#but we are not here for pain and longing we are here for *looks under the read more* not that

[diamonddaze01]

Hey girlyyyy~ I want to tell you that I love you and your work mwah! 💋

Can we have jeonghan hurt + fluff prompt 47. Be it like a mafia one where he has to make a choice between you or his girl best friend (who he loves dearly)

I'll like seriously cry if U do

the choices we live with

pairing: jeonghan x f!reader | wc: 1.0k prompt: "You have to make a choice" au: mafia au | warnings: blood, injury a/n: hello anon! thank you for the kind words! i did take this in a bit of a diff direction because this is the idea i had but i hope you love it nonetheless <333

Jeonghan stumbled into your apartment just after midnight, the door creaking open with its familiar groan. The sound jolted you upright on the couch, where you’d dozed off hours ago, waiting. You knew it was him before you even turned around—the shuffle of his uneven footsteps, the faint metallic scent of blood carried in the cold night air.

“Jeonghan?” Your voice cracked, half dread, half relief.

He leaned against the doorframe, a crooked smirk on his bloodied face, but even that couldn’t mask how pale he looked. His once-pristine suit was torn, dark crimson staining the fabric. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat and streaked with more red.

“Miss me, sweetheart?” His words were light, but his voice was hoarse.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, rushing to his side. You grabbed his arm and looped it over your shoulder, guiding his staggering form inside. He didn’t resist, but his weight against you was heavy, his body trembling slightly.

“You’re going to ruin my couch,” you muttered as you eased him down.

“Not the first time,” he rasped, trying to laugh, but it dissolved into a pained grunt.

You shot him a sharp glare, the concern in your eyes warring with anger. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

He saluted weakly, his bloodied fingers smearing against his temple. You hated how calm he looked, as if this was just another night in a long line of disasters.

Your hands shook as you rummaged through the first aid kit in the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath. Bandages, antiseptic, gauze—it was all second nature now, like muscle memory. You had patched him up so many times before. Too many.

Returning to the living room, you knelt in front of him. He tilted his head lazily, watching you with a soft, unreadable gaze.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, dabbing at the deep gash above his eyebrow. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”

He winced but didn’t pull away. “Careful. I’d hate to lose this face.”

“Maybe if you stopped throwing yourself into fights, you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

The words came out harsher than you intended, but you didn’t apologize. The anger bubbling in your chest felt safer than the fear threatening to swallow you whole.

“This is the twelfth time this year, Jeonghan.”

“Is it?” He quirked a brow, wincing as you pressed a clean cloth to the wound. “I stopped counting at six.”

Your hand froze, the cloth hovering just above his skin. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I know it’s not.” His voice softened, the smirk slipping from his face.

“Then why do you keep doing this?” You leaned back on your heels, throwing the bloodied cloth onto the coffee table. “Why do you keep risking your life like this?”

He sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You know why.”

You did. That was the worst part. Jeonghan wasn’t just some low-level enforcer or a man who stumbled into the wrong crowd. He was Seungcheol’s second in command, the calm and calculating right hand to the man who ruled the underground with an iron fist. Jeonghan had earned his place by being as ruthless as he was loyal, and Seungcheol trusted him to handle the dirtiest, bloodiest parts of the job.

But where did that leave you?

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I didn’t sign up to be the one waiting at home while you play the martyr for Seungcheol.”

“Sweetheart, it’s not—”

“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t tell me it’s not like that. I know what you do for him. I know what it costs you.”

His silence was deafening.

“You have to make a choice.” The words came out steadier than you expected, but they landed heavy between you.

“What?”

“I can’t do this anymore.” You stood abruptly, the sudden motion making his head lift. “It’s me or him, Jeonghan. Your loyalty to Seungcheol or your loyalty to me. I won’t keep doing this. I won’t keep watching you destroy yourself.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Blood smeared across his fingertips as he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple.” You crossed your arms over your chest, desperate to hold yourself together. “You just don’t want to make the choice.”

His jaw clenched, the tension in his body palpable. You wondered, for a brief moment, if he would fight you on this. If he’d lash out or argue or do something, anything, to prove he cared enough to stay.

But instead, he exhaled slowly and leaned back against the couch. His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile.

“Alright, sweetheart. Calm down,” he murmured, reaching out to tug gently at your wrist. His touch was warm, grounding, even as it made your heart ache. “You’ve had a long night. Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

“Jeonghan—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his voice softer now. “Come to bed. Just for tonight.”

Against your better judgment, you let him guide you to the bedroom. He slid into bed beside you, his arm draping over your waist as if nothing had changed. The scent of blood and smoke lingered faintly on him, but you ignored it, too tired to fight anymore.

For the first time in hours, you let yourself close your eyes, lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

When you woke, the bed was cold.

The space beside you was empty, the sheets neatly pulled back as if he had never been there at all.

Panic settled into your chest as you sat up, your eyes darting around the room. You called his name once, then again, but the apartment was silent.

Then you saw it—a note, folded neatly on the nightstand.

Your name was written on the front in his familiar handwriting, and as you picked it up, the faint scent of his cologne wafted toward you.

Your hands trembled as you unfolded the paper, your heart sinking before you even read the words.

I’m sorry.

Two words. That was all he left you.

No explanations. No promises. Just an apology that felt like a dagger to your chest.

The tears came quickly, hot and unrelenting, as you clutched the note to your chest. You’d given him a choice, and this was his answer.

He had chosen.

And it wasn’t you.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[fakeagatha]

Made from Scratch | Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal & Nicholas Scratch

A/N: I haven't written anything like this before but I really enjoyed it. Here's an alternative scene of Nicky's birth for you!

Summary: Rio arrives just in time for the birth of her son.

Word Count: 701 Warnings: Birth, Blood

Salem, 1750

Loud footsteps and crunching leaves were heard, as Agatha Harkness stumbled her way through the forest to the river that she found the most peace in. She sat under a tree, panting, holding her stomach protectively.

Her water had broken just as she had finished stealing the powers from her new founded "coven". Panic filled her, and all she could think about was getting herself, and her soon to be born baby, somewhere safe.

She yelped in pain, sweat dripping down her forehead as she struggled. Her eyes shot up at a sudden sound of a twig snapping, giving the mysterious person a look that could kill.

The figure came out of the trees, and Agatha's face washed over with relief.

"My love, he's almost here!" Agatha cried out, and her wife, Rio Vidal, approached her, sitting down in front of her.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. I had to take care of some duties." She says, guilt filling her eyes as she met Agatha's forgiving gaze. "I'm here now, I promise."

The purple witch was unable to hold eye contact for long, as the pain got worse, which she didn't know would be possible in that moment. Sure, her magic has no limits, but one thing that she had promised to herself and her wife, was that no magic was going to be involved in any of her pregnancy.

She gripped Rio's hand tightly, screaming in pain as she pushed. Her cries of agony soon turned into tears of joy at the arrival of her crying son. 

Agatha held him in her arms, and Rio sat next to her, at a loss for words at the beautiful sight.

Agatha looked over to her wife, and smiled. "He looks like you, my love."

Rio's heart swelled, unable to pry her eyes away from her baby.

"Nicholas..." Rio muttered, looking back at Agatha, who was wiping away her tears.

"He was made from scratch..." She replied, "We did it... We created him." 

Agatha used her magic, and created a soft, gray cloth, and handed it to Rio, who walked over to the river and soaked it. She squeezed out some of the water and bent down again, carefully cleaning the blood off of Nicholas' face and body, then moved on to attempt to clean Agatha.

"He's perfect..." Rio smiled, her eyes tearing up again, as she sat down, sharing a passionate kiss with Agatha, though she suddenly paused. She took off her green cloak, and gently wrapped it around the newborn, to keep his body protected from the cold.

Agatha leaned her head on Rio's shoulder, before the green witch spoke up.

"You chose to bring life, to the place we met." Rio whispered, looking up at Agatha lovingly, who nodded.

"If I were to bring the life I love most into this world, I choose to do it in the place I love dearly." Agatha muttered back, supporting Nicholas' head against her chest.

Rio pulled her in for another kiss, running her hands through her hair, looking down at her son again when they parted.

"Would you like to spend the first night with him here?" Agatha asked softly, as not to disturb Nicholas.

Rio nodded, taking out a tapestry and laying it on the grass under the tree. Agatha carefully laid down, holding the baby closely as Rio took out a knitted blanket and covered the two with it. She took out two of her cloaks, and folded them up to use as pillows for her and her wife. 

She got under the blanket next to the pair, wrapping her arm around Agatha for warmth, who sighed in content. Rio had never seen Agatha move so cautiously, and so delicately up until the moment she held her son.

"You should get some rest, okay?" Rio whispered, looking as the newborn started to fall asleep already.

"Okay..." Agatha said hesitantly, making herself comfortable. "You should sleep too." She added, looking up at Rio.

"I will, and don't worry. He'll be safe, I'll make sure of it." 

Rio pulled Agatha closer to her, watching as sleep had already overtaken her exhausted body. She stayed awake for a little while longer, wanting to make sure that nothing could harm them, until the tiredness took over her as well.

"Sleep well, my darlings."

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Eps 30-33 Commentary

No meta, just reactions! I have less to say about some eps so I'm combining several episodes worth. To make up for my head-emptiness and lack of meta, I've included more pictures lmao. Spoilers under the cut!

Ep 30:

"You really are pitiful." Li Lun waking up thinking of ZYC's words oooh they did that opening line for Li Lun/ZYC lovers (me)

What a homoerotic way to give the Truth Eye

ZYC and ZYZ having their first drink(s) together here, ZYZ and Li Lun having one last game of chess here. Gay ppl will go “I know a place” and take you to a damp cave and a little stone table in the Wilderness

Oof. The apparent inherence of winning/losing in their activity of choice compared to the drinks that took place here between ZYC and ZYZ. Even with a draw, it’s competitive by nature. If Li Lun knew about the three (very intense, very intimate) toasts that came before in this very spot, I wonder how aggrieved he’d feel.

Ah well there goes the date spot /:

I’m so happy to see LZY (Bai Jiu’s actor) get to fight! His fight scenes in MTJY were awesome and he continues to impress here as well. It’s so fun to watch!

………..to revisit my question from previous commentary about when the grievances against Ying Lei will end, the answer is never ;-;

Damn…For ZYC to promise to spare Li Lun after all that Li Lun has put him through specifically and personally. ZYC really fucking loves ZYZ doesn’t he.

I’m so fucked up over Ying Lei’s last words jesus christ.

ZYC sobbing and feeling the fleeting warmth of the rock Ying Lei was just leaning against…when will the world stop taking away his family members??? His brothers???

That scene of everyone looking at Bai Jiu after Ying Lei dissipates. The fact that he's right there. And it’s like they traded one life for another. The two babies of the group. Goddammit.

Do NOT hit me with Bai Jiu’s actor singing “Broken-Tailed Bird” right now oh my god

So like…regarding ZYZ losing his demonic power, does he still count as the most evil demon of ZYC’s time? Can someone ring Ying Long and ask?

ZYC crybaby oh no I can’t believe he’s crying over ZYZ being so weakened aw I love him

My god, Bai Jiu running after Ying Lei and into ZYC’s arms has to be one of my favorite sequences in the whole show. So so good. So so painful. Between this scene, all the flashbacks, and ZYC’s reaction when he died, I’m at least glad the show is spending so much screen time and significance on Ying Lei’s send-off, even if I’m heartbroken that he’s gone. We couldn’t even have the whole family reunited for one moment.

Also have you ever seen a man so mother?

No but seriously "Cry if you want...[tears] have to do with our hearts" ZYC my healthy masculinity king!!!

This song fucking hurtssssssssss this cheese (it's buttermilk) hurts everything hurts

I’m glad PSJ gets time and space to react. Her lines about being a mortal and not being needed are so good but also ow!!! And oh WX always knows exactly what to say to her 🥹

I love everything ZYC says to Bai Jiu about each family member (like yeahhh WX is unlucky 😭 and yeaahHH PSJ does need support too) but MAN the way he says ZYZ’s name is so fucking good. The fact that it gets so much emotion across without saying a single word further as he gets interrupted. His voice and his expression both collapsing a little in that moment. Efficiency of acting strikes again.

Is it even possible for ZYC to cherish this little family more?

Yo this dramatic ass lighting on ZYZ and ZYC standing in the doorway. Why y’all need so much drama just to talk? Also oughhhh ZYC’s gaze is a mess looking every which way while discussing WX’s poison. He is such a bad liar (but he looks so good doing it). Is that why they gotta talk about this like ten feet apart so ZYZ can’t see him lying? Lmao

Okay also tho if ZYC's coming around looking like this I am not hearing a single thing he's saying:

They flashed back to the previous time ZYC held his hand out but cut away from ZYZ taking it this time. Is it bc the absolutely unfettered tension between them can’t pass censors anymore? Haha god but that shot of ZYC slowly meeting ZYZ’s eyes from ZYZ’s POV whewwww we don’t got the skinship but their gazes are kind of insane??? TJR in blue contacts is too powerful I'm shaking somebody needs to stop him.

Ep 31:

Trying so hard not to be driven a little crazy by the lapses in continuity in this show (‘: It’s just tonal and costuming stuff that are a little difficult for me to ignore, just the fact that it’s kind of apparent which scenes were filmed in what order based on their costume/styling changes + the sets, and how sometimes the tone from the previous events don’t smoothly carry over because of this. But it's momentary, I just gotta. Power through.

YO the Pei siblings sparring was so cool and for what. They should have had WX spectating instead of staring at nothing in the previous scene (-:

Damn how long has it been since they played the fun music. Also feels kind of wrong without Ying Lei though fml

Awwww Qing Geng I missed her she’s so cute!! I wasn't doing ep commentaries during her arc so I gotta make up for it here. Her actress is so talented and adorable, and her costuming in this show is stunning!! Her lashes!! Her colors!!

THE TREE BRANCHES lmfaooo ZYC what happened to being worried for ZYZ’s weak body?? We really haven't had a moment like this in so long though (':

Well I do like the reason why WZY had a fake out death, that’s pretty clever and narratively sound, but also oh god what in the AOT??? The inner cores hidden in the medicine is some odious fucking work dear lord

I also like that the endgame is coming about from what initially seemed like another small-time case. Of course the evil physician's huge scheme at the end weaponizes plague and poison and medicine.

Ayeee fun that they used the teleporter on WZY instead of as a getaway

Lmfao ZYC just standing there taking a huge hit of the poison smoke. Poor baby doesn’t watch movies and doesn’t know smoke from a bad guy always means some kind of poison

Why does poisoned!ZYC have such an incredible smokey-eye siren look I’m shook

After knowing the poison is about indulging in your greatest wishes, the first moment ZYC woke up and approached ZYZ they sure looked like they were about to indulge in something sorry ignore me

The way this is so similar to ZYZ’s imaginings where he and WX always turn around and look at the camera. The show wants censors to believe they’re looking at ZYZ but we've known all along who the third POV is here

Also why aren’t ZYC’s bro and dad in the wish illusion?

Ohh the eerie instrumental rendition of the OST when ZYC draws his sword is too good. And yesss we were so due for some more crazy dream fuckery like is this real? Is this real??

Ep 32:

The team is spread so thin )-: One man (mountain god) down and a whole town to save and an immortal villain to vanquish.

WZY's eagerness in trying to goad ZYC into killing himself while poisoned is so so sinister goddamn. I love how disturbing it is to slowly realize what he wants without any lines at all

ZYZ shielding ZYC from a huge fucking fireball with just his hand is adorable and sad:

I already normally love Li Lun's whole leaf-swirly entrances and exits but you know I cheered when he deus ex machina-ed his way here!!! With that bgm too!!!

Li Lun came back to accept ZYC into their throuple. He's had some time to think and yeah he's decided ZYC's kinda hot and maybe shouldn't die or else ZYZ will be sad.

):

ZYC's soft and anguished, "Qing Geng" when he realizes she gave him her inner core. That's my bleeding heart hero ;-;

Throuple of the fucking yearrrrrr:

Spoiler for ep 33/34 but—watching Bai Jiu watch the three of them and realize he can't do anything to help here... It would have been dangerous for him to stay, but I wonder if things could have ended differently ):

Ep 33:

Oughhhhh Pei Siheng ))): The cruel fucking poetry of PSJ, the most emotionally closed-off character, having her heart, her brother, made into her armor. And then to lose him once more.

ZYC proving time and again that his heart is entirely boundless and he'll shelter anyone from the rain and he just wants everyone to live:

LI LUN/ZYC LOVERS HOW ARE WE FEELIN'?!?

Did not expect MORE ZYC choking now that they're on the same side but yeah Li Lun is not one to let go of a good thing I get it. I'm screaming but I get it. "I'm giving you half my demonic power" yeah right just admit you like doing this dw Li Lun this is a safe space.

Literally what am I watching and also no don't mind me, keep going. Feral over ZYC dropping his hand and letting it happen.

But lmfao the way Li Lun did not need to be doing all that, like he sends his power out to ZYZ without even making physical contact. He could've just grabbed ZYC by the shoulder.

Can't believe I just keep winning:

ZYC didn't even know what Li Lun was doing putting his arms around him and he just let it happen. That's some next level trust.

Ah goodbye Li Lun, presumably another victim of the "(ex-)villains can't have good endings" brand of censorship

Oof I love that the initial horror after the seeming victory is reserved first for the simple fact that ZYC and ZYZ are separated, that ZYC can't go to him the way he was intending to. Even when it's unclear yet that WZY is still alive, just the wrongness of them being divided this way is so poignant. ZYC has such a helpless look about him when he says ZYZ's name.

Goddammit WZY saw Li Lun choke ZYC and got ideas.

Oh I love the uncertainty of whether the One-Word Spell works on ZYC or not. ZYZ's sudden and intense fear. Also though WZY tries to use ZYC dying as a deterrent for ZYZ blowing up the barrier but he's literally choking the life out of ZYC as we speak

Bai Jiu's completely unrestrained screaming and crying in pain is so brutal to listen to. His scenes go on forever. Also, the choice of having some of his flashbacks be blurred and vague in the background, once again something privately kept for the character

ZYC holding out his hand to ZYZ a third time ;-; The utter relief of being able to reach each other again paralleling that previous horror of separation.

ZYC physically feeling Bai Jiu's death oh god. We do not get a single moment of happiness and victory in this drama everything is bought with pain and returns pain I hate it here.

Also another post-finale thought (spoilers for the end of the drama)—If ZYZ remained in his weakened state, I really am curious if he would have still met the conditions of the prophecy (ZYC being cursed to kill the most evil demon of his time, if the prophecy is indeed conditional like that, of course). If that could have been a technical loophole, did Li Lun giving both of them his power and then ZYC giving ZYZ his as well basically fulfill it again? I mean, logistically speaking, without that extra power, I'm not sure if ZYZ would have been able to trigger the Baize cycle again (or whatever it is he did to save the town). So the show's final tragedy can be traced all the way back to these moments of giving out of love and protection, just as Bai Jiu being in the perfect place for his final sacrifice came about because ZYC, ZYZ, and Li Lun were trying to protect him and get him out of danger. The way love and grief are so helplessly, inevitably intertwined that one begets the other. They were all just trying to save each other.

On that completely painful note, that's 30-33! And it'll be downhill from here for the next one (-:

[deanmarywinchester]

okay too-earnest longpost about erotica below the cut. everyone look away

this has definitely been said before i just needed to articulate my thoughts on it but. the operative fantasy of a huge percentage of explicit fic isn’t falling in love, or specific kinks, it’s “a novel sexual experience, that I don’t have to negotiate or ask for, that completely turns my brain off (and kinks on/undoes my deep-seated psychological issues) in a way I didn’t previously know I needed.” from my limited experience with romance novels there’s some overlap but some stuff here feels specific to fic. and obviously this is a huge generalization, caveat that it applies /in general/ to the more popular fics in the mostly-genre fiction fandoms ive been part of in the last ten years, etc etc. Okay.

there’s a lot I could raise as examples here but one is this specific ofmd fic (for all ofmd created one of the most embarrassing fandoms ever it also brought some of the most talented and deranged fic writers out of the woodwork). in it, Izzy Hands, mr. pain kink dogmotif himself, stops pining for his boss Ed to care about him long enough to have mindbogglingly unsafe sex with a certain pirate from a different tv show, which makes ed crazy enough to give izzy what he actually wanted. and I have no actionable desire to be kept at knifepoint and bitten bloody but this fic is still blisteringly hot because 1) it’s a fantasy of someone immediately and unspokenly clocking what gets you off (in a way nobody, maybe even you, has before) and 2) it gets at izzy’s issues re: nobody liking him enough to claim him and the fact that he desires pain as a proxy for that kind of claiming

and I feel like this is why the “it was nothing like kissing a woman—women were Soft and Feminine while kissing Guy McMan was like Sandpaper and Whiskey” thing that we all make fun of now was an extant trope — it’s the misogyny, yes, but it’s also the novelty, the “i never knew I wanted this before but knowing that I want it has fixed me.” as a supernatural fandom scholar I can use the fandom popularity of rhonda hurley’s, uh, contribution to dean winchester’s psyche as another example here. and as a throuple scholar this is also the power behind leverage’s Hardison/Parker/for-the-first-time Eliot fic, and challengers “any two of us are at each others’ throats but add the third and for the first time I feel completely understood” fic. novelty! someone knowing you in a way you don’t have to ask for or explain to them! with your dick out!

and the second part of the phrase, “a novel sexual experience that kinks on/undoes your psychological issues” is also a big part of the fantasy, like. this is why it’s fun for people to start a new piece of media and point a “praise kink” beam at the guy who’s never felt good enough, or hit characters who grew up under oppressive institutional authority with hammers the cat o’nine tails.

and marinating in this soup does funny things to your sexual development. as a longtime fic reader you might not end up with a forcefem kink but instead a “watching The Character realizing they have a forcefem kink” kink. I don’t have a thing for pain, I have a thing for “being in someone else’s brain as they experience pain as sexual for the first time and get an endorphin high.” much different disorders that can come from getting your sex ed from worse places than extremely online writers but disorders nonetheless

[fxckin-blackbeard]

ᒥ🐙ᒧ—        "Fuck off!" He shouts when covered in rum and glass. Izzy cowers, expecting more than threats, but when no pain came he lets out a sigh of relief. This, this is what he was used to. Minimal pain with simple threats, it's what he admired in a strong, sure Captain. Maybe working under Hook wouldn't be so bad.

Izzy made his way up slow, he was still adjusting to the wooden leg, he hadn't had it long judging by how slow and unsure he seemed to move. "Here, Captain Hook." The man grumbles, not happy that he would have to face Edward so soon. At least he was drunk, that means he was numb to the fear.

Not much talking would happen, however, for when they entered they would find Ed in the same place Smee had found him when he brought in breakfast for the man. Passed out holding an empty bottle of poppy seed whiskey.

Izzy looks distraught at the sight, so much for the rum numbing him. "I-I...We shouldn't be in here..." He mumbles, his body shaking with fright. "H-He'll...He'll take another toe if I wake h-him..." The man was deathly pale, he'd seen Edward like this enough in the last month to know waking him was like waking a sleeping bear.

Killian shrugged at the response. "Glad that we can agree on something, I don't want you talking to him neither. But he still loves you too, in some fucked up toxic stockholm sort of way. If I tell him you're being a prick and not wanting to talk to him we're going to have a depressed Ed on our hands all over again..." He tried to explain to the former first mate who was blowing him off. Izzy didn't respect nice in his old fashioned pirate ways, cold and cruel was what got through to him.

The young captain dropped his cane so he could snatch the bottle away from Izzy and smashed it against the wooden post the hammock was tied to, raining glass and what was left of rum over the older man. He then held the broken bottle threateningly at the other's throat. "I'm not asking you to sing, I'm ordering you to listen to whatever Ed has to say. Don't make me tell you twice." Killian said coldly and sure he had gotten his point across he stepped back and tossed the broken bottle. Carefully crouching down to pick his cane back up. "Someone come clean up this broken glass!" He called out, a crewman in another hammock nearby that had been startled awake came over to sweep up without hesitation. Killian already making his way back up to the main deck where he'd wait at his cabin door for Izzy to catch up.

[rei-ismyname]

EXCEPTIONAL X-MEN #3 FTA

After a pretty disappointing week of X-Men comics it's a delight to read and analyse Eve Ewing's Exceptional X-Men. The repeated issues I have with the other titles are just not present here and after three consistent bangers Ewing and co have my trust.

Emma is right

We pick up exactly where issue #2 left off, and this opening scene of all the main characters makes me realise how tightly the execution is. We know where each of them is at and (at least broadly what they want) - we're getting to know the kids organically. Where the other two books feel like action figures isolated from each other for no good reason, Kate Pryde's need to get away from the X-Men was established before the title even began. She just wants a normal life, to date girls and process her trauma. Emma Frost showing up to answer the call she refused throws her off immediately and they briefly scrap. The kids aren't just saying nothing because they didn't get a script today (hi Jubilee) - they're frozen by Emma. It's a small thing, but it's purposeful and flows elegantly.

Priti, Kate's housemate/friend from school, breaks up the fight for the most relatable reason - she doesn't want to lose the security deposit. Perhaps a sign that Kate doesn't fit into the 'norma'l world as much as she wants...or Emma just really knows how to push her buttons. I think Emma is hurting too, though she hides it under her usual scene-stealing exterior. I can't wait for more of their dynamic. Yeah, they'll almost certainly figure out a working relationship but their pain isn't being dismissed either. I feel like the pair are a successful version of what Gail Simone is doing with Rogue.

They stop fighting and have a little tea party, then Axo asks the question I'd been dreading the answer to - 'do you trust Emma or not?' Kate grew up being terrified of Emma with good reason and never let her forget why she did not trust her. Emma spent decades earning that trust and proving herself a hero, leader and teacher - but the First Krakoan Age had them grow closer than ever before. They worked well together and became friends, they were a force for good on Krakoa (mostly.) It's a shame that this is a metric, but two thumbs up for not rolling any of that back. These feel like the members of the resistance who were there for each other in Fall of X. Kate herself is regressing a little, but it's believable as a trauma response.

Kate doesn't want to train young mutants and Emma does. Prito even has a space they can use and the kids are keen! Everyone is happy then, right? Well, I think that's going to be the core tension for a while. Everyone except Kate wants this, but I think Kate needs this.

This 'getting to know you' circle does a lot of work in centering the young mutants, reminding us they're here to stay while showing us who they are and the beginning of their social dynamic. I haven't been a teen for a long time but their voices sound authentic, even to the point of highlighting that Bronze/Trista is a bit younger than the other two.

Agreed, do not read the comments.

They want to be doing this! One of the most challenging parts of being a teen is navigating peer groups. Solidarity in experiencing the same kind of otherness plus scary body changes is healthy, and it's lovely to chalk up a W despite the fact that 'people hate us.'

This issue also asks the question Rogue did in Uncanny #1, but as organic dialectic. It introduces the tension between self defense and being a superhero when you have powers - the difference between Emma and Kate externalised. Kate is excited despite herself until Emma shows up with costumes, and I think she's right to push back or at least be wary. But is this about her or the kids? It's not the most admirable contradiction but it's very human. They're both right that the old ways were flawed and they need to try something new.

Is she talking about Colossus? MF is not that gentle. Their costumes look amazing.

Unsurprisingly, Emma and Kate are a great team. There's tension underneath there, but they wouldn't be doing this if their friendship didn't run deep. New kids in relaunches past have often had their powers explained by Cerebro or a nosy telepath. Learning about it from their mouths as they're starting to use them in a controlled environment achieves the wiki entry, shows them learning to use them, and importantly gives us more of their personality.

Emma conjures up some Brood-like baddies and everyone freaks out but some growth is evident. It's Axo that figures out they're not real. Kate is not impressed. I doubt they'll throw down, but her sending the kids away feels like an extreme reaction. Good, she's got shit to say and hurts that need to be spoken. The kids don't leave, but we're left with all this tension in the air to be resolved next issue.

I LOVE that the three kids cuddle/huddle in the background.

Who better to break the ice (sorry) than Bobby Drake? Having him just fly in the window and cooling down the tension (sorry again) could feel random and silly but it works. These two have a lot of history and it makes sense that he'd seek her out. Kate has been turning her back on anyone X-related - will she freeze Bobby out too? The kids are awed by him and it's half the Marauders back together, so I don't think he'll get the cold shoulder.

I feel very confident in calling Exceptional X-Men the best X-Men book in From The Ashes. It's got an honesty and sincerity to it while remixing the hits of first arcs and adding plenty of new. The art style is colourful and emotive which adds so much to a book taking people's feelings seriously. If you pick up nothing else, this is the one.

[puer-aurea]

Divine Intervention (Mouthwashing AU)

Part 1 | Part 2 (You are here) ive decided to call this au Divine Intervention cz i think it sounds cool and is sorta fitting? it wont be mentioned anywhere in the fic cz it doesnt happen but their rescue takes place the day before everyone dies in game. so she saved them at the last second basically

After a brief introduction to the rest of the crew, Arabella is led to the med-bay to meet the previous captain. Anya and Jimmy accompany her while Daisuke and Swansea pack some things. The old captain looks their way and seems to freak out a little when he sees the new person.

"It's okay, Curly... She's here to help." Anya walks up to the man.

He looks near death, hardly alive enough to be called a man. If it didn't feel wrong from a medically moral standpoint, Arabella would've considered him a walking corpse in her head. But he was alive enough to move, make noise, and hurt, so he was alive enough to be saved. Jimmy stays by the doorway while she walks towards the old captain and the nurse.

"Hello, Captain Curly-"

"He is no longer captain." Jimmy interrupts angrily, like the one thing he has is being taken from him.

"Well, Jimmy, I'm afraid neither are you-" she turns to face him- "since your crew agreed to board my ship and be rescued, whoever was captain, legally or acting, is absolved of their duties. From now until we land, you are all patients under the care of No Boundaries Search and Rescue team member Arabella Inara. Which is me, if you can't tell."

She waits for Jimmy to respond if he decides to. He looks like he's trying to be intimidating. When he figures all eyes have been on him for long enough, he mutters a 'whatever' and walks away. "I didn't think he would just leave? He's distrusting but doesn't seem to care enough to ensure I can be trusted." Arabella states.

"He is... not a very good man." Anya explains quietly.

The half dead captain struggles and groans on the table, seemingly freaking out again. The girls turn their attention back to him and Arabella pulls a small med-kit out of her suit pocket. She places it on a nearby table before pulling out a vial and a syringe. The sight makes Anya and the dying captain panic slightly.

"W-what are you doing?" Anya stands in front of him defensively.

Arabella gives a confused look before realizing she didn't explain her intent.

"Oh, don't worry more than you need to. It's morphine to put Captain Curly to sleep while we move him to my ship and get everything situated. I figured it would be easier on both us and him. Since you would technically be his leading caregiver as the Pony Express nurse, you can decide if I should give him it or not."

Anya looks nervously at the syringe and Arabella. She thinks for a moment before sighing and relaxing, moving out of the way.

"Go ahead..." She hangs her head low as if she's admitting defeat. "Okay Captain Curly, if you can accept this shot gracefully, then when we get you on my ship and you wake up, I will have a proper conversation about my plans to get you all home. Well, about as proper of a conversation as we can." Arabella stands over him with the syringe, waiting.

After a moment of no indication of a response, the captain simply turns his head to the side and up a little, as if he was offering his neck. Actually, he was offering his neck. A silent agreement to Arabella's words. She places the syringe up to his neck and pushes it in as gently as possible. He fidgets slightly from the pain but remains mostly calm. When it's in far enough, she pushes down so the morphine goes in and removes it as carefully as she put it in. It was fast acting and the old captain was unresponsive quick enough for Arabella to store the syringe in vial back in the med-kit before the rest of the crew approached.

"Are you all ready to go then?" Arabella asks.

"More than ready! I'm so homesick!" Daisuke responds in a cheery tone.

"Great, if one of you could carry Captain Curly to the loading area then almost everything is good to go. I'll help Anya get her stuff and take whatever is still of use from here. Can never have too much medical supplies." Arabella gives the order to no one in particular but Jimmy still scoffs and does it as if he was the one who was asked.

The crew, minus Anya, headed off to the loading area while Arabella and her worked on gathering whatever supplies weren't ruined. When they seemed to be far enough out of earshot, Arabella abruptly stopped.

"Where is your cockpit?"

[ilyrafe]

𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒚𝒆𝒕 ✧ 𝒅. 𝒔.

pairing: drew starkey x f!reader

warnings: miscarriage but its so fluffy yall :((

word count: 1.2k

a/n: this is so shitty y’all i’m sorry djfjdk

pls he looks so cute here

when you said you wanted him to enjoy the moment with his family, he thought it was strange, but he didn’t argue. you’ve always understood how close he is to his family, and this moment in his career is important, you want him to celebrate with his parents, siblings, and closest friends.

you’ve only been together for a short time, and you’re not close enough to his family to be at family gatherings, you don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.

“we can celebrate later, just you and me.” you said, sealing your promise with a kiss, before you left his apartment, three days ago.

drew found it strange, but he thought you were just giving him space, which he appreciated. after a lot of family celebration, he went to your place, ready to spend at least a whole weekend, which you loved. there’s so much to talk about.

when you think about it, you didn’t think this thing with drew would go as far as it has been, because his schedule is chaotic and so is yours. when you first met, he was about to go to morocco to shoot outer banks, but he kept texting, calling.

“i know this is kinda all over the place right now, but i wanna see where this is going. do you?”

“i do.”

and that was it. you knew then and there, with only three weeks of dating (online dating for the most part), that you were in love. he’s so sweet, and so silly, too. somehow, you trust him. after being let down so many times, he’s made you feel safe from day one.

you’re not scared to tell him.

you’re on your bed, just waiting for him to get out of the shower. you’re barely paying attention to the tv, you’re just mindlessly scrolling through reels on your instagram, just waiting.

he comes out, shirtless, with damp hair and wearing the sluttiest thing a man can wear - black boxers that fit him just right. he’s such a beautiful man.

“d’you wanna take a picture?” he jokes when he catches you staring.

“you do it on purpose, don’t you?”

“of course i do.”

he gets under the covers and immediately latches onto you, resting his head on your chest. all he really wants is to feel you near him. it turns out, he wanted you with his family. he wanted you there, he wanted to properly introduce you to his loved ones, but maybe you’re not ready and he’ll give you all the time you need.

“i’ve missed you so much,” he says, his voice muffled by your skin.

you smell like french vanilla, and he loves that scent on you. he delights himself in your touch, when your nails lightly scratch his scalp and the nape of his neck.

“i’ve missed you, too. very much.”

he smiles against your skin and takes a long, deep breath, finally allowing his body to relax.

“um… so, i was kind of wanting to talk to you.” you say, trying to sound calm. well, you are calm, but you are also just a tad nervous.

he sits up, no longer relaxed.

“what is it?”

you sigh, look down and extend your hands, as a silent request for his. drew understands and places his hands on yours. your face is serene, but he can tell something is wrong.

“babe, tell me. i knew something was wrong, you were too distant these last couple of weeks.”

you chuckle - you can’t hide anything from this man.

“i’m gonna preface it by saying that i am okay, i am fine, but something did happen, and i’ve debated whether or not i should tell you, and i thought that you deserve to know.”

“you’re scaring me.”

“no, please, it’s… it’s okay. just let me say it all first and then you can speak, okay?” drew doesn’t respond, but you take his silence as a nod. “so, a few weeks ago, i was taking a shower and felt a weird abdominal pain, and then there was blood. i wasn’t on my period, so i got a bit scared and went to the hospital. i had a few tests done and found out… um…” you trail off, because this is surprisingly hard to talk about. he lightly squeezes your hands, encouraging you to keep going. “i had a miscarriage.”

oh.

wait.

what?

“a miscarriage?”

“i didn’t know. the doctor explained that it was common for women to have a miscarriage before even knowing they were pregnant.”

drew is quiet, absorbing the whole information. you were pregnant, and didn’t even know it. you had a miscarriage and he wasn’t there for you.

“why didn’t you tell me? i would’ve taken the first flight back to be here with you.”

“i know you would, that’s why i didn’t.” you explain, kissing the back of his hand right after. “also, i needed to figure it out by myself first. i was shocked to learn through a miscarriage that i was pregnant. it was a lot to process.”

“i can’t even imagine. but… how are you now?”

“i’m okay, i promise. i have one last appointment next week.”

“i’ll go with you.”

“okay. that’d be great, actually.”

he sighs, a bit relieved. at least you’re okay.

“i thought you should know because, well, i was pregnant. and if nothing had happened, i would still be pregnant, and i know it’s early, we haven’t talked about these things and i’m not pressuring you to do or say anything, but i still wanted you to know. felt really wrong to keep this from you.”

“no, you did the right thing.” he says, kissing the back of your hand. “i’m just sorry you went through all of this alone.”

“it’s okay, though. i wanted you to be the first person to know. and maybe the only one. i don’t think we should tell anyone else about this. like, it��d be just… pointless.”

“right. but, uh, if you do want to talk about kids, we can.”

“oh?”

“i mean… i’ve thought about it.” he admits. “i’m the eldest of the family, my mom has already started asking me for grandbabies, she says liliana needs a cousin.” you giggle. “but at the same time, the life i live today wouldn’t be possible with a kid, if i’m honest. i barely have time to sleep, let alone raise a child, and if i’m meant to have kids, i want to be there.”

“when i would think about children, i thought about pregnancy and how i needed to avoid it like the plague during my teenage years,” you laugh. “even when some of my friends got pregnant, i never really saw myself in their position, you know? i guess it wasn’t a priority for me, and still isn’t, but… i’m not ruling it out.”

“i’m not either.”

“so… there’s that.” you shrug, relieved that it all went well. “thank you for listening, i was a bit nervous.”

he nods, completely enchanted by you. he wishes he could navigate difficult topics the way you do. so natural, so easy. you seem to have your shit together and he’s so jealous of that.

“you can always tell me anything.”

“i know.”

“if something like this happens again, tell me. i don’t want you to go through anything bad alone ever again, okay?”

you nod, letting him hug you. oh, you love him.

“we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it and other stuff, too.”

i love feedback! let me know what you think!

[fourstarsoutofnine]

To get away, Chapter 5

Things we don’t speak of.

Not beta read lol

Tw: talks about ptsd and healing, and legend self loathing but are we surprised? No.

“So.” The traveler said, eyes drooping as he and the veteran walked out of your room. He was still exhausted.

“So.” The veteran mirrored him.

“Are we going to talk about that?”

The veteran took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. “Link. There are some things we don’t talk about… things we don’t speak of….” He took another breath. “This is one of them.”

“Often, those are the things we need to speak of most… you know I’ll understand more than anyone.” The traveler put a hand on his shoulder.

He turned to him slightly, a pained expression on his face. “…but will you? Will you really?”

“Have I ever given you a reason to think otherwise?”

The veteran stalled, looking off beside the traveler’s head. “…no.”

“Exactly. Let me in.” His grip on the vet’s shoulder tightened slightly. Comfortingly. That pressure was comforting.

The vet pulled him down the stairs and outside. He was never good at talking about his feelings and trauma, and goddesses forbid anyone else being around to hear it. He took a deep breath and looked off, not wanting to look the traveler in the face while he spoke.

“…one of my adventures consisted of…” he paused. “a dream. And that was the only time I’ve ever… trusted someone with—me… and that wound me up losing who at the time I was so sure was the love of my life. I lost her to this big stupid windfish. The entire thing was fake—it was the windfish’s dream and i had to wake him up. Marin was gone after that. The island was gone.” He fought back the bile rising in his throat. “It’s all just a distant memory now but-…. All the time, I’m terrified of waking up and everything being a dream. It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like I can’t let myself be happy, and I hate it. Why do I do that? Why can’t I just let myself be happy?”

The veteran finally looked over at the traveler, tears in his eyes and threatening to spill. The traveler wrapped him in a tight hug. “Fear does that, Link. Creeps up on you. Sometimes you’ll go ages without thinking about it and then all of a sudden bam. You’re back in. You feel like you’ve been dragged back, claw marks in the dirt—but you haven’t. You don’t have to start over every time you have a flashback. And you don’t have to stop yourself from being happy… you can let yourself be happy. Don’t waste your life waiting on the other shoe will drop… Cause you’ll realize it never will, and realize you’ve spent so long trying to survive that you never lived.”

The veteran took a deep breath and his shoulders shook. He was crying. That soft, quiet cry developed into a sob as years of unprocessed trauma and heartbreak came forth, flowing out like a cup of wine left under a running tap. Healing.

“If—it happened so long ago—why does it still hurt so bad?” He choked out, muffled by the traveler’s tunic.

“It’s like a bone.” He said softly. “When a bone heals wrong, you have to break it again so it will heal properly. Then you can use it.” He rubbed his back.

The veteran felt small. He realized this was the smallest he’d ever felt in his life. He always saw the traveler as his younger brother. Someone he had to protect. Someone he loved more than himself…now, he felt like the little brother. Felt like a little boy. A kid. Cradled by his older brother, hidden away from what cruelty lies outside. Safe. The veteran felt safe.

“I’m sorry.” The traveler spoke again. “I’m so sorry that happened to you… and I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone there for you then… im sorry you feel like you need to be guarded all the time. You don’t… not with us, at least… we are all here for you. Anything you need…”

The vet nodded. He sat up and wiped his eyes, sniffling. “Thanks, man…” he sighed heavily, head feeling heavy and thick from crying. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he hated it. He hated to cry. Hated feeling small and weak.

“A bone has to be rebroken before it can heal properly.” He remembered. He wasn’t weak. He was healing.

“Really.” He spoke again. “I really, really appreciate it… thank you.” He hugged him tight.

“Always. I’m always here. So are the others…” he pulled away when the veteran did. A cold breeze passed through them and they both shuddered. “We should get inside. You need sleep.”

“..i can’t go back in there with her. I don’t—“ the veteran tried to make excuses but they died on his tongue when the traveler put a hand on his shoulder.

“You can. Just go in there. You were rooming together anyway… she’s alright. Healed, thanks to whatever powers she’s got. Go sleep in a bed.” He smiled. “You’ll wish you had a bed to sleep in a few days from now.”

The veteran huffed a laugh for the first time in a good few days. “Got that right…” they made their way back inside. Everyone had gone to bed by now. They went up to their rooms, the traveler pausing while the veteran went inside. “Night, traveler.”

“Goodnight, vet.” He smiled. “Sleep well.”

The door clicked shut and the traveler went off to bed.

[n30n-l1ghts]

Tokyo revengers basic NSFW headcannons pt. 2

Characters- Taiju, Inui, Koko, Ran, Rindou, Sanzu, Izana, Shinichiro, Wakasa, Benkei, Takeomi

Read the first part here

Proofread by my lovely partner @nxll-n4m3

Taiju-

Chat I think we know. I think we KNOW this man has a MONSTER cock chat. Ain't nobody arguing that. He's 6'5" and built like a fucking 18 wheeler, yeah no question he's hung. 8.7. and I KNOW that's unethical. Trust me, he knows it too. And he'd be more cocky about it if it didn't dissuade almost everyone from even attempting to take that. I feel like he wouldn't have much, if any experience. I can see him sleeping around a teensy bit to relieve stress and then getting really guilty about it. But then again, he's a very pious man, so I can also absolutely see him saving himself for marriage (though he might cheat a teensy bit with oral or mutual masturbation) speaking of which, this man is SO guilty about falling for a guy. You're gonna have to deal with the world's most internalized homophobe ever. Religious trauma is a hell of a thing. A swift topic change, grooming. I don't see him caring much, but he will tidy it up a bit if you want him to. All while very loudly grumble curses under his breath of course. Long, thick, black and surprisingly not all that curly.

Seishu-

He gives me the vibe of someone who can be surprisingly subby if he trusts you enough. But he'd need to REALLY trust you to be that vulnerable in your presence. He's absolutely a switch and I don't think he actually has much of a preference, apart from the fact that he's more top and dom leaning the less he knows you. Then again, he has to trust you a fair amount to get into bed with you anyways, this boy does not sleep around even a little. Actually he hates the idea and finds it a little scumbaggy. As for physical description, pretty middle of the road both in size and grooming. 6.2-3, absolutely a grower and not a shower. His cock is the same really pale colour as his skin. He keeps himself a little tidy down south, but can't be bothered to give it more than a trim every now and again. Wispy and blonde, honestly looks almost white in the right lighting.

Koko-

Fancy rich boy smells like fancy rich soap and fancy rich cologne. Nah jk, that man wears perfume not cologne, and honestly, more power to him, he pulls it the fuck off. I think he's very cleanly. Clean, orderly, and fancy shmancy. Tell me why I think he'd own stupid expensive lingerie? I know he would. He swears up down and sideways the first time you find them that they're not for him to wear (they totally are). Pretty big toy collection too, can't convince me otherwise. This man needs his ass ate, I don't make the rules, I just work here. He NEEDS IT. He's super clean down there so it's not gross or anything, and it's just about his favorite activity. In other words, eat the rich- (who said that-) decent 5.7, not particularly large, but enough to get the job done. He's another one I feel like honestly might prefer being clean shaven. He might have a small tuft of curly black hairs, but it would definitely be meticulously kept as he can't stand the feeling of too much hair down there, it annoys him to no end.

Ran-

Biggest tease. BIGGEST TEASE. Brat. BRAT. He's a switch, but by God is he a pain in the ass as a bottom. He doesn't know the meaning of the word submit. He will get on your nerves and try to provoke you until you're fed up and just bend him over the nearest surface. Lowkey gives me the vibe of an exhibitionist. Like, semi-public sex would turn him on so much. Drag him into a bathroom or random alleyway and he'll pop an instant boner. Definitely a brat taming kink and it goes both ways, it's just whoever feels like putting the other in their place, he's cool with it either way. Pull his hair, wrap your hand around his throat, he's a lil freaky freak like that. Really though, an experimentalist, he's willing to try damn near anything at least twice. Definitely has a fair amount of experience, total fuckboy over here. He has a revolving door of guys and gals that want to get in those pants. It's really not that hard to do, what is hard to do is get into that heart. (Cheesy I know) But seriously, if you somehow manage to actually bag this man, you have him under lock and key and he's yours forever, loyal as a dog despite what you might think. Probably about 6.10ish maybe pushing 7" when fully erect. Man's is six feet tall, he's got some length to him, just saying. I feel like he would stay on top of grooming pretty alright, largely because of how much he likes to sleep around, he needs to be presentable down there at all times just in case he randomly bags a hottie while he's out. After getting into a relationship, he's a bit more indifferent to it, but still likes to keep it a little tidy for your sake.

Rindou-

A lot of people assume he's also a fuckboy because of Ran, he's not, and that assumption actually bugs him a lot. He finds sleeping around to be pointless and stupid, and he lowkey kind of silently judges Ran for it. He's a sadistic assholes that loves mocking your whining. At least in the bedroom, he's surprisingly sweet otherwise and just in general. But that same sadistic side that shows when he's fighting shows through during sex. I feel like he might bottom with some convincing, but he'll also be a brat. (A brat that sobs openly when edged enough) However he'll do the same to you when things are the other way around. To my masochistic brothers, here's your man. He's safe and consensual about it, maybe periodically checking up on you but he will absolutely pull your hair, bite you, whip you, spank you, slap you, hell maybe even spit on you if that's your thing. He's a pretty big S&M guy in general, but is the world's biggest enthusiast of *safely* practicing bdsm. Informed consent is key with this man (as it fucking should be). He's the type who likes music in the background, but he is willing to let you choose the music. He can go without, but he prefers it with. 6.7 in length I feel like sounds about right for him. He may or may not decide to actually groom down there, no real guarantee, it depends on the day and how he feels. I headcannon him to be borderline or straight up gender fluid, swapping between cis masc and enby. Some days he prefers it with a little bush and other days he's just like "No. No this cannot do, it must go." So, y'know- ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Sanzu-

Oh, where do I even start with this batshit crazy bastard of a druggie (He's just like me frfr). Admittedly, probably doesn't sleep around much, even though he tries. His crazy scares almost everyone away, if the scars didn't already do the trick (wanna know how I got these scars lookin' headass) but honestly, you probably met him at a bar or a club, and he was probably flirting with you because he's high as shit. I can't see him easily getting into a relationship, but when he does he's absolutely infatuated. Devoted. You are his god. It's almost unsettling how far he's willing to go for you. That also translates into the bedroom. He has his preferences, (AHEM body worship) but assuming he truly does love you and it's not just some spur of the moment one nighter, he's more than willing to do anything, and I mean ANYTHING to please you. No kink too nasty or too far for him. He'll do that in everyday life too. If want him to buy something for you, legal or illegal, he'll do it. He'll make it happen. You hate someone, or someone getting creepy on you? They suddenly go *cough cough* "missing". He loves him some high sex, but I can see him wanting to be at least mostly sober during sex if you're dating. To savor the experience, really. He would totally get high after though. Snorting lines after sex is his go to. A little on the smaller side-ish, maybe around 5.4 or so. But he can use it pretty well if he's sober. He gets sloppy and borderline animalistic when high. He does not care AT ALL about grooming, but again he'd blow up the sun for you if he truly loves you, so he'd do it before you could finish blinking if you ever asked him to.

Izana-

Our favorite half Filipino boy right here. First things first. Sensitive. This man is so incredibly starved for attention and love, he can handle the hardest punches like a champ, but if you lightly and lovingly trace his skin, he's gone. He's dead, putty in your hands. His mind buffers like he's running on widows xp with dial up. He cannot compute this. Rough sex he's fine with, it's probably what he's used to, what he's comfortable with. But soft, gentle, slow sex? It's gonna take a minute to build up to that point. But seriously, hold this man like he's made of glass for a minute, he needs it. He'll complain about it, but he loves it. He so desperately needs someone to show him that sunshine and rainbows even exist at all. He's possesive too. If you show him an ounce of affection, he'll demand gallons and will never let anyone near you. Because how dare you even consider showing anyone else that same affection? It's like how he hates Mikey because of his jealousy over Shinichiro. Anyone who he deems to be a threat, he'll hate them (he's borderlining yandere) Really he's just jealous because he's insecure, give him reassurance and he'll calm down. Well, somewhat. I can imagine him being pretty middle of the road, 5.8 would be my guess. Another type who doesn't pay much mind to his grooming down there, especially in the time skip. Much like Sanzu, this man damn near worships you, so yeah, he'd start manscaping in a heartbeat if you wanted him to. Just ask and he'll do it. Main difference is with Sanzu you 100% have to tell him verbally or he'll never pick up on. Izana may or may not notice if you dislike it, still better to just tell him though. (Communication is good chat, talk to your partners jfc)

Shinichiro-

Awkward dork. Total dweeb and I mean that in the most affectionate way possible. He's a loser and a lame-o, and we all love him for it. He's so babygirl coded fr. He will do everything in his power to please you (and probably fail miserably) whether in the bedroom or not. He tries though, his heart is in the right place and that's what counts. Though he can get a little dejected and self conscious about it, so you just have to remind him that it doesn't bother you and that he's fine the way he is. Please tell him he's fine the way he is. He's tried to dirty talk once before, but ended up stuttering and then became self aware halfway through, visibly cringing because let's be honest, whatever he said was probably pretty cringy. But it just wound up in both of you laughing about it, both in the moment, and looking back on it later. But he does really love you, and it shows in everything he does. I feel like he'd really like cuddle fucking and missionary. Really, he just wants to feel close to you. He likes to be able to hug you while you fuck. He can't dirty talk for the life of him as previously discussed, so he's usually not very verbal, only really moaning out curses or your name. Don't get me wrong, he's vocal, just not verbal. Occasionally when he's in the mood for a more rough type of encounter, he can and will turn into a babbling mess underneath you. However, if you dirty talk to him at all, he will absolutely lose his mind and go beet red, hiding his face in your chest or the crook of your neck. This boy loves nothing more than looking into your eyes, carresing you and kissing you during sex. He's a hopeless romantic is what he is. Actually decently long, 7.6, makes sense, he's over six foot. I feel like he'd definitely try to groom down there when you're dating, but he might fuck up a little and nick himself a couple times. But as always, hell make an effort to look his best and do his best for you.

Wakasa-

Ahem. Point to the best ass eater please?

👉w a k a s a i m a u s h i👈

But seriously. This man's tongue is magical (yes I'm biased, he's my fav leave me tf alone) but really, he gives me the vibe of someone who knows what he's doing. He's got experience and ✨talent✨ in regards to sexy time. And he's strong enough to toss your ass around like a raggedy anne doll, even despite how short he is. C'mon, he's owns a gym and he absolutely kicks ass in a fight, you cannot convince me he couldn't throw me like a tennis ball (I want him to so badly.) Stoner vibes. Hardcore stoner vibes. This man is constantly at least a little buzzed and he's absolutely a plug. You cannot convince me otherwise, I won't listen. This shit is gospel. I feel like he'd be willing to put in some effort for his s/o, but he's a total pillow princess at heart. Whether you're riding him or railing him, as long as he feels good and doesn't have to do shit, he's a happy boy. Really he's just spoiled, doesn't feel like working for a damn thing. He'll get really pouty if you make him beg or work for it, but if you torment and torture him enough he'll comply eventually. Waka is another body worshiper I feel like. Sure, he's a pillow princess, but he likes to have his hands roaming every inch of you at all possible times. His hands and his lips. The softest touches paired with the softest kisses, peppered all over your skin because he just can't get over how perfect you are to him. If you've read my Akihiko x Stoner reader fic, I can imagine that type of scenario. You riding him or him riding you while you share a blunt, just hotboxing yourselves in your room with slow, lazy sex, all of your sense through the damn roof. Another music lover, just something soft and really chill in the background, even better when paired with a good blunt. He's touchy in general when he's high, always having to have contact with you, and he just can't keep himself off of you, same applies to the bedroom, always caressing you without even realizing it. He's packing a relatively solid 5.6. not shabby considering that he's five foot fucking three. Short king, but we love him anyways. I SAID WE STAND WITH OUR SHORT KINGS. He strikes me as the type who grooms semi-frequently, but doesn't obsess about it. He's a lazy guy, but at the same time he doesn't like to be gross y'know? He maintains it, but it's the bare minimum.

Benkei-

Gentle giant, anyone? Because that's what he is. At least when he's with you. Sure, he's only 6'2", but he's pretty fucking wide too. That, and his overall demeanour and personality just gives him the vibe of a big guy. Despite his strength and his tendency to have a hot temper sometimes, he's surprisingly gentle with you. Of course, that's unless you ask him not to be. He'd never dare lay a hand on you in everyday life, but the bedroom has different rules as we all know. He's a big fan of setting up concrete and mutually agreed upon boundaries, and there always has to be a safe word. (Honestly how it should be) Even if you don't have a consent kink, it is undeniabley impressive how hot he can make asking you for verbal consent. He needs explicit verbal consent each time, and absolutely refuses to do anything if either of you are even a little intoxicated unless it was previously discussed. He's such a gentleman in that respect honestly. He'll always listen to your preferences and prioritize your needs first. Even if your into that freaky shit and he's telling you he's just using you as a cock sleeve, really he's always chasing your pleasure more than his own. It's just how he rolls. 7.10, and I will not elaborate. That seems pretty appropriate for him, honestly. He likes to have a bush, but he likes to keep it well kept and trimmed, like how he keeps his beard quite orderly. So there is a tuft of hair down there, black or white, I'm not sure (his natural hair colour isn't confirmed, but I doubt he'd bother dying it.) and it is very well kept. Manscaping is just a part of his everyday routine, same as maintaining his facial hair, he doesn't even think twice about it anymore.

Takeomi-

Another slightly awkward dork, but he tries to pretend he's all confident. May or may not lie about how much experience he has. He might tell you he's slept around a fair bit and dated a lot of people to impress you, but it's obvious he hasn't by how nervous he gets around you. He desperately tried to hide his nervousness too. We all know he's greedy and can get a little self obsessed at times. And I can see why that might make you think that he'd be too much of a narcissist to be a good partner, and I'd say you're only about a quarter right. Yes, having a partner like you would absolutely go to his head a bit. He thinks you're like the best person to ever grace this earth, so he thinks it's a major flex that you'd choose *him* of all people. He would absolutely show you off like some kind of trophy, number one hype man right here. You become his source of pride, next to his gang. I fully believe he's another straight up worshipping type, he thinks you're way too good for him, and as a result hails you like some kind of god and will flaunt you with pleasure. Though if close enough to him, he might be more willing to be vulnerable around you and admit to his overwhelming insecurities and lack of self esteem. It's no secret that his sense of self worth is derived from achievements and material possessions, which is just a tad bit of an issue. Just a tad. This all 100% translates into the bedroom. Tries so hard and fails so miserably to act confident. He'd be more likely to top especially towards the beginning because he feels he has something to prove, he feels that he needs to be more dominant just to show you he cares. But with some time, discussion and a fuckload of reassurance, he'd be willing to bottom. May or may not feel a bit emasculated by it though. Could be a bit of a whiner/whimperer, but again, it takes him a minute to be that comfortable. It's not that he doesn't trust you, he just really doesn't want you to think less of him. Same thing applies to grooming. The only reason he even tries is because he wants to look halfway decent for you. He wants to impress and come across as though he cares. If he cares for himself that makes it seem like he's more capable of caring for you, right? Well, that's his logic anyways. Likes to keep a decent sized tuft of hair because it makes him feel more masculine. Pretty well kept though if I'm being honest, he does a halfway decent job.

[yezzns]

{10:47pm}

pairings: idol!yeonjun x gn!reader

wc: ≈740 words

genre: angst, implied strangers to lovers, lovers to exes, right person wrong time (?) trope.

warnings: lame attempt of angst, self destructive relationship, yj kinda plays the victim, one (1) curse word.

not proofread

The city was cloaked in the heavy embrace of night, the distant hum of traffic blending with the steady drizzle that fell from the sky. You sat in the corner of your once-shared apartment, the flickering light from a lone lamp— the one you bought on your first anniversary, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The room, once filled with laughter and love, now felt like a tomb of broken dreams and shattered promises.

More under the cut!

Yeonjun stood by the window, staring out into the rain-soaked streets, his silhouette a stark contrast against the glass. His shoulders were tense, his posture rigid. The silence was suffocating, filled with unspoken words and unresolved pain, but in retrospect, it’s been like this for a while, so long that you can barely remember anything but this.

“How did we get here?” Your voice was a whisper, barely audible over the patter of rain against the window. Hugging your knees to your chest while trying to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Yeonjun didn’t even turn to face you— coward. “I don’t know,” he replied, his voice hollow, devoid of the warmth it once held. “I really don’t know.”

Your heart ached at his indifference. You had been so in love, so certain that nothing could come between you. But now, standing on the edge of a precipice, you can’t recognize the person he has become. Or maybe it’s yourself you can’t recognize, months have passed since the last time you felt at ease.

“Is this it, then? Are we really ending things like this?” You scoffed, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling. You hated how desperate you sounded, how broken.

Yeonjun finally turned to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “You know my career is important for me,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “How selfish do you have to be to make me choose between my dream and you?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. “I didn’t—” you started, voice trembling. “I never wanted you to choose, but I’m so fucking unhappy. You’re never here anymore.”

His expression softened for a moment, but then the hardness returned. “And you think it’s easy for me? That I’m not exhausted?” he said. “I gave up my whole youth for this, ___. I can’t go around wasting my time in distractions.”

Well, ouch. The words hung in the air, heavy and final. You knew he was right. And you had become a twisted version of what you once were, love poisoned by insecurity, unmet expectations and lack of communication. But knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less. After a while, you broke the silence, just to make this moment last.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Your voice barely a whisper. “You were so offended that we didn’t serve ramen at the restaurant.”

A sad smile tugged at the corner of Yeonjun’s lips. “Yeah, I remember. And then the next week you added it to the menu.”

You laughed softly, the sound tinged with sadness, thinking of the way he’d stop by your parent’s restaurant every week after that, a little hiding spot in his almost non existent free time. “And now look at us. We’ve come so far, only to end up like this.”

Yeonjun took a deep breath, the weight of their shared past pressing down on him. “Maybe... maybe it’s for the best,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “Maybe we need to focus on what really matters again, get our lives back on track.” What really matters.

The thought of a life without him was unbearable, yet the thought of continuing this toxic dance was equally painful. What felt like a daydream soon turned into a nightmare, the promises he couldn’t keep of balancing his career and your relationship, the forgotten birthdays, missed calls and the cold shoulder you’d give him out of spite. It was self-destructive.

But oh, the good days. Your first month together lingered in your mind for longer than you wanted it to. When it was all about stolen kisses, passionate touches and getting to know each other.

“I wish things would’ve ended different,” he continued, glistening gaze with unshed tears drifting to a picture of the two of you hung up on the wall.

“I wish things never ended.” You replied with a sad chuckle. “It feels like you don’t care.”

He sat in silence, ignoring your statement, the rain a constant backdrop to your unraveling. There were no more words left to say, no more apologies or promises that could mend the fractures in your hearts. All that remained was the painful acceptance that sometimes love wasn’t enough.

Yeonjun moved toward the door, the finality of his actions like a knife to your heart. He paused for a moment, his hand on the doorknob. “Take care of yourself,” he said softly, his voice filled with a sorrow that matched your own.

“I love you,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you didn’t expect an answer.

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the dimly lit apartment, the echo of his presence lingering in the shadows. The weight of your goodbye crashed down on you as his steps became inaudible, the possibility of never seeing who you thought was the love of your life again being more than you could handle.

In the quiet of the night, surrounded by memories of what once was, you allowed herself to grieve. Your love had been beautiful and passionate, but it had also been destructive and painful. And now, as you faced the prospect of a future without him, you knew that healing would take time.

And maybe, just maybe, you would look back and remember not the pain, but the moments of love and laughter that had once defined what you had.

A/N: this is my first time writing omg 🥴. English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes, I don’t know if I could express the feeling I wanted to but I’m really content w this work!

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 9: Freelancer

Ao3 | 5.8k Words | Freelancer’s POV

Freelancer’s last three Thanksgivings. Sunshine comes back to life. Caelum is traumatized. Gavin is no longer a prostitute. Darlin’ is also traumatized.

TW: discussions of child abuse, disordered eating habits, and sexual assault.

It was the week before your first Thanksgiving in medical school and you were standing in the morgue at Dahlia General hospital and watching a tall, handsome doctor cut into a corpse like it was an act of love. Dr. Brachium was a looker to put it mildly. You weren’t small by any means, but he hit six feet with ease. His lithe frame fell in his scrubs and drapings like his body was built specifically for medical gear to smother it. His hair was jet black and long enough he had to pin it back in a braid under his scrub cap. He was working with cadavers, not living patients, so he didn’t have to wear a mask. You preferred that, because it let you get a good look at his full lips as they quirked through soft smiles, crinkling his mono-lidded eyes handsomely as he explained how to remove and weigh the major organs as one performed an autopsy. 

This was the process, your instructors insisted. You started with theoretics, diagrams, textbooks, that sort of thing. Then, you moved on to other mammals. You dissected pigs and cats, noted that the variety that the living body was capable of made your diagrams and textbooks functionally useless for anything besides casual reference. You watched videos of surgery, practiced stitches on fruit and pig skin. Then, you watched autopsies. You watched handsome doctors like Brachium cut open mothers and brothers and daughters and struggled to find the energy to remember the person that used to inhabit the cadaver under your careful scrutiny.

Dr. Brachium spoke quietly, as though afraid to wake up the smattering of corpses laid out on tables in his pristine, freezing morgue. Eight odd students gathered around his table, just the dedicated bunch that had signed up for his late night lab slot instead of going home to their fucking families for the holidays. This was more important than a family dinner, you insisted to yourself, and your mother was far more satisfied with your performance at school than she would be with your lackluster stuffing. So, despite Lasko’s insistence that students in rigorous courses like yours did much better when they took adequate breaks, you were staying in Dahlia for your week off. He was a good advisor, and he understood a lot, but he didn’t understand this. He couldn’t. 

“That’s the last of it.” Dr. Brachium held his cadaver’s heart in his hands, still and blue. “If you look here, we can see that Mr. Swanson did indeed die of heart failure. See the pericardial fat surrounding his arteries? It was unfortunately only a matter of time. He would have been in considerable chest pain for a few weeks proceeding the cardiac arrest that eventually killed him. Should any of you become internal medicine doctors, please emphasize that your patients should always take chest pains seriously.” 

He placed the heart in the shining, metal scale, read the weight aloud for his record and carefully placed each organ inside a plastic biowaste bag, then the bag back inside the now empty body cavity. 

“If you’re on the surgical path, you’d be doing a lot of this. When you’re working with live patients, you’ll take the time to carefully arrange the organs. The body knows where they should go and will make any minor adjustments that need to be made, but the healing process can be hindered if you just… throw things in there.” He crinkled up his nose like it was a cute joke. You couldn’t help the smile that snuck onto your lips. 

The swinging double doors to the morgue opened as two doctors in white coats and light green scrubs pushed in a gurney. The small frame strapped down on it was covered in a white sheet, the kind that was meant to be waterproof but held on to blood anyway. It was dotted with red like a Halloween decoration. 

The interns ignored the eight of you and instead turned to Dr. Brachium, handing him a chart as they stripped down the trauma gloves they had been wearing. This one must have been fresh out of the trauma bay. Finally, something more interesting than a morbid heart disease. You might actually get to practice some trauma medicine before they put this one on ice. 

Brachium thanked the interns by name, something that made you feel strangely fond, and sent them back up to the emergency room. He read the chart carefully, shaking his head, a pinch of pity between his full brows. 

“That’s a shame.” He tutted. “A car accident. And so young…” he looked genuinely grieved as he handed the chart to the student closest to him, another surgical hopeful named Kody you’d had a few classes with. Kody read the chart ravenously, his eyes wide, his face breaking out into a grin. You didn’t know how Dr. Brachium managed to grieve over every body in his morgue, but your stomach flipped when you realized you felt closer to Kody’s blind giddiness at the body’s learning potential. The two of you had a similar hunger. 

Brachium pulled the sheet back, revealing a charming baby face and styled pixie cut, hair meant to stick up in this place and that very intentionally. Instead, carved bangs were matted to the corpse’s forehead with dried, blackened blood. There was a large cut across their forehead, and when you leaned in closer to get a better look, you realized it was actually a skull fracture. You starred for so long you thought you could see their pinkish, shivering brain matter. 

That was impossible, of course. Once the brain stopped functioning it changed color, from healthy pink and gray to blueish-green. You were seeing things. 

Brachium cut away their torn clothes, revealing a sizable laceration in their stomach. He prodded around it with his gloved hands, noting the organ damage and oozing, dark blood that sprouted from the cuts in their liver. 

“This was a catastrophic crash.” Brachium shook his head. One hand landed on the corpse’s head stroking the stray hair out of their closed eyes. “Oh, little one. We don’t even know your name.” 

“How does that work?” You asked. That wasn’t actually going to be part of your job, identifying corpses, but you felt compelled to ask anyway. You felt suddenly self conscious as Brachium’s attention shifted to you. “Like… how do we figure it out? When there’s a body with no ID, I mean.” 

“There are a few ways.” Brachium nodded. He considered you for a moment before his face softened and he continued. “The police are likely still clearing the scene, and since they were driving, there is most probably a driver’s license somewhere in the vehicle. This laceration-” he waved his hand over the cut, “-was caused by the driver’s side door of the car. Look here, at the particles left in the skin.” You leaned in close, your face inches from their still-warm body. 

“Their car was blue.” You found yourself murmuring. Brachium nodded. 

“They would have had to be cut out. The car is a mess, so it might take a while to find everything we need from it. If that fails, then we move on to fingerprints, then dental records. Most people are identifiable. Most people have people who are looking for them. It is very rare for bodies to go unclaimed.” 

“Can we…” Kody gestured towards the corpse, seeming impatient with his arms crossed. Brachium broke his concentration on you and turned towards your classmate. 

“The dead are in no rush, friend.” He said softly. “We have time for any questions anybody has.” 

Your mouth clicked shut and you leaned back, embarrassment burning across your cheeks. Brachium watched, his face closing off, as you pulled away. 

You watched intently, silently, as Dr. Brachium prepared the body for the autopsy. He straightened out the gangly limbs, arranged its broken form into something resembling order, and muttered quietly as he brushed dried blood and debris from its face. Kody stepped up to stand next to you, and everytime Brachium made a soft comment, called the corpse a sweet name, said something as though to comfort it, Kody snickered softly, under his breath, where only the two of you could hear. 

You watched, your eyes on their oozing wounds, waiting for the blood flow to stop. Eventually, the pressure in the chest cavity would let up and the blood would stop. Eventually… 

You moved back around the table, towards the head. You bent at your middle, crinkling the trauma gown that had been draped over your street clothes. Your sneakers squeaked over the tile floor. You bent down and inspected the skull fracture again. By this time, the brain should have gone necrotic. You wanted to see it for yourself. 

The exposed section of their brain shone up at you under the bright, morgue lights, still pink, still twitching. 

“Wait!” You cried, as Brachium raised his scalpel to cut into their chest. Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to you. You froze suddenly under the attention, your body going cold. If you were wrong, this was going to be so fucking embarrassing. If you were right, though…

“What is it?” Brachium set his scalpel down and circled the table to stand next to you. You raised a shaking, gloved finger to the skull fracture. 

“Their brain…” you breathed, afraid that if you broke the silence that had fallen over the room, whatever life was left in them would slip away. Brachium gasped, bent closer, and then reared back. He reached blindly for the controls under the table and lowered it quickly. 

“Compressions.” He told you sternly as he stripped his gloves off and reached for two new pairs. “You-” he waved to one of your classmates, Elena, you thought, “-that big button on the wall, press it. And you-” he pointed to Kody as he slipped his new gloves on, “-just outside the door there’s a crash cart. Bring it in now.” 

“What’s happening?” Another classmate called from the back of the group. 

“They’re alive.” Brachium said. The morgue descended into chaos. 

It took fifteen minutes for more doctors to arrive, even as the Code Blue blared around the echoing space. Whoever was in charge of the alarm system turned it off at one point. Brachium had looked up, panic flashing over his eyes and ordered Elena to hit the alarm again. 

You knew how to give chest compressions. You’d been certified since you were in high school, when you’d taken every medical-adjacent course your school had to offer. It felt different on a body than it had on the dummy they gave you to practice on. You felt the corpse’s- the patient’s- ribs crack and give under your relentless movements. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Dr. Brachium intubated, slid a tude down their throat. Their hand, which had laid limp and lifeless on the slab a few minutes before, trailed up to grab at his wrist. He took it in his own and held it as he pumped the blue AMBU bag, breathing for them, in the other. 

“How does this happen?” Kody asked after retrieving the crash cart. He attached the sensors to the portable heart monitor around your hands. “Aren’t they supposed to check things like this before they even get to the ER?”

“Yes.” Brachium muttered, still whispering sweet encouragement to the patient as he worked. “They are.” 

Eventually, interns arrived, walking casually, seeming to think that this was a false alarm. You couldn’t imagine that the morgue called codes all that often, so you could hardly blame them for assuming it was an accident. As soon as they saw you and your shaking, spent arms pounding into your patient, they sprung into action. 

“Why didn’t they receive a head CT?” Brachium snapped, his voice turning sour and harsh for the first time since you’d met him a few hours ago. The two interns that had brought your patient down in the first place went pale and shared an alarmed look. 

“The paramedics said-” one started, but Dr. Brachium cut them off as somebody took over the AMBU bag for him. Somebody else pushed you out of the way and continued your compressions with renewed force. You stumbled back, a hand wrapping around your back to support you. When you looked up, Kody smiled softly and waited for you to catch your footing. 

“I don’t care what the paramedics say!” Brachium snapped. “When you receive a patient in the ER, you run the necessary checks before bringing them to me. You never take other people’s word for it when you’re dealing with someone’s life! The minutes we wasted here could have caused irreparable damage. And it’s your names- your licenses- at the bottom of their chart. Remember that next time, if you get a next time.” 

The patient was whisked away. Brachium addressed the room quickly, dismissing the lab for the evening and offering to reschedule before the end of the semester. You tugged off the trauma gown and gloves you’d been sweating into for the last few hours. Your arms were like jelly. 

“Not you,” Brachium caught your attention before you could slip out of the building. “Stay back with me for a moment, alright my friend?” 

You nodded, sparing Kody one last glance as he tutted and turned away.

Dr. Brachium was even more of a looker when not smothered by medical dressings. His shoulders and biceps filled out his scrubs wonderfully, tapering off to a thin waist and strong legs. He pulled off his scrub cap, letting down his braid and running his fingers through his long, straight hair.

“You were an incredibly capable medical professional tonight. More so than every paramedic and doctor that put their eyes on that patient and chose not to do everything they could to ensure they were actually dead before giving up. Including me.” He ran a hand over his face, once soft and handsome and now lined with exhaustion and shame. “I beg you to stay in the field.” 

“Why didn’t the paramedics check their brain activity?” You asked softly. “Ambulances in California are required to carry EEG’s.” Brachium let out a puff of air that you thought was meant to be a laugh. 

“Ambulances funded by the state are, yes.” He nodded. “But there are private companies that run ambulance services that they contract out to the state at a fraction of the price. They have less oversight on that sort of thing and discretion to hire who they like. I imagine this was caused by a series of oversights and failures throughout the night. I only hope it doesn’t cost them brain function. That long without oxygen…” 

“I should have said something sooner.” You muttered. “I thought it was strange that they were still bleeding. And I thought I was seeing things when I saw their brain matter the first time.” 

“You’re a medical student.” Brachium said softly. “And you were functioning under the belief that the professionals around you had already confirmed within reasonable doubt that they were dead. I’ve been practicing for ten years and I didn’t notice. Please do not blame yourself for this. You saved their life.” 

You nodded even as your guts twisted up with guilt. 

You were glad that Dr. Brachium didn’t make you leave. You thought you’d be eaten alive if you didn’t get to see them again. You wanted to know their name. You wanted to know if they remembered it. 

The cops had found their license half an hour ago. They’d already told their emergency contact where he could go to claim the body. Brachium called, explained shortly that they were in fact not dead, and that he would be waiting to explain all of it when he got to the hospital.

Dr. Brachium waited with you in the lobby for him to arrive. 

You knew it was him the moment he walked in. He’d been crying for a considerable amount of time, and he was trailed by a taller man who must have driven him. You couldn’t imagine anybody who loved this man would let him drive in this state. He looked wildly around the lobby, as though he would find them here. 

“Elliott?” Brachium called. His head swiveled and he seemed to nearly collapse when he put his eyes on Brachium. 

“Please tell me what the fuck is going on.” He cried. The man with him wrapped an arm around his shoulders to steady him. 

“They’re alive, Elliott.” Brachium met them where they stood, took both of Elliott’s hands in his own. “They’re in surgery, and we won’t know more until they’re out, but they are alive.” 

Elliott did collapse then, right into Brachium and the other man’s waiting arms. 

Brachium explained everything in one of the sectioned off family rooms where they told people their loved ones were dead. He had tracked down the ambulance report while you two had waited, the names of the paramedics, the names of the interns that had called it and delivered them to him, the information of every person who had looked at them since the crash for litigation purposes. He implied strongly that Elliott should sue every person on that list for medical malpractice. That list included him, of course. 

“The only reason they’re alive right now is because of this student.” You introduced yourself stiffly, shaking Elliott’s hands awkwardly. “They were attending a lab in my morgue and noticed signs of life. If it weren’t for them, I would have overlooked them as well.” 

“They weren’t breathing?” Elliott said softly. “And their heart, it wasn’t beating?” 

“No.” Brachium shook his head. “They noticed…” he trailed off, unsure of how to put the fact that you’d seen living brain matter through the hole in their head without knocking Elliott out again. 

“I noticed brain activity.” You said simply. Elliott screwed up his brow, but eventually just shook his head. He grabbed awkwardly for your hand, his still shaking, and held it firmly. 

“Thank you.” He whispered. “Thank you.” 

You left the hospital in the early hours of the morning. It was freezing, and your measly jacket didn’t do much to protect you. You shivered as you made your way across the parking lot and to the bus stop. It was a long ride home. You wondered if Gavin was free. For the first time in months, you didn’t feel bone fucking tired. You could use a distraction, whether that had anything to do with his noble profession or not. 

Something heavy and warm settled over your shoulders. You gasped and turned around, coming face to face with Kody. He’d wrapped you in his jacket, and all you could smell was the fresh, clean scent of his cologne. He smiled, his teeth long and straight, and considered you for a heavy moment before he spoke. 

“That was good work back there.” He said, his voice low and smooth. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t all that threatened by you until tonight.” 

“Oh yeah?” You replied. He crowded into your personal space, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans to fight the cold. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. His eyes had a glint to them you couldn’t place. “Come on, I'll drive you home.” 

___

Kody raped you during the first rainstorm of the following April. 

___

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Gavin said softly, straightening his sweater for the fifth time in just as many minutes. He had deep cleaned your shared apartment over the course of the last two days, gotten rid of the vast majority of his decorations (most of them were some level of explicit), and went out and bought some clothes that actually covered any amount of his skin. He looked so strange, all dressed up and wholesome in his Mr. Rogers get-up. You straightened the crisp collar of the button down under his sweater and smoothed your hand over his chest. 

“He’s gonna love you.” You said softly. “You said he was very friendly over the phone, right? It’s all gonna be fine.” 

It was the week before your last Thanksgiving in medical school, although you didn’t know that just yet, and Gavin had found out that he had a half brother two days ago. He was five-years-old and they shared a deadbeat father who refused to take custody when the poor kid’s mother finally succumbed to the cancer that had been eating her alive since just after Caelum was born. She had raised him alone. She had died at home and nobody knew until a truancy officer came to investigate why the kid had missed a week of school with no call from home. 

Caelum had lived in his mother’s house, still caring for her corpse, for a week. 

“God, he’s gonna be fucked up.” Gavin rubbed his hands over his face. “Like… traumatized. In what world am I qualified to take care of any child, let alone a traumatized one? I’m a fucking prostitute.” 

“You are not a prostitute.” You laughed. “Anymore, at least. You’re a porn star. Much more respectable.” 

“Oh right,” Gavin rolled his eyes, but it made him laugh, so you considered it a win. 

“Deep breaths.” You ordered. He obeyed, eyes closed, leaning into you. There was a knock at the apartment door. 

Caelum was a… weird child. He was sweet, that much was for certain, but he had about him a distant, subdued quality that made it seem like he was somewhere else entirely. The social worker made quick work of your introductions and bolted for the door like the place was on fire. She had a stack of manilla folders just like Caelum’s tucked under one arm. She didn’t even bother to check on all of the safety measures that the two of you had agonized over since finding out Caelum was coming. She must have done a thousand of these already today, and had a thousand more to go.

“So…” Gavin rocked on his feet, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What do you want to do, buddy?” Caelum considered this for a long moment, his eyes glazed and distant. 

“Um… I like sweet stuff.” He said, his voice quiet. Gavin’s eyes snapped up to you, panic in his features. You hadn’t thought to go buy any kid-friendly foods. All you had in the fridge was a smattering of leftovers and some of the weird probiotics Damien kept trying to get you two to take. 

“We should go get some!” You smiled, crouching down in front of him. You’d read in some article or another that it put kids at ease when you went down to their level. Caelum didn’t seem to mind either way. “How does that sound?” Caelum nodded dreamily, wringing his little hands together. 

“Great, let’s get our coats.” Gavin snagged both of yours and then turned to Caelum. “Is yours in your bag?” He gestured to the black trash bag Caelum had brought all of his worldly possessions in. You looked down at it, mostly empty, and felt your stomach flip. Where were all of his toys? His clothes? The shoes he’d outgrow in a month’s time? 

“Don’t got one.” He said softly. He didn’t look particularly upset by it, just shrugged his little shoulders in what looked suspiciously like defeat. Gavin stalled, his eyes wide but not surprised. You remembered, all of a sudden, that Gav had spent his fair share of time in the foster system. He had felt all of the things that Caelum was feeling in this moment. 

The only difference was that somebody wanted Caelum. Somebody was coming along to save him before he had to fend for himself. Nobody had done that, been that for Gavin. He was qualified to take care of this kid. He was probably the most qualified person on Earth. 

Gavin ended up wrapping Caelum in one of his coats, fur lined and cropped and considerably less practical when a grown man was wearing it. You rolled the sleeves up around his tiny arms and stuffed his chubby toddler hands into a spare pair of mittens. He looked a bit silly, bundled up in grown-up clothes. 

Your trip for sweets turned into a trip for sweets, clothes, toys, and books. As it turned out, Caelum had brought essentially nothing with him from the foster home that had held him until Gavin’s paperwork could go through. All he had was a spare pair of clothes, a bar of soap, a tooth brush, and one item from his mother’s house; a threadbare, stuffed rabbit with button eyes. It looked so old that it must have been her’s when she was a child. 

Caelum rode in the shopping cart as you walked Target’s aisles. Every item that his glassy eyes lingered on, Gavin snagged without question. By the end of your trip, you’d had to run back to the front of the store for a second cart and the total was four digits, but Gavin didn’t bat an eye. 

It was the week before your last Thanksgiving in medical school, and you finished out your day sitting cross legged on the floor of Caelum’s new bedroom working on a lab report while Gavin stuck glow-in-the-dark stars to his walls and ceiling. After stuffing him full of pizza and ice cream, Caelum had crashed hard. As you managed to coax him into a pair of his new pajamas before he was completely dead to the world, he sleepily asked if you two could stay with him while he slept. 

You indulged him. You thought you’d likely never stop indulging him. 

“We’ve gotta get a turkey.” Gavin said softly, hushed, trying not to wake him. You looked up from your screen, temples pounding. “And figure out how to make… I don’t know… stuffing? Casserole? What do you eat on Thanksgiving?” You considered it for a long moment. Your brain was so fucking scrambled from the fifteen assignments you still had due that you couldn’t conjure up a single Thanksgiving dish in your memory. 

“We’ll ask Damien.” You said, resolutely. “He knows about that kind of stuff.” 

“I’m gonna give him a good Thanksgiving.” Gavin said. He sounded so sure. “Christmas too. I don’t know what I can do for him but… I can do that.” 

You nodded, the weight of it sitting heavy in your stomach. Whatever you two were yesterday, today you were this kid’s first and last line of defense. His world had fallen apart around him over the last few years and now it was up to you two to build a new one. You didn’t know if you were capable, if you were qualified. You thought that you’d likely never know for sure. All you knew was that Caelum was here and that he needed someone. You could be someone for him. You could do that. 

___

Damien found you on the floor of your kitchen, unconscious at the end of finals week in May. He called an ambulance. You were dehydrated and malnourished. Gavin had been telling you for weeks that you needed rest. You had ignored him. 

If nothing else, this was a wonderful opportunity to watch Dahlia Gen’s state-of-the-art equipment and staff work. Dr. Brachium paid you a visit when you stayed overnight for observation.

“This isn’t sustainable for you.” He said, glancing over your chart. It had been a year since you’d last seen him. A baker’s dozen medical journals had included articles about the cadaver that came back to life in his morgue that night. He still remembered your name and theirs. 

“I don’t know how else to do it.” You said softly. You were so tired. You struggled to keep your eyes on him. 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t.” 

That sent a bolt of cold dread down your spine. 

“You’re the one who begged me to stay in the field.” You sneered. You were being hateful. You had nothing else in you to be. 

“You still can.” He cocked his head. “I think you’d make an excellent nurse or paramedic. Honestly, you’d make a great surgeon too. But if you can’t take care of yourself during med school, you won’t survive your residency.” 

“I can handle it.” You said. 

“But how much of you will be left once you’re done?” 

You didn’t have an answer for that question. 

In the early hours of the morning with Damien in the waiting room and Dr. Brachium at your bedside, you mourned your non-existent surgical career. 

“I would have been good though, huh?” You asked through quiet tears. 

“Yes.” Brachium nodded. “You would have been extraordinary.” 

___

It was the week before your first Thanksgiving at the 10-19, and you were on the way out of the door when you heard quiet, panicked voices coming from the ambulance bay.

Gavin and Caelum were at home waiting. You’d already stayed later than you intended to chatting with Asher. It would be easy to exit out of the front door instead of the back, walk around the building, and make a clean getaway to the bus stop down the street. 

Somebody gasped, another voice cursed, just on the edge of shouting. Your body froze right as you were about to retreat. 

That was your problem, you thought. You just couldn’t say ‘no’ when somebody was in need. You found signs of life. You took in kids whose fathers didn’t want them. You investigated sounds of injury and panic when you heard them at the end of a long fucking shift. You thought about Brachium’s question in that lonely room in Dahlia Gen. You’d never get ahold of all of the pieces of yourself. You were too eager to give them away. 

David and Sam were crowded around a gurney in Engine Two like they had been on the night that you’d first met Tanker. As you rounded the corner, you were struck with deja vu. They were laid out again, bruised and battered, and their eyes were distant and hazy. You were reminded of Caelum’s little five-year-old face, slack with shock and trauma. The little medical student that lived in your head started diagnosing as you took it all in. 

Bruising to both cheeks. Abrasions to the knuckles on the right hand. Unfocused eyes- head trauma or shock? Wasn’t that the one-million dollar question? 

It was a fight. Another one. You couldn’t think of another explanation. 

Tanker seemed to get into a lot of those, at least more than you’d consider a normal amount. 

“Hey,” you said softly. Sam and David both jumped, turning to face you with twin expressions of horror. 

The house was so defensive of Tank. If there was any chance they might be made vulnerable, the whole of the old guard of the 10-19 gathered up around them like a suit of armor. Somehow, Sam had become part of that armor, even though he was a newcomer too. It was moments like these that made you feel the most like an outsider. 

“Hey,” Sam replied, his face locking down. He was panicking. You could see it carved across his features. His tremor was worse than usual, and the pen light he had clutched in his hand was clinking against the metal frame of the gurney. David’s face was so red you thought his head would explode. 

“So um… want me to take a look? You two seem a little shaken up.” You said. You dropped your bag outside the ambulance and hiked up inside, pushing past Sam to get a look at Tank. “Hey, buddy.” You said to them. 

“Hey.” They replied. They seemed to be a million miles away. 

“It’s alright, Probie, I got it.” Sam tried to grab your arm, but his shake was bad enough that he couldn’t get a good enough hold. 

“You don’t.” You turned, taking the penlight from his hand. “Look, I get it. You guys can like… stand and watch or whatever. But you’re freaked out. Both of you. You can’t take care of them properly right now, so I will.” 

David cursed. Sam sat heavily on the bench. 

“Is that okay with you, Tank?” You asked, moving your hair out of the way and reaching for some gloves over their head. 

“Yeah.” They replied simply. “Doesn’t um… it doesn’t matter.” 

You bit your lip on the objections that you had building up inside of you. Of course it mattered. Of course you would listen. Of course if they said no, you would respect it. It had taken you long enough to learn that lesson yourself. That most people, people who weren’t fucking assholes, would listen when you said no. 

“Okay.” You nodded. Wounded animal mode it was. You would telegraph your movements, narrate, ask permission as much and as often as you needed to, as you could. “I want to check for a head wound first. We’ll go from there.” 

Over the course of the next twenty minutes or so, you carefully broke down what happened through the bruises on Tank’s body alone. They didn’t have to say anything at all, explain a moment of it. It was there, carved into their skin, laid out simply for you. They hit him, his high cheekbones splitting the skin over their knuckles. He hit them, right over where they’d broken their ribs. It had gone back and forth like that, brutal hit after brutal hit. There was blood dried over their right hand, but you couldn’t tell from where. It must not have been their own. 

“Not bad.” You said softly. “Lots of bruises, but no breaks that I can feel. I don’t think you have a concussion but I want to check again when you’re not in shock and you can describe your symptoms better.” 

They stared up at you. Their dark eyes reminded you of a shark, cold and deadly. 

“Thank you.” David said as you disposed of your gloves and stepped out of the bus, leaving them alone with Sam for a moment. 

“You need to be gentle with them.” You said, surprising yourself. It wasn’t often you gave orders to men like David Shaw, and your heart beat with the anxiety of it. You persisted anyway. He walked you to the back door, quiet, listening. “They’ve gone through something horrible. I don’t know what but…” you huffed, adjusted your jacket and your bag on your shoulder, “It took me weeks to say anything to anyone when my something horrible happened. So don’t push them, and when they tell you, listen.” 

David was quiet for a long moment, his face somewhere between concerned and pissed the fuck off. You liked the cut of it on his handsome features. 

“Okay.” He said, and that was it. 

It was the week before your first Thanksgiving with the 10-19, and you were sitting on the frozen bench at a bus stop, tapping furiously through the group chat and trying to organize a time for Friendsgiving. You’d be home and warm and safe in twenty minutes’ time. You had the strangest feeling that somebody was watching you.  

[yellowfunnybunny]

Ashes

Neon war paint pt 3

pt 2 here

pt 1 here

WARNING! Explicit RPF!

TRIGGER WARNING This chapter presents grief and generic adult themed content, if that triggers you in any way please don't read.

Summary: Despite all the adventures he got to live in this past year, the pain still hurt like the first day. It made him miserable to think he would never recover from this. That not even someone extraordinary like Carlotta could wipe away his shame. 

CW: 18+!, rpf, grief, smut, explicit, mature themes, seriously if you are a minor gtfo.

Words: 7,1 k

Ashes

Spending the Eurovision 2025 week together was Lotte's idea: no need to waste time scrolling on social media and being reminded for five days in a row what could have been.  

Joost had been reached already for weeks by journalists asking if he had anything to comment about not being called back to participate this year. Despite the trail proving him innocent. Despite Avotros promising not to leave him alone in this.  

He didn’t have any comment, he would answer back arshly to those who unfortunately found his private number and called.  

He plopped in the backseat of the driver and let the ride lull him back to his nap. Guidonia was a small city about forty minutes out of Rome and, to get there from the airport, one would have to survive the rough drive in the middle of the eternal city, passing in front some of the most beautiful monuments in the world. He lowered his hoodie on his eyes and made himself comfortable for a nap. It wasn't his first time there, or his second. He could skip watching the Colosseum from the window for once.  

Flights made him slightly nauseous, but long-distance relationships called for some extra effort. Overall, it was fun to jump on a plane on every occasion to surprise one another at an event or festival, spending some hours feeling like a normal couple while dancing in each other arms. The chosen city treated like a playground, an unconsidered mix of love and anarchy: endless bills at hotels for room service; renowned clubs and expensive wine lists; selected jewels; high fashion shopping. Sleepless nights feeding off each other's bodies, pushing back the consciousness that time together was limited.  

They were nothing but a ticking bomb. That sparkle, ignited with a first “welcome back” kiss, burned quickly the oxygen out of their lungs and rationality from their brains. All too quickly.  

Leaving them frustrated and with their fists full of ashes.  

tick-tock  

The very last hours would be a frenzy mess of moans and bedsheets. Lying in bed, with both his hands dipped in her hair and his lips just above her mouth, Joost would watch Lottie whimper under his weight as he moved his length inside of her. Deliciously slowly and deep. The sting of her nails clasped on his shoulders while arching her hips to meet his thrusts. Pressing his forehead to hers, looking for a connection that was more than physical, his begs would go on and on. Circling back, like a mantra: please don’t go, just stay, you are perfect , we are just made for this, just stay, say you’ll stay...  

His needy cries nourishing the most selfish part of herself and made her head spin with pleasure. She heard her own voice agree with him over and over and over.  

At least until the following morning, when Joost would inevitably wake up in an empty bed.  

boom  

"Sir, we will be there in 10 minutes”  

Joost was snapped out of his thoughts but kept his eyes still closed, nodding at the driver to let him know he heard him. With a soft grunt, he stretched his muscles to wake up.  

The driver got his luggage out of the trunk and Joost paused for just a moment to enjoy the fresh aircon of the car before, inevitably, having to step outside. The heat of southern Italy was unforgivable, even if it was not yet officially summer. The sun was peaking in the sky and the air was humid. Letting out a puff of exhaustion from the long travel day, Joost pulled his hoodie from his head and wrapped it around his waist. He collected the bag from the driver and thanked him before turning to face what would been his house for the next week.  

"Hello, stranger” Lottie's voice welcomed him even before his eyes focused on her.  

Her smile was full and excited as she wrapped her tanned arms around his neck and planted a soft kiss on his lips. He let out a breath and hugged her waist tightly with an arm. She tried to get his luggage from his hands, but he pulled it back, wrapping his own hand around hers instead and guiding it to his mouth to plant a kiss on it while they walked inside. She looked like the best version of herself in a floral sundress and flipflops. That’s what spring did to her.  

Lottie made the way to the kitchen, her slippers abandoned in a corner next to the door. He closed the heavy door behind him and turned the keys in the old lock, more because of habit than real need in such a small town.  

This was her nonna and nonno house, where she grew up. Talking about her parents made her tense up so he never insisted about that, but Lottie would talk into details about her childhood in that house with the grandparents.   

Once inherited, Lottie had rearranged some modern furniture here and there, gifted herself with a better plumbing and a big shower... but she was adamant about the rest of the surrounding: no changing, especially the kitchen. That was the room nonna and nonno would spend the most of their days, reading the newspaper and drinking bitter moka coffee at every hour. Chatting about nothing, day after day, for the sixty years they were married. Their bedroom was kept locked, and Lottie would open the window every now and then to air the room.  

He sneaked inside a couple of times to have a look at the vast collection of family pictures her grandma had disposed on the dresser. Joost would look for a trace of adult Carlotta into the eyes of her younger version. He always found plenty: from her crooked smile to the hard look she gave to the camera. It made him ache to think about her and himself as kids, wondering for hours what they would be like if life was just a little softer on them both.  

He took out his shoes and socks, savoring the cooling feel of the tiles under his feet, and walked to the kitchen. A glass of water was there ready for him.  With a sigh, he leaned against the fan in the corner savoring the fresh air through his damp hair. No matter how many times he came there, the heat was something his body was just not made for. Lottie seemed to thrive in the heat, flourishing into a healthier and happier version of herself every summer, making him feel a little less miserable about the discomfort of having, literally, sweaty balls.  

He watched her running the tomatoes under the tap water and rip several leaves of basil from the small pot under the window. The smell of it filled the kitchen.  

Lottie heard him come closer and hugging her from behind, as she ruffled to prepare them a caprese salad for lunch. As they hugged earlier, she noticed him being thinner than last time they were together. It was not a big deal, she told herself: he was finally back to her, in the safety of her quiet small town and her bed. She would have the time to feed him properly.   

As he dipped his nose in the crook of her neck, she was met with the feeling that maybe food was not on the top of his head.  

Joost couldn't help himself by inhaling her scent: she smelled of the sunscreen lotion she carefully applied every day. Of clothes dried lazily in the sun. Of the fresh bread bought from the market earlier in the morning.  

He tightened his grip around her waist. She smelled of home.  

Lottie turned and circled her arms around his torso, pressing an ear on his chest to hear the beat of his calm heart. He planted small kisses in her hair that blossomed in a content sigh from his girl. Joost took her hands in his to guide them to her bedroom, to their bedroom, the one in this old house that was just too cold in winter and made them want to snuggle all day long and too warm in summer to bother with any bedding and just sleep in their underwear. The one that witnessed both their love and their fights, the door to slam at occasion when frustration built up and the bed to welcome the messy love making when peace was made again. But for today Lottie helped him out of his t-shirt, her own sundress already a soft pile on the floor and joined him on the bed. For today, they only needed to show how much they missed one another.  

Their first time after being separated for long periods always started a little awkward, out of practice, requiring a lot of patience and giggles. But then something would click in their heads: Joost would kiss that spot on Lottie's neck that made her back arch and breasts squeeze on his chest; Lottie's nails would scratch lightly at his nape, making him close his eyes and part his lips, so she could take the advantage and kiss him deeply, to taste his mouth. All pieces then would fall together in a subconscious practice, like the inner human ability to smell when rain is about to fall.  

Lottie was the kind of person that pretends to have control over every aspect of her life, and Joost knew it way too well, so that when she pushed at his shoulders for him to lay down beneath her, he didn't make a fight over it. He helped her lowering on his length, keeping some of her weight into his hands to let her adjust to his size, until he felt himself completely disappear in her warmth, holding him in such a hot embrace that had him exhale deeply through his nose. He knew then at this point she needed to establish her rhythm and move freely from his grip, so he just settled his hands on her waist and let her ride him as she wanted. Both her hands went to her hair – he realized she was a performer even in moments like this, but right now, her moans so soft and her muscles squeezing him so gently, he didn't feel like complaining.  

Lottie took his hands in hers, appreciating how willingly he made her be the dominant one, and set his big hands on her breasts. As her hard nipples pressed on his palms, Joost fought the selfish urge to roll them over, so she would be helpless on her back and he could work on only his relief, filling her up in rude strong strokes. He settled for guiding her closer to his face so he could envelope her nipples in his mouth, grazing them lightly with his teeth. Lottie bit down on her lower lip at the sensation, speeding up the movements of her hips, longing for her release. It had been so long since they were together – seven weeks, she knew it by heart – and she just couldn't seem to be able to reach for her orgasm anymore without him filling her so perfectly, holding her body so lovingly, talking her into oblivion. She would occasionally do it by herself, especially in those nights where it seemed impossible to fall asleep, but it would be a mere mechanical thing, quick and without fuss. Enough for her mind to relax, but not to black out as it would happen when with him. When Joost, like now, would look up to her face like she was some sort of deity, his goddess , humble and submissive for her, living only for moments like this. And as he told her how much he loved her, how beautiful her body was, how perfect she felt on him... Lottie came undone with a string of moans, arching her back, her nails clasped on his shoulders. She let him hold her closer to his chest while he thrusted again and again in her working up to his own release. Joost held her impossibly close while coming down from his orgasm, stroking her back and kissing at her temple.  

Lottie rolled over, laying on the bed with a soft thud, not getting a moment to collect her breath before Joost was again on her, hugging her chest and laying partially on her. He was not one to respect private space, not when they hadn't shared a bed in months, and she couldn't help but laugh at that weakness, stroking tenderly his hair.  

They were finally together. A whole week where they could sleep in, have meals together, run errands...This little portrait of an ordinary couple made her feel vulnerable.  

The adventure they shared one night in Malmo turned very quickly in a complicate feeling. The morning after the Eurovision pre-party, she handled him back his belt before sharing a small kiss and walking him out of her hotel room. - That's it - she remembered thinking, watching the door close behind his back and giving herself a praise for landing nobody less than Joost Klein in her own bed. By showering his smell off her body, Carlotta was back to be nobody's but hers, the way she was used to. Relying on people was not easy for orphans like them and she could have never expected for him to get so infatuated so quickly.  

The possessiveness that Joost hid behind his insecurity started a savage fire in her. For most of their relationship, she could tame it. But somewhere in the last months, in between a late-night Facetime call and a “open view once” nude selfie, she stopped fighting it, letting it destroy the walls she built around herself.  

A deep pink flushed on her cheeks.  

"What's going on in there?” Joost asked, surprisingly awake, pointing a single finger to her forehead "Did I not so a good job? You look so serious...” he couldn't help himself- nor his ego- to try and pull a praise on his performance out of her.  

"Nothing, really” she brushed it off. He wasn't satisfied by the answer, but the fatigue of the day made him lazy.  

“Actually” Lottie decided this could have been a moment like another to say it “ They called me.”  

Her muscles stiffened, but she played it cool, stroking his hair like before and trying to act natural. She wasn't sure about his reaction on EBU calling her about the current year festival.  

“What did they say?” Joost finally asked. He was trying hard to keep his voice neutral. She knew it.  

"They asked me to read the Italian votes at the final”   

He unlocked from her embrace and started looking for his clothes on the floor.  

“I told them to fuck off.” She said quickly, sitting up on the bed.  

Joost, who was putting his t-shirt back on, turned quickly to her: “No, why?”   

Lottie raised her eyebrows in surprise. He did sound sincerely concerned.   

“I don't want you to keep a distance to their world, Lottie'" he said all in one go “You are an amazing performer and deserve every door to stay open for you, despite what happened to me last year.”  

The answer infuriated her. Was he so dumb?  

“I’m not going to partake in a manifestation that had such little care of my man.” she spat out, her voice higher than usual.  

My man . Joost felt the hair on his nape stand.  

"You went to trail, you were proven innocent, and they didn't even make an official statement about the matter. They didn't even apologize” Lottie's hands were moving all over in the air while talking, her Italian side came out at full force when she got emotionally involved.  

“I'm past it” Joost shrugged his shoulders, looking for his pants still somewhere on the floor “And I think you should do it." he added.  

“Well, I won't” she ended the discussion, back facing him, picking up the dress from the floor and sliding it down her body.  

"But I'm glad you are past it...” Lottie turned again to face him “We are invited to see Alessandro perform on Thursday night. Downtown, at the usual pub we go to him with".  

Alessandro Mahmoud. Joost remembered him fondly from a couple (or couples) of drinks they shared in Rome last winter. Alessandro won the most important Italian music festival and set on his way to Eurovision, for the second time in his career! He was a kind, brilliant artist and Joost was amazed by his composure while revealing him how little the whole Eurovision experience would mean for him.  

“I'm excited to try again, you know” Alessandro told him, in a confident broken English “ Cioè , I also have plans for the summer too: I'm making a shoot of my next videoclip in Sardegna, in the beaches that are not open to turists. That took a lot of energy to organize and finally we got the papers that we can shoot there. I was not expecting to win Sanremo, onestamente , però I'm happy to go to Switzerland”  

Joost envied his boldness and wished he got back the one that belonged to himself. The one he had before that ten months of hard work, no weekends and sleepless nights crashed in front of his eyes for the action of an inconsiderate technician.  

They toasted to Alessandro's success and wished him luck.  

Now here he was, on a late spring Thursday night, holding on his drink on one hand and on his girlfriend on the other while watching Alessandro Mahmoud giving an impossibly beautiful performance on the Eurovision stage. Even from the shitty TV screen of this pub he could feel that that was a winning performance.  

Joost couldn't help but wonder if one year before, the same people were watching him perform on a similar stage having the same thoughts. How many of them already forgot about the strange blue man that danced once, just once , on that stage? How many of them got curious and followed his career path for a while to then dismiss his art as an old social media trend?  

“Are you ok, amore ?”  

Joost forced himself out of his head to watch his girlfriend. He focused his gaze on the black choker that adorned her neck and nodded, smiling, hoping she would believe him. She didn't, but before she could express her concerns, the live show started again to announce the finalists of Eurovision 2025.  

Needless to say, Alessandro made his way to the final.  

Joost joined the cheerful screams of this pub in his now second home country and hugged Lottie tightly, kissing her head. Still something sting into him. The resentment of the lasts months was still present inside his head, making it difficult to enjoy this moment.  

He didn’t want to ruin it for anyone. He gulped down his shot of vodka and also the one she was about to bring to her lips. She stood there still, watching him taking the glass from her. With the same hand, she mentioned to the bartender over his shoulder to prepare two more.  

Carlotta brushed aside a strand of his hair.   

"It's ok, lieverd " she reassured him with a smile "I got you".  

She didn’t get him.  

Hissing through her teeth, balancing a cigarette in between her fingertips and watching the relentless needle poking her skin, she realized she didn't take care of him at all.  

"If you stay put it will hurt less" Joost kept her wrist in place, while working on the lines of the tattoo, eyes squeezing the concentration out of his alchoolh fogged brain. Lottie shook the extra adrenaline running in her body by tapping her foot on the floor, but kept her arm immobile.  

Alessandro gave a great performance at the second semi final and secured a place for Italy in the final of Saturday night.  

“We are celebrating him” Lottie and Joost kept saying to each other, guzzling down vodka lemons and dancing to the shitty mainstream songs the pub had on speakers. They stumbled back home after one too many drinks.   

Then the old ink and needles she was just to throw away while decluttering made their way out of the trash bag and on the kitchen table, poorly sanitized with the stove fire, and finally in Joost hand as she pointed him exactly where she wanted the home-made tattoo to be.  

Joost wiped the sensitive skin using his thumb to reveal a little black J on the inside of her wrist. Satisfied with his work, he placed a kiss on it, putting down the needle on the kitchen table and getting more comfortable on the chair. His pants were down to his knees, leaving him in his underwear. A little C made of black ink, matching her J, popped on the pale skin of the inside of his thigh. He brushed it briefly with his thumb. It almost didn't hurt anymore. She did a good job on it. Way better that what he did on her, he realized, sliding his pants back on.  

Lottie passed the half-smoked cigarette from her mouth to his mouth, before speaking: "What happened earlier, in there?” and she pointed at his forehead, mimicking his gestures of some days ago.  

“Nothing, really” he brushed it off, smoking the cigarette offered to him and searching for a new one already.  

"Really?” she pushed him, tilting her head on the side, acting dumb. If he believed she was too dumb for not noticing his lies, she might as well act the part. She stretched her legs, crossing ankles on top of his thigh. "Because I thought I saw you getting nervous, while the finalists were nominated. Are you... not happy Alessandro made the final?”  

“Off course I am” Joost, focused his eyes on lighting the new cigarette in between his lips. Anything to not have to lie to the love of his life while looking at her in the eye. He was fuming. Not because of Mahmoud, because of himself and how he was not recovering as he expected. Despite all the adventures he got to live in this past year, the pain still hurt like the first day. It made him miserable to think he would never recover from this. That not even someone extraordinary like Carlotta could wipe away his shame.  

“Or maybe you are just not ready to admit you still hurt”  

Joost raised his eyes to hers. She could read him like a fucking open book, the bitch.  

“I told you” He was really trying his best to act calm, despite the alcohol and the rage pumping in his veins “I’m over it.”  

"The fuck you are” She spat at him.  

Joost inhaled loudly through his nose, eyes still fixed in hers, what the hell she thought was doing?  

“Just admit it!” Lottie insisted “I'm not here to promise you everything will be all right, or that everything will be forgotten. I don't have these answers you so long for, but do not treat me like an idiot. Be honest with me: are you over it?”  

Joost couldn't answer. He knew the truth and couldn't allow himself to be vulnerable in front of her. He was not ready to face it himself. Scared of the pain, scare of her opinion on him: would she leave him again, if she found out he still couldn't properly sleep because of it? Every night he would drink herbal tea and count back from a hundred and do all that bullcrap in the faint hope to close his eyes and just doze off, but instead was met with the memories of what happened exactly one year ago.  

Unhappy with his answer, Lottie pushed with her toes on the exact spot on his thigh where his new tattoo stung, making him wince. Looking for a reaction. Any reaction.  

He jumped on his chair, surprised by the imminent pain that spread through his leg and the bratty smirk on his lover's face.  

“What a bitch...” Joost hissed.  

Without giving it much thought, he hooked a finger in her choker and pulled, hard. Her mouth came smashing on his, her eyes wide open from the surprise. He opened her mouth with his and tasted the liquor they have been consuming all night long. He let her mouth go, breathless, his index still firmly attached to her necklace. She bit down her puff bottom lip and looked straight through him with a challenging look.  

As he picked her up for the chair, she threw her head back in a drunkish laugh.  

Her back slammed on the bed with not much ceremony. Carlotta believed it was a clumsy movement because of their altered status, but as she met Joost eyes while climbing on top of her, she knew he did it on purpose.  

Each of his hands were planted in the mattress, each on one side of her head. Carlotta felt her heart skip a beat when one of his fingers casually moved to her neck, stroking way too gently the material of the choker he tested earlier.  

In an attempt to ease the mood, she moved her freshly tattooed hand towards his crotch. He blocked her wrist mid air, harshly, a hiss escaping her teeth for the second time this night as he tightened the grip on her arm.  

Joost eyes were surprisingly sharp considering the amount of alcohol that was swimming in his body. He tilted his head on the side, thinking his next move. Holding her wrist in one hand, he undid his belt with the other and quickly ran it free from the loops of his pants. It smacked the air with a satisfying whip sound. She watched him wrapping both her wrist together in the leather strip and pressing her arms in the mattress above her head. She grunted in discomfort, but as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, he closed his other hand around her throat.  

His grip tightened very gently around the sides of her neck, making her already nervous pulse now race. Her windpipe vibrated under his touch, making him groan.  

Lottie saw in his eyes the anger slipping around his brain, slithering like a snake, planting gossips that bloomed into judgments in between his nerves. About not being enough, the weight of being a failure in front of the whole country. About not regaining the so much promised claim over a system that wanted him crushed. His unsatisfied need of control over something, over anything , that has been hunting him for months now. And she wanted nothing but comfort him, exactly in the way he needed.  

"Please..." she whimpered, tilting her head back, exposing herself more to him.  

He softened his grip and his eyes, sitting comfortably on his heels. His hand slid slowly from her neck to her chest, cupping a breast. She arched in his hands, desperate to get him to touch her bare skin.   

He slowly worked her blouse open, revealing the most delicate white lace bra. He toyed with the peak of her nipple with the tip of his thumb, enjoying her squirm under his touch. He pulled down the bra, her breasts overflowing, her nipples hardening in the fresh air. Her summer caramel skin tone was here a paler tint, made even creamier by the moon rays washing over the room. It made his mouth water. The warmth of his mouth on her nipple made Lottie moan, her eyes closed in bliss. She focused on his hands sliding down her ribcage, meeting the hem of her mini skirt and down more to her already severed stockings. She couldn't bother to remember when exactly during the night her outfit failed her. Not as he slid his fingers under the delicate material and pulled firmly on it. Carlotta let out a shriek of surprise at the ripping sound of her nylons being torn apart. Joost slid his hands under her thighs, pulling her hips into his lap. Without hesitation, he moved aside the material of her panties: his eyes fixed in her dark pool ones, that were now looking at him adoringly as he took his time to stroke her gently. If he was to make music with the sounds leaving her lips, he would have enough material to last him a lifetime. It made his head dizzy.  

All he saw in her gaze was devotion, surrender, even as she swirled her tongue around the two fingers he put in her mouth to lubricate. He swiftly returned his hand in between her legs, holding her hip with the other, and let Carlotta moaning dictate how deep and how fast he was to push those fingers inside her.  

“Please...” she sighed heavily as he arched his fingers in her. Her wrists were now resting on her naked chest, rubbing against each other, in a vain attempt to break loose from their constraint. Her full breasts rising and falling with every deep breath. Her mouth slightly open and her cheeks blushing red. It was the most divine view.  

“Put your hands over your head” he commanded. Carlotta’s mind was quickly addicted to the low tone of his voice and let it caress her ears, before reluctantly obeying.  

“Good...” He brushed her lips with his thumb, glossing it with a streak of her own fluids.  

This brief interaction was almost enough to make her loose herself completely. When he pushed inside her, she felt a new wave of pleasure rush over her leaving her grasping for breath and any kind of anchor, as her restrained arms didn’t allow much movement.  

Her body bounced on his lap, welcoming his movements, his fingers dipping in her sides and guiding her hips to his. His mind was soothed by the feeling or her warmth hugging his length, his eyes filled by her body squirming in delight beneath him, his ears by the sounds she made with each thrust. She let go of all vanity and pride to satisfy a need of his and found herself in complete bliss doing so.  

He let go of her just enough to make her turn on the mattress, lifting her hips in the air and kneeling behind her. He pushed with an open hand on the small of her back, making her arch so she was on her knees and elbows. The new angle of penetration sent shivers down her spine and sounds she never made escaped her mouth. Joost hold on the waistband of her skirt and tossed his head back, making sure to experience this moment at its fullest. His fingers slid in between her legs to merciless stroke her clit, until she was a bundle of moans under his body and his hand. She silenced a scream by pushing her face in the mattress, her fingers grasping at the sheets as much as they could, trying to anchor her body while her mind was losing any sense of decency under the endless stimulation. His eyes rolled in his head feeling the warmth of her juices overflowing from her orgasm, leaving him pushing in her with almost no friction.  

Joost pushed his whole body on her, so now she was pressed in between him and the mattress. Her arms trapped under her body. He hooked an arm around her shoulders to keep her head up, watching her as he worked on his own release pushing inside her once more. She turned her head and got caught in a sloppy kiss, which helped hide her dry moans while his thrusts shook her whole body. He let go with a deep groan and tightened his arm around her, making sure she didn’t move from him, while all the negativity that hunted him for months flown out of his body with his cum.  

Not wanting to hurt her, he moved away and helped her on her back again. Her makeup was smudged all over her face, now red from the effort and from the rough material of the sheets. Two tears ran from her eyes and wet her hair. Lottie showed him her wrists, silently asking to let her loose. Once freed, Joost kept her wrists in his hands planting kisses all over them. She smiled at him and then brushed her tears away.  

"I didn't mean to scare you” Joost breathed out, voice shaking, tears glimmering at the corner of his eyes. He turned his head away when he couldn't contain them anymore. Lottie was quickly sitting up and wrapping her arms around his chest, bringing him down with her again. He let the sobs shake his whole body, washing away all the tension he stored in his muscles and head, knowing he was safe in his lover's arms.  

"Please don't leave” he sobbed on her shoulder. Her mouth quick to cover his before answering: “I'm not going anywhere...”  

"No, I mean it” Joost insisted, sliding his arms around her back to hold her impossibly close, his eyes burning in hers: "Come live with me in Berlin.”  

Time stretched as Lottie hold her breath at the direct question- no, the request- he just dropped on her. Those blue pools of eyes, shimmering from crying, digging into her dark ones, searching for any sign of confirmation that this was not a one-sided relationship. That she needed him as much as he needed her.  

Because he needed her.  

The way she just challenged him to face his feelings and then took almost effortlessly his reaction, so wild, like he wanted to exorcise a demon that kept gnarling at his brain. And her sore muscles and bruised wrists were the testimony of how much she enjoyed taking it from him. But living together, settling down?  

Lottie peeled his arms from her body: “Joost... I don't think it's a good idea” Lottie swore she heard his heart crack, but she already started speaking her truth. "What would we even do in Berlin? Play pretend family?”  

“I'm not pretending.” He declared, firm, now sitting on the bed but still holding one of her wrists in his hand, like unable to physically let her go, too scared she would talk her way out of the bed, inside her clothes and possibly even out of her own house... Anything, not to have this conversation with him again.  

So Joost played it in counterattack. He was the one who got up from the bed, picking his pants and dressing while exiting the room. The whole evening events left Lottie speechless, she would have a big headache thinking about it in the morning, but for now she just kept her eyes up to the tall blond man who made his was out of the bedroom, cursing at the zip of his pants not working properly through the other rooms of the house, to then pace back to her bed, holding a small box in his hand.  

Lottie jumped up "Don't.”  

Joost stopped in the doorway, holding gaze with her, like one of those child games where if you blink, you lose. Game over. You must go back to the starting point, without collecting your prize, empty handed and try again, maybe next time you'll be lucky.  

But he was done playing. He blinked and she still was there, eyes wide open, an animal caught in the middle of the road at night by a speeding car.  

"Don't..." She repeated, softly, maybe mostly for herself. Lottie could not stop a desperate man for trying, for having a clear answer for once in his life, she also couldn't imagine how she could be his answer at all. Or maybe she was just a distraction, a toy, to keep his hands full and his balls empty while keeping his life unaltered, travelling the world and climbing his career ladder while she was expected to stay still for him.  

She didn't want that, she didn't want to be her mother. Lost in her tedious routine, unable to free herself from the expectations that were placed on her as the wife of a famous painter: a stable job to provide for the family as his income was instable, to be a present mother, to contribute to community, to be respectful to the maestro pittore that was not at all respectful of her or their marriage, dragging more models into his bed than what she could imagine. A level of sadness that dragged her to her tomb, way before the world “depression” was of common use. Freeing him to have his life somewhere else, trapping yet another grown woman with pretty words and a charismatic smile, one hand on her hip and the other in her wallet, and depriving a daughter of her mother.  

Joost walked up to her and placed the small box on her nightstand, closed.  

"What's happening in there?” he pointed with a finger to her forehead, his thumb just randomly aimed at the ceiling.  

-Just shoot me already... - she thought.  

"Don't ask me this” If she was to put an end to this relationship, tonight, at least she wanted complete honesty between each other. “Don't reduce me to an accessory, your accessory, don't ask me to be happy in your shadow.”  

“I want nothing of that” Joost kneeled at the side of the bed, more to be on the same eye level, but still they noticed how fitting the gesture was to this situation. “I love you, Lottie. My existence is split in two: one is with, and one is without you. That's the only way recognize time. And I'm done being without you. We can do it our way, start our own traditions... Let's start fresh, come to Berlin.”  

Lottie listened to his speech keeping her eyes set on the picture that he stole from her grandma's room and placed on her nightstand. It was little after her mom died, she was four and sent to live to a unknow town with those grandparents she didn't meet a lot before. They didn't like her father, so her mom had put a distance between her new family and her original one. But still they welcomed that scared, scarred, little girl in their house and made it a home for her. In the picture she was sitting on her grandma's knees and both of them were looking intently at the camera, grandma had an arm around her waist to keep her safe from falling. Grandma had an everyday ring, a small thing made of gold, with a precious shiny green gem and Lottie remembered being very fond of it. She spent the firsts days in silence in the new house, trying to get used to the situation, and grandma would make sure to always hold her little hand in her already old one, staying in silence with her.  

Just being.  

In the shininess of that gem, in the surprising softness of that stranger hand enveloping hers, that baby found comfort and security.  

Joost dared one hand out and wrapped is fingers around hers.  

Lottie moved her eyes to his blue ones. This was going to hurt...  

_______________________________________________  

Rain was pouring down for hours, but people still were lining up outside the venue, wrapped in their raincoat and using their backpack to cover their heads. Joost was moved, he personally went out there to give away some rain covers provided by the venue and umbrellas, stopping here and there for a selfie, acting his usual silly trying to keep the mood up.  

He ran backstage once he felt everyone was as happy as they could, keeping a hand firm on the side pocket of his pants, where his phone was. It was a habit in these days: he would usually be one to forget his phone anywhere, but know he needed to know where it was at every hour of the day.  

He left Italy alone. Without a ring and without Lottie. With his heart heavy and his brain scrambled.  

Throwing himself into work was the only solution to his sleepless nights and a good distraction to keep his hands busy, too. He promised himself not to be the first one to reach out to Lottie, trying to give her the time to make a decision about their future. She asked him for time, and he kept the best composure he could to nod at her request, pack his bag and leave, only to crumble once back in his home country. Luckily some friends picked him up for the airport: he didn't remember calling them or how he got home, or what day it was, but for the next few weeks there was always somebody in his apartment, making sure he ate, brushed his teeth and slept. Encouraging him to take daily walks. Feeding him insignificant gossip from the music world. Keeping him distracted. He must have looked like a mess, he sure felt as such.  

They tried to take his phone away too, but he threw a fuss about it. He was not to miss a call from her, when it came.  

-I f it comes - he thought.  

He shook his head vigorously, pumping up his nerves for the show. He picked the microphone they gave him, unplugged his brain, and just let muscles memory to it all for him.  

It did the trick. He exchanged the microphone for a bottle of water and a towel and sat backstage to catch his breath. It went good, he showed a thumbs up to the crew and everybody seemed satisfied. He felt satisfied, almost like back in himself, and it felt good.  

Especially during Antwoord, the audience loved that song. They sang and jumped so hard he felt the ground tremble under his feet. For a moment he thought he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket too...  

He quickly reached for it, dropping his water and making a mess on the floor. It didn't matter. Nothing did now, as he read the notification: " @carlottamorettisinger tagged you in a post ”.  

Joost opened Instagram, immediately he was met with the latest's posts of Lottie's show. He carefully checked every picture of the gallery, focusing on her face and expression, trying to read anything behind the scenic smile she plastered on her mouth for the show.  

As he approached the last picture, his mouth opened agape.  

She gave the finger to the camera, showing a ring, his ring, the tag made it very clear for everybody to see. A small thing made of gold with a green gem, proudly sitting on her middle finger. Her mouth scrunched up, like when blowing a kiss.  

He smiled uncontrollably at the phone.  

It was a start.   

_______________________________________

Thank you for being here, it was a long one but needed to give them closure!

This was Neon war paint, and you can find:

pt1 here

pt 2 here

Thanks again,

Yellow

[deathandthesoul]

Six Song Soundtrack Game

I was tagged by @crownedinmarigolds (thank you!) and then proceeded to spend 6 hours on it like a normal person 🫡 Gonna do both Aidan and Jesse for this. It's 2 characters so it's long so I'm putting it under a cut

I'm gonna tag @heksen-sabbat @lealdog @mournwatch @thuumwrestler @pocketgoth

@vampiricsheep @malignantverse

Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following…

Aidan Evans

Event that defines your character's past:

Dog Fashion Disco - A Corpse is a Corpse

And though you try and try and try to pull me down It's all been lies it's lies begat the lies again I'm not afraid, afraid of dying anymore Only I can set me free So turn and blame but don't you fuckin look at me Decompose, you maggot Now you'll shut the fuck up

How your character sees themselves:

Shiv-R - Shadow with a Voice

Shadow with a voice Shadow made of noise Life beyond all light Fire from the void Feels no emotion In the dark it evolved Just a programmed compulsion (a destructive compulsion) Singularity falls (code)

How others view them:

Angelspit - Hidden Knife (flashing at end of the video)

The beast in your head is wearing you like meat Slips you on to impress tears you off to breed It knows what to say, coiled to strike Get the smell of blood, feel the black dog bite Always in shadow One step behind you Left hand, holds a flower Hidden knife in the other

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic):

Måneskin - The Driver

If you're gonna set fire to the night Baby, let me be the lighter If you're already high and you wanna fly I'll be the hit that takes you higher If you wanna love when you touch the sky You can be my midnight rider If there's nowhere to go and you wanna go wild I wanna be the driver

A major fight scene:

Shiv-R - The Moth Collector

Control Makes you feel so high Pulling wings off flies Inflict the pain that’s been done unto you So small Pretty and refined You study their design Watch their life evaporate because of you

End credits song:

Dog Fashion Disco - Private Eye

I'm The private eye Hot on your trail The top gun for hire You'll find me lurking in the shadows Always searching for a clue I'm the bulletproof detective I got my eye on you

Jesse Steele

Event that defines your character's past:

Brigade Werther - North + South

No cries, just silent noise The crash impacts my voice No rush to learn my fate Insight to contemplate The scars don't hurt no more Your blood still paints the floor Their loss no more in force It's time, I'm heading north

How your character sees themselves:

Adema - Waiting For Daylight

When all the people settle down and all the alcohol runs out I'll just sit here by myself (Waiting for) Each and every soul's worn thin, all the walls are closing in (Waiting for) Wishing I was someone else (Waiting for) Waiting for the daylight to come

How others view them:

3TEETH - Pumped Up Kicks

Robert's got a quick hand He'll look around the room, he won't tell you his plan He's got a rolled cigarette Hanging out his mouth, he's a cowboy kid Yeah, he found a six-shooter gun In his dad's closet, in the box of fun things I don't even know what But he's coming for you, yeah, he's coming for you

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic):

Saint Motel - Cold Cold Man

Oh my love I know I am a cold cold man Quite slow to pay you compliments Or public displayed affections But baby don't you go overanalyze No need to theorize I can put your doubts to rest

A major fight scene:

Metallica - All Nightmare Long

'Cause we hunt you down without mercy Hunt you down all nightmare long Feel us breathe upon your face Feel us shift, every move we trace Hunt you down without mercy Hunt you down all nightmare long, yeah Luck runs out You crawl back in, but your luck runs out

End credits song:

Kenny Loggins - Danger Zone

Out along the edges Always where I burn to be The further on the edge The hotter the intensity Highway to the Danger Zone Gonna take it right into the Danger Zone Highway to the Danger Zone Ride into the Danger Zone

[actuallysaiyan]

|Come Down And Waste Away With Me| Chapter One: I Am Here.

warnings: angst, mentions of death, set during the final war arc, mentions of alcohol, very heavy and dark themes, mentions of wounds, driving under the influence, self-deprecation, hospital stay, Reader has a quirk and a hero name pairings: All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Disgraced Hero!Reader summary: the last time you saw Valorie was when the car had flipped and you were seeing her lose her life. while in the hospital during the end of the final war, you begin to lose hope that you're even cut out to be a good person. someone hears your cries for help, and he shows you a light.

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @cherryblossombankai

masterlist

In the year 20xx…

Here we are at the scene of the crime. Last night was the tragic car accident that took the life of Spectral Valor, also known as Valorie Teagan, and left about half a dozen others injured. What was speculated as foul play at first ended up being corrected as driving under the influence. Also in the vehicle with Spectral Valor was the electrokinetic hero known as Haywire. More details at six…

“You could have died!” A voice yells at you through your drunken stupor.

Here you rest in your hospital bed. Wires and tubes poking and prodding and coming from your mangled body. You fractured your tibia causing you the most pain, followed by the few cracked ribs. A concussion, a few chipped teeth, a fractured tibia, three cracked ribs…

But really none of them hurt more than losing your best friend. Valorie was your glue. She was the angel that helped you shine. Even while you were becoming a hero, she was always right there with you. It hurt you to think you’d never get to see that smile again. You’d never hear her laughter again. You tried to not cry, but it was so fucking hard.

“Did you hear me, Haywire?! You could have died! I can’t deal with this shit anymore.”

It’s the voice of your manager. Why would a hero need a manager? You don’t know, but you had a feeling it had to do with all the club life you were leading. The drinking, the drugs, the week long benders you’d go on…it’s not good for a hero of your stature. Yet you were so good at hiding it. 

“Ken,” you try to say despite your throat having a lump in it. “Ken, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry, kid. I promised your parents I’d take care of you, but I can’t.”

Oh yeah…Kento had been a family friend. When you lost your parents, he promised to take good care of you. You lost your parents at a young age. They had died doing what they love, saving the world.

“I promise,” you swallow hard. “I promise, I’ll do better.”

Kento sits on the edge of the bed. He runs his fingers through his sandy blond hair. He then sheds a few of his own tears, wiping them away and facing you. He presses his hand carefully on the cast that is on your left leg.

“The agency is dropping you. Or at least, that’s the gist of what I understood.”

You looked away ashamed. “Is anyone still in that building? Isn’t there a war going on?”

Kento laughs sarcastically. He explains to you that even with the war happening, and with the crumbling of society, the agency you still worked for had decided to shut its doors for the time being. Instead of healing and getting to go back to it after, you were being pushed out.

“Sorry kid, but I can’t fix this one.”

That had been three weeks ago. You got your official letter about two days after that conversation. You didn’t get many visitors in the hospital. Especially not with all the heroes coming back from the war. All For One had been defeated. Even that young kid, Shigaraki, had been defeated. Somehow you were clinging to those details as a means to cope with Valorie’s death.

Then you got your hands on a smartphone. You were able to keep up with the battle a lot better this way. Things had seemed so dire for so long. The way things could have ended made you nervous. It wracked you with guilt. You weren’t out there helping. You were just a waste of space. All you were was good for nothing. You couldn’t even contribute to the fight to save humanity and heroes alike.

Rotting in a hospital room after everything that was going on, you begin to wonder if maybe you should have died in that stupid car crash as well. You had been the one to procure the alcohol that night. You were the one who stupidly coaxed Valorie into driving back home. Things had been so bleak for heroes. Nobody trusted you. This only made you feel worse, turning to drugs and alcohol even harder to cope with this shit.

You remember the way you felt when you finally opened your eyes. Just once…just once before passing out again. Seeing her lifeless body next to you. The car had flipped multiple times. Nothing hurt at the time because of the shock, but seeing her…oh Valorie had been so beautiful.

Her life was snuffed out before it even truly began. You had wanted so desperately to start your own agency with her. That had been the plan. You two would have gone on to do such amazing things. And here you had been, looking at the lifeless body of your truest friend.

In the history of assholes, you wondered if maybe you were going to take the top spot. Nothing could make you feel any better. You hated yourself for being so weak to addiction. So weak to addiction that you couldn’t even properly contribute to the world. People were out there risking their lives to keep everyone safe, and you were partying.

And now, you were in the hospital, taking up space.

And even worse, was that you were in the same hospital as Him.

All Might.

The man, the legend, the strongest…

Call him whatever you want, but he also ended up in the same hospital as you. While you were out partying in the wreckage of Japan and getting in the fatal car accident that killed your friend, he and all the other pro heroes had been fighting the good fight. The dread and the pain you felt deep inside of you kept you from wanting anyone but your manager, Kento, to come visit.

Still, you had been curious about the extent of All Might’s injuries. After the battle in Kamino Ward, you had found out about his secret along with everyone else in the world. You still tried to cling to having him as your idol.  You tried your best to see the good in him, just like everyone else had accepted. But soon when people stopped seeing the heroes as the good guys, they started to see that their Symbol Of Peace wasn’t going to be the one to save them. Everyone else basically dropped him like yesterday’s news, but you always looked up to the man.

That’s what kept you and Valorie close. A transfer student from America, Valorie had been very interested in meeting All Might. She was a big fan of his, memorizing all the battles he had in America. The shine in her eyes is what made you become even more fanatical of the man.

She was a shining force and you lost her. You lost the one person in this world that knew you more than anyone else. She was always the one to lift you up when you truly needed it. She was the one to show you the logical way of things.

But times were tough. People started to distrust the heroes. They didn’t want heroes to come help. Even prior to that, you and Valorie had enjoyed the fame and fortune that came with being pro heroes. You had indulged in all sorts of things from time to time, but you never thought you’d get to the point you were now.

You were clinging to anything in a way of coping with this. With the fighting going on outside, you hadn’t been sure if Valorie even got a proper funeral. It didn’t matter, you thought to yourself, because you weren’t going to be able to go. You were confined to this hospital bed for some time.

And with that came the change of rooms…

It all happened so fast. One day you were in a room by yourself, the next day you were being wheeled into another room. The curtains had been drawn around the other occupant in this room. As nosy as you were, you couldn’t quite just get out of bed and find out who it was. Still, you could tell that whoever it was, they were in worse shape than you were.

Lots of rooms were going to be pretty full now. The beds would be needed for those who actually put their lives on the line. Unlike you, the waste of space. You cried often, trying to hide it from your roommate. You tried to desperately keep your sobs low. Thankfully, whoever was in this room with you was often sleeping.

You longed to be able to walk again. The doctors said it would be a while before you were up and doing that. But you hadn’t lost the use of your leg. You’d be going through lots of extended physical therapy to go along with the rehabilitation and emotional therapy you’d be going through as well.

Crying had been the soothing balm at first, but the less Kento came to visit you, the lonelier you got. You heard all kinds of things from the hallways. The news that the doctors would give you had just made you feel even worse. And the one person who came to visit you that wasn’t your manager had been Valorie’s mother. She was very sympathetic with you, which truly surprised you.

Your heart felt so heavy with so much. You felt like you could burst from the amount of emotions that run through you every second. You were clinging to the sweater her mom brought you and you sniffed her scent every chance you could.

Nothing could bring her back and you knew this.

Nothing could bring back the dead.

The world could be at peace, and there was still so much hurt. So much pain would linger. The world could be rebuilt, but the pain would remain like a stain on everyone’s heart. You wondered how you and everyone else would get through this.

You wished you could take it all back…

The last moments with her keep replaying in your mind and you know you’ll never get to see that beautiful smile again. No, she won’t be there to comfort you ever again when you need her.

One night, things seemed very quiet. You were just trying to get some rest despite the fact that your body was aching. You had spent the good part of an hour just scrolling through your phone that somehow hadn’t been damaged in the car crash. The way things were going, it seemed like the world and Japan was trying to band together to get over this.

Still, you couldn’t help but go look at pictures of her. It was breaking your heart, but you needed to see her smile. The same smile that always pushed you to do your best. Even when you felt scared as a new and upcoming hero, she was there to guide you through it all even though she was just as scared as you.

Tears slid down your cheeks as you tried so hard to quiet your sobs. It had been a few days now that you were in the new room and you were sure that whoever your new roommate was would probably grow tired of your constant crying. Doesn’t matter what’s going on in the world, whoever was trying to heal next to your bed would find you annoying.

In reality, the person in the bed next to yours was sleeping most of the time. Tonight was the first time he heard your cries. It pained his heart more than he’d like to admit. He had been in so much pain, but so happy to know the outcome of the battle. He had worked so hard to make sure things would go the way he desperately hoped for.

And now with hearing you cry, his heart clenched in his chest. These were the tears of a lost someone. When he had been first admitted to the hospital, they had told him that he’d be in the same room as you. He barely knew you, but he had heard of the electrokinetic hero Haywire. He knew what had happened, and he did not think any less of you.

Finally, the curtain is pulled back from the bed and you gasp when you see the older man in his bed. You try to wipe away your tears, but it’s obvious you’ve been crying. He looks at you and gives you his best smile, even while in a sorry state himself.

“Don’t cry,” he says. “I am here.”

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[bidoofenergy]

don't leave me hanging alone again

also on AO3

After the end of the session—after secrets are revealed and the rewards are reaped—everyone just hangs out. It's the no-man's-land of time, a few hours without fighting—and also without peace. You don't build new alliances or lay new traps. You use the time to breathe, to talk, to try to laugh. If you do it right, you won't hate your friends when you leave.

That's what you like to do at least. Jimmy likes to use this time to apologize. Back when you were soulmates—2 games and a Hermitcraft world ago—this was endearing to you.

Now, you wait for it.

You and Skizz catch up with Impulse, laughing about the game of tag, commiserating over your failures. Your conversation is light—it's Impulse and Skizz. You three have been friends for so long you can't be anything but. This is bearable. Manageable.

Several minutes into your conversation, Bdubs sidles up next to Impulse, fitting himself so perfectly into Impulse’s side it’s like the space had been left for him all along. The two of them aren't together this time around, but their history folds wrinkles into their every interaction.

For now, Bdubs is here to gloat.

Skizz watches them carefully, the way they bend towards each other without even meaning to. He's trying to understand them, trying to understand ex-soulmates—has been trying to understand for the last two games. Skizz missed just one of Grian's invitations and returned to a tangled web of feelings that have only gotten more and more knotted every time the games started back up again.

The longer this goes on, the more it’ll be clear to Skizz just how messed up you are over Jimmy—messed up in a way the others aren’t over their own ex-soulmates. Even if Skizz hasn’t already heard it directly from Impulse—and he definitely has, you know your friends—he’s figuring it out now. You can hear him and BigB whisper to each other, usually when you're on the other side of their island futzing with the stupid chicken machine.

How do you explain it to someone who wasn't there? How do you explain the way blood, injuries, every fraction of a heart lost all meant something bigger than yourself? That that was the game?

You didn't like being responsible for someone else's loss. You don't miss it. You don't want it back. But you would carve another 19 hearts out of your chest just to feel Jimmy's pain again.

How do you explain that to someone who wasn't there? You don't. You can't.

You won't try. You listen to Bdubs brag instead, laughing when Impulse gets under his skin— gentle. Oh so familiar with what makes him tick.

You won't try. You’ll let Skizz stay disbelieving, shooting you looks with one eyebrow raised, whispering with BigB when they think you're busy, listening to Impulse tell stories they think you don't know about.

You won't try. Bdubs is interrupted by Jimmy finally bounding over with a cheerful “Hello!”

“I heard you blew our boy up!” Impulse gestures at you—did Bdubs tell him? Do you even care?

Jimmy grins, canine sharp, and you both laugh like nothing hurts.

“We should take your name out of the drawing for that.” Skizz says and his easy-going smile is just a little too wide.

Jimmy turns to you and before his face can even fall, you say, “Don't worry about it.”

He smiles at you, not even relieved he was so certain in you. And it's just like before, standing right up against the thing that will hurt you, just because he's there smiling on the other side of it, just because you miss your heart beating with his. And isn't that exactly what will get you killed?