#feeling like I'm being ripped apart and nothing's in order

[invisible-madness]

Snapchat filter save me

[shouyuus]

Yeahhhhhh I'm gonna need the mutual cockblocking with Vi, yup.

based off of this ask. PHEW alright so uh, bullet points today bc /pops open another bottle of champagne/ it's that kind of day:

is it rly called bullying if u and vi r bullying each other and ur both like... into it? (neither of u are being subtle, everyone can see the yearning and they're all either super invested in when ur gonna hook up or tired AF of ur shit)

pitfighter!vi who glares at anyone who tries to chat you up at the bar that you frequent after all her fights (u volunteer at the dingy little clinic two doors down from the fighting ring and she thinks ur too naive for the mouth you've got on you -- and you do have a mouth on you dear sweet god), pays the bartender extra to keep an eye on you and double dose whoever is trying to chat you up that night bc hell be damned if vi'll see you leave with any of these weird fuckers

loris is so over vi's tantrums whenever you push yourself between her and someone she's sweet-talking; he knows that vi's just doing it bc she knows that the moment you see her reach out to push the hair of out of another girl's face, you'll be shimmying your way over and wiggling between them, pressing your tits up against the bar, snagging the drink that vi was gonna offer her potential hookup (and yeah, what if vi ordered a drink she knew you'd like better? huh? that's got nothing to do with anything)

"why don't you just take her home?". vi squinting at loris in the dimness of the alley behind the bar, "wh-what? i don't want that -- that conniving little... rabbit -- i like someone who's a bit more bite -- or... whatever." loris hitches an eyebrow, watching vi with a deadpanned look before sighing, "yeah. whatever you say."

whenever your friends ask you why on earth you're so hell bent on keeping vi from hooking up with a rando, you'd frown and huff and "you should see the way she comes into the clinic every other day -- i'm -- i'm doing a public service! she's gonna ruin whoever she gets her hands on and -- and i've gotta watch out for the sisterhood, yknow?" cue all ur friends rolling their eyes, "uh-huh. yeah. right."

the one night that vi manages to get someone halfway to the door, you catch them right before vi manages to lead the girl out into the street, draping yourself across vi's back, giggling as you loop your arms around her neck, "vi! i was looking for you everywhere -- you promised we could hang out after your fight tonight -- did you forget again?" you purposefully stumble into the girl she's with, knocking their hands apart. vi grimaces, narrowing her eyes as she rounds on you, intent on telling you off when she catches sight of what you're wearing -- a black leather skirt that barely kisses the tops of your thighs and a tiny little red croptop that leaves nothing to the imagination, dark fishnets criss-crossing up your legs (her mouth waters at the thought of ripping them apart to bury her fingers in your cunt) --

"uhm... friend of yours?" her would-be date asks, clearly a bit put-off as she looks you over. you pull your face into a girlish pout, batting your lashes at vi, "aw... are you doing this to get back at me for the other night? i said was sorry -- would you feel better if i let you eat me out in the back alley again --"

at that point, the girl vi's with pulls away and vi barely tries to get her back before rounding on you. the dopey grin slides off your face and your eyes glitter like shards of broken glass as vi growls at you, yanking you behind her till you're both in the dim alleyway behind the bar, the thick metal door slamming shut behind you

"what the fuck is your problem?!" she asks. you roll your eyes, scoffing, "whatever the fuck is yours. i've told you that you're supposed to be resting, and you never listen --" "i come to you so you can stitch up my face not so you can give me life advice --" "well i won't have to much of your face to stitch up if you keep on going like this cause you're gonna get yourself killed!" "why the fuck do you care?!" "cause it's my job!"

vi groans, jerking away from you to kick at an already toppled over trashcan, the metallic clank of it ringing through the narrow street

"you don't get paid to cockblock me at the fucking bar --" "and you don't get paid to spend all your winnings bribing the bartender into double-dosing all my potential dates!" vi whirls around then, eyes wide, "i -- i don't know what the hell you're --" you let out a wild shriek of laughter, "oh please! you're not subtle -- and you don't think pete and i have known each other for way longer than he's known you?"

vi huffs, folding her arms defensively over chest, glaring down the alley at the thing strip of light cresting in from the street out front, "that's -- those people -- they're not good for you. they'd --" she swallows hard, "they'd hurt you -- chew you up and spit you back out and --"

you cock your eyebrows, "you don't think i know that? i am from the lanes too, yknow."

vi scowls, "then you should start acting like it."

"what?" "nothing." "no, seriously -- what is it with you?" "nothing! god fuckin' -- forget it -- i'll find another bar to --" "violet."

her eyes jerk up, "how -- who -- how'dyou know my name?"

you sigh, rolling your eyes, "your friend? loris? he told me after the first time you punched a guy for trying to talk to me. you're probably too drunk to remember but --" vi shakes her head, "no i -- i do -- that guy was an ass -- i knew him from back when i used to run jobs for -- well, doesn't matter much now but --"

"i can look after myself, violet," you say. vi scoffs before she can stop herself, "yeah. okay." you sigh, leaning back against the bar's back door, "or are you just so caught up in needing something to protect that you don't see it?"

vi very nearly flinches. "what?"

you purse your lips, "i said what i said." "yeah well, say it again." she closes the space between you both in a few quick strides, crowding into your space, slamming a palm against the door next to your face. to your credit, you don't even blink.

there's a flicker of something behind your eyes that licks fire along the length of vi's spine; "i said -- you should find some other little puppet to work out your problems on because i'm done --"

she's kissing you before you can finish your sentence, and there's nothing caring or gentle about the way she bullies her tongue into your mouth and licks along the backsides of your teeth, nothing kind or caring about the way she yanks you forward by the back of your neck till you're sure you'll be able to feel the ghosts of her fingers against your skin for days and days to come

you moan into her, biting down hard on her bottom lip, grinning when the harsh, metallic tang of blood seeps across your tongue. when she pulls back, you're both panting, and you've never seen her eyes so dark, so hungry and crowded with sharp, thunderheads of lust

"mm, that's one way to shut you up," vi muses, running a thumb along the line of your jaw. you grin, a slanted, fox-sly thing. "admit it, you've been wanting to do that for ages."

vi's lips curl; she leans in close enough for you to taste the cheap whiskey on her breath as she says, "sure, and so have you."

[esotericbluntbaby]

srry if this sounds stupid but like.. reader thats super short?? like 5'1

idk thinking abt the fact that he could just manhandle you is making me so ♡♡ i keep thinking abt that trend where he could pick you up and place you on his shoulders omg.. or maybe he makes u sit on his lap and stuff while he edits

also feel like he's super protective u (subconsiously he doesnt even realize it) always putting a hand around u type of thing

hamzah x short!reader headcannons (sfw and nsfw)

mentions: reader gets insecure about their weight sometimes, manhandling, sexual activities, size kink

sfw!

being 5'10, hamzah was used to being taller than most people he knew. however, it hits way different when it comes to you. he enjoys having to look down at you whenever you're standing next to him; it gives him a slight ego boost about how tall he is.

though, being with someone short also has its downsides; sometimes hugging him when he's carrying all his film equipment is difficult. when side hugging him, he has to crouch down awkwardly or you have to go on the very tips of your toes in order to be able to.

you actually hate having to ask him for help on reaching things from high parts of your apartment; you've been independent for ages, so you feel like you should be able to simply grab whatever you need from the top. hamzah, however, hates it when you grab a chair to stand on. he thinks you'll somehow fall over and break something

hamzah walks in the room with a puzzled expression on his face, "hey baby? have you seen my- what are you doing?"

you looked down at him, standing on the counter, "i'm baking and i needed my measuring cups."

he grabs you by the waist and lifts you down with his hands, then reaching to the top of the cabinet with ease and grabbing the measuring cups you needed, "you could've just asked me."

whenever you get tired of walking around in heels, or your feet simply feel like they're bound to be raw instead of with skin, he carries you with ease. hamzah's a man who hates seeing his woman struggle with anything, yet he also didn't want to walk around toronto with only socks on the cold, dirty pavement. so, instead, he lifts you and carries you either bridal style or on his back.

he really has to lean down in order for you two to be able to kiss. whether it's a kiss on the cheek or a kiss on the lips, it's either he's bending down or you're on your toes. when you're in a situation where he can't bend over or he simply doesn't want to, forehead kisses are the next best option.

sometimes, he'll simply walk to wherever you are, grab you by the waist and hoist you onto his shoulder, and then take you to the couch to watch a movie with him. you don't really know how it started, but ever since he did it for the first time and you didn't seem to mind, he now does it probably once a week.

"hamzah, y'know you could've just asked me to come to the living room, right?"

"why would i do that?"

stealing his clothes is funny to him; it's been a running joke where, no matter how big the clothes you stole are, you'll still deny that it's his. he fakes being upset at it, but the blush he has on his cheeks tell a different story. one time, the roles reversed and he stole a tank top and basketball shorts from you.

"hamzah, what the hell are you wearing..?"

"just a little something from my closet ^-^"

if you ever get insecure about your weight, he makes it KNOWN that you weigh literally nothing to him. either by benchpressing your body or squatting it, he makes you laugh with all the movement he's making you go through. afterwards, he definitely reassures you that you're genuinely the most beautiful person he's ever seen; it's safe to say that you don't get insecure about your weight that often with him in your life.

nsfw!

hamzah's arms are absolutely ripped. therefore, he's able to switch your position whenever it's needed. cramping? he'll manhandle you and switch the position. tired? he'll manhandle you and switch the position. about to finish? he'll manhandle you and switch the position so that you feel as pleasured as possible when you release.

whenever he eats you out, he's able to overstimulate you as much as he can. his arms are almost always spreading your thighs apart, his promise ring making indents in your skin, even if your thighs are trying to squeeze his head off. occasionally, he lets you squeeze his head; contrary to popular belief, i think hamzah's a thigh and ass guy. being squeezed by how soft your thighs are turns him on even more.

the options for positions are ENDLESS. he's able to lift you and carry you for as long as both of you can last.

size kink. watching him rip you apart turns him on to the point where sometimes, he doesn't last as long as usual from the mere sight of your pornographic moans and having him enter and exit. watching you get tore apart also turns you on; he's so big and strong. that's your man, right there. only he's able to make you feel like this (and finish as fast as you do).

he wraps his hand around your wrists to restrain you; with the height difference, his hands are basically double the size of yours. he pins you down quite often, since missionary is probably one of his favorite positions. he likes seeing how blissful your expression is when he's deep inside of you.

authors note!

sorry i edged u guys the whole day with this LOLL! it's kinda short, but i hope u guys enjoy!

[hungiehipo]

Macdennis timeline

Macdennis

The 16 season long situationship filled to the brim with sociopathic tendencies, mutual abuse, and disorganized attachment between a man burdened by Catholic guilt who doesn't want love unless it hurts and a deeply dissociated man who can't be authentic unless he's immersed in a facade. And they were roommates.

What can be said that hasn't been said before? Probably nothing... still here's this.

S1-S4 PRE-MACDENNIS

This is before Mac and Dennis find themselves unwittingly thrust into a relationship neither is aware of. There is a homoerotic undertone, albeit usually as more of a joke than anything else. Neither has realized that their feelings for the other goes beyond friendship.

(Season 1 ep 1) Famous tequila scene.

(season 3 ep 4) Mac says I love you to Dennis.

(season 3 ep 15) gang dances their asses off macs dance pantomiming blowing Dennis.

(season 4 ep 1) Man hunters. Dennis puts his balls in Mac's mouth when he's sleeping, and mac shaves his pubes and glues them to Dennis' face.

(season 4 ep 4) Charlie asks Dennis if he still gets the feeling Mac wants to bang them, and that's why Mac makes project badass, Dennis agrees.

(season 4 ep 13) Nightman cometh. Mac gets a boner when Dennis' character pantomimes sex with him in the play. Dennis rips macs heart out (this comes back later)

S5-S7 MACDENNIS INTENTIONAL

Season 5 Macdennis hits like a truck. Dennis has feelings and they are BIG. We the audience witness a masterful display of homoerotic desire wrapped in a stunning amount of cognitive dissonance until "breakup" where Dennis is forced to confront the reality of his feelings. Following this crucial turning point, we are treated to a series of back and forth assertions of no-homo, feelings getting hurt, and lashing out. In order, we get Dennis introducing the dennis system, mac fighting gay marriage, Dennis getting married and kicking Mac out of the apartment, and finally Dennis getting a divorce.

Things are notably different between them post-divorce, marked by a mutual retreat from both Mac and Dennis. There's a shared reluctance to appear overly invested in each other romantically. This dynamic persists into Season 7, where Mac and Dennis noticeably maintain a considerable distance compared to previous seasons. In my honest opinion, this season exhibits the least Macdennis of any. Dennis being unhappy with Mac's weight gain likely contributes to this.

(Season 5 episode 1) Dennis suggests that they pretend to be gay married realtors. Some will say that being gay married was not essential to the scheme. Some would even say that to sell the being married thing Dennis did NOT have to be that touchy touchy. Source of baby boy nickname that has penetrated every corner of AO3 macden fanfiction.

(season 5 episode 8) PADDY'S THONG DUDE!!! PADDY'S THONG! I'm not wearing these because I'm comfortable I'm wearing them cause i wanna turn YOU on, you know what I'm saying??? you get it???

Mac jerks off a shotgun and blows its load in a kneeling dennis' gaping mouth.

(season 5 episode 9) They break up. In the podcast they say that this is a romcom. Dee points out that they act like an old married couple. Realization dawns on dennis's face and he proceeds to freak the hell out. Why? I mean... he knew it was true. We learn that they have a weekly movie night. Mac is jealous of video store clerk guy. We learn that they check in. Deleted scene at the end has Dennis blurting out that Mac has "beautiful lips" and again looking horrified.

(season 5 ep 10) Immediately after break up Dennis introduces his fool proof system for attracting WOMeN with big BIG BOOB for SEX.

(season 6 ep 1) Mac goes on a rampage against gay marriage after just last season being fake gay married to dennis. Dennis immediately gets married and kicks Mac out of the apartment. (Dennis also says he doesn't "have feelings", which Mac internalizes and it comes back in season 12)

(season 6 ep 2) dennis immediately divorces said woman and lets his boy toy (his words) come home.

radio silence all of season 7 except....

(season 7 ep 1) They go to the doctor, mac tries to carry dennis out bridal style. Dennis eats a chimichanga with Mac (romantic).

(season 7 ep 6) cold open, Dennis is holding Macs forearm while they watch the TV.

-season 7 we also learn that Mac slept with Dennis' prom date and it was very easy.

S8-S9 The kiss, the date, and the platonic naked wrestling shower scene

I believe this is the point where Mac starts to get the feeling something is off. (Again, Dennis realized in season 5). Mac has far more dissonance about it though, he like just wants to be best bros with Dennis for life, cause Dennis is like soooo cool. He is definitely not in love with Dennis he just loves Dennis like, as a blood brother. HE IS NOT GAY BECAUSE THAT IS A SIN. HE SERIOUSLY LOVES GOD A LOT.

In Season 8's Dines out Dennis delivers a speech wherein he admits that he thinks of Mac as a man who knows exactly who he is. Season 9's Mac day shows the total elimination of this belief after a full day filled with Macs self hating homophobia contrasting with his out and proud cousin "country mac".

(Season 8 ep 2) Whelp, God only knows how we ended up here after a drought like season 7, but 8 kicks off with a bang with an out of nowhere kissing attempt from Mac… right in front of Charlie too. By the look on Dennis' face I'm going to guess this has never happened before. I genuinely wonder what compelled him to do this…. like….is he just always thinking about it and forgot hes not supposed to do it for real? was it instinct?

(Season 8 ep 6) Dennis deals with emotional numbness, and nothing he tries makes him feel anything until the end of the episode where he feels too much after seeing his dead mother. This is not overtly macdennis but I think it demonstrates how he struggles with emotion and why Mac believes that Dennis does not have feelings.

(season 8 episode 9) Mac and Dennis are going on a fancy dinner date every single month. Monthly dinner and weekly movie nights.... anyway. Mac is upset that Dennis won't say something nice to him so Dennis does a speech to the whole restaurant. Yes he did kinda do it to dunk on frank and charlie. Yes he loved the attention. I think he meant what he said.

(season 8 episode 10) Dennis gets turned on by Mac totally intellectually dominating him while giving his anti science presentation. Also in the car at the end Mac was flirting.

(season 9 episode 3) Mac day. Praise God. Dennis is drowning in a sea of Macs delusion. Mac believes himself to be totally badass and not at all gay while repeatedly demonstrating the opposite. Country Mac shows Dennis what Mac could be if he was all the things he said he was and just embraced that he was gay. Dennis resents Mac.

(season 9 episode 6) saves the day. Macs fantasy involves Dennis wailing over his corpse, proclaiming his love. Dennis' fantasy is interesting, revealing his fear that Mac would abandon him the moment his sexual appeal fades. He envisions the possibility of being loved for more than his sexual abilities, yet his declaration of love precludes Jackie being hit by a car, leading to the loss of her breasts, and Dennis choosing to leave her. Lot to unpack here.

(season 9 episode 8) Mac and Dennis are trying to catch a rat. Mac tries to bash the rat, but Dennis says that its not about brute force, its about seduction. He turns on some romantic music and they both sway back and forth, looking into each others eyes, Mac takes a step forward, but Dee enters the room and the second dennis sees her he spins around and walks away.

I also feel the need to point out that Mac and Dennis went to high school together, and Macs nickname in high school was....well... Ronnie the rat.

(season 9 episode 9) Mac writes into the script of lethal weapon a scene where he and Dennis, I kid you not, wrestle naked in a shower. If you can call it wrestling... though it's more accurately described as an opportunity for an intense, naked embrace.

(season 9 episode 10) Cute food fight scene. Their apartment burns down.

s10-11 Out of their natural environment

Following the incineration of their shared home, macdennis moves in with Dee and all three of them hate it so so much.

(season 10 episode 1) Dennis looks at Mac like he wants to eat him (4 min 24 seconds) Mac says wait Dennis don't go and Dennis turns like he's expecting.... I don't know.

(season 10 episode 5) Mac and Dennis take turns watching and jacking off to creampie videos. Some will say they could just find their own porn, however I think this is one of the numerous creative ways they've found to have a sex life with each other.

(season 10 ep 3) Dennis is diagnosed with BPD.

(season 10 ep 6) The gang embarks on a journey of independence, only to discover that their lives are intricately woven together. For better or worse they will never escape each other, and will likely live this way until they die.

(season 10 episode 10) Dennis creates an entire fake cult to get Mac to do things he wants him to do. Says Macs been looking so good so sexy lately *manipulative*

(season 11 episode 4) Mac turns off the video Dee made about Dennis being raped by the librarian.

(season 11 episode 5) Macdennis play house. Mac asks Dennis if he can hear the beep too, Dennis gaslights him and says no, meanwhile getting increasingly agitated by the pool filter. It's already been explained more better by others but basically this is a metaphor for Mac wanting Dennis to acknowledge what has been happening between them, while Dennis adamantly avoids doing so. Instead, he channels his frustrations into unrelated problems.

Dennis hates going to work alone all day and Mac hates staying home, which could easily be fixed by having Mac come to work with him. Instead, Dennis' solution is a "honey-do list" (a list of chores a man would give his wife) and a dog, which Mac names DENNIS JR. (parallel to Dennis' real kid who is named Brian Jr. ) This kind of relationship paralleling is a recurring theme; for example in gets romantic, double life, and celebrity booze).

In the beginning of the episode Dennis wants to listen to Bryan Adams in the car. At the end of the episode Mac confronts him by saying "everything I do I do it for you, and everything you do you do it for yourself". (referencing the title of a very romantic Bryan Adams song)

dennis says he hates him

(season 11 ep 6) Mac asks Frank if he thinks Dennis hates him, because he just wants him to think he's cool and he puts so much work into this relationship and *unintelligible* (seriously if anyone know what Mac is saying when Frank spaces out please message me)

(season 11 ep 8) Dennis also knows about the gay bar

(Season 11 ep 10) 🎵 Amazing Grace how sweet the sauce 🎵

Mac comes out. When they play fake dinner Mac talks about him and Dennis' future home where they will have dinner parties and touches Dennis' hand. Confused, Dennis questions the idea of it being "their" home, seemingly operating under the misconception that he and Mac might eventually part ways and not continue living together.

Mac prays to god that they be saved and after being rescued he goes back into the closet.

s12 Mac claims to be gay and Dennis leaves the state of Pennsylvania

Season 12 is my favorite season!

Mac comes out, has a gay dream, gives Dennis a present, tries to insert himself as 2nd father of Dennis' child, and is swiftly abandoned.

Things start to get a little too real for Dennis, and hes just a little too vulnerable. Perfectly it turns out he has an opportunity to live the typical nuclear family lifestyle he's envisioned for himself and escape all his troubles.

(season 12 episode 6) Gay Mac rules! rich gay Mac!

The watershed moment wherein Mac comes out as gay for real this time. Dennis is beyond shocked.

(season 12 episode 7) Mac fully grasps that his feelings for Dennis are romantic after having a dream where Dennis kisses him. Upon waking he goes to find Dennis. Again Dennis dances towards him and leans in, Macs eyes light up thinking that his dream is coming true but Dennis slams the door in his face.

(season 12 ep 8) Dennis wants to completely ignore Valentines day because he doesn't think he has anybody who really cares about/loves him. Everyone in the gang openly states that they don't think he has feelings.

At the end of the ep. Mac has Dennis open a crate, which turns out to be an RPG (something that Dennis thinks is awesome and talks about all the time), and he tears up, he's incredibly touched. When Mac says there is no rocket (rendering the gift effectively useless) Dennis says he doesn't care, he loves it. Mac figured out the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world and got it for him. This is likely not referring to the RPG but instead to the fact that he wanted someone to show him that they love him/care about him.

(season 12 ep 10) Dennis is revealed to have a son with Mandy, a woman who he had sex with on his layover from the wade boggs episode. To get him out of this jam Mac suggests they pretend to be in a relationship. Dennis, reluctantly going along with the plan, tells Mandy he sleeps with women but he is emotionally invested with Mac. When she is fine with it and says she wouldn't mind Brian Jr. having two dads, Mac enthusiastically agrees to parent Dennis' kid with him. When Dennis asks Mac why he would agree to that, since they are not a couple, Mac replies that he thought they could just keep pretending.

Mac wins a bet and gets to refurnish the apartment. He surprises Dennis by recreating their old apartment down to the last detail, save his own bedroom, which he leaves empty. He only buys Dennis a bed because he is hoping Dennis will go along with continuing to share a bed like they did at Dee's.

At the end of the episode Dennis announces he is leaving to go raise his son in North Dakota with Mandy. Nobody tries to stop him.

S13-14 DENNIS IS COMING BACK HOT

Dennis' 2 most angry/upset seasons.

In the season 13 promos Dennis is like a ghost, watching the gang laughing and talking without him. At some points they seem to notice that he's there, but just don't care. He is the only one spooked by the weird things happening around the bar.

In season 13 Dennis' returns and feels as though he is not important or needed by his friends. Mac has a journey of self-discovery, coming to terms with his sexuality and finding his identity as a gay man. Mac relies on Dennis to tell him what to do, desperate to please him, but Dennis wants Mac to take control and take care of him. Dennis only wants the illusion of control.

(Season 13 episode 1) Mac orders a sex doll of Dennis and swears he isn't blowing his loads into it. Dennis comes back.

(Season 13 episode 2) Mac finds a heart shaped lock clue whilst doing an escape room. Dennis says they should keep it between themselves.

(season 13 episode 4) Dennis holds a seminar where he publicly declares his own heterosexuality and lack of interest in Mac.

just gonna leave these quotes-

dennis- "some of you just haven't been careful enough, so youre asking yourself what can I do to save myself now. You gotta clean up your act otherwise you're going down, and you're gonna take me down with you and I ain't going down. You understand? I've been telling you this for years but you refused to listen"

----

mac- "and we should probably stop harassing them"

dennis, replying to Mac- " uh well you know, one step at a time we don't want the whole system to collapse" (but Macs only crime was being too open with his feelings for Dennis)

(season 13 ep 5) Dennis opens the floor for questions about his absence. He totally gets that everyone was giving him some space and respecting his privacy, and he's ready to talk about it now but...they just don't actually care....at all... (including Mac)

(season 13 episode 7) Its my personal interpretation that all of clip show happens in Dennis' mind in an episode of dissociation. He imagines that Mac decided to come with him to north Carolina. He imagines being confronted about why he would want to live with Mac if he "hates" him so much.

(season 13 episode 10) Mac comes out to his father in a beautiful interpretive dance and is rejected.

(season 14 episode 1) Mac tries to get into Dennis' good graces again by staging a scheme to get Dennis laid just like old times. Interestingly, Dennis isn't all that interested in banging. When its not working out with the woman, Dennis decides that it's because the leads are actually Mac and the husband. They can't seem to figure out that the leads are really each other.

Mac and Dennis are paralleled by the married couple while Charlie and Frank are mirrored by the father son duo..

"If you'd just give us a chance, we could tell a love story for the ages, a gay GAY ass love story". WE ARE READY AND SO WILLING

(season 14 episode 5) "Bathrooms at zoos are, like, big Grindr spots for closeted dads." (also refer to Macs super long pining text messages)

(season 14 ep 6) "all that for a whistle, I wonder what you'd do for a biscuit" I really don't understand how but apparently this episode really did happen and it wasn't in someones dream or anything like that??

(season 14 episode 10) Dennis says to Mac it's time to end the game. This could be interpreted as being about their 14 season song and dance, and would be backed up by the fact that the next season shows Mac completely backing off.

s15-s16 Acceptance and regret

mac tries to move on, Dennis misses his baby boy

(season 15 episode 1) We get some cute broke back mountain Macdennis. They play guitar and sing a love song they wrote together, looking into each other's eyes.

(season 15 ep 4) There's a subtle moment that's easy to miss. Dennis pats Mac's hand when they are talking to Charlie and Mac looks down at it, taking a deep breath.

(season 15 ep 5) Dennis has COVID and Mac isn't concerned, in fact he is irritated that Dennis wont admit he's sick. This is a big change from the last couple of seasons where Mac is desperate to take care of Dennis.

(season 16 episode 1) Mac and Dennis throw away all of their furniture including their beds. They now share an inflatable bed/couch and sleep together in it (just a couple seasons ago Dennis was absolutely refusing to sleep in the same bed as Mac). They are touching so much in the bed. Dennis is concerned for Mac because he has been continuously consuming nuts that he is allergic to (there's a metaphor here) and is heavily wheezing. Dennis gently places two fingers on Macs neck to check his pulse.

If Dennis did not want to sleep in the bed with Mac he would have gone and bought another inflatable bed. He would have made Mac sleep on the ground. He would have gone to sleep at Dees house. He wanted to be in that bed with Mac.

(season 16 episode 4) Dennis creates a fake dating profile under the alias of "Johnny". He buys Mac extra large anal beads to put inside of him at all times, and turns them on to signal to Mac to meet him at a hotel. He says he did it to....get him out of the house? and to get Mac to....buy him crab?

Dennis looks so devastated when Mac says he's in love with Johnny. I kinda wonder if it's the idea that Mac could love someone else that upsets him... or if he's reacting to Mac telling him he is in love with him to his face?

This is also the episode where we learn that Dennis has a fool proof method for attracting men. When Mac and Dee ask why he has this system he just shushes them.

(season 16 episode 5) The relationship between Malcom and his dad is a parallel of Mac and Dennis's relationship. The speech at the end to me seems like its hinting that Mac knows more/ has more control and power than is let on.

NEW INFORMATION JUST DROPPED I have just been made aware of the actual parallel between Malcom and the dad possibly being Dennis and Frank.

(season 16 episode 8) Nightmare! Nightmare! Nightmare!

Dennis takes a mental health day. Some people really hated this episode but I really liked it. Mac is putting coal in a pressure cooker to make diamonds. Dennis rips the CEO's (who is wearing a Hawaiian shirt like we've seen Mac wear) heart out, and squeezes it so hard it turns into a diamond and he eats it. This is a direct parallel to the nightman cometh where he also rips Macs heart out.

*edit to add* The director of this episode (who did not write the ep but still was involved in its creation obviously) Heath Cullens, in a reddit QA when asked if this was a nod to dayman replied "Nope. I think pretty much a coincidence." which I think is a total missed opportunity tbh.

This was all in Dennis' mind, and it seems to me that the Mac "situation" has left him with a sense of powerlessness. He feels isolated, trapped in an endless nightmare of his own creation, and he has nobody he can count on to help him, there's nobody he can rely on, he can only trust himself. Compressing the coal into a diamond represents Dennis molding everything to be exactly as he wishes, and by swallowing it he reclaims absolute control.

Always sunny book- : the 7 secrets of awakening the highly effective four-hour giant, today

"Mac for instance is also a 3 in ugly, so even if this exercise we're going to try fails, you'll have some company at your ugly parties. For the record, on the ugly scale charlie is a five, frank is a six, and Dee is a nine." - Dennis

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + seventeen

authors note: this chapter covers the aftermath of solana's attempt in the previous chapter. please heed to content warnings in order to make an informed decision regarding reading this chapter.

i'm going to handle solana's experience in the hospital as realistically as i can, but there are creative liberties taken as well. and don't come for me for the ending either. :/

cw/tw: angst, discussion and coverage of the aftermath of a suicide attempt, mental health discussions.

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 15k

Roman has a long to-do list. He always does and always will. But, this is by far one of the last things he wants to do. 

He’s going on 24 hours of no sleep, which isn’t the first time he’s done as such, but it’s the first time he’s done as such and actually felt the impact of the sleep deprivation. And truth be told, deep down he knows the exhaustion that he feels is more mental than anything.

It’s the result of the toll that finding out Solana tried to kill herself has taken on him. 

Is taking on him.

But, he can’t deal with that shit right now. He can’t deal with it because he’s got his Wise Man, Rikishi, Solo, Jimmy and Jey all sitting around him, wearing various levels of confused expressions. Which only irritates Roman more because Rikishi and Paul are the only ones who should be confused. The twins have been with him dealing with all of the shit the past 24 hours. 

Solo too.

Rikishi is the first to speak, studying Roman. The Tribal Chief is more than sure he noticed the grimace on Roman’s face as he went to roll his shoulders, remembering yet again of the wound that probably won’t heal as quickly as predicted given the fact he’s done the complete opposite of ‘taking it easy.’

“You gonna tell us what happened or—”

“There was an assassination attempt on Solana’s life last night.” Roman’s sentence is matter-of-fact and to the point, nevermind the fact that his right hand forms into a fist at just saying as such. 

Rikishi and Paul share shocked expressions, Roman’s older cousin being the one to ask, “is she—”

“Bullet hit me instead. Didn’t lodge. I’ll be fine.” Roman only adds that last part because of the horrified look on Paul’s face, already knowing his Wise Man will bombard him with questions about his injury. “Xavier Miller and his boy were behind the attempt. I’m handling them now.” 

“But sir, why would Miller want his own daughter dead?”

Roman closes his eyes and rolls his neck, working to settle his rising temper. He hates talking about this shit. It only spikes his eagerness to get his hands on Miller and rip him apart limb by limb. “Because she didn’t go along with his plan.”

Rikishi speaks up again. “Plan?”

Roman’s jaw clenches. “He wanted her to kill me.” 

The rest of the men look equally shocked, Paul gasping loudly, asking, “she’s a traitor?”

If looks could kill, Paul would be six feet under. Roman has to mentally restrain from acting out on his suddenly murderous urges. “She’s my wife.”

Rikishi, however, seemingly tosses his longtime friend a lifeline, trying to reason with his younger cousin. “Uce, that doesn’t mean she can’t be both—”

“What I’m hearing….” Solo surprises the men around the table as he sits forward. “—is that she can’t be trusted.”

Roman isn’t sure just how much of his anger and rage at the accusations being slung against Solana is showing, his Solana, but it must be enough for the twins, of all people, to try and de-escalate.

“Come on now, this is Soso we talking about.” Jimmy is the first to kick off peacemaking. He looks at his father, “pops, you was there when we first met her. She was nervous as shit. Ain’t nothing about that girl dangerous.”

Jey chimes in, handling Solo. “And you of all people should definitely know that’s not Solana. She would never hurt nobody, let alone kill nobody.”

Solo, however, simply scoffs. “Like she ain’t hurt her brother?”

“What was she supposed to do? Let him beat her?” Jimmy is the one to snap, shouting back with a suck of his teeth, “man, that bitch deserved it!”

Rikishi jumps in, defending his younger son. “I think what Solo is trying to say is that it proves she is, in fact, capable of hurting someone if she wanted to.”

“Why would she want to hurt Roman? That don’t even make no—”

“Enough!” Roman’s fist slams down on the table. “The next person to say one more negative thing about my wife is getting a bullet in their fucking skull.” There’s a blanket of silence, all of the men knowing that Roman would absolutely carry through on this threat. A promise, really. 

Roman swallows, both from anger and something else he can’t pinpoint. “Solana tried to kill herself last night. What in the fuck about that presents a danger?” He doesn’t care enough to observe the reactions of that news. Doesn’t give a fuck. “The only person she’s a danger to is herself.”

Paul is the brave soul, or perhaps just stupidly and naively asking, “is she—okay?” 

“I said tried, didn’t I?” Roman snaps, forcing the pudgy man to recoil back in his seat. Roman clenches his jaw yet again, directing his statement to the next older man. “Rikishi.” He runs a hand over his face. “Meet with the Elders. Tell them about the assassination attempt. That it was Miller. Nothing about the plan. And leave it at that.”

Rikishi removes his glasses, sitting up at the table. “Roman, the Elders should know—” 

“The Elders know what I want them to know, and I want them to know that someone tried to kill my wife, and I’m handling it. That’s it.” Incapable of dealing with any more of this shit, Roman stands up from the chair, turning his back on the rest of his family. “Wise Man, let’s go.”

The obese man also shoots up from the chair, nearly tripping over his feet as he wordlessly follows Roman out of the room. 

Left alone is just Rikishi and his sons, the patriarch asking, “she tried to kill herself?”

Jimmy and Jey wear similar frowns, recalling the horrific truth they learned about their ‘Soso’ just hours prior. Jimmy shuts his eyes, unable to push away the memory of a hysterical Naomi throwing herself into his chest at the memory of finding Solana unconscious. 

“It’s….it’s a long story,” Jey answers in a low voice, wanting to be respectful. Aware or not, Solana’s story is hers to tell and hers only. 

Truthfully, he’s slightly surprised Roman even disclosed that part of the past 24 hours. 

“Yeah, there’s a lot of the story that Roman left out,” Solo suddenly finds his voice again, sharing directly to his father and brothers. “Like the fact that Roman took that bullet for her.”

“What?” Riksihi asks, shock stamped all over his voice. 

“I was right there. I saw the whole thing. He pushed her out the way.”

Jimmy shrugs. “He protected his wife. What’s wrong with that? We all would have done the same.”

Jey nods in agreement. Rikishi looks torn. 

Solo continues, pointing out. “But, Roman ain’t like us. He’s the Tribal Chief. He needs to act like it.”

“Careful, son,” Rikishi cautions, seemingly breaking from his conflicted state. “Your Uce sits at the head of the table for a reason. His ways may be unorthodox at times, but his reign won’t be questioned. We won’t disrespect him.”

Solo scoffs. “But you’ll disrespect the other Elders by lying for him?”

Jey jumps in, chiding, “man, what’s up with you tonight?”

Solo scoffs, pointing to himself. “Me? I’m not the one whose judgment is clouded. We all know if this was one of us and the roles were reversed with our wives, Roman would want them executed. He’s not thinking straight.” Solo looks around the room, noticing there’s a brief second of silence. “Ya’ll see it too. I’m just the only one who’s willing to say it. Roman is losing focus—”

“That’s enough, Solo.” Rikishi raises his voice, firmer, that of a father. “You’re out of line, son.” 

Solo looks around the room, halfway waiting for his older brothers to jump to his defense, to agree with what they have to know is the truth. But, when that doesn’t happen, he also shoots up from the table, rocking it in the process, leaving the room without another word.

Once gone, Jimmy motions with his thumb. “Man, he is tripping.” He shakes his head, asking his father, “you want us to talk to him?”

“No.” Rikishi answers almost immediately, sighing heavily, running his hand over his face. “I’ll do it….you all just….watch Roman.” He stands up, as Jey mutters something about having the hard job. “And sons….this conversation doesn’t leave this room, understood?” Jimmy and Jey look slightly confused and taken back, Rikishi explaining, “I know you’re both closer with Roman. But, he’s just your cousin. Solo is your brother. He’s definitely tripping, but he’s still your family too, and there’s nothing more important than brotherhood, alright?”

________

Roman awakens with a heavy sigh that’s followed by his eyes closing. 

His sleep has been shit the past few days, and it’s been solely because his bed is cold and empty on the other side. Because he’s sleeping alone, something he once cherished but now can barely tolerate. He didn’t realize just how much he enjoyed Solana’s soft body pressed up against him, the satisfaction he felt waking up to her every morning.

Now, he just awakens to silence or the sound of Dulce whimpering or barking. 

Dulce’s whimpers on the side of the bed remind him of the fact that she’s still sleeping in his room. In their room. On Solana’s side.

Her empty side.

Moving the blankets off, Roman swings his big body over the side of the bed and walks over to motion for her to follow him. “Come on.”

He knows she has to empty her bladder, but he’s grateful for a reason to leave the space that reeks of Solana, a constant reminder of her absence. 

It’s….an experience, to say the least. 

Picking her up, he carries her down the steps, through the house, and out the back sliding door by the kitchen. Roman places her in the grass, letting her do her business as he goes to sit down on the edge of one of the chaise lounge.

He closes his eyes.

Love. 

Suck a weird fucking thing. Something he’s never really understood. 

Or felt. 

Not….not in this aspect at least. 

He’s always been confounded by the emotion that makes people act so outside of their character, clouds their judgment, and seizes their brain in crippling ways. He never saw the appeal in it. Never wanted it.

And then came Solana. 

If someone had told him four months ago that he’d not only be married to a woman he actually cares about let alone would end up loving, he’d probably knock them flat on their ass. Harshly criticize their stupidity at the very least. 

Falling in love with Solana was never the plan. He never wanted this for himself. He just needed to marry to create an official heir. And that was it. She would do her thing, taking care of the kid and whatnot. And he would still do him, continuing his life of commitment free sexual relations with whoever was his flavor of the week. Or day. 

And yet all of that, just the thought of it, sours his expression. 

He doesn’t want anyone other than Solana. Doesn’t desire to be intimate with anyone other than her. It’s her he wants to wake up to every morning, her he wants to make happy. He just wants her. Nobody else.

Because he loves her.

And it’s a shocking, life changing realization he finally stumbled into while sitting at her hospital bed. An epiphany he’s certain was heavily transitioned from subconscious to conscious given the events that transpired that night.

She almost died, was almost shot, and there’s not a fucking part of him would do anything differently. He’d take that bullet and any other bullet for her anytime. 

Because he loves her.

He stood between her and her piece of shit father, not thinking twice about it, only knowing that decision would forever negatively change her life. Thinking how he promised her he would never let her end up in that position. 

Because he loves her. 

And he sat at her hospital bed, holding her hand, pouring his heart out to her because the second those infamous words left Jey’s mouth, his world nearly collapsed. He couldn’t think straight as he rushed to the hospital, uncaring and uninterested in anything except being with her, holding her, catering to her. Whatever she needed. He just needs her to be okay. 

Because he loves her.

Roman’s head tilts back, the weight of all this lying on his chest. 

He can’t deny it. Can’t deny he loves her. Not to himself, at least. He just doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

There’s…..there’s no room for love in his life. No place for it. Love is weakness, and Roman has never and can never be weak. He’s the Tribal Chief. The Head of the Table. The leader of the Bloodline and Cosa Nostra. There is no space for weakness.

Or love. 

And yet….it’s there.

It’s there for her. 

Dulce walking over to the chaise lounge that Roman realizes is usually the one she sits on when she’s writing brings him back to the sadness that creeps in at her absence. Dulce must feel the same as she lays down, ears also down, whimpering.

Roman beckons her over, watching as she slowly walks over to his feet, ears still down as he picks her up and places her on his lap. It’s something not even a week ago he would probably do. But, that was then, and this is now. 

And now, he almost feels a sense of duty to Solana’s puppy. 

Because it’s this same puppy, he’s learned, that barked nonstop at Bayley and Naomi, running over to Solana and starting to cry, effectively alerting them that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

With an uncharacteristic level of emotion, Roman gently strokes the top of her head. “You saved her life….” For his own mental sanity, Roman chooses not to think about what the alternative could have been. What his reality would be if this small, five pound animal didn’t have such a close, protective bond to her human. “Thank you.”

Dulce whimpers in response, laying her body on his lap, staring at the empty pool chair. 

Roman sighs, eyes shutting again. 

The emotion is undeniable as he acknowledges in a soft voice. “I miss her too..”

This shit is much harder than he realized. 

________

Roman: How are you doing? 

Solana glances at her lock screen at hearing the familiar, personalized notification sound. The sound she set specifically for texts from her husband. Her smile is already set on her face but settles into something deeper as another message slides in.

Roman: Do you need me to come home?

Placing the pencil down on the nearest surface, she swaps out her task at hand for a brief break to respond to the question she anticipated would be proposed at some point in the day. 

Just not this soon, perhaps.

Solana wipes one hand on her shorts, the other unlocking her phone to open his thread. Preparing to reply, her gaze shifts over to her sweet baby boy, sleeping peacefully in his infant pillow. Low, relaxing music plays from her Alexa on the nightstand, lulling and keeping him in his slumber. Similarly, Dulce lays peacefully in her bed on Solana’s side of the bed, curled into a little ball.

The smile somehow grows deeper.

Solana: I’m okay. You don’t need to come home, really.

Solana quickly snaps a photo of the baby and includes it with her next message.

Solana: We’re good. :) 

Solana brings her finger to gently caress her son’s cheek. He has such a calm disposition about him. Even at 6 weeks. She can just see he’s taken on more of her demeanor than his dad’s. Granted, she also noticed the same thing about her oldest twin, only for her to gradually be morphing into the female version of her father.

Roman hearting the photo captures her attention once again followed by his reply, which seems to be the result of long distance mind reading.

Roman: He’s been a lot easier than the girls were. But, time will tell. 

Roman: Where are they?

She giggles, imagining his elongated sigh as he considers what could be in store for them once their son starts to get bigger and older. Can move around and get into things with his sisters. It’s more likely than not bound to happen.

Solana: In their playrooms. They’ve been surprisingly quiet too….for now. Lol

Solana knows her girls well enough to know silence with them, mostly when they’re together, isn’t usually long lived. The quieter of the two is very much like Solana, able to stay and keep to herself just fine without making much or any noise. Her sister, however, older by 6 minutes exactly, is not.

She is rambunctious and loud and loves to be moving. And when they’re together, that adventurous nature rubs off on Solana’s twin, usually resulting in them getting into something. More often than not.

Roman: I talked to them last night. Reminded them it's important they listen and help you out.

This is something she already knew, having overheard as he put them to bed while she catered to their newborn. He’s done that a lot since the birth of their son. Really taken over as much as he can with helping the girls, when it’s something he can do. And if he can’t do it, like them wanting to do art with her or bake something, usually the youngest vs the oldest, he’s on baby duty. 

Whether he realizes it or not, he truly is great at being a dad. Though something tells her, always has, that even three kids deep, he struggles with that insecurity at not being good at it.

Not being good enough.

Roman: I still think it was too early for me to come back to work and leave you alone with everything.

And there it is. What Solana already knew he was thinking but is happy to see him finally admit. Roman’s been working from home the past six weeks, since the birth of their son. And while she’s appreciated having him home, helping her out with managing their growing family, it was time for him to return back to the ‘office.’ 

She knows he worries about her, worries about her feeling overwhelmed, but she’s been good the past few years with being open with him. That hasn’t and won’t change. 

Solana: You were going to have to go back eventually, Ro. I’m okay, really. The girls really don’t cause me any issues. And he’s easy.

Solana: Outside of when he’s groping and squeezing the mess out of my breast. 😅

Breastfeeding has never been much of an issue for Solana. And, while it was definitely a bit of a challenge breastfeeding twins, there was never a pressing enough problem for her to not consider doing the same for her third child.

Granted, unlike the girls who, at most, felt around her breast while getting their fill, her son is more handsy. His little palms often slapping, squeezing and even scratching with his nails she makes sure to try to keep cut low. 

She chuckles, thinking about how this could very much be another small sign she’s in store for yet another energetic child. It lines up though. Even when he’s sleepy, little scowl on his face, she sees Roman. In all of the children, really. But with him, the way his little lips dip and light eyebrows cave into a look of unmistakable disapproval, usually when she takes too long to pick him up or feed him, that’s all Roman.

Roman: Smart kid. 

She giggles, sending out a reply that’s a result of years of growing more comfortable with teetering the lines of risque topics and innuendos.

Solana: Your kid, clearly. 😅

Roman: Damn straight.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she keeps the conversation going with another risky text. 

Solana: Just two more weeks until I’m….cleared. 

Over the years, and as she’s continued to heal, Solana has found herself with a sexual appetite that’s nowhere near her husband’s nor most women her age, but it’s there. Coming and going. Ebbing and flowing. And lately, it’s been on the flowing side.

Roman: We should wait longer. 

Roman: I’m not taking any risks.

She sighs at his reply that’s not entirely unsurprising. He absolutely would want to go past the recommended 8 weeks that she was told by her doctor that they would need to wait to resume intimacy. An extended period of time than the usual 6 weeks due to the second degree tear she sustained while birthing her third child. A thing that can happen during childbirth and wasn’t anything too serious, but something she knows her husband sees as just that.

Thus him wanting to not ‘take any risks.’ 

Solana: I understand.

Understanding is different from agreeing, but she won’t push him on it. 

Solana: Besides, don’t want to risk another baby.

Solana: Just yet anyway….

Having this conversation over text probably isn’t the way to go, but she has no doubt he’ll talk with her about it more in person when he comes home tonight, after all three kids are down for bed.

That doesn’t mean they can’t start it now, at least, though.

Roman: Seriously? You really want another baby?

Roman: He isn’t even a year yet.

Roman: You forget I’m 10 years older than you. I’m getting too old for all these kids, Solana.

It’s true they just welcomed their baby boy not even two months ago. And Roman is aging. He’s older, the gray in his beard spreading by the day, but he’s still just as active and fit into his forties as he was when they met years prior. Thus, he’s exaggerating. 

Solana: No, you’re not.

Solana: And that wasn’t a no…..

His reply comes in a bit quicker than she was anticipating. 

Roman: It wasn’t. 

She smiles. Solana has learned her husband well over the years. Knows him well enough to know that if there wasn’t a part of him also interested in maybe having another child, he would be clear about his standpoint. He would express his disagreement. 

So his comment would suggest he’s not team no. That he’s open, and his following texts confirm as such.

Roman: But, this would be it. Four is more than enough.

She smiles, knowing that this definitely will still be discussed in person tonight but happy that he’s unwilling to deny himself. Solana’s love for him has only deepened since seeing him step into the role of fatherhood. 

She just wishes she could get him to see how good he is at this. The girls wouldn’t adore him as much as they do if he was bad at it, per se.

But, he’s not.

If only he could see it. 

Solana: Unless we get another set of twins….😅

Roman: Jesus Christ 

Solana giggles, imagining the look he must have on his face. Probably similar to when they found out about the girls. She wasn’t entirely surprised given how strongly twins run on his side of the family.

But, he most certainly was.

A quiet knock pulls her from the conversation as she lays her eyes on the twins who are waiting by the door with hesitant expressions. She waves them over, placing her finger over her mouth to remind them to be quiet to avoid waking up the still sleeping baby.

They tip toe over to her, moving to her side of the bed, leaning over and looking at him. The oldest is the one to ask, whispering, “why does he sleep so much, mama?”

Solana chuckles. “That’s what babies do. They need a lot of sleep to grow big and strong.”

The quieter of the two of them deviates from her usual silence to predict, “he’s gonna be big and strong like papa.”

The oldest, however, doesn’t hesitate to reiterate. “I’m still gonna be the tribal chief though.”

Solana has such a torn reaction she does well at hiding. As much as she loves how much her technically first born admires Roman and wants to be just like him, she also has no idea just what it is that Roman really does. The true weight that comes with wearing the Ula Fala. 

Or the fact that by his family’s laws and traditions, their son is the true heir to the Bloodline. Granted, she also suspects it’s those same laws and traditions Roman will fight tooth and nail to change should their daughter, even after knowing the truth about the Bloodline, still want to pursue taking his place when the time comes for him to step down.

Roman would do anything to give her just as much a chance to the keys to the kingdom as her brother.

But, that’s so far down the line, and Solana doesn’t like thinking about it too much. She just wants to enjoy her children as they are now, innocent and oblivious.

Ms. Quiet stays on her talking streak, asking quietly, “can we still go to aunt Bayley’s house today?”

Solana nods. She briefly forgot about that, but it’s still very much doable. “Of course.” 

The girls gasp and look at each other, Solana already knowing another request is about to follow. Roman’s little twin ends up being the one to ask, “mama, can we go see papa at his office before?”

She shouldn’t be surprised. One of their favorite things to do is stop by and see Roman while he’s at work. Something she hasn’t done in some time, not since the birth of her son and even then, it had been a few months.

Solana starts to text and ask him if he’s busy, but one look at the happiness on the girls’ faces at being able to see their dad, and she knows she doesn’t need to.

She knows there’s no way on God’s green earth that he would turn them away, even if he stopped or canceled a meeting just to interact with them.

That’s just the kind of father he is.

His kids come first. 

With excitement bubbling in her stomach at seeing her husband, Solana takes a glance at her son, smile growing as he stirs, clearly just as ready to see daddy. 

She then looks back at her just excited girls, sharing, “time to go see papa.”

“Time to get up.”

Solana has to blink a couple of times to reorient herself, almost entirely due to the shocking nature of her dream. A dream she’s now had every night since being admitted to the hospital, glimpses, and what feels like peeks, into the future.

Her future.

But, at the same time, it’s a distant thing that seems unattainable and unrealistic given where she is now. On a legally mandated psychiatric hold after attempting to die by suicide.

“You up, sweetie?”

Solana nods and sits up in the bed, accepting the water and pills in the small medicine bowl. She doesn’t hesitate to swallow all three, offering a small smile to the nurse who’s been assigned to her, making sure she takes her medication as prescribed.

The nurse, Carol, she thinks, reminds, “breakfast starts in twenty.”

Solana nods, pushing back some of her hair, waiting for the older woman to leave before she lays back down on the bed. 

She shuts her eyes. 

The past few days have been…..an experience. An emotional ride unlike any she’s been on in years. The last time she can recall struggling and feeling as heavy as she was was when she woke up from her coma and had it confirmed that her mother was dead. Something she knew but held onto the invisible string of hope that Nina somehow survived. 

Even though Solana still recalls the moment she heard and saw her mother take her last breath. 

It’s a weight that’s lessened tremendously over the past couple of days, since she woke up yet a second time, less irrational, not as hysterical. Part of her reaction was most definitely due to still feeling suicidal, still believing that being dead would be better for everyone. But her reaction was exacerbated by the fact that two male nurses moved to restrain her as she tried to move from the hospital bed. Having male hands on her like that was triggering and made her emotions that much more difficult to manage in an already tense situation.

But the second time she awoke, Solana saw nothing but women. Truth be told, she’s only had women on her care team since being admitted. It’s made such a big difference. 

All of it has.

Being in this space, so separated from the outside world. It’s been both difficult and welcomed. A nice escape from a recently draining reality but also a heavy separation that she’s brought up a couple times now in her individual therapy sessions with her therapist, Gail.

That is the difficulty in being separated from Roman. It’s a dichotomy. As much as she wants to see and talk to him, she wants to hide and avoid him. She wants to explain yet also never have to discuss it again. An avoidance behavior that is typical for survivors of suicide attempts, another thing she’s learned in therapy thus far. 

But more than anything, Solana just wants to talk to him. She remembers from when she was admitted as a teen following her first attempt that communication is typically cut off from the outside. She just didn’t realize it would be the same protocol as an adult. 

Something intended to avoid patients from being re-triggered. She gets that, but it doesn't make her miss him any less. 

This is the first time they’ve been separated from one another since before the wedding, and it’s not a fun experience. 

But yet….

It’s not a horrible experience either.

No one wants to be in the hospital. And no one definitely wants to be in the hospital on a legal hold because they’ve been deemed a danger to themselves and thus needs 24/7 supervision.

That part sucks, but what hasn’t sucked for Solana is being able to be as honest and vulnerable as she needs to be. To cry and fully acknowledge the extent of her feelings, to be as raw as she’s been in her therapy sessions thus far with Gail. The woman whose kind smile, non-judgemental and self-disclosure of also being violated has created such a safe space for her. 

Solana knew, knows, that she can talk to Roman. That he’s made it clear there’s nothing she can’t discuss with him. But, there’s something about speaking to another woman, someone who’s also sadly been through something similar that’s….that’s healing, almost. 

Knowing Carol will be back for another reminder about breakfast, Solana pulls from her thoughts and leaves her bed to start her day.

Everything in the hospital is planned, time cut out for everything from meds, breakfast, group therapy, individual therapy and more. There’s only so much time in the day that’s reserved as ‘free time,’ though being hospitalized doesn’t present a ton of options for one to choose from during said ‘free time.’

However, Solana has always been able to occupy herself and keep herself busy, and this is no different. 

Later that day, she’s in one of the common areas, utilizing her free time with one of her favorite coping mechanisms. One she’s recently revisited and brought back to lean on. Pencil in hand, Solana uses the sketchbook she was given by Gail. No particular drawing in mind, it’s not missed on her how the bare bones outline of the face she’s drawing has very similar features to that of her husband.

“Hey.”

Solana lifts her head from the page, landing on two women who she’s seen in passing and up close in her group therapy. Both are brunette with similar heights yet different builds. The shorter one looks like she keeps herself in the gym, slender muscles visible even with the hospital provided clothing they all wear. The other is a few inches taller and curvier, her breast stretched against the material. The shorter one is the one who spoke. One looks amenable, the other does not. The one who spoke is, unfortunately, not the one with the friendly expression.

Solana swallows, gaze somewhat traveling as she sees one of the orderlies already watching the interaction. Closely. He’s a big man whose size looks disproportionate to the job he holds here, and she’s noticed him watching her a couple of times. Yet, it’s never been a predatory gaze. Almost…..protective.

“Solana, right?” She nods as the two women plop on the other sofa adjacent to the one Solana sits on. “I’m AJ, and this is Candice.” She gestures to the other woman with her thumb, the brunette waving and smiling almost giddily. Before Solana can say anything else, AJ is leaned over, asking in a low voice. “You’re Roman’s wife, right?”

Solana tenses. For some reason, that rubs her the wrong way, sends an unfamiliar chill up her spine. Something in her tells her to lie, but it’s no use in denying the obvious. “Yes.”

AJ snorts and sits back, arm lazily lounged up on the top of the sofa. “Well, I was gonna ask you how’d you end up here, but I guess that’s an obvious answer.” AJ laughs darkly, making her comment to Candice but directing it towards Solana. “I’d try to off myself too if I had to be married to that son of a bitch.”

Clearly, Solana has not been in a good place recently, hence her current situation. Her emotions have been all over the place. That’s why she chalks up her next actions to the fact that she’s still coming down from her relapse. 

Closing up the sketchpad, Solana sits up and doesn't stutter as she states clearly and concisely to AJ, “you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, so why don’t you just shut up and leave me alone?” 

Candice's shock matches that of Solana’s, but the former doesn’t back down. Doesn’t suddenly regret her statement. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s the fact that Solana feels the anger stirring inside her at even the insinuation that Roman could ever be the cause of her trying to end her life.

When he’s the one that saved it. 

AJ, however, doesn’t look shocked. She looks pissed off.

And then she’s smiling. 

“Oh, sweetie, you have no idea who you’re messing with.” AJ starts to stand up, Candice following suit though she looks more confused and dumbfounded than anything. Like she’s there but not here. “Your psychopath husband isn’t here to save you—”

“You lay one hand on her, and I’ll snap your fucking neck like a twig.”

Three sets of eyes land on the figure who’s way too big for them to have not heard his footsteps, but that’s exactly what’s happened. The orderly who Solana has noticed watching her since her admission is standing almost protectively beside where she still sits on the sofa. His gaze and voice are hard as steel, focused on AJ and Candice. “I suggest you leave. Now. And stay the hell away from her.”

Solana looks between this man who, for some reason, is defending her and AJ, who still looks more amused than anything. She scoffs. “Of course.” Frowning, Solana is still stuck on the fact that this orderly who’s working in a psychiatric wing for women who’ve tried to kill themselves just threatened to kill another woman when AJ simply turns to walk away, Candice hot on her heel.

And as soon as they're out of the vicinity, the man steps back, as if wanting to grant Solana space. He then exclaims, further deepening her shock, “you’ll be safe here, Mrs. Reigns. You have my word.” 

Mrs. Reigns…..

Solana is suddenly taken back to her birthday trip, the way she was addressed by the pilots, the chef, and anyone else that Roman hired to assist them on their vacation. And that’s when it hits her.

“Bloodline…..” It makes so much sense. Why he’s always seemed to be around when she’s not in her room, the way he’s watched her almost nonstop since she arrived, the way he intervened just now. “You’re Bloodline.”

“Dave.” He offers a small, respectful smile that’s all the answer she needs. “But everyone calls me by my last name, Bautista.”

________

“Hey.”

It’s interesting how a simple word can bring on such a reaction.

Just yesterday, the same word was said to her and followed up with a not terrible but strange interaction.

She can only pray this time around is different. 

Solana takes a second to pause and shut her eyes before she looks up from her inner arm where she works on the assignment given in her first group therapy session.

Her eyes land on three women, all familiar faces because they’re all in her group. However, she’s never directly spoken to them prior to now.

Solana swallows and offers a small smile. “Hi….” 

Solana studies all of them, different in skintones, builds, hair colors and even facial expressions. The one who spoke first pushes her raven hair over shoulder and clears her throat, asking, “is it—is it true that your husband had the orderlies and security replaced with Bloodline members?”

The question takes her back, Solana unsure of how to respond, not because she doesn’t know the answer. She does. Baustista indirectly confirming that he was sent by her husband to watch over her has made Solana realize that it’s not just him who she catches watching her whenever she’s not in her room. It’s other men as well. Big, strong, much too in shape for a job like this.

The only logical thing that makes sense to her is that Roman is, once again, looking out for her. As he always does. 

“That’s pretty fucking cool. If so.” Another one comments, her brunette pulled to the side of her neck as she sits down on the sofa opposite Solana. “It was even better seeing AJ put in her place.”

Solana swallows, quite unsure just how to respond to that. “I—I don’t want to cause any problems.”

The first woman scoffs, also sitting down next to the other lady. “You might not, but AJ does. I honestly don’t know why they don’t put her in the other wing with Victoria.”

“The other wing?”

The third woman breaks her silence, explaining, her voice quiet and typical for her equally unassuming demeanor. “There’s two psychiatric wings here. The one we’re in and another for more….severe cases.”

“I.e. the really crazy bitches.”

“Melina!” The woman with brunette hair shakes her head, smiling a little as she formally introduces everyone. “I’m Mickey. This is Melina, and that’s Cameron, but we call her Cam.”

For some reasons, the names fit all of them, Solana moving to the side as Cam gestures to the space next to her and takes an almost apprehensive seat. 

“Solana—”

“Oh, everyone knows who you are, girl.” Mickey snickers, leaning back into the sofa and crossing her legs over one another. “You might just be my new favorite person.”

Solana frowns, completely lost at this seemingly random title. “I don’t—-I don’t understand.”

“AJ thinks she runs shit around here. Her and that dumbass friend of hers, Candice Michelle.” Melina explains, shaking her head. “AJ definitely should be in the other ward with Victoria. She’s the psychiatrist that runs it. Doesn’t put up with shit. Almost polar opposite of Dr. Stratus.”

Solana doesn’t know much beyond what’s being said, but something tells her she’s most definitely in the better of two places. Even if just getting to have Dr. Stratus manages her meds. She really likes her. 

However, this conversation brings up a very valid question that Solana doesn’t exactly know how to word very well but finds it in her to ask. “So you all….you’ve been here before?” 

It’s obvious, given the fact that they’re all so familiar with each other and dynamics. Same with this AJ and Candice person, but Solana doesn’t want to assume.

There’s a silence that falls over the women, and Solana instantly feels bad, feels silly for not recognizing how invasive that question is. However, before she can apologize, Cam is the one to speak up.

Shrugging, her smile is tight and undeniably sad as she says so simply, “demons are hard to kill.”

And just like that, Solana has never related to something more.

Feeling overcome with an almost duty to share, her eyes drop to her arms, the intricate outlines of butterflies camouflaging the scars that will never fully go away. “I get that……I really do.”

Looking up, Solana feels the set of understanding gazes on her, instantly knowing without any of them needing to share specifics that they just get it. They understand the specific and tragic ways one can end up in a place like this, oftentimes due to demons beyond their slaughtering capabilities. 

Mickey clears her throat, gesturing to Solana’s arm. “You’re really good.”

She glances down at her still unfinished art, a small smile falling on her face. “Thank you.” An idea crosses her mind as she notices each of them attempted to follow through on the assignment as well but clearly struggled. “I can—I can help, if you want?” 

Cam gasps, obviously excited by the idea of it. “Really?”

Solana’s smile grows as she explains, “I—I love art.”

Mickey squeals almost and pulls out a black sharpie from her bra, shrugging with a playful smile. 

“We were kinda hoping you said that.”

________

“You’re quiet today.” Gail’s assessment continues as she asks in a gentle voice, “are you nervous?”

Nervous is an understatement. Solana fidgets on the sofa, running her hands down her sweats. “I—I haven’t seen or spoken to him since….you know.”

Gail presses her lips together, nodding. “You don’t know what to expect.”

Solana nods, eyes starting to water. “I don’t—I don’t want him to be upset with me.” 

It’s officially been a week since Solana has been admitted into the psychiatric ward. An interesting experience, to say the least. She’s made enemies, made ‘friends’, worked through and started to process with a professional so much of her trauma, and more. And while her longing for seeing and speaking to her husband has only continued to grow by the day. The day finally being here where she’s allowed a visitor, where he will come to see her this evening feels almost….it feels too soon.

She’s just so nervous, unsure of what that reunion is going to look like. 

Gail sees the thoughts brewing in her client’s head as she asks in an attempt to redirect, “are you responsible for his emotions?”

“No, but….but I—” When she struggles to get out a coherent response, Gail presents a thought provoking question.

“Solana, based upon what you know about Roman, what’s more likely? That he’ll be upset with you or that he’ll just be happy that you’re alive?”

It’s such a good question, one that has the emotion bubbling in the back of her throat, emotion she shows as silent tears begin to fall. “I—I want him to be happy, but…..”

“You’re still struggling with feeling like a burden to him….” It’s an assessment by her therapist that is wholly correct, but one Solana can’t verbally comment on, only offering her agreement with a silent head nod. “Do you remember the exercise we did a couple of sessions ago about faulty thinking? About the ways your trauma influences your thinking.” 

Solana reflects back on that session, so heavy yet so helpful. It provided her such insight on just how deeply her experiences have painted her view of so much. Of everything, really. Including how she so lowly views herself sometimes. 

“I want you to think about that and compare it to the thoughts that you’re having now……where are they coming from?”

Solana closes her eyes and blows out a breath. “My…my fear.”

“And if your fear was a living, breathing entity sitting opposite beside you right now, how would you combat it? Think about the cognitive challenging we discussed.”

Keeping her eyes shut, Solana travels back to that session, utilizing the skills and tips and knowledge she’s learned since her admission.

She takes an ‘efficient breath’, as Gail calls them. “I’d tell my fear that….that you don’t get to control me anymore.”

Gail smiles softly, gently encouraging the young woman to continue. “What else?”

Silent tears continue to fall, but Solana’s voice remains firm and unwavering. “And that….that Roman cares about me and just wants me to be okay and….and get better.”

Gail hasn’t felt so proud and pleased with a client’s response to the empty chair exercise in quite a while. “Exactly.” She sits back in her own chair, jotting down some notes. “Can I ask what you’re feeling right now?”

Solana finally opens her eyes and wipes at her eyes, scoffing quietly. “A…a little better, actually.” She motions to her chest. “It doesn’t….it doesn’t feel as heavy.”

“Good.” Gail makes note of this and starts to ask a follow up processing question when Solana’s soft voice beats her to it.

“Can…..can I talk about something with you?”

Gail’s grin is warm and welcoming as she offers genuine assurance. “Solana, there’s nothing we can’t discuss here.” She’s pleased to see Solana’s smile grow at this reassurance. “What would you like to talk about?”

Feeling on the spot all of a sudden, despite being the one who initiated the conversation, Solana does her best to manage and push through her anxiety. “I—I’ve been….I’ve been having dreams since I got here.”

Gail is mindful of her expression as she asks in a soft voice, “dreams or…..”

Sensing what she’s asking, Solana quickly shakes her head. “No. Not those. Not nightmares. They….they really are dreams. Good dreams, I—I think.”

Studying her, Gail assesses. “You seem unsure.” 

Deciding to bite the bullet, Solana shares in a low voice, “they’re dreams of me in the future…..as….as a mother.”

Gail nods. “I see.” She makes note of one of Solana’s nonverbals. “You’re smiling right now.”

Sniffling, Solana continues to share and exhibit so much vulnerability, most of which is solely because of how safe and non-judged Gail has made her feel. “In the dreams, we have three kids. Twin girls and a baby boy.” She wipes at her nose and swallows deeply. “I—I want to be a mom someday, but I don’t….I don’t want to be a bad mom.”

If these dreams have shown her anything, it’s that she wants more than anything to be a positive influence in her future child, or children's, lives. She doesn’t want to cause them even a fraction of the parental trauma she’s experienced. 

And deep down, Solana knows that she’s absolutely nothing like her father.

But, she knows she’s very much been deeply impacted by her fathers’ abuse. By all of her trauma. And the last thing she wants is for any of that to negatively influence her children. 

“Solana, what makes you think you could ever be a bad mother?” She shrugs, shutting down a bit. Gail sighs lowly, offering words of affirmation and support. “You are not a bad person. You are not a broken person. Not a damaged person. Just a person who’s been dealt some not so  great cards, but you’re here, working on these things. Working on becoming a healthier version of yourself.” Gail chuckles, pointing out, “that doesn’t sound like a bad future mother to me.”

Really sitting on the words of encouragement and doing her best to not let the self-doubt creep in, Solana asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “do you….do you really think I could be a good mother?”

Gail’s response is almost immediate, not a thought to be had as she answers honestly, “Solana, I think you could be a damn good mother.” 

Solana laughs, emotion seeping in as she nods, utterly grateful for such kind words. “Thank….thank you. That….that means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” Gail would like to process this more, maybe get into some additional trauma work, but there’s another important thing on her agenda for this session. “Solana, as you know, your hold will be up exactly one week from now, meaning you’ll be officially discharged and allowed to return home.”

Solana eyes lighten up at that, an expected reaction as Gail gently slides into a deeper conversation pertaining to her release. “But, there’s something I would like to speak to you about.”

________

Roman doesn’t think twice as he walks into the room that’s suspiciously quiet to be located in a hospital, decorated just as one would expect a therapist’s office to look. He only briefly takes a look around before plopping his big body down on the sofa. 

He didn’t even pay any attention to the fact that Gail was attempting to extend an olive branch, offering a handshake that he so rudely ignored, clearly ready to get this over with.

She keeps her togetherness, offering a verbal introduction. “Thank you for com—”

“This has to do with Solana, right?”

Gail makes a face, pressing her lips together as she chuckles quietly. “Of course.”

“Then get to it.” Roman is quick with the demands, asking, “how is she doing?”

Gail offers a tight smile. “I’m Gail Kim, the therapist on staff who’s been handling Solana’s individual therapy sessions.”

“Did I ask you who you were?” His stare is cold and uninterested. “I asked you how she’s doing.”

Sighing, Gail refers to the tablet on her lap, opening up the notes she’s happy that she prepared ahead of time. This is going exactly as she predicted it would. “Your wife is no longer endorsing suicidal ideation which means she’s denying any thoughts and plans to take her life, which is significant progress considering it’s only been a week—”

There’s a hint of hopefulness in both his expression and voice as he asks, “so, she’s ready to come home?”

Gail hesitates. “Not exactly.”

The previous hopefulness melts into something cold and harsh. Roman is visibly and understandably irritated. “You just said she’s not suicidal anymore.”

“Yes, but it’s not that simple. Solana is….she’s an interesting case. Her trauma history is significant. Though she seems to be on the way to stabilization, there’s still a lot of work that needs to be done. She needs continued professional help.”

“Isn’t that why she’s here with you?” His tone is cruel and condescending. “If you’re too fucking incompetent to help her, let me take her home, so I can.”

Gail bites the inside of her cheek. If this was anyone else, she would set them straight on the importance of mutual respect. But, this isn’t just anyone. This is Roman Reigns, and she’s well aware of the fact that one wrong statement or sign of disrespect could very well end her life, so she does her best to remain calm and professional. And she tries an alternative approach. 

“You know, one of the exercises she did in an individual session asks about what safe spaces she has, sources of support and whatnot. And you know what she put down for almost every answer?” Gail gives a small, closed mouth smile. “You.” Well trained in reading nonverbals, she picks up on the brief giveaway sign of emotion that flashes in Roman’s eyes at this. “She put down that you are her number one reason for wanting to live.” 

There’s a good minute of silence before Roman asks in an uncharacteristically low voice. “So why did she do it?”

Gail's smile shifts into a solemn frown. “I’ll leave that discussion to the two of you. She’s expressed wanting to talk with you about that directly.”

“I’m asking you.”

Gail leans back in her chair and goes a different route. “It’s okay to be upset with her. To be angry at her. To be angry at and blame yourself.” Gail catches just a glimpse of surprise in his eyes at the last part. “To actually feel your feelings.”

Roman, however, is uninterested in any of this. Offended even. “Why the hell would I be angry at her?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? She tried to leave you. That’s essentially what suicide is. Escapism. It provides the patient with the peace they’re looking for but leaves the loved ones left behind with a world of questions and emotions.” She explains, mindful of her tone and voice. “Two truths can exist in the same universe. You can be happy she wasn’t successful and still angry at her for trying in the first place.”

Roman is quiet for a good two minutes, Gail wondering if she should transition to another topic when he breaks said silence in that same low voice. 

“I don’t understand why she didn’t call me. I told her to tell me if…..if those thoughts ever returned.”

“But she didn’t…..” Gail’s voice softens as she adds, almost empathetically. “I think you’ll find talking with her will give you some of the answers you’re looking for. But, they truly should come from her.”

Roman won’t push. He wants to, but won’t. If this is something Solana wants to discuss with him herself, he’ll respect that. So long as it’s not triggering to her, which it seems, surprisingly, it’s not. 

Gail clears her throat and transitions to the next section. “Dr. Stratus started her on a medication regimen of Sertraline, 50mg and Wellbutrin, 100mg, once a day in the morning as well as Hydroxyzine, PRN, which means as needed. The Sertraline and Wellbutrin are antidepressants, and Hydroxyzine can be taken when she starts to feel overwhelmed or triggered. So far, she’s responding well, though it typically takes 4 to 6 weeks for patients to truly notice the full benefits.” 

Roman nods, as Gina or whatever her name is, continues to explain what’s otherwise obvious. 

“We’ve been administering her medication and given how she attempted to take her life, Dr. Stratus and I strongly advise that you or someone else take over that administration upon her discharge—”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to allow her to have unmonitored access to pills again?” Roman doesn’t even try, not that he was before, to hide his frustration and irritation. She’s acting like he’s stupid. His degrees may be in business, but one doesn’t need to have a degree in behavioral health to know thatyou don’t give a formerly suicidal person free access to the same method they used to take their life. 

Gail, however, decides to not feed into it. “You know, anger is sometimes just anger. Just people mad as hell. But sometimes….sometimes it’s what we call a blanket emotion, meaning there are other feelings hiding beneath it, being presented as anger.”

Roma sits forward. “Just what the hell are you trying to insinuate?”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Reigns.” A small smile falls on her face, and that only pisses him off even more. Is this bitch trying to patronize him or something? “But, you should know that we offer support for spouses and loved ones like yourself who are supporting—”

“The only thing I need for you to do is to help my wife, so I can get her the hell out of this place and home where she belongs.”

Gail takes a deep breath. 

It was worth a try. 

“I want to show you something.” She stands up from her chair, moving to her desk as she pulls out a key to unlock the drawer. “Solana signed a full release authorizing us to share all details regarding her care with you. But, there are some things she’s explicitly expressed you not being okay with knowing and seeing. This is not one of them. And I think you would find it interesting….”

If not for the fact that the therapist already made it clear that safety concerns and suicidality are exceptions to confidentiality, Roman would be concerned, wondering just what exactly Solana doesn’t want him to know.

But something tells him she’s perhaps opened up in therapy about specifics regarding her trauma more than she has with him, and if that’s the case, his only hope is that this woman knows what she’s doing and doesn’t trigger Solana further.

She walks back over, handing him a set of sheets. Roman takes them, immediately noticing the handwriting. 

Solana’s handwriting. 

He gets to reading the bolded question that each has answers of varying length.

Who is your safe person? What makes this person safe?

My husband. He’s the first man in my life to not hurt me. The first man I’ve ever trusted.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you trust this person with 1 being none and 10 being absolute trust?

 10

How does this person make you feel safe?

He’s patient with me and listens to me and makes me feel beautiful.

How does this person serve as a member of your support system?

He listens to me and always checks on me. 

How long have you experienced thoughts/urges/practices of self-harming behavior including suicidal ideation and/or attempts?

The first time I felt like I didn't want to be alive anymore was when I was ten. I woke up from my coma and realized my mother was dead. I just wanted to be with her. But it’s my brother constantly telling me I should kill myself after my mom’s murder that made me seriously think about doing it. 

He would tell me that it should have been me who died, and I should just kill myself because no one wanted me.

And I started to believe him. 

It’s been on and off since then.

Has there been a point in time where you have not had these thoughts/urges?

Yes. For the past four months. 

If you answered yes to the previous question, what caused or contributed to the cessation of these thoughts/urges?

I met my husband. I had real friends for the first time. I found myself having a real family for the first time in a long time. 

I was happy.

Prior to this gap, when was the last time you experienced any of these thoughts? What triggered them?

The day of my wedding. This was before I got to know my husband. I was scared he was going to beat me like my dad and brother.

What happened to re-trigger you? If uncomfortable sharing, list the emotions you felt during this episode. 

Sadness. Anger. Confusion.

Do you remember what thoughts you were experiencing before the suicidal and self-harming ideation returned? What were they?

I couldn’t stop thinking about my rape and my mother’s murder. It was like I was reliving them over and over again, and I couldn’t get the memories and flashbacks to stop. It felt like all my progress was reversed, and I’d have to start over, and I didn’t want to put my husband and family through that, as they’re the reason I even started to heal.

I just didn’t want to be in pain anymore, and I thought everyone would be happier if I was dead. I didn’t want to be a burden to my husband.

Looking back and reflecting on your thoughts, have they changed? And if so, how?

I don’t want to die. I still don’t feel as good as I was feeling before I found out the truth, but I’m not thinking or wanting to kill myself anymore. I still have a lot of things I want to do. I’m not ready to be done here. Just want to get better.

 Do you wish you would have done something different? What could you have done differently?

Yes.

Called my husband. 

Can you identify at least one reason your life is worth living?

Roman 

Roman has oscillated through so many different emotions reading through this worksheet from beginning to end. Anger seems like the dominant emotion, his jaw clenching as he learns how close to the paternal tree Solana’s bitch brother remained..

He’s not much better than Xavier. 

If not worse. 

And Roman is determined to find even more, additional ways to make that fucker suffer the way he made Solana suffer for so many years.

He’s also livid and something else unknown that on a day that should have been special for her, she was considering taking her own life.

And he hates himself for putting her in that position in the first place. He was the one who wanted to speed everything up, not even considering how traumatic that process could have been for her. 

But he especially doesn’t know how to feel reading just how highly Solana views and feels about him. She hasn’t been very quiet regarding how much she cares about him, but reading her words, her writing, her honesty, it makes him aware of just how much she cares. 

“You mean a lot to her. And her healing and progress moving forward will require your support.” Gail cuts in, voice calm and almost soothing. “One of the things I ask clients all the time is who their support system is and is there anything else they need from this person or persons….she couldn’t tell me a single thing she needs from you that you don’t already give her.” Roman says nothing, not even offering a nonverbal gesture or movement for her to analyze. Thus, Gail continues, reviewing her notes of topics she wanted to touch on with him prior to his seeing Solana in a few hours. “Now, I will say, Solana does exhibit strong codependent tendencies. Specifically with you. She’s extremely attached to you, and while that should probably be addressed at some point, her stabilization is the priority.”

Roman doesn’t pay much, or any, mind to that last part. He doesn’t care what this woman says. Whatever Solana needs, she’ll get. 

Especially if what she wants is him.

Cause he wants her just as much. 

________

Roman doesn’t get nervous. 

Ever.

But, he’s certain what he’s feeling in his fucking stomach is some level of nerves.

And he hates that shit.

Cause why the fuck is he at his grown age feeling anxious about seeing his wife? Perhaps it’s the fact that it’ll be the first time in a week that he’s actually laid eyes on her, seeing her not lying unconscious in a hospital bed. That he’ll be able to have her big brown eyes focused on him. Hear the sound of her voice, so soft and light.

He shuts his eyes.

Fucking nerves.

He decides to pull out his phone as a distraction while security escorts her to him in the visitors section, remembering a text from Paul that he should probably respond to. Not that he wants to, but it’s better standing here feeling fucking stupid and—

“Roman…”

He wasn’t sure just sure how he would respond or react or even feel seeing her for the first time in a week, but Solana is barely able to get his name out of his mouth when Roman snaps his head up from the phone in his hand to the direction of which the voice came. 

It happens a bit too fast for him to even process. The rise and easy falter of her smile, the gloss of her eyes, the tiny scoff of disbelief that leaves her mouth before she’s running toward him.  Roman wastes not a single fucking second to pick her up the minute she throws her body against him. And just like that, almost every trace of irritation, of vexation, of anger melts away.

Roman’s eyes shut as he holds her close against him, noticing how tightly she’s holding him back. 

Her voice cracks followed by a sniffle as she murmurs against his shoulder. “I’ve missed you….”

For a brief second, he’s angry again. Angry because has she been asking for him? And if so, why was he not informed? Stratus has been texting him frequent general updates. That she’s been consistently opening up in individual therapy, not as open in group sessions, often writes and draws during their designated free time, etc.

But nothing about her asking for him. 

He makes a mental note to ask Stratus about that shit, but not now. Now, his focus is entirely focused on the woman in his arms.

“I missed you too.” Saying he missed her feels like an understatement. Roman has been fucking miserable without her around, but what good would it serve her to share as such? So, he keeps it simple but still accurate.

He ignores the small part of him that dislikes when she finally pulls away, but that dissatisfaction is easily shoved to the side when he sees her eyes watering. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn't mean. I just—”

Roman’s focus is now solely honed in on stopping her from crying. He can’t see her upset. Not after what happened. He moves his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks and brushing away her tears. “Let’s talk, okay?”

She nods, stepping back, forcing his hands to drop but easily sliding her hand into one of his as she leads them in the direction from where she came. Roman won’t lie. He’s not paying attention to much in passing. Just her. It’s like there’s a blurred lens on them, distorting everything around them except his wife.

And he has zero issues with this. 

He has zero issues until they’re walking past a group of three women who seem to notice that Solana is crying and stop her, the one who almost looks like she could be Hispanic asks Solana, “are you alright?”

Who the fuck is this? Roman would most definitely ask as such as well as tell her to stay out of their damn business if not for the fact that Solana answers almost reassuringly. 

“Yes, of course.” 

To make matters worse, this irritating ass stranger has the audacity to almost send a suspicious damn near glare his way. Just who the fuck does she think she is? 

The woman on her right suddenly asks, her quiet voice strangely reminding him of Solana. Right off the bat, he can see they have similar demeanors. “You’re still joining us for breakfast, right?”

Solana answers right away, shaking her head. “Of course.”

Joining for breakfast? What the fuck is this? A psychiatric ward or summer camp?

The women all seem to give Solana that ‘call us if you need anything’ nod before finally leaving him alone with his wife. Roman has to keep his sigh to himself.

Only Solana would make ‘friends’ at a damn hospital.

She finally leads him into what he would guess is her ‘room.’ He’s instantly not impressed and annoyed because he directly instructed Stratus to make sure she had the best this place has to offer.

This clearly ain’t it. He adds it to his list of complaints to bring up to the psychiatrist. He’s also annoyed by the ‘sheet’ that serves at the door, irritated that they won’t have total privacy. But, he understands. It’s a psychiatric ward. Not the Four Seasons. 

Roman allows Solana to guide him over to her bed where she motions for him to sit down. He does as such, partially surprised when she climbs onto his lap, legs on either side. He doesn’t protest though, simply holds her by his hips as he shifts so that his back against the wall. 

Solana, however, keeps her head down, her hands scrunching the bottom of his shirt as she seems to force out, “I don’t want to talk about this—”

That’s an easy thing, Roman quickly moving to remind her of her autonomy. “Then don’t—”

She cuts him off. “But, I need to.” She finally lifts her gaze, and my God, he’s missed staring into those pretty eyes, seeing her pretty face. “I can’t—I won’t avoid it.” She takes a deep breath, asking, “what do you want to know?”

He’s partially surprised by how direct she’s being, but in his defense, the last time he spoke to her directly, she was in such a different place. A much darker place.

That doesn’t seem to be the case anymore, but he knows looks can be deceiving, so he remains cautious. His voice is surprisingly gentle, as he answers, “I think you already know the answer to that, Sol.”

Her eyes shut again, and he can’t tell if it’s because of his use of his nickname for her or the emotionality of it all. 

Both, probably. 

She brings her gaze back on him, and he hates seeing the emotion building back up. Logically, he knows that there’s no way to have this kind of conversation and emotion not be present. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though. “I just….I couldn’t think straight that night, Roman. I just kept reliving every bad thing that’s happened to me but now with the knowledge that it was my own father that was responsible. And I just….I couldn't handle it.”

This is the part he can barely handle. The knowing of the role, a large role, he played in what landed her here. He feels like shit about it and prepares to take ownership when she continues. 

“And I thought….I felt like….I felt like all the progress I had made was now gone and that I’d have to start over, and I just—-I couldn’t fathom going through all that again.” She swallows, tears starting to fall. “I felt like I would just be a burden to you and that….it would just be easier for you if I was dead.”

Gutted. Reading it was one thing, but hearing it is an entirely different experience. To know this is truly how she felt, the thought process that led to her making the decision she made. The most likely reason she didn’t call him.

Because she thought she was a burden.

It kills him.

She drops her head, and he moves his hands back to her face. “Solana, look at me.” When she continues to keep her head down, he repeats himself, voice still low and gentle. “Look at me.” She seems to hesitate but follows through, Roman hating how devastated she looks. “Nothing about my life would be easier without you in it. You are never a burden to me. You never have been, and you never will be. I want to help you. Listen to you. Whatever it is you need, I’ll do. I just need you to tell me.” This time, he’s the one swallowing back unfamiliar and uncomfortable emotions. “I just need you to not leave me, alright?” She seems slightly taken back by his honesty and vulnerability. Truthfully, so is he. It was one thing to be so honest with her while she was unconscious, but it’s another when she sits before him, aware and conscious and hanging onto every word. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your father. I should have—”

“No. Please—please don’t.” She shakes her head, interrupting him with that same small voice. “I’m glad you didn’t.” The ‘shocked’ ball is back in his court as she explains, “I don’t….I don’t think I would have ever wanted to know the truth. It’s….it’s been too hard to have to deal with that.” 

Clearly. He can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like for her. To be stuck with the knowledge that her own flesh and blood could be so cruel, so hateful, so evil as to do what Xavier has done to his own daughter.

“The therapy has….it’s helped.” He believes it. Roman has noticed the sheets of paper that have positive affirmations and what he would guess are coping skills taped to the wall opposite her bed. She cracks a small, sad smile. “It’s….it’s been good for me.”

He believes that, too. He can see that. There’s a stark difference in her appearance, even with her being emotional as she is with the conversation at hand. She doesn’t look as fractured as the last time he saw her.

She looks stronger. Happier, even. It makes his chest swell with yet another unfamiliar sentiment.

Love, perhaps?

Just thinking about it has Roman clearing his throat, needing to focus on something other than that right now. “Have they been treating you okay?” This has been pretty high up, if not the highest, thing on his priority list.

She nods, Roman noticing and grateful that her tears are starting to dry up. “Yes. I….how many Bloodline men do you have here?”

“Enough.” She doesn’t need to know the full extent of just how above and beyond he went to ensure no one on staff at this hospital could be questionable about their intentions towards her. “I’m always gonna look out for you, baby. Always.”

Her eyes shut, not from feeling overwhelmed but something else. Something that seems less heavy and more comforting. 

Solana moves around on top of him, Roman somehow sensing what she’s trying to do, and he has zero hesitations.

He shifts his body, so he’s laying on her bed, his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, but it makes no difference to him as soon as she lays on top of him, her head cradled in his neck, her arms around him.’

“I’ve missed you.” Her arm laid against him, Roman reading to close his eyes when he catches onto something for the first time. He doesn’t know he missed it either, because it stands out. Roman gently takes her arm, turning it over.

On her inner forearm are a set of beautifully drawn butterflies of various sizes and colors, the largest being a dark blue color and the smaller one next to it, different shades of red and pinks. There are three much smaller butterflies under the two larger ones, two of them pink and the smallest also that same dark blue.

She looks up at him, offering a small smile. “It’s something they have us do in group therapy. They call it The Butterfly Project.” She shifts her body to show him her other forearm, revealing additional butterflies before she lays back down as she was. “You draw butterflies that represent the people in your life you care about and every time…you think of wanting to self-harm, you remember that you’re killing the butterflies. It’s like….like a reminder that people care about you.”

It’s an interesting concept, and judging by the emotion in her voice, a concept she resonates with deeply. Roman’s long index finger ghosts over the larger blue one as he asks, “who is this one for?” 

Solana’s smile deepens. “You.” He’s grateful that she continues to explain so he doesn't have to think much about that sentiment very similar to love that comes up at that admission. “And this one,” she gestures to the pink and red one. “--is me. My future self.” 

That doesn’t help the building emotion, so he again goes for distraction, motioning to the remaining three, asking, “and those?”

She swallows, something flashing in her eyes he can’t identify, answering gently, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Her answer confuses him. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he doesn’t want to push her either. 

“How is Dulce?” She asks suddenly, the sadness in her voice returning.

Roman won’t tell her the way her puppy sometimes sits by the front door around the time she usually gets home from work or the way she whimpers at night every so often, clearly missing her owner. He’ll spare her that, offering only a morsel of the truth. 

“The usual. Sleeping most of the day. You can tell she misses you.” 

Solana frowns. “I miss her too.” She licks her lips, asking almost nervously, “how are Bay—”

Roman is quick to shut that down, a hint of harshness in his voice. “I don’t want to talk about them.”

Truth be told, he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to look or view them the same ever again. It may be a bit irrational and unfair, but it’s how he feels. And truthfully speaking, he’s got ten million other things on his mind and in his heart he’s trying to sort through. 

“Roman…..” Solana sits up a bit, and he’s taken back for a second by how fucking beautiful she is. Even with the sadness in her eyes. “It wasn’t their fa—”

“Not now, Sol.” His tone takes on a gentler tone as he adds on, for good measure, “please. I just want to enjoy you.”

He knows she’ll bring it up again. She cares too much about the two women who Roman will never trust her with again to just let it go permanently. “Okay.” She lays herself back down on top of him, and Roman kisses the top of her head.

“How are you?”

He’s not quite sure why her question surprises him. But, the answer is an automatic, “fine.”

He’s far from fine, but she doesn't need to know that.

Again, Solana sits up, that frown almost deepening. “Are you sleeping?” She reaches over and caresses his beard. “You look tired. H–have you been taking your medicine?”

Roman is truly dumbfounded. She is the one who is currently a legally mandated patient in a psychiatric ward because she was actively suicidal only a week ago, and yet, she’s laying here worried about him. 

Roman has to push back that love feeling that’s returning. 

“I keep telling you not to worry about me,” he reminds, once again wanting and almost needing to stress to her that worrying about him should be the last thing on her plate.. “I just want you to focus on yourself.”

Her retort surprises him, bold and almost uncharacteristic of her. “And I keep telling you that I’m always going to worry about you.”

Roman chuckles, commenting, “you’re becoming more outspoken….”

She gives him a small smile. “I told you the therapy has been helping.”

Roman scoffs. She’s right. Maybe that Gemma woman does know what she’s doing. 

“Do you need anything?”

Solana says nothing, just lays back down against him, her hand moving over his chest, resting on his heart. “Just you.” She must glance at the clock on the wall as she comments, “we only have 40 minutes left….”

He knows she’s referring to the one hour time block allotted for visitors. Something he absolutely couldn't give two shits about. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.“ He’d stay the whole night if that was what she wanted. 

“Roman….” It’s funny how he already knows what she’s going to say. “The rules—”

His interruption is sharp, but it’s not aimed towards her. And she knows that. “I don’t give a fuck about rules when it comes to you.” She sighs into his chest, offering no protest, saying nothing else.

Conversation is intermittent over the next two or so hours, Solana eventually falling asleep on top of him. He doesn’t mind. As much as he enjoys talking to her, having her body on top of his is an easy, acceptable alternative.

He’s missed this. Missed being with and around her. Roman is just now realizing just how much he benefits from having her around. He’s been a complete nightmare for everyone around him outside of Dulce, even more temperamental than his usual default setting.

But the minute he laid eyes on her, saw her innocent smile, had her in his arms, everything suddenly felt so better.

That’s what she does for him. What she is for him. 

Medicine. 

An antidote. Something he never knew he was missing until he met her. It seems like it was almost impossible for him to not fall in love with her. 

Love….

Thinking about it again brings a frown to his handsome face, forcing him to face a reality that’s so easy to escape when he’s with her.

Roman may love Solana, but….he can never act on it. Not really. Can never tell her he loves her. That makes it official. That confirms that he finally has something his enemies can use against him, a distraction, a weakness.

Loving her openly would make him vulnerable, would put her at risk, and he couldn’t do that. Not just for himself but most definitely not to her. 

To be with her like this, open and vulnerable, behind closed doors is one thing. It’s an entirely different ballpark though to make that visible and public, even with just telling her.

Feeling her stir against him, Roman kisses the top of her head, tugging her closer. 

He won’t deny that he loves her. 

But, he can’t act on it either. 

He’s just going to have to find someway to push that down, tuck it away for safekeeping.

It’s just better that way. 

________

Roman stays for about two hours, Solana waking up and reluctantly expressing her okayness with him leaving. It’s not what she wants, definitely not what he wants, but it’s what’s necessary.

If even for the fact that Dulce can’t be left alone for too long.  

Solana holds onto his arm as she walks him out, Bautista not too far behind to escort her back to her room.

But, it’s when he turns to tell her bye, Roman about to ask her when she wants him to come see her again (fuck visting days), she surprises him by reaching behind her back and pulling out a sealed envelope. 

Brows furrowed, Roman is curious just how the hell he missed that when she presses it against his chest. “Promise me you won’t read it until you get home.” 

Now he’s extremely confused. It’s been a while since Solana has written to thim. They’ve progressed way past that, and it does concern him a bit that she didn’t just talk to him about whatever lies between the lines of this letter. 

But, he also knows she’s been working hard in therapy and even in being able to open up to him about what happened that night had to have been a lot for her, so he won’t push it and will respect it.

Accepting the letter, he simply says, “okay.”

She offers a close mouthed smile, a sign of appreciation and moves to hug him once more, mumbling something in Spanish against his chest that he can’t make out. When she pulls back, he doesn’t hesitate to cup her cheek, reiterating, “you need anything, you let me know, alright?” They’d already briefly discussed how she had picked up on the fact that he had his men stationed strategically all over this place, and any of them were able to get a message to him. 

She nods, repeating to him, “okay.” Solana tugs on his shirt and leans up to kiss his cheek, murmuring against his ear, “bye, Roman.”

It seems saying goodbye is difficult for her just as much as it is for him, Roman unable to reciprocate it, only letting his gaze follow her retreating form until Bautista gives him a nod and closes the door behind them. 

He stands there for a good minute or two before actually leaving.

Fuck. Leaving her seems to be getting harder and harder. 

Roman is barely in the SUV, door not even shut when his long fingers are moving with all the determination to open up the envelope. He unfolds the piece of paper, unsurprised to find her neat handwriting. 

Roman,

I need to ask you to do something for me, but I need you to please hear me out before you settle on an answer. And please know I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I didn’t believe it’s something I really need. 

I’m so sorry for putting you through this. I never want to cause you any stress or create any problems for you. 

I wasn’t in a good place, and this experience has made me realize there’s still a lot of parts of me that still need to heal. I still have a lot to work through. 

That’s why I’m asking.

Gail mentioned a treatment facility she runs about an hour away. It’s a 6 week program for women coming out of the hospital like I will be. 

Roman, I think I should go. 

I don’t think I should come home just yet.

I don’t feel ready. I’m not having those thoughts or urges anymore, but there’s still things I think I need to work through. I don’t ever want to put you through something like this again. I don’t ever want to end up back here again, but the only way I can do that is by making sure I’m good before I leave.

And I don’t know if another week can do that. 

I miss you. So much. It’s been hard being away from you and Dulce and everyone else. But, I feel like I have to do this. I need to do this. 

For us. 

But mostly for me. 

I want to get better.

Please let me.

Te quiero mucho,

Solana

BTW, I’m saying ‘I love you very much’ in Spanish. 

Because I do. 

I love you, Ro.

And I don’t need you to say it back or feel the same. With what you’ve been through, I’d never expect or ask that of you.

I just need you. Your continued support. That’s all. That’s enough.

With all my love,

Solana

________

“I’m so sick of your bloody fuckin’ shit, Seth! It’s the same fuckin’ thing over and over again, and I’m done!” 

The cadence, melody, and even tone of his wife’s rant serves as the perfect resources for Seth who is lazily sprawled out across their sofa, beer in one hand, the other hand moving as if conducting an orchestra. 

And he is.

Because this has become a song and dance with his fiery tempered, Irish wife.

Seconds later, she’s practically stomping in the living room, their daughter in hand who is most definitely old enough to remember this little spat. He cackles to himself. How unfortunate.

However, Becky’s enraged gaze is focused on him, disgust plastered all over. “Were you even listenin’ to me?”

He makes a sound, unbothered eyes falling on her, that infamous smile growing. “Of course, dear.”

Becky, however, knows better. Has been with this man long enough to know better. And she’s done. “Ya know, I thought you were getting better, yeah? But then that bloke Breaker comes over here looking for you, and I—” Becky cuts herself off, refusing to start yelling with her daughter in her arms. Her accent is even thicker, as she shares while adjusting the bag on her other shoulder, “I’m gonna go stay with Charlotte til’ I can figure out just what I’m gonna do.”

What she’s not saying is that she’ll stay with her closest American friend until she can find the funds and resources to move back home. 

She’s just done.

Seth, however, seems unconcerned by the fact that she’s leaving with their kid. “Okay, dear.” He snorts, falling into that all too familiar maniacal laugh. The one that typically accompanies the reckless and dangerous behavior that has her packed and ready to go. It was one thing when it was just the two of them, but with a child now, Becky has a responsibility to keep her daughter safe.

And there is nothing safe about her husband rekindling ties with the Nightmare Factory.

Not wanting him to see the pending tears, Becky kisses her daughter’s cheek and heads for the door, not allowing herself to hesitate as she rips it open only for her jaw to drop.

She scoffs. Unbelievable. With even more support for her decision to leave, Becky looks over her shoulder at her husband who climbs to his feet. “First the Nightmare Factory, and now the fuckin’ Bloodline?” She shakes her head. “Yeah, you dig your own fuckin’ grave, Seth.” 

And with that, she moves past the figures, determined to not look back this time.

Meanwhile, a massive smile grows on Seth’s unshaven face, delight dancing in his dark eyes.

This is certainly proving to be such an eventful day. 

He practically stumbles over but manages to stand firm as he takes a swig of his beer, burping loudly and then asking with all of the excitement, evil smile on his face.

“How can I help you?”

[intimidating-fettuccine]

This may be an odd request, but if you are into it, can I request headcanons of Smiley, Helen, and Jason (or characters you want to write) where their partner (reader) dies in front of them on a mission of something, but somehow and for some reason, time gets reversed to start at the beginning of the day, so their partner is alive and sleeping on their bed. Please and thank you!

I sort of imagined it as them going to sleep at the end of the day and waking up and it's the previous day, I hope that's okay <3 This request also made me remember Helen and his heart jar for his dead s/o so we're just gonna pretend that doesn't happen this time :p

This got so long I'm sorry I'm posting this so late-

Smiley:

He was never made for field work, with his preference for medical assistance at the mansion he was never meant to be standing out there in the field. He was never meant to watch you take that fatal injury, to do everything he could to save you out in the woods surrounding you and fail so miserably at it, much to his extreme distress. The following hours before he'd eventually passed out at his medical table had been a mash of absolute pain and misery, feelings he'd assumed he'd be waking up to once more the following morning, but instead, he was met with your beautiful face smiling at him. He'd thought he'd died himself for a moment, after all, he hadn't fallen asleep in bed, but here you are beside him, just as snug as you were the previous morning. It doesn't take long for him to realize what's happened, and Smiley isn't going to waste the chance before him. He's quick to come up with some bullshit but believable reason about why you can't go out on the mission you're meant to, citing doctor's orders and him needing to monitor a concern that came up on a pre-mission health check.

Nobody questions him, although you're left quite concerned by his actions. Nobody else can see it, but you can see the tenseness of his body, his eyes darting about anxiously, the heavy beating of his heart. You can tell he's worried about something, but he won't tell you what it is, he simply can't. He can't bring himself to admit what he saw, what he experienced, not when it's still too fresh in his mind. Perhaps he'll tell you later, but for now, he instead chooses to seek comfort in the fact that by the time the two of you go to bed that night, you're still safe and sound in his arms, just as you are the following, brand new morning, and nothing else other than that matters. It takes far longer than he thought to tell you what truly happened that day, why he refused to let you go on the mission, years down the line, and it's only with your comfort and love for him at that time that allows him to truly grieve and let go of those horrible memories. Suddenly all those days of him being more concerned about you going on missions makes sense, and you apologize for ever questioning his judgment or doubting him, promising to always come home safe to him, just as he does for you.

Jason:

The scream leaving his throat feels as though it should rip it apart, just as he feels like he's being ripped apart at the sight of your dying body crashing to the ground. Jason can barely tell what's happening in the next few hours, between trying desperately to resuscitate you, weeping for your death, and the others trying to keep him from doing something drastic. He barely realizes when he's falling asleep, his mechanical body simply powering off due to overcharge of his emotions, and when he awakes the next morning, he can't help but immediately begin sobbing once more when his eyes land on you. You're still in his satin sleep shirt, oversized on your body and revealing your skin just as it had the morning before, a sleepy smile resting on your cheeks as you gaze at him as he wakes up, but it's different this morning because now you're replaced with immense concern over his sudden outburst. You cradle him close and attempt to comfort him as best you can as he cries and crushes you against his body, so scared that any moment you could slip away again.

It must have been a dream, he reasons. A terrible, horribly bad dream, one that felt far too real, and so he tries to calm down, but he can't. Not when everything in the day progresses the exact same day, and so he shatters, begging you not to go on the mission. He tells you of his "dream", tells you of everything he saw, how he's scared it might actually happen, and you're so devastated by the clear distress he's in, so, of course, you switch out with someone else and stay home. He's so thankful you listened, so thankful a stronger creep took your place, considering the sorry state said creep was in when they got home. It could have been you, but it wasn't. Not this time, not ever again. Jason will never allow you to die in such a way, not now that he knows it's a definite possibility, no. He'll keep you safe and comfortable in his arms, safe from any dangers, just as he is right now, and will continue to do, for the rest of your life. He treasures you far too greatly to ever allow you to truly experience something like that again, and if he can help prevent it in any way at all, he will do so, for you, the love of his life, someone who deserves to live and die in peace.

Helen:

He had such an odd feeling. He'd elected to stay home last minute, as Slender had assumed not all of you would need to attend this mission. However, he felt this clawing, nagging feeling in his chest, and so he ran, ran faster than he ever had before, but he'd been too late. Your blood was fresh as you lay collapsed against a tree, your eyes unfocused as he sat before you. He tried everything he could to try and help you, but it was too late. Others had to find the two of you, as Helen had sat there before you for hours, crying and screaming, revealing emotions nobody other than you had ever seen before. He felt as though he should be dead, as though he should have died with you, but instead there he was, laying in your shared bed, now far colder than usual due to the lack of your body heat. So, if it had been so cold, why was it suddenly so warm when he woke up? Rare tears slip from his eyes as you snuggle into him, just as you had that morning, and he clutches you tightly. He feels as though some god out there must have finally taken pity upon him and done something good for him for once.

You ask what's wrong, and he simply asserts he'll tell you later, instead choosing to look after you that day, to be far more affectionate than usual. When Slender once again offers for someone to fall back, Helen disagrees, saying he has a bad feeling and that maybe someone extra should go to be safe, and so a few do, and Helen is so unbelievably thankful that he and the extra few went. He can't believe you were basically fighting all of these people by yourself, and he hates himself for so casually staying home. He kills the person who was meant to kill you with ease, and the mission is successful. You all make it home, and it's when you're cuddled up once more that night that Helen finally tells you what happened, how you had died, how it could have been his fault, how painful it was. You're momentarily confused, but with how earnestly he's retelling it, you feel as though it must have been true, and so you thank him for saving you this time, thank him for keeping you safe, and he swears to you that he'll continue to do so. For the rest of your careers for Slender, he'll always be there, on every mission, fighting to protect the one true blessing in his life.

[moodymisty]

Hi there! Big fan of your primarch fanfic, and I have a Guilliman request. (Because I am obsessed with this man.) I would love a Guilliman + FemReader fic where our favorite calm, reserved primarch goes FERAL after seeing his lover hurt or threatened. Bonus points if said lover finds it surprisingly sexy and NSFW times result. Thank you!

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: therhxkffkfkfkf I love angry Primarchs

Relationships: Roboute Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: I didn’t do full nsfw but it is sort of handsy and lewd, I just thought it flowed better I hope it’s saucy enough for you, Groping, Grinding

Guilliman's boots touch the planet's surface, and he hears his men follow moments after. They had insisted they follow him, and he allowed it only if they wouldn't slow him down. He'd leave them behind if they did.

"Lady Guilliman is in a separate part of the fortress with her retinue,” An Ultramarine says, keeping up with his strides. “They've already cleared a good portion of the area. They said she was hit with some shrapnel, but she insists she's fine. They agree it's a just a flesh wound."

To hear that negotiations had dissolved into a firefight had been nothing short of a nightmare. He knows his men will have no issue with this, but he fears a stray bolter round nicking your much softer skin, or something worse.

"Where is the instigator of all of this."

His men exert slightly more effort that usual to keep up with Guilliman's enraged strides, a few bolter shots being fired for cover as he walks without a care.

"The planet's high lords? They've apparently barricaded themself at the top of the fortress with antitank weaponry. The men were focused on securing the area before pursuing them given that they’ve trapped themselves." Guilliman knows that's the correct choice; However in the blinding fire of his anger he doesn't care in the slightest.

"We are going up there. I'm going to rip them apart."

One of his men looks up at him with a furrowed, confused brow, but doesn't comment; Guilliman notices. He supposes the anger he's feeling is foreign to them. Perhaps if he was injured, they might feel something close to what he is feeling, though still abit different.

Guilliman storms through the massive fortress with little issue, stomping out leftover, separated groups of enemy forces along the way. While equipped with strong firepower they were at the end of the day baseline humans, and stood no chance against not only Astartes, but a primarch.

Once Guilliman arrived at the peak of the fortress where the high lords were hiding, including the one who had instigated this by shooting directly at you, Guilliman barged in with little care.

The High Lords were absolutely horrified, stuck like fish in a barrel with a primarch and three of his astartes. They presumably hadn’t expected the primarch to care so deeply about one person, willing to tear everything asunder just for them.

"You are all going to pay for what you've done to her. Now you get me."

Guilliman’s return to you was more than a blessing, after so much chaos. While logically the denizens of this planet stood no chance against the Ultramarines, the fear of being still hit by something and killed was always present.

Afterall you had already been nicked by some shrapnel, but the cut had largely stopped bleeding by now.

Guilliman turns to his men as he enters. Not before quickly approaching you however, silently looking you over before picking you up into his arms.

“You know your orders. Let us conclude this mess.”

They give him respectful nods and take their leave, ready to do the work they were made for.

You however are taken by Guilliman and guided back to a thunderhawk, one that brings you back to the Macgragge’s Honour within what feels like moments. It’s deathly silent the entire time, and you can feel Guilliman fuming. His anger fills the air, mixed with the intensity of a primarch aura that can make most falter.

He fumes and boils in his armor the entire time he pushes you towards his study, which surprises you. You would’ve thought he’d send you right to the apothecary, but perhaps he doesn’t see the need. You don’t either, the cut isn’t even bad enough to need sealing or bandaging.

The moment he closes the door you feel his emotions bubble over, watching him clench his fists tight as he punches the wall. It gives way underneath his fist.

“They think themselves strong enough to try and attack m-“ Guilliman stops himself, turning to you.

There’s a small smattering of blood on his cheek and the collar of his chestplate. You feel your heart skip a beat, and not for the reasons you might assume.

“Your heart; Are you afraid still? I… That wasn’t my intention.”

Guilliman hesitates. The last thing he would want is to make you fear him the way so many others so. Primarch voices are loud and his stature in full armor looms over everyone else in the room like-

Guilliman pays more attention and realizes that your breathing is also heavier, your face looks warm, and you can’t look him in the eyes. You look at his chestplate instead of his face, hands wringing. Had it been just these clues, Guilliman might not have figured it out, but when he smells the lightest, sweet scent that he finds oh so familiar, one that he’d also smelled in the Thunderhawk but brushed it away as nothing, he realizes why you’re so flighty.

You weren’t just scared, you were also aroused. By him.

Guilliman had recently learned that you enjoy it when he throws his weight around with you; When he pushes you down, pulls at you, throws you onto your shared bed. But he hasn’t realized that his angry, defensive nature might also trigger this in you, and make you silently beg for him even so soon after you had been in danger.

Perhaps it’s his innate speed, but it feels like a blink before he throws you onto his desk and places his hands on either side of your body. His lips smash against yours, your back arching as your own hands grip the collar of his armor.

“Robout-“

His kisses are so rough and demanding, you can already feel your lips becoming puffy and well kissed only moments later. His tongue brushes along your bottom lip, as one of his hands moves to grab your thigh. He pulls it away to force your legs to part, giving your to press that same armored hand against your clothed sex.

The unyielding feeling of his cold armor so suddenly against you makes you hips writhe, trying to push harder against it. Guilliman can feel you mewl in his mouth, hot breath fanning across his skin.

He didn’t know how to feel about how his aggression, his protection, makes you so wet and wanting for him, but he knows he can’t deny the way it makes his cock painfully throb against his own unyielding armor.

“You enjoy this too much,” He growls against your lips, pushing his fingers and palm harder against your cunt through the fabric of your clothing and listening to you cry for more. With how large his hand is, he can cup the entirely of your clothes cunt with ease. “So many are afraid of a Primarch’s anger, but you…”

The desk creaks underneath his hand, teeth catching your lip roughly between his teeth as your legs kick uselessly. Everything feels so cold against you even through your clothing; His armor, the desk, the air. You can’t stop the way you shiver.

But you still want more, your cunt throbs tensing around nothing and yearning for him to fill you the way only he can. Your hands pull at his armor, unable to move it or him even a fraction, but he can tell you’re doing it.

Guilliman however suddenly pulls away, removing his hand from between your legs.

“I need to remove my armor. I will be back.” You look up at him wide eyed and shocked, cunt still throbbing.

“You’re leaving? I-“

“You will wait here until I’m back. Do not move,”

He starts rounding the desk, watching with dark eyes as you lay on it spread out just for him; Clothes wrinkled and asunder. An image he’s had in the recesses of his mind for awhile, and he’s glad to have it come true.

“If anyone tries to enter tell them that I am not here, and I forbade them from entering.”

The last thing he wants is for anyone else to see you like this. You’re splayed across his desk, no one else’s. You want for only him, you yearn for the way he does whatever it takes to keep you safe.

With that Guilliman leaves you alone to strip away his armor, leaving you to boil in his study alone with the feeling your underwear wet and sticky against your skin, as you wait for him to return.

[multifandoms27-blog]

I got inspired by a certain season to request this. Can I request headcanons of Yugi, Yami and Kaiba reacting to their S/O joining an evil organization and challenging them to a duel please? (Whether it's their own volition or their being brainwash, is up to you~)

I love battle city so I went with Marik controlling them for this! Lets go boys and ghouls hehehehehe

Content: Yugi x gn!Reader, Yami Yugi x gn!Reader, Seto Kaiba x gn!Reader (separate)

Warnings: Mentions of attempted amputation, drowning, and beheading

Notes: Sorry this took so long! I couldn't decide what to do for Yugi's part for a very long time!

• ───────────────── •

❥Yugi

He pushed the pharaoh away from this duel. He wanted to save you, just as he saved Joey.

He may even tune out his friends to save you, or split off from them completely. He loves his friends, but he loves you more.

He demands Marik release you, and when he doesn't, he goes through with the duel.

He wins, expectedly, and when he sees a saw heading straight for your neck he wails out in terror.

"Y/N! NO!" He rushes forward and tugs you onto the floor just before the saw rips past.

In your confusion, you blink open your eyes and look up at Yugi. "Yu...Yugi...?"

"I'm here, I'm here. You're safe now." His tears streamed down his face as he slowly lifted you up.

He put a hand on your cheek and went in for a long kiss. The cries of his friends interruped him, making both of you turn and look at Joey, Tristan and Tea. Joey spoke first. "Y/n! Yugi! You okay?!"

"We're fine!" Yugi yelled from across the arena, then turned back to you. "I'll make sure nothing like that happens to you again."

"What...even happened?" You asked.

"I'll explain when we leave. I'm just so happy you're safe." He wiped his own tears away, then took you by the hand and led you out of there.

❥Yami Yugi

You mean so much to him, so much that he didn't allow Yugi to take over for this duel. He would rescue you himself, and then tear Marik apart.

Yami cursed Marik as he took over your every move and forced you to duel in a death trap.

He knew he had to beat you in order to have Marik relinquish control over you. As soon as he summoned Dark Magician, the duel was over.

The trap Marik had you in forced you under water, but in a tank. Not open water like Joey's.

Yami dove into the tank after you plunged. Marik released control of your mind, making you try to gasp for breath. In your confusion, you swallowed a lot of water.

Yami swam as fast as he could to you, hooked his hands under your arms and began trying to pull you up. His own strength could only take him so far, but before he knew it, Joey and Tristan had jumped in to help. Together, the three men pulled you out of the tank.

You coughed up some water after being turned on your side so you wouldn't choke. Yami held you close as you did, shaking and holding in tears.

"I thought I lost you forever..." He whispered.

"I'm here, I'm here..." You spoke reassuringly to both Yami and yourself.

"And you're not going anywhere without me." Yami tightened his hold just a little bit.

❥Seto Kaiba

He hates this. This is just like Mokuba being kidnapped, but you're right there.

You're right there but he can't reach you.

He doesn't know whether to beat you or let you win so you can be spared. It brings him back to his own antics towards Yugi during Duelist Kingdom.

Except you're not doing this of your own volition, he knows you aren't. He doesn't normally believe in supernatural things, but this is different.

He decides to beat you. While the duel goes on, he has a plan in his mind to free you from the trap as well as himself.

When he beats you, Marik laughs in your mind as he lets go of your mind control, thinking you're about to die. Seto however, springs into action, freeing you from getting a limb chopped off.

You have no idea what's going on, and honestly you feel really dizzy and your vision is blurry. Seto holds you close, calming down slowly knowing you're alive in his arms.

"S...Seto?" You asked, looking up at him.

Your vision was slowly coming back to you, and you recognized his white jacket. He didn't say anything for a moment, just continued to hold you. Then he spoke.

"It's okay, I have you now. Let's get out of here." Seto stands with you in his arms, leaving the building.

"What...happened?"

Seto begins to tell you the events leading up to the duel, how Marik had somehow possessed you and forced you to duel to the death with him, but he had managed to free both you and him. He then informed you that you were not to leave his side for the rest of his tournament.

• ───────────────── •

Here is my Masterlist in case you want to request, or look for more of your favorite character!

[http-tokki]

I wanna watch ~ suguru geto x fem!reader ~ tags/cw: smut, cunnilingus, geto being mean, edging, sex toys, dom geto, filth, pet names like little girl used, degrading pet-names, ~ wc: 830

Suguru leans against the doorframe, eyes trained on your writhing form as you fuck yourself with your pretty pink vibrator. Muscled arms crossed over his chest, a proud grin spread across his face at your obedience, following every order he croons at you. 

"Turn it up."

Pathetic whimpers fall from your pouting lips, fingers pressing down on the cute star-shaped button at the top of your toy, and your body jolts at the increased vibration. The coil in your stomach tightens with each passing second, hips rising off the bed as you grind against the pink silicone toy. 

"It's so pretty! Look at the little hearts on it!" you had shown him the toy a few weeks ago, sliding your phone into his hand. "I'm gonna get it! So pretty!" just as quickly as the screen had been shown, it was gone, leaving Suguru confused and a little turned on at the excitement in your voice. 

It had arrived this morning. Wrapped in a plain brown box with an unassuming return address that led your boyfriend to believe it was anything but your new sex toy. Geto had unwrapped it, thinking it was the new water bottle you had ordered for him, but upon opening, he realised it wasn't the personalised one-litre stainless steel water bottle.  

"Hand on your throat", his deep voice commands from across the room. 

A hand rises to your throat, fingers pressing on the sides of your neck restricting the blood flow, and you all but cum then and there. Suguru had been edging you for the last forty minutes, pushing you to the very edge and then taking your climax away entirely. Your head swims at the lack of oxygenated blood, and more tears fall over your chubby cheeks. 

"Tell me when you're close." 

You shake your head, hiccupping and whimpering your plea for him to finally let you cum. The heat in your stomach and thighs had been steadily building with each denied orgasm, and if you had to deal with another failed one, you would surely die. 

"Please, don't make me stop." 

Suguru clicks his tongue in disapproval. "But you've been doing so good, pretty girl." 

A whimper leaves you at his praise. 

 "You've been listening to me like such a good baby; I'm so proud of you, my angel." You feel his presence loom over you, and when you open your eyes, you're met with his. 

You think he might kiss you, but he kneels down at the end of the bed and reaches out to your open thighs. Fingers splay over your plush flesh, digging crescent moons into your soft skin.

"I'm gonna let you finish, but I wanna see when you do", Suguru explains, hands dragging over your legs, dipping between the crease of your thigh, then sliding over your sopping cunt. 

Ohh. He wants to watch. 

Slender fingers hold you open, eyes trained on the way your pussy clenches around nothing, hips bucking with each breath you take in. 

"Sugu, your fingers, please." 

"Not a chance, princess," he shakes his head, fingers scissoring to keep you open for him. "Wan' see you cum for me" 

You throw your head back, frustration filling you at the lack of help from your sadistic boyfriend, but you press the toy harder against your abused clit. 

"Wanna see my pretty girl cum for me, and then I'll fill you up. Stuff you full with my cock and have your cream for me again." Your cunt flutters at his words, and Suguru smiles. "Ohh, you like that baby?" 

You nod, cries falling from your lips at the heat taking over. 

"Dirty little girl, what am I gonna do with you?" Geto groans, drool falling from his tongue. "Can you cum for me, princess. Wanna see your pussy cum for me." 

You fall apart at his permission. Gasps and moans rip through you as your back arches from the bed. Your mind goes blank, and body limp as white-hot pleasure courses through you, sparking at your fingertips and igniting the fire within you. Geto can only watch as your cunt pathetically clenches at nothing, delighting in the thought of filling you up and feeling you grip his cock the same way you were right now. He said he would only touch you after you came, and while still technically true, he can't help but feel like a lair as he licks a stripe up your glistening cunt. He moans at the taste, sighing into your skin as he works you open with his tongue, fucking you through the aftershocks that wrack your body. 

"Sugu, baby, please." you cry, hands pushing at his head, too sensitive to have his mouth on you. "Too much, can't take-"your head lolls to the side, weak arms doing nothing against his determined mouth. 

"I'm calling the police." you mutter, arms resting over your eyes. 

"Fo whaf?" his words muffled as he continued to lick and suck.

"you. You tryna kill me." 

[tacticaldiary]

Where One Goes, The Other Follows

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Angst.

Note: Mentions of attempted suicide. Death on a mission

"You said we'd get out of this, remember? You promised."

She feels him shake his head minutely, a movement she might have missed if not for how close she was pressed against him. "Promised you'd...get out."

A/N: I don't feel great, so you get to not feel great with me! You're welcome!

Masterlist

It hurts.

Everything aches, a deep-seated anguish pulsing through her entire body. Like a shot to heart...no, a shot to the heart would have been quicker than this. Painless. Instant.

Merciful.

She chokes on shallow breaths as blood pools between the shaky hands pressed to the middle of her abdomen. Crimson gurgles up in her throat, so metallic she can almost make herself relax with the familiarity of it.

A simple mission, they had told her. A simple in and out, no clearance to engage. Keep it clean and quiet. When Price had handed her the packet of information, Ghost already flipping through a similar one, she'd joked about it being a vacation from the gruelling environments the team is usually forced to tough out.

It was supposed to be easy.

So why does she have a bullet lodged in her stomach? Why did they pick up the intel in a suspiciously empty warehouse, only to be ambushed by a few dozen Russian soldiers laying in wait? Their intel was rotten, she grits her teeth at the thought.

Pinned behind a metal container, the roar of gunfire crescendos over her ears. Pressed thigh to thigh, she feels hopelessness claw at her when Ghost makes a frustrated sound at the empty clicking of his last pistol.

Nothing. They had nothing but the slowing beat of their hearts and the uncertainty of their lives.

Despite the situation, she laughs. A tortured, humourless, choked sound as her head hits the metal behind her. One soldier injured, the other soon to be ripped apart by dozen. What a way to go out.

Ghost glances at her, eyes a little too wide under his mask.

It was funny. Everything was a little funny under the prospect of dying right now.

"Keep pressure on that." He orders when her hands slip. "They don't know we're out of ammo." Patting down his vest for a second, he unclips a grenade. The last one there, a last resort. You didn't throw a grenade like that in a close quartered environment unless it was a last resort.

"We'll make a run for the shutter on the left once this goes off, yeah?" He says, eyebrows knitting together in what's blatant concern when she doesn't respond. "Copy, Sergeant?" He says sharply, moving to shake her shoulder.

"I can't move, Simon." Comes a soft reply, the resigned tone sends chills down his spine. "I'll stay here and distract them. You take the shutter. Gotta get this intel to Price."

"Negative." he barks, shifting into position. "We move as I planned. Evac is just beyond those doors in the field. They won't follow us there, not enough cover against heavy fire."

For a moment she comes back to herself. Did he not hear her? "I can't...Simon I can't move-"

"Heard you the first time, love." That's all he says before pulling the pin out and tossing the object. There are a couple of clinks as it rolls, then the shouts and yells of their enemies as they recognise the threat. "I'm gonna get you out of here."

Hope dwindles, like the last rays of light before the sunset. There was no getting her out of here. She knows that. Dead weight is tough to deal with, useless in their line of work.

"Promise?" She breathes out roughly, a joke for a dying soldier.

The conviction he meets her eyes with, fierce and determined makes even her dark thoughts halt in their tracks. "I promise."

She closes her eyes, braces for the loud noise and flying shrapnel, only to be yanked to her feet and thrown over a broad shoulder. The movement makes pain wash across her body, enough to make black dot her vision, but she gets her bearings and clutches onto the back of his vest anyway, letting him do as he pleases.

The explosion sounds, ringing in their ears and Simon takes off instantly. Ducking behind containers, he almost makes it to the exit before shots start firing again.

He grunts, jolts more than a few times before he reaches the shutters, slipping out and slamming them shut behind him.

The metal and concrete is scraped from her vision, replaced with a green field and the sound of a chopper's blades whirring. Wind blows against her hair and for a moment it seems surreal.

She thought she was going to die. A shuddering gasp makes its way through her as they stop midway through the field. Simon moves to set her down gently-

And sways.

"Simon-?" She starts to ask, halfway to the ground. Eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration, she can't help but notice the way his mask is damp from sweat...his clothes too, and surely that much of a run wouldn't have been enough to wear him out. She's so making fun of him the moment she can suck in a full breath if that's the case, and-

Simon buckles to the ground, taking her with him. She lands on top of him, pulling a strangled groan out of the man. "Shit, are you...you okay?" She pants, clutching a hand to her wound before sitting up on her knees next to him.

Her entire front is covered in more blood that it had been before, and that's odd because...oh.

His front is stained with enough blood to make his previously green vest the colour of wine.

The sight stuns her, knocks the breath out of her because...what?

"Hey, you-Simon you're bleeding." She gasps, abandoning her own woes to take a better look at him. Blinking away the sluggish dizziness from her own blood loss, she carefully tears off his vest and-

His torso is riddled with bullet holes.

Too many to count. All of them bubbling and bleeding, pouring out liquid that should be inside him because he needs that, it's important and he's going to bleed out if this keeps going...

Hands hovering over his chest, they move from injury to injury, not knowing which one to press down on. For each one there were three more, and the fight against the rising panic and bile rising in her is getting tougher and tougher by the second.

"Made it out, at least." He breathes, shallow and raspy.

"You-you're bleeding." Is all she can manage to say, voice shaky.

In shock.

"I noticed." His humour isn't appreciated.

"I'm sorry." She chokes out. "I didn't...you got shot because I-"

"Oi." He grits out. A shaky, trembling hand moves to cup her jaw and despite the state he's in the touch is grounding and as rough as ever. "None of...that."

"You can't die." She encases his palm with her own, keeps it pressed there uncaring of the blood slicking her face. "You can't. Simon, you-it's okay. It's going to be okay." A sob rips its way out of her, though she tries to choke the rest back.

"Can't...can't kill someone who's already dead...love." He mumbles into her hair, blooding it with blood that he's coughing up way too fast to not be concerned about.

"Don't leave," She begs, hunched over him, clutching onto his gear. She wants it off, wants to rip it all off and feel his skin, press her hand against his chest, and make sure his heart never stops beating. "Don't leave me, Simon. I can't- I need you." With a scratchy voice, she pleads and begs, trying to keep him talking. "You promised, remember? You promised we'd get out."

She feels him shake his head minutely, a movement she might have missed if not for how close she was pressed against him. "Promised you'd...get out." He croaks, bleeding out but nevertheless the same strong, still presence as always.

Still...still?

Her breath chokes her, her entire body trembling as her grip on his shirt tightens. "Simon...?" She whispers. No answer.

A sob rips out of her, raw and painful because this wasn't real. It was a dream. There was no other explanation.

She'd wake up in her room, head pillowed on his chest and pretending to still be asleep just to have a few more minutes of his warmth. Simon would chuckle, she'd feel the motion under her skin, and he'd prod at her side, line kisses against her forehead until a smile broke free and her ruse was up.

They'd be happy.

She'd be happy.

Her face stays pressed against him, her grip iron. She doesn't pull away, letting the primal fear and grief mix with the senseless hope that maybe he was still alive. She hadn't confirmed it. Hadn't peeked up to see it, so maybe he was still there, waiting for her. Like he said he always would.

Hours, days, maybe minutes? A period of time later footsteps thunder behind her. Shrouded in delirium and grief, she's still a soldier, and her instincts kick in.

Protect, protect, protect.

It's a mantra in her head as she curls over him, unwilling to let them take him away from her.

People surround them but her grip does not falter. Hands grab at her shoulder and someone's speaking, saying words, what...

"-go, you have to let go." The voice is...shaky?

Gaz?

Confused, she tilts her head up a centimeter to catch a glimpse of the person who has her. Gaz. It was Gaz. Looking exhausted, shaken but determined. His eyes flitter away from Ghost on the ground repeatedly.

"Gaz?" She asks, voice cracking. He nods, taking her confusion to his advantage and pulling her to her feet. When she makes a strangled sound and hunched over, he finally notes the wound on her abdomen and curses.

"We need a medic." He calls over his shoulder, pulling to sling her arm over his shoulder. "We've got you, exfil's here. You're gonna be alright now, yeah?"

"N-no." She shakes her head, fuzzy and full. "Not me, I-...Simon...Ghost, you have to help him he's..." A hacking cough cuts her off, sending sharp flares of pain all across her body. Gaz firmly keeps her head towards the front when she tries to look back. "What-...no, not me." A weak attempt at pulling away is made, "Simon, Gaz I need to help...Ghost." Mumbling to herself half incoherent, she finally bats his hand away and turns to cast a glance back.

Her steps falter into nothing when she sees her boyfriend.

The sliver of skin beneath his mask is a sickly pale, blood dripping out from under it. His balaclava is soaked in blood, a strange waterboarding technique to chart for the future, her delirious mind unhelpfully supplies.

It's the stillness that jarrs her, makes the reality finally sink in.

Simon was quiet, he was purposeful, he could lay looking through a sniper scope in one place for hours but he was never still.

This kind of stillness was one brought by the absence of the warmth of light.

Gaz is talking...is he? His mouth is moving that much she can see out of the corner of her eyes, but all she can hear is static as her mind clicks together a devastating picture, a scene that would haunt her for as long as she lives.

Dead.

She thinks she might throw up.

Simon. Ghost. Simon was dead.

They were supposed to be a pair. Unbreakable. Where one went, the other followed offering the silent reassurance that neither of them would ever be alone.

Where one went, the other followed.

She lunges against Gaz's hold, the strength in her battered form surprising the soldier enough to allow her to rip free and stumble over to her lover.

Shaky hands fumble around Simon's body, one of them grips his gloved one in her own tightly, God he was cold, how was he already cold? until cool metal meets her fingertips, slicked with their blood.

People call her name. One person...maybe five? It doesn't matter, nothing matters right now but the press of the barrel against her forehead.

There's no hesitation when she pulls the trigger.

But there's a distinct lack of blinding pain.

A stunned, heavy silence takes hold of the field. Slowly, guilt and dread and hate and self-loathing curling up in her gut, she peels her eyes open to see her team. Her family.

And if the cold corpse of her lover beside her wasn't already punishment enough, the devastated, broken, confused looks on theirs' definitely does.

Soap makes a strangled noise when she pulls the trigger again, her head full of cotton.

Click.

Oh.

That's right.

The chamber was empty, wasn't it?

Staring numbly at the gun, at the pistol that Simon had carried with him throughout his entire career, she doesn't fight the hands that grip at her, that pull her up.

Doesn't fight the way Simon's cold hand slips from hers. When the gun is gently pried from her iron grip.

Words fall upon deaf ears, a buzzing sound accompanying her glazed over expression as she stares at two soldiers dragging over a body bag towards him over Price's shoulder.

"It's alright, lass." Soap mumbles in her ear, and distinctly she notes the sheer of tears in his eyes out of the corner of his own. "We've got ya."

"He's..." She says faintly. Simon's head is zipped into the bag out of view. "Gone..."

And then she cries. No, crying is too lenient a word, for what leaves her is a sound reserved for a wounded animal, a sound that not even the most experienced interrogators could ever hope to coax out of her. She wails and cries, hoarse and raw because nothing about this was okay. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

Because she was alive.

And her other half was dead.

And she was still alive.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(1/08/2023)

[starlitmelanin]

ᡣ𐭩ྀི escapism; a.tchouaméni

pairing - aurélien x fem!reader

word count - 3k

warnings - mentions of alcohol/heavy drinking. implications of sex, nothing explicit.

summary - when your relationship ends abruptly, you don't have time to process the heartbreak. instead, you put on your little black dress, go out on the town, and find yourself a distraction.

it was supposed to be just another night, another argument that would blow over like all the rest. but when he sat you down, his expression more serious than you'd ever seen, you felt something shift in the air, something cold and final.

"we need to talk."

those words, so simple and so devastating, hung between you like a glass waiting to drop. you knew what was coming, could see it in the way he couldn't quite meet your eyes, in the way he sighed like he was about to do something he'd regret.

"i can’t do this anymore, y/n," he said, his voice heavy with regret but firm, like he'd made up his mind and there was no going back. "we're over."

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you, leaving you reeling. for a moment, you just sat there, staring at him, waiting for him to say something, anything, that would make it all make sense. but he didn't. he just sat there, looking at you like he was waiting for you to understand, to agree, to make it easy for him.

but there was nothing easy about this. your heart felt like it was being torn apart, ripped to shreds, and you wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to stay, to fight for what you had. but you didn't. you couldn't. because even as the pain surged through you, a numbness settled in, a protective layer that kept you from breaking down right there in front of him.

"okay," you said, the word hollow, emotionless, like it wasn't even you saying it. you stood up, walked away, and didn't look back.

you didn't cry. not then, not after. you wouldn't let yourself. instead, you did the only thing you could think of to keep from feeling the pain—you numbed it. the bottle became your closest companion, its contents a temporary bandaid for the wound that still felt too fresh, too raw.

that's how you found yourself out on the town, dressed in a little black dress that hugged your curves just right, your makeup flawless, your hair done up perfectly. you looked good, and you knew it, but it wasn't about feeling good. it was about not feeling at all. you wanted to drown out the thoughts, the memories, the pain. you wanted to lose yourself in the music, in the crowd, in the taste of alcohol on your tongue.

the club was packed, bodies moving together in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic, the bass vibrating through the floor, through your body, until it was the only thing you could feel. the lights were low, flashing colours that blurred your vision, making everything feel surreal, like you were in a dream. or a nightmare. you couldn't tell the difference.

you made your way to the bar, ordered another drink—something strong, something that burned on the way down—and then another. you didn't want to think, didn't want to feel. you just wanted to forget.

"you good?" the bartender asked, his voice cutting through the fog in your mind.

you looked at him, tried to focus on his face, but it was hard. everything was hard. "i'm fine," you said, waving him off. "just keep them coming."

he hesitated, but you weren't in the mood for pity or concern. you were here for one reason and one reason only—to drown out everything else.

that's when you saw him.

he was standing at the other end of the bar, leaning casually against it like he had all the time in the world. tall, dark, and handsome, with a smile that was almost too perfect, too charming. he had that kind of presence that made people turn and look, but he didn't seem to care. he was just... there. and for some reason, you couldn't stop staring.

he must have felt your gaze because he looked up, his eyes meeting yours across the bar. and then he smiled, a slow, lazy smile that made something in your chest tighten, made your breath catch. he was gorgeous, and you could tell he knew it, but there was something else, something in his eyes that made you want to look away and look closer all at once.

you weren't looking for anything serious. hell, you weren't looking for anything at all. but as he walked over to you, his steps confident, purposeful, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what you needed. a distraction. something, or someone, to take your mind off everything else.

"you look like you could use some company," he said, his voice smooth, warm, with just the right amount of flirtation.

"and you look like trouble," you shot back, the alcohol giving you a boldness you didn't usually have.

he laughed, the sound rich and deep. "maybe," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "but maybe that's not such a bad thing."

you looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time all night, you felt something other than pain, other than the numbness you'd been clinging to. you felt... intrigued. curious. and maybe a little reckless.

"i'm aurélien," he said, holding out his hand.

you took it, felt the warmth of his skin, the strength of his grip, and something in you shifted. "y/n."

he smiled, and it was the kind of smile that promised things you weren't sure you were ready for, but tonight, you didn't care. tonight, you weren't looking for promises or commitments. you were looking for an escape, and this aurélien guy seemed more than willing to provide it.

"so, y/n," he said, leaning in a little closer, his voice dropping to a murmur that was somehow more intimate than the loud music surrounding you, "what brings you out tonight?"

you hesitated, the truth too raw, too painful to share with a stranger, but the alcohol was already loosening your tongue, making you more honest than you would've liked. "my boyfriend dumped me," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "last night."

his eyes softened, the playful light dimming just a little. "i'm sorry," he said, and it sounded genuine, not just something people say because they feel they should.

"don't be," you replied, taking another sip of your drink. "i'm not here to feel sorry for myself."

"what are you here for?" he asked, his eyes searching yours, curious.

you met his gaze, held it, and felt a spark of something you hadn't felt in a long time. desire. it was small, barely a flicker, but it was there, and you wanted to fan it, to let it grow, to let it burn away everything else.

"i'm here to forget," you said, your voice low, steady, and you could see the understanding in his eyes, the way his gaze darkened just a little, like he knew exactly what you meant.

"i think i can help with that," he said, his voice matching yours in intensity.

you didn't need to ask what he meant. you knew. and you were okay with it. more than okay. you wanted it.

"good," you said, setting your glass down on the bar, the clink of it louder than it should have been in the noise of the club. "because that's exactly what i need right now."

he didn't waste any time. his hand found yours, warm and strong, and he led you through the crowd, out of the club, and into the cool night air. the city was alive around you, the lights bright, the sounds of laughter and music and car horns filling the space, but it all felt distant, like you were in a bubble, just the two of you, moving through the night.

you didn't ask where he was taking you. you didn't care. you trusted him in that moment, trusted that he would give you what you needed, even if it was just for the night. because that's all it was. all it would ever be.

he hailed his driver, and you slid in beside him, the tension between you thick, electric. his hand brushed your thigh, a casual touch that sent a jolt of heat through you, and you leaned into it, into him, craving more, needing more.

the ride to his place was a blur, the streets flashing by in a haze of lights and shadows. your heart was racing, your mind spinning, but not with thoughts of your ex, not with pain or regret or anything other than the anticipation of what was to come.

when the car pulled up to his building, he muttered something to his driver in a language you barely understood and then led you inside, his hand never leaving yours. the elevator ride was silent, the air thick with unspoken words, unspoken desires. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body seemed to vibrate with the same tension that was building in you, and it was almost too much, almost overwhelming, but you wanted it, in a way that was almost desperate.

his apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the faint buzz of the city outside the windows. the space was sleek, modern, with clean lines and minimalist decor—everything in its place, not a single thing out of order. it felt like him, you thought, as you took it all in. controlled, confident, but there was a warmth to it too, something inviting that you hadn't expected.

aurélien watched you from the doorway, his eyes tracing your every movement as you wandered into the living room, your heels clicking softly against the hardwood floors. the silence between you was charged, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the way it followed you like a magnet. there was something intoxicating about it, about him, and you found yourself drawn to it, to him, in a way that felt almost inevitable.

"nice place," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned to face him.

he didn’t respond right away, just stepped closer, closing the distance between you in a way that was slow, deliberate. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

"i'm glad you like it," he said, but his eyes were on you, not the apartment, like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

there was a tension in the air, thick and heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was the kind of tension that built, that coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped, until it became something else entirely. and you could feel it, feel that shift coming, feel it in the way your breath caught in your throat, in the way your pulse quickened as he moved closer.

"you don’t have to do this," aurélien said softly, his eyes searching yours, and there was a gentleness in his tone that surprised you, that made your heart ache in a way you hadn't expected. "we can just... talk, if you want."

talking wasn’t what you wanted. not tonight. not after everything that had happened, everything you were trying to forget. you didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel. you just wanted to lose yourself, to drown out the pain in something else, in someone else.

"i don’t want to talk," you said, your voice firmer than you felt, and you took a step closer, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath. "i want..."

but the words died on your lips, and you didn’t know how to finish the sentence, didn’t know how to tell him that you needed him, that you needed this, more than you’d ever needed anything else.

"what do you want, y/n?" aurélien asked, and the way he said your name, so soft, so intimate, almost sent you spiralling.

you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and there was something in his gaze that made you feel like he already knew, like he understood exactly what you were feeling, even if you couldn’t put it into words. and maybe he did, because when you didn’t respond, he closed the gap between you, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

"i got you," he whispered, and there was a promise in those words, a reassurance that made you want to believe him, that made you want to let go of everything else and just be there, in that moment, with him.

you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you let yourself feel the warmth of his hand against your skin, let yourself sink into the comfort of it. it was different from what you were used to—different from the way things were with your ex—but that was exactly what you needed. something different. something that didn’t remind you of the pain, the heartbreak. something that made you feel alive again.

and then his lips were on yours, soft and cautious at first, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop this before it went any further. but you didn’t want to stop. you couldn’t. because the moment his lips touched yours, everything else faded away—the hurt, the betrayal, the thoughts of what you’d lost—and all that was left was him. aurélien. and the way he was making you feel.

you kissed him back, your hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until it was all-consuming, until it was the only thing you could think about, the only thing you could feel. his hands slid down your back, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the heat of his body, the strength in his arms as they wrapped around you, holding you close.

you lost yourself in the kiss, in the way his lips moved against yours, in the way his hands roamed your body, exploring, discovering. it was intense, but it was exactly what you needed. you needed to feel wanted, needed, like you mattered, even if it was just for tonight.

"aurélien," you murmured against his lips, your voice breathless, filled with a need you couldn’t deny, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

"you sure?" he asked, his voice low, rough, and you could see the restraint in his eyes, the way he was holding himself back, waiting for your permission, your consent.

"yeah," you breathed, and that was all it took.

he scooped you up into his arms, his strength catching you off guard, but you didn’t have time to react before he was carrying you down the hallway, his steps quick, purposeful, like he couldn’t wait any longer. and neither could you.

his bedroom was just as sleek and modern as the rest of the apartment, but you barely noticed, too focused on him, on the way he laid you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours, his eyes searching your face like he was looking for something, some sign that this was okay, that this was what you wanted.

and it was. more than anything.

you reached up to pull him down to you, your lips finding his again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. it was all heat and passion and desperation, and you lost yourself in it, in him.

the rest of the night was a blur of touches, of kisses, of whispered words and shared breaths. it was intense, raw, and exactly what you needed. aurélien was everything you could have asked for in a distraction—attentive, gentle, but with a fire that matched your own, that made you forget everything else.

for a few blissful hours, there was no pain, no reeling. there was only aurélien, and the way he was making you feel, the way he was making you forget.

but when it was over, when the night had given way to the early hours of the morning, and you were lying there beside him, his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your skin, reality started to creep back in. the numbness you’d been clinging to began to fade, and the ache in your chest returned, more dreadful than before.

you carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake him, and quietly gathered your clothes, slipping them back on with practiced ease. you couldn’t stay. you couldn’t risk the morning-after awkwardness, the questions, the regrets. this was supposed to be a one-time thing, a way to forget, not something that lingered.

as you headed for the door, you glanced back at him, at the way he looked so peaceful, so content in his sleep. for a moment, you were tempted to stay, to curl back up beside him, to let yourself pretend that this could be something more. but you knew better. you knew that staying would only make things more complicated, more painful.

so you left, slipping out of his apartment and into the cool morning air. the city was starting to wake up, the streets slowly coming to life, but you felt like you were in a daze, like everything was happening in slow motion.

you didn’t look back as you walked away, your heels clicking against the pavement, the sound echoing in the quiet streets. you told yourself that this was what you needed, that aurélien was the perfect distraction, that you’d be fine now.

but deep down, you knew that the ache in your chest wasn’t going away. that the numbness you’d been relying on was only temporary, that eventually, you’d have to face reality.

but not yet. not now.

for now, you’d keep moving forward, keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep pretending that you’re okay.

because that’s all you could do. keep pretending. keep moving.

until the pain faded.

until you could breathe again.

until you were ready to feel again.

[victorclays]

[ Joplittle gentle hand touching as promised!!!! @fitzjamesbulletwound ENJOY BELOVED!!! Also hi hello i dont know how ship layouts work and I'm not looking it up. it's not important it's fiiiiiiiinnneee. 🤣🤣🤣]

🧡🧡🧡🧡

Imagine their hands brush. Just so. One day up on deck. It's a warm day, before the cold sets in. They're listening to Franklin drone on about something, both of them stuck at the back of the crowd. And their hands brush. Pinky to pinky, the sides of their palms sliding past one another.

Imagine the breath that's punched out of Edward. This tight, shakey thing. Jopson's skin against his ripping it out of his chest.

No one hears it. Apart from Jopson. He hears it just fine. He feels it fluttering in his own chest. He glances at the Lieutenant. Sees his hand clench. Unclench. Sees his teeth worry into the soft skin of his bottom lip.

And then Franklin is done speaking. The crew gets back to their routine. And Lieutenant Little is gone. Lost in the bodies hustling past. The sound of his suprised exhale echoing in Jopson's mind as he gets back to work.

Imagine it happens again. In the hall this time, as they pass each other. Lieutenant Little inclining his head to him, and then their hands brush, the backs of their hands, warm skin passing chilled skin in the dim light below decks.

And that breath again. Huffed out this time. As he passes. Some other small sound. Pulled out of him as he goes. Jopson looks over his shoulder, watches the Lieutenant's own shoulders tense, his head dipping and hanging as he hurries away. Jopson takes a deep steadying breath, and gets back to work.

It's late when it happens again. And cold. Jopson thinks he'll never be warm again. Can't imagine how cold Lieutenant Little must be. Back and forth between ships, over and over, doing his best to follow impossible orders.

He waits for him outside the cabin, lets him slide the door shut and then steps in front of him. He frowns, questioning, says nothing. Jopson swallows, reaches out, slowly, and curls his fingers around the Lieutenants wrist.

He's rewarded with another hitched breath, and another sound this time, like a wounded animal, a small whine, in the back of the Lieutenants throat. And his eyes, wide and wondering as they stare into his own.

Jopson squeezes his wrist gently, once, hoping the touch is reassuring. He pulls his hand back. Tells the Lieutenant,

"Stay. For a moment. Just rest a minute." In a hushed voice. And then leads him to the wardroom.

Lieutenant Little says nothing, just watches Jopson make him a cup of tea, accepts it with a nod, his teeth worrying at his lip again.

"Get warmed up. Before you go again sir." Jopson says, nods, and leaves the Lieutenant there, by the fire, his hands wrapped gently around a warm cup of tea. Jopson puts the thought of the warm skin of Lieutenant Little's wrist out of his mind best he can, and gets back to work.

The ship is nearly empty now. Ten men to a ship is nothing. The decks are quiet. Jopson somehow keeps missing the Lieutenant, though they move about the same spaces.

He finds him after Crozier settles for the night. For the time being anyway. Jopson pushes down the hope that maybe he's on the upturn. He almost doesn't notice him. Lieutenant Little. He's sat on the floor. Legs crossed. Head leant back. Hands in his lap.

It takes even more concentration to notice the cat in his lap. His fingers buried deep in long fur. Jopson pushes away a ridiculous pang of jealousy, shakes his head and takes a step back. Trying to leave the man to his peace, the only peace he probably ever gets.

Jopson knows he doesn't sleep. Because he doesn't sleep either. And he can hear him shuffling about at all hours, through the door and across the hall. He tries to leave him be, but his foot hits something and it startles both the Lieutenant and his companion.

He's on his feet in an insant, wide eyes on Jopson as his furry friend runs off, dashing through Jopson's legs and off into the dark.

"My apologies sir. I didn't mean to disturb you." Jopson says, cringing a little as he straightens up.

"It's fine. You didn't. You aren't." Little's voice is rough, from under use, Jopson expects. The ever present furrow in his brow is there, his eyes on the ground. Jopson hesitates. Takes a breath. Steps forward.

"Your hand, sir." Jopson says, barely above a whisper though there's hardly anyone to hear them. Little's frown deepens, his hand clenches and he raises it up, three deep scratches, blooming red across the back of it. He doesn't seem to know how they got there.

Jopson frowns, reaches for his hand. The Lieutenant straightens when he takes it, like he's bracing himself for something.

"Let me, sir." Jopson says, heart pounding as he moves to the cupboard, grabs some spare bandages and moves to the Lieutenant's side again, closer. In his space now as he takes his hand.

Little's breathing sharpens again, shallows out as Jopson works, his deft fingers wrapping his hand and wiping at the blood that had dripped down his fingers. Jopson glances up, and finds that the Lieutenant's eyes are closed.

Jopson lays his hand over the bandage, gentle, and doesn't move it. Little's eyes open, quick to feel the lack of movement, and the pressure that stays. His chest rising and falling beneath his large coat, his shoulders shaking it with it.

He blinks a few times, hard. Eyes darting from Jopson's hand on his, to his face, and back again. They land on their hands and stay there.

"Jopson?" He whispers, he sounds lost. Completely unmoored, a ship lost at sea.

"Do I truly have such an effect on you sir?" Jopson dares to ask, down here in the dark, the quiet, the heart of their home, keeping them safe. Little's eyes jump up at that, to Jopson's face, moving about as they search his face for something. Jopson almost smiles when his frown deepens as he keeps looking.

"Is it not obvious enough? You have to ask?" The Lieutenant whispers back, sounding pained, his voice tight, his eyes dropping away from Jopson, who wants nothing more than to have them back on him.

"I- I thought perhaps it was some kind of jest. Perhaps. Sir." He tacks it on the end, out of habit, for saftey. It brings Little's eyes back to him, and his frown has somehow deepened still. His next words fill Thomas with such warmth.

"Why would I do that?" He asks, his voice rough, and genuine. And Thomas knows, he wouldn't. This man in front of him would never. Ever do that. Not because he has a lack of humor, but because he has a great deal of care.

"You wouldn't. I'm sorry sir." Jopson drops his gaze, moves his hand away from the Lieutenant's only to find Little's hand grabbing at his before he can move away. His touch is gentle, and finally warm. Jopson looks back to him, tells himself he sees the man's frown lessening.

"Don't." Is all he says. Jopson frowns. Little clears his throat.

"Be sorry. Please don't be sorry. You don't have to be- and it's-" he stumbles over his words, his cheeks flushing and he sighs, huffs really, in frustration.

"It's what?" Jopson asks, turning his hand into Little's, his fingers curling around the warm hand in his. The Lieutenant looks pained, for a moment, and then looks up, his eyes wide, and open, and honest.

"It's Edward. You don't have to- when it's just us. If- if you don't want." His eyes have wandered off again, moving further away the longer he speaks. Jopson can't help the small smile now, lets it bloom as he looks at the ridiculous man in front of him.

"Thomas." He says, gives Little's- Edward's hand a squeeze. It draws his eyes back to him. He smiles wider, watches the smallest of smiles bloom on Edward's lips as well, the man's eyes locked on his face now, like he'd never dream of looking away.

"Thomas." Edward repeats, sounding in a daze.

"Let me assure you, Edward. You've effected me as well." He moves his hand again, laces their fingers together. Places his other hand on top of their tangled ones, for good measure.

"Have I?" He breathes it out, and that frown is back. Jopson huffs a laugh, shaking his head, Edward's frown deepens, like he thinks Thomas is laughing at him. And that simply won't do. He brings their hands up, lifts them higher and presses his lips to the back of Edward's hand.

It's a barely there press, his lips chapped but warm against Edward's skin. And the man sounds, yet again, like he's been punched. Jopson smiles, moves his thumb over the skin his lips had just touched.

"How could you not?" He says, breathless as he watches Edward flush and duck his head. Sees him smiling, down at his feet. And finds himself pushing away another silly pang of jealousy.

They stay there for a long time. Long enough that Edward's furry friend returns, winding and rubbing his way between their legs in small figure eights. Edward joking that he's jealous, smiling at Thomas, looking up at him through his lashes, his cheek dimpling as a little half smile pulls at the soft skin there.

Thomas longs to reach out and touch. Wants to know if his cheeks are as warm as his hands. But he doesn't. He snorts a laugh, squeezes Edward's hands tighter, relishing in the warmth there as Edward give him a tug. Pulls him back toward their lives, moving around each other like planets orbiting a star.

Thomas finds himself thinking maybe Edward is a star. Warm and bright, surrounded by cold darkness, pulling Thomas in, captivating him. They part ways at the captains door, hands linked together before they both pull away.

Thomas smiles, and then huffs a suprised breath of his own when Edward leans forward swiftly, presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Before he can respond Edward is halfway down the hall, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

He looks back, as he opens his cabin door, eyes on Thomas, that crooked smile shining bright in the dark.

"Goodnight Thomas." He whispers, nodding awkwardly, as he does. Thomas's smile nearly pains him, the gentle huffed laugh that bubbles out of him, does not.

"Goodnight Lieutenant." He says, lips twitching with mischief.

Edward's smile blooms, his eyes squinting with it.

"Edward." Thomas corrects. Edward's laugh is small, but it shakes his shoulders and chest, and he ducks his head with another blush before giving Thomas an awkward little wave and disappearing into his cabin.

Thomas bites his lip, pushes himself up onto his toes for a moment. He closes his eyes, clenches his fist, imagines he can still feel the whisper of Edward's skin against his, his lips ghosting against his cheek and then gone.

He sighs, bone deep, but not unhappily. He pictures Edward with the cat, looking calm. Pictures him frowning, and smiling, and laughing. He steadies himself, hand on his chest, and pictures Edward, happy and warm and beautiful.

Thomas keeps these images of Edward in his mind, lets them float before him, a beautiful distraction as he slides the captain's cabin door open, and gets back to work.

[tinderbox210]

I've been thinking a lot about ND-5’s restraining bolt - again - and have been wondering about its efficiency, especially in regards to whether or not ND would have really killed Kay in the end because of it.

SPOILER WARNING

I'm only talking about the intended story progress and not when you get caught because of your utter lack of gaming skills, like me 😅

In the game ND claims the bolt is absolute, insisting that he can't fight it or Jaylen's orders several times.

But at the same time there are several occasions in the game were he shows at least some level of resistance when he's supposed to hurt Kay. He hesitates to blast her and only does after Jaylen causes him physical pain (he doesn't hesitate to shoot Asara in comparison).

And he keeps talking to Kay while chasing her with the obvious intention of giving her a chance to save herself, which Kay rightfully points out as ND fighting against the bolt.

(He also seems to miss good shots, which storywise feels almost like on purpose, like he's messing with with his aim because he doesn't really want to shoot her)

So here comes my theory:

Not sure how much of it is backed up by other canon, but imo the efficiency of the restraining bolt is influenced by the degree of sentience and experience (personality/free will or what you want to call it) a droid has developed.

Lore established that most droids get frequently memory wiped to delete confidential data but also in order to prevent them from developing too much personality and independence. I imagine it's easier for the bolt to control a mostly "empty" vessel with less code instead of a droid with years of experiences, advance and growth beyond the original programming - too much complex data to suppress and overwrite if you will.

And that’s the crux with ND-5.

He seems to still remember much of his time in the Clone Wars and his mission for Sliro which hints at him having not been memory wiped in a long time (at least he never says otherwise in the game I think) and by that he's been able to develop such a strong personality and sense of self-awareness that he even wears clothes, setting him apart from pretty much every other droid.

I don't think restraining bolts are built to face that much swagger, I mean it's probably not easy to deal with that load of complex data and the bolt has shown difficulties dealing with ND's old battle droid programming when he malfunctions as well, so there's clearly limitations to the working/mechanics of the bolt.

I think it's possible that ND's fear of turning back into being nothing but a battle droid without the bolt, gave the restraining bolt more power over him than the device necessarily had per se, and ND only believed in the bolt being absolute because he never had a reason to put it to the test before meeting Kay.

ND says in the game he likes to have a purpose and being Jaylen’s enforcer gave him such purpose, so that’s probably also a major reason why ND went along with it and didn’t try to fight the bolt before. He didn't know there's another way of living possible for him.

I'm also sure Jaylen never missed a chance throughout his years of service to remind ND that he's nothing but a ruthless killing machine without the bolt, to keep him chained to his side and keep him depended.

But then Kay comes along to challenge everything he believed in with the way she's the first to see and treat him like a real person and not just a servant, tool or weapon and before he knows it she's stolen his poor little metal heart.

So in conclusion, my headcanon is that he wouldn't have killed her. He's close, obviously when he holds her and says he's sorry, but would have managed to defy the restraining bolt last minute and is one step away from ripping that restraining bolt of his chest plating himself when Kay blasts it off.

[scoobydoodean]

i know it's compelling in fics for cas to feel betrayed about the jack in the ma'lak box decision but its So weird bc its obvious the moment jack breaks out of it hes like. oh man jack might need to be restrained at least until we can figure out a plan. like his first thought before jack breaks out is "this was cruel of them to do" and then hes like. oh fuck jack might be a threat actually.

like castiel is a complicated character hes on jack's side but by the time god suggests killing jack hes done a full 180 on it.

and when people are like "aiming the gun at jack is just as bad as shooting him" im even more confused bc like. dean aimed a gun at emma and didnt shoot her, even with the safety off. dean aimed a gun at SAM while under mind control/anger spell (talking about southern comfort iirc) and didnt shoot him. dean aimed a blade at cas and didnt stab him. like. its fine for cas to be upset at the god gun thing but its so weird when people act as if cas didnt basically admit jack needs to be stopped/bound next episode.

Cas should have been consulted and had a right to be angry that he wasn't included in the decision. At the same time, part of the reason the whole dead mom incident leading up to this happened is that Cas—yet again—kept something from everyone else so he could make unilateral decisions behind all their backs, so I'm not particularly sympathetic to his frustrations with being excluded.

I also just don't think it was cruel at all to put soulless Jack in a box and I think people should get over it. He was killing people and I care more about that than his feelings about being stuck in a box for all of 20 minutes. I simply don't care and it continuously baffles me how big a deal some fans makes out of this when Jack was going around fucking punishing and killing people in horrific ways for not believing in god on Dumah's orders after Cas suggested to her that Jack was in a vulnerable state due to being soulless and could be molded to do others bidding. Anyway like 20 minutes later, Cas went to inquire about putting Jack in The Cage. You know—the room where Sam was trapped for a year with Michael and Lucifer and where as far as Cas knows at that point, Sam was so badly tortured by Michael in addition to Lucifer that it ripped him apart at the seams?

Fandom's take on the entire thing is so devoid of even the most basic level of nuance or even plain simple honesty (to the point one of my mutuals was sent hate mail for months for nothing more than pointing out canonical facts surrounding the incident). It doesn't even surprise me anymore, because this is a fandom that infantilizes Jack to such an extent that it's been passionately argued to me that Jack should be allowed to kill people when he's angry because he has such Big Important Feelings and simultaneously and incongruously—that Dean shooting Jack to keep him from killing the black store clerk Jack was strangling to death in a rage was an act of abuse. Don't even get me started on gun disk horse that exists beyond that regarding the shooting people with guns show.

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Hello it's me again can I request the hlc students, professor and villians meeting THE VILLAIN AU of MC, (Mc is a dark entity who was stored under wookrook castle after the first ancient magic stop was open they let out !villain! Mc who's a 11ft entity who is sassy, manipulative, playfull/ Mc in this au plays a game with her victims if they lose they lose a limb if they win they get some power (btw this is a discarded au of mine Lol)

A/N: If I'm following your idea correctly, MC is not human but a dark entity that manifested inside the repository under Rookwood Castle? I can roll with that.

HLC REACT TO VILLIAN!MC

WARNING: angst,death, destruction, mayhem, evil!MC

RANROK: Finally. The Rookwood repository was unearthed. This one was the largest by far, he could practically smell the magic buzzing within its cage. In his haste, the magic beam from his hand killed a loyalist that didn't get out of the way fast enough. The repository shattered, releasing the large black and red mass of magic.

Something was different. The magic didn't automatically come to him. It didn't attach itself to his armor or go inside his body. Instead it writhed formless on the ground. He angrily shot another beam of magic, but it had no effect.

The magic did not come to him. Instead it started to rise. Higher and higher until the mass was near the height of the surrounding trolls. The magic swirled in place, gradually forming the silhouette of a human. Two exceptionally bright red lights glow where eyes would be.

The goblins behind him started to back up, looking to him for orders. He stared up at the unknown entity, unsure of the correct action. His magic had done nothing.

His hesitation was his downfall. The creature of undiluted dark magic simply pointed a finger at him and he felt as though his own soul was being ripped from his body. All the magic he had collected from previous repositories flew from him to the entity.

He fell dead while the entity seemed to grow stronger. Its form was more defined, more humanoid. The faceless head split across the front into a gnarled, chaotic smile.

VICTOR ROOKWOOD: He was outside Hogsmeade negotiating his next step with Harlow when the sky above went red. He pulls out his wand, thinking he's ready for what's about to come out of the sky when he sees it.

A large winged creature, not unlike a dragon, swooped down from above. A blast of dark and red energy came from the entity's hands and vaporized entire rows of houses. The protective barrier around Hogsmeade is entirely ineffective in stopping it.

He and Harlow try to flee, but the entity lands within feet of them. The weight of the creature shakes the earth and knocks them to the ground. He rolls onto his back and starts firing every destructive spell he knows, including the killing curse. His magic is merely absorbed.

A low shrill laugh pierces the air, he looks up in terror to see the sound coming from the entity standing over him. An impossibly tall humanoid figure with undefined features was staring down at him. They seem to be made of liquid chaos and fire, their skin constantly shifting and morphing. From the back came four large wings, like those of giant bats. They too seem to be constantly changing shape and definition.

The last thing he heard were his own screams as darkness descended upon him.

~~~

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: The school was in chaos. The alarm bells rang out as professors rushed to collect the students for emergency evacuation. He fought against the crowd to get to the nearest floo powder stantion. He needed to get to Feldcroft.

He nearly reaches one when the wall next to him blasts apart. He's thrown off his feet and half buried in rubble. His ears ring. The screaming of the students around him feel distant when he sees a horrific being approach him. It glares down at him curiously.

He couldn't reach for his wand, his arm was broken. The creature reached down towards him and he tries to shuffle away when he feels a slight tugging inside of his chest, like his own heart was trying to leave through his ribs. An oily black substance oozes from his skin, shining red like blood and he believes he's dying. But then...he feels nothing. Not fear, not anger, not pain. He doesn't need to go to Feldcroft. He doesn't need to do anything...he doesn't want anything.

He's left there in the rubble. The creature absorbed what they took from him and moved on through the school, heading downward.

OMINIS GAUNT: He's lost in the crowd and couldn't find Sebastian, no matter how many times he called. He's forcefully shoved through the hall and to an evacuation point. No matter how much he protested, he was floo-ed away without explanation of what was happening. The best he could tell was at the school was attacked by something. It had to be huge by the sounds of crashing and all the screaming. Whatever it was was horrible and he was slightly grateful he didn't have to lay eyes on it.

It's later he overhears people saying it's the end of the world. An unstoppable monster immune to magic was destroying the wizarding world as they knew it. He never heard from either of the Sallows. He doesn't know what to do or where to go. He's never felt so lost and alone in his life.

ANNE SALLOW: Her uncle rushed her away from Feldcroft without explanation. Only that it was urgent and they needed to leave the valley immediately. She asks repeatedly about Sebastian and Ominis but her uncle insists that the boys will be kept safe by the professors and likely taken to the ministry to be reunited with families.

She never sees her brother or her best friend ever again. No matter how much it hurts her, she screams and spits at her uncle for leaving Sebastian behind. Even if there was no time, he could have at least tried.

IMELDA REYES: She gets escorted away with other students and eventually gets back to her family. With them being well off, they could afford to flee the country. Not that it may matter in the long run. Any bit of news she could get her hands on, wizarding or muggle, talk of the end of days.

NATSAI ONAI: Brave soul that she is, she fights against the flow of panicked students to try and find her mother. She instead finds the monster cornering a group of second years. She casts at it, shouting for the young students to run, and gets the attention of the entity.

It stands to its full height, unfazed by her attempts to attack it. She stares back, showing no fear. The entity shows its horrible grin and echoed words, that sounded like screams of the damned, came from it. "You... look... fun..."

GARRETH WEASLEY: His aunt finds him before he knows what's happening. She shoves an old rag in his hands and he gets pulled away by it. The rag was a portkey back to his home. He sits on the floor, dumbfounded and confused. He doesn't get word until later at Hogwarts had been destroyed. Unknown casualties. He never saw his aunt again.

LEANDER PREWETT: He runs past the hall the monster is down. He only catches a glimpse of Natty in the monster's grasp, black magic being pulled straight out of her throat. He's in a blind panic for the nearest floo. Once he's on the other side of it, far from Hogwarts, he vomits on his own shoes.

AMIT THAKKAR, EVERETT CLOPTON: Both of them make it out together with many other students. The ministry had been alerted to the emergency and sending every auror they had to Hogwarts. The students being rushed in were collected in the main area around the fountain. They stayed together, trying to find comfort in their familiarity amongst the chaos.

POPPY SWEETING: Her only thought was to get home. Get back to her gran. They needed to- CRASH! The wall in front of her caved in as the entity came through it with another person. She didn't have to worry about her gran anymore. Or anything ever again.

~~~

ELEAZAR FIG: He sees the Onais with the monster. NATSAI was on the ground, Professor Onai standing numbly. He fires at the entity and distracts it. His magic doesn't seem to harm it, It just grins and rushes him. He gets shoved through the stone wall behind him. So many of his bones are broken, he can barely breathe. His suffering doesn't last long as the entity inhales and sucks the pain out of him, along with any energy he had left.

MATILDA WEASLEY: She is the one that raises the alarm. She witnesses the attack on Hogsmeade and rushes to get the emergency portkey for her nephew. If she could at least get one person out safely, it would be him. Seconds after he's gone, the ceiling above her collapses. The entity falls through the floor as it continues its destructive path to get to the repository it's senses beneath the school.

CHIYO KOGAWA: She's The first teacher to be evacuated out to the ministry to help guide the students and keep them together. Her voice is still calm and commanding as she tries to maintain order, but she feels the same dread and panic as the scared children around her.

AESOP SHARP: He actively pursues the entity. No matter how many times he fires at it, it doesn't seem to pay attention to him as he chases it through the halls. He and many aurors from the Ministry are the last ones on the grounds when the entity finally decides it's done playing and heads down to the caverns.

He sees it happen. The final transformation. When that thing absorbs every last drop of whatever magic was in the cage. Had no idea what it was or what was happening but it was bad. No matter what he threw at it, it just smiled. It looked at him and the others like they were curious insects.

To his surprise, the thing spoke to him, and it's awful voice. "Such suffering... I can taste it..." It raises one of its arms and he and all the aurors come off the ground. He struggles against the invisible force holding him, but to no avail.

Then he feels the tug in his chest. Black and red magic comes from his body, and the others, and is absorbed by the entity. When it was over, he did not care that he was falling head first to the ground. He didn't feel anything at all. Not even when his neck broke.

ABRAHAM RONEN: His class was one of the first destroyed in the attack. He and the students had no chance to defend themselves, not that there really was any way to defend themselves. For him, it was quick. Shards of glass and stone made for an unceremonious end.

MIRABEL GARLICK: She's at one of the evacuation points, getting students out. She sees the horrible thing come down the grand staircase and she stands between it and the students. The last thing she hears is it's terrible laugh as she and any students remaining have their pain removed.

MUDIWA ONAI: She finds the monster holding her daughter off the ground by her throat. She doesn't hear her own cries as her daughter falls limp to the floor with a sickening thud. She's too stunned to move. She doesn't even hear the entity's laugh as it rejoices in her pain.

BAI HOWIN: She goes through the floo after Kogawa to maintain order with the students they manage to get through to the Ministry. She is not, however, a steel willed as Kogawa so she's on the floor with her head in her hands.

DINAH HECAT: She manages to evacuate most of the defense against the dark arts tower before the monster comes stomping through. She tried to defend the floor the students were using to run, but it fired a black beam of magic and destroyed it. Her analytical eyes scanned the beast as she tried to figure out what it could possibly be. From her time as an unspeakable, perhaps this is an ancient beast that none have seen in centuries. She never figures it out, unfortunately. The monster feasts upon her pain.

CUTHBERT BINNS: He and the other ghosts are trying to Shepherd students to evacuation points. There's nothing he can do for them when the monster comes. Just watch as they become empty husks.

SATYAVATI SHAH: She makes it through a floo with her students. Only seeing two other professors and less than half the student body, the gravity of their situation hits her hard. One being, whatever it was, destroyed Hogwarts and most everyone in it in a matter of minutes. Not days, not even hours, but minutes. This was the end.

PHINEAS NIGELLUS BLACK: The coward fled when the school was attacked. Abandoning his post and ruining his reputation in the process, but he did not care. Nowhere in the job description was he ever supposed to fight off demons from the darkest pit of hell.

~~~

MC: Oh, what fun they've had! The screaming, the crying, the pleading, the begging! The insurmountable amount of pain they got to experience! They never felt so alive! Now the largest repository of dark magic was theirs! All theirs! They pry the repository apart with their bare hands.

When they consume the magic, they undergo their largest and most drastic transformation. They more than double in size, being about the size of a giant. They grow another set of wings, more demonic seraphim in appearance, and grow another set of arms. Horns burst forth from their skull and another set of glowing red eyes blinks open.

They're horrible cackling laugh echoes from the depths of the crater that was Hogwarts. Everything the ministry tried to throw at them, were now dead and gone. The world was theirs.

[nightmare--void]

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind AU where Suguru erases Satoru from his memory and then Satoru does the same out of spite

But unlike in the movie they’re not meeting each other for the next ten years after that. Till one day someone leaks the files that were kept in the archive by the company that provides the service.

It’s been ten years already. Satoru touches an old ink on paper that forms a date like it's supposed to make everything feel more real. These memories are older than some of his students. He barely even remembers what kind of a person he was back then. All that’s left from his early twenties is a faint feeling of absence — as if he was missing a place that never existed.

Turns out it was a person.

«Do I just tell you everything I think about?» his own voice on the tape asks. «Anything? That’ll help to perform the procedure, right?»

He doesn’t remember this conversation.

He doesn't remember going to that clinic at all.

He goes through the tapes listening to himself — funnily familiar, — his words are almost petty sometimes.

«Suguru never wants to watch the movies I want,» the voice on the tape says. «He complains that I’m being repetitive. I’ve been watching a lot of new stuff lately, you know. I’ve watched ten new movies for the pas…»

His finger skips to another timestamp marked on the list.

«A Chinese restaurant».

«I asked him out that day. I wanted to go to that new Chinese place because I wanted us to feel like a couple again,» the voice says. «It's been a while since we went out together. Yeah, I've been busy, but he’s always in the wrong mood when it comes to anything I suggest. How is that my fault now?»

Does it still matter? That Chinese place he was talking about was closed eight years ago — redesigned to be a convenience store or something like that — now it probably belongs to some retail chain with all doors indistinguishable from one another. He’s moved two times since then.

And another one.

«He’s always sulky, you see. Even after sex lately. I can picture that… Ugh, I can picture that face he does. Right now, I can do it. And he always says he’s fine like I'm supposed to guess what might make him happy. And I never can. Can you get it erased first so that I don’t have to think about it anytime I close my eyes? Can you do it first?»

«This procedure is done in one go,» the doctor answers. «No particular order. Please, continue».

He does.

«He said I can’t change and he doesn’t want to force me. Well, I’m sorry I don’t like to let go of the things that I love. Is that worse than not being able to commit to anything even when it’s hard?»

«I hope he’d be happy if he knew I'm doing this. That's certainly a change, right?»

And another one.

«He never tells me anything», the voice on the tape says. «Not even when I ask. It’s like I know something’s not right but I can’t get an answer out of him. Or I can't formulate the right question, he'd like to answer. It fries my brain.»

«The other day he said we don’t see eye to eye anymore. Why can’t he just talk to me? Why couldn’t he talk to me till it was too late?»

And another.

«Is he punishing me for something I can’t understand?»

The room falls silent. Dead — haunted by the memories. Do they still belong to him or have they turned into ghosts by now? Separate beings with their own mind and will.

He caresses a postcard from Okinawa — unfamiliar handwriting and a ripped edge, he almost feels a salty wind on his tongue, — an old monster figurine, a plain white t-shirt that belonged to Suguru. And the pictures.

They’re so happy in all of them. But the voice on the tape keeps repeating.

«He got me eased. He got me fucking erased. He got me erased.»

Why the fuck did he do that?

Mad at the person he doesn’t even know. Like it’s the only thing that matters in the world right now. Like nothing's happened after that in his life. No new apartments, no new jobs, no new vacations, no new boyfriends.

He’s been through a few relationships in the past ten years but none hurt enough to even consider anything like that.

Because he never loved them.

Because he still loved someone else.

At least now he knows why his life felt empty when he woke up alone in that crammed apartment that somehow felt too big. And why it felt so lonely ever since.

He goes through the files — none of the records contain an address or a phone number. Or an answer to the question on his mind.

What if Suguru is happy with the procedure? What if the words — falling out of his own mouth out of spite — were true.

A call wakes him up on a Saturday morning.

��Hello, Satoru-u,» there’s a smile in that man’s voice he can hear. «I mean… Sorry if it’s too… Sorry. I don’t know if you’re a morning person or a night person.»

He gulps.

That’s him that’s him that is

thatisSuguruthatisSuguruthatisSuguruSuguru from the postcards who bought him figurines as a gift

Suguru who didn’t want to go to a place that doesn’t exist anymore

Suguru who didn’t want to tell him anything

who thought he can’t change or adjust to the changes — yet they’re both still caught

shit

SuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguru

it's him

«Uh, I got…» he coughs. «I went to bed late last night.»

«Did you get the files?»

«Yes, I…» he laughs. «We were a shitty couple, weren’t we?»

And then Suguru laughs too.

A laughs that feels like a first sound of thunder after the drought — like those memories are dried flowers everyone thought were dead till the rain came.

«You’re with anyone right now?» Suguru asks.

«No,» answer’s too fast but he takes a pause before he says: «What about you?»

«No, not really. It’s not serious I guess.»

Satoru smirks.

«Not enough to get them erased from your memory, right?»

A joke doesn’t land as well as he expected. For a moment he almost believes Suguru’s going to hang up on him.

But still he continues.

«I don’t know…» he says. «I don’t know if I should apologise for something I can’t remember but I feel really sorry.»

«I don’t know if I can forgive something I can’t remember.»

Another pause.

Should he — if there’s nothing that holds these memories anymore. It’s like someone dug out a time capsule you hid under an oak tree when you were a child. All those names and events in your notes that were so important. Yet you don’t even remember half of the names.

It still hurts though.

«Yeah, I guess,» Suguru sighs. «I think there’s a bright side to it. We’re older now so we won’t repeat the same mistakes.»

«You think?»

«That's how it's supposed to be when you're getting mature.»

«Hm-m,» Satoru smiles. «I don't know about that actually. We're more experienced now. So we can always use that knowledge to make things worse.»

Sharing another laugh that’s warmer and more familiar like his brain is riddled with the scars that started itching all at once.

They used to laugh a lot, it strikes him.

They used to tease each other, they used to kiss and make love. He used to remember that person’s voice and face better than his own.

Why did he let go of that?

Why didn’t he let it heal and warm him? Because somehow he still knows that guy — he knows what'll make him laugh and he's sure they even talk similarly sometimes, using the same words and phrases.

Why did he let it go?

«Wanna meet?» Suguru asks.

«Do you?»

«Yeah. At least we’ll find out if we're the biggest idiots in the whole world or not.»

«I know I am,» Satoru nods as if they're in the same room and all of a sudden he realises that he doesn't want this conversation to end. «Besides, I think the company’s going to get sued after the incident. There're plenty of other idiots who would want some compensation from them. Which means we’re not getting another chance to chop our brains again. Do you think we can get some money though? I could use a new car. Or a fridge. Probably a vacuum cleaner would do. That's the mature stuff, right?»

A laugh that could belong to a couple of teens — head over heels in love — something he thought he never experienced.

Turns out he did.

And there’s still time.