’s probably best that Gon sticks to more targeted problem-solving, anyways. The Greed Island stuff had made a lot more sense to him because they had such a specific goal in mind. He’s happy to let Killua take the reigns with the bigger-picture economic stuff; it’s just another cool product of his training, and Gon doesn’t see the point in trying to outclass his expertise like that.

Gon learns best through example, anyway. And in this case, he hopes he never gets an example to learn from.

~~~

They’re staying at a quaint little inn for the moment, one with a cute modern exterior and a surprisingly roomy two-bed. It’s erected right next to a candy shop, which is pretty exciting, too. Gon and Killua had a wonderful time pressing their faces against the glass display cases, admiring the eclectic assemblage of all sorts of treats from around the world. Gon had elected to purchase a pack of vanilla bean candies and one of those cool lollipops with a scorpion inside, but strangely enough, Killua hadn’t wanted anything. Maybe he was feeling naseous after Gon had spent a solid ten minutes trying to convince him to try a lick of his lollipop, employing the tried-and-true sales pitch of waving it around a mere two inches away from his face.

That was a few hours ago, now.

Gon wipes some sweat from his brow as he steps into their inn room without knocking, having just grown bored of chasing butterflies down the street (he’s never seen this species before!) He can see Killua slouched on the table next to the radio, possibly asleep. But Gon knows better than to expect that he’ll continue sleeping for long now that there’s another person in the room. He doesn’t take it personally, really, since he knows Killua has to be cautious like that. It’s just the way he is.

He’s a little hungry, so he heads into the kitchenette. It’s a tiny thing, furnished with only a minifridge and a hot plate on the counter, plugged into a slightly dangerous-looking exposed outlet. They should still have some leftovers stuffed into a styrofoam take-out container somewhere in there, some kind of noodle dish with tofu and bean sprouts. Gon isn’t sure what it’s called, but they had something similar back at home, and he remembers that it was always delicious cold.

The fridge hums loudly, almost like a sigh. Gon begins to open the door, and four things happen in very quick succession.

The little light inside flickers on with an annoyed, electric grumble, just as his hand overpowers the suction-like force holding the door closed.

Three boxes of mint chocolate cookies tumble out with three sequential thwacks, each one landing neatly atop the other on the floor.

Gon can hear and feel something falling against the inside of the door, so he rushes to slip his hand through the side and extracts two more boxes.

Now reasonably sure nothing horrible will happen, he opens the fridge door the rest of the way.

The inside is packed with a smorgasbord of all sorts of treats: at least ten more boxes of mint chocolate cookies, a section of packaged mooncakes and mochis stuffed so tightly together it kind of looks like a giant fungal growth, barricaded by an interlocked gummy bear fencing. There’s a layer of half-melted blackcurrant popsicles behatting a small tower of tupperwares jam-packed with assorted chocolate truffles. It’s all kind of formed a little ecosystem of precarious balance—almost grotesque, in a way, seeing the sheer amount of stuff that’s been tetrised into the tiny space, all organized like a little cityscape.

Gon blinks at the patchwork of commercial color, blinks again.

Closes it.

“Killua?” He calls.

“Mm?” Killua replies, having evidently just woken up. His voice is still sleepy and thick in a way it normally isn’t, and it’s kind of cute, in that kittycat way, like an I know exactly what I did wrong but you can’t be mad at me because I’m so cute kinda cute.

“What’s with the fridge?”

A silence follows before Killua says, “You think it’s too much…?”

It’s a dangerous tone. Not in the way that means Killua’s mad, but more in the way that means Killua’s embarrassed. Gon knows this means that there’s a correct and an incorrect answer, and he better not get it wrong.

“No,” he says slowly.

“M’kay,” Killua says. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

And, okay, it’s not a lie—sure, it seems a little excessive, but Gon knows Killua is just kind of like that sometimes, and he doesn’t actually mind. It’s not like they’re really struggling for money, and if they run out, there’s nothing stopping them from just returning to the Heavens Arena (Leorio had definitely been right to become a Hunter so he could make more money).

Killua also sometimes gets weirdly defensive about it, in that way where Gon knows it’s really about something else that he doesn’t want to talk about. So, since it’s not a problem, and since Killua doesn’t want to talk about it, Gon is fine with just letting it happen without too much pushback.

He heads to the small pantry instead, mildly hopeful that he won’t find it in similar shape.

Gon opens the pantry door.

…

Gon closes the pantry door.

Well, wait a minute—he opens it back up against his better judgment—there’s something interesting in here. Standing on the tips of his toes, he reaches into the depths of the pantry, sinking down to the elbow through bags of pickle-flavored chips, fizzy rock candy, and an assortment of Popin’Cookin’s, and dislodges a package from the back. The dim kitchen light reveals its contents: seaweed snacks, apparently. The package is illustrated with a few pieces of nori, glazed with almond slices and sesame seeds. Curious, Gon tears it open and pops one into his mouth.

“Hey, Killua?” he calls again, his mouth still half-full.

“What’s up?”

Gon pads into the little living room where Killua is still sitting, head cradled in his arms with that sleepy-alert look (he really is like a cat sometimes, isn’t he?).

“Let’s get some more of this seaweed stuff later! It’s really good.”

He blinks, then straightens up a little. “…Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gon confirms. “It’ll be fun! You always shop for this kind of stuff on your own.”

The expression that Killua makes next is, in Gon’s opinion, pretty rewarding. Really, being friends with Killua on its own is very rewarding, but Gon especially loves being able to notice how he’s really feeling in moments like this: gratitude, in a quiet sort of way. His face doesn’t change, but he definitely stares a little too long, taking his time to wrap his head around it.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Let’s go tomorrow.”

Even if he can be a little disarming at times, Gon seriously loves being friends with Killua.

[launching-a-thousand-ships]

Kurt Glee Rewatch: Home

Burt and Carol are such a wholesome couple. Prob the healthiest on the show lol.

These two are iconic. I also love how Kurt adds the armband bc even in a uniform, he needs to personalize it somehow.

He’s so supportive of Mercedes here... sadly not as much rest of the ep.

But also his expression at being told he has hips like a pear... awe. He’s so tiny though.

Cowboy wallpaper... *Kurt shudders*

Also, seems like ages since the Finn crush was a plot. And wow, Kurt going strong. 

Can I just say how happy I am they’ve started styling his hair? The bangs were cute, but like. This looks much better.

And yikes, Kurt... Mercedes is doing the right thing here, she’s having a very healthy lunch! And Kurt took the criticism so seriously like omg can he please eat real food. I get that he’s happy to not be bullied for once but like. Babe pls.

All Kurtcedes fights are in the cafeteria, apparently.

“Act as translator” Kurt, I thought you were doing well in your classes.

I love how protective he is of Burt. He really stepped into the caretaker role and even when their relationship was more strained, they both love each other and protect each other and I love it.

“Fate brought them together” gee Kurt, when did you change your name. I find it hilarious that this was all his scheme but it resulted in Burt and Carol being so besotted with each other. Who knew they could bond beyond just having dead spouses?

I am curious wtf Kurt’s plan was here. Like, did he think he’d get to spend more time with Finn but then Burt and Carol would break up? Was he hoping they’d get married?? This is such dumb teen boy logic. And I’m really not having the whole ‘predatory gay’ stereotype bc we don’t need to see that

He is very intense here. Like Kurt. Finn is clearly not comfortable here. and omg when he refers to Burt and Carol as ‘Mom and Dad’ like sweetie. No.

Again, Kurt is way too much here but omg the way he looks at Finn and then Puck mouths ‘Are you gay’ and I can’t stop laughing. 

But I do like how he sings the song, much smoother than Defying Gravity. ANd Mercedes is smiling at him and Brittana cuddle bc they like the song too, v sweet.

Not my fav Kurt song? But it’s nice. And I do like Kurt’s singing better than Finn’s. I find in general Finn does well at the upbeat/rock songs, but not a fan of the more ballad style.

Kurt’s crying at the end, he’s legit so in love. It’s also probably hard that he has just... no one to really talk to about it? We never see him discuss it with anyone. His dad is not ready for that kind of talk. And with the girls him being gay is fun for them bc he can talk about fashion etc, but lowkey him being gay is rarely about him liking boys? I mean, everyone knew bc of his clothes etc, he has never shown interest in an actual boy before. Him having feelings might break the illusion of the girls seeing him more as an accessory. 

I do wish he could talk about it with Mercedes though. She’d be a good voice of reason, and him having some sort of outlet could be helpful so he might be less intense around Finn.

I do appreciate that as soon as Finn is a threat to his dad, crush is on the backburner bc *Danger Danger Danger*

And you know it’s not intended as an insult, but how Burt brushes Kurt off and is so excited to talk sports. And you can see it on Carol’s face, that she spots it too and has sympathy for Kurt, while also happy for finn to have a fatherly presence. Ugh, this whole family dynamic, all 4 of them, best writing in the show.

Every Kurt and Burt scene is just a masterpiece. Kurt being passive aggressive, but Burt will call him out, try to talk it out.

And I love how you can see here that Burt is still in his beginning phases. ugh when he says “guy talk” and Kurt is just “I’m a guy” my heartt. Bc he is a guy but he’s a different type of guy and bc of that everyone treats him differently and just.

Burt is trying so hard, but he still makes these mistakes. And even though he accepts his son, he still has that ‘let’s just each do our own thing’ mentality.

But I am glad he does call Kurt out, asks why he fixed him out with Carol. Bc Kurt was being selfish about it, setting them up to get close to Finn, and now backtracking bc he feels like he’s losing his dad.

Bc his dad always comes first and just. Kurt s1 is so flawed bc he’s such an angsty/dumb teen and it makes him such a real character and fascinating to watch. Plus, his heart stays int he right place

Crush aside, s1 had some of the best Finn and Kurt interactions. I love how Finn knew right away that Kurt was hurt by Finn bonding with Burt. And Kurt isn’t even offended here by Finn not wanting to live with him bc right now his dad is his priority.

I’m so glad the whole ‘let’s break up our parents’ didn’t turn into a drawn out scheme. They quickly see how happy their parents are and accept that they’re together.

Bc different eps focus on different characters, I like how a lot of plots are wrapped up within the ep. The show has character arcs etc throughout, but I find I’m not a fan of certain plotlines going on for way too long. Like the fake baby, or Puck being the father, ugh or the student election. Those all had me like ‘just get on with it’ whereas character arcs, like kurt and his dad, the mercedes/troubletones, etc are much more interesting.

Aww I love them. And Kurt immediately says “I was wrong” and owns up to his mistake, yay.

So glad Mercedes got another song, but oof I want more of both of them performing with the cheerios! Only a few eps left of them on the team... And!! Apparently they cut a song from the ep?? Kurtcedes and the Cheerios were supposed to do Fergalicious (there are some pics of behind the scenes) and the fact that we missed out on that actively angers me.

K but first off, they’re at Finn’s house? Why was Kurt there? Was he visiting Carol? Did he just walk by?? I need answers bc it’s lowkey creepy lol

At least Finn has learned how Burt is legit the best dad and is happy to hang with him. And it’s well done, how Finn’s part is pretty wrapped up, but there’s still Kurt on the outside, bc it’s not all perfect yet.

I’ll say it every time. The best Glee writing went to this family dynamic. Mainly Burt and Kurt, but really the 4 of them together. I love it.

[beckitty]

The genie doesn't remember his name, or the mother who gave it to him. It's been a very long time, and some things are easier to forget. He thinks he remembers what it is to be human, and as he takes on Marks form, it feels familiar, like a song he used to be able to play perfectly.

So now the genie is Mark, living Mark's life, without magic beyond the flow that facilitates the wish, letting him know about Mark's social life, his plans, his work.

It takes a month for Mark to desperately start wishing to become the genie again.

Don't get him wrong, the modern era is much, much easier in most ways than the times that came before. Mark's life in particular is a kind one, he is healthy, he has friends and family he is close with, and he is comfortably able to meet his needs.

It's the job.

Mark is a nurse. He works in a medical assessment unit, a place patients are sent to either get better and be sent home or be taken care of until they can be moved to a ward when they come to the emergency room. Mark is well known on the ward for being the person you get looking after teenagers and young adults who are in crisis. He's got a knack for reading them, for building a rapport, for knowing when to talk, when to listen, when to share, and when to be blunt.

When he was the genie his emotions were always distant, and empathy was a tool. When he was human his emotions were stable, and his empathy was present, but never overwhelming.

But now he is Mark, and Mark feels everything. Mark's emotions are powerful, but that's manageable. The magic gives him Mark's knowledge, his self-regulation techniques, and his soothing behaviours.

Mark's empathy, though, is extreme and painful. He looks after these kids and feels the pain he can see holding their body rigid. He drowns in the apathy and emptiness he can see in their eyes.

His heart races with the panic he can feel in the pulse of the girl whose abusers have just walked into her hospital room. He asks them to leave, makes an excuse of the fact he is doing some assessments of her state. But he knows he can't help her, can't save her. He knows, has seen it before, that while she is unwilling to name them as abusers, unwilling to accept help getting her away from them, he has no choice but to let her go back to them when she is discharged. His heart breaks, but it's her choice, and he has no magic to protect her now.

The young man, not barely past 20, who begs him to help him die, is just as heartbreaking. The cancer is killing him slowly, painfully, and there's a room full of drugs just down the corridor, many of which would be quicker and kinder than nature is.

Two examples that play on Mark's mind long after he goes home, but he looks after at least 6 patients a day, on a bad day as many as 16. Not all of them are beyond his ability to help. Most of them he is able to send away better than they came to him.

But their pain is still real, their needs still must be met, and all to often their anger, fear, and suffering find an outlet at the nurse who there when they are overwhelmed. He is hit, spat on, screamed at. He is manipulated and lied to. He gets a needlestick injury when he changes the sheets of an addict who was being held under the mental health act, and has booby trapped their room with sharps.

He works long hours with few breaks, he takes on more patients than he should because there is no one else to do it, he gets lectured and cursed at by loved ones of patients. At one point a patients mother calls the police on him because he helped the patient, a woman who couldn't mobilise safely on her own at the time, to the bathroom. The mother assumed because he is male, he was doing something inappropriate, when he was doing exactly the same thing as a female nurse would be doing.

So he wishes for a break. A holiday would be nice, but at the moment just never having to go back sounds good enough.

The truth is Mark loves his job. His mind whispers to him, reminding him this profession will give you burnout, will try to make you care less. It reminds him why he needed a break in the first place. It reminds him not to harden, not to stop caring, but not to carry it all with him either. It reminds him of the thing they were taught in nursing school, that you are told every time you get on a plane. You put your own mask on before helping anyone else. You take care of yourself so you can take care of others. You spend time with your loved ones, take care of your health, and learn to say no.

The magic whispers to him that he can't leave, that the wish is for a year and Mark would not quit his job.

When the year is up, Mark comes back, and the genie is free. The magic leaves him, and being Mark leaves him. Mark, refreshed from his year-long break, asks him what he's going to do with his new, mortal life.

"I think" the man says "I need a vacation."

The genie only has to grant you one more wish before finally gaining his freedom from the lamp. Tired of your everyday life, you wish for the genie to replace you and live your life for a whole year, while you go on vacation. “Oh okay, how bad could that be?”, the genie thought to himself.

[ask-sweetscream]

Origins

Read on ao3

Remus had a busy day ahead of him. He planned on starting a surprise sparring match with Roman, gifting Virgil a harmless emotional support pet tarantula in front of Patton and while the others are calming him down, sneaking into Pat’s room with Janus to continue their Dance Dance Revolution competition. If he has time after that he would attempt to rile Logan up again to see if he could get the nerd to lose his temper again and get at least a little of the frustration that has been building in the logical side out to prevent a full blown explosion for just a little while longer.

Looking down at his to-do list again he looks at the last item. That wasn’t a sustainable solution to the Logan situation. While it would be cathartic to have the nerd spew out the grievances and pain he hid, even if it was to him instead of the ones who caused that pain, that was no way to express one’s emotions in the long term. Considering this he ripped his list. His surprise attack on Roman could wait and he could always just leave the spider on Virgil’s bed. Janus would likely also approve postponing their DDR time to help him with the new plan.

A few hours of planning later Remus pops into Logan’s room.

“Hi ya nerd! What are you up to” He asks in a playful tone.

“Hello Remus, I’m just finishing up Thomas’s schedule to make up for lost cleaning time, again” That last word is mumbled under his breath.

“Perfect! I want your help with something. How good are you at programming?”

“I am relatively proficient. Thomas spent a few weeks hyper fixated on programming while back. While he doesn’t remember anything he learned,” Logan answered slightly agitated that all that learning went to waste, “I retained all the skill that Thomas absorbed during that time.”

Without another word Remus grabbed Logan’s wrist and dragged him to a room with Janus and a computer with two human-like models designed and rigged. One was a tall, androgynous humanoid with animal-like facial features and a lowkey punk-rock style that shared Remus’s color pallet. The other was shorter with dark skin and looked like an entirely human woman with the exception of the hair that looked more like cotton candy than anything else. She wore a pink leotard with a peppermint logo on her chest and a swirly purple skirt that wouldn’t look out of place in SIX! The musical. She also possessed a ginormous spherical lollipop that put anime mallets to shame. Looking closer they both had microphone headsets and there were a bunch of songs listed in another window.

“What did you need my help with again?” Logan asked, his frustration from earlier temporarily being replaced with confusion and curiosity.

“Well, Remus has a particular love for Vocaloids and had the 'brilliant' idea to create two of his own to live with us in the mind palace. Most likely to help get songs stuck in Thomas’s head” Janus helpfully answered , “Remus did the designing and chose out some of his favorite songs for them to start with and then insisted I help him with their animation since I 'love' wasting my time on art projects like this.”

“That’s Right! And now I need someone to help me program their voices and personalities. I figured you could since you’re such a nerd”

“Alright then, what did you have in mind?” Logan asked with a slight smile as he sat at the computer. Janus took a step back. He was surprised about how well Remus’s plan was working so far. When Remus pitched it to him this morning he truly did think it was a waste of time, but now, seeing Logan simultaneously feel needed again while also helping to create a healthy outlet for his emotions, the reptilian man had no regrets about postponing his plans with Remus. Besides, now he has more time to practice so he can defeat Remus’s high score once and for all.

[passionatecatalyst-blog]

london is hard work

of course hanging out with rj means getting into an exclusive members-only club at soho house. it's pretentious as fuck but also a beautiful space, rooftop terrace with a pool in the middle, and views for days. we hung out with his friend and 2 greek guys, one who slightly reminded me of the sky captain with his dark mediterranean good looks. he told me that london is fantastic in so many ways but that it is also HARD WORK. i just need to accept that fact and get used to having to put in the work that it entails to make it as meaningful and adventurous and fun as i want it to be.

i went to the holy art fair by the river yesterday. i took an edible and wanted to just walk around on my own and take in the art, but it was a much more stressful experience because there were so many people in a small space as well as the artists standing around watching everyone walk by. i could feel my heart racing and my natural tendency is to want to avoid social interactions while high. there was a part of me that wanted to engage with the artists because intellectually, i know this is how i want to move in the world - to be open-hearted and get to know people in whatever capacity and to be engaged with the world. this is how you make friends. but my nervous system tells me differently and my automatic reaction is one of avoidance and it's hard to overcome. how much of my life has been run by my hypersensitive nervous system?

it was inspiring to see the different types of art and ideas and approaches that artists take, from various styles of painting to combining elements of collage or other materials. it was a reminder that i am still looking to find a creative outlet of my own.

i'm creating my own suffering by letting my behavior be dictated by the weather. i know intellectually that i will feel better if i just get outside and attend events rather than hole up in the depressing flat while staring at the grey skies outside. just need to push through that barrier that i've created in my head to break through to the outside world.

i've also realised that london is where spontaneity comes to die. everything and everyone needs to be booked in advance. i've held off on making plans until the day of but then the options become so much more limited. just to adjust my behavior and accept that i can't live as spontaneously as i want if i want to live in london.

i'm so used to being healthy, i probably take it for granted too much. now i've developed a weird clustered rash on my forehead, combined with an earache, swollen lymph glands behind my left ear, and a harder lump behind my right ear. what could it be? shingles? some sort of bacterial infection or virus? trying hard not to catastrophize but what if this is the beginning of some chronic illness? dear universe, please let me be healthy again.

my supervisor commented on how composed i seem all the time but wondered if i'm a composed swan on the surface with legs intensely kicking underneath the water. that image has stayed with me because it resonates. that and the icebreaker fish. i just need to keep moving forward and break down the barriers that get in the way of the life that i want to create.

[poppitron360]

OKAY I LOVE THIS SO MUCH I LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE ADD THINGS TO MY IDEAS AND NOW THIS IS MORE OF AN OPPORTUNITY TO INFODUMP

2) I was planning on having it take place after Jason’s death, even though I haven’t actually read up to that bit yet. I think Leo’s survivor’s guilt from being the one brought back and not him would DEFINITELY play into the angst and the PTSD. I was thinking similar along the lines of what you said about them both struggling- I wan thinking of having some Leo/Hazel bonding moments over both the choice to give up their lives and dealing with being given a second chance. Leo and Hazel’s friendship is not talked about enough, and I think her being able to help him as someone who’s been there is so powerful. Also, Frank is there to comfort him as well. ALSO YES PHYSICAL SCARRING IS GONNA BE A BIG THING!! I am OBSESSED with the hc of Leo being Hard of Hearing after the explosion. Specifically deaf in one ear and chronic tinnitus in the other. I’ve been writing it into all my post-hoo fics (In my married Valgrace ones, Leo uses a hearing aid and also Jason and him both know ASL and morse code to communicate sometimes). I think for this fic prosthetics might be a little detracting from the main theme, because it’s all about Leo trying to hide how he’s struggling, but scars DEFINITELY and also hearing loss. I’m writing amputee/lost limb Leo into some other fics though.

5) YES YES YES I was gonna write this fic as a precursor to my “Jason comes out to CJ” fic. I like the whole “expectations of him as a Praetor to uphold Roman Values” as sort of a homophobia metaphor, and Jason being able to be a bit more relaxed at chb and with Leo where he can just get away from all the expectations to be the perfect Roman sort of being an extension to his canon arc. I might have to wait until I read TSATS to finish it though, because I want to learn more about Piper’s gf.

7-8-9) PUTTING THEM ALL AS THE SAME FIC WOULD BE GENIUS- it might be a bit clunky because of time skips and tone shifts but if I could make it work… Yh honestly the “Jason taking Leo’s last name” hc is JUST SO CUTE I WAS THINKING ABOUT IT ALL DAY AFTER I WROTE IT I COULD NOT FOCUS ON ANYTHING ELSE JUST AAAAHHHH. I am not normal about them.

12) THIS IS SO GOOD and def inspired me to keep writing it. YES Leo latches onto Luke’s idea of blaming Hephaestus bc he doesn’t want to admit that he secretly blames himself, but deep down he doesn’t believe Luke. It’s so interesting to explore Luke’s manipulation from Luke’s side. Because he is genuinely angry at the Gods for abandoning Leo- he really does have sympathy for this kid and wants to bring the Gods to justice for all the damage they caused Leo, Annabeth, his Mom, all the people he loves. But he’s also not got a very healthy outlet for his anger, but kinda uses Leo’s trauma to justify that. He doesn’t have plans to overthrow the Gods yet, but he feels like he needs to convince people to see his way of thinking so that he doesn’t feel wrong for being angry.

The way I was writing this fic was multiple POVs- Thalia, Luke, Annabeth and Leo’s, so I could explore both Luke’s desperation to justify his anger, and Leo’s willingness to accept a person to blame, plus Thalia’s fear from having to keep these two 9-10 year olds safe (in my fic Annabeth ran away a bit later/for a bit longer, so she’s 10 by this point and Leo has already been on the run for a year), while Luke is spouting his bullshit and she just wants to keep her new family from falling apart like her old one did. And Luke’s promise of family being the thing Annabeth clings onto for dear life, relating to Leo who was also cast out by his blood relatives, secretly knowing that Luke has issues and is manipulating her but trying to convince Leo that “he’s here to look after us. He’s just trying to protect us” to brush off the bad feelings she gets from him and justify his actions because he’s her whole world. And maybe having to convince Leo of that too, saying it out loud, or seeing Luke doing the manipulation to somebody else, might make her actually have to confront the fact that Luke’s way of thinking is wrong.

Leo joining the wrong side and realising later is so interesting, seeing as he HAS been manipulated his whole life- by Hera and Gaea- leaving him with pretty bad trust issues. Luke being the only person who treated him decently since escaping the foster homes would mean he gets attached pretty quickly, and his own self-hatred being something that drives him to not really care if he’s a good person or not (similar to my Leo Villain Arc AU I published a couple weeks ago).

And in terms of turning him back I just had a thought when you talked about him meeting Percy-

BECKENDORF’S SACRIFICE?

Like imagine you’re part of the Titan army, trying to overthrow your dad for abandoning you to starve on the streets, and your brother just gave his life to stop you because he genuinely believed these omnipotent assholes are worth fighting for. Maybe that makes Leo more angry, seeing as how Hephaestus let it happen. But maybe it makes him realise that he’s on the wrong side.

OOH! OOH! I JUST HAD ANOTHER THOUGHT- What if Beckendorf actually confronted Leo about it in the moments of before his death on the Princess Andromeda, asks him to come home, and that Hephaestus didn’t abandon them because he gave them a family and a cabin at chb- it was always there, waiting for Leo. He didn’t intervene when he was being cast out because he knew that eventually Leo WOULD find his family- his brothers and sisters- and that he’d be alright in the end. “It’s not flawless dad logic, but he had the best intentions,” Beckendorf says, “Come home, lil’ bro. We miss you.” And then he fucking explodes.

THANK YOU SO SO MUCH @ginnyluna FOR THIS RESPONSE

And I mean that. I’ve been writing all these fics and hyperfixating on them and I just wanted to talk to someone about them (which is kinda why I did this poll)

These comments were all amazing (and all the other ones I’ve been getting- you guys have such awesome ideas)

Most of these would be finished at some point the poll was just to help me see which ones I might want to prioritise (but it honestly depends on which ones I’m inspired to write).

Yeah. Don’t hesitate to share your thoughts- it genuinely made me happy-stim so fucking hard when I saw how long this reply was because I was like ‘CONTENT!!! YAYY!! SOMEONE WANTS TO TALK ABOUT MY ART WITH ME!!!”

SERIOUSLY THANK YOU

Raise your hand if you have a million bajillion works-in-progress!!!

Because I sure as hell do.

Anyway, I want to see which ones I should prioritise, so I’m doing a poll. Out of the 97 fic concepts i have in the vault, all with varying levels of completion, I have narrowed it down to 12 (the max number of poll options on Tumblr).

Please Vote!

Category 1- ANGST:

1. Ok not too many spoilers for this one but it’s SUPER angsty. All I can say is Leo faces a very creative punishment from Nemesis for cheating the prophecy and coming back to life, and it’s called “The only sad person in paradise” (undertones of Valgrace).

2. Leo deals with coping with the trauma of dying. LOT of angsty headcanons, including one where the design for the chb bead for the summer hoo is set in was the moment of Leo’s death. And he just has to keep that around his neck the whole time, and it’s chocking him. The opening line is “Every so often, Leo needed to remind himself that his heart was still beating.”

3. A curse befalls camp half-blood that’s slowly reversing the effects of their powers. Hecate cabin’s spells are being undone, plants are un-growing, arms healed by Apollo cabin are re-breaking. Magic is being unwound, and then Leo’s body starts to ache, and he realises… does that include a certain Physician’s Cure?

Category 2- VALGRACE

4. Platonic Valgrace (Romance implied)- “Never go to bed angry”- Leo and Jason have an argument on the Argo II. Jason thinks Leo won’t understand him because he’s never had to live up to the expectations of leadership that come with being a child soldier. Leo thinks Jason won’t understand him because he’s never had to fend for himself, he believes everything Jason has is because of who his father is. They storm off (Jason in the literal sense), argue with themselves for a bit- I did a really cool thing where I switch POVs every line or so, as their arguments parallel each other, like in a TV show where two characters are rehearsing a conversation with the other, but using the HOO multiple-POV thing- and then they go to sleep. They both have weird vision/flashbacks/prophetic dreams, where they experience a day in the other’s childhood. They then realise they completely misunderstood one another, and they’re not as different as they thought.

5. Jason and Leo go to New York pride. That’s the whole fic.

6. Instead of… whatever that ending to BOO was, the Gods reward Leo for his sacrifice by bringing Esperanza Valdez back to life. She thanks Jason for taking care of Leo while she was gone, and they have a heart-to-heart. They are officially boyfriends in this. Jason keeps being reminded of his own reunion with Thalia, and how Leo had stayed with him through that. He vows to do the same.

Category 3- MARRIED VALGRACE:

7. Leo and Jason get married (A classic “Wedding Episode”)

8. Just a fic describing married life with Leo and Jason- it’s called “Violets and Marigolds”

9. A fic from the POV of Leo and Jason’s kid, Isabella Valdez. Some angst, but I don’t have the full plot outlined yet. She’s adopted, and they don’t know her true godly heritage, and Leo suspects she might be mortal, and maybe Lupa made a mistake. Leo and Jason argue over whether she should join the Legion (They’re living in New Rome). Leo struggles with his fear of hurting the people he loves with his powers.

Category 4- MISCELLANEOUS:

10. Platonic Perleo- Percy and Leo get captured by government agents and have to escape Area 51 (Vaguely inspired by an episode of Helluva Boss)- VERY NERDY. This is a very fun one.

11. Leo talks to Hestia about… life, I guess. I started writing this while still on TLH and never found an ending, but it’s a good concept. Leo learns to accept his powers as something that can be good, when he only sees the bad. Hestia tells him “If fire was only about danger and destruction, then it would be the symbol of Ares, not Hephaestus.”

12. Thalia, Luke and Annabeth find little Leo while on the run. Leo and Annabeth bond over engineering. Luke tries to use Leo’s trauma as leverage to get Leo angry at the Gods. He tries to put the blame of Leo’s mom’s death on Hephaestus, since he’s responsible for giving Leo his powers. He points out how the Gods are all-powerful, and yet they leave the four of them- their own children- to starve on the streets. Leo in canon harbours a lot of resentment for his situation growing up, and Luke could easily spin that to justify his own anger.

Tagging people who might be interested:

@four-leafed-queer-gal @lavenderfairiez @child-of-helios @green-tea217 @puzzled-pegasus @imasimpdealwithit @123letsgobestie @ginnyluna @euryvices @ollieisanerd @sleepyycapybara @twomanyfandomshelp @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @keefessketchbook @frankzhang-appreciation-posts @hollow8007 @fairytalesociology @via-rant @daonedaonlyskh

If you have any suggestions for things to add to these fics- leave them in the comments. A lot of these I’ve struggled to flesh out/find endings for. Any help is much appreciated and you will be tagged in the fic if I use it.

Also, Lmk if you want to be tagged in any/all of these!

[strangermarvelss]

the pain of letting you go- e.m (pt 10)

Pairing: Ex!Eddie Munson x Ex!AFAB!Reader

Summary: eddie has a solo therapy session and a sit down talk with wayne about everything that’s been going on

Warnings: angst, eddie pov, mentions of past trauma and abuse (please don’t read if the topic is sensitive for you), crying, eddie having a breakthrough, wayne being the g.o.a.t and talking some sense into his nephew, cliffhanger ending

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: part ten of the series is here! can’t believe it’s almost done, it feels unreal. thank you to everyone for the continued support! reminder: if the topic is sensitive for you, please do not read. also, my two years of taking psychology in high school really came to play in this chapter, so if it doesn't make all kinds of sense, be gentle with my fuzzy brain recollection ! one last thing: eddie's backstory might sound a lot like billy's but that's just how i think it would be in this series! enjoy! :) -sava

series masterlist

“Do you want to start by telling me what brings you here today?” The lady in front of him asks, her notepad open and a pen situated between her index finger and thumb. Eddie shifts, readjusting his sitting position on the stiff couch in the spacious office as he looks back at the therapist in front of him.

He did exactly what he said he would. He got home that day that Christopher got in the fight and dialed Jonathan Byers’s home number, asking for the name and number of the therapist he and Will used to see back in Hawkins when their parents were getting their divorce. He thanked the man and hung up, quickly dialing the number Jonathan provided and made the first available appoint for the Monday after Thanksgiving, thanks to a recent cancellation. 

Everything he said that day was true, he wanted to make it up to you and he would put the work in for that to happen. He spent the holiday alone, except for the breakfast he had with Wayne before he went back to bed to prepare for his shift at the plant that night. He mentioned wanting to talk with the boy, concerned about his lack of Thanksgiving plans. Eddie hadn’t really kept Wayne in the loop with everything that has happened between you and him, not wanting his uncle to look at him differently for acting so stupid. He was already beating himself up over the situation, he didn’t need more people he loved to turn against him.

“I’ve been an idiot lately,” he tells her simply, crossing his arms in front of him, putting a barrier between his heart and the unfamiliar woman. She smiles a little, looking at her notes before turning back to him.

“Happens to the best of us sometimes. Care to elaborate?” She questions, raising a brow. Eddie lets out a sigh, before opening his mouth to speak once more.

“I asked my wife for a separation, for a really stupid reason, and now that we’re not together anymore, I-I feel nothing but regret and I just want her back,” he explains.

She takes a moment to write in her notebook, before turning back to Eddie. She examines him for a moment, looking him over and Eddie squirms under her intense stare. Therapy was new territory for him. He often wondered how much better his life could’ve been if he attended regularly as a kid, but with money being tight and his asshole father not seeing the point, it was never a solid option. He probably could’ve saved himself a lot of heartache and trouble if he had a healthy outlet to express himself like this, really talking about his problems instead of blasting music and getting high to forget all the troubles the universe threw his way.

“This ‘stupid’ reason you said…what exactly was it? What led you to want to separate from your wife?” She inquires. Another sigh leaves Eddie’s lips as he braces for judgement.

“I-I’m in a band, called Corroded Coffin. I have this bandmate, his name’s Gareth. He made some silly joke about my rockstar image being ‘tainted’ because I’m married to the only girl I’ve ever dated and been with sexually, and already have a kid. Like I said, it’s really stupid, but, I guess I just…let it get to me.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“Why do you keep asking why?” Eddie snaps a little, already getting a little irritated. “I thought you were supposed to tell me all that. Tell me what’s wrong with me so I can go and make shit better.”

“We have to work through it to get to the root of the problem, first. Together,” she answers him, sending him a sweet smile. He huffs, pressing himself further into the uncomfortable couch. “Now, is what your friend Gareth said true? That you’ve only been with one girl your whole life?”

“Yeah, it is. No one ever looked at me that way before Y/N and I started dating, and it just felt right. Then she got pregnant, and we got married after she graduated,” Eddie explains a bit. 

“Did you feel like you married Y/N out of obligation? Because you got her pregnant?”

He takes a moment to think. To reflect on the entire 8 years you spent together in a romantic relationship, and the years before that you spent as friends. He always loved spending time with you, whether you were friends or more than that. He remembers the time he realized he had feelings for you:

The summer of 1982 was hotter than you both wanted it be, even at night. You and Eddie were hanging out in his trailer, listening to his Black Sabbath album ‘Mob Rules’, blasting it with the windows wide open for the whole trailer park to hear. You both were on your third beer of the night, not wanting to celebrate the Fourth of July at the annual fair Hawkins threw every year thanks to Mayor Kline, but instead just having a relaxing night in the trailer, which is why it was okay for you both to blast the music after quiet hours began.

You were both laughing at some silly joke you said about his neighbor’s cat, the alcohol evident in your system and the fuzziness swirling around in both of your brains making any and every thing sound like the best joke in the world. He noticed how sweet your laughter was, and the way your nose crinkled when you giggled at his jokes, your lips curling into the brightest smile he’s ever seen and how you tilt your head back when you found something particularly funny. 

The butterflies were beginning to swirl in his stomach when you flopped on the bed next to him, laughing so hard he thought you’d pee all over his bed and stain it further, since you’d already gone several times that night thanks to the alcohol in your system. He thought he could just laugh at hearing your laugh for the rest of his life, seeing the bright twinkle in your eye when he turned towards you and heat spreading to his cheeks thanks to the staring. 

The laughter died down, the two of you looking at each other with soft eyes and reaching for each other. He grabbed your arm, running his ring clad hand up and down your soft skin, and you went to brush his growing mane out of his face. He felt his heart beating so fast in his chest, thinking it might pop out of him and explode all over your pretty outfit, which was a low cut tank top and high waisted shorts due to the heat, not that Eddie was complaining. 

It felt sudden when you pressed your lips to his, but he didn’t care all that much as he quickly melted into your touch, bringing the hand that was once rubbing up and down your arm to cup your face gently. The two of you had been friends for a while, but it wasn’t weird to be kissing in that moment. The heat that was created between the two of you as your lips moved against each other felt so nice and comforting. Like it was bound to happen any day. Like Eddie always said: It just felt right.

“No, I didn’t feel like I needed to marry her out of obligation. Her parents maybe think that, since they kept hinting towards it throughout the pregnancy, but I didn’t feel pressured by them or her. I did it because I wanted to,” he finally answers the woman before him. She nods at his answer and quickly scribbles something in her notebook again.

“And why did you want to? Think back at how you felt around that time in your life. What made you decide you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her in the first place?” 

“Being with her made me feel truly happy for the first time in my life. I had a shit childhood and everyone bullied me up until I graduated at my third attempt at a senior year, but whenever we were together, even before we were dating, it felt like I didn’t have to worry about ever being unhappy. I just felt-I felt like maybe life didn’t have to suck as much as I used to think it did.”

“Good, that’s good. I think we’re starting to get somewhere. Can you talk to me more about your childhood?” The therapist asks, readjusting her position in the chair in front of him, crossing a leg above her knee and readjusting her notepad. Eddie’s breath hitches for a moment, swallowing it down quickly after. He never reveled in the details about his childhood too often. The last time he had to was some comment Christopher made about a family tree he had to make for school, and he had asked about where his mother and father were and why he only had one set of grandparents he went to visit during the holidays. It wasn’t a lengthy conversation between him and his son, not like it was when he told you all those years ago. He wanted to save that story for when Chris was significantly older. Please, it all still felt very fresh, as if it was happening yesterday.

“Um, yeah…yeah I can. My mom, she was the sweetest woman. Always did her best to care for me a provide some kind of normal childhood with what little we had. But my dad…he was a total prick. An angry drunk who used to beat us every time we breathed wrong. He and my mom would fight a lot, arguing about money and other pointless shit in the end. But it always ended in him ‘winning’, getting a few too many smacks in and taking it out on me when I would try to defend her,” Eddie begins, his hands clasped in front of him as he leans forward on his knees, one leg bouncing uncontrollably as he speaks.

“One day, thinks got a little too heated between the two of them because he lost his job at the body shop he worked at, being drunk on the clock and all. They got into a screaming match, apparently, because money was becoming tighter and tighter, and when he lost his job, my mom was the only one with a stable income coming in. He…he hit her. No, not hit. He punched her. He was going at her and just hurting her worse than he ever had. She ended up in the hospital, broken ribs and eye swollen shut, but panicking about how much it would cost her instead of worrying about her injuries. But she figured it out and once she was better, she left Hawkins. S-she promised she’d come back and get me, and we’d go live in a city together where we didn’t have to deal with that asshole, but after two months of getting the brunt of all his anger about it, I lost hope. Then six months after she left, my dad got locked up and I was put in my Uncle Wayne’s care.”

She nods at his words, taking in all the information spilled at her in such a short amount of time as she writes faster than Eddie thought anyone could. Eddie’s chest feels tight as his mind brings him back to his past. The pain from his father’s fists and the smacking sound he’d create against his chubby pre-teen face still fresh and the exact reason he was so worried when Christopher got into a fight at school. Sure, Eddie knew how to defend himself against bullies when the time called for it, but he tried to not get physical when he felt the need to get violent. The fight with his son, plus the smack you landed on his face when he was being a jealous dickhead about Steve, took him back to the small house he lived in on the outskirts of Hawkins with his father’s harsh words ringing in his ears and horrible actions making his skin sting.

“Do you ever find yourself running away from conflict, Eddie?” The therapist asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Um…yeah, I guess sometimes I do. But Y/N and I didn’t have any conflict when I asked for the separation, it was because of what Gareth said,” he replies. She hums to herself, raising her eyebrows a bit a shaking her head.

“But what if it was something deeper than that?” She ponders.

“What do you mean?”

She closes the notebook momentarily, setting it on the side table closest to her chair and clasping her hands in front of her. “What if you had a deeper reasoning, something that didn’t click into place until your friend said the joke. Eddie, with all the stuff you just told me, it sounds like the abandonment your mother caused you to feel could have something to do with this, as well as a bit of self sabotage.”

The abandonment was spot on, with the grudge he still held for his mother for leaving him in the hands of an abusive piece-of-shit still very present. But self sabotage? What on earth could he have been sabotaging? And for what reason?

“I’m going to need you to elaborate further, doc,” he pleads.

“Well, you said you never felt truly happy until you were with Y/N. Things were going good between you, so there could’ve been a small part of you just waiting for things to get bad again. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. So instead of you going through any sort of pain on the receiving end, you initiated the bad stuff before it could happen to you. And running away similar to how your mother did, but not exactly the same,” she explains to him. 

Eddie feels as if a lightbulb went off over his head as he listens to what she says. It all makes sense, because there was always a small part of him that told him he never deserved anything good in his life, words his father would spew at him continuing to stay with him many years later. He finally felt happy and let his head overthink that, not truly being able to soak up the feeling and throwing away the best thing he’s ever witnessed in his life. The words the therapist said, mixed with the insecurity of his lack of experience, all made Eddie feel semi-better about knowing what exactly led him to acting so stupid.

As happy as he was to get to the root of the problem, he felt like even more of an idiot for doing so and putting you through the shit that was going on with him. What if he managed to get this kind of help earlier, before acting on Gareth’s words and being a mini manwhore? What if he just talked about how he was feeling instead of keeping it to himself and letting you suffer in the process?

“That actually makes a lot of sense doc…thank you,” he breathes out.

“That’s why I’m here. I think we’ve made some great progress for today, and I’d like to try and see you once more before your family session coming up in a couple of weeks. Talk to the receptionist out front and see where they can squeeze you in,” the therapist says, standing from her chair and extending her hand to him. He shakes it as he stands himself, digging his hands in his pocket before walking out of the room and out into the lobby where the front desk is located.

—————————————————————————————————————————

Staring at Wayne’s truck in the driveway, Eddie takes a deep breath before turning the engine to his van off. Exiting the vehicle, he takes the few steps until he reaches the porch, climbing the stairs and walking in the front door. Wayne’s figure is relaxing in his recliner, feet extended as he watches a show on the tiny television. He meets his nephews eyes, Eddie giving him a shy wave before setting his keys on the kitchen counter.

“Hey boy,” Wayne greets him, pushing the recliner back into the regular sitting position and standing. He walks over towards the kitchen, his arms extending and wrapping around his nephew quickly. “How’ve you been boy?”

Eddie shakes his head, laughing a little as he looks to the floor. “Not good Uncle Wayne. Pretty far from being okay, if I'm being honest”

“C’mere son, lets sit down and talk,” he gestures towards the kitchen table, the two chairs already situated a bit for people to just slide it, the two men having a habit of not pushing them in. Eddie sits down, wringing his hands together as he rests the against the table. Wayne slides in, taking a sip of his drink as he looks at his nephew. “Tell me what’s been going on with you and Y/N.”

Eddie’s eyes shoot up to meet Wayne's, panic in his face hearing his uncle say the words. Wayne hated gossip, so there was no way someone else managed to tell him the situation before he did, right?l

“How did you-“

“Now you know as well as I do how fast word travels in this damn town. I may not like to gossip, but my ears do perk up when they’re talking about my nephew. I would’ve liked to hear it from you though, so talk to me son,” he explains, cutting the younger man off. 

“M’sorry Wayne, I just didn’t want you to be mad at me and be disappointed in me. I've already put you through enough shit...I-I just didn't want to add onto that,” Eddie admits, hanging his head low in shame, staring at the wooden table and tracing the cravings he did years ago with his fingertips.

“Eddie I could never be disappointed in you, and I mean that.”

“Thanks Wayne, I appreciate that,” he pauses, continuing to trace the carvings. “I really screwed things up with Y/N. I got in my head and let her go…and now I feel horrible. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done, and you know me, it says a lot.”

“Yeah son, I do know you. And you’re right, that is the worst thing you’ve ever done,” Wayne tells him. Eddie’s eyes widen, staring at his uncle crazily, a breathy laugh leaving his lips. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I’ve seen how that girl has changed your life for the better, and leaving her like that was just cruel. She and that boy of yours love you so much, but I can’t for the life of me understand why you did it, because I know how crazy you are about her. So what the hell?”

Eddie frowns, hearing the disappointment in his uncle’s voice. He knew how stupid it was letting the one person other than Wayne who has ever treated him with any kind of love that he deserved go like he did, trading the simple family life for the rockstar life he’s always dreamed of. But now that he had that rockstar life, he hated what he gave up in order to have it. Losing you and your son wasn’t worth all the potential record deals and never having to worry about money again. 

“I know Wayne…I know I messed up. But I’m trying to do better-I am going to do better. I just came back from a therapy session, and we’re going to go as a family so I can see just how much this has effected them and see what I can do to be good to them. I want to be back in their lives and come home to my family every night and tuck my son in without him hating me. I want to lay in bed with my wife at night and hear all about her day and hold her in my arms as we fall asleep, then wake up and do it all over again. I never thought that’d be something I could want, much less have, but now that it’s almost out of my grasp?” Eddie stops, feeling the tears fall down his pale cheeks as he tries his best to compose himself in front of his uncle, turning away and rubbing his eyes with his thumb.

He keeps the sobs to himself, not wanting to look more pathetic than he already felt. He knew it was stupid to cry over his own mistakes, but it just showed how much he cared for you and Christopher. He loves you both so much, and despite everything, he wants nothing but happiness for the both of you, whether that includes him in your lives or not. 

Wayne stands from his chair, walking over and taking Eddie’s figure in his own, wrapping his arms around the boy’s shoulder and holding Eddie’s head close to his figure with his free hand. Eddie immediately hugs him back, his face burying into one of Wayne’s legs as he turns his head to the side, looking out at the living room before closing his eyes once more, fresh tears spilling over the edge.

“I don’t want to lose them, Wayne. I can’t,” Eddie mumbles out. Wayne nods, patting his nephew’s head as he tries to soothe him. 

“I know boy, I know. But you have to keep putting in the work. I know you love them, and they still love you, I can see it when I see Y/N around town sometimes with the way she still manages to flash me a smile. So go and be a better man for them, the husband and father they need you to be and get your head out of your ass,” Wayne says.

Eddie smiles a little, pulling away from his uncle and rubbing his tears on his sleeve. He was going to do whatever you needed him to in order to be on good terms again. He knew things wouldn’t magically heal over night and that he’d be welcomed back to his home with open arms next time you saw both of them, so he would wait as long as he needs for you to be ready and let him back into your life. 

That is, if you still really wanted him there.

[harleyquinnzelz]

Personal Update

Just some life update stuff since I went radio silent for a month.

Okay so I finally geared myself up to post about this here, on my blog, for you guys to see. It’s been weighing heavily on my mind for a few weeks because I went from steadily putting out fresh content to... well, nothing. I was constantly motivated to create, to put out new and fresh edits. I was writing regularly, making actual progress on fics. It felt great. I was in a wonderful mental state, working on writing a fic that I love, with ocs that I adore. Beyond that, I was lucky enough to have multiple outlets where I could gush about these ocs, and more specifically where I was able to have wonderful conversations with friends about all of our ocs. Really, I was in a wonderful mental state, probably the best I had been in for a long time. 

Then, on August 14th, after a week spent at my parents’ house dog-sitting, I came home to learn that one of our cats, Guppy, had unexpectedly died literally within 10 minutes of my arriving home. Look, I know I don’t share much personal stuff on this blog. I like to stay pretty private in public posts, but those of you who know me well know that I adore my cats, so coming home to learn that one of them had died, after I had spent a week away was devastating. 

I won’t go into too many details here, but a little over a year ago Guppy unexpectedly got outside. We are very good at keeping our cats inside usually but a repairman was working on something in the house and at some point she had slipped outside. By the time we had found her, she was under the house and it took us a while to coax her out. Once we had, we realized at some point she had gotten injured and fractured her jaw. What followed was a series of vet trips to our local emergency clinic, surgery, and a diagnosis of FIP. We were hopeful that it was a false positive in the test as the months went by and Guppy seemed to have fully recovered. For those of you who don’t know, FIP has many neurological side-effects and over the course of a year we noticed no signs that there was anything wrong. We thought for sure that Guppy was going to be just fine, so her sudden passing hit hard. She was only three years old, after all, and an energetic, playful cat. On top of her sudden death was the very real worry that it was some other kind of sickness and that our other cat, Reid, may have gotten infected. 

Now, while Guppy was a family cat, Reid is and has always been my cat, brought with me when I moved in with my boyfriend and his family. He’s my best friend, and I love him more than I could put into words. He is also much older than Guppy was so there was a very real fear that I could potentially lose him as well. Thankfully, an emergency check-up with our vet showed that, aside from an asthma diagnosis, Reid is perfectly healthy for his age. Our vet was also kind enough to offer us some insight into the potential cause for Guppy’s sudden passing. As thankful as I am that Reid is okay, with that confirmation came grief over Guppy and, as could be expected, my mental health took a dive. Pair that with falls imminent arrival (seriously guys the seasonal depression gets bad) and just... mentally I was not doing great. And my creative outlets suffered for it. 

I know it seems silly to complain about that but seriously, I’m a creative person and having something to focus that creative energy on really help my mental state. On top of that, with no current hyperfixation (again, I know it’s a silly thing to worry about) I felt listless. I had nowhere to focus creative energy, despite desperately wanting to create. 

So now it’s a month later and... look, I’m not going to say that I’m feeling better. I still miss Guppy, and I am anticipating the end of summer when the season depression will hit hard, but I am finally getting into the swings of creating again. I don’t know yet what the game plan is, I’m torn between working on either my Scream fic or my Stranger Things fic, but you guys can expect some updated character intros (to the surprise of absolutely nobody I’ve changed a lot of characters face claims) so hopefully that will inspire me to actually write. 

A bit of good news to end what is otherwise a very depressing post, we have recently become the temporary home of a mama cat who gave birth to four, that’s right four, adorable kittens, two of which we are planning on keeping for ourselves. They are absolutely precious and have recently begun to walk and I think watching their growth has helped all of us start to process our grief regarding Guppy. 

But yeah, that’s what’s going on in my life currently, and this post ended up being far longer than I intended, but I’m going to try to start making content again, and I’m in the process of getting my queue up and going (And if I’ve missed posts I’ve been tagged in over the a last month I am so sorry you guys). I’m also, tentatively, working towards starting to do art commissions for character designs and am in the process of building up a bit of a portfolio of sorts. Basically, I’m trying to be productive and we’ll just have to see how that works. Anyway, I love you guys and wanted to thank any of you who have been patient enough to stick around after a month of exactly 0 content. 

[ciphertone]

He had to admit, he'd been watching for a good few minutes - it was enthralling, frankly, watching the hissy fit being thrown. There's clearly no small amount of emotional turmoil brewing beneath the others chrome surface, and little to no hesitance to resort to anger as the emotional outlet of choice. It's a quick way to draw his attention! That's his typical type of crowd. For once in his life, he isn't entirely sure of the specifics behind it; but he knows humans well enough to feel that his assumptions are correct. He'd been planning a little more of a dramatic reveal, but being spotted ahead of time works as well. Or it'll have to, anyways.

"HA - NO. TRUST ME, I DOUBT ANYONE COULD MAKE ME UP. I'M THE REAL DEAL! NAME'S BILL. CAN I GET A NAME OUT OF YOU TO OR ARE YOU TOO BUSY YELLING AT THE SKY AND KICKING TRASHCANS? NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH KICKING A FEW TRASHCANS HERE AND THERE - IT LOOKS LIKE A PERFECTLY HEALTHY OUTLET FOR YOU."

There's no sardonic edge to the last comment, it's simply stated as a plain fact. Who's he to judge? Besides, it makes things more fun than just sitting around, taking deep breaths and getting over it.

@ciphertone

"The fuck is wrong with you, huh! Just because I ask nicely one time to have a ride, you kick me so deep in the back that I have to play NPC in your game of The Sims?" Johnny yells up in the sky, shaking his BB gun with a tight fist before throwing it on the ground. The plastic shatters on contact with the concrete, and he stomps on it for good measure. He already knew their relationship was rocky at best, that V was probably still processing a lot-- but really? Really? Was it so bad that Johnny just asked? Not like he was planning to do anything too crazy to the body ( by his standards anyways ). "Even baby-proofed it? Fuckin' dickwipe..."

"Fine, have it your way." Cold. Empty. For the very first time in a long time, Johnny can't get a whiff of whatever's floating in V's head. And it usually isn't this elaborate, the mind-palace, with bustling civilians and every color under the sun. It doesn't usually feel this solid either, but whatever, probably a side-effect of V taking one pill too many of those Omega-blockers. What-fucking-ever. As he leans against a lamppost, he reaches into his back pocket and--

"You kidding me? Won't even let me pretend to smoke? The fuck problem you have with me?" A swift and hard kick at a trash can; it knocks over, the side of it dented by his foot. "I thought shit was going swimmingly! What happened to that, huh? Huh!" Another hard kick, and it rolls a little farther away. When he realises he's being watched, he turns his head. "Who the hell are you supposed to be? One of V's imaginary friends?"