#but it doesn’t sound like that’s the issue here

[flemingsfreckles]

Perfect Present

Synopsis: based off of this prompt!

Warnings: language, discussion of R being in/out of foster care, some childhood trauma

WC: 2.0k

A/N: hi everyone, here’s just a quick little holiday blurb! Hope everyone is having a wonderful day, whether you’re celebrating a holiday or not! Quick reminder to drink some water and to be nice to yourself, holidays and this time of year can be a lot, take it easy, take care of yourself.

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. You just couldn’t get it right. Everyone else’s gifts wrapped so neatly, perfect corners, no wrinkles, to tears, everything was perfect about them. And then you stared at your own.

The box you were attempting to wrap looked more like a pile of torn paper, creased and crinkled in the most unappealing way. You weren’t stupid by any means, you just couldn’t seem to figure out how to wrap anything. Too much paper, not enough paper, too short on one side, it was never quite right.

“Hey, I just wanted to check on you.” The sound of your girlfriend’s voice from the other side of the room temporarily removed you from the spiral of self criticism you had entered.

“Don’t look please.” You attempt to cover the mess of paper, ribbons, and tape that surrounded you.

“I won’t.” When you look over to her, she’s got her back toward you, still wearing the matching Christmas pajamas her parents had gotten the two of you, looking down at your own matching set. “but I thought you’d be quick, it’s been almost 2 hours.”

You hadn’t told Jessie you had never wrapped a gift, she knew you hadn’t celebrated Christmas, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t ever wrapped a present.

Spending your childhood in the foster care system meant you never had consistent holidays. You had “celebrated” Christmas, some families focusing solely on the religious aspect, others caring more for Santa, you’d also spent your holiday season celebrating Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, even Saint Lucia Day one year, but nothing was ever consistent. You had no family traditions, everything was different every year.

When Jessie had invited you to spend the holiday with her family, you politely declined. The last thing you wanted to be was intrusive on their time together. Jessie let the issue go after pushing the invite on numerous occasions, getting rejected each time. It wasn’t until Jessie’s younger sister had called you up, demanding to know why you didn’t want to spend the holiday with her, as she joked ‘your favorite Fleming’. You politely tried to decline again, however being the more stubborn sibling, she asked what better plans you had, to which you confessed you had none and before you knew it you were booking flights to Ontario.

The Fleming’s had been nothing but welcoming and kind to you. You’d met them briefly over FaceTime and phone calls, once very quickly after a match, but this was your first time spending extended period of time with them and it was your first time in Jessie’s childhood home. You expected nothing less but their home gave off the feeling of warmth, of love and light, it felt welcoming from the second you walked in. It was a feeling that felt so safe but so uneasy for you at the same time.

You’d been in homes that felt welcoming and warm, only to be kicked out of them, berated in them, ignored in them, you’d grown to not quite trust the feeling of warmth. Which kept you on edge on your trip, waiting for the other shoe to fall, waiting for Jessie to tell you she doesn’t think the two of you will work, for her parents to decide they don’t think you’re deserving of their daughter, for the dogs to no longer snuggle up to you, you just kept waiting.

It seemed to never come. You’d suddenly been introduced to all the family traditions, baking cookies, gingerbread houses, matching pajamas, snowball fights, and movie nights, it was perfect. Until you had to wrap gifts. Everyone else wrapped The gifts they had bought before you and Jessie arrived. Jessie wrapped her gifts last night and you assured her you’d get yours done this evening, which led you to the mess you were currently sitting in.

“I’ve never wrapped a gift like this Jess. Everyone else’s looks perfect and straight out of one of those cheesy homemark movies you made us watch. Mine are going to look hideous next to them.”

“Hallmark.” She says, still facing away from you.

“What?” It’s hard to hear her, soft spoken to begin, while also facing away you had no idea what she said.

“Hallmark, they’re Hallmark movies, not homemark.” She corrects you, quickly turning with an innocent smile on her face.

Unenthusiastic about her need to correct you despite the obvious stress you were under, you just stare at her until a quiet apology comes from her mouth, the smile dropping from her lips. “Can I help?”

“No, you can’t see what I got you!” Your hands clasp over the box that sat in your lap, realizing it was possibly in her view.

“I’m not looking, I promise.” She turns back around to reassure you she couldn’t see what you had gotten her. Once fully turned her back toward you she talks again. “What if you put the gift for me in the other room real quick and I’ll help you wrap my family’s gifts? That way I can show you?”

Accepting her help was also admitting defeat in your eyes, but when you looked down to the mess you had already accumulated, you had no choice. “Okay.” You could put your pride aside for a bit. Jessie helping you wouldn’t be the worst thing, instead it sounded sweet, her teaching you something.

“Okay.” Jessie starts to make her way toward you and you quickly tuck the box under your pajama shirt before standing and moving to the other room. “It’s going on the table in here so don’t look at it.” You call to her as you set it down.

“Okay love, I won’t.” She responds. When you walk back in your mess already looks more organized and Jessie has a present centered on a large piece of wrapping paper. You take a minute just to admire her. Her curls nearly tucked behind her ears, Santa hat covering her head, her freckles looking like little stars across her skin. Her hands meticulously move the paper, picking up a pair of scissors and moving the tape closer, she pauses for a moment then begins moving again. There's a warmth that radiates from her, she makes you feel at home, no matter where you are. “Come here.” She smiles when she sees you watching her, gently waving you down.

You sit down beside her and are quickly thrown into Present Wrapping 101 taught by none other than your girlfriend. She shows you how she measures out the paper to make sure there’s enough but not too much. She shows you how to fold the paper, getting sharp corners. She provides you two demonstrations, wrapping both of the gifts for her parents before handing you another gift. “Your turn.”

You had paid attention while she had taught, but the second she handed you the box all the tips and tricks she had just shown you no longer existed. “I don’t know.” You turned the box over in your hands a few times, looking between Jessie and the wrapping paper in front of you.

“It’s okay, I’ll help. Start with measuring it.” You follow Jessie’s gentle direction, measuring out the paper cutting it and then beginning to fold the corners. After some attempts you let out a frustrated sigh throwing your hands up.

“I just can’t.”

“You can.” With a slow nod and a smile Jessie leans over to you, putting her hand on your thigh. “You can do it, it just takes practice.”

“Well it looks like shit, I knew it couldn’t be this perfect.” You mumble. It’s only a quick rescind before the half wrapped gift is pushed away and Jessie is now kneeling in front of you.

“Hey.” You just glance up meeting her soft brown eyes for a moment before your eyes fall back to your lap. “It’s paper, no one truly cares about the wrapping, it’s about the thought, the intention, no one expects it to be perfect.”

“Except you come from a family of perfectionists, perfect wrappers, perfect gingerbread houses, everything is so perfect, you have a perfect family and it terrifies me because I don’t, I don’t even have any family.” Your sentence has both you and Jessie realizing that your feelings were about more than just your inability to wrap a present. Jessie’s hands close around your cheeks. Her thumbs softly caressing your skin.

“You’re my family, and I’ll happily be yours.”

“I know that Jess, it’s just, I’m not used to this.”

“I know. I know this has probably been a lot. I’m sorry, I should’ve been checking in more.”

“It’s been really great, and that’s what scares me.”

“That it feels too perfect?”

“Exactly.” You sigh and Jessie moves to sit next to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling you slightly to lean on her chest.

Her hand finds your head and she runs her fingers through your hair, her nails slightly scratching your scalp. “The other shoe isn’t going to drop.” Her hand continues to scratch. “You know that right? You’re welcome here, you’re safe here. I love you, my family loves you.” You nod against her chest. “I’m sorry I was naive and didn’t think that this isn’t what you’re used to, this isn’t comfortable for you.”

“Please don’t apologize.” It’s only when you go to speak that you realize the tear that is running down your cheek, you quickly wipe it before looking at your girlfriend. “Don’t apologize for bringing me into this perfect little life of yours just because I’m not used to it. I promise it’s been really nice, just makes me see what I missed out on growing up.”

Jessie doesn’t say anything, just leaning over to place her lips to your temple with a soft kiss. “I love you, I want you to be a part of my life, now and always.”

“I love you Jess, sorry I was so stubborn about coming home with you. It’s really been perfect.” You look down at the present beside you. “Well everything’s been perfect except my wrapping.”

“Well, practice makes perfect so, try again.” She jokingly shoves you off of her, pushing the roll of tape into your hand.

The next morning, you all huddled around the fireplace, gifts being passed around, mugs of coffee and tea keeping everyone warm. When nearly all the gifts had been passed out, you grabbed the one that made your heart race, the gift you’d gotten Jessie. It was a small necklace, an engraved map across the small disk with a tiny heart carved out, showing the location of where she asked you to be her girlfriend. The back had the date and your initials.

“Here.” You passed Jessie the box and watched as she quickly glanced over the box. The wrapping wasn’t perfect by any means. Uneven corners, too much tape, but it was wrapped and that’s what mattered.

“It looks good.” Jessie whispers to you, to which you rolls your eyes.

“Just open it.” You watch attentively as she unwraps it before pulling the lid off the box. Her eyes study the necklace, for a moment you think she has no idea what you’ve gotten her until she looks up to you and you can see the shine in her eyes.

“Sunrise Park?” Her questioning face breaks into a smile when you nod, confirming her guess. “Wow, this is so cool.” She turns the necklace over, looking at the inscription, before giving you another happy but tearful smile. “I love you.” She reaches a hand out, you take it in yours and just hold hands.

The two of you sit like that, her hand in yours as you watch the rest of her family open gifts. It was perfect, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the impending sense of doom. You felt warmth, happiness, and most importantly, safe. This was perfect, with Jessie it was perfect.

[watarfallar]

Merry Christmas eve! I bring presents

Grian: Can you PLEASE peer pressure me into doing my project? Scar: Do it or you're straight. Grian: I said peer pressure, NOT THREATEN!

Grian: Damn, the power went out. Scar: Don’t worry, I got this. Scar: shakes rapidly and starts to light up Grian: What-? Scar: I swallowed a glow stick! Grian, on the verge of tears: WHY WOULD YOU-

Scar: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine! Grian: How can you still say that? Scar: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

Grian: When was the last time you cried? Scar: Uh 15 minutes ago, why?? Grian: really? That recent? Scar: Yeah voice crack is that a issue? starts crying again

Grian: I am so cool. I am an absolute Chad. I am the epitome of coolness and awesomeness— Scar: Hi. Grian: melts down in a flustered heap of softness

Grian: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Scar! Scar: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

Scar: I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Grian: Damn, that sounds like a marriage proposal. Scar, getting down on one knee: That's 'cause it is.

Grian: Is five a lot of followers? Scar: Depends on the context. Scar: On Instagram? No, not a lot of followers. Scar: In a dark alley? Yes, a lot of followers.

Scar, confused and exasperated: Grian, how do you plan on telling a bear to go vegan? Grian: Politely.

Scar: That's it, I'm cutting off the internet! Grian: No, please don't! I have a family to feed! Scar: Scar: What? Grian: I need to feed my Neopets!

Scar: Do you want to know your gay name? Grian: My… my gay name? Scar: Yeah, it's your first name- Grian: Haha. Very funny Scar- Scar: gets down on one knee And my last name. Grian: Oh- oh my god.

Grian: Hey guys, I’m making french toast sticks in the oven. I’m gonna take a quick nap, so wake me up in 5 minutes to flip them over. 5 minutes later Scar: Grian it’s been 5 minutes, time to flip your sticks. Grian: snnnzzzz… Scar: GRIAN YOUR STICKS!

Grian: Look, Scar, if you can fit your head down the gun’s barrel, you can assume it doesn’t have a non-lethal setting.

Scar, cowering in fear: What do you want from me?! Grian, standing in front of Scar: bites into the whole KitKat bar like a heathen Scar, crying: Please…stop…

Grian, at Scar: Of course you have blood all over you, and pronouns.

Scar: A banker? Me? Grian: Yes, Scar. Scar: But I don’t know anything about running a bank! Grian: Good. No preconceived ideas. Scar: I’ve robbed banks! Grian: Capital! Just reverse your thinking. The money should be on the inside.

Grian: Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know! Scar: The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus. Grian: Stop.

Cop: What are your names? Grian: Don't tell them, Scar. Cop, writing: Scar… Grian: Crap. Scar: Nice going, Grian. Cop: Scar: Uh oh.

Grian: Give me everything you’ve got! Scar: All your friends secretly hate you. Grian: Wait, what? Scar: I’ve got anxiety.

Scar: The saying “it is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission” no longer applies to Grian.

Scar: COMPANY IS COMING! I WANT THIS PLACE LOOKING LIKE DISNEY ON ICE IN ONE MINUTE! Scar: GRIAN IF YOU HAVEN'T MADE YOUR BED THROW IT AWAY IT'S TOO LATE TO MAKE IT NOW! Scar: GET RID OF THE COUCHES, WE CAN'T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE S I T !

Scar is cleaning the house and they find an empty bottle of orange juice Scar: Clear orange juice? Scar: Oh, it's empty. Grian, who has been watching the entire time: I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot.

Grian: So we're gathered here today for a very special reason and I think you'll all agree with me here. Grian: And if you don't well then fuck you. Grian: I'm looking at you, Scar, you jealous mop.

Scar: Hey, wanna hear a funny joke? Grian: I only like dark humor. Scar, turning the lights off: What do you call a fake noodle? Grian: Scar: An IMPASTA!

Scar: Do you know the best way to respond to disagreement? Grian: With tears? Scar: No. Grian: tears up

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part two

I'm bored so [smashes plate] ANOTHER! I've been writing this faster than I thought I would 🤭 Hope everyone is having lovely and relaxing holidays xx

Warnings: just angst and the case progressing! Hotch is kinda an asshole but it's just how they show their love to each other xoxo

“You and Hotch still got it, huh?” Morgan teases, leaning his head over to grin at you. Part of you missed car rides with Derek, and the other part of you remembers just how much of a little shit he can be.

“Shut up and look at the road,” you mutter, pushing his face away from you.

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Derek taps the wheel, shaking his head to get your hand off him. “What is it with you two, anyway?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “We’ve never gotten along, you know that. You were there when we met.”

“Uh, yeah, I remember being glad Hotch got all the heat instead of me,” Derek chuckles. “You’re intimidating when you’re pissed off.”

“Good,” you say, smirking. “That’s the point.”

“Alright,” Derek says, letting the topic go. For now. “We’ve got five minutes ‘til we reach her house. What are we telling her?”

“Well, I want to take a look around, if you’d like to talk.”

“I can stall,” Derek nods.

“Five bucks says there will be no pictures of the father in the house, at least not in the living area or hallway, where family photos most commonly are.”

“You sound like Reid,” Morgan quips.

“Our IQ’s are really close,” you remind him. “I just don’t have a damn eidetic memory. That shit is insane. I don’t envy him there.”

“Me either,” Derek shakes his head. “I remember things plenty without a magic memory.”

“I hear that.”

Derek turns into the driveway of Lila’s home. One car is in the driveway, a silver Ford. Her mom’s car.

“Ready?” Derek asks.

“Never,” you reply, opening your door. “But it’s our job.”

Derek knocks on the front door, but stands back so you’re the first face the mom will see. Given who her ex-husband is, you suspect she might be distrustful of all men, regardless of whether or not they’re here to help.

As expected, the mom eyes Morgan’s badge more closely than yours.

“May we come inside?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, pulling the door open to let you both inside. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Morgan says politely.

After shutting the door, the mom begins talking — rambling incoherently, more like.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, dropping her off at school this morning. I knew something felt off when I woke up, it just— I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Ma’am,” Derek says. “Please, sit down.”

“I can’t,” she says, waving both of her hands like windshield wipers in front of her body. “I need to pace. Helps me think better.”

Derek looks at you, and you shrug. She’s obviously too wound up to sit down. Which is a good sign. If she was indifferent or resigned, there would be a bigger issue at hand. Clearly, she had no idea this would happen, so she definitely wasn’t in on it.

You take a look around the living room while Derek calms the mother down, mostly just letting her ramble, and take mental notes of what to ask her about later.

As you predicted, there are no photos with the father in the picture. All of them are the mother and Lila, mostly baby photos. Lila is a pre-teen, she clearly doesn’t want her photo taken. There is one where Lila looks older, but she’s not happy.

You take a closer look. She’s really unhappy.

“Mrs. Monroe?” You turn toward her, a sympathetic smile on your lips. “Has Lila been depressed lately?”

Her mom nods. “She’s been struggling ever since uhm— Ever since her father left. I’ve had her in therapy every week, but her therapist says she’s not really opening up. She might later, but right now she just doesn’t talk at all. She doesn’t want to.”

“I understand,” you murmur. “You’ve done the right thing by getting her help. Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

“She still ran away!” Mrs. Monroe cries.

“Please,” you move toward her, resting your hand on her arm. “Let’s sit. Can Agent Morgan get you a glass of water?”

She nods, looking up at Morgan. “Thank you.”

Derek disappears into the kitchen.

“What makes you think Lila ran away? Other than her mood, were there any other signs?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “She’s talked about it before, told me she wanted to run away and that she hated me. I thought therapy would help with that, but it hasn’t.”

“Would her father help her at all? Run away, I mean.”

“Richard?” Mrs. Monroe asks. Derek reappears with a glass of water, handing it to her. “Thank you. No, he wouldn’t, he— She doesn’t even know what he’s done. I’ve never told her.”

“Would she be capable of finding out?” Derek asks. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you, resting his elbows on his knees.

“No,” Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “I monitor all of her Internet searches, who she texts, who she emails, everything. She thinks I drove him away. That I didn’t love him anymore and told him to get out. She doesn’t know that it was because I caught him burying a body.” She sobs into her hand, her words barely decipherable now. “And now she’s gone and she hates me and I don’t even know where she’d go— it’s like I don’t even know my own daughter.”

You take the glass from her hand and allow her to sob into your shoulder. You know what this is like. Because you were once Lila, a runaway who left her mother in pieces until she returned home. Your circumstances were different, but not by much at all.

“We will bring her home, I promise,” you say, despite yourself. Despite not knowing what the rest of this case will entail, what else you’ll uncover. “Did Lila have any friends that you didn’t approve of?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head again. “She doesn’t have many friends, but she talks to one girl, Marie, almost every day.”

“Where is Marie right now?”

“At school,” Mrs. Monroe says, sniffling. “I called her mom right away. My mind went to the worst case scenario, you know, I thought Lila would grab Marie and convince her to go with her—”

“Convince?” you question. 

Derek hears you and asks the next question you have on your mind. “Does Lila ‘convince’ Marie to do things she doesn’t want to do often?”

“Sometimes,” Mrs. Monroe admits, beginning to sob again. “Oh, God.”

You share a look with Derek, not liking where this is going, but you don’t know if you’ll get much else out of her right now.

“What things would Lila convince Marie to do?” you ask.

“Just small things, I don’t know,” Mrs. Monroe replies. She’s shutting down. “I don’t know why I said that, I—”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” you try to calm her down. “Do you mind if Agent Morgan and I take a look in Lila’s room?”

“How will that help?”

“We might be able to find something that could tell us where Lila might have gone,” Morgan explains. “Sometimes kids leave clues. We might be able to find them.”

Mrs. Monroe nods. “Okay. Can I— Is it alright if I lay down while you do that?”

“Of course,” you smile. “Come on, let’s get you to your room.”

You help her stand and walk back toward her bedroom, getting her inside. She lays down on top of the covers and shuts her eyes.

You close her door and meet Morgan back in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Y/N’s back, you’re on speaker, Hotch.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily. Hotch couldn’t leave the two of you — mainly you — alone, could he? 

“Alright, I want the two of you to stay there and go through Lila’s room. Tell us anything you find. The school has given Garcia their security camera footage; she’s going through it now. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air and that is not good.”

“We’ll find her, Hotch,” Morgan says.

Hotch is quiet.

“Mrs. Monroe doesn’t think Richard had anything to do with this. She says Lila doesn’t even know—”

“Morgan told me,” Hotch says. “Call me back when you have something new.” He hangs up and you roll your eyes again.

“I’m gonna keep a tally of how many times you do that,” Morgan teases.

“Be my guest,” you reply. “And keep me updated. I bet it’ll be in the hundreds by the time this case is over.”

Lila’s room is everything you’d expect from a regular pre-teen girl. And reminds you too much of your room when you were her age.

It’s almost like she’s too open. Posters are everywhere. Her favorite movies, actors, and bands. Her bed is made. Her closet is neat. The desk is covered in schoolbooks, yet also clean. 

“Morgan, I know this room.”

He turns around. “What?”

“We can know everything about her from one glance. She’s organized. She loves English, hates science, but is very good at math. She likes alternative music, not boybands,” you point to the posters. “Fantasy movies only. Her closet is too neat. It’s like she’s not even living here.”

“I’m not following.”

“I think she’s been planning her escape for a long time,” you say. “Which makes me think she had help.”

“Okay,” Morgan goes with it. “From who? You heard her mom, she watches everything Lila does.”

My mom did too, you think to yourself as you pull out your phone. You already have Garcia on speed dial, something she suggested for you.

“What can I do for you, my new angel?” 

Morgan chuckles while you answer Garcia. “Can you possibly see the search history after it’s been deleted?”

“Duh,” Garcia says. “Give me the IP address and I can show you all the dirty, dirty secrets on there.”

“Perfect, I’m going now,” you leave Lila’s room, peeking in Mrs. Monroe’s room to be sure she’s still resting. She is. 

You head to the living room where you saw Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Thankfully, after wiggling the mouse, it comes right up. No password or anything.

“Okay, she must really watch what Lila does,” you mumble. As in, Mrs. Monroe must stand over her daughter’s shoulder before even letting her turn the computer on. “How do I…?”

Garcia laughs and tells you what to click to pull up the information she needs. You recite it to her and she quickly works her magic.

“Oh, no.”

“Garcia,” you reply warily. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Morgan hears you and comes into the living room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you glance at him. “Garcia, what is it?”

“I’m going to need a minute to go through everything but…”

“Garcia, spit it out,” you put her on speaker, lowering the volume so only you and Morgan can hear her. “Garcia?”

“I don’t know for sure, but at first glance, this looks…it looks like she wanted to go with this person.”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Okay. We’ll call Hotch, you keep digging.”

“Aye, aye.”

You turn the computer off and pocket your phone. “We need to go back to the precinct. I don’t want to risk her overhearing.”

“Okay. Good call.”

“I’m gonna let her know we’re leaving,” you say. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

You wake Mrs. Monroe briefly to let her know you and Agent Morgan are leaving. You assure her that you’re going to bring Lila home, but that you’re needed at the precinct right now, and don’t want to disturb her rest. You hand her your card, telling her the number is the same, even though it doesn’t have BAU yet on it. 

Morgan is leaning against the car when you emerge outside, sick to your stomach.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just hate lying to mothers.”

+++

You and Morgan decide to wait until you’re at the precinct to tell everyone what Garcia found. Better to break this news quietly in person than on the phone.

Hotch is speaking to a deputy when you walk in, but you flag him down with a nod, hoping he won’t take it personally. You’re too on edge right now to bother being irritated with him.

Once everyone is in the conference room, you shut the door.

“Garcia should be calling any minute,” you begin. “She’s going through Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Mrs. Monroe said she watches everything Lila does, but clearly not close enough, because Lila was on a popular chatting site talking with someone regularly.”

“Right she was,” Garcia joins in, having been listening on the nearby computer. Her smile is sad. “And it does not look good. I’m still digging, but a Rich34 was in constant contact with her. I’m talking every single night for hours. Mostly from 1am to 4am, while I’m assuming her mother was sleeping.”

“What do the chats say, Garcia?” Emily asks.

“Nothing more than small talk right now, but I’m digging. It’ll take a while though, sir, I’m afraid they’ve been talking for months. Almost a year, I think.”

“Dammit,” you mutter. “I was afraid of that.”

Morgan sends you a sympathetic look.

“Garcia, see if you can track Rich’s identity in any way possible. It could be her father,” Hotch says.

“Or someone posing as her father,” you suggest, earning a glare from Hotch.

“Hey Garcia, send over all the chats, I can help you look through them,” Spencer offers.

“Alright kiddo, PG out.” The line clicks.

“Reid, look for anything relating to Richard Monroe’s history, or maybe Lila’s mother. Lila and her mother haven’t been getting along, and Rich might’ve used that to get Lila away,” Hotch instructs. 

Reid nods, already leaning over to grab the chat messages off the fax machine. Garcia knows him so well; she sent over hardcopies instead of electronic.

“Do we think it’s Richard Monroe in the chat room?” Emily asks.

“I’m not convinced,” Rossi says with a small shake of his head.

“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “The username is too obvious.”

“He could be taunting us by using an obvious screen name,” Hotch counters. “He’s evaded us for this long. Why would he bother hiding now?”

“Yes, but I don’t think Richard Monroe is behind this,” you argue. “Murder in cold blood is his thing. So why wouldn’t he just go grab her from the house? Why is he playing the long game like this? Why form this emotional connection if he’s just going to kill her?”

“Because he’s a murderer with no regard for anyone’s emotions other than his own,” Hotch fires back. “And because he likely holds a grudge against his ex-wife for divorcing him and taking Lila away.”

Now all eyes of the team are on the two of you, going back and forth like a tennis match.

“He murders women his own age. Lila is barely thirteen. If he wanted her so badly, he could have easily grabbed her by now and killed her. Why wait almost a year?”

“Her mother is watching her closely, and he—”

“Oh now you agree that her mother is overbearing.”

“Yes, because you met with her and confirmed it with actual evidence,” Hotch snaps. He pauses, staring at you. “We cannot rule out Richard Monroe.”

“We’ll be wasting our time if we don’t.”

“Why are you so insistent?”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

“You haven’t been doing this job long enough to have a trustworthy gut feeling,” Hotch says coldly. “Now, if you want to continue arguing, I suggest you do so with the wall. Otherwise, we have a young girl to find and her father is a priority suspect. Am I clear?”

“As river water,” you mutter. “Excuse me.” You push past your new boss, hating that he’s already gotten so deep under your skin. Again.

[coichii]

WHITE CHRISTMAS

—(🎧)—> y/n seeing snow for the first time

pairing - bf!seungmin ♥︎ fem!reader

genre - fluff

word count - 1.2k

warnings - written by a girl who’s had like 3 good snows in her lifetime, this is bad I’m in writers block

series note : hello !! welcome to part seven of my winter series, “winter records of love” where there will be 8 individual short stories for each member :) these stories are based off of songs I deem “winter” feeling ! this story is based off of “White Christmas ” by Bing Crosby. enjoy <3

“It’s seriously freezing.” You shiver, burrying your self into Seungmin and the warm, plaid blanket layed upon both of you.

It’s winter, of course, frost nipping at your nose. On top of that, it was Christmas Eve. Carolers roamed the streets of your neighborhood, knocking on doors and singing their cheery carols.

You loved it. The atmosphere of Christmas always made you feel like a little kid receiving a toy you had on a wishlist for years. Even like a kid sitting on Santa’s lap in one of those crappy mall photoshoot places.

It was magical, but there was one tiny issue that messed with your Christmas ideals.

You had never seen snow before.

It’s hard to believe, but you’ve only ever seen those intricate flurries of soft ice on screen before. It’s been on of your dreams to see it, to play in it, to feel it. All you can hope is that it snows.

It sounds childish, but you don’t care. A snowy Christmas would make the holiday even more cherish-able, which will be hard to top ever since you started dating Seungmin.

Christmas with him was...un describable. He knew how much the season meant to you, and would always do whatever he could to make it enjoyable for you. You loved him for it.

“I can go turn the heat up, baby.” He replies, preparing to stand up. You groan and pull him back down to you, holding on to his shoulders with all your strength.

“Noooo,” you mumble into his chest, pouting as you hear him chuckle. “Don’t leave me. You’re warm. Plus, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

He smiles, rubbing his hand over your hair. He swears you’re always so cute like this, but he’ll never let you hear that.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right back.” He retaliates, pushing you off of him despite your dismissal, giggling cutely at a soft groan that tumbled out of your lips.

You watch him as he walks to the thermostat and turns it on heat, the bitter cold eventually evening out to a toasty warm as you sigh in content.

He settles back down next to you, snuggling comfortably into your side.

It’s blissful like this; you don’t get much alone time, so this Christmas break with him feels perfect. He’s not working, you’re not studying. It’s amazing.

“You excited for tomorrow?” He asks, voice suddenly soaked with sleep.

“Is that even a question, Minnie?” You giggle, mind wandering off to that warm, home like place you feel whenever the weather gets cold and jingle bells begin to ring.

“I know, I’m just messing with you.” He laughs back, eyes slipping closed and lips parting in a sleep like matter.

“You tired, bubs? Wanna go sleep?” You ask, and Seungmin flushed pink. He always gets so nervous whenever you call him buns, but he doesn’t know why. You’ve been dating for 2 years, he should be used to it by now, but he’s not.

There’s just something about you that always erupts butterflies in his stomach. Maybe it’s the way you sound and feel or look, but it’s something about you that makes him so bashful and shy.

“A-are you sure? I know you wanted to stay up.” His voice is lower now, his words mixed with a yawn. What type of girlfriend would be if you sat here and let him stay up like this.

“Of course I’m sure, min. C’mon let’s go.” You chuckle, climbing out of his warm embrace and standing up, proceeding to help him stand up himself and leading him to the bedroom.

He’s not sure where he got so lucky.

◂—♥︎—▸

“Wake up, baby! It’s Christmas!”

The sun had began to peak its way into your room beyond the shades, the birds chirping and traffic roaring.

Seungmin began to groan, twisting and turning and grabbing onto your waist tightly. He rest his head on your chest, sighing in content before peeling his boba brown eyes open.

“Mhm.” He mumbles. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

He laughs slightly at your excited smile when you leap out of bed to quickly shower. He gets out soon too, body finally acclimated to the new day.

He swiftly opens the blinds, hoping to get some light into the room.

And there, he sees it.

“Y/N!” He shouts, mouthing dropped in shock. You hum back at him, heading peaking out the bathroom. “Baby, it snowed.”

Your heart stops for a while. He’s playing with you, right? He has to be.

“Y-you can’t be serious.” You stumble, walking towards him clad in nothing but a light robe. “H-holy shit.”

You eyes are blinded by the sight, white crystals still fall as the green turf is absolutely filled with snow, children outside already playing and making snowmen.

“Baby! Oh my god we need to go outside! Where’s my coat?” You squeal, practically jumping up and down with excitement and glee.

You’re so overjoyed with happiness you could almost cry. Snow. It’s really, really snow.

“Hold on. I know you’re excited, but shouldn’t you open your gift first?” He ask, tipping his head to side.

“Ughhhh, but it’s snow!” You groan, rolling your eyes and shaking his shoulders with your hands. You look so adorable to him, but he really just wants you to open your damn gift.

“I promise, you can go out immediately after. But please, open your gift first.”

“Ugh.” You sigh, finally giving in. “Fine. I’ll do the gift first but immediately after, it’s snow.”

◂—♥︎—▸

“B-baby. I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful.”

You open the gift to find a beautiful, heart shaped diamond necklace with Seungmin’s name engraved inside. It was gorgeous, the light blue tint shining, and shimmering with the highlights from the overhead light.

“L-look. I got a matching one too.“ He shyly, mumbles, covering his face with one of his hands and pulling out a matching but smaller necklace from his pocket.

“Seungmin, it’s beautiful. I fucking love you so much.” You say, crashing into him with a tight embrace and snuggling your head into his chest.

“I love you too, baby.” He giggles, becoming flustered at your excited reaction. “ C’mon, Let’s play in this snow.”

◂—♥︎—▸

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin! It’s so fluffy!” You shriek, laying on the snow and pressing it to your face.

“Hold on baby, you’ll catch a cold.” He laughs, moving to sit next to you. He watches as your eyes sparkle with admiration and happiness, heart being warmed by the sight.

“I don’t care. It’s so fluffy And cold and lovely I just love it so much.” You go on, drawing even more laughs from the man beside you.

“Oh baby baby! Let’s make a snowman!” You jump up and down, grabbing a ball of snow and meshing it with others.

“Whatever you want, Y/N.” He goes with the flow, helping you put together pieces of the tiny snowman you created on your front lawn.

He lets you do most of the work, watching with a spark in his eye as yours mirror his.

He loves the side of you, he Loves how childish you can be, How excited and happy you get over the smallest things.

It just makes that birthday present of a ring he has even more special.

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 6

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours 

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Here is another chapter cause I'm still writing out the other fics right now :)

Previous

Chapter 6: The Weight of Loss

Y/N’s POV

It’s almost comical how different my life feels when I’m at school compared to when I’m at home. At Pratt, I’m a student, focused, and driven, with an entire future ahead of me. The campus is buzzing with the usual energy—students chatting, the sound of sketch pads flipping, the hum of distant studio lights. But the weight of everything outside these walls presses down on me more with each passing day.

It’s been weeks or days since the breakup with Sukuna.The loss of our relationship feels longer than the time we actually broke up but it feels like the echo of it still reverberates in everything I do. I’m trying to push forward, trying to act like I’m okay, but the reality is… I’m not. I haven’t been okay for a while.

The work in front of me should be enough to distract me. Finals are coming up, and my portfolio still feels like it needs a hundred more hours of attention before it’s anywhere near perfect. But I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to that night—his touch, his voice, the way he looked at me when he left, the pain in his eyes I couldn’t fix.

I sit in one of the studio rooms, surrounded by scraps of fabric and sketches, trying to focus on the design I need to complete for my final project. My hand trembles as I draw out another silhouette. It’s difficult to concentrate, especially when my phone buzzes on the table.

I don’t even need to look to know if it's from Utahime. She’s been checking in on me regularly. She doesn’t understand everything, but she knows enough to ask if I’m okay.

I pick up my phone, hesitating for a moment before responding. Yeah, I’m good. Just a lot of work to get through.

It’s a lie, but I don’t want to burden her with the truth. Everyone has their own problems, and I don’t want to be the one who drags them down.

I scroll through the texts, my heart dropping when I see a message from Toji. It’s just a short note, nothing particularly alarming. Sukuna's in the hospital. He’s okay, but he had a breakdown. You might want to check on him.

I read it three times before I let it sink in.

Sukuna’s in the hospital.

I bite my lip, the sting of old wounds coming back. What’s going on with him? Why does everything feel like it’s falling apart? I don’t even know how I feel anymore. I spent so much time loving him, fighting with him, then pushing him away, only for him to spiral deeper into whatever this is. And now, he’s in the hospital… alone?

I don’t even have the right to care, do I?

I put my phone down, my hands running through my hair as I try to make sense of it all. What should I do?

There’s a knock at the door, and I look up, startled. Utahime enters with a cup of coffee in her hand. She smiles when she sees me but then stops when she notices the look on my face. She doesn’t even need to ask.

“Something’s wrong,” she says gently, placing the coffee down in front of me.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Sukuna’s in the hospital,” I say quietly. The words feel so surreal coming out of my mouth.

Utahime doesn’t speak for a moment, just nods, as if she knew this might happen. “You’re thinking about going, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice soft.

I shake my head, my chest tightening. “I don’t even know what I’d say to him, Utahime. I—” I stop, the emotions threatening to spill over. “He played with my feelings, and I let him. I gave him everything, and now... now look at us.”

She sits next to me, her presence comforting. “You don’t have to go to him if you’re not ready,” she says, her hand gently brushing mine. “But don’t ignore what your heart is telling you. Sometimes it’s easy to get lost in anger or pride, but if you care about him, and you think he needs you—maybe you should go. Just to know he’s okay.”

I stare at the coffee in front of me, the steam rising gently. I feel so torn. Part of me wants to throw it all away and run to him, to make things right, but the other part is terrified of what that would mean.

“I’m just… so tired, Utahime. Tired of trying to fix everything,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t think I can keep doing this. I don’t want to keep getting hurt.”

She leans back in her chair, giving me space. “You don’t have to fix him. You just have to decide what’s best for you. It’s okay to care about him, but it’s also okay to take a step back. You don’t owe him anything.”

I nod slowly, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift. If anything, it feels heavier.

As much as I want to ignore the message, as much as I want to pretend everything’s fine and keep moving forward, I know deep down that the story isn’t finished yet. But the question is, how do I make peace with it? How do I let go of the part of me that still wants him in my life?

I guess I’m going to have to figure it out, even if it hurts.

I stare at the message from Toji, my thumb hovering over the reply button. I could feel the tension building in my chest, the pull to cave in and see him, to check on Sukuna, to offer whatever comfort I could. But I can’t. I won’t.

I text back quickly, trying to keep my answer as firm as possible, even though doubt gnaws at me. Yes. I’m sure.

I put my phone down and take another sip of the coffee Utahime bought for me. The warmth soothes me, but it’s not enough to quell the rising discomfort I feel. Maybe I’m running away from something I should confront, but every time I think about him—about everything that happened—my chest tightens. I know I’m not ready to face him.

Mei Mei sits beside me, her usual confident and laid-back demeanor a welcome distraction. She smiles at me, her eyes bright despite the obvious tension in the air. “I heard you’ve been dealing with some drama,” she teases, nudging my shoulder playfully. “You always seem to attract it, huh?”

I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Yeah, it seems like it. Just trying to get through finals without any more drama.”

She leans back in her chair, clearly not convinced. “If you say so, but I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s bothering you.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not fooling anyone. What’s going on?”

I set the coffee down, rubbing my forehead. Mei Mei’s known me for years. She doesn’t give up easily, especially when it comes to stuff I’d rather keep to myself.

“It’s… complicated,” I say, sighing deeply. “Sukuna’s in the hospital.”

Mei Mei’s expression softens. “Hospital? What happened?”

I explain the basics—the fallout from our breakup, his breakdown, and the fact that it seems he’s been spiraling for months. As I talk, it feels like I’m peeling back a layer of myself I’ve been trying to keep hidden.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I continued, my voice shaking slightly. “But now… I just feel like I made it worse.”

Mei Mei listens, her face serious. When I finish, she doesn’t say anything at first. She just looks at me for a long time, her eyes calculating, like she’s trying to figure something out.

“You can’t keep carrying his weight, Y/N,” she says gently, her tone softer than I expected. “He’s not your responsibility anymore. I get that you care, but sometimes stepping back is the healthiest thing you can do—for both of you.”

I nod, trying to hold it together, but her words sink deep into my chest. I know she’s right. If I keep going back to him, trying to fix things that aren’t mine to fix, I’ll just keep breaking myself in the process. But knowing that doesn’t make the choice any easier.

I reach for my phone again, checking for another message. There’s one from Toji.

Y/N, I know you’re upset. I get it. But you need to understand he’s really struggling. He’s not the same guy anymore. Please, just think about it. He’s not okay.

I feel the weight of the message, the silent plea in his words. It almost makes me want to go. But no. I made my decision.

I turn my phone face down, looking back at Mei Mei. “I’m done with it. I need to focus on my future. On me.”

She smiles, a little proud of me. “Good. It’s about time. You’re a strong woman, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

I lean back in my chair, feeling the exhaustion from the last few months hit me all at once. Finals are coming, and I don’t have the luxury of letting my emotions run the show anymore. I have to finish this. For me.

But even as I sit there, I can’t ignore the small ache in my heart, the part of me that still cares, that wonders what could have been. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine a different reality, one where everything with Sukuna was easier, where we were happy and I didn’t have to make these impossible decisions.

But that’s not my reality. Not anymore.

Toji's POV

I stare at the screen of my phone, Y/N’s last text still lingering in front of me. Yes. I’m sure.

The words hit harder than I expected. I knew she wasn’t going to just drop everything and run to Sukuna, but hearing it from her directly… it stings. She’s shutting him out, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Nothing any of us can do.

I glance over at Sukuna, still out cold in the hospital bed, his breathing steady for now. He’s been through hell these past few days, and I hate to admit it, but I’m worried. Despite all his bullshit, the bravado he puts up like a fucking wall, he’s broken. And it’s not just the aftermath of Jin’s death or the guilt he carries around like a fucking anchor. It’s more than that.

I thought, maybe if Y/N came, it would snap him back. But she’s not coming.

I let out a slow breath, running a hand through my hair. The room feels too quiet now, even with the constant beep of the heart monitor in the background. The silence between me and Sukuna is almost deafening, and I can’t shake the sense of impending disaster that hangs in the air.

I think about what Y/N said—how she couldn’t keep carrying his weight. And part of me gets it. She’s right. I told her before that Sukuna wasn’t the only one who needed to get his shit together, but I guess… I didn’t expect her to walk away. Not like this. Not after everything.

I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if we’d all handled this differently. If we had talked more, not let everything fester. Maybe she wouldn’t have had to make that decision. Maybe Sukuna wouldn’t be lying here, broken and lost. And I wouldn’t be standing here, feeling fucking useless.

Sukuna murmurs in his sleep, his hand twitching slightly, and I look back at him. He looks so different when he’s not putting on that mask. I can see the fear, the guilt, everything he hides away in his waking hours. It’s all on display when he’s vulnerable, like this.

He whispers something under his breath, and I lean in closer, straining to hear him.

“Y/N… I’m sorry…”

His voice cracks, soft and fragile. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Doesn’t know I’m watching him break down piece by piece. But I heard it. He said her name.

It’s fucking killing me to watch him like this.

I stand up, running my hand over my face, trying to shake off the weight of everything. I can’t do this. I can’t fix this. No matter how many times I try to tell myself that this is his fight, not mine, I can’t stop feeling like I’m responsible. We all are.

I check my phone again. Y/N hasn’t replied. I don’t expect her to. She’s made up her mind, and honestly, I don’t know what I would say if she did respond.

All I can do is sit here and wait, hoping that Sukuna pulls himself out of this hole he’s dug. He’s going to need all the help he can get, but I’m not sure I can even be that for him anymore.

I glance back at him one last time before walking out of the room. Whatever happens next is out of our hands. I just hope for his sake, he’s not too far gone to fix it.

I step out of the room, needing some space to breathe, even though the weight of everything is still pressing down on me. My phone buzzes again. Another message from Y/N. I don’t look at it. I can’t. Not right now.

The hallway feels emptier than usual, and I’m just about to sit down when I hear footsteps approaching. I glance up, already knowing who it is before I see their faces. Gojo’s impossible to miss, his presence like a fucking storm in the calm. And right behind him, Geto, walking with that same quiet intensity he always carries. They're holding bags in each hand, the smell of fast food wafting into the air.

Gojo gives me a lazy grin like he's just come back from a fun afternoon instead of dealing with a pile of shit that’s only getting worse.

“Got you something.” He waves the KFC sandwich in the air, the crispy fried chicken peeking out from the wrapper. “Figured you could use something real to eat. You’ve been looking like you’ve been living off hospital snacks.”

I glance at him, but I’m not in the mood for a joke. I just stare at the sandwich for a second before nodding. “Thanks.”

Geto just raises an eyebrow and slides a bottle of cold Coca-Cola into my hand. "It’s cold. Thought you could use a little sweetness with all this shit."

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I take the sandwich, unwrap it, and take a small bite. The taste is oddly comforting, and for a moment, it feels a little bit of normal. But only for a second. My mind is still a million miles away, locked on Sukuna, on Y/N, on everything that’s been happening. I can’t seem to get a grip.

Gojo leans against the wall casually, clearly unaffected by anything going on, while Geto remains quiet, eyes focused like he’s waiting for me to crack. The silence stretches, uncomfortable in its own way.

"Is he awake?" Gojo asks, breaking the tension, his voice light but his eyes searching mine for an answer.

I take another bite of the sandwich and sigh, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Yeah, but he’s not really there. Talking in his sleep… saying her name. Y/N."

The mention of her name hangs in the air for a moment, and I watch as Gojo’s expression shifts slightly. He doesn’t show it often, but I know he can’t be completely oblivious to what’s happening. Not with how tightly he and Sukuna have been bound, even when things were rough.

“I’m sure he’s just… in his head,” Gojo says after a pause, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly struggling with his own thoughts. “He’s got a lot of shit on his plate.”

Geto’s expression hardens slightly. “He’s not the only one, Gojo. Y/N’s been through her own hell. She’s not just some side character in his story. It’s never been that simple.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gojo mutters, though he doesn’t seem entirely convinced by Geto’s words. He glances back at the door where Sukuna lies, still deep in his own turmoil. “We all know what happened between them. It’s fucked up, but that doesn’t change what he’s going through.”

The words cut through the tension like a blade. I swallow the rest of the sandwich, my stomach growing heavier with the implications of their statements. The more I think about it, the more it feels like we’ve all fucked up in our own ways. We’ve all allowed this to spiral out of control, and now, we’re left picking up the pieces.

“I get that he’s hurting,” I say, voice tight, “but what do we do now? What can we even do? She’s not coming, Gojo. She’s done.”

The words feel bitter in my mouth, even though I know they’re true. Sukuna has lost her, and there’s no going back.

Gojo and Geto exchange a look, the silence dragging on as the weight of the situation settles in. Gojo pops the cap off his own bottle of Coke, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You just keep pushing forward,” Gojo says after a moment. “You don’t get to wallow in this shit. That’s not how it works, Toji. You just keep moving forward. That's all you can do.”

I’m about to respond when I hear a low murmur coming from Sukuna’s room. The door creaks open slightly, and I glance toward it, the worry clawing at my insides again. Gojo stands up and gives me a pointed look.

“Let’s go see how he’s doing,” he says, voice more serious now, and I can hear the weight of his words.

We all walk to the room, our steps heavy with the unspoken truths we’ve been avoiding. Inside, Sukuna stirs in the bed, his eyes barely open but wide enough to see the panic in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he whispers, almost like a prayer, his hand gripping the bed sheets tightly.

The room feels cold as we stand there, watching him struggle with the demons only he knows. His words hang in the air like a knife, cutting through the silence.

“Maybe we can fix this,” Gojo mutters softly, more to himself than anyone else. "But not like this."

I watch Sukuna’s face, the same man who used to be full of fire and rage, now broken. Maybe Gojo’s right—maybe we keep pushing forward. But even I know, with everything that’s happened, there’s no easy fix to the mess we’ve created.

Sukuna's POV

I’m trapped in the in-between, stuck in the land of the awake but not living. I can hear them talking, but my mind refuses to connect. Every word that escapes their lips feels like a blur, and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about Y/N or Jin or my own damn self.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor is the only thing grounding me in reality, reminding me that I'm still here, still breathing, even if it feels like everything else is slipping through my fingers. The voices swirl around me, but none of them cut through the fog in my mind. Not even Gojo’s voice, not even Geto’s.

Y/N. 

Her name lingers in the air like an echo I can’t escape. It’s all I can think about. How I fucked things up. How I hurt her. How I lost her. I can’t get away from the image of her, standing there in her apartment, looking at me with those eyes—those brown eyes I used to drown in. Eyes that no longer saw me the same. Eyes that were filled with pain.

My stomach churns. I want to scream, but the words catch in my throat.

My younger brothers.

Yuuji. Choso.

I’m supposed to be their older brother. I’m supposed to be strong for them. They’ve lost so much already, and I can’t afford to lose them, too. But if I keep spiraling like this—if I let this guilt eat me alive, if I let my demons drag me under—then what happens to them? What happened to me?

I’m supposed to protect them, but I’m barely holding myself together. I can’t keep breaking like this. I can’t keep letting everything fall apart just because I don’t know how to deal with the shit that’s happened.

I’m supposed to be better. Better for them.

But how? How do I fix this? How do I fix myself when everything feels broken beyond repair?

I hear Gojo again, his voice louder this time. "He's just... lost in his head right now. We can't help him until he helps himself." It’s all I need to hear to understand that I’m not getting any sympathy here. Not from any of them. They know me too well.

And maybe that's what I need.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to block out the pain. Maybe if I don’t open them, I won’t have to face the reality of what I’ve become. A broken man. A fuck-up.

But the truth is, I can’t run forever. I can’t stay in this fog of regret and self-loathing. I don’t want to be this version of myself. Not for my brothers, not for anyone. I’ve been here too many times before. Spiraling, falling, too afraid to face what’s staring me in the face. I’ve always been this way. But I can’t afford to be anymore.

I can’t let myself be the reason they lose me. Not when I still have a chance to fix it.

I hear Geto’s voice again, softer this time. "Sukuna... we’re here. But you need to come back. Come back to us." His words hit me harder than I expected, and I feel the weight of them pressing down on my chest. Come back to us.

I’m not sure how, but for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself feel something other than numbness. A crack in the wall I’ve built around myself. A tiny opening to a possibility that maybe—just maybe—I can still get out of this.

But first, I have to face the one thing I’ve been running from.

I have to face myself.

“Y/N,” I whisper to no one in particular, my voice hoarse, rough. "I'm sorry."

I don’t expect anyone to hear it. Hell, I’m not even sure I believe it yet. But it’s the first step. And for now, that’s all I can give.

I open my eyes slowly, squinting at the harsh fluorescent lights above. The hospital room is sterile and unfamiliar, and for a second, I forget where I am. But then it all comes flooding back—the weight of my actions, the destruction I’ve left in my wake, and the realization that I can’t keep hiding from it.

I don't even remember when I said it, but those two words still echo in my mind: I'm sorry. They were the first words I’ve said aloud in what feels like forever, but they carry so much weight. So much guilt.

I sit up slowly, feeling the ache in my chest. I’m not sure if it’s from the panic attack, the guilt, or just the overwhelming sense of being broken. But whatever it is, it makes it hard to breathe, to think. To feel.

Gojo is still here, his presence just as obnoxious as ever. But there's something about him being here that gives me a sense of stability like maybe he doesn’t expect me to be perfect, but he’s still here, regardless. And Geto... Geto is just sitting there, staring at me like he’s waiting for me to get my shit together. Maybe he’s right. Maybe they both are.

“Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "How did I get here?"

Geto looks up from his phone, catching my eye for the first time in what feels like forever. “You’ve been here, Sukuna. You know the drill. You need to pull yourself together, for them.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. He’s tired, I can tell. We all are.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice cracking. "For them."

It’s a mantra I’ve been repeating to myself for weeks now—for them. For Yuuji and Choso. They’ve lost so much already, and I can’t be the one to break.

But I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know how to fix this. How do I rebuild what I’ve destroyed? How do I fix myself when I’m not even sure who I am anymore?

Gojo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re not alone in this, you know.” His words are blunt, but there’s something softer in his eyes. He doesn’t say it often, but I can see it. The understanding.

"I know." I don’t meet his gaze, my eyes locked on the floor. It’s easier that way. “But I still fucked up, Gojo. I messed it all up.”

Geto sighs heavily, shaking his head. "You didn't just mess it up. But that doesn't mean it’s over. You’ve got to take responsibility for it, man. For her... and yourself."

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. The words feel like they’re stuck in my throat. But then I think of Y/N. Her face, her eyes... the way she looked at me when I ruined everything. I see her pain in every single interaction we had before it all came crashing down. I can still feel it. The way she’d retreat from me, the way she’d pull away. And the way I never truly let her in.

"I didn’t mean for it to go like this," I finally whispered. "I never meant to hurt her."

“You need to talk to her, if she’ll allow it” Geto says, standing up and moving closer. “And if she’s willing, maybe... maybe you can fix it. But you have to start with yourself first.”

I feel the weight of his words, like he’s trying to lift me out of the quicksand I’ve been sinking into. But I’m stuck. I’m stuck in the guilt, in the shame, in the regret.

“What if she doesn’t want me back?” I ask, barely above a whisper. "What if I’ve already ruined it too much?"

"You won’t know unless you try," Gojo says, stepping forward. “You can’t undo the past, but you can at least try to make the future better. For her. For you.”

I feel something shift inside me, something small but significant. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s just the desperation that’s been eating away at me. I don’t know. But it’s there, and for the first time, I let myself feel it.

Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe, just maybe, I can start rebuilding—starting with myself. I have to try. For Y/N. For Yuuji. For Choso. For me.

I stand up, feeling the weight of my body shift. My legs feel weak, but I force myself to stay upright. Geto watches me carefully as if waiting for me to collapse, but I don’t. Not this time.

I might not have all the answers, but I know one thing for sure.

I’m done running from it.

“I’ll fix it,” I murmur, barely believing the words myself. But I have to say it. I have to believe it.

For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel so alone. Maybe I’m not as far gone as I thought. Maybe I can still fight my way back from this.

Maybe I can still be the man I used to be.

the nurse filled in, "We tried to contact your emergency contact yn ln but they didnt respond. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?

The nurse’s words hang in the air, thick with unspoken tension. I feel the room grow heavier as they linger, and I find myself grasping for a response. Y/N’s name still feels like a foreign sound on my lips.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come. What would I even say? She won’t answer me anymore. Not after what I did. The silence stretches between us, suffocating.

"I have—" I start, but the weight of it stops me.

Before I can finish the sentence, Toji speaks up, his voice cutting through the thick air like a knife.

"You can take my information. What do I need to know?"

I look up at him, and for the first time in what feels like days, I feel a bit of relief. Toji, as blunt as he is, never lets me down. He’s been here since the start, and I know, deep down, he’s always had my back, even when I didn’t deserve it.

The nurse nods, taking out her tablet and entering Toji’s information with practiced ease. It’s almost like they’ve done this a thousand times before, and maybe they have. Maybe they’re used to people like me. People who screw up their lives and end up here, needing a reminder that they’re not completely gone yet. That there's still a chance.

But I don’t know if I believe that.

I watch the nurse leave, and the silence settles back into the room like a heavy blanket. Toji stands there, looking at me with something between concern and resignation. He doesn’t need to say anything. I know exactly what he’s thinking.

"Stop blaming yourself," Toji finally says, his voice low, but firm. “You're not in this mess alone, and you’re not gonna fix it overnight. But you’ve gotta stop running from it, or you'll end up buried.”

I can feel his eyes on me, watching for any sign of weakness, but I can’t give him that. I can’t give anyone that. Not after everything.

"I know," I mutter, my voice barely audible.

Toji shrugs and moves to the side, making space in the small hospital room. "We all fucked up, Sukuna. But it’s not the end of the world. You’re still here."

The words settle somewhere deep inside me, somewhere I didn’t even know was still capable of feeling something. I look away, pretending the words don’t hit me the way they do.

But I can’t stop thinking about Y/N.

Her face. Her eyes. How she would look at me when I failed her. The way she pulled away.

I failed her.

But I still want to fix it. God, I want to fix it so badly that it hurts.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that. I’m not sure if it’s even possible. But for the first time in months, I feel like I can try. I have to try.

For me. For her. For everyone I’ve hurt.

“Thanks,” I say to Toji, my voice gruff and unsteady. "For doing this... for me."

He doesn’t respond right away, just gives me a sharp look like he’s waiting for me to crumble again.

But I don’t.

Not this time.

Instead, I stand up slowly, feeling the weight of my legs beneath me. There’s no escape now. No more running from my mistakes. No more hiding. I have to face this.

And maybe... just maybe, I can start with making things right.

For once, I don’t feel like I’m completely drowning. But the battle is far from over.

"I’ll make it right," I say softly to myself, more than to Toji.

The words feel fragile like I’m trying to piece together a shattered mirror. But I have to try.

I won’t be the man I used to be. I can’t go back to that.

But maybe, just maybe, I can be someone worth loving again.

For Y/N. For everyone I’ve hurt.

And for myself.

I’m finally being released from the hospital. The sterile white walls feel like they’re closing in as the nurses hand me a prescription for the medications I’m supposed to take. But I don't care about that right now. I just want to go home. I just want to breathe again.

The ride back to the apartment feels like it takes hours. The air in the car is heavy with the weight of everything I've done, everything I’ve messed up. I haven’t spoken a word the whole way. Toji’s driving, the only sound between us was the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the road beneath the tires.

When we get to the apartment, I’m not sure what to expect. The door’s wide open when I walk in, and there’s Choso, pacing back and forth. His voice rises, sharp and full of frustration as he glances over at me. His eyes are bloodshot like he hasn’t slept in days, and I know it’s because of me.

"Sukuna!" Choso shouts, throwing his hands up in the air, his face a mix of anger, pain, and worry. “What the hell were you thinking?! You scared the shit out of us, man!”

I flinch at his words, the sting of them going deeper than I want to admit. But I don’t say anything. I don’t have a defense, not for this. I can’t make it better with a few words. So, I stand there, silent, my head hanging low.

Yuuji’s sitting in the corner of the room, his eyes glued to the floor, his friends Megumi and Nobara beside him, looking as stressed as he is. The weight of it all crashes into me. I did this to them. I’ve been selfish, and it’s clear they’re carrying this burden with me.

Yuuji finally looks up, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm glad you're home, bro."

His words don’t hit me like I expect them to. Instead of feeling the relief I thought I’d get from hearing him, I just feel hollow. I’ve caused too much damage to fix it with just a few words. He shouldn't have to say that. I shouldn’t be the one causing him so much pain.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” I mutter, the bitterness slipping out before I can stop it. "It’s not like I’ve been some fucking good example for you, right?"

Toji steps up beside me, his presence grounding. “That’s enough,” he says, his tone low but firm. “He’s home, and that’s what matters. Stop making this harder than it needs to be.”

Choso doesn’t let up though, his hands on his hips as he glares at me. "You’ve been running from everything, running from us, from yourself. We were worried you were gonna fucking end up dead, and now you’re back, but are you even gonna stay back?"

I want to answer him, to tell him that I’m trying, that I’m going to get better. But I know he won’t believe me. None of them will. Not after everything.

"Look," I say, my voice thick. "I’m sorry. I’ve fucked up, and I can’t fix everything in a day. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere right now."

It’s all I can offer, and I know it’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got. I can’t be the man I was before. I can’t just wipe away all the mistakes I made with a simple apology. But maybe I can try to be better.

Yuuji stands up slowly and walks over to me. I brace myself, waiting for him to yell, for him to say something harsh. But when he reaches me, he simply pats me on the back, like he’s trying to offer something I don’t deserve.

“It’s good to have you back, Sukuna,” Yuuji says quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat growing. I don’t know if I’m crying or not. But it sure feels like it. Maybe this is the first step in making things right. Maybe not for everyone, but for me, for Yuuji, for Choso... and Y/N.

The tears come without warning, falling like a flood. I feel them before I even know they’re coming, a warm rush down my face, blurring my vision. I can’t stop them. Not anymore. I’ve been holding everything in for so long, trying to keep the pieces of myself together, trying to be the strong one for my brothers. But I can’t do it anymore.

My knees give way, and I drop to the floor, the weight of everything—of all the things I’ve lost, of all the things I’ve fucked up—crushing me. My chest aches, tight, like it’s too small to hold all the guilt, all the pain.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter through gritted teeth, though I don’t know if I’m saying it to Choso or Yuuji or even myself. My voice cracks, the rawness of it is unfamiliar and painful. “Jin’s gone because of me... and Grandpa... he’s gone. They’re both gone.”

The tears come faster, like a storm I can’t outrun. I can’t hold it together anymore. Not for anyone. Not for them. Not for myself.

I hear Choso’s footsteps, feel his arms around me as he pulls me up, but I don’t want to be touched. Not right now. I want to crawl into a hole and disappear, to not have to face any of this, to not have to be the one who let them all down.

“Grandpa's funeral,” I whisper, my voice ragged. “Our parents didn’t even show up. They didn’t care. They never did.”

The words sting, but it’s the truth. The truth that I’ve been running from for years. Our parents left us. They abandoned us, and the only one who was there, who gave a shit, was Granpa. And now he’s gone, too.

“I’m tired of holding this in,” I choke out. “I can’t keep pretending to be the fucking strong one. I’m... not strong. I’m broken.”

I look up at Choso, and his face is pale, but his expression is gentle. I can see the hurt in his eyes, but there’s something else there too: understanding. He knows. He knows what it’s like to lose, to feel like you’re drowning in your own shit. And maybe he’s the only one who can truly get it.

I look over at Yuuji, and his face is full of concern. He’s standing in the corner of the room, silent, but I know the words are there, sitting heavy on his tongue. He doesn’t need to say anything, though. The fact that he’s here—just here—means more than words ever could.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I say, my voice low and broken. “I don’t want to be like this anymore. I don’t want to let everyone down. I don’t want to keep losing people.”

But I’m scared. Scared of what it will take to fix all this. Scared of how much of myself I’ll have to break in the process.

“I’m so fucking tired,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. 

Choso pulls me close, his hands gripping my shoulders as if he can somehow hold me together. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, Sukuna. We’re here. You’re not alone in this. You never were.”

His words hit me like a lifeline, but the truth is, I don’t know if I deserve it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the person they want me to be.

But I know one thing: I can’t keep drowning in my own shit. I have to try to be better. Even if it’s just for a little while.

I’m home. But the journey to redemption? That’s just the beginning.

[penvisions]

i'd give anything for more time {jack daniels x f! reader}

Pairing: Jack Daniels x F! Reader (Retired! Agent Whiskey x F! Reader)

Summary: He's nowhere, not really. Stuck in the ambient space of a random coffee shop. Doesn't know what he's looking for, until you walk in.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angst, yearning, mild language, kissing, time loop weirdness, mentions of heath issues, grief

A/N: i'm gonna be real with y'all, i....struggled with this. had something FAR more angsty outlined for the role-a-trope challenge the moment i got the trope assigned to me. but i'm tired and wanted something a little more happy and this was the result. i hope this is kinda on point @burntheedges. mine was time loop / groundhog day with jack daniels and man i hope i did it justice after all this time!! cause i know this is hella late and i apologize for that

-> navigation

The coffee shop is bustling, the grinding of beans, the buzz of many voices, the dings and mechanical sounds of the register, of the phones in people’s hands, music over speakers, the steam want of an espresso machine working away.

And Jack is standing in the middle of it all, for what feels like the millionth time.

He’s not real, at least…he doesn’t think he’s real.

The first few times he was here, it seemed like he just appeared amidst the hustle and bustle of a weekday morning. He’s confused, he was just in the middle of a meeting. Asking if he wanted to pick up a job even though he’s retired. He faintly remembers an argument. All heated words and half responses that had turned into forlorn words. His tall legs carrying him out of a door, out of an entryway lined with frames photos and art, a colorful catchall dish by the door containing keys. He had dug them into his palm as the door closed behind him, he looks at it now though there are no marks or redness.

He had left something behind, someone behind. Even if he can’t recall their figure or face.

All he knows is the hectic space he occupies now. Though even when he stands in line to order, resigned to the task he’s spaced out in the middle of doing, he feels like it’s familiar too. No one seems to care that he’s in line, they walk in front of him like he’s not even there. But he lets it go, mind busy with trying to reclaim the events that led him here.

The job he had taken doesn’t even register, he’s unaware if this is a part of it. Staking out, searching for someone, searching for information. He has no clue how he got here, why he’s here or why the cheery barista behind the counter doesn’t seem to hear him when he saunters up to the register to finally place his order.

She steadfastly ignores him, even as he leans over the counter and tips the hat atop his head. He’s in his typical ‘blend in with the civilians’ outfit, tight jeans, nice dark boots that match his leather jacket over a plain white shirt. His amber sunglasses hang from his collar and his belt buckle clinks against the edge of the marble as he leans closer.  His smile falters as she sees right through him and begins to talk to the woman behind him. Easily taking her order and then moving onto the person behind her.

Shoving off from the counter with a frown, he raises a hand to thumb at his bottom lip. Stretching a hand over the small partition between the display case and the public, he snags a pastry. But no words of ‘hey, sir you’ve got to pay for that!’ or other reprimands color the air.

He wanders around the shop, looking for someone out of place. Looking for someone who could be undercover like him. But everything is normal. Everything down to the minutes ticking by on the large clock, the to go cups placed on the pick up counter and then being swept away by impatient hands to the conversations that he begins to sift through with almost burning ears.

Everything is normal.

Except for the fact that he’s invisible.

Just as suddenly as he found himself in the coffee shop, his vision faded, and he was gone from it too.

-

He tries talking to different people, each time he opens his eyes from the abyss that claims him. But no one ever responds, no one acknowledges that he’s a real living and breathing person. And Jack begins to question if he even is anymore…surely he would know if he experienced a painful death as an agent on a mission?

He’s retired now, he thinks so at least. He doesn’t recall anything recent, nothing beyond the countless times he emerges from darkness to find himself in the middle of the coffee shop. This time though, when he realizes where he is there’s a pull in his navel that has him turning on his heels to face the door just as you walk through. Remnants of a heated interaction flare in his memory and he grasps at the tendrils before they fade. But he’s too slow or a loud noise interrupts and sends him spinning in that direction in alarm.

His heart flutters fast, almost painful. His chest twinging in a way a cramped muscle would even as he sees you approach.

“Excuse me, are you in line?” Your voice is sweet like honey, welcoming and making him feel at ease like a soft breeze of air on a summer’s day. He looks around and expects someone else to answer but you repeat the question with a note of concern and when you’re hand reached out to gently touch his he startles- because he can feel the pressure from your touch.

And he’s gaping at you, because finally, someone is acknowledging him.

He shakes his head, unable to form a polite answer and gestures for you to go ahead of him.

“Oh, it’s alright. You look a little off, how about I order with you, and we can have a sit?”

The way your eyes rake over him has his entire body lighting up- you’re gorgeous and sweet and he wants nothing more than to do exactly what you’re suggesting. As you two order, he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. Wary that this is all fleeting, and he was right to worry because as soon as you both settle into a set of chairs around a table everything fades once again.

-

It happens again and again, the same way. But you look different each time. Different clothing, different hair styling, despite the conversation being the same. Someone who sees him and offers a kind smile and help towards someone who appears far too confused and out of place.

Then one day he notices the wrinkles beside your eyes, the dark circles beneath them. The weight you drop and the chapped, chewed state of your lips. A once polished and bright woman, now appearing ragged and stressed. He decides to ask if you’re okay the next time he comes to consciousness in the coffee shop, but you don’t show up. He’s back to being invisible and loss pangs harshly in his chest.

-

He doesn’t materialize in the coffee shop after that, the scene he’s damned to visit every day the same entry way he had first recalled what seems ages ago. For what seems like years before his steps allow him to cross over into an empty bedroom. It always feels wrong, the blurred photos along the walls tugging at him though they never clear enough for him to see what they depict. He thinks he can make out the faint outline of you, so fresh from his memory in the coffee shop, the same interaction time and time again drilled into him though it doesn’t do a think to take him back there and see you.

How the way he seems to exist altered the moment he wanted to change things up and reach out, to ensure you were okay. He feels less real now that no one is in this setting, a home that feels anything but. Echoes of a life lived and tainted by a dark feeling he can’t shake.

He's allowed to peel back the covers of the bed this time, his body taking up the space in the bed like he belongs there. The other side cold and empty haunting him. He's grateful to be able to softly snooze off instead of darkness consuming him to end the moment.

-

He’s afraid to open his eyes, to see the empty bed beside him. A lonesome reprieve he had settled into the last time he was aware of himself. He had woken peacefully, of his own accord and it was a blessing to not suddenly find himself standing amid blurred photos and a dark entryway.

But he can hear the soft breathing of someone else, can almost feel the weight of their body as it’s almost close enough to touch his own. He’s shifting, eyes flying open and all he feels is euphoria as he sees you fast asleep beside him.

Your face scrunches up, nose wrinkling and hands coming up from underneath covers to rub at your cheeks and forehead. An eye peeks at him from underneath one and he swears his heart stutters.

“How many times I gotta tell you to stop starin’ at me?”

“Couldn’t help it, you’re as beautiful as a fresh morning bathed in early sun.” The warm words spring from him, praise very much real and his fingers itch to reach for you.

“Pfft, Jack.” You groan, though there’s no real annoyance in your tone. It’s bashful, if anything. But its far too early for his poetic waxing, you haven’t even checked the time yet. But based on the darkness behind the curtains, there’s hours yet until its time to rise for the day. Your thoughts stall as he slides across the bed. Arms tangling tightly around your middle and pulling you into him.

“Roll your eyes all you want, but it’s true.” He’s determined for you to know, to hear, to feel seen by him.

“Such a goddamn sap.”

“Yeah,” He breathes, the smile that breaks out over your face making his chest feel light. He recalls the feeling when you had first made eye contact with him in the middle of the coffee shop and warmth blooms in his chest.

The endless cycle of his dreams that give him vertigo and existential dread quickly fading from his mind as he realizes that’s all they were: dreams. Because he’s here with you and the scar you trace over in the center of his chest tells him that it was all a side effect of the sudden palpitations that had taken over his heart and the way his body coped with the healing he struggled to do afterwards.

He had indeed met you in that coffee shop, his mind taking him back to that moment again and again as he had laid in a bed for months, a coma taking his consciousness after an infection settled into his body. His mind trying to ease him in some twisted way as you sat by his bedside day in and day out. He can only imagine the turmoil you must’ve experienced as everything comes rushing back to him, dizzying him with the onslaught of out of body experiences and how you must’ve felt so lost and confused without him by your side.

But he’s here now, you’re here now and he’s dropping his lips to yours in reassurance when he sees concern fill yours at his solemn recognition of the situation. He's determined to be present, to be aware, and to shower you with everything he had to make up for the time he lost with you.

[lightlycareless]

Merry Christmas y'all!! I hope you had a wonderful time with your loved ones ❤️

I didn't get to enjoy this holiday that much because of... women issues. iykyk But still, I got to finish this and play some games so it wasn't all that bad :)

There's another piece that I also intend to upload soon, probably tomorrow lol but the bottom line is we getting two Christmas specials :> which I hope you enjoy!!

warnings: none. fluff. you and naoya are married and naomi already exists, however, it's not entirely centric on them. Mai and Maki's mom is the protagonist here :')

Happy reading!

“If you go through with that change, you’ll be over the budget.”

Junko doesn’t know why she even bothers warning you so when it always ends up the same way: you go over your pre-approved spending limit, the elders question you about it, Naoya covers for it—or more like demands them to back off and pays for the difference.

In fact, he seemed to encourage it too, given how he never reproached you about it and even admired your ill choices—certainly unbefitting of your responsibilities as the future Lady of the House.

More so since there’s a new motivator behind your actions this time around.

“But it’s going to look so pretty, right?”

If she already thought the enthusiasm you had for your first Christmas at the Zen’in estate was too much, preparing everything for your daughter’s first celebration was beyond her expectations.

“It’s Naomi’s first Christmas, surely you must understand why I need to make this extra special for her.”

No. she doesn’t. She didn’t even do it for her own daughters, did you really expect her to suddenly grow empathetic to your cause?

The best thing you could do for everyone was stop, at least then she wouldn’t have to deal with complaints about the bad job she’s supposedly doing by guiding you through your new responsibilities.

But you’d become stubborn, just like your husband, marking this as the newest bane of her existence for all eternity to come.

“Hurry, Naoya! We’re just waiting for you! I already have everything set up so let’s go!” you urged whilst holding Naomi with one arm, pulling Naoya onto the main garden with the other—and he laughs alongside you while doing so, after days of endless teases, how could he not be thrilled by your surprise too?

“Careful, my love. I’m not confident our dumpling enjoys being jolted like that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You lament, immediately glancing down at your precious baby —just short of a year old— dressed up in a cozy polar bear fleece onesie that made her look even cuter. Alongside her big, round, golden eyes that told you there was nothing to worry about, for she was equally excited to see what you had in store for her. “My adorable princess, are you ready for your first Christmas?”

The baby gurgles, giving the two the most adorable sound capable of curing all ailments in the world, if possible.

“It’s our first Christmas as a family too.” Naoya notes, and your heart flutters at the thought.

“It is.” You respond, looking up to him with pure adoration—unconditional love. As well as partial disbelief, like you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that one of your biggest dreams had come true.

A family.

Composed of a baby girl who couldn’t be any more perfect, a beautiful, sweet little thing that wholly compasses your love for Naoya.

And a husband, loyal, dedicated, protective—who wants nothing but your well-being, and of course, your love. Which he has more than enough to return.

You didn’t care for what Naoya had gotten you this year, not even dared to wonder, because the best gift you could’ve obtained was already in your arms.

“You’re making me cry, Naoya, that’s not fair!” You pout, he chuckles.

“Then don’t, just think about how happy Naomi is going to be when you reveal her surprise.”

Alongside the gathering crowd composed of Mai and Maki, whom you promptly invited the moment this idea crossed your mind, eagerly tugging at their mother’s sleeve as they wished to keep up with you.

“Come on, mom! We’re going to miss it!” Maki insisted. “I want to be there when it happens!”

“You two should be in bed by now!” Junko scolds, gently fighting back against their daughters, but ultimately failing against their unparalleled enthusiasm.

“We’ll go to bed as soon as we see it, we promise!” Mai quickly arranges. “Please, mom? I’ve never seen anything like this before!”

At her unwanted impotency, Junko naturally stretches to find a culprit behind their erratic behavior and make them responsible!

Or more like she wants to directly confront you for being their obvious prime instigator and demand you to stop filling their minds with senseless ideas, less you desired to suffer the consequences!

But of course, it all takes her back to the initial point. There is no use in her frustrations if by the end of the day she’ll just get the same result: you’ll promise to be more careful with your actions, ask the twins to be more obedient towards her… and let your enthusiasm get the best of you once more, completely disregarding the Zen’in’s inner workings.

So instead of wasting her time, she simply makes them promise to go to bed soon after you do whatever it is that you have planned and move on; arriving just a few seconds after you and taking their respective positions, the best seats as you’d put it.

And once ready yourself, you’d look over to your staff, signaling them to begin.

A wide smile on your face as the results of all your careful planning comes to life, bright colored lights decorating the garden, from the flowers to the trees, in all its festive glory—in such hypnotizing manner that those present could only gasp in awe at its beauty.

But if that wasn’t enough, you also made sure to pace everything correctly; a combination of dazzling entertainment that proved to be a complete success given the way your enthralled daughter bubbled whenever her favorite color appeared, or when encouraging her to do so.

“I think our little princess likes it.” Naoya declares, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“I knew she would.” You murmur proudly while resting your head over his shoulder. “And you? Do you like it?”

“I love it, just like everything you do.”

Junko looks away the moment two lean in for a kiss, just in time to avoid any further embarrassments—as if she wasn’t struggling enough with her unruly daughters and your senseless spending.

But even amongst all these inner conflicts, a part of Junko cannot keep her away from looking at your work. The one she previously disregarded as unnecessary, but now, before it’s intricacy… she can’t help but feel calm. Nostalgic even, though this sentiment wasn’t uncommon during these festivities.

Yet, to her it was. Almost intriguing that someone like her, that has never taken interest in commemorating such things in the past, less so after getting married, could feel such a way.

Though one quick glance at her daughters, the beaming, wide-eyed children that were equally enthralled as Naomi in the face of your celebration, would provide the answer. Because just like your child, they too were essentially celebrating their first Christmas together. As a family.

After brief consideration, perhaps finding it unnecessary to cut short this harmless moment, Junko decides to let her guard down and enjoy the rest of the evening. Soon captivated by the following fireworks, courtesy of the nearby village, which she was never aware could be seen from there.

Not that it mattered to ponder about such a possibility now, not when she allowed her mind to diverge instead into a universe where enjoyable moments like these were an everyday norm—and not an example of defiance.

ugh I needed to give them the spotlight :') idk why it just came to me; but omg hahaha I'm sorry if y'all were expecting something a bit lighthearted but I promise the other oneshot I'm working on is 🙈 just needed to get this one out of my system.

Now, without anything else to add, I hope you have happy holidays!! Thank you so much for your support 🥺❤️ really, I could not be here without you guys.

Take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[ultravhasart]

Cassandra Cain’s Speaking Patterns

I was trying to write some fic and started saving a bunch of comic panels to analyze Cass’s speech patterns, so here’s my notes for myself and others! Most of the panels are taken from more recent stuff, like Birds of Prey (2023), Batgirls (2022) and Batgirl (2024).

I have nine points:

Only speaking when necessary

Typically monotone

Sentence Structure

On the job vs off the job

Slang

Facial Expressions and Body Language

Miscellaneous

My personal headcanons (still with some evidence)

I've also been forced to split this post up, since I can't add more than ten images per post :(

1: Only speaking when necessary

Unsurprisingly, Cass doesn’t talk much. This is especially true in group situations, since she doesn’t need to drive any conversation.

[Birds of Prey, Issue #2: Zannah and Black Canary are discussing plans, going back and forth about how to get onto Themyscira. Cass adds “or they’ll be on high alert.”]

The panel above is from a scene showing the Birds strategizing, and this is the only time Cass talks. She’s silent the rest of the time.

For one-on-one situations, she still doesn’t expand much, preferring single-word sentences.

[Batgirl (2024), Issue #2: Lady Shiva dropping some exposition, and Cass asking a question with one word.]

In tense situations, she can forget to speak ‘properly’, dropping words like ‘I’ll’ in the panel below:

[Batgirl (2024), Issue #2: Cass fights Kalden the Unseen after he hurts her friend.]

Also, she’ll talk more casually with people she’s comfortable with, like Steph!

[Batgirls, Issue #4: Cass and Steph banter a bit before being interrupted by Barbara.]

2: Typically monotone

Cass sounds very monotone, a lot of the time. She barely ends her sentences with exclamation marks or asks rhetorical questions. It’s fun to see her contrast her with characters who are more excitable/long-winded!

[Birds of Prey, Issue #7: Cass and Bertha go back and forth after being beaten in a fight.]

Cass also keeps up her usual tone in most fights. Here she is, battling a giant squid creature, focused as ever.

[Spirit World, Issue #3: Cass chides her teammates for bickering at each other rather than focusing on the fight.]

When in more alarming situations, she’ll raise her voice like everyone else. It’s uncommon, but only because it’s uncommon for her to be overwhelmed.

[Spirit World, Issue #4: A mysterious force takes control of Cass and Constantine, Cass looks scared, shouting “Can’t control… my body!”]

Once again, she’s more expressive with Steph. She’s more comfortable with her, and matches Steph’s energy when they’re both excited.

[Batgirls (2022), Issue #2: Steph and Cass exclaim “Bondo?!” at the same time, christening the car.]

[nostalgiclittlespace]

Little!Vaggie and Caregiver!Husk?

Vaggie's been having a really bad day and regresses from the stress and bad emotions. Husk notices and looks after her like a papa cat would do with their kitten

SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC. DNI IF NSFW, KINK, PROSHIP, OR SIMILAR. DO NOT REPOST TO OTHER SITES.

Title: Moth, or kitten?

Word count: 1385

Pairing: Caregiver!Husk & Little!Vaggie

TW: Brief references to alcohol

Description: After Vaggie doesn’t make an appearance for dinner, Husk is a little concerned. Can he help his little feel better?

Vaggie lied on the floor of her play tent.  She wasn’t really sure why she had slipped today, but…

Everything felt like too much.

Even the basic things–getting out of bed, forcing some food down her throat at breakfast time, dragging the motions of showering and getting dressed…

It was just too much.

Stupid brain, Vaggie thought, trying her best not to start crying.  These were basic needs that everyone should be able to accomplish–the bare minimum.  And there really wasn’t anything in particular that was upsetting her; there weren't any major issues, so why were they crying like a baby?

She should be finding Husk right now, Vaggie knew that.  The Caregiver had made it abundantly clear that he wanted to supervise her whenever she regressed.  But she couldn’t bring herself to leave her sanctuary, where her blankets and stuffies created a shield that reality couldn’t break.

Husk shouldn’t have to deal with me anyway, Vaggie thought, hugging her stuffed dinosaur tighter.  I’m a big kid, I can take care of myself.

Desperate for a distraction, Vaggie tried focusing on her tablet’s screen, which was currently playing an episode of My Melody.  Don’t cry, don’t cry, Vaggie repeated to herself.  She hated crying.  Crying was bad; it made her throat tighten, her head pound, and no one was here to help if she started to panic.  

  So she pretended none of it was real.

***

It was dinner time.  Alastor had just finished making po boy sandwiches, with Niffty speedily dishing it up and dashing the bowls to the table.  The others filed in one-by-one, from Charlie to Husk, all of whom seemed pleasantly appetized by the aromas emitting from the steaming meal.

Husk, gazed upon the table as he moved to sit down.  Surprisingly, there was one seat empty.  Vaggie’s.  It was rare for the moth to skip meals.  As much as she distrusted Alastor, even she couldn’t deny his cooking was delicious.

“Has anyone seen Vaggie?” Husk inquired.

“I texted her to come down; she didn’t answer,” Angel shrugged.

“And I checked her room to tell everyone it was supper time!” Niffty chimed in.  “She wasn’t there though.”

Husk nodded, before abandoning his plate.  His instincts told him to find the moth; she had to be in some kind of distress to skip mealtime with the Hazbin Hotel’s residents.  But where was she, and why?

“I’ll be back; I’ll see if I can find her,” he excused himself.

With that, Husk retreated from the dining room, heading for the staircase.  If Vaggie wasn’t in her room…and she wasn’t responding to messages…and she hadn’t been flying for the kitchen the moment the smell of roast beef and shrimp had drifted through the air…

The cat had a hunch.  

Instead of going to Vaggie and Charlie’s penthouse, he headed for his own room.  The moth had a tendency to hide there when she got overwhelmed, and especially if she did not wish to be found. 

When he arrived inside his bedroom, his sharp gaze swept the room for disturbances.  It was as calm as ever; the usual mess of a couple empty bottles, cards, and clothes littered the floor (the room used to be a disaster zone, he’s certainly done better of keeping it clean since Vaggie starting spending time here).  No unusual sounds or other disturbances disrupted it….

Then he spotted it.

Vaggie’s play tent in the corner of the room was closed, tied off with the velcro straps from the inside.

Husk sighed softly, making his footsteps obvious (as not to startle her) as he approached the teepee.  He could hear slow, heavy breathing from the other side, and the occasional rustling confirmed his theory.  

Husk knelt down to the floor, sitting outside the tent.  Dutifully, he knocked on the hardwood boards.  True, he could have simply pulled the tent flaps open, but he had manners, thank you very much.  If Vaggie wanted to be left alone as her hiding place suggested, he wouldn’t disrupt.

“Vags, you’re missing dinner.  You want to come down and eat?” Husk’s deep voice inquired as softly as he could.

A short puff of breath, then a soft, “...no.”

“Do you want me to bring you some?  You can eat here if you don’t want to come down.”

“...No.”

Husk paused for a few seconds, considering his options and the situation.   Vaggie wanted to be alone, she was refusing to eat, and she didn’t seem inclined to talk either.  Chances were, something had triggered her earlier, something that caused her to slip into headspace and shutdown. 

 He could leave her alone as she wished…but would that really be the most helpful thing?  The thought of leaving her unattended with her misery sounded wrong; his instincts imploring him to find the root of the problem and solve it.  And leaving her to neglect her needs was the very opposite of the job he had signed up for.  

“Can I come in there with you?” Husk suggested.

There was a brief hesitation and then a fumbling of the tent flaps before the fabric doors opened.  Inside, Vaggie was surrounded by stuffed animals and blankets.  Her tablet played a cartoon, which she seemed to stare at dazedly.  There was also a stack of crayons and coloring books which lay untouched.

Carefully, as to not disturb the sanctuary’s order, Husk crawled inside.  The tent was cramped, but not so much that it was uncomfortable.  Vaggie scooted over to make room, hugging her stuffed animals to her chest.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” Husk inquired, sitting cross-legged beside her. 

Vaggie shrugged, burying their face into their stuffed animal's fur.  Though her face was half hidden, Husk could tell she was lying.

“Whatever’s bothering you, I’d be happy to help,” the Caregiver prompted, hoping to encourage some real response.  “I just don’t know what you need right now.”

Vaggie stared down, refusing to meet his eyes as she rocked in place.  A self soothing motion, Husk noted.  However, the additional notice of distress did little to actually explain what was wrong.

“Bad day.  Dunno why?��� she mumbled.  

“Sorry to hear that, bug,” Husk replied, keeping his voice even and soft.  “How about we start with taking care of you?  Have you had anything to eat?”

Vaggie shook her head.

“How about a bottle?”

A nod.

“Some snuggles?”

Another nod.  

The responses weren’t much but they were enough to encourage Husk.  If Vaggie was responding, even nonverbally, then it was a positive sign.  She likely wouldn’t resist caregiving.

Gentle and precise, Husk gathered the moth in his arms and carried her out of her play tent, her tablet also tucked under his arm.  He thanked his past self for having the idea to keep some of Vaggie’s gear, including her bottles, in his room.  His minifridge, which had once been exclusively inebriating drinks, was now stocked with protein-enriched formula that would make a suitable meal for his Little one.

Feeling Vaggie’s arms wrapped around him tightly, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her on the bed alone.  He gave her a soft, comforting squeeze as his wings shifted to wrap around her like a blanket.  With a soft pur, he rested his cheek on the top of her head.

As much as he hated his demon form, he couldn’t deny its uses in instances such as these.  He had never been the parental type while alive, but his distinctly cat-like instincts at least made him adequate.  He would live with this form, perhaps even grow to be thankful for it as long as it helped Vaggie.

Soon, the bottle was filled and heated, and the two made it to Husk’s bed.  Snuggled up to her Caregiver’s side, Vaggie mumbled a few words behind her bottle, but otherwise seemed content.  Husk kept her close, nudging her with his furry cheek if she became fussy.   The sunset outside, the stars gradually appeared, and the two were left to themselves.

The peacefulness calmed them both, Vaggie returning to her usual little self.  Soft, unintelligible mumbles became clearer as she rambled to Husk about her day, the drawing she was working on, the cartoon she wanted to watch—absolutely anything that came to her mind.  Husk nodded along, enjoying every word, knowing them to be sure signs Vaggie was feeling better.

[americas1suiteheart]

omg i actually love your work, could you make a patrick x fem! reader with the one bed trope? like maybe the bus broke down during a tour and the other guys got rooms before they did, and there’s only one room left, with only one bed. doesn’t have to be anything suggestive, i just love seeing a flustered patrick 🤭🤭🤭

OMG!! One bed tropes are my absolute favourite!! There'll be a BUNCH of fluffy stuff and flustered Patrick, just like you asked. Thank you so much for this ask!

(*Might* make a suggestive NSFW kinda version of this but keep the story kind of the same because I just want to.. take this with a grain of salt..)

Just One Bed?

Patrick Stump x Gn! Reader

Summary; It was halfway through the tour, and halfway to the next city, but just to everyone's luck, the bus had some unfortunate issues. Needing everyone out of the bus to be fixed, you found the cheapest motel, and just to yours and Patrick's luck, you two had to share a room, and a bed.

Notes; I love pre-hiatus Patrick so much you have no idea, so let's just say around Infinity? Anyway, it's currently December as I'm starting this so it's been put off for a while😭

Warnings; Just foul language.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Everyone was sitting on the small tour bus couch, or a pulled up dining chair, with a game of Monopoly set up on the small "dinner" table you had in there.

"You owe me 100! You landed on my property, Patrick!" Pete bickered.

"No I don't! It's only set at 50, look at the card, dude!"

You sipped on your soda as you watched the two fight. You'd assume that they'd be more mature, but honestly, Monopoly tended to bring out the absolute worst in everyone. Your family was another good example of this.

"Patrick, just give Pete the 100 so we can get going with the game." Joe groans.

"That's not fair though! It's 50 and I know it's 50, he's just laundering money! I'm not giving him a fucking 100!" Patrick exclaims, making it sound like Pete was commiting actual crimes in the game.

Well.. he was, to be fair.

"Pete, you're getting 50 less, just take the 50 or you're not getting anything, we need to continue the game." You sigh.

"You're only saying that because Patrick's your favourite.." Pete pouts.

You shoot a glare at him and continue sipping your soda.

Patrick picks a 50 out of his stack and hands it to Pete. Pete takes it and puts it into his very messy and unorganised stack of the fake paper bills.

"Finally.. It's your turn now, Joe." You sigh.

These past 30 minutes into the game have been nothing but unhappy groans and sighs. Didn't help everyone was tired, but Pete suggested some "bonding time", that didn't seem to be going too well so far.

Joe picks up the set of dice and throws it onto the board. Only for them to be completely knocked off the table along with other pieces on the board. A large bump going along with it.

"Dammit! We can't do shit!" Joe curses.

A hiss and sputter come from the left side of the bus, making your face scrunch up in confusion.

"What the hell was that? Do you guys hear that?" You ask as you look around at the scattered pieces and spilt can of soda on the floor. That's gonna be annoying to clean with a paper towel.

"Guess that means we can sleep, goodnight." Andy says, throwing his fake paper bills carelessly on the table and walking off.

You sigh and get up from your seat, going up to ask the drivers what had happened, only to find them outside.

"Uh, hey, do you guys know what happened?" You ask.

"Well, we hit a pothole on the way and it ended up popping our front left tire, and it's pretty bad. I don't know how long it's going to take for us to get this fixed." The driver explains.

"Will we still be able to sleep here?"

"Probably not. Everyone will probably have to end up getting a place to stay for the night. We'll be lucky if we're even able to get back on the road on time tomorrow morning."

You nod and go back into the bus, poking your head in to see Pete and Patrick arguing about something.

"Hey, guys. So, the bus's tire popped so we kinda have to find somewhere to stay." You explain.

"What? Can't we just stay in here?" Joe asks.

You pull your lips into a thin line and shake your head, earning a groan from him.

"I talked to Rickey and he said we'll have to get rooms. I didn't argue with him, he's the one driving. If I had a choice to stay here, I would."

You sit back down in your seat and sigh. You were already so tired, and to hear that you would have to wait even longer to sleep frustrated you. You already knew you were going to be grumpy tomorrow morning.

"I don't think anyone has any connections to anyone here, huh?" Joe asks.

Everyone looks at each other, shaking their heads with a sigh.

"So we're gonna have to find a motel or something? Where even is the nearest one?" You look around.

Patrick pulls out his computer and looks for a while, eventually turning it around and showing everyone else the screen.

"I don't know, guys. The nearest one is kinda far away, like, I'm talking 100 some miles far." He explains

"How would we even get there? I think right now the bus will only get us so far, and we obviously can't walk.."

"You guys know taxis exist, right? Just call one over here, y'know." Pete shrugs.

"Wow, Pete. That's actually the smartest thing you've said all day, good job." Joe snickers.

Pete kicks him from under the table, earning a hiss and glare from Joe.

You felt bad that no one ever took Pete seriously sometimes, but with some of the shit that he's pulled over the period of time you've known them, it was for a decent reason.

"I'll call one now. Y/n, do you think you can go get Andy?" Patrick asks, dialing a number into his phone.

You walk into the sleeping quarters and go to Andy's bunk, pulling open the curtain to wake him up.

"Dude.. I'm trying to sleep." Andy groans, covering his face with his arm.

"We have to leave. The bus broke down and needs to be taken to a shop or something, so we have to find a place to stay. Patrick's calling to see if he can get a cab to come out here right now." You explain before going back into the living area, leaving Andy to be.

"..yes, yeah, it's just on the left shoulder of the road. Alright, thank you." Patrick says, before hanging up his phone.

"I take it you guys got a cab?"

"Yup. Joe found a motel close by, too. The cab should be here in about 20 minutes." Patrick says, turning his attention towards you.

You hum and go back into the sleeping quarters, packing a small tote bag with "pajamas" (which in reality was just an old pair of sweatpants from high school and a T-shirt from when the band was just starting out.) and an outfit for tomorrow.

The boys did the same, all but Pete's put in a similar manner. Joe picked his clothes and folded them, Patrick and Andy did the same.

"Hey, can I put my clothes in your bag? I don't wanna carry them," Pete asks with a yawn.

You look at him and roll your eyes with a sigh, "Sure. Toss it in there," You say, pushing the bag closer to him with your foot.

"Awesome! You're the man, Y/n," Pete exclaims.

You liked his enthusiasm, though with your state of tiredness you frankly found it a bit irritating.

You bounced your leg up and down impatiently and yawned. You were really tired. The one night that Pete decided to "make" everyone stay up later to bond, is the one night where you have to stay up even later just to wait for a cab to come out to seemingly the middle of nowhere.

The 20 minutes you waited soon felt like hours, each second feeling more like a minute.

Once the cab finally arrived, all of you tiredly grabbed your bags and exited the bus. Putting your bags into the trunk before cramming into the backseat of the car with Andy sitting in the front.

"Where to?" The cab driver asked, turning to Andy.

"The nearest motel if you can."

The driver nodded and began onto the road.

Pete grumbled and complained the whole time about not being able to get the front. And while you would typically get annoyed at this, you totally got where he was coming from. Four adults crammed into the backseat of a small car wasn't something that would typically be comfortable.

Halfway through the ride you felt yourself nodding off, and after trying your best to keep your eyes open, you finally gave in, leaning onto the shoulder of the person on your left.

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

"...Y/n, wake up. Hey,"

You were awoken by your shoulder being gently shaken and a voice.

Your eyes flutter open and you yawn looking up to see Patrick with a sleepy look on his face.

"We're at the motel. We gotta get out so the cab driver can go, you can sleep when you get your room, okay? I'll help you with your stuff." He says, helping you out.

"No, I'm.. I should be fine," you say, stopping halfway to yawn.

Once you come out of your sleepy state, you get your wallet out of your back pocket and grab a 20 dollar bill, handing it to the cab driver as an apology for not only the long drive, but also staying extra because of you.

You quietly walk with Patrick to the check in office, your feet dragging along.

You put an arm over your face and squint, the fluorescent lights that laminated the room hurt your eyes and you were able to hear the buzzing of it. It smelt of cheap car air fresheners, on top of something else you couldn't quite place your finger on that those air fresheners were failing to cover.

Patrick cleared his throat, trying to get the attention of the person behind the counter.

"Yes?" The clerk says, looking up from his magazine.

"Um, can we just get two single bed rooms for one night?" Patrick asks awkwardly.

The clerk rolls his eyes and gets up, looking at the keys for the rooms.

"There's only one single bed room left,"

Your eyes widen and you look at Patrick, then back at the man.

"Are you sure there aren't any available rooms left? Not even one?" You ask.

"What do you think. They're all booked, okay? Do you want the room or not?" The man said, an annoyed, tired expression on his face.

"Yeah, we'll take it." Patrick abruptly says.

"Patrick–"

"Here's the key. Room 014. Enjoy your stay, the bed is real firm," The man says, handing Patrick the motel keys. "Check out time tomorrow is 12:10pm or earlier,"

"Okay, have a great night." Patrick bids the man a goodnight and walks out with you.

The two of you walk up the room and open it. It smelt of musk and had cobwebs in the corner of the room, indicating it hasn't been occupied or cleaned in a while.

You and Patrick place your bags on the floor. "I'm, uh.. I'm going to go and change in the bathroom, okay? Let me know when you're finished,"

You turn to him, "Alright. I shouldn't take too long. Thank you, Pat," You reply.

That nickname started about a month into the first tour you went along with the band. Apparently according to Joe, he never let anyone call him that. But with you, it was an entirely different story. He could never help but blush when you called him that, because it was only you that did. That he allowed you to.

He nods and looks away to try and hide the ferocious blush that was startinv to go up to his ears and goes through his bag to find his pajamas. Which, just like you, was just a random shirt and pajama pants. Batman pajama pants.

You smile at the choice of his and do the same and change into your own pajamas, but as you do so halfway, you notice that a plastic bag was in your bag.

Pete left his stuff.

You sigh and finish getting ready and take the bag out before knocking on the restroom door.

"Hey, Patrick. I'm finished so you can come out if you are, too. Pete left his bag in mine so I'm gonna go take it to him,"

Patrick opens the door, his hair messy presumably from changing into a new shirt.

"You know which room they're in?" Patrick asks.

"Nope, I'll just knock on every door until I find him," You joke.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, Y/n," Patrick responded seriously.

"I was just joking. I'll text Andy since he's most likely to respond. He was in the check-in room with Joe and Pete so he should know,"

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

You walk over to the room Pete and Joe were staying in, seems like Andy and me and Patrick were the ones that got stuck with the single bed rooms. Andy on the other hand was luckier.

You knocked on the door, the plastic bag in your hand crinkling, waiting for the door to open.

"Y/n! You're a life saver, I thought I was going to have to sleep in my jeans," Pete exclaimed.

You look at him, your brows furrowed and a slight smirk on your face, "Haven't you done that before, though? I mean, I could list a bunch of weird crazy shit you've done more than once,"

Pete rolls his eyes and takes the bag from your hands, "Have fun sleeping with Patrick, he snores!" he says, sticking out his tounge before shutting the door.

You stood there flustered. How the hell did he know?

You flinch at the noise and huff, turning around and walking back to the room you and Patrick would be staying in.

'Shit, the key,' You think to yourself as I feel my pockets and noticed the key was no longer with me. 'I hope I didn't drop it.'

You knock on the door and wait, hoping that Patrick wasn't asleep yet. A more neatly, put together Patrick opens the door and lets you in after realizing it was you.

"I think I forgot the key in here," You laugh as you look on both nightstands, then the desk, and finally the restroom, you were unable to find it.

"God I'm too tired for this right now.." You groan.

'I'll find it later in the morning.'

"It's 3:22 am, I'm pretty sure that's normal," Patrick laughs before laying a pillow down the middle of the small bed and getting under the covers.

You turned off the lights and got under the covers which were unfortunately itchy and left you a little cold, though struggling to not fall off due to the lack of open space. You would just have to deal with it unfortunately.

But you couldn't.

You closed your eyes over and over again trying to make yourself fall asleep. You turned and tossed, you counted sheep, listened to the sound of your breathing and heartbeat for about 10 minutes already, now you've been staring at the ceiling as if that would help.

"Patrick, are you awake?" You asked looking to the right of you to see him doing the same as you.

"Yeah. Can't sleep for some reason," Patrick sighs and turns to his side facing you.

"I don't have any space, I think I'm going to fall off," You giggle.

Patrick hesitates for a second before saying, "I can take the pillow off from the middle,"

You think about it for a second but before you could even think rationally and just deal with it, you automatically blurt out, "That'd be awesome."

Once he removes the pillow and tosses it on the floor, you scoot in a little closer, now facing him.

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him and you were suddenly no longer as cold as before.

"Alright, um, goodnight Pat. See you in the morning," You clear your throat and turn back around.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

You still couldn't sleep. You stared at the red glow coming off of the alarm clock and watched the minutes passing by.

3:57 am.

You couldn't take it. You were so tired yet you found trouble sleeping.

"Y/n, you okay?"

You turn around once more, just as you'd been doing multiple times. "Yeah, still can't sleep is all,"

For the second time you turn towards him.

"What's on your mind?"

You thought you had no clue what was on your mind. But as soon as he asked that question you knew why.

You were sleeping in the same bed as Patrick. The same Patrick you'd had this "little" crush on since 2002. 5 years.

"Just.. stuff I guess." You said, voice slightly above a whisper.

Now that you knew exactly why you couldn't sleep, everything about him started to flood your mind and senses. The way he smelt of the remanants of a cheap cologne, the way his breath tickled your nose, the way his eyes looked in the moonlight that ever so slightly lit up the room, the way you could hear his heartbeat, the same bpm as most of the band's songs.

"Want to talk about it?"

You shook your head and thanked him for the offer, "what's on yours?"

Patrick was glad that the room was near completely dark, as once again his face began to flush, though his heartbeat quickened.

"Uh- I don't know. Nothing really," He lied.

A long, awkward silence occurred as the both of you looked into each other's eyes, averting them at times.

You hesitated for a long while, "Can I just like, I dunno, get a little closer to you or something," Now this one was more bold. "Maybe hold me?"

You immediately flushed and so had Patrick. The heat could be counted as a high fever if you were to check it.

Patrick scooted closer you you and brought you closer to his chest, his arms wrapped around you.

You closed your eyes and let out a breath of relief, one that you didn't know you were even holding.

"Thanks, Pat." You smile.

"No problem, N/n, goodnight." He responds with a yawn.

You felt a sudden calm and began to drift off to sleep. To be met with dreams and a sudden dread that you'll soon wake up.

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

You wake with a sudden pounding on the door, still being trapped in Patrick's embrace.

"Y/n! Patrick! Wake up before I open the goddamn door!"

You tried to pull out and pry Patrick's arms around you, but he could sleep through a nuclear war unfortunately.

You hear the jingling of the lock and Pete barges in along with the rest of the boys.

"Oh, dude no way! You guys actually went for it!" Pete exclaims, pointing a finger at you and Patrick.

"This isn't what it looks like, Pete," You groan, still attempting to pry yourself out. "Someone wake him up please,"

All three of them snicker.

Pete walks over and puts his finger in his mouth and sticking it in Patrick's ear, giving him a wet willy.

Patrick flinches and lets you go, slapping away Pete's hand, "Dude! What the hell!"

You quickly get up and get out of the bed, standing at the end of it awkwardly as Joe and Andy gave you a knowing look.

"Um, I'm just gonna go- change. In the bathroom." You clear your throat and grab your tote, speedwalking to the door and shutting it.

You quickly get ready and we're able to hear bickering from the other side of the door. You sigh before opening the door, only to be met with Pete running towards you and placing his hands on your shoulder, shaking them.

"Did you guys do it?"

You squinched up your face and pushed him away from you, "What? No, dude. I slept in the same bed as him, but not with him, are you gross??"

"You know me, but I think Andy might secretly be worse," Pete says, whispering the last part.

You were grouchy and tired. It was 8am and you had only gotten four hours of sleep at the most, compared to the 7 or 8 you guys usually get.

"Out, now." You said, pointing to Pete, Andy, and Joe.

"Oh, so Patrick gets to stay but we don't? Favouritism!" Joe says before leaving the room.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale.

Patrick was awkwardly standing at the end of the bed, his glasses and hat still not on. You softly smile and grab them from his side of the nightstand and hand them to him.

"Thanks," He smiles as he gingerly takes them from your hands.

"No problem. You should really go and get ready, though."

Patrick does the same as you had before and takes his clothes to the bathroom to change. You clean up the very little mess that the both of you had left as he did so. Making the bed, tossing the plastic disposable cups that had been used for water, etc.

You didn't even bother to shower, not with how late all of you were already.

"Hey, so uh.. last night," You turn around and see Patrick fixing his cap.

"Oh.. I didn't make you like.. uncomfortable or anything right?" You say anxiously.

"No! No, not at all just- I dunno-" Patrick looks down at his feet and shrugs.

"Come on! Dudes, we gotta go, the bus has been here for like, 20 minutes already and we've been waiting on you two!" A voice met with some loud knocking interrupts the conversation.

You sigh and get your bag. You then realized that you still didn't have the key to the room.

"Hey, Patrick? Do you have the key?"

He shakes his head.

"Fuck.."

"Open the damn door or I will! We gotta go!" Joe shouts.

'Oh, they have it..'

You swing open the door, "Give the goddamn key back, Joe," You demand.

Joe mutters something and hands you the key.

"Found it.."

Patrick laughs and exits out the door and you follow, taking the key and locking it before leaving.

All five of you check out and go onto the bus, Rickey clearly annoyed that everyone was late.

"It was their fault." Joe says, pointing to you and Patrick as he enters the bus.

"Oh shut it Joe. Sorry, Rickey. Had some trouble waking up." You apologise.

"Yeah right!" Pete shouts.

You roll your eyes and enter the bus, going to the small couch and placing your bag onto the floor carelessly.

You were exhausted. If everyone was lucky they'd get to the venue early enough to practice a little bit before soundcheck.

Patrick sits next to you, discarding his bag the same as you had just done before.

"God, I'm so tired.." He yawns.

"Take a nap then, Pat."

He puts an arm on the back of the couch and closes his eyes as he puts his cap over them.

"Hey, Y/n?"

"Yeah?" You look at him, his eyes droopy from still being tired.

"Last night didn't make anything weird between us, right?" Patrick says, tipping his cap up.

You let out a breathy laugh, "I asked this literally 10 minutes ago. Didn't you say it was fine? I mean- is it.. fine..?" You second guess yourself.

"I mean, I think it's fine.. more than.. fine?"

You give a sly smirk and nudge him with your arm, "What do you mean by "more than fine"?" You ask.

Though some false confidence showed, you tried your best to not let your voice falter.

The same practically was happening for Patrick. He was so easy to fluster and flush, it was impossible to even attempt hiding it due to the lit up "living room."

The same "I don't know's" repeated, and you still awaited an answer.

You lay your head down on his shoulder and feel his body tense up and quickly relax again.

His arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls you in closer, closer like he had done last night.

Last night.

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

I finished this to the best I could, and totally put it off for ages, so I apologise, man😭😭😭

[oddyseye]

I see where you're coming from with the musical choices, and yeah, I can respect that the sound and structure of the saga are definitely strong. The vocals and the narrative arcs do tie together really well, I can give you that. But from a literary perspective, the issue is that what the characters are doing doesn't always hold up. Music can amplify the emotion, sure, but if the foundation isn't solid, it doesn't matter how great or symbolic the vocals are.

First, let’s talk about Athena and Odysseus. You’re saying it’s a ‘gentle reminder’? Sorry, but I can’t get on board with that. He brushed her off. She is laying her heart bare, and he actually cuts ties with her. The relationship that was so complex and crucial earlier just gets reduced to him rejecting her for the sake of a “monster arc.” It doesn’t track, and that’s a problem. This moment could have been so much richer, but instead it feels hollow and forced. She’s literally been absent from his life for ten years because of his disobedience, yet when he’s at his lowest, stranded, helpless, and begging for help, who does he call for? Athena. And what does she do? She defies Zeus and goes to bat for him. She risks everything for Odysseus, and when she finally does show up to help him and his son? He just blows her off. That doesn’t sit right with me.

The emotional depth of their relationship isn’t just about ‘him choosing revenge and violence,’ it’s about the history between them, and the rejection of her is such a disservice to everything they went through. She could have stayed away, she had every right to. But she didn’t. She’s been there for him despite his mistakes and disrespect, forgiven over ten thousand mistakes and now, at the pinnacle of his journey, she’s left vulnerable and questioning everything — and he rejects her. That feels like a betrayal of everything Athena has done for him. It’s one thing for him to grow darker, more monstrous, but to dismiss Athena in that moment just feels like an easy plot device rather than a meaningful emotional choice.

The whole idea of Odysseus ‘moving on from Athena’ because he’s now a ‘monster’ just doesn’t work — literally or thematically. This isn’t a natural progression of his character. This kind of rejection could have been poignant if there was a deeper exploration of Odysseus’ corruption, but instead, it’s treated like a cheap plot device. If Odysseus truly is a ‘monster’ now, his rejection of Athena should have been earned, showing us how far gone he is and how he’s lost everything that made him human.

Odysseus had this ideal: ‘‘If I become a monster, it’s to everyone but US.’’ That was the rule. This means that, as long as he’s ruthless, violent, and feared by the world, he’s still loyal to the people he cares about — back then his crew, and now his family. Think about how Poseidon’s a monster to everyone except his family, or how Circe’s seen as ‘‘insane’’ by everyone but her nymphs, or even Polyphemus, who kills without guilt to protect his sheep friends. They’re all monsters in the eyes of the world, but to their inner circles, they’re still the same. Now, if Odysseus really becomes this monster — if he truly embodies this brutal, ruthless version of himself — why on earth would he push Athena away? Athena is his circle. She’s not an ‘enemy’ or a ‘casualty’ of his monstrousness; she’s the exception. The idea that Odysseus would reject Athena after everything she’s done for him completely contradicts the logic of his own ideals. His monstrousness was never supposed to extend to the people who matter to him. Thunder Bringer was different because there was some heavy shit at stake. Here? There is literally nothing. His wife and son are home, they are safe. If he’s truly become a monster, then Athena should be the last person he pushes away.

It doesn’t matter how far Odysseus has fallen — his rejection of Athena doesn’t make sense, even within the monster arc. We know Odysseus hasn’t moved on from his humanity because, in the very scene after that, he’s asking Penelope if she’ll still love him once she knows the extent of what he’s done. That’s not the behavior of a monster who’s totally detached from their past or their relationships. That’s a man who’s still grappling with the consequences of his actions and desperately seeking validation from the one person who’s always had his back. It’s not like he’s acting irrationally. He knows exactly what he’s done, and he’s worried about the consequences. It’s that self-awareness that makes his rejection of Athena feel completely forced and out of place. He’s still searching for connection, still longing for understanding. So for him to reject Athena, who’s been the one constant presence in his life, just feels like a completely forced move. The scene doesn’t track with the rest of his journey. He hasn’t moved on from her, so why would he push her away in such a harsh, unnatural way?

Now, Telemachus? Oh, no, no, no, I definitely disagree with that one. Telemachus being docile isn’t some deep character development. It’s just lazy writing. I get that it's a retelling, and sure, characters can change, but when you strip away everything that made Telemachus a force to be reckoned with, you’re left with a shadow of the character that actually existed in the Odyssey. The kid who nearly strung Odysseus’ bow? Yeah, that kid would not be the one just standing around waiting for daddy to come in and save the day. Sorry, but that’s just not Telemachus.

If the idea is that Telemachus doesn’t need to copy Odysseus, then why in the world should it make sense for him to copy his younger self or even someone like Polites? I mean, come on, this whole ‘open arms’ approach is supposed to be this big moment of character growth, but we’ve got no reason for Telemachus to suddenly become this merciful, welcoming guy. From a literary perspective, it’s even worse because it completely ignores the fact that Telemachus is angry at the suitors. We know this. What happened in the story to make him do a 180? Absolutely nothing. And that’s where the story fails: Telemachus doesn’t need to copy Odysseus, but he sure as heck doesn’t need to copy some version of himself or another character that doesn’t even fit the narrative.

This whole thing could’ve actually made sense if we had the one character who could’ve shaped that decision for him: Peisistratus. In Epic, though? Peisistratus doesn’t even exist. That’s a huge missed opportunity. Peisistratus is the perfect person to guide Telemachus toward mercy. We see in the Odyssey how Peisistratus’s presence helps balance Telemachus’ youth with his sense of responsibility and honor. The two of them have a bond that could’ve very easily translated into Telemachus developing a more measured, merciful approach to his father’s enemies. They share something deeper than just friendship after all, though we could go into that conversation another time, I’m not about to open that can of worms right now. Without Peisistratus, though, Telemachus' decision to have 'open arms' feels completely disconnected from everything we know about him. He’s spent years watching the suitors destroy his home, and suddenly he’s the one calling for mercy? That doesn’t track. If Epic had kept Peisistratus, his quiet wisdom could’ve been the perfect foundation for that decision. Telemachus could’ve struggled with his own instincts to take vengeance and found the courage to adopt a different path because of the influence of his friend.

But no. In Epic, Peisistratus isn’t even around to be that grounding presence. Instead, we get a Telemachus who acts out of character, with no real justification. If they’d just kept Peisistratus in the story, it would’ve given Telemachus’ arc the depth it desperately needed and made his 'open arms' thing make sense. Instead, we get an empty, confusing decision that comes out of nowhere and leaves you scratching your head. If you actually take a look into their characters, that is.

So no, it’s not just about not copying Odysseus — it’s about the fact that Telemachus has no reason to be copying anyone. That kind of transformation needs to have substance, and without it, we’re left with a character who feels more like a plot device than an actual person. If Telemachus were to have a change of heart like that, it would need to be earned. Which it was absolutely not.

I get the whole musicality thing. Yes, I’ll give you that: the music is brilliant. It’s a whole different level of genius, and that’s clear. But we’re not talking about music here, are we? We’re talking about story, character arcs, and how the narrative holds up in its own right. The music is amazing, but it doesn’t get a free pass to paper over the fact that the story drops the ball in some key places. I can respect a musical for its execution, but if the writing falters in its foundational elements, I can’t just ignore that. This is all coming from a place of respect. Debate like this is important, and it’s how we really dig into stories and their meaning. But I’m going to be honest: I can’t agree with these takes. At all. It’s not about trying to tear anyone down; it’s about looking at the story critically. I respect other perspectives, but when the reasoning behind something doesn’t hold up, I’m going to call it out. There’s a difference between an intentional creative choice and one that just doesn’t make sense, and I think we crossed that line here. So, no shade, no hate — I just can’t agree.

Things I did NOT like in the Ithaca Saga.

Okay, it was fine, but there were just...choices... There’s just stuff in that section that had me rolling my eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck.

First up: "Hold Them Down." I get that Epic is trying to make the suitors worse villains, but the way they went about it was disgusting. That song outright says the suitors were planning to force themselves on Penelope, which is not even remotely in the Odyssey. Yes, the suitors are terrible — they’re greedy, arrogant, would-be killers who exploit her hospitality — but this crosses a line that feels like shock value rather than staying true to the source material. They included that song, but erased Calypso’s actions toward Odysseus? In the Odyssey, she held him captive for years and forced him into a relationship. That is literally such an important part of the story. Yet, not only did Epic omit it, but they also banned people from even discussing it in their Discord server. How does that make sense? You can explore one kind of assault but not acknowledge the other, especially when the one they ignored was actually canon? The double standard is infuriating, and it completely undermines the narrative’s integrity. Yet somehow this suitor nonsense made the cut? Make it make sense, because I can’t. Next, Telemachus. Why did they do my boy so dirty? In the Odyssey, he was brave, capable, and growing into his own. He fought beside Odysseus, killed suitors, and even comes this close to stringing Odysseus’ old bow, which is supposed to be impossible for anyone but...well. Odysseus. That’s a huge moment! It shows how much he’s grown and how much of Odysseus’ strength and legacy he carries within him. But in Epic? They turned him into some weak, helpless little thing who can’t do anything without Odysseus. Like, hello? Telemachus isn’t just Odysseus’ son; he’s a fighter, a prince, and a man trying to defend his home. Stripping that away to make Odysseus look like more of a hero is just lazy and disrespectful to the original story. They took away his courage, his growth, and his ability to hold his own. It’s like they didn’t trust the audience to see Odysseus as a hero unless Telemachus was made to look useless by comparison. And then we get to Odysseus and Athena. What even was that? Yes, the idea that Odysseus has become a “monster” is a fascinating angle—he’s been through so much that revenge, violence, and survival have completely overtaken who he once was. But Ithaca does nothing to earn this shift, and it outright ignores the groundwork laid in earlier sagas. Two sagas ago, we saw Odysseus at his lowest. He was stranded on Calypso’s island, completely defeated, and begging Athena for help. Let me say that again: begging. And this wasn’t just any goddess he was calling out to — this was the mentor who had abandoned him as a student. She had walked away, and he still reached out, still trusted her to save him when no one else could. That moment showed Odysseus’ faith in Athena and their deep, complicated bond. Calypso.

And Athena? She didn’t just listen—she fought for him. She went up against Zeus himself to make sure Odysseus could leave that island. She defied the king of the gods because she believed in him. Odysseus doesn’t know that detail, but we do, and it makes her devotion to him so much more impactful. She risked everything to give him another chance at life, at home, at redemption.

Fast-forward to Ithaca, and what do we get? Athena shows up, vulnerable and introspective, questioning the path they’ve taken and the world they’ve built, and Odysseus just brushes her off. He doesn’t just say no — he dismisses her entirely. His response boils down to, “Not my problem. I’ve got a wife to see.” Excuse me, now? This is the same man who was crying out for her intervention just two sagas ago. The same man whose survival has always depended on his intelligence, resourcefulness, and the help of others — Athena most of all. Now he’s too proud to even engage with her? It doesn’t track. It’s inconsistent, and it cheapens their relationship. She’s opening her heart, showing her vulnerability, wondering if there’s still a way for them to fix what they’ve broken. She didn’t owe him anything, but she did it because she believed in him, because she had invested in him from the start. So for him to now completely disregard her — when she’s in front of him, showing empathy and pain — feels like a betrayal of everything that came before. Odysseus’ monster arc didn’t need to erase Athena. In fact, rejecting the one person who literally raised him, who fought for him, who saved him so many times, doesn’t even make sense for his character. That’s not the arc of a man who’s become a monster; that’s just cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

This is someone who has given everything to Odysseus, and in this moment, she’s realizing that the person she fought for is no longer the man she thought he was. And that’s what’s tragic.

But Ithaca doesn’t explore that. Instead, it uses Odysseus’ rejection as a cheap plot point, stripping away the emotional weight of his relationship with Athena. She was the woman who raised him, who guided him, who saved him — and they reduced her to a mere plot device to show how “monster-ified” Odysseus has become. It’s lazy, it’s cruel, and it completely disregards the depth of their bond. The pain in Athena’s voice, the heartbreak in her words, is completely wasted.

Odysseus doesn’t need to be a monster who rejects Athena to be a tragic figure. The tragedy would have been in him choosing revenge and violence at the cost of his humanity, not in cutting ties with the one person who raised him into the hero he became. Ithaca could’ve explored that, but instead, it gave us a shallow, hollow portrayal that didn’t respect the characters, their history, or the emotional weight of their relationship. Ithaca is a hot mess, and it’s honestly embarrassing. It had all this potential, and yet it chose to phone it in with lazy writing and shallow plot twists. It throws out big ideas and then does nothing with them, leaving us with empty, unearned moments that just fall flat. Instead of digging into anything meaningful, it relies on cheap drama to get a reaction. The story feels rushed, disconnected from the other sagas, and like the creators couldn’t be bothered to put in the work. They had an opportunity to make something impactful and then just decided to half-ass it. If you're looking for a mess of missed potential, Ithaca is your go-to. That being said, the songs are sick and I will sob again over the last song. Thank you.

[inkykeiji]

genuine ask— is ur bf bothered by ur writing? or does he know abt it? my bf doesn’t like when i write and it’s a little :/ ,, which is why i ask!!

not at all!!! he’s not bothered by it in the slightest. he does know about it and actually checks my blog regularly just to see what i’m up to! a decent chunk of my smut is inspired by our sex life anyway, but irregardless of the piece, this isn’t an issue with him. personally, i think anyone who feels any sort of jealousy etc over you writing about an actual drawing, like a series of lines on a page that don’t exist in real life, is extremely insecure and needs to do some soul searching, but that’s just my opinion!!

my boyfriend doesn’t feel threatened by these men because they aren’t real. my boyfriend understands that this is simply a creative outlet (in addition to a whole bunch of other things for me!) and that what i write doesn’t always/necessarily translate to what i want (i love the absolute fuck out of dabi but he would be a horrible, horrible romantic partner).

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck analysis speedrun: As a hardworking half-foot who grew up poor and discriminated against and had his gullibility taken advantage of multiple times in his early adventuring days, Chilchuck thinks optimism is a dangerous flaw. He’s stressed and strict all the time because his job is noticing details like traps that could get everyone killed before anyone knows it, he takes the lives of everyone to be on his shoulders, and with the way he speaks about it that probably partly reflects how he felt about taking it upon himself to provide for his family too. His life’s always been pretty centered around work and has become even moreso now that his wife left and everyone is independent, and due to past events he’s very iffy with bonding with coworkers. He thinks feelings and job are a disaster mix. Like with his wife or with parties hiring him as sacrifice, being open or having good faith is vulnerability which can get you hurt, so he processes and shows all his stress as anger instead of worry. Doing strict dieting probably isn’t helping the irritability what with hunger, and on top of being a hunger suppressant alcohol might be the main stress reliever he has.

His grey hairs are so earned

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

All I’m going to say I think now that my brain remembered part of what it was thinking is that Taylor and Joe went through a lot together (good and bad) and regardless of how it ended or what led to it they both seem to be determined to keep that private and not throw each other under the bus and in the end they’re just two very, very different people whose outlooks in the long term were just never going to align and never has that been clearer.

[j-esbian]

why are people so weird about silence

[janetsnakehole02]

@ the “taylor’s human if she wants to date matty healy then let her make her own mistakes stop being parasocial” crowd…does that only apply to her? seems like it does, considering the way y’all are acting after listening to you’re losing me. cussing out joe alwyn and damning him to hell for *checks notes* hurting someone in a relationship by emotionally checking out? a mistake that quite a few humans make in their lives at some point? but when she’s out there enabling and publicly associating with someone who can’t even meet the bare minimum for being a decent human being i.e. not being racist and misogynistic - THAT’S when you find your humanity?? and we’re the parasocial ones 🙃