#but also just with general logic- if you have someone who is not comfortable shooting who is not the pg

[the-physicality]

"tomorrow we find out where paige is going" .... .tomorrow we find out which team has a 99% chance of drafting paige

[magics-neptunes-things]

Bang, Bang.

Hi guys!

So this is from this request and it won't be an happy one. It might contain some medical things who aren't right, but I'm not a doctor even if I made some research to write something logical.

Please enjoy and thanks again dear anon for your perfect request ♥

Also no proofreading for now, sorry!

TW : Fight between lover, gun, shooting, bleeding, hospital, coma, sadness and a lot of angst.

Champion’s league finale. You are playing with your team against Barcelona and more specifically your girlfriend’s team. The Spanish are looking for another cup to continue to break all the records, but your team is very motivated to stop them. It would be the first Cup for your club and for you, too. It’s not ideal playing against your girlfriend honestly, but you knew when you start dating that it was a risk to take.

Alexia and you are together for more than two years now, your forever crush becoming reality at a point during the Euro and when Alexia did her ACL. It’s not easy being away from your girlfriend, even if you are playing in Manchester city with some of your national teammates and friends (Laia Aleixandri and Leila Ouahabi).

The game is tough, at the end of the ninety minutes, each team has scored two goals. At the 93 minutes, you manage to take the best on the defender who is marking you, using your full speed after having received a very good pass from Laia. You can hear the crowd screaming, City’s fans encouraging you while Barcelona’s fans are booing. But when you are facing the keeper, you shut everything and send a cannonball in the upper corner of the net. The keeper can’t do anything.

You don’t have time to register that you just scored 1 minute before the end of the adding time, your teammates tackling you on the ground. This is a mix of jersey, hair, hug and pat on the head for several seconds, before the referee ask you to go back to your position to start the game again.

She made you play two minutes more to catch up the time you lost while celebrating, but Barcelona don’t score. Then the whistle resonate in the stadium and you just won the UEFA Champions League. Not knowing how to react, you stay still for many seconds, before someone jump on your back to train you in a group hug.

You don’t stay a long time though, you want to check on Alexia. You easily find your girlfriend sitting on the ground, her jaw clenched. There is no one around her, so you chose to go to see her. You promised each other that you won’t be resentful to the other, whatever the ending of this game is.

So you think nothing more than being a recomfort to your girlfriend when you arrive next to her.

“Hi” you say softly.

You don’t know if Alexia realized your presence before you talk, but the eyes she lays on you aren’t really friendly. But you decide not to stress about it, kneeling next to her to put a comforting hand on her arm.

“You played very well. I’m so proud of you for the way you leaded your team. And this goal was something else.”

You smile, referring to the second goal, a real banger from Alexia. She doesn’t answer anything, so you just continue talking.

“You can be proud of yourself too, you know? You did everything you could and gave all you could. It’s –“

“Can you please shut the fuck up?”

Alexia doesn’t look at you when she cuts you, but you can tell how angry she is just with the tone of her voice. You are surprised enough to stay quiet and she continues.

“Don’t act like you have all the merits on this win. Your team is lucky that some girls are injured and that we don’t have our usual team playing tonight. If we had all the players, we would have crush you. Don’t take your win for what it’s not. You are just lucky, this has nothing to do with talent.”

Well, you didn’t expect that. Alexia has always been supportive of you, but more generally she always has been respectful and fair play to her opponents. You realize that there is Leila and Patri standing behind you when Alexia gets up to go somewhere else.

“Alexia.” Patri says in a tone of reproach.

But your girlfriend doesn’t answer anything, still walking to the Barcelona’s bench. You can only look at her leaving, stunned by her reaction. You take Leila’s hand who helps you to get up.

“Don’t listen to her” Patri says before hugging you. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you” you mumble.

Leila hugs you tightly too, not without looking at Alexia with reproach too. After that, the ceremony has a bitter taste for you, to be honest. It can’t be seen on picture, you are smiling between Alanna Kennedy and Laia, raising the cup or kissing it. Or being kissed on the head by Laia.

But in reality, you just want to talk to your girlfriend. She didn’t look at you when she passed between the two lines of your team when she goes to take her silver medals. And then she just went to the locker room, not even watching you raise the cup. It hurts, as much as her words did.

But you try to be understanding, you know how bad your girlfriend deal with the idea of losing anything, probably taking all the mistakes on herself. You manage to catch her, hair down and wet, before she leaves with her teammates to take the bus to go back to her hotel.

“Alexia!” you call her.

You don’t see her sigh and roll her eyes, which is good otherwise you probably will be hurt a little more. She was walking with Irene and Ona and turn around to look at you. You already talked with the two others after the game, so you smile back at them when they smile to you before leaving both of you.

“What do you want?” Alexia says harshly.

You are a little stunned, by the tone of her voice and the question. But you don’t say anything, trying to ignore the strange feeling in your stomach. Alexia never talked to you that way. You almost never fought since you are together.

“Talk to you? Can we at least have some minutes together?”

There is a moment of silence.

“No. I don’t want to talk or see you right now.”

********

The celebrations are strange after that. You make all the efforts you can to keep a smile on your face and not ruin your teammate’s joy. Alanna and Leila are looking at you with intensity and you’re pretty sure that Leila told to Alanna what happened between you and Alexia. But you manage to keep them away from you enough to be able to leave as soon as Kerstin.

You tried several times to call Ale when you go back to your hotel, but she doesn’t answer. You prefer to think that she’s asleep and not ignoring you. You send her a message after that, hopping to have an answer during the night or in the morning.

You didn’t.

The morning after, when you wake up, you realize that there is no message from Alexia. Your social media are full of notifications but nothing from your girlfriend. You haven’t post anything either, not wanting to upset your girlfriend even more.

You were supposed to stay in Paris, where the finale was played, together for two days before going back to Barcelona. But with Alexia not giving you any news, you are really scared that she chose to go back to Barcelona without you.

After reading the list of your friends in the Barcelona’s team, you chose to try to call Ona. You can’t help but smirk when you hear Lucy’s voice instead of the Spaniard. But your friend comes several seconds after, and you are finally able to ask if she has news from Alexia.

You are relieved to learn that she’s still in Paris, and even more when Ona accepts to make you sneak in the hotel. Your plan is to go buy some flowers and chocolate for your girlfriend; this is her guilty pleasure. You discovered that during the first weeks of dating her.

After some research, you chose the best chocolate shop around your hotel and go to it to buy some. You take some time to select them, being sure that Alexia will enjoy every single one of them. When you are happy with it, you pay the box but add a cute white teddy bear sitting next to the cashier. No one seems to recognize you, which you are glad for. Like this you can take all the time you want.

You decide to walk to go to the florist, situated between the chocolate shop and Alexia’s hotel. The weather is great, sunny but not too hot. It’s still hotter than Manchester though.

The florist is very nice, and you look around while she’s serving other people who were already here when you arrived, right now it’s a family with a small girl smiling at you. You love the smell in here. The roses are amazing, and you ask the florist something with red roses in it. You look at her ease to make a wonderful bouquet with amazement.

“Tout le monde les mains en l’air !“

You hear the shout before you see the man, but the sweet florist’s face is suddenly very white. You don’t understand what was told, so you turn around to look what is happening.

There is a man with his face hidden behind a mask who is pointing a gun in your direction. You are glad that the family with the cute toddler left.

“A genoux!”

You don’t understand and you have to look around to know what he’s asking. The other raised their arms and are now kneeling, while you are still standing without moving.

That seems to make the man very mad. When you turn your eyes to him once again, he says something that might be a swear word. Then there is a sound of gunfire and the pain you feel is worst than anything you felt in your life.

You hit your head hard on the ground and suddenly the people around are screaming, but you don’t understand why. They are talking in French, and you have trouble to understand anything. It seems to you that the man got the money he wanted before leaving. The rush in your ears is very unpleasant and when you look at your chest, you realize that there is a big, red spot on your white shirt.

Suddenly there is a woman kneeling next to you, grabbing your face to make you look at her. It’s the florist.

“Hey! We called the ambulance, they are coming, ok? Stay awake, please.”

“I need to call Alexia” you breath, while taking your phone from your pocket.

“OK. I’ll press something on your stomach to stop the bleeding, ok?”

You just nod. Your hands are shaking while you open your phone, and your vision is blur when you look for your girlfriend’s number. It’s not hard to find though, she’s on the top of your list. You let the phone ring for several longs minutes before accepting the fact that Alexia won’t answer.

“She’s maybe still asleep” the girl points.

“No” you whisper shakily. “She’s mad at me. Those were supposed to be gifts for her”

“I’m sure she’ll love it”

You start to have trouble to breath. You close your eyes and try to take a big breath. You start to feel anxious too. Are you going to die without having heard your girlfriend’s voice a last time? Without being able to tell her how much you love her, how much she means for you?

You suddenly feels very tired, you understand what it’s mean. Fighting to open your eyes, you look for the woman’s eyes before talking. It seems like you don’t speak very loud, because she leans on you to understand.

“Will you tell her that I love her? Please. She always meant the world to me and I’m sorry that she’s so upset. Will you tell her?”

The woman’s eyes are wet when she talks to you.

“You will tell her yourself, Sweetheart.”

You know you won’t be able to. So you need her to promise you.

“Please. There are no words strong enough, but I love her more than anything. Will you give her my presents too? I wrote a card with the bear”

Your words are hard to pronounce, but you manage to say every single one of them, being sure to be understand. The woman nods and you feel relieved.

“I’m sure she loves you too.”

The woman cup your face and you decide to believe her. You close your eyes again and let yourself being wrapped by the memories you have with Alexia. The best of your life.

********

Alexia is sitting in a chair, her head in her hands. Everything seems unreal. Her eyes are red from crying, her throat is dry, and her head is pounding painfully. And she wonders if her breathing will be normal again at a moment.

She feels awful.

She was the worst girlfriend in the world for you and you never deserved it. You took the time to find her to talk to her even if you were probably drunk with the adrenaline of the win. You said sweet words to her, took the time to comfort her and she still had this behavior.

To be fair to her, she was really trying to find a way to come back to you to apologize. She was showering when you tried to call her after being shot, not knowing that you already made a plan with Ona to come to her.

Then, she received the worst call of her life. She’s the number one on your emergency calls so the hospital you were transferred to call her as soon as they could. It was three days ago, and she never left this room since.

You had a surgery and when she arrived in your room at first, you weren’t even here. Then they bring you in it and she learned that you probably won’t make it. But it’s been three days, and you are still here, your brain seems to still work correctly, and your heart is still beating.

You lost a lot of blood though and several of your organs got touched by the bullet. You are healing and it’s only because you are an athlete and in a very good shape that you are still alive.

Just when she thought that nothing could get worse, she received a visit that she didn’t except. She frowns at first when a cute girl entered your room with a teddy bear, a chocolate box and flowers. But then the florist explained to her what you ask her to do and that the precise moment where Alexia lost it.

You parents and Alexia’s mother join you in the hospital to be there for you, but for Alexia too. Ale’s mother never managed to get Alexia out of your room. Alexia sleep on the chair, Alexia eats the awful hospital’s food, Alexia takes shower in the bathroom of your room.

Sometimes she cries, sometimes she just looks at you. No one never heard her voice since she’s here. She’s so hurt that she feels like she can’t speak anymore. She only speaks to you when you both are alone. She’s so hurt, too, that she wants to rip her heart of her chest.

Alexia lost track of time, her mother and your parents left several hours ago now, and the sky is dark. The bips from the monitoring are still in the background, but Alexia doesn’t pay attention to them anymore. Unless they are making strange sounds, like yesterday. Your heart was suddenly in great difficulty.

The nurses explain to her after having stabilized you that it’s because your body need a lot to heal, and it could be hard for your heart.

The Spaniard keeps thinking that her behavior probably had hurt your heart so much that she’s responsible of your state. She is wrong of course, even if she was bad after the game, it’s not in any case of her fault.

When Alexia raises her head again to look at you, you are still with your eyes closed, your skin paler than ever. You are Spanish too, you have a natural tan skin, but now you look… ill. Alexia hates it.

“Mi Amor” she whispers while taking your hand in hers, her throat hurts when she talks. “I know you are doing everything you can to heal and come back. You don’t know what your life means to a lot of people here. Your parents, your family, your friends, your fans… Me, of course. But I don’t know if you steel want me after everything that happened. You got hurt because of me.”

If she wasn’t a little shit, you wouldn’t have been in this flower shop. That’s what she shouts to her sister when Alba tried to make her leave your room. Tears are rolling again on her cheeks, and you would probably kiss them if you were awake.

“I am so sorry. I’ll give everything to be at your place. I’m not able to ask it, but please come back. I need you so much. I don’t know how I am supposed to continue without you. You weren’t at Barcelona, but it’s seems like you are everywhere every time. Everything makes me think about you. I need you. Please. I’m so sorry.”

Alexia lost her father several years ago and it was heartbreaking, of course. Her father was her model when she was younger. Her guide. But you, you are the love of her life and she is convinced that she won’t survive your lost.

“Take the time you need to heal and then I’ll do everything for you to forgive me.”

Tears are rolling freely on her face, but she doesn’t care anymore since a very long time. She rather kisses your hand, relieved to feel the warm of your skin on her lips. Alexia frowns slightly while looking at your fingers though. They had to remove the ring you were usually wearing on your finger; the one Alexia offered you for your one year together. Alexia wears it around her neck on her chain, her fingers being too big to wear it on her finger.

“I love you. I’ll stay with you every second until you wake up.”

She means it and she did it. Even when they were other games played, she never left your side. They talked about transferring you in England, where you live, but Alexia refused, and your parents agreed with her. They never doubt about the love Alexia had for you; you never hide from them how good Alexia treated you during your time together.

You weren’t really aware of that to be honest. You were somewhere over the rainbow, far away from your girlfriend and the one you love. Even if it isn’t the case for Alexia, it’s better for you. Seeing Alexia’s distress would probably break you. You sometimes feel lighter, but you like to think that it’s the time when Alexia takes your hand or kiss it.

********

“We would like to make her try to breath without monitoring. We need to see if she’s able to breath alone.”

“No.”

Alexia’s answer is harsh and cold, but her mother puts a hand on her shoulder to calm her. Your mother is more diplomatic about her answer.

“Isn’t it risky?”

“Everything is risky” the doctor says, trying to ignore Alexia’s glare. “But her organs are better, and we need to revise her treatment. We will stop the monitoring for an hour, and we will check her oxygen constantly during the process.”

“What if she stops breathing?” Alexia asks.

“The chances are very rare. In fact,…”

“What. If. She. Stops. Breathing.”

Your father smirks when your girlfriend talks again, carefully articulating each of her words with cold anger. He always loved Alexia and he probably loves her even more right now.

“We will put her back on monitoring and try something else.”

Alexia snorts and crosses her arms on her chest. She hates that idea; she hates the idea that they are putting you in danger without any reason. She doesn’t say that it’s bullshit just because her mother is here and she is always careful about the words she chooses when Eli is around.

“I won’t leave her side a single second” she rather informs your medical team.

She doesn’t when they try, her eyes being on the screen with the indicator of your oxygen in your body or on your chest, watching it raise every single time. When one hour is passed and you are still breathing normally, she feels a little better. The medical team decided to let you like this for now, wanting to see if you can make the night.

The night pass and you are still breathing. Then a whole day.

“I’m so proud of you” Alexia whispered against your forehead before kissing it softly.

She explained to her mother how she treated you the next time you saw her, the guilt was eating her alive. Her mother didn’t try to tell her that she’s wrong to feel that way, Eli agreed with Alexia about how bad she was. She nevertheless comforts her daughter with words she knew were true. She remembers to Alexia how much you love her and that you still went to grab her presents before wanting to come to her.

Three days without monitoring and you are still breathing like you are peacefully sleeping. They are still feeding you with your catheter but other than that you don’t need anything to be alive.

Everything was fine and that’s why she panicked when you start to whine suddenly. Hands shaking, she jumps from her chair looking around before pressing the button to call the nurses. She doesn’t know what she managed to say, but the nurses start to talk way to fast in French, one of them taking her phone to call the doctor.

“What is happening?” Alexia asks, her breath almost impossible to take.

“We need you to leave the room for a little time” one of the nurses asks her.

“No way!”

“Alexia…”

Eli’s voice makes her daughter looks around, but the blond doesn’t move. She just shakes her head, informing every single person in the room that she won’t leave you. Bad or good news, she will be here. She needs to be here.

The three women don’t have the time to convince Alexia a little longer, because the doctor suddenly comes into your room, talking in French too and Alexia wonders if she will explode from frustration soon.

She sees several monitors coming into your room too and when your mother-in-law comes to your girlfriend to pass her arms around her shoulder, Alexia looks at her with lost eyes.

“Is that it? Is she dying?” she whispers.

Eli feels her heart break, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know. She just cups her daughter’s face and keep her face on her chest. Eli doesn’t move when Alexia grip her arms pretty hard, tightening her daughter even closer to her, trying to protect your girlfriend from another lost.

The next minutes were agonizing for your girlfriend, and she can’t open her mouth when the doctor comes next to her. She doesn’t understand all the bip from the different monitors around you. She doesn’t know if you are still alive or not.

“She is ok” he says at first, having learn to understand Alexia through the days, and your girlfriend feels like she might faint from relieving. “I think she is trying to wake up. The next hours will be decisive.”

After that, Alexia sits even closer to your face to have a better look at you. Every night her mother goes back to the house Alexia rent for her and your family so they can be close to you.

She hasn’t sleep since more than twenty-seven hours when you move again. But this time you open your eyes and look around. You seem scared, your eyes looking around you.

“Sh Bébé, can you hear me?” Alexia whispers after having regained some composure.

Her hand is on your face, soft like a feather. She manages to calm you quickly and you nod very softly. Alexia sees it anyway.

“You are at the hospital. You are safe, ok? Just try to breath a little slowly.”

You keep looking at her, trying your best to calm yourself. You don’t know how many minutes have passed before you swallow your saliva and open your mouth.

“No. Don’t talk. Keep your energy, ok?” Alexia whispers again.

As your memories come back, you are relieved to see that Alexia is by your side. She looks like she hasn’t sleep or eat in the last two weeks, but you don’t leave her face with your eyes, even when she moves to let the doctor and nurses check several things on you.

You tiredly let them do what they want with you and Alexia never left you with her eyes either. She watches the medical team to be sure they are doing things right with you. When they talk to you in English, you are way to tired to understand what they are saying. Luckily, your girlfriend is here to translate in Spanish.

“They want to know if you are hurt somewhere. Don’t shake your head, just close your eyes two times if you are hurt and one if you are ok.”

You blink slowly one time. You are not hurt, you are tired. Your answer seems to relieve everyone around and you close your eyes to rest when they are talking in English again. Alexia answers something and you trust her to make things right. They are talking for several minutes before the silence is here again.

You open your eyes suddenly, scared that Alexia has left too. But she’s here, typing on her phone, informing your parents and family that you are awake. She seems surprised to see you watching her when she puts her phone down.

“I thought you fall back asleep” she says softly, turning her body to look at you. “Do you want to drink?”

You blink once and she almost run to get you a glass of water from the bathroom. If you were able, you probably have laugh at her. You hope to have a little of water in your mouth can help you to talk. Alexia uses the buttons of the bed to make you seat and is very careful in every of her move to help you drink.

“They said a little bit at time”

You oblige and the feeling is amazing honestly. You look at your girlfriend and you focus on your sentence before talking, not wanting to waste any energy.

“Did you get my presents?”

Your voice is awful, but it’s not a surprise. You don’t really know since when you are here, without talking. But you need to know.

Alexia turns in your direction and suddenly her eyes are wet with tears and her hands are shaking.

“I did. That sweet girl came in here to give them to me the first day. The flowers are here” she points them. “Thank you, even if you shouldn’t needed to get me any of this. We will talk about it later, but Y/N/N I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you. You are the sweetest and most perfect girl in the world. And I love you more than anything.”

“Alexia…”

She puts her finger on your lips, putting you in silence.

“Keep your energy for when your parents are coming.”

You roll briefly your eyes and for the first time in weeks, Alexia smiles. Not her sometimes awkward smile, who makes you think about that Friend’s episode where Chandler is supposed to smile for his engagement’s pictures. You always teased her about it.

“I love you more than anything too” you whisper when she takes her finger back. “Stay with me?”

“Of course I will”

You don’t know that she never left your side since you are here. Just like her mother several hours ago, she cups your face with extra care before stroking your hair. Right to her words, Alexia never left you for a second and wait for you to be able to go back to Barcelona for your recovery.

********

Several Months Later.

“What would you think about me coming to play in England?”

In shock, you spit out the pudding you were innocently eating. Like every morning since your hospitalization, Alexia and you are talking over FaceTime while you are eating your breakfast. Like always, Alexia just came back from her morning jogging and is eating her breakfast too.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you ask, the choc passed.

“Me playing in Manchester? I really want to be close to you. I hate being so far away from you and being able to have you in my arms only for two weeks every two months.”

You probably are dreaming or hallucinating. You look at your girlfriend on your screen like if you were waiting for her to tell it’s only a joke. That’s what you are waiting, to be honest.

“Alexia, you will die in the English weather” you point. “And they are eating pudding and beans on a toast for breakfast here, I don’t know how you would survive.”

Your girlfriend rolls her eyes – just like she hates you do – and seems suddenly to find her tortilla very interesting.

“Don’t you want me there with you?” she asks with insecurity.

Since you got shot, you sometimes have the impression that she’s just waiting for you to break up with her. Something you will never do, how in the world are you supposed to live without your reason to breath?

“That’s not the point Cariño” you assure her with a smile. “I would love to be able to wake up every morning next to you.”

“What is it then?”

She’s almost pouting and you want to squeeze her cheeks with your hands.

“There is something I haven’t talked to you about.”

She looks panicked when she raises her eyes on your, turning your head back on you so quickly that you wonder if she hurts herself.

“What?”

“Don’t be mad, ok?” you begin, starting to eat your porridge again. “But I might have received an offer from Barcelona. I haven’t talk to you about yet because I wanted to be sure that it’s a real offer and that they are serious about it. City seems ok with me coming back to Barcelona, but nothing is signed for now.”

“Do you want it? Coming back?”

You look at your girlfriend thoughtfully. You understand where this question comes from, Alexia just wants to be sure that you are not doing things for her, but for you and your career.

“I miss Barcelona. I miss the Spanish weather, I miss my family… Sure I’ll miss Laia and Leila and the RFEF is still shit, but I want to give it a try.”

“Ok” Alexia smiles.

You can see that she’s thinking about something, but you don’t pressure her to talk. You know that it will comes when she will be ready. You finish your breakfast, talking about everything and nothing while Alexia looks at you from the corner of her eyes. The thoughts haunting her mind come out loud several minutes later.

“Are you going to go back to your parent’s?”

“Like living with them?” you raise an eyebrow before continuing when Alexia nods. “No, of course not. I’m 24 years old, I’m way to old to live with my parents again” you laugh softly. “Why?”

“I was thinking that there’s enough room in my closet for both of us. If you want it.”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” you smile tenderly.

“Yes, if you want to?”

“I would love it, Ale.”

______________________________________________________________

To be honest with you I wanted to make R died but I can't stand a sad Alexia.

[charmixpower]

What do you think the internal dynamics of the Specialists are? Like towards each other personally and also tactically on the field

Ok, I'm gonna try and make this short or else we're gonna be here all week

My first specialist ask I can't needlessly include Nabu (my love) in XDD

Combat Dynamics

Aka the short part

Sky:

Small hc but Sky at first didn't like swords because he was scared of hurting people but having their son be a RF specialist was good pr so his parents just decided he would be

Sky is good at working with someone, his decision making skills are piss poor (see: the show) but he can follow orders and stick to a plan like no one else so he usually handles the main threat or goes for the objective

His main combat skills is dueling, he's fucking amazing at it

Brandon:

Brandon is the leader because I say so. He's better at commutation and leading in general. He easily keeps track of everyone's skills and helps everyone work together despite their differences

His role in combat is usually crowd control with his broad sword, and his secondary is mostly used to taking people out rather than keeping them at bay

He has the most experience in combat

Timmy:

Handles the more technical aspects but isn't much of a combat planner. He can plan how to make defensives, but cant plan how to fight if that makes sense. Like the s2 planning is how to deal with a incoming threat, but he can't lead an army and call out mid combat commands like Tecna could

Prefers the ship or not being on the ground in the fight in general

Main combat skill is sharp shooting with literally anything you give him

Riven:

Riven is good at real fights. Like ones without rules, where the only objective is to win and not get hurt/survive. Most of his skills aren't legal moves in RF but they are useful as fuck

He's also good at breaking into places but he's shit at sneaking which is hilarious, but he's amazing at distractions

His combat skills lie mostly in fights where he can use his environment to his advantage

Helia:

Helia is actually the one who is surprisingly good at commanding mid battle he just hates it and refuses to do it bc he makes him scared

He's nervous and avoids the spotlight for fear of fucking up but has been so entrenched in this stuff for his whole life that he can pretty easily think about these things. It's like a logic puzzle

Main combat skills are his strings, and witch magic, he's also good at medic stuff which is a hc I picked up from somewhere else I can't remember I am sorry

Preface! Who is closest to who?

Nabu can finally be included!!

I try to keep these all balanced bc I feel bad if someone is everyone's least favorite

It's like a puzzle, I figure out everyone strongest ties and just fill in the spaces from there

Sky:

Brandon, Timmy, Nabu, Helia, Riven

Brandon:

Sky, Riven, Timmy, Nabu, Helia

Timmy:

Helia, Sky, Brandon, Riven, Nabu

Helia:

Timmy, Nabu, Riven, Sky, Brandon

Riven:

Nabu, Brandon, Helia, Timmy, Sky

Nabu:

Riven, Helia, Sky, Brandon, Timmy

Personal relationships

Sky & Brandon

S1: Their relationship is p complicated actually. There's a lot of co dependacy that was sorta forced on them. Sky straight up has never been allowed to function on his own, always having someone assigned to watch him, and Brandon hasn't been allowed to exist without being in charge of something. So they're relationship is complicated. On top of that, Sky recognizes most of what his parents say as bullshit, he's just too scared of them to do anything, but Brandon doesn't! So that's a dimension. They care a lot about each other but their up bringing makes life complicated

S2: Sky and Brandon are starting to separate from each other. They're still best friends but they've both be introduced to the idea of boundaries and are considering implementing them. It's slow going and they both miss having a "roll" and always having someone they can just expect to go along with them. Co-depdant relationships are comforting, and trying to move away is hard, they both end up trying to continue the same co dependacy with their partners, which is not good for either Bloom or Stella because both of them are EXTREMELY SUSPECTABLE to this kind of thing, its a bit of a mess. They both need real identifies outside of the ones assigned to them

S3: THEY HAVE SEPARATED AND ARE HEALING AND HAVE THEIR OWN IDENTIES AND ARE STILL BEST FRIENDS!!! Its still hard for them to see each other normally, and they feel very safe and comfortable when in each other's presence bc of their past dynamic, but they are being separate people. Sky's unfortunate mind control by his parents into the roll they want from him really scared him into trying to be his own person, when previously he was the one who struggled the most with it

Sky & Timmy

S1: They get along. Timmy appreciates that Sky protects him from bullies, and Sky just finds Timmy cool to be around

S2: Now that Timmy has begun growing a back bone he goes "Hey why are you hovering over me? I can handle myself now. Don't you have your own problems to worry about?" Sky has a LOT of anxious energy and he is channeling it into other people and Timmy no longer wants to deal with that

S3: Timmy thinks Sky is a fucking dumbass of the highest caliber (big fucking affectionate) and will help his friends destroy anyone who hurts him. They're on equal footing now, no weird dynamics, all is good

Sky & Riven

S1: Mutually don't like each other. Riven is paranoid and Sky has a tendency to just say shit, so they constantly but heads due to miscommunication

S2: Riven doesn't like him but Sky is intent on mother henning the depressed onion. He lets it slip that he thinks Sky would want him dead, Sky is horrified, and Riven thinks he's just trying to save face

S3: Riven finally believes that Sky's attempts at friendship are genuine, and steps in to comfort him after mind control trauma. They are friends

Sky & Helia

S2: Helia is standoffish but deferres to Sky and doesn't bother questioning enough that Sky never really feels the need to make a thing out of the fact Helia doesn't talk to people...they're very neutral about each other

S3: Helia has come out of his shell as the chaos gremlin he is and tries to fucking drop Erendor no hesitation. They still don't talk much but they consider themselves ride or die

Brandon & Timmy

S1: Protects Timmy from bullies but also tries to gently coax him into being more assertive, something Timmy didn't want him to do at the time. So he's thankful that he's so nice but also is aggressively hiding in his comfort zone

S2: Brandon's lack of coddling is a breath of fresh air, and he's also someone that Timmy can just have a conversation with without huge biases, fuck yeah

S3: They are vibing. Brandon doesn't quite believe Timmy when he says Tecna is out there like Sky does, but he's willing to hear him out. Mutual trust and understanding

Brandon & Riven

S1: Brandon is the only person Riven will listen to and the only person Riven respects. Riven reminds Brandon a lot of himself when he was early into being a servant, first fighting assassins, dealing with awful rich ppl. Brandon goes out of his way to try and include Riven and make him feel comfortable in the group. He recognizes Riven's behavior as a coping mechanism, a bad one that hurts people but one none the less, so has the easiest time interacting with him. Riven feels Brandon is the only person in the school that actually cares

S2: Brandon being the most emotionally intelligent has allowed him to be a VERY important part of Riven's post Darcy support system. Helping Riven keep up with the stuff he learned in therapy, helping him cope better. Fun stuff. Unfortunately for Brando, Riven is officially clear headed enough to point out that Brandon seems to think he's inherently of less value than Sky. Not like as his job, but like as a person. And is now picking at all of Brandon's long held propaganda, which makes Brandon SO fucking uncomfortable. Brandon's personality and mode of functioning has been severely impacted by the conditioning he went through, the fact that he's definitely killed someone, dealing with rich people who do whatever they want. Brandon carefully hides these from normal people, and Riven is like "if they don't like the real you then fuck them. Your trauma isn't your fault."

S3: FRIENDS!! They kick each other when they fall back into bad habits. Riven tries his best to communicate to Brandon when Erendor and Samara go to Valtor, that they've always been awful and that his conditioning was child abuse. He's supporting Brandon now. Riven doesn't understand all the political stuff but he can yell Brandon's own words back at him. Riven positively loses it when he finds out that Brandon has been kidnapped and held in a cell before (I still can't believe that's canon) and Brandon appreciates him

Brandon & Helia

S2: The way Brandon introduces Helia implies he doesn't like him which I think is fucking hilarious. I think they both recognize what the other is like and because their so similar they piss each other off because they keep stepping on each other's toes. I also think it would be really funny if the two smart chill planners had a secret beef going on. Brandon doesn't vibe with Helia knowing so much about him without talking, Helia doesn't vibe with the colder aspects of Brandon's personality that was developed though training. Self Identification though the other /neg

S3: they're far more comfortable with expressing themselves now and have unfortunately for everyone else figured out they have a similar sense of humor. Brandon will fuck with people, and Helia will commit to the bit. God help the fool who draws both of their attention at once

Riven & Helia

S2: Helia sees depressed s2 Riven and goes "we are friends now" and Riven just has to deal with it. Helia was first interested in Riven bc Saladin specifically mentioned him the most often as a victim, so Helia wanted to look out for him and it spiraled out of control form there. They're both willing to go ape shit but in different ways, this is their friendship

S3: Chaotic dumbass friends. Riven aggressively has been bitching at Helia to actually talk to the rest of the specialists, much to the local hermit's distaste, and then found out they were cool. He is now Significantly more unhinged. Woe

[mysteriawrites]

Hi lovely, thank you for doing a trade with me! Below is my info, and I’ll request a male match from Genshin Impact, please! If you need anything else let me know.

- Gender: Cis female, she/her

- Zodiac: Aquarius

- Appearance: 5’4, light blonde hair & green eyes. I’m toned/muscular, but still pretty skinny. I have tan skin from living on the coast my entire life, and freckles on my nose and shoulders.

- MTBI: ENFJ-A

- Enneagram: 8w7

- Personality: Confident, outspoken, sociable, logic-driven. High self esteem & self worth, independent. I’ve been told (& I agree) that I speak with a very sharp and blunt tone that comes off rude and sarcastic, even if I’m not trying to be. I try to have a lot of patience, but it often does not work. Flirty, sometimes without realizing, but also just because I really do enjoy attention. Talkative & hyper at times. Physically cannot sit still for more than 20 minutes.

- Likes: Music, dance, writing, modeling, meeting new people, the beach, parties, planning events, learning.

- Dislikes: Complaining (especially when the person is doing nothing to try to fix their problem), people with no regard for those around them, bugs, weird food textures, stubbornness, unnecessary things

- Giving love language: Gifts (usually just small things that I see when I’m out, like their favorite snack at a gas station)

- Receiving love language: Physical touch (Generally, I hate being touched. Cannot stand it. It takes me a long time to get comfortable enough with someone for touching, but when I do I enjoy it. Only at certain times, though, because there will be times I don’t even want to be touched by whoever I’m dating.), Words of affirmation (I get incredibly insecure in relationships, lots of past issues, so fun. Consistent reassurance is definitely needed because I get an attitude)

- Extras: I am a model & my income comes from booking shoots. I have naturally curly hair. If it’s in the arts, I can do it (singing, art, instruments, dance). I have been a dancer and cheerleader since I was 2, so about 18 years. I have PNES & have seizures when I am too stressed out. I go to the gym & work very hard to maintain my image and keep my face and body healthy to maintain modeling

Thanks so much for doing the trade with me. DRUMROLL PLEASE!!!

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

KAEYA!!!

I think you and Kaeya would be a rather interesting couple. He would be able to see past your blunt exterior and see not just a confident, strong, and powerful woman, but also a soft heart that has her own doubts and struggles as well.

No one knows 100% how you and Kaeya met, maybe at a tavern, maybe at a party, who knows. However since then you and Kaeya have had this sort of rivalry going on.

By day you were a beautiful dancer who would perform in taverns and town square of monstadt, but by night you were a vigilante. A masked heroine of the night who tried her best to take care of the crimes and problems of the town that the knights couldn’t.

Every time Kaeya came to take care of a problem around town or catch a criminal you would already have wrapped things up long ago and be on your way out. Every time before you made your escape you would share some flirty banter.

One night you were overviewing the town from the rooftops when you heard footsteps behind you. You whipped around ready to fight off whoever it was, when Kaeya stepped out of the shadows.

You two ended up talking for hours up there until you heard a cry for help down below. Before you took off to go take care of it he asked if you guys could keep meeting up there, and you agreed.

And so every night you two would hang out and talk on the rooftops of Monstadt. Sometimes you guys would talk, sometimes you would have dinner together, and sometimes you two would just sit and silence and watch the stars until there would be a call for help, or if it was a quiet night then it would last till sunrise.

One night Kaeya was waiting for you in your usual spot. Tonight was an odd night because you weren’t there yet. Normally you were always the first one to get there, even when he left early, so the fact that you weren’t here set off red flags. Then he smelled it: smoke.

He took off in the direction of the black clouds to see a house set a blaze in Springvale. He dashed towards the disaster to help in whatever way he could. Amongst the crowd he heard that the famous masked crusader had gone in to save a few people who made it out safely, but the hero had yet to return.

Using his cryo vision Kaeya frantically made he was through the flames in search for you. He had to hurry as the house was falling down around him. Even if he put the fires out it was too much. Just when he was about to give up hope heard small coughs coming from the room in front of him. He dashed for the knob to find you surrounded by a sea of fire and unconscious.

When next you woke up you were in the healing ward of the church, your arms covered in bandages, a patch on your head, a raging headache, but most important at all no mask. In a panic frenzy you tried to remove yourself from the bed when you realized that next to you sat a sleeping Kaeya holding your hand protectively.

He stirred awake at the motion, looked up at you and smiled at the fact that you had awoken. He that after he saved you the nuns had worked tirelessly to save you (smoke inhalation go brrrr) and not to worry about them knowing your identity because he had removed you mask earlier (so you could breathe easier) and didn't tell them your identity.

After you two had reached a moment of silence Kaeya had admitted that he was terrified of losing you. When he found you in the fire barely breathing, he realized that he didn't want to live in a world without you. He said that he wouldn't waste time anymore. He asked you if you would go out with him, and you said yes.

And now you two have a happy playful relationship and are now both officially part of the knights of Favonius saving lives every day.

Sorry this took so long but I hope you like it.

[solalunar-eclipse]

(Avocado) Horizon Line

Chapter 1: A Heart of Logic and Empathy

AO3 Link

Summary: Due to an unfortunate accident, Avelyn finds herself injured and stuck in a stranger's house in the middle of nowhere. Eco, meanwhile, is just trying to deal with having another person living in their home. Under other circumstances, neither of them would have guessed that they'd get along so well, but maybe with time, they'll find out that this accident wasn't so unfortunate after all...?

(The world of Deltarune belongs to Toby Fox, Avelyn and Link belong to @pukeseven, and Eco and Click belong to @brightgoat.)

High above the dark sea, a biplane weaves amongst the green light cast by the grid that stretches across the sky. The plane’s pilot steers it through a series of increasingly complex maneuvers, showing off the fact that she is extremely skilled. (She knows it, too.)

However, all the skill in the world isn’t enough to help her when a critical component in the engine, weakened from all of the back to back long-distance flights across the water, stops working entirely.

As the plane begins to lose altitude at dangerously high speeds, the pilot struggles to eject, only to discover that this is one of the systems that has failed her. Left with no other options, she works to maneuver her aircraft into a glide, fighting to bring it closer to the faint lights of the shore in the distance in hopes that someone will see her.

Clinging to the yoke with all her remaining strength, she braces for impact—

…

“NEMMUY…”

“Good night to you too, Flash.” 

Eco smiled at the pod of poppups that lived in the channel of water by their house, taking their time to give each one their own special good night. This was one of the few routines of theirs that they maintained with each new pod of poppups that passed through their house, and they liked to think that it made each member of the pod feel special and loved. To be fair, it also helped them to grow up into healthy and friendly advertisement companions, but they’d be lying if they said that was the only reason they did this each and every evening.

They waved at the entire group one last time, before walking away somewhat reluctantly. It was always sad for them to say goodbye to their beloved creatures, even just for a night.

Suddenly, a loud crash resounded nearby, startling some of the younger poppups out of their sleep and making the scientist’s fins shoot up in surprise.

“Really?!” Eco hissed to themselves, their heart racing. “I just got the little ones to settle down!”

They hurried back over to the channel once again. “Flash, Ink, Escape, you three take care of the little ones, alright? Everybody, behave yourselves while I’m gone.” As much as they would have liked to stay and comfort their poppups, they had to make sure that…whatever that was…didn’t pose a threat to anyone.

The ad-creatures were abnormally silent and wide-eyed, clearly frightened by this unexpected occurrence. Eco offered up a small, sharp grin in response. “Hey, don’t worry! I’ve got this under control!” they insisted.

Then, they raced off to go see who or what had dared to disturb their pod. Sand wasn’t generally the best surface to run on, but Eco was used to it enough that even in their high-tops, it hardly slowed them down at all.

Once they saw the smoke rising in the distance, however, their speed only increased, but now fueled by fear instead of frustration. No matter how annoying the noise had been, the scientist could never stand to see anyone get hurt. They’d always been that way for as long as they could remember—it was part of why they were so good at caring for poppups.

As Eco skidded to a stop in front of the wreckage littering their beach (their poor beach!), they offhandedly noted that it resembled a modified amphibious plane, retrofitted for light cargo flights. The scientist didn’t know much about airplanes, but they did at least know that light cargo transports…were still required to have pilots.

And at that very moment, they noticed the one thing that definitely didn’t match the rest of the wreck—a flash of reddish-orange amongst the twisted metal. Quickly making their way over and around the broken remains, they found an unfortunate Addison trapped inside what had most likely once been the pilot’s seat.  

With a decent amount of effort on their part, they managed to shift the broken pieces enough to get the Addi free, lifting them up in their arms. The pilot was completely unconscious, but thankfully seemed to have been protected from the brunt of the crash by their cockpit and flight gear. Their ankle did seem to be swelling slightly, though, and Eco knew they’d have to take a look at that once they got back to their house.

Once they were sure that the other was secure, they rushed back the way they’d come, slipping slightly more on the sand now that they carried an extra weight. Careful not to jostle the mysterious pilot, they called for another member of the pod, Tracker, to come and help open the door to their house as they approached.

“What are you even doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” Eco muttered to the unconscious Addison.

Gently laying them down on the sofa, the scientist began to heal what injuries she could, switching to her first aid kit once her magic began to falter. There was only so much she could do, anyhow, given that the pilot had some nasty scrapes plus a twisted ankle. Quite frankly, they’d been extraordinarily lucky as it was.

Once she’d done all she could, Eco ran out quickly to settle her pod down once more before they slept. “Don’t worry, guys!” she reassured them. “It’s all going to be okay. I’ve fixed everything up, I promise.”

They seemed plenty reassured by that, given that one or two had even fallen asleep by the time she’d finished checking on them. For that, at least, she was grateful.

Then, she came back and sat down on the couch next to her unexpected guest, keeping watch over them until they woke up.

She didn’t have to wait long, as it turned out—only half an hour. In a fraction of a second, the pilot jolted from sleep intto full awareness, gasping. Their eyes darted around, and they began to push themselves upright…only to be startled again by the sight of Eco. This time, they glared directly at her, scrambling into an upright position (and wincing as their injuries clearly flared up).

“Hey, take it easy!” Eco cried. “You’re going to hurt yourself all over again!”

The other Addison simply continued to glower. “And why do you care?” they snapped. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me and my plane alone.

Eco sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly. She really didn’t have time for all of this—she had enough on her plate with this pilot’s presence alone, without also having to convince them that she wasn’t the bad guy in this scenario. “Listen, if you want to be like that, could you just go do it to someone else who didn’t save your life? I literally just finished patching you up after you crash-landed on my beach.”

“Crash-landed? I—” The Addison sprang up off the couch. “Oh, god! Airdr—owwww…” They winced, lifting their twisted ankle off the ground.

“Didn’t you hear me earlier?” Eco said, giving them a stern look as they sank back down onto the sofa. “You’re going to hurt yourself more if you keep acting like that!”

“Fine…” they muttered. 

Eco folded her arms, not ready to let up just yet. “You have sustained severe bruises across your entire body, mild lacerations on your arms and side, and damaged your ankle. I would not recommend doing any kind of strenuous physical activity whatsoever for the near future.”

“Geez, not pulling any punches with that, huh?” the pilot said. They sat there in silence for a moment, but then sighed. “Sorry. I was just rushing home after a massive delivery job, looking forward to resting…and now I wake up in a stranger’s house with a busted ankle and an even more busted plane. Not exactly the way I was hoping to spend my night, but none of that’s your fault.”

The pilot cracked their first smile since waking up—a small one, seeming slightly embarrassed now. “I’m Avelyn, she/her. Nice to meet ya. And, uh, sorry again for snapping earlier.”

“Eco, she/they. You too, and thank you.” the teal Addi replied, feeling some of the tension in the room dissipate.

A moment of mildly uncomfortable silence passed before Eco remembered what hosts were typically supposed to do. “Can I…I don’t know, get you anything?” they asked awkwardly.

“Some water’d be nice. I feel drier than a desert right now.” Avelyn sighed, sinking back into the couch.

Quickly, Eco darted off into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, which the pilot downed in one go. It was only after they’d come back again with a refill that they thought of another question to ask.

“Hey, is the couch comfortable enough for you to sleep on? If not, I have an air mattress��or I could take the air mattress, and you could take the bed…”

“The air mattress oughta be enough for me, thanks.” Avelyn said, smiling again. “Damn, you’re being awfully nice to someone who just smashed up your beach, yelled at you, and basically pushed her way into your house, aren’t ya?”

Eco grinned sheepishly, not having expected a compliment like that. “Oh, really? I’m actually surprised you think so! My friend always says I don’t know the first thing about having people in my house. He’s kind of been giving me tips…in between the sass.” They rolled their eyes, recalling the numerous choice words said friend had had for them over the years. “And the fact that you got hurt wasn’t your fault, after all, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t be decent, you know?”

“Well, maybe because I wasn’t exactly decent to you? But, uh, I appreciate that you’re not takin’ it out on me. And by the way, that guy sounds like a real charmer.” the reddish Addison muttered, rolling her eyes. 

“He likes to think he is, but I would personally beg to differ.” Eco elaborated. “He wouldn’t like me saying this, but he’s actually a dork most of the time.”

Avelyn snickered. “You roast all your other friends like this?”

The scientist frowned, genuinely confused. “Other…friends? I mean, I have my pod, but he’s the only Addison I spend time with.”

The pilot’s eyes widened. “Oh! Oh geez, I’m sorry!”

“What for?” Eco asked, not bothered in the slightest. “I don’t need that many people in my life—I have him, and now you’re here to stay for a while…honestly, I think that’s about as many Addis as I can handle at a time!”

Avelyn tilted her head. “Well, you don’t need to worry about me, really. I can take care of myself!”

Suddenly, a distinct growling noise came from the general area of her stomach, and she visibly cringed. “That is, if you happen to have a kitchen ‘round here somewhere…”

Eco perked up at the sight of a distinct goal once more. “Indeed I do! Why don’t I make you something and show you around?”

Avelyn made a valiant effort to stand up, but couldn’t rest any weight on her left ankle at all. Eco frowned for a moment, before their fins shot straight up. “I almost forgot! Hang on, wait right there!”

“Not like I can really go anywhere…” the pilot muttered, but Eco had already dashed out of the room. 

They rushed up the stairs to their room, dug their old crutch out of the closet, and then raced back into the living room, before pushing the crutch on Avelyn eagerly. “There! Now you should be able to walk just fine.”

“…should I be concerned that you just happen to have this on hand?” she asked, raising one eyebrow warily.

“Oh, not at all!” Eco chirped, already heading towards the doorway they’d previously used. “I just got mauled by a sidebar shark once, had to use that for a week or two until my leg healed up. But now I have a really neat scar, so it was all fine in the end.”

Avelyn just stared for a second, dumbstruck, before following the scientist through the door. 

“So, this is my little kitchen-slash-dining room, and over there’s my medbay. It’s mostly for my poppups in case they get hurt or sick, but I’ve used it once or twice myself.” they explained. 

“Oh, so you’re a poppup breeder?” Avelyn asked.

Eco grimaced. “I don’t love the term breeder…I’m more of a caretaker, personally. I let them do what they need to do, teach them what they don’t know, give them a safe place to live until they’re needed. That kind of thing.”

The reddish-orange Addi smiled briefly. “That does sound nicer than most breeders I’ve heard of.”

Their wince switched abruptly to a beaming smile. “And I’m proud of it!” they declared, thinking happily on all the poppups they’d helped raise to maturity over the years.

“Oh, right, back to the tour.” Eco continued, gesturing towards the stairs. “I don’t want to make you go up and down those any more than you have to, so just know that up there’s my bedroom and office. I’ll run up and get you the air mattress so you don’t have to climb the stairs every night and morning.”

“Hang on, didn’t you say you had food in this house?” Avelyn interrupted.

“Oh! The food!” Eco slapped a hand to her forehead, eyes wide. “Here, let me see—” she began rummaging around in her cabinets—“would you be…partial to…some soup? I have a can or two of that…”

“Sounds good to me.” Avelyn said.

“Excellent!” Eco cheered, attempting to sit up and promptly knocking her head into the top of the cabinet, given that she hadn’t gotten fully out yet. “Oh, damn…don’t want two of us injured here.” she muttered.

“Are you alright?” Avelyn asked, stifling a giggle. 

“Yeah, I just don’t go down there very often.” Eco said, shuffling a few more things around in order to gather up what she needed. “Oof, I really need to organize this place sometime…” she added, mildly embarrassed now that she actually had a relative stranger over and looking at the moderate mess of her house. 

As soon as she’d gotten out, she shot upright, putting a pan on her small stove and setting everything up. “Yeah, but soup’s good, actually,” she said, half to herself, “not a lot of work…”

“You talkin’ to me?” the pilot asked, sounding more than a little bewildered.

“Oh! No, sorry, I just talk to myself sometimes.” Eco explained, shrugging. “Comes with the territory when you live out by yourself, you know?”

Avelyn blinked. “You sure you’re not a…mad scientist, by any chance?”

“I…don’t think so.” Eco said, answering the question completely seriously. “Click calls me that as a joke sometimes, but I have too many morals and ethical constraints to be a true mad scientist.”

“…Click? Wait, is your friend from earlier Click?!”

“You know him? How?” Eco exclaimed. 

“He and I hang out when I’m in town sometimes—how did you meet him?”

“He heard me talking about Addison code at some conference-type thing and wouldn’t leave me alone until I talked to him about it.” Eco laughed at the memory. “After that, we just…never stopped talking, I guess!”

“Who would’ve thought?” Avelyn muttered, shaking her head. “I guess you’re not such a stranger after all.”

“Soup’s all heated up!” the scientist declared, before replying, “He might come over while you’re here. Or he might not! He’s been pretty busy lately with that new partner of his.”

“Ooh, a partner?” Avelyn asked, sitting down as Eco poured the soup into two bowls. “I haven’t heard about that!”

“He refuses to tell me much of anything over text.” they said, before adding, “But I do know it’s his boss.” They accentuated the last word with a smirk, and Avelyn gasped appropriately.

“No! Link?!” she cried. “I’ve been away for ages on work, I didn’t even know they were into each other! How have I missed this?”

Eco grinned. “I did know Click had the hots for Link—he would not shut up about them the last couple times we talked! It was kind of annoying, but also a little cute, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, they’re definitely going to be super cute together!” Avelyn added, grinning. “Please tell me he at least told you how they got together.”

“Yeah, he did do that. He actually panic-texted me the same night it happened…” the teal Addison began, launching into the story as the two sat down to eat.

They talked for hours, but eventually the two began to grow exhausted, and headed off to set up Avelyn’s bed and then to sleep.

After Eco had gotten her new guest all set up, she turned to leave, but was stopped by the sound of Avelyn’s voice. “I don’t think I ever properly thanked you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You let a total stranger into your home…bandaged me up, got me food, made me feel welcome…and I haven’t even had the decency to say thank you. I guess I’m not used to this kind of hospitality, but that’s still no excuse. So, thank you. For all of this.”

Eco blushed slightly, equally unused to this level of attention and thoughtfulness. “Oh! Of—of course! I’m happy to help!”

“I appreciate it.” Avelyn replied warmly. “And…I hope you sleep well.”

“You too!” Eco replied, before leaving the room herself to (at last, several hours later than expected) go to sleep.

[butch-reidentified]

the thing that really fucks me up, tho, is the fact that yall are SO terminally online that most of you seem to have become genuinely desensitized to the basic humanity of people whose online presence you dislike. y'all are so eager to silence a lesbian mass shooting hate crime survivor who helped her blackout drunk trans woman friend out alive and then spent the rest of that night comforting and caring for that same trans woman who was literally too far gone to even understand what had happened. and you're so eager to silence that person why exactly? what have I ACTUALLY said that condones material harm toward trans people? what is SO threatening to you about acknowledging the complexities and nuances involved in this discourse that you will write someone off entirely, silence and deplatform them, and treat them as equal to genuine violent fascists, simply for discussing said complexities and nuances & stating that all human categories deserve safety, protection, and equality - but that doesn't have to come at the cost of another category's safety, protection, and equality?

the extent of my "transphobia" is (and I'm half asleep doing my best here):

calling out trans individuals who *are* blatant sexual predators. this is NOT the same as calling all trans people groomers. multiple people in the notes have claimed I said such things, which is a blatant lie. I have never remotely said that trans people in general are predators nor that they're inherently predatory or creeps. I don't even think I've EVER used the term "groomer" unironically. however, when I was active in trans spaces, I did notice a disturbing pattern of letting predatory behavior slide just because someone was trans - esp if they were MTF. and even when the people they targeted as victims were also trans!!

acknowledging that sex is a material reality and not the same thing as gender, and while I cannot magically force myself to believe in the concept of "innate gender identity," I certainly don't think that believing in that concept means you should be harmed (seriously wtf is the logic to that??)

acknowledging that sex-based oppression is very real and is also very much alive and well, and protecting trans people does not NEED to come at the expense of protecting women and girls, despite the things many transactivists are currently pushing for and calling "rights" when they're really privileges nobody else has (the "right" to other oppressed groups' private spaces, organizations, scholarships, etc.; the "right" to free cosmetic surgeries; etc.)

believing homosexual (and ALL) people have the right to maintain any sexual boundaries they feel comfortable with, but ESPECIALLY to enforce the boundary of only seeing the SEX they're attracted to.

objecting to doxxing, death and rape threats, threats of other violence, and other attempts to harm any woman who dares voice any of her opinions that aren't just utterly worshipful of gender ideology

if you're so far gone down the rabbit hole that you actually think any of the above are inherently evil or come from a place of hate... I can't help you 🤷

not to mention, as a couple friends said:

> "Just assuming they can wait for a better survivor to show up and give them uncomplicated takes that don't challenge their preexisting opinions 🙄"

> "hey ik this was a hate crime against LGBT people, but i'm going to postpone boosting a post about it until i find someone whose takes on same-sex attraction and dysphoria i agree with entirely. hope you understand xoxo 💞"

The largest mass shooting in American history was a hate crime against gay people. Don’t ever forget that.

[silvfyre-writings]

Not Such a Simple Tale Pt. 2 (BSD Fanfic)

Crossposted from AO3

Ranpo doesn’t remember being moved from the cell to a room, but the next time that he opens his eyes, it’s to a ceiling of such intricate design that it could only have been carved by someone’s hand. He’s never seen such a ceiling before in his life; the ones within his own palace had patterns, sure, but nothing like this, which is a testament to just how old Bram Stoker’s kingdom is if this is the kind of architecture that Ranpo’s going to see in his day-to-day life here. It’s fascinating and piques his curiosity enough that he can forget about his entire situation for just a moment whilst he tries to gather himself.

He pulls his gaze away from the ceiling to take in the rest of the room, finding it decorated with bookshelves that are filled to the brim with books, along with a comfortable looking, yet still elegant, couch pushed against the wall between two of the bookcases. There’s also a rug on the floor, and the curtains are pulled to keep the room dark from the sunlight that’s trying its best to shine into the room—judging from the intensity it’s well after sunrise, which has Ranpo questioning just how long it's been since he was pulled from the ocean if the sun is high in the sky. His best guess is a couple of days, but he’ll need to ask someone to be sure; he refuses to let himself be led astray for a second time.

The next observation that Ranpo makes is that he’s alone.

It’s just him and the dauntingly large room that he’s in.

And normally, that wouldn’t bother him in the slightest, but unfortunately, going through a recent betrayal and subsequent near death makes him long for the company of someone, anyone, at this point. Well… maybe not anyone, because he doesn’t want someone who would want to hurt him in the room, but someone… quiet would be nice. I need to stop. Ranpo thinks with a sigh. He’s rambling to himself which isn’t ideal because that means he’s bothered and that’s the last thing he wants to be feeling. Right now, he needs a clear head, and all the smarts that he’s so graciously been blessed with, and rambling will just send him spiralling down a path he doesn’t want to go down.

A creak echoes throughout the room as the door is pushed open slowly, and Ranpo looks over to see an old man entering the room, pushing a cart into the room that has food and medical supplies on it. He watches the man carefully, untrusting of this stranger no matter how old or friendly he appears to be. The man moves slowly, glancing at Ranpo occasionally as he approaches the bed, coming to a halt a respectable distance away, and bows towards him. “Lord Stoker placed me in charge of your care whilst you recover from your injuries, Lord Edogawa.”

Ranpo narrows his eyes when his name falls from the stranger’s lips. His distrust grows at the knowledge that this stranger he’s never met seems to know who he is. Logically, he knows it’s because Bram probably shared that knowledge at some point during his unconsciousness, but Ranpo can’t help but be cautious; he hopes that the old man standing before him doesn’t take offense to his lack of distrust. “And your name?”

“Herman Melville, my lord. I take care of the palace and its inhabitants, regardless of what it is they need.” Melville says, voice deep and kind, which goes with the general grandfather look that he seems to be sporting; hair the whitest of whites, a beard that obscures the lower half of his face, and a general roundness that honestly makes Ranpo want to see if Melville is as soft as he looks by hugging him. But he doesn’t move—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he physically can’t.

His injuries are starting to hurt now that his body is aware that he’s awake.

“Might I tend to your injuries?” Melville asks, causing Ranpo to realise that he never answered the man.

“You may.” Ranpo struggles to sit up, pain shooting up his arms that are swathed in bandages that are dotted with bloodstains, the limbs trembling as he forces them to accept the weight put upon them until Melville steps forward, an arm coming around the front of Ranpo’s chest to hoist him up until he can collapse back against the headboard of the bed. And that small amount of effort leaves him breathless, chest heaving as he fights to get air into his lungs.

He hates this—hates feeling weak even though he has no choice but to be right now.

Really, he’s going to skip the questions and go straight into murdering Dazai when he gets his hands on him.

“Are you alright, my—”

“Don’t call me your lord.” Ranpo interrupts. “I’m not the lord of anything anymore, so just Ranpo will do.”

Melville is silent for a moment, brow furrowed before it relaxes a few seconds later. “As you wish… Ranpo. Are you alright, though?”

Ranpo throws the older man a withering glare. “No, I’m not alright. In one night, I lost my kingdom and the only home I’d ever known. I was betrayed by one of the few people I trusted with my life for reasons I haven’t even been able to deduce yet because I’m too busy hurting after being thrown off a cliff in a cage. So, no, I am not alright, and I won’t be alright until I can get back home and take my kingdom back!”

The entire time Ranpo rants, Melville listens without saying a word, which he appreciates in the moment because such an outburst is unbecoming of him. He knows better; showing weakness to the enemy was a surefire way of getting them to never take you seriously again, yet here he is, incapable of controlling his emotions and letting them take over at the worst possible time. Yet, despite that, Melville doesn’t judge him—at least openly—for his moment of weakness; all the old man does is sit on the edge of the bed and gently grab one of Ranpo’s bandaged arms with his hand and pull it towards him.

Silence descends upon them then, with Ranpo watching Melville as he works, eyes following the bandages as they unravel and reveal the wounds they’d been concealing beneath them. In wake of the events that had led him here, Ranpo hadn’t been able to take stock of his injuries. Even after regaining consciousness the first time in the cell, the first thing he’d been concerned about was what had happened whilst he wasn’t aware. But now, the calm of the morning along with Melville’s gentle touch, Ranpo’s able to see just how bad he’s hurt, and well—it’s not good.

There are deep gashes in his arms that have dried and crusted over—much to his disgust—but ultimately look clean which is good; Ranpo would rather not survive his fall from the cliff just to die from an infected wound later on, that would be a truly terrible way to go in his opinion. The wounds have been well taken care of, he notices, pulled shut with stitches in order to aid the healing process, with some kind of salve slathered over them. “What’s that?”

“It’s an herbal remedy from one of our doctors.” Melville answers, bringing out a cloth and dipping it into a bowl of warm water before gently dragging it across the injured skin. “I’m not sure what’s in this salve, but I did hear it contains painkilling properties, along with something to give you the strength to fight off any infections that may come for you.”

“I see.” The explanation brings about a pain in Ranpo’s heart, only because it reminds him of his childhood friend that chose to become a doctor. Yosano and him had grown up together, roaming the streets of the kingdom together, getting up to whatever mischief that six-year-olds could get into, and it’d been that way right up until the death of Ranpo’s parents and he’d been whisked away to begin his training as the next royal of the country.

It’s been years since then those days, and not once did he ever stop missing his oldest friend; they’d kept in touch through letters and the occasional nighttime visit, because Ranpo refused to let go of Yosano, even when those around him told him to, trying to tell him that his friend was only his friend for the money.

An argument he’d squashed quickly by pointing out that technically, Dazai could’ve been doing the same, so if they had a problem with Yosano, they should have a problem with Dazai too.

The people caring and teaching him said not another word against his friends.

Of course, he’d failed to predict just how much work came with being a royal, which meant that a natural distance grew between him and Yosano, and eventually, when Ranpo was ruling the country, and Yosano was trying to become a doctor, they fell out of contact. And since then, there’s always been a hole in his heart where that friendship once was, and briefly, he wonders whether Yosano succeeded at becoming a doctor, wonders whether she’s heard about his ‘death’ yet and how she’ll handle that information.

He wonders how the entire country will handle whatever information it is that Dazai chooses to feed them about what happened.

He hopes they question it.

“Ranpo, I’m finished with your arms, may I move to your legs?” Melville’s voice drags him out of his reminiscence, and he turns to look at the old man.

It takes a moment for him to realise what he’s just been asked. “Huh? Oh, yeah, that’s fine.”

Melville grabs a new batch of supplies before shifting down the bed, taking the blankets with him as he does so, revealing Ranpo’s legs that are wrapped in even more bandages than his arms are. He frowns at them, and tries to wiggle his toes, wincing when he’s greeted with nothing but sharp pain.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Melville says, starting to unwind the old bandages. “You have fractures in your legs, and just as many gashes.”

Well that’s not good.

“No complete breaks?” Ranpo asks.

“None that we could feel. The doctor that treated you insists that you remain resting as if they were, though. She doesn’t want you to overexert and make your injuries worse.”

Ranpo’s eye twitches at the prospect of bedrest. “And just how long does this doctor of yours expect me to lay around and do nothing?”

“At least two months to begin with, and then she’ll reassess and see how well you’re healing.” Melville gives Ranpo a hard look. “I know your type, Ranpo, and listen to me carefully when I say that you will rest, or otherwise, you’ll risk losing your mobility. Your injuries were severe, it is a miracle that Lord Stoker happened to be there that night so that you could live another day.”

Ranpo hums, still unsure of how much of miracle it actually was. “And how many days have passed since that night?”

“It has been four days. You slept the entire time after we moved you to the room. Lord Stoker was worried that you’d slipped into an unwakeable sleep, especially when the third day came by and you still showed no signs of waking.”

“You didn’t seem surprised to find me awake.” It’s not a question or a statement, but a simple fact that Ranpo states because it’s the truth. It was almost like he’d expected Ranpo to be awake.

Melville’s beard twitched in what could only be amusement. “I’ve heard about what kind of person you are, so I simply believed that you would wake when you were ready, and if you didn’t, you didn’t.”

Ranpo raises an eyebrow, curious now. “And what have you heard about me?”

A hum follows his question, and Melville leans back after he finishes cleaning the wounds on one of Ranpo’s legs, reaching over to grab a fresh roll of bandages. The man remains silent as he finds the beginning of the roll, only answering the question as he begins to wrap up the injuries. “I’ve heard a that you were a reasonable king to those that were struggling, that you were cruel to those that hurt others. I heard that you were crowned young, that your parents were murdered—” Ranpo can’t stop the flinch when Melville brings that up, “—and that because of it, you became untrusting of even those that had once been close to you.”

“Interesting things to hear.” Ranpo says, turning his gaze to the ceiling. And all of it correct. He shouldn’t be surprised, really, to know that an enemy kingdom would know so much about him; information gathering is a useful skill to have, one that Ranpo never sought to hone, because it’s what he was already good at. There was never any need for him to seek out information, not when he could figure out everything that he wanted to know with a singular glance towards a person. His skill had earnt him plenty of both awe, and ire, and many dubbed him a mind reader, when really, it was the person he was studying that couldn’t keep him from finding out their deepest, and darkest, of secrets.

Ranpo drops his gaze back to Melville, who’s in the middle of dealing with his other leg. “Do you want me to tell you what I’ve figured out about you?”

“You haven’t even known me—” The man starts to say, only for Ranpo to interrupt him midsentence.

“Doesn’t matter.” And without waiting for a response, Ranpo dives into his observations. “You’re a quiet person, and have strong opinions about things but instead of acting on those opinions, you’ll just go with whatever the other person says to avoid conflict, which lands you in unideal situations, but you also believe it’ll work out in the end, so you push through. Kind of like an ocean, which leads me to deduce that you really have a fondness for the ocean, and particularly, whales, which I guess is because they are peaceful creatures and you are a peaceful person.”

Ranpo could go on about what he’s deduced about Melville, but he stops himself there. He’s aware that sometimes his deductions aren’t wanted, and the last thing he wants to do is upset the man that’s taking care of him until he heals—as he is, it’d be very easy to end his life, and Ranpo’s luck recently has been abysmal. No point in trying to test it even further. So he falls silent and watches as Melville thinks over the words, and the man slowly nods a moment later.

“Very impressive, Ranpo. You certainly live up to the skills that I have heard so much about.” Melville stands up and places the dirty bandages into a bag that he then ties up and sits on top of the cart. “Now, I have some broth here for you to eat if you feel up to it.”

In that moment, Ranpo’s stomach chooses to grumble. He’s not too sure what kind of broth he’s being offered, but… he is hungry.

“I’ll eat a little.” He says.

Melville grabs the bowl and then moves to sit right next to Ranpo, spoon in hand, which he immediately reaches for. He might not be able to move much, and he might in pain, but like hell is he going to let someone else feed him like he’s an infant. It’s humiliating. Thankfully, Melville seems to understand this, because he hands the spoon over and simply holds the bowl as Ranpo struggles to feed himself. It’s embarrassing, because Ranpo’s hand shakes and if it weren’t for Melville’s foresight to follow the spoon with the bowl, his fresh bandages would be sullied already.

And because of Ranpo’s stubbornness, he pushes through the pain and the shaking in order to appear as if he’s still put together.

When in fact, it’s more like he shattered into pieces hitting the ocean, and feeding himself is the only way he can keep those pieces together.

For the next few days, Ranpo’s routine doesn’t change.

He either wakes up alone with the sun starting to peek into his room, or he wakes up to Melville gently shaking him so that his wounds can be checked and redressed, and then he eats a meal before he’s left alone. He’s brought breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but other than that, he doesn’t see another soul in this place he’s in—he doesn’t see Bram. It shouldn’t bother him, in fact, he should prefer it, but Ranpo’s always been the kind of person to keep moving, to always be doing something in order to distract his mind from the things he doesn’t want to hear, and laying in bed, doing nothing, is agony. All it does is make him think and for a moment he wonders if this is some kind of torture method that this kingdom uses; keep someone in comfort and treat them well, but then completely and utterly ignore them. Why else would Bram pull him from the ocean, agree to house him, and then not once come to visit him?

Of course, the day after he falls down that rabbit hole, Bram comes the next day.

By then it’s been two weeks, and Ranpo is ready to commit some kind of crime in order to get the attention of his fellow king. Not that he doesn’t because not only is he unfamiliar with the laws of Bram Stoker’s reclusive kingdom, he also doesn’t know what the punishments for breaking said laws is, and he’d quite like to avoid another near death so soon after the last one.

He’s already awake when Bram enters his room, knocking to be polite even though he doesn’t wait for Ranpo’s answer before pushing the door open and stepping into the room. Like that time in the cell, Bram is dressed in comfortable, yet still royalesque clothes, and he stands up straight as he strides into the room and comes to a stop at the foot of Ranpo’s bed. Eyes of crimson stare down at him, which instinctively makes Ranpo straighten up—he ignores the sharp pain that shoots up his back when he does—and he stares back, refusing to be the first of them to break eye contact.

Being the first to break means that the opposition has the upper hand after all, and Ranpo’s trying to keep himself on the ladder as much as possible right now.

He feels triumphant when Bram turns away first, eyes falling to the plate of half-eaten breakfast that Melville had brought earlier—half-eaten only because Ranpo’s body was fighting him this morning, and he’d become exhausted after just a few bites.

“You have not eaten much.” Bram comments, moving over to stand before the plate. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Just not hungry today.” Ranpo huffs, allowing himself to relax back into the pillows now that their little staring contest is over. “You try being thrown off a cliff to almost drown and see if you have an appetite still.”

“Herman says you are healing well.”

Ranpo shoots an annoyed look Bram’s way. “Got nothing else to do in this room.”

Bram hums, an expression of thought crossing his face. It’s interesting to see, since Bram’s facial expressions are minute in nature; like right now, a slight furrow between his brows, and a far away stare is the only indicator that Ranpo has to figure out the vampire is thinking. Lucky for him, reading the slightest change in someone’s face is something that he’s quite good at. He’s also not a total ass, and he’s tired, so Ranpo’s content to let the silence stew and wait for Bram to figure out what it is he wants to say.

After what must’ve been five minutes, Bram turns to face the bed. “Would you like to go outside?”

Ranpo narrows his eyes a little in caution. “…why?”

“You have been cooped up in a bed for two weeks. I am told that is not healthy for most humans, but I was also told your injuries required adequate rest, so I allowed you that rest.”

It’s not the most… sensible of explanations, but it makes sense to Ranpo. “So that’s why Melville is the only one allowed to see me.”

Bram inclines his head. “Herman is a trustworthy man. He works hard to keep the palace in order, and has always been kind. I believed him to be suitable in taking care of you, considering your circumstances.”

“And here I thought you were trying to torture me with isolation.” Ranpo huffs jokingly.

He’s trying to make light of the situation, but—

“Why would I torture you? Your advisor has done enough harm to your wellbeing.”

The humour flies right over Bram’s head.

And the reminder of just what Dazai’s done, and what he’s lost because of it makes Ranpo flinch a little. The king of the vampires certainly doesn’t have a way with words—at least, not saying them gently.

Ranpo decides to change the topic. “Don’t worry about it. You said something about going outside?”

“Yes. For just a little while. You will get to leave the room, and I will get to show you around the kingdom since it will become your home, even if temporary. So it will benefit you to learn the layout, and meet the people for when you can move about on your own.” Bram explains, moving over to pull the curtains back and drown the room in sunlight—not that they weren’t open before, but Melville always opened them halfway so that Ranpo wouldn’t be disturbed too much by the sunlight.

He blinks away the sudden brightness. “You would show an enemy king your home? Aren’t you bold.”

“I have no quarrel with your kingdom, Edogawa Ranpo.” Bram narrows his eyes, a slight flair of anger running through them. “And if you were a threat to the prosperity of my kingdom, I would not have fished you out of the ocean. I would have let you drown.”

A shiver runs through Ranpo’s spine, and he knows the words to be true. Even now, after fishing him out, the threat of death if he should bring harm to the lands that Bram calls home, is a valid one.

“Noted.” Ranpo says, and then adds on. “And what if Dazai decides to cause problems for your kingdom?”

“If that so happens, we will deal with it when it does and not before.” Bram says with a tone of finality, his way of saying that the subject is to be dropped immediately.

At least for now.

Because they’ll have to talk about it eventually, especially if Dazai finds out that Ranpo’s alive and well in the neighbouring kingdom. His former advisor—and friend—will do everything in his power to take control of Ranpo’s former kingdom, so to learn of his survival means that it’ll only be a matter of time before word reaches the general population and then he’ll lose the tentative hold that he has on the people. A king rules his people, but it is the people that make a kingdom; and neither can exist without the other. This is something that Dazai doesn’t know, and will never know, because he’s not the king of anything; he’s just a boy from the ocean with no past and no memories of that past.

But Ranpo does know, he knows this very well. For so long, his parents told him about the responsibility he would one day bear, and were the ones to encourage him to know the people, to understand them so that he could rule over and keep them happy. And that is what he did, up until their deaths. He was a young king, younger than most, but he had a few adults in his life that guided him, and helped him to learn his new responsibilities. And then there were those that sought to manipulate him, change him into the king that they wanted him to be—and certainly not a king worthy of the people.

Which is why he and Bram will need to talk about this eventually.

Dazai was smart, but even he would’ve needed help to perform a coup d’etat against Ranpo’s rule, and that’s a terrifying thought, because it meant that Ranpo hadn’t seen the coup forming, hadn’t heard the whispers of future betrayal and of the plans that would come after he was out of the picture.

And people capable of blindsiding him of all people were capable of anything.

But for now, the subject is dropped, and Ranpo is just going to enjoy this brief bout outside that he’s being given.

“How exactly do you intend to show me the town when I can’t walk?” Ranpo asks.

Bram’s lips twitch upwards a little, his fangs showing a little, as he steps towards the bed. “Like this.”

And in one fell swoop, Bram slides one arm underneath Ranpo’s shoulders, and another under his knees before lifting him from the bed.

Ranpo lets out an undignified yelp. “Put me down!”

“If I do that, then you cannot go outside.” Bram says, turning on his heal and striding through the open door into the hallway.

Ranpo curses the vampire, but gives in and allows himself to be carried once it’s clear that Bram doesn’t intend on letting him down, which is both good and bad. Good, because Ranpo can appreciate Bram’s long legs that cross the winding hallways with ease, but bad, because they run into other palace workers and although they do their best to ignore their king and his guest, Ranpo still hears the whispers as they walk by. And while he doesn’t mind gossip—he’s engaged in it a fair amount himself—he doesn’t like it so much when he knows it’s about him. Not him in the sense of he’s done something that warrants the gossip, but in the way that he’s the shiny new thing that everyone wants to get a look, and that’s what makes him embarrassed.

And even though it’ll make the gossip worse, Ranpo turns his head so that his face his buried into Bram’s shoulder in order to avoid the stares.

He allows himself to get lost in the motion of Bram’s walk as he’s carried, letting himself fall into a light doze where he’s resting, but still somewhat aware of his surroundings, a skill that he’d developed when he was still learning how to rule and kept having his sleep interrupted because someone always needed something from him, and sleeping wasn’t an acceptable excuse for him to not be present—even if the something had nothing to do with him to begin with, so his advisors at the time told him.

Personally, Ranpo found that absolutely ridiculous.

Why bother him if it didn’t even affect him?

At some point, Ranpo does actually drift off, because the next thing that he’s aware of, is his body moving through the air and towards the ground. His eyes fly open, and he jerks in the arms that’re still holding him, heart beating rapidly before he realises that he’s still with Bram. The vampire’s frozen right now, in a bent over position, still keeping his grip on Ranpo whilst he squirms, almost as if Bram believes that becoming still will help to soothe the sudden agitation that Ranpo feels.

Which it does.

Annoyingly.

“What are you doing?” Ranpo asks, and for once, he doesn’t immediately try to figure it out himself.

He blames his exhaustion for that.

“Taking you outside.” Bram says, and inclines his head towards a device that Ranpo had never seen before—wait, he has actually. The design is just different. “I am under the assumption that you would prefer not to be carried out in public.”

Ranpo eyes the wheelchair with curiosity. It’s cushioned well, meaning that it wouldn’t press hard on his injuries, and there’s a blanket folded on the seat—to both keep him warm and hide his bandaged body if he so wishes. “You would be correct. Is this your plan for showing me your home?”

“Of course.” And before Ranpo can even begin to voice a rejection—because he’s a prideful person, and his first instinct is to reject aid—Bram continues on. “You are not the first, or last, person to require assistance in getting around as you will see on today’s trip. Your pride will not be damaged by using the chair; you are injured, and all people will see is an injured person being helped, as is the way it should be.”

Even if Bram’s words weren’t meant to be soothing, they come across that way to Ranpo, and he lets out a sigh.

“Okay then.”

Bram nods, and continues on his way. Shifting Ranpo into a one-arm hold, using his now free hand to grab the blanket and lift it. It only takes a few seconds for him to be deposited into the chair and for the blanket to be draped over his legs, which he doesn’t hesitate to bundle up because he has to admit that he’s a little cold. Ranpo shifts a little to get comfortable and then tilts his head up to look at Bram, staring at the vampire’s upside-down face.

“Where are we even going?”

“Just around the town that surrounds the palace.” Bram says, grabbing the handles of the chair and setting a brisk pace towards the open doors. “You are still healing, so rest is prudent, however you are healing slower than expected, so I decided to see if fresh air would help.”

Ranpo feels his eye twitch, annoyed that Bram and his people are trying to force him onto a schedule that benefits them. “I didn’t expect be healing quickly.”

“You mistake my words.” Bram stops just before the doors and glances down at Ranpo. A gently squeeze to his shoulder encourages him to look up. “You are healing slow, yes. That is a fact. But we do not expect you to be healed soon. It will take time, as all healing does. What I meant is that your wounds are slow to close. I have seen people near death whose wounds have closed in the time that you have been recovering.”

“Oh.” Well now Ranpo just feels stupid. He doesn’t apologise, it’s not in his nature to, even if he’s the one in the wrong, and he drops his head back down before changing the subject. “How much fresh air do you want me to have?”

“An hour at the least, three at the most.” Bram responds, pushing Ranpo forwards again. “Is that acceptable?”

“It is.” Ranpo says before he’s blinded by the light of the outside. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the warm sun on his face, and waits a few minutes before he opens them again, blinking rapidly to help them adjust faster.

And once they do, he finally gets to take in his new surroundings.

Before him is a kingdom of stone. The castle behind him, and the buildings before him are all made out of stone, gray and dreary looking which does suit a kingdom of vampires if you ask him, but it’s not all that either. He can see where the people have tried to bring life into the buildings; plants line windowsills and sit in pots outside homes, there are colourful banners blowing in the gentle breeze, and the people themselves are dressed in tunics and cloaks that are any colour but gray. It’s so different to Ranpo’s own kingdom of wood and bamboo—his kingdom does use stone as well, but that’s usually for paths and foundation, not walls and rooves—that he can’t help but stare, fascinated with what he sees. And that fascination only grows the further down the path that he and Bram go.

Despite the stone buildings, the path is nothing but dirt, packed down over years of people trudging along it. A few tufts of stubborn grass poke through, but ultimately, it’s barren and bare—yet still beautiful in its own way. To Ranpo though, it’s just strange. The buildings look odd, the people are dressed weird, and they speak in a tongue that he knows, but also doesn’t at the same time. As much as he appreciates Bram Stoker’s offer of temporary sanctuary, he doesn’t believe that he will ever grow to be comfortable in such a foreign place.

It's just too different.

And Ranpo’s always struggled with change.

As he and Bram move down the path, people pause in what they are doing to turn their gaze upon him, and just him; no doubt because he’s the stranger and living this close to the palace that Bram calls home, means that these people probably see their king wandering about rather frequently. Ranpo’s proven correct when people wave and call out greetings upon spotting their king, and Bram returns each one with an incline of his head, but otherwise says nothing to his people, which Ranpo likes to believe is because of him. He’s almost certain that Bram is the kind of king to stop and talk to his people to see how they’re doing, even if he’s supposed to be doing something else.

Ranpo’s that kind of king too, although he does it at the cost of never doing any work until he’s dragged and forced to sit down and do it.

At least, he used to be.

Bram starts to talk once they’re free of the main road, heading in a direction that’s still bustling, but with more space to move about. He tells Ranpo about the buildings that they pass, what they are and what they’re for, end even tells him a little about the people that live or work in them, but it all goes in one ear and out the other, and not intentionally. The warmth of the sun is pleasant, too pleasant, and it’s starting to make Ranpo sleepy, even though he does his best to force himself to stay awake.

“Perhaps it was too soon to bring you outside.” Bram says suddenly, bringing Ranpo to a stop, which is what finally jerks him back to wakefulness.

“No it’s not.” Ranpo argues. “I just haven’t been sleeping well, is all.”

“Nightmares?”

Ranpo hesitates for a moment before he nods. Almost every night, he dreams of falling, waking just before he hits the ground. Sometimes he falls for minutes, and sometimes he falls for hours, and sometimes he thinks he’s falling, only to find out he isn’t until he gets shoved from whatever platform it is that he’s standing on and then starts to fall. Occasionally, he’ll get a reprieve from the falling dreams, only to have them replaced by the suffocating feeling as he drowns in the darkness that fills his throat and prevents him from being until he jerks awake gasping for air.

So, between falling and drowning, it’s safe to say that he doesn’t get a lot of sleep.

“It is common to dream of a traumatic event after it happens.” Bram says, turning down a quieter street, moving at a much slower pace than before. “We have sleep aids if you require them.”

“I don’t.” Ranpo says quickly. He doesn’t need, or want, to be drugged thank you very much. “Dreams pass, they always do.”

“The offer will stand should you change your mind.” There’s a brief pause. “Would knowing what happened help perhaps?”

Ranpo tilts his head back with a frown. “What do you mean?”

Bram looks down at him. “Your memory is a little strained, is it not? You do not quite remember what happened that night, so your subconscious tries to fill it with what could have happened instead. That is my theory anyway.”

And it’s a theory that makes a lot of sense. Even if it doesn’t wind up helping, or if it happens to make his nightmares worse, Ranpo thinks it best that he knows Bram’s point of view on what happened that night. It’ll help him to understand what he doesn’t, help him to make some sense of it, and maybe Bram knows something about how it happened as well. Ranpo remembers the vampire telling him that he’d been patrolling his borders that night, but why had he been patrolling them? It’s not uncommon for a border patrol to occur at night, but it’s also not overly common—at least, in Ranpo’s kingdom it’s not. It might be different in Bram’s considering that they’re all vampires—

Wait.

That’s not right.

Bram’s kingdom is mostly vampires, but there are humans living here too.

Ranpo remembers that some of the people on the boat that night were human.

He shakes his head, stopping himself before he overwhelms himself trying to make sense of everything before he has all the answers.

Hear Bram’s version of events first, question him about the humans later.

“Okay.” Ranpo says after they’ve left the buildings behind and come upon a small patch of grassland, with a single tree providing shade. “Tell me what happened.”

Bram pushes him over to the tree before he stops, letting go in order to take a seat next to Ranpo, and leans against the bark of the tree. A strong breeze blows, bringing a chill that has Ranpo dragging the blanket up just that little bit higher. Despite the chill, Bram doesn’t move a muscle, almost as if a simple chill is nothing to worry over—although his silver hair does move gently in way that captures Ranpo’s attention.

Silence falls between them, but it’s not the kind that is filled with tension, like Ranpo had expected it to be, it’s one of patience; for him, it’s waiting for Bram to start speaking, and for Bram, it’s simply finding the words that he needs to start.

“There has been tension on the border lately.” Bram starts to say, tone even and not at all accusational, because this is the first that Ranpo’s hearing of tension on any border with Bram’s kingdom and that makes his stomach twist. “Men from your kingdom cross the border, cause a little havoc and then flee before my people can get there.”

Ranpo swallows. “What kind of havoc?”

“Setting fires, tearing up crops, just general actions that are meant to provoke a reaction. I set people to the places that they crossed, however your men would just find another place to cross undetected and it was starting to get annoying, so we started patrolling the border at regular intervals.” Bram takes a breath and frowns, that annoyance showing. “Only it seemed to antagonise your people and they started to get violent and cause more problems, and they blamed us for the confrontations.”

Ranpo squeezes his hands together. He had no idea this had been happening, and right under his nose too.

“I joined the patrols then, and we caught the next group that crossed and questioned them. They insisted they were under orders, but would not say more so we were forced to let them go. I had no intention of causing problems and something seemed off about it all.” Bram glances over at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “Something was off, so I reached out to you and got no response, so we pushed back harder to get the crossings to stop. And they did. For one night. Then they crossed over the water, and burnt a local bar down before fleeing. The next night, I and a few men, patrolled the border, only instead of men trying to cross into our country, we find them throwing their own king off a cliff instead.”

“I didn’t know.” Ranpo says quietly.

Bram’s face softens just that little bit. “I had a feeling that was the case, which is why I chose not to retaliate.”

“But—”

“My decisions are my own, Edogawa Ranpo.” Bram says, firm. “I have been alive on this earth long enough to know that people under our rule can go rogue without us knowing. After the burning of that bar, I intended to pay you a visit to see what was going on, but as I am sure you are aware, you ended up on this side of the water.”

Ranpo doesn’t say anything. He can’t. All he can do is be grateful that Bram has all the patience in the world to not just launch attacks of his own. He had every right to after Ranpo’s own men harassed him for months.

“The night you were thrown off that cliff.” Bram continues when it becomes clear that Ranpo isn’t going to say anything. “We did not see much. There was a large group, and then you in a cage, and then they threw you off. You fell, and somehow missed the rocks which would have killed you—that fall should have killed you no matter anyway.”

“You knew it was me in the cage?” Ranpo asks.

Bram nods. “You continued to fight, even as death threatened you. That was how I knew.”

“And you… just came to my rescue?”

“Should I have let you drown?”

“Probably.” Ranpo says without thinking. His knuckles are white where he’s clenching his hands. He stares at the ground, but straight through it. “If Dazai learns that I survived and that you’re keeping me here, he’ll come knocking on your door demanding you hand me over.”

Bram lets out a slow, controlled breath. He’s touched a nerve it seems. “Let him knock then. I have not ruled for centuries just to let some traitorous advisor believe he can come and make demands of me in my kingdom.”

For some reason, a weight lifts off of Ranpo’s shoulders at those words, and he feels a little safer knowing that Bram is willing to risk his own neck just to keep him safe. He knows it’s not really like that, that Bram is doing what any king should and also holding onto his pride, but Ranpo can fool himself into believing otherwise for now.

Mostly, he just wants to stop fearing what’ll happen if Dazai does figure it out and show up.

“You said you’d help me because it would bring you fulfillment…” Ranpo says slowly, “why?”

Bram lets out a hum, and turns his head towards the sky, staring through the leaves of the tree. “I have learnt a lot over the centuries, seen many different kinds of kings and the way they rule—I have even changed my own way of ruling at times—so I have little patience for those that slink around in the shadows and plot.” The vampire’s eyes narrow in what can only be anger. “Someone once did the same to me, however they failed, and I banished him from my lands.”

Crimson eyes turn towards him again. “So I would say, that seeing you go through the same situation, makes me want to help instead of make it worse. Is that the answer you seek?”

It is, but it also gives Ranpo more questions that he wants to ask, yet holds back because it’s not his business. But it is reassuring to know that he’s not alone in the ‘kings that get overthrown by their advisors’ club, even if Bram did successfully fend off his own coup d’etat.

Ranpo turns towards Bram and smiles for the first time since this entire situation began. A genuine smile too, instead of one of his sardonic ones. “It is, thank you.”

[lususnatura]

“ everything will be okay, i promise. but you need to talk to me.”

andie had said something to him — blamore knew that much, at least — but it sounded like she was speaking through a tunnel in his perspective. her voice had acquired a rather uncanny echoey quality to it, after all, that almost made it sound garbled. the logical side of blamore's brain told him that this was probably due to him going through some sort of emotional shock; a thing that, unfortunately, really wasn't all that uncommon for someone who'd just experienced trauma. blamore remained looking down at one of the wilted flowers that its attacker had pulled from its ribs within its hand. it hated thinking about that word in this context, he thought. for the person who had come into his greenhouse that day... they still found a way to hurt him, despite the fact that he was supposed to be able to protect himself now.

people really were no good to him. especially when they're desperate and want something that you told them you can't give them. blamore was honestly conflicted between feeling like he was about to explode from anger and cry out in pain. the flora that was now missing from its body ached like nothing had in years. because when push came to shove, blamore's attacker had removed something from him that it had actually come to admire after a long time of looking at himself in the mirror, and feeling all wrong about what he saw. there was a certain kind of horror in having a part of your bodily autonomy stripped from you. but after reaching the conclusion that nature was indiscriminate in the way it both offered and took life from people, blamore had found some comfort in that. it did essentially mean that what happened to it wasn't personal.

so, it was like just as he was starting to come to peace with what his body looked like now, the fates decided to turn the tables on him. blamore was also in a significant amount of physical pain, and no one here seemed to understand how to help it. so, his desire to see nico morselli right now was like somewhat of a scared kid's: it was all blamore could think about now to the point where it just wanted to hide away from everyone and everything else. burgeon felt very unlike himself, with the way he was curled up with his knees up to his chest and buried his face into them. it needed something to help ground it, but instead, he was being grilled by some new vigilante he'd never seen before.

and lord knows how much disdain blamore felt towards them in general. he moved his body to the side to further avoid having to look at andie, then, and try one last time to shoot her a message that it wasn't interested in talking. ❝ go away. you don't even know the first thing about me, so how could you promise me anything? ❞ a mix between a contemptuous scoff and a half-hearted chuckle left it's mouth, ❝ bring your amis cochons (pig friends) with you too. i never asked to file a police report, so i have no idea why you brought them here. but they'll never be welcome in my home. ❞

[blackwoolncrown]

”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

Do

not

fucking

talk

to

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

[myhockeyworld87]

What Happens in Vegas...Doesn’t Always Stay There - Jacob Markstrom - Part 1

Word Count: 4,885

POV: Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Language, Smut, Drinking (all the good stuff)

Notes: Well here it is the new fic that’s been in my head. I tossed around a couple different guys for this, but some of you suggested Marky and well looks like it stuck. Trying to do this a little different and keep this in an all read POV, so we shall see how that works. I don’t see this being super long maybe between 5 or 6 parts. Hope you guys enjoy. As always feedback is welcome. Happy Reading!

They say that New York is the city that never sleeps but whoever 'they' is, well, they got it wrong. It has to be Vegas. Lights are always flashing whether you were indoors or out, the jangly sound of slot machines can be heard at all hours and the seven deadly sins seem to be on full display twenty-four hours a day. It's no wonder their tagline for years was 'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.' If only that were true.

You wish you could blame someone else but you can't. Vegas was all your idea. As maid of honor, it fell to you to plan your best friend's bachelorette party, and in your mind, there was only one spot, Vegas. Now, you were second-guessing your choice as your head was pounding like there were a thousand drummers who decided to perform at the Super Bowl halftime show, only in your brain. There was only one thought that made it through the marching band playing in your head. What the hell happened last night?

 Maybe you should start off small, like where were you first, considering that the little drummer boy was now doing backflips in your head. You were definitely in bed, which was evident as you could feel the mattress underneath you. You could also feel the duvet comforter covering your body, but there was something else. Something a bit heavier, almost as if a weighted blanket was covering your stomach and your breast, but it wasn't that. It was an arm slung across your midsection and a very large hand cupping your one boob. God, you hoped it was still attached to a body. You should really take a peek. It would be the only decent thing to do.

 As you gradually lifted one eyelid open, the first thing you noticed was that you were not in your hotel room, as the wall looked completely different. No reason to panic, you told yourself. Everything would come back to you as soon as this god blessed pounding ceased. Peering the other eye open, you got back to business at seeing if there was a body attached to the arm currently trapping you to the bed. Carefully, you turned your head to the side to see a very large and very naked man firmly attached to the aforementioned arm. He was gorgeous as he lay there sleeping ever so peacefully. You drank in his features, kind of like you downed drink after drink last night. His brown hair had this golden hue to it that made your fingers want to reach out and touch it, though you refrained. Then there was the beard covering his face, not too much and not too little, and now that you were thinking about it; you definitely felt some of that beard burn on your thighs. If you could only remember last night. The only logical thing to do was to go back to the start of this, back to a time when you were sober.

 It started months ago when your best friend Kennedy got engaged. You honestly didn't see it coming that fast. She'd only been dating Ryan for a little less than a year, but he asked and she said yes, and when she asked you to be her maid of honor you screamed and laughed and cried, and told her you couldn't wait to plan her bachelorette party. Everyone knew the bridal shower was only for boring stuffy old aunts so that they could buy her the latest air fryer or new dish pattern. The bachelorette party was where all the fun was, and what better place to have it than Las Vegas.

 Of course, everyone agreed with you. The only wrench in the plan was that Kennedy decided to up her wedding date and make it a nine-month engagement. That barely left time to find a dress let alone plan the most outrageous bachelorette party of the century. You would've said decade but twenty-twenty was fastly approaching. Thankfully, you had connections. Night one was more sedate since you all were just arriving at the MGM hotel at different times; eleven of you in total when Ryan's sister decided to join at the last minute. You booked a private room at Lago in the Bellagio for all of you to enjoy.

 It was the second night, that was the piece de resistance. A limo picked you all up and took you over to Excalibur to see the legendary Australian group, Thunder from Down Under. I mean what was Vegas without seeing a male stripper or two. The next day, a private bungalow was waiting for you at Wet Republic in the MGM Hotel. One would've thought the night watching men strip naked would've been your undoing but apparently, it all started poolside.

 "I seriously can't believe he pulled you up on stage and proceeded to dry hump you up there," Kelsey rehashed.

 "Really, Kels?" Kennedy said downing another mimosa. "How could you not see that happening? (Y/N) has known Nate for a couple years. I mean he did get us front row tickets." This was all true. Nate, the emcee for Thunder from Down Under and you were friends, had been since your firm had done their calendar shoot two years ago. He had generously given you prime seating to the show that night and also set you up with a few other perks for the trip. "The only thing I'm surprised at, is that this one," she bumped you with her hip, spilling both hers and your mimosas. "Didn't end up going home with him last night."

 "Oh my god, Kenny you did not just say that." She may be the bride and your best friend but really, she was pushing the line.

 "Come on, it's not like it hasn't happened before."

 At least four pairs of eyes turned towards you, Ryan's sister Gretchen being one of them. "Ok, admittedly, I slept with him, once." Both Kennedy and Kelsey gave you that look. "Ok, maybe it was twice, but he has a girlfriend now, and we are just friends."

 "I'll give you that," Jade spoke up in your defense and suddenly she was going to earn the title of new best friend, not that the lines weren't blurred in your little group as you were all sort of best friends. "But what about Edward, the one with the turtle tattoo on his hip."

 "You were so looking at more than his hip." Eva teased while Jade simply hid behind her champagne glass. "But yeah (Y/N), he was totally hitting on you."

 "He was not."

 "Oh, he was," Kennedy added her two cents. "And as the bride I take offense, they should've been hitting on me."

 "Wait, why would they hit on you?" Jade sputtered. "You're taken bitch." Of course, bitch was said in the most loving way.

 "I'm not dead."

 "No, but I'm sure my brother wouldn't appreciate it." Leave it to Gretchen to be the mood killer. "I think I'm going to go take a nap. I'll meet you at the pool later."

 She headed out the door, and honestly, you were ecstatic about it, for she was too judgmental for your liking.  "Wait, Gretch, that's not what I meant."

 "Leave her go, maybe a nap would do her good." They were Jade's words but your sentiments. "Now back to why (Y/N) did not take that beautiful man up on his offer last night."

 "There was no offer," you insisted.

 "Come on (Y/N), there was an offer. There's always an offer. Remember when you were doing promo for that Batman flick." You tried to shut Kennedy up with a death glare, but she continued to prattle on. "We all know you ended up doing the nasty with Superman."

 "WHAT?!?!" Yeah, that definitely came out of the other nine people's mouths in the room.

 "Thanks, Ken. No one knew that but you."

 "Oops, my bad." She had the grace to at least be embarrassed about the whole thing.

 "You mean you slept with that guy, the British one, tall, all muscular, extremely good looking. Damn it what's his name." You could see Eva wracking her brain for his name and you just didn't want to go there.

 "Hen…"

 "Yes, him," you admitted, stopping Jade before she could finish his name. "Can we please change the subject?"

 "Why, when we are all living vicariously through you," Kelsey added. "Especially poor Kennedy, who is now committed to spending the rest of her life with one man."

 "Geez, you make it sound like a death sentence. I love Ryan and I'm perfectly fine spending the rest of my days with him."

 You had to suppress an eye roll. Not because you didn't think that Ryan and Kennedy weren't in love. If you were being honest, you just thought they were rushing things a bit. The problem was telling your best friend that; you tried in the past and never succeeded. "We know you're in love Kenny." And then because you couldn't stop yourself, you added. "It's just are you sure you want to be tied down so young? We still have our whole life to live."

 "Jesus, (Y/N). We all know you're not ready for marriage and what comes with it, but we can't all be you with your fancy job in LA, meeting celebrities all the time. Some of us have real lives and want to settle down and have a family."

 "Kenny, that's not what I meant." The last thing you wanted to do was argue with her at her bachelorette party. "I only want you to be happy."

 "You have a funny way of showing it." The air in the room took on a chill and not from the air conditioning. If you didn't do something soon this party was going to go downhill.

 "Oh, would you look at the time," Jade chimed in. "We should probably be heading down to the pool." Everyone grabbed their stuff, Kennedy giving you the cold shoulder as you made your way out of the hotel suite. Jade came up and wrapped an arm around you. "She'll be fine. She's just on edge after the whole Gretchen thing. We'll give her a few shots and you two will be good as new."

 "I hope so." Unfortunately, things weren't fine. Kennedy seemed to avoid you and your attempt to make things right, even after a few shots. That didn't stop you from taking a few more. You had a strict one drink to one water rule, that you threw out the door today. Downing shots like it was your job. It was probably an hour later when you were in one of the private pools, with a few of the girls that a large group of very attractive men walked in. They were definitely different from Nate and the guys from Thunder, and at first, you thought it was some fraternity get together with how young some of them looked, but at second glance there were some gentlemen that were your age or older.

 "They've gotta be baseball players," Eva whispered over after they took up residence in the three bungalows next to you.

 "Nah, none of them have a dad bod." Jade was right, they were too fit to be in the MLB. You'd been around enough major leaguers to know while some were incredibly in shape, some were not. That didn't seem to be the case with this group.

 "I'm gonna rule out NFL as well," you told the girls. "None of these guys look like they're an offensive guard. Those guys are huge." You noticed a few of them staring at the six of you that were in the smaller pool reserved only for the bungalows. Grabbing another shot, this had to be your fourth in just sixty minutes, you downed the drink really starting to feel its effects.

 "Looks like we may just find out here," Jade said, nodding to let you know some of the guys were headed your way.

 "Ladies, care if we join you?" One of the men asked, you had to admit he was extremely handsome but also gave off an air that he had more than a few notches in his bedpost.

 A couple of the girls nodded, but when no one said anything, you found yourself saying, "Come on in."

 "So, what brings you to Vegas?" This from a different guy, who had quite a number of tattoos covering his arms, and you had to admit that the ink just made him more attractive, that and his height. He was well over six feet tall and you didn't mind looking up to see his face as he took the seat next to you.

 "Bachelorette party," Jade blurted out and you saw a few eyebrows raise.

 "Tell me you're not the bride?" His breath was warm or maybe it was the sun, either way, you definitely felt a warmth in your belly that wasn't there moments ago.

 "I am definitely not the bride." Shit that sounded desperate. "Though I am the maid of honor, at least I hope I still am." You looked inside the bungalow to see Kennedy in deep conversation with Gretchen.

 "Hmm, sounds like there's a story there. Care to tell me? I'm Jacob by the way, though the guys call me Marky."

 He held out his hand, the one that didn't have a beer in it, and you took it. "(Y/N), and I'll tell you though it's rather dull, on one condition." He quirked a brow at you. "You tell me what sport you play."

 He chuckled. "What makes you think I play a sport? Maybe I'm an investment banker."

 "Well, first there's your accent, though I suppose you could pull off investment banker with that. Second, you are all…how shall I say this…physically fit. A quality most athletes have and considering the number of you; I doubt this is some kind of investment banker convention."

 "Ok, I'll give you that, though we could be bodybuilders or…" the lights on the billboard on the strip changed to a Thunder From Down Under ad and you saw a light bulb in his head go off. "Or male strippers." Shit, you almost spit your drink out on that one. "What, too much a stretch? Maybe it's your lucky day." He started to sway his hips in the pool, one of his friends joining him while you and Jade tried to contain your laughter.

 "Nah, it's already been (Y/N)'s lucky day with them. She knows them all rather intimately."

 "Jade!" you yelled at your friend, or ex-friend, though you weren't in a position to be losing anymore at the moment.

 "Oops." She at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Alcohol made everyone do some crazy things and Jade was no exception to the rule.

 "Intimately huh?" Jacob asked as you splashed water on Jade causing her to shriek and hide behind Jacob's friend who you learned was someone named Erik. "Have I lost the competition before it even starts?"

 "There's no competition."

 "So, you're single then?"

 "Yes, though you still haven't answered my question." As soon as Jacob heard you say yes, he slid a little closer to you.

 "What was that question again?" He said with laughter in his eyes and before you could get annoyed with him, though you doubted that would happen, he added. "I remember, just giving you a hard time. Anyhow, we play hockey."

 "Oh, nice. Like professional level? Or are there minors in that sport?" You really weren't one hundred percent sure. You'd taken in a game here and there but not really paid any particular attention to it.

 "We're in the NHL, playing for Vancouver. Just came out to do a little team bonding before the season starts. So, are we going to talk about this intimate encounter or why you think your maid of honor duties are getting revoked?"

 "I think I need another drink to talk about either of them."

 Jacob flagged down one of the personal waitresses for the area, requesting a couple of shots and drinks for you both, and you had to admit you liked the way he worked. "Now that that's taken care of…"

 You blew out a frustrated breath, more with yourself than anything else. "I said something stupid right before we came down here." He kept silent, his eyes totally focused on you and what you were saying. A refreshing change from some of the men you spoke to. "I just think she's rushing into things. They've only known each other a year and we are too young to get married. She's only twenty-five, we have our whole lives ahead of us. You know?" He simply nodded his agreement before you continued. "I want to see the world, go places, and do things before I'm strapped down to one man forever. Not to mention being tied down with kids. How can Kenny not want that too?"

 "I totally agree. I've gotten to see a lot with hockey but there's no way I want to be tied down just yet."

 "Exactly, you totally get me." Your drinks arrived then and Jacob took one shot and handed it to you before taking the other.

 "Well, I say we toast to being young and free with no commitments."

 "I'll drink to that." He clinked his glass to yours and the two of you downed the drinks. It seemed like the DJ noticed the change in your mood, as the music got louder and the energy seemed to kick up a notch. You got up and started to dance in the pool; the other girls joining in. It wasn't long before you felt Jacob behind you. His hips grinding into your backside, as his large hands encircled your waist.

 Drinks flowed freely the entire day, and if you were being honest, you couldn't remember a time you'd been that drunk before the sun had even set. You were laughing and dancing, and quite literally having the time of your life; your maid of honor duties completely forgotten at this point. Gretchen came up to you at some point and told you that she, Kennedy, and Kelsey were heading up and would catch up with the rest of you later. Everyone else was having too much fun with the Canucks to want to leave.

 A few more drinks and an hour later, the party was winding down. Most of your friends had headed up to their room to pass out, only a few stayed behind. Jacob had somehow maneuvered you into one of the bungalows that was empty. You shared a few kisses here and there out in the pool area, but now that you were out of view of prying eyes things were getting a bit more heated. Jacob's hands were on your ass, as his tongue was down your throat; not that yours wasn't doing the same thing to him. He moaned into your mouth, the sound going straight to your core. Your bikini bottom was no longer wet from the water of the pool, but the press of Jacob's cock against it.

 You both stumbled back, landing down on the large daybed in the bungalow, though somehow Jacob's reflexes softened your fall. His hands went straight to your breasts, kneading the flesh there. He was just about to untie the string of your bikini top when someone walked in. "Jesus, Marky! Take it upstairs would you!" You squinted trying to make out who it was but at this point not remembering anyone's name besides the man that was on top of you.

 "Oh, shit…thought I was in my room." It was funny, you thought the same thing. "Sorry, Jay."

 "His name is Jay? Like the letter?" you mumbled as Jacob helped you off the couch. "What comes after J?" Fuck you were drunk and when you were drunk you tended to ramble. You once actually talked to a damn parking meter because you thought it was a person, and you were pretty sure you could talk to one now if there was one around.

 "Doesn't matter, babe," Jacob said kissing your lips. "Wanna head up to my room?"

 You had to go up on your tiptoes to loop your arms around his neck. "Yes, I do." He planted a kiss on your lips then cupped your ass cheeks causing you to jump a bit.

 "Let's go," he finally said breaking the kiss. You had enough sense to grab your things and tell your friends not to worry that you'd catch up with them tomorrow. They all winked and nodded or at least that's what it looked like in your head because that's when things started to get hazy. You had vague recollections of making your way through the casino, stopping here and there. Part of you thought that the two of you even stopped to play roulette only so you could have another drink.

 You did remember tumbling through the door of Jacob's suite. His lips were on yours and neither of you were paying attention as he unlocked it. Thankfully his quick reflexes caught you; apparently, even when drunk, goalies couldn't lose some of those natural instincts.

 His hands, you remember them being everywhere on your body, and how incredible they made you feel. His calloused touch lit a fire inside you, that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He rid you of your white swim cover-up easily, flinging the garment across the room, and then his lips were all over your body. It was easy to recall the way he made you feel, as he softly bit down on your nipple through the fabric of your bikini. You'd craved this all afternoon. It had been a couple months since you'd been with a man and Jacob was everything you'd been waiting for.

 You ripped off his shirt. Your hands immediately going to his chest and roaming down his tattooed arms. He was all muscle, hard and lean everywhere, but when you slid your hand down inside his swim trunks to his cock; oh, it was hard all right, but lean was not a word you'd used to describe it. You were barely able to wrap your fingers around his girth, and as you stroked him, you realized God had not only blessed him with height but length as well. The man was made to star in a porno, you thought as you shoved his trunks down.

 Somehow, during that time Jacob had managed to get your bikini top off, though you supposed with its simple string ties it wasn't a hard feat to manage. You dropped to your knees, licking your lips before taking your tongue and swirling it around the head of Jacob's cock. "Det kanns sa bra min vackra prinsessa (that feels so good my beautiful princess)." Jacob's mumblings had you pulling back and looking up at him. "Don't stop, baby." This time you knew what he said as you slowly sucked him into your mouth. There was no way that you could take him all in, so you pumped the rest of him with your fist. You hollowed out your cheeks as you sucked him inside, using every trick in the book you knew. Jacob muttered more in Swedish to you, things you had no clue as to what they meant, but judging by his reaction they were things he was enjoying very much. He threaded his hands through your hair, pulling it back so you could look up at him with big doe eyes. "Jesus," he swore, his hips bucking into your mouth at the sight of you with his cock in it, looking like that. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out shouting," Tillrackligt, enough. I think you're trying to kill me, princess."

 There was something about the way he called you princess. It wasn't anything you'd been called before and most times you'd preferred babe or baby, but the way the word rolled off his tongue did things to your insides.

 Jacob helped you off the ground, his lips ghosting over yours before picking you up and tossing you onto the bed. His large form handled you easily, arranging your body just the way he wanted to before slipping off your bikini bottoms. His large hands worked their way from your ankles to your calves, all the way up to your thighs; spreading your legs as he went. "So beautiful." He traced his fingers lightly over your pussy lips and you quivered in anticipation of what was to come. One long finger slid between your folds all the way up to your clit, once, then twice, and then once again. "So wet, prinsessa, and all because of me."

 "Mmm, yes, Jacob." He dipped that same finger inside you then. The digit slipping in easily and so he added another. Then his mouth was there. Tongue flicking over your clit in a way that made you squirm with pleasure. "Oh yes," you moaned, caught up in the pleasure that was coursing through your veins. "Just like that." Your hips lifted up on their own accord, seeking more of what this giant of a man was doing to you. Jacob never let up, making a come-hither motion with his fingers and you found yourself unraveling around him; legs shaking, breath panting as your orgasm overtook you.

 “So pretty when you cum, prinsessa.” He pulled his fingers from your pussy then brought them to your lips. You opened without any thought, licking your juices off of them. Before you could get them clean, Jacob’s mouth joined yours, kissing you while you sucked on his index and middle fingers. Your tongues mingled together, as Jacob positioned himself between your thighs. The head of his cock nudged between your folds and you sighed into his mouth at just that first touch. Slowly, he filled your pussy, until he bottomed out. Only then did he release your lips. “Fuck you feel so good.”

 Jacob loved the feel of you clenching around him. It felt like he was in heaven. Part of him didn’t even want to move that’s how good your body felt, but then you shifted your hips up just a hair bit and he had to suck in a breath at the pleasure that went straight to his groin for fear he would spend inside you right then and there. He willed his body under control and only then started to move.

 With every snap of Jacob’s hips, a wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails raked down his back, probably leaving marks, but it seemed to only spur him on. “Yes, Prinsessa,” he moaned out, as you bent your knees allowing him to go deeper. You moaned as he hit that treasured spot that had you seeing stars. “You like that?” Another moan was his answer, as he continued to fuck you.

 That peculiar feeling started to wash over you. Your pussy fluttering around Jacob’s cock as the orgasm finally broke. Back arching, legs trembling, you were moaning out his name as the climax seemed to continue, as Jacob drove wildly into you. As you came down off your high, Jacob found his. With a few erratic thrusts, he was spending deep inside you with a loud groan. He slumped forward, his sweety forehead resting on yours. “Det dar var otroligt.” You looked at him curiously, your brain not working at all but also knowing he was speaking something in Swedish to you. He smiled, a glorious one that you found yourself getting lost in and you found yourself returning it. “I said that was amazing.”

 “Yes, it was,” you breathed out. Jacob rolled you both onto your sides, tucking you into his. It wasn’t long before both of you were passing out.

 Now here you were, finally putting most of the pieces together from last night. You looked back over at the sleeping man, who had given you such pleasure even in your inebriated state. He really was gorgeous. You honestly wouldn’t mind going for round two, after a couple of Tylenol, of course. Speaking of which you needed to get up and see if you had any in your bag. If only you could move him without waking him. You carefully took your right arm and went to move his left which was slung across you, but then something caught your eye. There on his ring finger was a ring. Oh, it wasn’t just any ring, it was a wedding ring! You knew he didn’t have it on when you were in the pool. You were not the type of woman to go hitting on a married man, let alone sleep with him.

 You pulled your other arm out from underneath him, fully intending to grab your stuff and get the hell out of there when you noticed a bright and shiny diamond on your ring finger. There was also a matching wedding band. Then like a tsunami hitting the beach of a small island a memory came flooding back to you of the two of you entering the hotel chapel. This man wasn’t married to just anyone, he was married to you!  

.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 11

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Spark.

She watches Ethan from the couch as he pulls a tin of muffins out of the oven, arranging a few on a plate. She’s been thinking a lot about what Mulder said about not having a spark with his ex. She wonders if she and Ethan have a spark, or if they did at one point. When she thinks about her relationship with Ethan, what stands out to her is commitment, dedication, stability. And love, of course, she does love him.

When they first met through mutual friends, she wasn’t particularly interested. He was perfectly nice, and good looking enough, but struck her more as a potential friend than a boyfriend. He was steadfast, kept showing up, kept gently working to get to know her, and eventually she started to grow fond of him. They’ve joked that while his attraction to her was immediate, hers to him was more of a slow burn. This is what mature, adult relationships are like, right? Measured, practical, logical. When you’re young, wild, and free, you date whoever you have the most fun with, chasing the next exciting experience and the rush of a first kiss. But the person you marry should be someone who you know will be a dependable partner, a good parent, and a lifelong support. That has always been her belief.

Ethan returns to sit with her on the couch, setting the muffins on the coffee table to cool. He picks up her feet and puts them in his lap, casting her a brief smile before he goes to work pressing his thumbs into her arches as he watches TV.

Spark.

Is that what she feels when she’s with Mulder? A spark? Is that why her stomach goes into knots when he looks at her? Why she feels the overwhelming urge to touch him? The sensation that there is an electrical current passing between them is not one she’s ever felt with Ethan, that’s for sure. There was no adrenaline in their first kiss, only contentment. Comfort, safety, security. These are good feelings, ones you can build a life on. Can you build a life on a spark?

“You still going to try on dresses tomorrow with Missy?” he asks, his eyes glued to the TV screen.

“Mhmm,” she answers over her book, which she hasn’t gotten through a page of in over thirty minutes.

“Are you gonna let me see what you pick?” he asks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye with a surreptitious smirk.

She sets the book on her stomach and gives him a chastising smile. “Of course not, Ethan. That’s against the rules.”

“Who made that rule, anyway? I’ve already seen you naked, I should be able to see you in a fancy dress before the big day,” he says with a pointed look.

She swats him with the book.

“The fact that you’ve already seen me naked is also against the rules, so I guess we’re 0 for 2. Don’t tell my mother that,” she lectures playfully.

“I’m sure she has her suspicions, given that we live together,” he says dryly.

“Leave the woman to her ignorant bliss,” she retorts, and they hold eye contact for a moment, exchanging affectionate smiles.

Not a spark, but maybe an ember. Burning steady, carrying them through the dark nights. Sparks die out quickly. She only hopes her spark with Mulder fades soon, because right now it’s burning so bright it’s distracting her from the ember sitting right at her feet.

———

She frowns at herself in the mirror.

“This one is really pretty, Sis, you don’t like it?” Missy asks, tugging at the train to straighten it out.

“I don’t know. Maybe. No.”

She looks forlornly at the rack of dresses she’s already tried on. Every length and cut, style of bodice and neckline. They all seemed wrong.

“I mean, I know you’re generally hard to please, Dana, but this is getting ridiculous,” Missy laments.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she replies, casting Missy an apologetic look.

“Which one do you think Ethan would like? Would that help you decide?” Missy offers helpfully.

Ethan. Right. She realizes that she’s been thinking about what Mulder would make of her in a white dress. She suspects he’d go for the mermaid fit.

“Can we just try again another day, maybe? I think I’m just not in the right headspace for this,” she pleads with her big sister.

“Sure, whatever you want. Let’s go get coffee or something,” Missy says as she ushers Dana back into the changing room.

They go to her favorite local spot, finding two open armchairs near the fireplace, which is off for the summer. Dana tucks her legs under her torso, sipping at an indulgent white chocolate mocha; she feels the need for small pleasures right now. Missy eyes her appraisingly, and she can feel the third degree that is about to commence.

“So what’s up with you?” she finally asks, her tone inquisitive but not abrasive.

“What do you mean?” Dana asks in reply, avoiding her eyes.

Missy’s head drops to the side in exasperation. “Are you really going to make me spell it out for you, Dana? I’m trying to be supportive of your decision to marry Ethan, but you’re making it really hard being so openly miserable all the time.”

Dana looks at her with surprise and indignation. “I am not miserable.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Missy says sarcastically.

Dana shakes her head. “I’m just...I don’t know, I have a lot on my mind.”

“Care to elaborate?” Missy asks with an expectant look.

She sighs and sets her shoulders. She needs to talk to someone about this, and Missy is literally her only option.

“Okay, but first I need you to promise me you’re not going to make a big deal about this, because it’s really not a big deal,” she prefaces with a stern look.

“You know me, I don’t do big deals,” Missy replies, working hard to hide her anticipation for whatever her little sister is about to reveal.

“Okay. So, I met this man at work,” she starts, and Missy’s eyes go as round as oranges. “Missy, don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Missy defends, “go on.” She’s leaning forward in her chair, creating less space between them.

“He’s an agent, he was just picking something up for a case he’s working on, but he asked me out, and we’ve kind of been...we’ve become friends,” she says hesitantly, glancing at Missy to gage her reaction. Missy is forcing a blank expression.

“So...you’re dating him?” she asks flatly.

“No! Oh god, no. I mean, he asked me out and I told him that I have a boyfriend, but now we’re just kind of friends, and….Jesus Christ.” She drops her forehead into her palm. Even describing what’s going on with Mulder is apparently impossible. “We are just friends, but...but I’m having a hard time reconciling how I feel about him.”

“How do you feel about him?” Missy asks.

Dana shakes her head. “I don’t know how to describe it, Missy. I love Ethan, I’m not having doubts about him, but this man...I feel so drawn to him. Being around him feels...almost electric.”

“Like you have a spark?” Missy asks, and Dana’s head snaps to look at her. She’s open, curious.

“Yeah...exactly like that,” she replies regretfully.

Missy nods in understanding, and it somehow makes Dana feel a little better, like she’s not totally crazy. “Tell me about him,” she requests, and Dana can’t help but smile.

“Um, he’s a criminal behavioral analyst, in the Behavioral Science Unit. Oxford educated. He’s funny, but in a dry, intellectual way. He has some pretty outlandish ideas, but he’s so passionate about what he believes in, it’s impossible not to take him seriously. He’s kind of intense, but really alluring.” She pauses, knowing she can’t go on much further without veering into gushing.

“Is he cute?” Missy asks, and Dana closes her eyes.

“SO good looking. Painfully so.” She opens them and Missy is smiling knowingly at her.

“Sounds like a real catch, Sis.”

“Yeah, but I’m engaged to someone who is also a great catch in his own right. I feel like I’m in a romcom.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Missy asks earnestly.

Dana looks at her with surprise. “What do you mean? I’m not going to do anything. It’s just distracting, but obviously nothing can or will come of it.”

Missy gives her a doubtful expression, but then raises her eyes to meet with someone over Dana’s shoulder, giving them a questioning look. Dana turns to see Mulder standing beside her, a cup in his hand and that damn boyish smile on his mouth.

“Hey, Scully, we meet again,” he says, glancing between her and Missy.

“Mulder, hi,” she stumbles, bringing her feet to the floor and squirming around as though he’d caught her in a compromised position. “Um, Mulder, this is my sister, Melissa. Missy, this is Fox Mulder.”

He steps forward and extends his hand to Missy, and she shakes it with a flirtatious smile. “Nice to meet you, Fox.”

“Oh, please call me Mulder,” he replies.

“Alright, Mulder, would you like to join us?” Missy asks, and Dana shoots her a look.

“Um, yeah, I can hang out for a minute,” he replies cautiously, pulling up a chair between the two of theirs.

“So, how do you and Dana know each other?” she asks, and Dana isn’t sure if she’s asking because she realizes who he is, or because she doesn’t.

“We work together, technically speaking. I’m a criminal behavioral analyst in the Behavioral Science Unit.” Missy gives Dana a look that tells her it was the latter. “What are you two up to today?” he asks, running his palm over a stubbled cheek. She can hear the scratch of the short hairs against his skin and it sets off a tingle at the back of her neck.

“We were just doing some wedding dress shopping,” Missy offers, watching his reaction closely.

“Ah,” he says, only moderately concealing his dissatisfaction, “sounds like a good time.” His tone is dry and not at all genuine. “So, Scully,” he says, directing his words to Dana, “Priscilla was wondering if you could stop by next weekend. She has something to show you.”

She smiles coyly. “Does she? Not a hairball, I hope?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, it’s a file, actually. Her personal favorite, she’d love to share it with you.”

“I think I might be free on Saturday,” she replies, “I just need to check, um…”

“Check with Ethan, right,” he finishes, his smile fading a bit.

“Right,” she confirms, her own smile quickly extinguishing.

Mulder stands. “I’ll email you, to confirm.” He turns to Missy, “It was nice to meet you, Melissa.”

Missy beams at him. “Likewise.”

Mulder turns to Scully and gives her a longing glance, then leaves. They watch him go, waiting until the door has closed behind him to speak.

Missy slaps Dana’s arm. “Oh. My. GOD, Sis!” she exclaims with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“What?” Dana returns.

“Spark? That is a goddamn bonfire. Even I could feel it,” she says with a look of wonder.

Dana gives her a pained expression then drops her head into her hands with a groan.

“Why does he call you Scully? And who the hell is Priscilla?” Missy adds.

Dana lifts her head, looking at her sister regretfully with a shrug.

“He said I don’t look like a Dana. Priscilla is his cat.”

Missy closes her eyes for a moment and gently shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowing like she’s trying to reconcile all this information in her brain.

“Whoa, so you’ve been to his place?” Missy asks incredulously.

Dana nods hesitantly.

“Sis, what are you doing? If you were to tell me that you’re going to break it off with Ethan and run away with that beautiful man I would honestly support you. But if you’re trying to keep things on the up and up here, a private rendezvous at his apartment seems like a really bad idea.” Missy is deeply confused, not used to being in the position to tell her sister what decisions are unwise. That is typically Dana’s role in their relationship.

Dana glares at her sister defensively. “We’re just friends, Missy. Men and women can be just friends.”

Missy shoots her a ‘do you think I was born yesterday?’ look.

“Sure they can, if they aren’t insanely attracted to each other. That man practically devoured you with his eyes, Dana. He wants to be more than your friend,” she says emphatically.

“Well, he’s not going to be. I’m with Ethan. And I’m an adult who can control myself enough to maintain boundaries with a platonic friend who happens to be an attractive man. I’m not a Neanderthal, Missy.” She’s using her professor voice, presenting the topic with supporting evidence. Only the facts, folks.

“Okay,” Missy says, acquiescing. “If you trust yourself then great, have fun with your friend. Does Ethan know you’re gallivanting around with a sexy behavioral analyst?”

The guilty look that overtakes Dana’s face is answer enough.

“Well,” Missy continues, “just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she brings levity back to the conversation with a little smirk.

“That leaves me with a lot of options, Missy,” Dana retorts, and Missy slaps her arm again.

[bouncingkadachi]

Blessed Rain

Summary: A Hunter’s weapon of choice says a lot about them. OR: Kyle upgrades his weaponry and gets caught red-handed in the act. Luckily (?) for him, only Tsukino seems to know exactly why he's having an emotional crisis over this.

Word count: 3,260

Note(s): set post-game

Also available on AO3!

Kyle’s had his new bow for a good couple of weeks before the feel of the limbs and the weight of the draw became comfortable enough for him to consider upgrading it. If he’s going to be injured, he reasons, he’d rather it be purely by way of monster and not because he pulls a muscle wrestling with a bow that hasn’t been properly broken in. His wallet despairs as he forks over the zenny, but this’ll hopefully let him take on some of the bigger hunts like the ones that Reverto goes on. It’ll all be worth the investment up front once he has his completely finished bow and restocked his coatings and finally drops the last of his coin on a couple new talismans.

He refuses to think about the implications of his reasoning with a literal coin, rolling it around and around his fingers as he pushes through the market throngs towards the smithy’s. Perhaps he ought to have a change of scenery—the fog-shrouded summits of Terga were said to be particularly beautiful at this time of year, and the heat in Lamure was becoming just shy of unbearable.

The final product that the blacksmith puts into his hands when he finally makes it to collect is nothing short of gorgeous. Blessed Rain is sleek where his old Rex bow was bulky, far lighter and certainly not as clunky. The upgrades on the riser gives the entire weapon a pleasant solidness in his hand, yet the delicately reinforced plating on the limbs doesn’t retract at all from its flexibility. The decorative grip protector gleams. Just looking at it makes Kyle excited to shoot.

“Bring her back if you’re finding that you need anything adjusted,” the smith tells him after Kyle’s diligently inspected every inch of the bow. “Kept the poundage the same for you, but added another inch to the draw length like you asked.”

“Thanks,” Kyle says. Eventually, he’d like to work up to the point where he can up the poundage again. Even just another five pounds would be good. He can do most of the hunts in his skill range alone now, but extra firepower would make him just that much more efficient, or that much of a better support for team hunts. 

The smith laughs when Kyle sheepishly admits this. “Well, I always like to help a Hunter improve, and you know where to find me,” he says cheerily, clapping Kyle enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Come by again anytime if you need a tune up or want to test out something new.” 

And with that, he waves Kyle away so that another Hunter can step up, holding a tired-looking sword and shield and looking equally exhausted. “Aye, rookie Hunter?” Kyle hears as he wanders off to find a more relaxed corner of the market in which to admire his new bow some more. “If you’ve got the materials I can repair and upgrade that for you.” The conversation peters out and melts into the general din of the marketplace as Kyle slips into the crowd, taking care to step out of the way of a Felyne carrying an absolutely massive basket groaning with produce. He watches the precarious load totter away, trying and failing to locate Tsukino in the brief respite the parted crowd affords him. They’d split earlier that morning and he hasn’t seen her since.

He still hasn’t managed to find even a whisker of Tsukino’s whereabouts by the time he settles into a decently quiet nook next to a stall selling all manner of spices. Pity, because the dappled light spilling through the colorful drapes of the marketplace catches so beautifully on the milky-white sheen of the bow, and he’d been looking forward to showing it to her. As a Hunter, Kyle will always care more about weapon practicality than aesthetics, but as a normal human being he certainly won’t turn down the opportunity to have both an aesthetically pleasing and perfectly functional weapon. He’s still grinning a little when he goes to strap the bow to his back, and it’s in the process of looking up that his gaze catches onto wide eyes staring plainly at him from across the street. 

He freezes, arm suspended awkwardly halfway to sheathing. His beautiful bow glints damningly in the bright Lamure sunlight as his unexpected friend wades through the throngs of people towards him, gesturing for him to stay put with a wave of her hand that really can’t be mistaken for anything other than a greeting.

“Hey,” he says cautiously and lamely when she finally reaches him. Belatedly, he remembers to lower his arm. He is momentarily thankful that she doesn’t try to reach up for his face in the Mahanan greeting, although his goodwill evaporates when she leans in to inspect his bow, body thrumming with unexplainable anticipation.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” she says finally. Kyle can’t help himself from preening just a little, shifting his grip so that she can get a better look. After all, what was the point of spending all that money and materials if there was no one to excitedly show the end product off to? Besides, it’s been a while since they last saw each other. Last he heard, she had been traveling, keen to finally see the world on her own terms and at her own pace.

“It’s fresh off an upgrade,” he answers smugly. “Easier to handle than the Rex.”

“Slightly less intimidating though,” she chimes in, and Kyle bristles, not liking where this conversation is going. And true to form, she goes in for the kill: “Mizutsune? I recognize the plating.”

Kyle can feel the flush crawling up to his ears. Logically, he knows that there’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about. It’s a mark of good smithing that one can tell at a glance which monster a weapon was inspired by, and a Mizutsune was both powerful and extremely iconic. This bow in particular had good stats and the ability to fire rapidly, which admittedly took him some time to get used to after focusing mostly on piercing shots. The paralysis coating that works so well on this bow has also already saved his skin on more than one occasion. There is little more a career Hunter can ask for out of his weapon. It’s not like he’d been heading out to Pomore Garden at any given opportunity and holding onto an increasing multitude of Mizutsune materials just because he wanted some physical reminder of what was probably the most pivotal moment of his life, something that never failed to put a very complicated and jumbled mess of emotions deep within his chest whenever he thought back to it.

He’s starting to feel very, very hot under his collar. The sun is terrible. He resolves that his next big hunt really needs to be somewhere outside of Lamure.

His friend, however, just looks more and more baffled as he launches into an unprompted defense of his newest purchase. Every time she opens her mouth, Kyle talks a little faster. Eventually, she doesn’t even bother trying to interject, which is arguably worse, because instead she just looks progressively more and more thoughtful. Kyle wished desperately for Tsukino to peel away from whatever hidey hole she was tucked in. Then, his train of thought screeches into a rude and abrupt halt.

“What,” he croaks. “What are you doing.”

One of her brows quirks up. “I sure hope your eyes are still working because that’d be a detriment to your job,” she says plainly. “What does it look like I’m doing? I promise it’s not a trick question.”

What she’s doing is holding Kyle’s hand—the one not clutching his new bow—the one that had apparently been waving about with increasing agitation as he jabbered on and on. What Kyle doesn’t understand is why. It’s not like he just did some impressive shot to give them the edge in a battle or anything else that was cool and hand-holding worthy. He’d just been yammering about bow mechanics, and maybe embarrassingly dipping into his talisman hopes and dreams. He stares a little helplessly at his trapped hand. Her kinship stone winks up at him.

“Look,” she says patiently, when it becomes very clear that Kyle is going to need a moment before he can get his brain back online. “There’s nothing wrong with a bow made from Mizutsune parts and I am the last person who will ever turn down pretty things. What I was going to say was that this is an interesting departure from your whole—” She pauses, as though looking for a specific word. “Well, your whole image as a very grown-up and serious and intimidating Hunter or whatever it was you were trying to convey with that scowl you used to like so much. And you weren’t letting me get a single word in.”

“You’re getting plenty of words in now,” Kyle scowls, just to be contrary. “And I’ve grown since then.”

“Someone’s in a mood today.” She smiles, crinkle-eyed, up at him. Kyle very seriously debates wrenching his hand out of her hold like he did the last time this happened and then pointedly doesn’t act on the impulse.

“Why’re you in Lulucion?” he asks instead with a truly remarkable level of self-restraint. “Thought you’d never want to come back again after what happened.”

She shrugs, the greatsword on her back heaving with the movement. “Guess I’ve grown too,” she says loftily, though she sobers quickly. “I was actually visiting my grandfather. He used to go back to Mahana around this time of year… he can’t do it anymore of course but I’ve got Ratha now, so I figured I could do it instead. And then I figured I’d stop by Rutoh before going home, to see Ena and Alwin and wheedle a few more stories out of them.”

She lets go of Kyle’s hand. He tries not to miss it. “Even Ratha can’t make the trip in one go, and Lulucion was closest, so we’re stopping to rest. I dropped by the Scrivener’s Lodge earlier because I was hoping Reverto could give me a few weapon pointers as I’ve saved up just about enough for an upgrade, but they told me that he was out on an urgent mission and wouldn’t be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Kyle says, a little stung that she hadn’t come specifically to see him first, out of all the Hunters in the city. He’s slightly mollified when she grins at him, though.

“And then I met Tsukino by the cannons. She said I could find you here, so here I am.”

“I don’t know anything about greatswords,” Kyle blurts out, and immediately wants to kick himself. She blinks at him, and then bursts into laughter.

“I was just going to ask the smith,” she wheezes when she’s got herself somewhat back under control. “Can’t I see a friend just to say hi to him anymore?” Kyle stares very intently down at some of the finer detailing on his bow.

“Where is my Palico anyway?” he finally settles on, falling into a tried and true grumble. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

She waves her hand vaguely in the air. “Navirou said something about getting donuts. I wasn’t really listening.”

But there was a donut stand right here in the marketplace, Kyle wanted to cry out. He should have seen Tsukino by now if they’d really been going to buy snacks! And how was it possible that he had missed Navirou in his entirety, between the Felyne’s penchant for wearing ridiculous little outfits and his inability to shut up?

“Why? You have a hunt you need to run off to?” 

“Yes,” Kyle says hotly. It’s a lie. He’d accepted a subquest that wouldn’t depart until later that evening for the sole purpose of testing out his new weapon in a relatively stress-free environment. Before that, he’d just planned on hitting up the shooting range in the training arena to break in the new string. His schedule was very, very free. Tsukino was perfectly aware of that.

His eyes widened. Tsukino had been with him on every excursion into the Gardens. She went where he did (usually), and it’s not like Kyle would ever begrudge her a visit home. But she’d been with him every step of every single Mizutsune job he’d ever taken—had watched him craft traps when he needed to capture and had kept watch for opportunists hoping to sneak up as he’d carved. She’d been the one who’d recommended the spinner for all the excess purplefur he was ending up with. At first, he’d simply thought that she’d wanted the thread to mend some of her own items, or to send back home to her brethren, but instead she’d tucked each skein of vibrant, silk-soft thread into the bottom of his pouch with gentle paws, cryptically talking about how strong a material it was, and how nice it looked when woven. Kyle has never touched a loom in his life, but now he’s looking at someone who he definitely knows has.

His stomach drops. Hadn’t Tsukino looked particularly smug ever since he’d lingered on the blueprints for Blessed Rain after getting a look at its stats and required materials?

“She got me,” he groans. His friend just looks at him bemusedly, though perhaps with a touch of wariness at his ferocious frown. Hastily, he tacks on: “It’s nothing. I, uh—I just remembered that I needed to tell Tsukino something. Important. Later, when I find her again.”

“Alright,” she says, though she doesn’t quite look like she believes him. “A quest’s a quest, though, so I won’t keep you here. The bow really is pretty though. I know I just said it doesn’t match your image and all but I really don’t think you can go wrong with something you like. You’ve got the skills for it, anyway.”

“Thanks,” he croaks, feeling a little overwhelmed. He manages two whole steps out of the nook before he pauses, worrying at his lower lip. “Actually,” he says sharply, spinning around on his heel and nearly causing his friend to startle right into a spice display. “How long are you staying for?”

“However long it’ll take to upgrade my sword, I guess,” she says after she collects herself, the words lilting into a question. “Three days or so, I guess?” She skirts nervously away from the glaring vendor, careful not to overbalance on her greatsword.

“Cool,” Kyle says with a nod, steeling himself. “Great, even. Look, how about this. Your last visit to Lulucion was terrible—” an understatement, “—so when I get back from my hunt I’ll show you some of the better sights Lulucion has to offer. There’s a hole in the wall that I think you’ll like. Dad used to take me after hunts—they grill really nice queen shrimp. And the parapets—you can climb them, and they’ve got all these little carvings in the stone that you can search for like a scavenger hunt.” He’s keenly aware that he’s rambling again, but she looks interested, so he barrels on. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow just as soon as I can get a nap in. We can stay in the city or take Ratha out to the Barrens, down by the water. Just make a day of it.” He’s pretty certain that he looks at her with something akin to hope as she considers. It feels like a lifetime before she finally comes to a decision. 

“I want to take Ratha out in the evening,” she says finally. “I don’t want him to be cooped up too long here ever again.”

“Yeah,” Kyle breathes out, the word rushing out of him in a flood of relief. “Yeah, I can work around that.” She beams at him.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she says, sincere and looking more than a little surprised despite herself at the prospect of looking forward to doing anything in Lulucion. “I’m staying at the inn closest to the stables. Pretty sure I’m the only Rider there currently so they’ll know who I am.” Kyle nods, and lets himself get his hand squeezed again, though not without her hands first hovering in an instinctual bid for his cheeks before she remembers herself.

“Good luck on your hunt. If I see Tsukino I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

“She’ll show up in due time,” he mutters darkly. “I’ll let you know if Reverto gets back early or if he’s just been loafing around this entire time. For your next upgrade or whatever.” She laughs, bright, and then slips off into the crowd to wrestle her way into the smithy��s queue. Kyle is left staring in her wake before his gaze is drawn back down to his bow.

“This is all your fault,” he tells it. Predictably, it doesn’t answer. Also predictably, Tsukino takes that exact moment to drop down from seemingly nowhere. 

“I didn’t know we had another job lined up,” the Felyne says delicately, carefully brushing crumbs off of her coat. Kyle groans, sheathing his weapon.

“Don’t tease me,” he huffs. “I’m going to the shooting range. Are you coming?”

“Hmm,” says Tsukino. “I suppose I can spare the time.”

“Of course you can spare the time!” Kyle hisses, indignant. “You just spent the day eating donuts and eavesdropping!” He pointedly doesn’t look towards the smithy, where his friend was patiently browsing the display while another Hunter was getting their hammer looked at.

“One must always be prepared with the latest intel,” Tsukino says mildly. “I’m glad the upgrade went well.” 

“It’s got good stats,” Kyle protests weakly in what is quickly becoming a tired argument. “The rapid shots have been going very well. And I had a surplus of Mizutsune parts.”

 “Yes,” his hunting partner agrees readily enough. “Have you thought of what you’re going to do with the thread?”

“This conversation is finished,” Kyle says abruptly, making a very determined push towards the market’s exit. “Either come or don’t, so long as we meet at the gate for tonight’s hunt.”

Tsukino looks at him with exasperated fondness, which is frankly a little insulting, but readily falls into step next to him. Kyle wonders how many rounds he’s going to have to shoot in order to clear his head again and rid it of thoughts of Hazepetal Garden or Mizutsune or high-grade thread that he’ll never use himself. He’ll examine them again someday—because he’s not a coward—but that day is most certainly not today.

He does his rounds in the training arena and marvels at the way the string slides off his fingers with a satisfying twang, even though it’ll still be a good few days before it’s fully broken in to his liking. Tsukino’s saved him a donut, the cakey sweet sticky with honey and practically melting in his mouth. He’s got some free time even after stocking up for the evening hunt, so he takes a few minutes to browse the quest board, taking careful note of the jobs that were situated near the Harzgai Rocky Hill, or the ones from further afield in Alcala that’ll take him closer to Rutoh. And when he leaves the city, he pointedly doesn’t look up at the familiar shape circling in the dusky sky, even as he knows that they’ll surely see the last rays of the setting sun winking off of the plates of his bow like a beacon.

[sidespromptblog]

What to Do?: Chapter 9

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Ten

Warnings: Food mention, General Angst, Hurt/Comfort, and a difference of opinions.

Summary: Logan realizing that his first mistake was seeing the other sides as anything other than coworkers. They weren't a family. They didn't even like each other. How had he not realized sooner?

Word Count: 2,439

Roman paced anxiously in the hallway before Logan’s door, the paper in his hands had been wrinkled, smoothed out, and then wrinkled again before he had tried to smooth it out once more… this time less successfully. 

He had been more than a little surprised when Logan had come to him with a list of things he wanted Roman to pick out, normally when it came to getting anything done they had two totally different mindsets of what should be done when it came to Thomas. And once it came time to do things they would clash just as they always had, as Roman instinctively wanted Thomas to just have fun and follow his passions. Whereas Logan was the exact opposite of that, and he had always wanted Thomas to do the things he needed to do, whether they were fun or boring. Roman had always kind of hated him for that, for seemingly shooting down his every idea, for a more and more boring one that sucked the fun out of everything. 

But this new plan…

“You too huh?” Roman’s head snapped up in an instant, and locked eyes with Virgil who had his hands on his own version of a wrinkled set of papers. “Apparently Patton got one too, and the oth… the dark sides too.” 

A bolt of surprise leapt through Roman, so Logan wasn’t asking just them anymore? He was actually, well and truly, going to everyone to see what they wanted done. He could imagine that Remus must’ve been quite surprised to be asked such a thing from Logan of all people. Especially with how they had clashed just recently, or had Logan just given Janus the papers with the instruction to give it to Remus too. If that were the case… then Remus would have seen this as nothing more than homework to be done, and probably shredded it the moment that it landed in his hands. 

Or maybe not… 

Roman was smart enough to acknowledge that he didn’t exactly know his brother that well. That and Remus always tried to do what they least expected from him, as one big twist surprise ending towards them all.

He was annoying like that. 

Roman’s eyes snapped towards the door, and Virgil fidgeted in his place for some reason looking very uncomfortable at the prospect of entering. “Yeah…” He finally said, scratching the back of his head. “It definitely was kind of… interesting. I didn’t think he’d want to talk to me for a while, we didn’t exactly part well last time.” That was an understatement, he remembered yelling at Logan… and just being so angry before he had come to terms with it all. “I’m surprised that Logic even wants to see us and-” 

A snarl peeled off of Virgil’s lips, and Roman flinched in surprise.

“His name is Logan, Roman.” The anxious side snapped in an instant, his eyes dark like thunderclouds before a torrential downpour. “Not Logic. Do you understand?” He growled, suddenly looking quite on edge for someone who had just been looking so nervous in the face of Logan’s door. 

It felt a bit like whiplash. 

But even so Roman held his stance firmly, he was determined when it came to this and he wasn’t going to let one of Virgil’s temper tantrums get in the way of it. Not anymore, and not with everything that had happened recently. He was Logan’s shield, he had sworn that he would be that for him even if the logical side didn’t know it, and even if he never knew it. Roman was on his side, and he would remain on his side for as long as the logical side would have him. 

So he crossed his arms, “I think his name is whatever he chooses for it to be, Virgil.” He stressed the other side’s name, feeling only an inkling of guilt at how the anxious side stepped back for a second. “We don’t have the authority to tell him what he will or will not be called. If he wants to be called Logic, then Logic is what we’ll call him. It’s not up to you.” Roman stared at Virgil, meeting his eyes dead on and not breaking eye contact until the anxious side’s eyes darted away. “Got it?” He asked, feeling the tiniest bit of satisfaction in how he had turned the other’s words back on him. 

A beat of silence, and then…

“Thank you Creativity.” Both of the sides looked up in a hurry, their eyes locking onto the logical side who stood before them, his door previously shut tight was now wide open. He held his own stack of papers, all neatly pressed and without a single crease or line on them. “Both of you may come on in, if it so pleases you.”  

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into his room, leaving the other two sides to follow him. 

The atmosphere was… more than a little tense to say the least. 

The bedroom that had previously been Logan’s looked nothing like what it was now, to the point where it was almost night and day with the comparisons. The posters were gone, the string lights, the pictures of all of them, the bookcases, the crumpled up paper balls that had once been ideas, even the… the fanfiction that Roman used to help Logan write… it was all gone. It was like everything had just been stripped away, and a boring office cubicle had taken its place. The deep blue walls were now a pale cream color, and the lush carpet was now just bland grey tile worn with a path of someone who walked in the same place for years and years.  

Roman had thought that Logan’s room had been boring before, but this… 

This was a whole new ball game. 

And looking at the stark horror that was etched out onto Virgil’s face, he could very well tell that the anxious side was thinking the same thing that he was. 

“So…” Roman cleared his throat as his voice cracked almost immediately. “I’m.. I’m a…” He fumbled badly with his words, the shock he had just went through robbing him of what he had prepared himself to say. He’d been asked here for a specific reason, and if he failed the simplest thing he had been asked… then what good was he? “I’m sure that Thomas can do the things that you want him to. It shouldn’t be that ha-”      

Almost immediately Logan cut in, “Don’t aim too high,” The logical side suggested, rather politely. In a way that Roman could tell that what he was saying wasn’t necessarily out of malice or anything. Instead, it feels like Logan’s saying to be more helpful, almost like a coworker giving some good advice.

But Roman can only nod, the underlying message behind that advice all too clear for him. 

“I aimed too high.” It says, “And I got burned for it, so don’t do what I did. Save yourself.” 

The tension has not eased a single bit. 

And then, Logan lifts his cup up, taking a slow and steady sip from it, as if he was trying to ease the atmosphere by doing something. The warm brown liquid swirled around in Logan’s cup with the clinking of ice accompanying it, and Roman’s nose itched with the faintest smell of spices wafting off of it. He got the faintest whiff of cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves. Had… had Logan completely given up coffee and switched over to having chai tea of all things? He would have expected that from someone like Patton, or even Virgil, to lessen the other’s anxiety.

But Logan?  

Roman had to bite his bottom lip at the mental image of Logan becoming one of those “dark academia” people that sat in the library and looked gloomy and so freaking cool all the time... kind of like Janus. Although Janus… Janus was more of a wine person, that much he could tell from miles away without even having to get close to that snake. 

“Don’t you normally drink coffee?” Virgil asked, wrinkling his nose at the spicey mixture in Logan’s cup, and Roman fought the urge to elbow him in the gut for his remark. “What’re you drinking?” 

Logan, to his credit, didn't even seem like he was going to get mad or anything at Virgil’s pure judgment and vitriol towards the drink of his choice. He merely took a longer sip than usual, licking the droplets that remained from his bottom lip when he pulled the cup away. He looked… calmer, before Logan would have vehemently defended his food choices against anyone who tried to question him. But at the same time, it felt more than a little wrong, Logan may have shifted towards the spicier drink, but where was his spice? Where was Logan’s sharp tangy flavor that made him so different from them? 

This Logan was like coffee now, bitter and… not at all to their taste. 

Logan just smiled that polite smile, and Roman had to force himself to smile back.

“I’ve found that drinking coffee isn’t exactly beneficial in the long run,” Logan explained, as he swirled the content of his cup around in a steady motion. “It’s been known to enhance anxiety attacks astronomically,” Virgil’s face gave a funny look for a moment, before Logan went on. “And it also lowers blood pressure too.” 

Roman swallowed down the words that he wanted to say, “That’s great Logic, good job on looking ahead.” The words felt sour and dull in his mouth, logically… Logan should have known that him drinking coffee over tea wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t impact Thomas in any way, and it wasn’t like Logan himself would drop dead over some high blood pressure. Logan had just taken away one more thing that the logical side liked, and turned it into something else. “You did good.” 

For a split second something in Logan’s face changed abruptly, a slight widening of his eyes and a crease in his forehead and lips. 

Something changed, and then… 

The room flashed briefly, but just out of the corner of Roman’s eye, it was so brief that he almost missed it entirely but he was certain that he had seen it. 

The cubicle styling of Logan’s room, just momentarily flashing back to how it was supposed to look. With all of his space posters, hanging lights, and the organized mess that Roman had seen Logan’s room as before. It was.. It was as if the new room only existed when they looked at it, and not a moment too soon or too late for them.

The very thought alone made Roman’s stomach drop.

He had promised himself that he wouldn’t intervene if this was what Logan had truly wanted for himself, but even so… it didn’t ease the sting of pain that was accompanied by every new thing that Logan was starting to do when it came to any of them. He had thought that he could handle it, and that the pain of this somehow would be lesser than the guilt he had felt towards this whole situation. But.. 

It wasn’t. 

If anything this felt worse, he had talked himself into giving in and giving this to Logan. All of this was almost too much for him, his legs itched to run and take him out of this room so that he wouldn’t have to witness anything like this anymore. But he held himself firm, and refused to move. He forced himself to look back at Logan, at the logical side who is steadily typing away on his computer, inputting the information that both he and Virgil had brought to the other side. 

Speaking of Virgil though…

The anxious side looked like he wanted to either scream or cry at Logan, the emotions clashing like a thunderstorm on his face as his eyeshadow darkened in color for a few brief moments. Until finally Virgil sucked in a deep breath, his eyeshadow returning to its normal, usually messy state as he seemed to calm down for now. 

Reaching into his pocket Virgil pulled out a folded piece of paper, “For your… office.” Virgil caught himself on the last word, almost wanting to say something else. The cubicle looked like a prison to him, nothing at all like Logan’s old room, and he could very much see why Logan hadn’t wanted him in here before. So he says the word almost bitterly, because this whole situation feels bitter to him. There’s not one bit of sweetness to be found in it.

He only softens the slightest bit when Logan takes the paper, unfolding the picture he had drawn for the logical side. And when Logan actually pins it to his cubicle wall, his movements are careful and precise so as to not damage the art Virgil had made for him. It remains on the wall, in plain view for the logical side to look at while he’s working. Then and only then does Virgil feel an intense sense of relief sweeping through him like a hurricane. It’s one more piece of evidence for the both of them that Logan doesn’t entirely hate them, but also that things also aren’t the same between them.

At least not yet. 

“Okay…” Virgil clears his throat, before tugging on Roman’s sleeve to pull him towards the door. “We’ll leave you to your work.. Logic. Let us know if there is any other paperwork you need from us, and we’ll get it done…” Virgil paused, but for just a moment. “I promise.” 

Logan stopped in his typing, his eyes glancing up from the computer they had been otherwise glued to. A look of… something passed over the logical side’s face, before it vanished entirely. 

“Thank you…” 

It was the only two words that were whispered back, so softly that Roman had almost missed them entirely. And before he could even think to ponder the words, he was pulled out by Virgil, his head full of ideas as he remained ever more determined to give Logan things to put up in his new “office”. His mind was wild with ideas of painting, charcoal sketches, and pastel drawings that he could give to Logan to pin up. Anything to make his new room, just the slightest bit more hospitable for the side who was constantly having to be in there. And anything to let Logan know that they still cared for him, even if he was doing all of this.  

While Virgil…

Virgil felt just the slightest bit better.

[artbyrivaille]

Hair ☕

Okay, so at the outset, I would like to emphasize that English is not my mother tongue and I am still learning. But writing is my hobby and I decided that I will try my skills here too, in English, I invite you to write requests, I hope you will like it!

3,5k words!

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She was strong. She was a good soldier, commander, companion.

But she was also a beautiful woman with an amazing figure who was envied by many. Despite being quite short, because she was only five feet three, she had long slender legs. Overall, she was considered a beautiful woman. However, she had short hair.

Her hairstyle was practically identical to Levi's, but no one accused her of trying to look like him, as she was cutting her hair that way long before Ackerman joined the survey corps.

Oh, she and Levi. It was quite a sneaky topic, let alone the rumors around the body. They were often seen in each other's company, people interpreted it differently.

Some said it was just a friendship and a bond they established when Ackermann was part of her branch at the beginning of his career. And the others insinuated the supposed romance of the two. Well the versions were really different, but the truth was that y/n and good captain Levi were just two great friends. The woman was one of the few people who knew the man's past, and shared with him some facts about her. Because they both came from the Underground, however, and managed to get out of there on their own, and not with the help of scouts, as was the case with Levi.

At first they were not very sympathetic, quite the opposite. They had very similar characters, which theoretically should indicate that they will get along well, but that was only theoretically. In practice, they got on their nerves terribly.

But despite this aversion to a man, it was precisely this that helped him the most after the death of Farlan and Izabel. She provided him with comfort, help and warmth.  Something no one else could give him. It was thanks to her that he recovered so quickly, and he was in the place where he was at the moment.

At some point their relationship began to take a less formal path. More and more often they stayed at each other's offices, helped each other with Erwin's sentences, that is, documentation. They drank tea together, despite the fact that the brunette was a coffee advocate, she made an exception for Levi and almost completely gave it up. They had similar problems, especially those with sleep, may both of them suffer from insomnia, so when the entire corps was asleep, they sat in the two of them over documents, or simply spent their free time together.

Y/n did not even know the exact moment when she began to care in this other, more intimate way on the short captain. It came overnight. Of course, she was behaving the same as before, after all, she was not some horny teen, but a mature woman, but at the moment when she was going to the black-haired's office, or she just knew that he would see him, her body was flooded with heat. And maybe she wouldn't care so much if it wasn't for the fact that she had short hair.

She loved the short haircut, the long hair simply irritated her and disturbed the soldier's everyday life, but she was afraid that they might be an obstacle to any closer relationship with Ackerman.

***

She sat quietly in her office filling out paperwork for Erwin. She nervously tweaked her hair, which was longer than usual, because every time she tried to cut it, something was getting in the way and that was how it was already quite long.

The silence in the office was broken by the sudden opening of the door through which entered a black-haired man with pliers and a towel in his hand. He closed the door with a bang and set the items on the coffee table, then looked at the woman poring over reports and other documents.

"You have long hair." He said suddenly and walked closer to her chair, and when he was next to him, he entangled his hand in her dark strands. She breathed a breath and leaned against the back of the armchair, massaging her temples at the same time giving herself to the caress.

"I didn't have time to cut them off because of the last expedition, and with all the crap Erwin did, I have more work to do than ever. And Hanji keeps following me all the time and asks if I managed to convince Bushbread to do experiments on titans." She explained in frustration then exhaled her mouth with a whistle.

"Tch, fucking shitty glasses. Come on, rest a little, cut off your hair, and you will give me a haircut." He replied then pulled the woman's chair back and, grabbing her hand, led her to the bathroom. She was so tired of it all that she didn't care, and the presence of a cobalt-eyed woman was calming, so she didn't resist. "Get your hair wet." He gave the order, which she followed by putting her head in the shower and then she wet her hair with a stream of water. Ackermann handed her a towel, which she grabbed and dried her hair.

Let the two go back to the brunette's office, meanwhile she took off her jacket and threw it on the couch, which Ackermann only huffed, but said nothing. She sat down without a word on the low stool that the man had prepared at that time. He ran a hand through her hair a few times and began carefully trimming it.

"Can I ask you a question?" She finally gave up y/n, unable to withstand the silence in the room

"You ask them anyway, so why do you ask me for permission." The bored man replied by which l/n raised the corner of her mouth in a small smile.

"What do you think about women with short hair?" She asked, and black hair stopped breathing for a moment. What the hell was that about? Is this some kind of provocation?

"What am I supposed to think. They are no less feminine because they do not have long hair, their appearance does not define a person." He replied quite neutral, not realizing that he had just kindled a little ray of hope in his friend's heart. "And why do you ask?"

"Because I care about someone, and all in all, I wanted to know your opinion." Ah yes. His heart leapt into his throat, and his stomach seemed to have a 3D maneuvering device.  Someone did she like? But who the hell. After all, the only men with whom she spent time was himself, Erwin, sometimes he encountered Moblit in the company of Hanji and Mike. Who could steal her heart enough to make her care about her hairstyle? Probably Erwin. That fucking perfect general.

Maybe Levi didn't have complexes as such, but he was always a little jealous of Smith. He had a perfect body, he was tall, intelligent, had a high position in the military, and he came from a non-poor family. He was nothing compared to the blonde, he had nothing to offer. And he would like so much to have her with him.

"I'm done." He muttered softly brushing single hairs from the woman's clothes. She got up from the stool and unintentionally combed her dark hair. She looked beautiful, but he wouldn't tell her that.

"Your turn." She said and took the pliers from his hand. This time it was he who sat on the stool. He involuntarily smiled under his breath and closed his eyes at the woman's gentle touch. He was literally like a docile kitten. Why couldn't she be his?

***

He had been avoiding her like plague for about two weeks. He was irritated by the lack of a black-haired woman around him, but he knew that if it was like before, he would take the blow even worse.

A blow that would never come.

Y/n really didn't know what she could do wrong. After all, everything was fine, and then overnight Ackerman began to avoid her. Maybe he just got bored?

At first she explained his ignorance with overwork, in the end everyone in the command had their heads off. But when one day in a row she saw him sitting quietly with Petra, she knew it was not it. By the way, seeing a redhead in his company, something broke in her. What did this teenager have that she did not have? Did their relationship really mean nothing to him? So many questions, so few answers.

And this way almost every evening she landed in Erwin's office with Hanji with a bottle of whiskey or vodka, depending on what Smith had in the bar. Erwin and Hange really couldn't comprehend the change in brunet's behavior, and the sight of a really hurt l/n was so pathetic as to be nasty.

And so the next evening the three gathered in Smith's office where they once again debated about the captain's behavior.

"I do not feel it completely, so change the attitude towards people overnight. 

I know that our curly pedantic has its own rules, but without exaggeration." Hanji announced, finishing the rest of the whiskey from her glass.

"Maybe something made him do it?" Smith replied, then grabbed his chin.

"Tch, and this thing is called Petra Ral, really fascinating." Black-haired girl summed up pouring herself and Zoe whiskey.

Their conversations were so loud that they interested Ackerman who was just about to make himself a cup of tea. But when he heard three familiar voices, he stood at the door of Smith's office, listening to what was being said.

"Don't take it for granted." Erwin said and frowned by the high concentration of alcohol in his glass.

"So what could be the reason Levi is ignoring me then? Just like logic Erwin, there are two options, or he has something to me and he distorts what is unfortunately but impossible because he always treated me only as a friend. Or he just shoots with Petra, and that's what I believe more. "Did they talk about him? What romance with Petra? And y/n cared for him the way he wanted it, but he's just an idiot and he broke it? He held his breath for a moment and tried to enter the room, but stopped himself and continued to stand still.

"Like it or not, I have to agree with the above.  Although I keep my fingers crossed for the first version." Squeaked at the end of the woman, which caused a loud sigh of disapproval from y/n.

"Shut up Hanji, I don't want to hope again for something that will never happen." She growled angry and hurt. She really cared about him. Not on any Erwin, Moblit or Mike, but on him. On a goddamn Underground thief with a hard character and misophobic aspirations. Damn it, don't let this be a dream.

He walked away from the door and headed for his office. He has even forgotten why he left it at all. He sat down at the desk and stared blankly at the sky until the very morning, trying to put everything in his head. He must try to fix what he broke.

***

Like a day like every other day. There was no expedition, no surprises, just an ordinary day in the recon. Well, maybe almost. Because Ackerman had been nervous and a little stressed since the morning. And it wasn't just because he wanted to talk to y/n seriously, but largely because he couldn't find her anywhere. As to spite that day, she sank underground, his only salvation could be Erwin. Which office was on his way to. The evening and dinner time was approaching, so he wanted to come to him before her, to look for the presence of a woman at the last meal, if necessary.

He entered the office without knocking, Smith merely looked up from the mountain of documents he had probably been studying since this morning, then turned him back to the sheets of paper.

"What you want Levi?" He asked breaking the silence prevailing in the room. He was pretty sure why this one had come to him, but preferred not to reveal all the cards at once.

"Where is y/n"?  Erwin sighed and then put down his quill and straightened up in his chair. He was afraid of Levi's reaction, but what could he do if the milk had already spilled?

"She went on a mission. She should be back in two or three days at the most." He replied with a straight face in the middle being a bit irritated by the reaction of the black-haired man.

"What mission? And why the hell didn't I know anything about this." Ackerman asked, very angry with the news once again.

"Maybe because you've been avoiding her for a long time? Maybe because it's a secret mission, I'm not obligated to tell you everything, Levi. I respect you and treat you as a friend, so I will give you some friendly advice. Think about what you really want and don't screw it up. I don't think I need to tell you what I'll do to you if you hurt her, not to mention Hanji." A faint smile affected his lips at the end of his speech.

"It's none of your business anymore. Thank you for the information." He replied coolly and, not worried about the threat of his friend, left his office.

So he was supposed to wait? He hated waiting. Uncertainty burst him from the inside, these few days will probably be a real nightmare for him.

***

It was well past nine o'clock, so most of the Corps' soldiers were resting in their quarters. Only a few officers were still in the courtyard. And Levi was watching them from his office.

Week. She has been gone since fucking week.

And he was consumed not only by uncertainty, but also by fear. Because they didn't know anything, not even Erwin, who entrusted the woman with this mission. Through it all, the captain was irritated and angry from day to night. Everyone wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Even Petra must have found out about his bad mood when some two days after y/n's departure, she felt bad for the fact that she smiled at him instead of focusing on cleaning. The last time he was afraid was when he first left for exeption.

Suddenly, a horse ran into the courtyard, on the back of which was a scout, but he was clearly unconscious, barely clinging to his mount. At first, Ackerman did not move from his place, but when he heard the screams about the return of squad leader l/n and summoning the medics, he sprinted out of the office.

When he was already leaving, he saw only a brunette, which two cadets were carrying on a stretcher to the infirmary. There was blood everywhere, and the worst case scenario flashed through his mind. She might have died.

He knew that they would not let him into the infirmary anyway, and the cadets didn't know anything, the only option was once again Erwin. What a mission it was to make her come back like this.

He hurried to Smith's office and threw open the door. He did not care about the surprised face of Hanji, who was sitting on the blonde's couch, but he walked over to the man and grabbed him tightly by the collar of a white shirt.

"What was that mission? And why did you send her over there alone, don't you care that she's just fighting for her life?" He was screaming at the top of his throat, he didn't care what everyone thought of him right now, he didn't care about the consequences, he only cared that he could lose her before he actually possessed her.

"In Stohess there is a man who leads the gang. It interfered with various shipments and the like. They are also active in the Underground. The task was to diversify into their ranks, apparently she did not quite succeed." He replied with stoic calm which made the black-haired man even more angry.

"Have you been really fucked up? Such a mission is not a job for one person, it is for the rest. Such matters should be handled by the MP's, not us!" He shouted and pushed the blonde back so that he almost fell from his chair.

"Only that they interfered mainly with transports to our corps. Mostly those not entirely legal. You know very well that a large amount of drugs and medical equipment we have is not entirely legal, but it is needed. I wanted to send the two of you on this mission, because both of you know the Underground, but she did not agree to you taking part in this mission. Probably because you were not getting along at that point." The man explained succinctly, and Ackerman said nothing. It was his fault, his goddamn fault. If only he wasn't such an asshole, nothing bad would have happened.

Until now, a silent Hanji came up to the shorter man and put her hand on his shoulder, the latter turned towards her, close to crying. Holy shit what she did with him.

"You'll finish later, for now, go to her." She ordered, and he nodded and without a word headed for the infirmary.

***

"When will she wake up?" He asked one of the medics, who was just finishing treating single wounds on the body of an unconscious woman.

"She should wake up in the morning. But probably not for long, he has to rest a lot now. She lost a lot of blood, it is surprising that she was even going here alive." She replied and got up from the small stool, putting the remnants of bandages and other medicaments on a silver tray. "But take it easy, she will get out of this, squad leader l/n is a damn tough woman, not just character.  She will lick it." She added after a moment with a slight smile on her face trying to cheer the man up.

"I know she's strong." He replied quietly, his head bowed and his hands folded.

"So just be patient. I think she survived because she had someone to return to." She laughed softly and just left the room, leaving the slightly confused captain with the unconscious woman.

He slowly walked over to her bed and sat down next to it on the wooden chair. He grabbed her chilled hand and pressed it to his lips, giving it a tender kiss. He had to wait.

And so the hours went by, and Levi spent them thinking about his feelings for the woman and simply gazing at her adoringly.

She was so beautiful, he loved everything about her. From a smile that could not be seen too often, ending with short hair. He was lazily combing them almost all the time, not being surprised how pleasant they are.  He did not even notice that it was starting to dawn, and the soldiers of the corps were slowly waking up to start another day of service. He also did not notice that Erwin accompanied by Hanji arrived in the room in the meantime, but when they saw the man sitting next to the y/n, they only smiled at each other and left, leaving them alone, of course they gave each other high five for fruitful cooperation.

"Wake up now, because these feelings will blow me up soon." The words were coming out of his mouth involuntarily. His eyes were closed, he tried to focus, to be patient. "I overheard your, Hanji and Erwin conversation about me. I really was an idiot. I shouldn't be away from you, that's why you're here at all. If I hadn't, you wouldn't be lying here, I wouldn't have allowed it. I have plans to blame Erwin for letting you go on this mission alone. But you don't know how much I was bursting from the inside by the thought that you care about someone, and that someone is not me. I was so fucking jealous. Ugh, feelings are a pain in the ass. You don't even know what you're doing with me. I just love you, and I love everything about you." There was a silence in the room, and the man breathed a sigh of relief, finally blurted out into the crowd of thoughts.

"Even my short hair?" Silence, a hoarse voice broke the silence in the room. The man immediately opened his eyes and straightened in his chair, a smile spread across his face at the sight of the woman's open eyes.

"Even short hair." He replied and once again ran his hand through it, and placed the other on her cheek.

"I heard everything, you idiot. Love you too." She said and smiled broadly as he reciprocated.

"I love you too." He replied and pressed their lips together in a kiss.

[tangledstarlight]

2. “Sure, you can use me as a pillow.” For willex 😃

hello hi this could have been so much longer but it’s 2am and i gotta go to sleep, but i also felt compelled to do this tonight so here we go! and yes okay i nearly forgot there was a prompt my bad 😬 hope you like anon!! 

hurt/comfort dialogue prompts!!

2. “Sure, you can use me as a pillow.” 

The thing about traveling is that Alex really hates traveling. 

Sure, he likes going to new places and experiencing new cultures and buying hotdogs from street vendors in New York who don’t work out of a car. But that actual act of traveling? Of getting from one place to another long distance via plane? Absolutely hates it. As he sits around in hard plastic airport chairs he often finds himself wishing he could just teleport himself. Think of where he wanted to be and poof! there he was. 

But he couldn’t poof around the world and instead he was stuck on a flight back to LA from New York that was already an hour delayed and was now a further two hours delayed on the tarmac while they were on the damn thing. 

Balling up his jumper and stuffing it behind his head Alex tries to relax, to stretch his legs out in front of him a little and let the tension leave his shoulders. He thinks about the apartment that him and the band had rented for the three months they’d been in New York working on their new album. Of how he could be on the plush grey sofa right now, listening to Reggie talk over whatever film they’d picked and trying to throw popcorn into Luke’s open mouth after he’d fallen asleep ten minutes in while Julie tried with m&ms. 

But no. He’s stuck in a plane and starting to get cramp in his leg and regretting not accepting the travel pillow Reggie had tried to give him before he left. God there had better be an open bar at his sister's wedding to make up for this experience. Though he knows that’s partly a lie, because seeing his little sister walk down the aisle in her white dress will be worth it, but the way his parents will avoid him the whole weekend? Oh yeah, he’s gonna need an open bar for that too. 

“Sorry folks, looks like we’re going to be stuck here a little while longer. Please remain in your seats and if you need anything––” Alex, along with the majority of the plane, stop listening to the pilot's voice on the speaker. There’s a collective groan and he can hear people complaining and the little tell-tale ding of someone calling for assistance. 

Alex blows out a breath and tries to go back to relaxing in his seat. Which feels awkward and uncomfortable and exposed, probably due to the fact he’s got an aisle seat. Logically, he knows that. Logically, he knows that no one is really judging him right now because they’re all too busy dealing with their own shit. 

The sleeve of his jumper slips free, dropping to his neck and, without thinking, he swats it away. Belatedly, and okay yeah, only after the responding grunt, does Alex remember that there’s someone sitting next to him. 

Eyes snapping open he looks at the man next to him, takes in the long hair and the tie dye sweatshirt and the wires of his headphones and the raised eyebrow as he looks back at him. 

“I am so sorry I just––” Alex trails off because he doesn’t have an excuse. He just forgot there was someone sitting next to him. Which, the longer he looks at his seat neighbour and takes in the jaw line and the lips curving into a smile and the way his eyes haven’t left his–– how the hell did Alex not notice him when he first got on the fucking plane? (He’s going to blame it on how much he hates traveling, it blinds him to all hot people in the vicinity, even if they happen to be right next to him apparently.) He can feel his cheeks growing warm and he realises he’s just staring and hasn’t actually finished his sentence. 

“Fell– neck, y’know?” He gestures vaguely to his neck, and the sleeve of his jumper that’s still on the other man's shoulder and god fucking damn it Alex that wasn’t even a sentence, get it together! If Luke or Julie or Reggie were here right now they would be laughing at him. 

“It’s all good man,” the stranger says with a light laugh and–– god he’s got such pretty eyes that Alex is almost distracted from what he says next, “You seem a little tense there though man. You goo?” 

And see, this is exactly part of the reason why Alex hates traveling. It’s the awkward small talk on the plane or the train or when you’re unfortunate enough to end up next to an extra chatty person on the bus. It’s why he shoves headphones on and pretends he can’t see lips moving. Though, he’s maybe willing to break that rule just a little today.

“Not a big fan of traveling,” is all he says, trying not to grimace about how much of an understatement that is. 

“On planes or just in general?” 

“Just in general. Though after this it might be a plane thing,” he tries to joke, and he’s pretty sure it’s a terrible attempt but the stranger giggles and oh man Alex hadn’t thought he could get cuter. 

“Yeah, this has been a pretty shitty few hours,” he agrees, biting down on his bottom lip for a moment before seeming to decide something, “I’m Willie. By the way. Since we’re going to be stuck next to each other for a while.” 

“Alex. Hi,” and, for some strange reason he lifts his hand and waves at him. That magical teleportation power would come in handy right about now, he decides. 

But, for whatever reason, Willie doesn’t find it weird and they start talking. Alex learns that Willie’s flying back to LA because he’d been in New York for an art show, and that he’s into skateboarding and he looks really good when he ties his hair up in a bun. In turn, Alex tells him about the band and recording their first album and about his weekend. 

“So wait, your parents don’t want you going to the wedding?” Willie asks, body half turned towards him in his chair and there's a look of confusion on his face. 

“They’d didn’t explicitly say that but we all know they’re going to be disappointed when I show up,” he shrugs. It hurts, but it’s also just been a fact of his life for so long now that Alex sometimes forgets that not everyone has the same experience. And anyway, he’s not going for his parents, he’s going for his sister. 

“Man that’s fucked,” he mutters, eyes seeming to zone out for a moment, only to refocus as Alex claps a hand over his mouth to block a yawn. 

“Sorry. I put off going to sleep so I could sleep on the flight but,” he shrugs, shooting Willie a slightly sheepish smile but he just shakes his head, another smile on his lips. 

“You’re all good. When this thing finally takes off you can use me as a pillow,” there’s a slightly teasing edge to his words but a challenge in his eyes. 

And maybe it’s because he’s been stuck in an airport and then on a plane for four hours longer then he’d expected to be, or because he’s just really tired or maybe he’s just feeling brave in the face of his weekend ahead, but Alex smiles back at him and says, “You’re probably much comfier then my jumper.” 

There’s a beat before Willie laughs, knocks his knuckles casually against Alex’s shoulder. Half an hour later, when the pilot announces they’ve been cleared for takeoff and the majority of people cheer, Alex and Willie share a high five, palms lingering maybe a touch too long, but he’s not going to complain. 

He doesn’t sleep on the flight, but he does leave LAX in a taxi with Willie’s number saved in his phone with the first text he’d sent being the address of his sister's wedding and an assurance he didn’t need to bring a gift. 

So okay, maybe traveling isn’t the worst thing in the world.

[darthkruge]

Hi! I've seen that in your recent post you've been trying to make characters more gender neutral which I think is awesome! I'm gonna try and make my request gender neutral as well! I was wondering if you could do a criminal minds imagine (I'll let you choose the character that you wanna write it for cus I love Morgan, Hotch, and Reid equally) where the reader was taken by the unsub but they found her right before the unsub tried to (tw) k!ll the reader. If possible can the end be kinda fluffy♡

Spencer Reid x Reader ~ Maybe

Summary: The classic kidnapping fic where the reader is taken by the unsub and Spencer finds them. Fluffy, comfort-filled ending <3

Warnings: Angst, language, violence, blood, guns, knives, torture, near-death experience, kidnapping in general, (happy ending I promise)

Words: 2.2k

A/N: Hey!! I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me for taking so long to get to this!! And thank you for making your request gender neutral, too! That’s so thoughtful and sweet! And I decided to go with Spencer, although I also love them all. And yes the end will definitely be fluffy, as the angst with a happy/fluffy ending is basically my brand at this part. Thank you for requesting and, again, I’m so sorry for making you wait, I hope you like this!

You woke up and could only register pain. Well, pain and cold. Mind numbing, cuts to your bones, pierces your brain, cold. You tried to look around and get a sense of your surroundings but it was so dark; you could barely make out the shadows in the room, let alone any defining details.  

Judging by the old, dirty smell, you guessed you were in a barn or shed somewhere. You had no idea where; the asshole must have knocked you out. You’d been working the case for weeks. The team thought they found some DNA and were tailing the guy, but it didn’t pan out and, since then, the trail had basically been cold. But then you finally figured out what number to trace, cracked his encoded router, and got a license plate and ID. George Craig. On your way to tell the team, he had messed with your car and was able to jump you. Fuck, you hated him. 

Even so, you refused to give up. You had faith in your team and, most of all, you had faith in Spencer. Your brilliant, gorgeous boyfriend. You loved him more than anything and there was no one in the world you’d want on the case more than him. You knew the team was already looking for you, as it was only 10am when he got you and it was probably at least 7pm now, judging by the temperature and darkness. 

You tried to move your arms but your shoulders screamed in protest. You felt the chains around your legs and the handcuffs binding you to a pole above you. Judging from the pain, your shoulder was almost definitely dislocated. You were sitting at an awkward angle and could already feel your joints tightening. The frigid air definitely wasn’t helping, making your muscles contract and body stiff. 

“Hello, Agent L/N”

Your entire body stilled at that moment, sheer panic running through your veins. Stay calm, Y/N, stay calm. You tried to will air into your lungs, forcing deep breaths even though the terror was screaming at you to close up. You knew this man fed on fear and, thus, your best chance of survival was to pretend you were unphased. Even so, the logic felt severely discomforting with him standing above you, knife and gun in hand. 

“George. What the fuck do you want from me?” Your voice was venomous, the pure hate for him clearly pictured on your face. You decided that if an emotion was going to show, you preferred hate to fear. 

“My, my, my, look at you! I thought you were supposed to be smart. Or is that trait left for your boyfriend. Agent Reid, was it?”

Your blood ran cold. “Leave him out of this.”

“Ohhh, looks like I’ve hit a nerve, haven’t I?” The man had a horrifying smirk on his face, clearly enjoying your struggle. 

You glared at him. “You never answered my question”

“Oh, yes!” George chuckled, “What the fuck do you want from me?” He said, mimicking your voice mockingly. “To kill you, of course. To take you away from Spencer, from the team. To make them feel the pain of losing someone, just like I lost-” 

He trailed off and you saw his eyes burn with anger. And under that anger, you knew there was pain. Even so, you couldn’t feel bad for this man, regardless of who he’d lost. You knew that at the slightest hint of your empathy, he’d take advantage of it and kill you on the spot. 

“You know what? Death would be too easy for you. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to put you out of your misery. Then, and only then, will I shoot you. I will watch the blood run out of the bullet hole and smile, knowing the pain I caused you and your precious team.”

You wanted to cry, the fear pulling at you. Once again, you pushed it down and channeled your rage. Rage because you were in this situation. Rage because this man had ended so many lives. Rage because you were powerless right now. Rage because holy fuck your shoulder hurt. Gathering the fury, you spat at him. 

George’s mouth twisted into a sneer as he brought his leg up and slammed it into your chest. You heaved, the wind knocked out of you. Before you could grasp the air you so desperately needed, George kicked you again. And again. And again. You could feel the bruises forming, your ribs throbbing painfully.

He pulled his fist up and pummeled it into your cheek. Your left cheekbone busted open on impact and your lip split as he backhanded the other side of your face. He slammed the butt of his gun into your temple and your vision swayed, body crumpling as far in on itself as it could, given the restraints. 

He kicked at your legs repeatedly, both of them twisting at painful angles. You felt yourself start to black out, the pain unbearable. Every inch of your skin was ablaze, every muscle felt like it had been sledgehammered. Your bones ached, your body numb from his onslaught, the freezing cold, and the restrictive bonds you’d been in for hours. 

Finally, he took a moment to stop. He looked at you, at your barely conscious and recognizable state. You were beaten to a pulp, your face and body bloodied and broken. You could feel yourself wanting to give in but forced yourself to stay. For yourself, for Spencer, for the team. For that future you always talked about with him. For the house you were saving for, for the dogs and cats and animals you might one day get. For the family you might decide to have. For the idea of peace, you fought. 

George picked up the gun and pointed it at your head. A shot rang free and you braced yourself, a single tear running down your cheek as you realized you would never see your love again. Your ears rang and you felt like time had slowed. You knew the bullet would hit you. Until-

“Y/N, Y/N!” Your name was being called, the gentle yet panicked voice cutting through the ringing in your head. You tentatively opened your eyes and saw George’s body on the floor, blood oozing out of him. You slowly moved your eyes around, trying to take in your surroundings. 

Everything was overwhelming. Nothing was registering properly in your brain. It was just sounds filtering in an out, vision flickering. You felt like you were floating through the ringing in your ears. Tears ran down your cheeks as you shook. You didn’t know why you were shaking. The cold. The shock, you reasoned. Both seemed likely. It was like there was an overwhelming sense of calm. Your body was shutting down. Somehow, this gave you understanding. 

You felt the handcuffs around your wrists release and your arms dropped limply. You knew you should feel pain from your dislocated shoulder but, instead, you just let your eyes closed and felt your body fall. The last thing you remembered was coming into contact with a Kevlar vest, messy brown hair, and a familiar sense of warmth. 

When you awoke, you felt yourself being gently jostled. Your eyes slowly opened and you took in him. Spencer was looking at you, concern evident on his features.

“Hi.” You said, voice hoarse. 

“Hi, angel. Let’s get you inside, alright?”

You nodded, allowing him to help support your weight as you stepped out of the car. You leaned heavily into him, your legs badly injured. Spencer wrapped his arm snug around your waist as the two of you slowly but surely made it into your shared apartment. 

He helped you sit on the couch before moving to join you. 

“I’m surprised they let you take me home. I thought I’d wake up in a hospital, for sure.”

“They did take you there, love. You were at the hospital for a few hours but you were in and out of consciousness. You’ll heal, don’t worry. A few broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, severe bruising, sprains on your legs and ankles.”

“Plus a busted face” You add drily.

 Spencer wasn’t amused by your attempt at sarcasm. Instead, he just pushed your hair behind your ear and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should have gotten there sooner, I should have been with you! If I was there, if I was quicker-”

“Spencer, please don’t blame yourself for this! No one could have known. Besides, you saved me. And I’m not just talking about that in the literal sense. When he was beating me, when I was broken down, I thought of you.  I thought of our future, our dream. Holding onto that is the only reason I didn’t give up.”

Spencer’s eyes were filled with tears as he went to gently cup your face. He couldn’t find the words to express the love and relief he felt. “I’m just glad you’re back in my arms” 

You moved to hug him but winced. Even though the doctors had patched you up pretty well, the soreness and pain lingered and probably would continue like that for at least the next couple of days. 

“Hey, it’s alright. Let’s go to bed. I think you’ll feel better once you lay down, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” You followed him into the room, holding his hand the entire time. Spencer noticed but didn’t mind, he knew you were just looking for comfort, exceedingly normal for what you’d just gone through. 

You laid down, settling against the pillows and fluffy blankets Spencer had prepared for you. 

“Do you need anything, baby?”

“Water?”

“Of course.” He smiled at you before moving to get up but you quickly grabbed his hand, panic overtaking you at the thought of being alone. You looked at him helplessly, hoping your gaze would convey the words that died on your tongue. 

Spencer nodded knowingly. He helped you out of bed, pulling you along with him as the two of you went to the kitchen. He wordlessly got you the drink, making sure to keep touching you the entire way. Finally, you made it back and the both of you crawled into bed. You laid on your uninjured shoulder, placing your cheek on Spencer’s chest. His arm came around you, holding you to him and drawing soothing circles into your skin. 

You closed your eyes and were immediately sent back to the shed. You tensed, pulling back. Spencer caught on and looked deeply into your eyes. “You’re safe now, Y/N. He can’t get to you anymore.”

“I know. Rationally, I know. But my brain won’t shut off. It’s like, whenever I’m not actively thinking about something else or looking at something else or hearing something else, it just comes back. Spence, I can’t- I can’t sleep. I just, I’m sure it’ll come back to me tonight.” Your voice broke, tears spilling onto your cheeks. “I don’t think I can handle reliving it and I’m so fucking exhausted. But I can’t rest because I can’t escape the nightmares.”

Spencer wanted so badly to comfort you but didn’t know what he could do. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t take the pain away. He wished he could put the trauma onto himself but, unfortunately, he was powerless. Thus, he offered understanding. He gave validation. He gave kindness and pure, nonjudgmental love. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m here for you and I know that doesn’t do much right now but I am. I’ll be here when the nightmares come and I’ll be here when the flashbacks try and drag you under. I’ll be here when the trauma starts to fade but suddenly reappears and I’ll be here 20 years from now, when the memory will still be real and painful but not all-consuming. I’ll be here forever, I’ll be here always. Please, tell me what to do to help you.” Spencer begged, hoping beyond all hope that there was something he could do to ease your suffering.

“Read to me?”

“Wha- what?”

“Read to me.” You repeated, more assured this time. “I’m thinking that if I can hear your voice, maybe it’ll drown out my brain. Or something. I don’t know. I just want to hear your voice, it’s soothing. Please?”

Spencer was taken aback. He didn’t think something so simple could help you. He didn’t know his sheer presence brought you that much serenity. “Yeah, of course. Of course! Yeah, any preference?”

“Not really. Whatever’s here?”

“Okay, love.” Spencer picked up his current read and began in the middle. You felt the rumble of his chest, the vibrations of his voice and felt more at ease. The anxiety was still there, the panic never far away. And yet, curled into him, his breath tickling your ear, his body warming yours, it suddenly felt alright. Like maybe you hadn’t gone through some life-altering trauma. Or maybe you had but your life wasn’t over because of it. Maybe you’d heal. Maybe, if you could find a moment of peace now, you’d find more later. Maybe? Yeah, You thought. You could work with maybe.

--

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@saltybreaddream