#he would. you can’t tell me i’m wrong because objectively i am completely correct.

[girlfailurefelix]

rip felix fathom you would’ve enjoyed TOYSHKcassidyvictim theory

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Carla Maniac [09]

[Prologue][01] [02] [03] [04] [05][06] [07] [08] [09] [10][Epilogue]

ー The scene starts in the dungeon

Carla: ...

ー He approaches Yui

Yui: ...S-Stay away!!

( I’m scared...! )

Carla: ...

Yui: Ugh...!!

( In that case...! )

Carla: What are you doing? 

Yui: I-If you take one step closer, I’ll use this chain...and I’llーー

Carla: You will take your own life?

Yui: Uu...

Carla: Fool. What is the point in that?

Yui: There is none. I want to protect myself...That’s all...

Carla: ...

Yui: It’s painful to have my blood sucked at your will...

Carla: A little late to complain about that now, don’t you think? 

Yui: ーー ...You’re not wrong. Up till now, I’ve had those Vampires feed off me as they pleased too. 

Even though I have my own wishes and feelings too, I was overpowered and forced to bend to their will...

Just because my blood is special...and because humans are considered prey in the eyes of Demons...

Exactly, you too are trying to achieve something by using my blood. That’s why you’re cleansing it. 

You keep me by your side because you can use me for your own gains. Regardless of how I feel or think about it... 

I can’t fight back against that. I’m too weak...and powerless...So at the very least...

I want to end everything in a way I want to...

Carla: Hah.

Yui: ...!?

Carla: I suppose this is the image of a ruined woman who continuously had a bunch of Vampires indulge in her blood. I must say, it is rather fascinating. 

In short, you realize the kind of situation you are in, and therefore want the last word, correct?

Yui: Wellーー

Selection

→ Exactly (♡)

Yui: Exactly...

Carla: Hmph. You truly are cunning. For just a mere human...

→ You’re wrong! 

Yui: You’re wrong...!

Carla: Then what do you mean?

Yui: Well...

Carla: Hmph. You believed you could simply try to oppose me? Words without any thought put into them have zero effect on me, however. 

Yui: Ugh...

Carla: You truly are shrewd. When in reality, you are nothing but a weak human.

Carla: ーー Say I were to tell you what my objectives are and you would find this hard to accept...

What would you do? Would you take your own life? 

We need your blood, regardless of how you feel about it. Only for our own benefit. 

Does that go against what you want? 

Yui: In that case...Please take away...my will...

Carla: ...

Yui: I’d be much better off without the ability to think or feel...The only thing you guys need...is my blood, right? 

Carla: ...I assume you realize what you are asking for?

Yui: Ugh...

Carla-san...You know just how painful it is to be locked up and have your freedom taken away, don’t you...?

You were imprisoned yourself, were you not? 

Carla: ...

...Do not cry.

Yui: Uu...

( Without realizing...Tears have... )

Carla: I shall tell you about your blood.

Yui: Eh? ...Really...?

Carla: As I already mentioned before, I do not care how you feel or think about this. That will not change. 

Yui: Ugh...

Carla: Your heart...it belongs to the daughter of the Demon Lord. ...And this woman’s mother was a Founder. 

Yui: ...Cordelia’s mother...?

Carla: While our race would traditionally marry and have children with other Founders, due to certain circumstances, she became the Mistress of the Demon Lord. 

And right now, our species is being pushed to extinction. 

At present, Shin and I are the only descendants of our bloodline. 

We must preserve our race. That is our duty as Founders. 

Yui: ...Don’t tell me...That’s why you need me?

Carla: Exactly. Your blood is that of a Founder. Not completely, of course. 

Yui: No way...Then the cleansing is...?

Carla: It would have been unnecessary if you had not previously been the prey of Vampires. 

Your blood has been contaminated by the Vampire virus. Due to having them suck it too frequently. 

I am getting rid of their germs by sucking your blood. That is the process of cleansing. 

Yui: ...

Carla: Now you know everything. Do you wish you would have remained ignorant instead? 

Yui: ( In other words, he wants me to bear a child...That’s what he’s trying to say, right? )

( All because I have Cordelia’s heart...in short, DNA which is close to that of the Founders... )

( Because Founders reproduce with members of the same species... )

Carla: Well then, what will you do? Will you continue to have me suck your blood...and continue our bloodline as the woman of a Founder? 

Yui: W-Well...

Carla: Regardless of what you decide, I will make you mine. 

*Thud*

Yui: S-Stay way!!

Carla: ...

Yui: Why...are you so stuck up on having it be Founder’s blood? I-Is there a problem with other species...?

Carla: It has to be a fellow Founder. Those are our rules. 

Yui: Ugh...

ー Carla moves closer

*Rustle*

Carla: Now behave. 

Yui: N-No...

*Rustle*

Carla: You no longer need this. 

Yui: Eh...!? Kyah...!!

*Cling*

Yui: ( The chain...He took it off like it was nothing...! )

Carla: While your cleansing is not fully complete yet, now that I’ve told you everything, you’ll have to give up. 

Yui: Eh? ...Give up on what...!? 

Carla: I shall take you right here. 

*Thud* 

Yui: ...!!

Carla: If you behave, I will make it a pleasurable experience for you. 

Yui: Ugh...

On certain CGs, little black roses will appear on the screen. If you click on them, you get an extra line of dialogue.

“While you are no longer bound by chains, it doesn’t change anything about your situation. I am sure you understand that better than anyone else, as much as you may not want to admit it.”

“Resistance is futile. If you simply give up and entrust your body to me, I do not mind drowning you in pleasure.”

Carla: Like this...

Yui: Don’t...!!

Carla: ...Nn...

Yui: Uu...

Carla: Fufu...Just as I thought...This is a much more effective way to shut you up...than to use words...

Yui: ...!!

Carla: I shall make you forget...all about that Vampire.

Yui: ( No...! At this rate, I’ll...! )

Monologue

The secret behind my blood (血の秘密) which Carla-san revealed to me...

I am - no - Cordelia was a Founder (始祖). 

Their goal is to have me bear their child,

as a fellow Founder. 

Of course, when I’m suddenly told such a thing,

there is simply no way I could easily accept it. 

However, I end up being overpowered,

by Carla-san’s sheer strength. 

At this rate, I’llーー 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[thefanficmonster]

Power Couple

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing 

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Summary: Sean, Felix, Dave, and Joel welcome Corpse’s girlfriend to a game of Party Animals. It’s her first time playing and she has to deal with a lot more than just the controls and objectives - her boyfriend being a cute, cuddly sweetheart with ulterior motives to his clinginess.

Requested by @susceptible-but-siriusexual. Thank you so much for your request! Hope I captured what you wanted and how you wanted. Feel free to send any other requests you may have XOXO

It’s been one hell of a day. Had to correct twice as many documents as I was originally supposed to at work; found my car with a flat tire in the parking lot as I was about to go home; argued with my boss over the phone while stuck in a traffic jam. It’s been a rough twelve hours, but it has led me here and that’s what I’d rather think about.

By ‘here’ I mean I’m sitting on the couch in Corpse’s recording room, my computer in my lap, my screen displaying the screen to the game Party Animals. The suggestion was Corpse’s. He immediately picked up on my below par mood and wasted no time finding a solution to bright up the remainder of the day, shadowing the shitty portion of it. I am not what you would call a gamer. Sure I’ve played Among Us with Corpse and his friends a few times. Even that I struggle to do because I’m internally fangirling over all the people in the lobby. Yeah, dating a youtuber doesn’t mean you automatically stop gushing over the many content creators on the platform you’ve been watching for quite some time now. Corpse knows how nervous I get so he’s always near me when we play with Sean, Felix and the other. All he has to do is give me that encouraging smile and wink of his and I’m good to go. Side note: massive props to him for going easy on me in Among Us, getting teasingly called ‘simp’ by his friends in the process.

“You’ll love it.“ He promised me over and over again as the game was downloading on my computer.

“I don’t doubt that, Corpse. But I am going in completely blind and I seriously don’t wanna embarrass myself.“ I mumble a quick ‘nor you‘ under my breath, hoping he doesn’t catch it because I’m in for a pep talk if he does. 

To my dismay, he does, “Listen here, you couldn’t embarrass me even if you actively tried to do something outrageous. Most likely scenario, I’d join you in the act.” He ducks in front of the couch so we’re at eye level, his hand coming up to cup my cheek in the sweetest, most comforting gesture ever. “We’ll show em who’s the boss at stealing candy.”

I can’t help but laugh, feeling unable to express just how much this man means to me. Words can’t do the feeling justice.

“Y/N!“

“Y/N!!“

“Corpse Wife has arrived!“

Hearing all the greetings lights a flame in my chest, the warmth spreading all the way to my neck and cheeks. “Hi guys! Missed playing with you!”

“We missed you too!“ Dave, the only one of the gaming gang I’ve actually met in person, replies to me, his words along with all the others’ wrapping around me like a comfort blanket. Despite them knowing I’m a fan of theirs, they’ve always made me feel welcomed, comfortable, nothing less than them.

“You know anything about this game?“ Felix asks me.

I shake my head, almost forgetting he can’t see me, “Corpse told me it’s funny and cute. It sounds like the perfect game for me.” 

“Oh no, this is a game of survival. Survival of the fittest!“ Sean shouts excitedly, a bang following his shout I can only assume was him hitting his desk.

“I’d like to think I’m pretty fit.“ I shrug my shoulders, laughing along with the guys.

“This is the only way to find out if you actually are.“ Joel’s voice comes through my headphones in the form of a tease.

Sean mumbles quietly to himself as he’s deciding how to separate us in two teams. “Guys, a little help here. We all suck at this game, it doesn’t really matter who’s in which team.”

“Actually...“ Felix trails off, “Corpse and Y/N are the ultimate power couple in Among Us. Chances are they will be in this as well. So, the only logical move would be to...“

“I’m taking Y/N, you take Corpse.“ Sean declares. “Joel, Dave, who do you guys wanna be with?“

And the game starts. Sean, Joel and I are the Meowfia while Corpse, Felix and Dave are yet to choose a team name. We throw around snarky, cocky comments at each other, taunting the opposite team as we struggle to take the candy to our respective sides of the map.

“Don’t you dare pull that lever, Dave!“ I launch at Dave, knocking his cute avatar away from the lever, buying Joel and Sean some time to steal back the gummy bear Corpse and Felix took from us.

“Y/N! Joel is out! Help me!“ Sean is freaking out now. I ditch Dave’s unconscious body and run to Sean’s aid. 

As I’m helping him push it towards out area a member from the opposite team latches onto my avatar, weighing me down and hindering me from doing anything.

“Hug!“ Corpse laughs as he has literally turned into a koala, holding onto my avatar.

“Corpse, you know you are actually supposed to hinder Y/N, not hug her. It’s cute though, don’t get me wrong.“ Felix laughs as him and Sean continue to struggle over the gummy bear.

“Nah, his tactic’s great. I can’t do shit.“ I desperately try and shake him off, “Babe, this is unfair. I can’t even be mad at you!“ I whine, staring to panic now that Dave is back to life and Joel is nowhere to be seen.

The round is won by Felix, Dave and Corpse who, if I might add, didn’t let go of me for the rest of the game.

We switch maps, now every man for himself. We’re on the submarine, recreating the Hunger Games with cute fuzzy animals. The thought passes through my mind, causing me to giggle.

“Y/N, you sound exactly like I’d imagine your avatar to sound. You’re so cute.“ Sean’s avatar circles mine a few times as he laughs.

He’s not wrong, my pale blue puppy is indeed cute. Apparently immortal as well.

“How is Y/N still alive?! Holy shit, her and Corpse really are a power couple.“ Dave shrieks when he sees me pick up the freeze gun. “NOOO!“ He shouts, devastated by the fact I shot him, sending him straight to his death.

“Chill, Dave. It’s all cool. Nothing personal.“ I struggle to hide my laughter, “No hard feelings, right?“

“Of course not, love.“ I can tell he grits the sentence through clenched teeth.

“Aw Dave, you are such an ice guy.“ I giggle, now shooting Joel with the gun.

“Someone take that gun from her!“ Sean cries as him and Felix race up the submarine.

Suddenly, the avatar of my boyfriend again wraps itself around mine. I hadn’t seen him in a while, considering Sean knocked him into the ocean earlier in the round. 

“How are you still alive?!“ I try to spin my puppy to get him to let go but he holds on tightly. “Babe, I swear, you are cute and I love you, but this is ridiculous. How and why are you alive?”

“That’s his superpower! He never fucking dies.“ Felix laughs, letting out a yelp when he briefly slips while climbing.

“Immortals!!! Immortals!!!“ Sean breaks out into a song, a song I really like, breaking the restraints I had on my laughter.

“Drop the gun or we’re dying together.“ He says almost seriously. Even though I can only see the back of his head I know he’s grinning.

“A Titanic/Romeo and Juliet mashup? Why not? I can live with dying a double historical death.“ Even though I appear accepting of his offer, I’m still trying to set myself free.

In the end, Sean claims his first win of the game and the rest of us are dead at the bottom of the ocean. Corpse and I did indeed die a Romeo and Juliet/Titanic death, getting everyone in their feels. We make a deal to get together and play again as soon as possible and we all go our separate ways, exiting the Discord call.

*Later that night* 

After a dinner consisting of takeout and two thirds of a shitty romantic comedies, Corpse shifts from next to me, starting to get up from the couch. I am surprised to feel jolted out of a half sleep as the room is now completely silent, the TV being turned off.

“Hey where’re you going?“ I ask groggily, rubbing my sleepy eyes.

“I have some editing to do. Don’t worry, I won’t stay up too late.“ He kisses my forehead before grabbing his phone from the coffee table.

Just as he’s about to walk away, I wrap my arms around his legs. He laughs, catching onto what I’m insinuating. His chuckle brings a smile to my face and butterflies in my belly. No matter how long we date for or how much time we spend together, some things never change. 

“Payback, huh?“ He asks, the smile audible in the question. I keep my eyes shut but nod, my arms still around his legs. “Alright, you koala. You’re coming with me.”

In his recording room, he settles in his chair placing me in his lap in a way that my legs dangling off to the side, my side leaning against his chest, my face hidden in the crook of his neck. We’re both comfortable, content and relaxed.

I don’t know when exactly it happens, but all my mind has registered is a quiet ‘I love you’ and the soft touch of Corpse’s lips on my temple. I manage to reply with an ‘I love you too’ before my sleepiness consumes me, my body completely relaxing against his, the warmth of his body, his scent, the sound of his breathing making me feel safe and loved: the two feelings I want him to feel with the same intensity when I’m in his arms.

Something tells me he does.

@simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios  @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity

Three months, two days and seven hours.

That is how long you’ve been in Dimitrescu castle for. If rumor is to be believed, you are well on your way to setting the year’s record for longest living maid. Well. ‘Maid’, according to their perception. Your mind always automatically corrects it to something more fitting:

Prisoner.  

You did not choose to work for them. You did not choose to be in this godforsaken place, cleaning crimson stains off the floors, trying to convince yourself the wailing that sometimes reaches your ears is simply the wind. You never would have imagined your life’s end like this, serving wine –no, who are you kidding, it’s too crimson for that— to the Dimitrescus at dinner until one of them snaps and drives the nearest blade into your throat.

Probably Daniela.

It’s not unheard of. And stories of other maids’ murders are plenty.

Daniela has bitten one’s throat off for the crime of addressing her wrongly. Cassandra has left increasingly deep gashes, some of which resulted in deaths, for random offenses, like staring at her for too long. Bela, arguably the more merciful of the three, has snapped necks only when the staff disrespected her sisters’ names, or her mother’s.

You aren’t sure if you want to thank the older maids for this information or yell at them for the nightmares it has caused you. You are lucky to not be in the village, they say –everyone there must already be dead. You are even luckier to have been taken from the dungeon by the Lady herself. It means the daughters don’t know you and the castle is big enough that they may never spare you a glance.

You hadn’t believed it, at first.

Yet in the three months of your stay, you have never come across anyone other than Bela in the sections you were assigned to clean and polish. She passed you by the hallway like she did the decorations and the furniture –and you couldn’t be happier about it. You have caught scarce glimpses of Alcina Dimitrescu, too. Never the other two residents.

Not until the fateful day another maid disappears and the staff’s assigned posts change. You have no say in it and no power to object.

May as well keep my head down and continue to work as carefully as I have. That is the idea. Not to look too much, or think too much, or feel too much. Avoid mistakes because those in the castle are fatal.  

It is a little difficult to remain utterly calm when the sound of swarming insects comes from far behind you, though.

Your blood starts to kick in your veins. Your heart wants to jump out of your chest and make a run for it. You lock your muscles down and summon all the willpower you possess to stay focused on your task.

Please be Bela, please, please, be Bela—

The buzzing dies down. Steps approach you in the otherwise silent hallway. They are too light to be Bela’s. You’re probably screwed, you think, but you keep cleaning the surface in front of you until it’s practically a mirror with how it shines.

The steps halt too close to you for comfort. Out of the corner of your eye, you realize they’ve left bloody imprints on the floor you’ve been polishing for hours now. Dainty, pale fingers are wrapped loosely, almost lazily, around a sickle dripping crimson.    

“Never seen you around, before.” the sound of her voice makes you freeze.

You stop and turn— to face none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her hood is down, brunette waves on point, the dried blood at her chin a terrible contrast to her otherwise attractive face. You… didn’t know she was that pretty, up close.

“I… I have been here for three months. On the opposite wing.” you say. Was I even supposed to reply? You’ll find out soon enough, if your tongue is still attached to your body.

Her eyes give you a quick once-over. “Bela’s been keeping you a secret, huh.” she tsks. Her free hand goes to the handle of the door next to you… and only then do you realize it must be her bedroom. You’re literally assigned to clean the wolf’s den. “Come wake me up when the sun has set, completely.” she emphasizes.

What.

“Uh—”

The crimson-dyed sickle moves until its blade rests underneath your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet hers. From this angle, under the pale lighting of dawn, they look more –stunning— blue than inhuman gold. “No loud sounds. No lights. Got it?”

How can you not, when your life depends on it?

“Yes, my lady.” you reply. You don’t even dare draw breath.

“Good.” In one swift movement, the sickle is gone, the handle turned and she’s already shedding her robe.

You catch a glimpse of a black corset and a narrow waist before you avert your eyes.

The door shuts.

...

Waking Cassandra up can be… tricky, the other maids tell you.

She detests light when she opens her eyes but she also doesn’t want it to be pitch black. You’re not supposed to talk but you can’t shake her, either. Which brings you to the very logical question:

“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”

To which they have no answer.

They have no answer, you realize with a start… because there’s nobody alive to tell the tale of how to actually wake the brunette sleeping beauty up without simultaneously signing their own death sentence.

The hours pass both too slow and too fast. The sun sets over the horizon.

And you stand, riddled with nerves, outside Cassandra’s room.

A deep inhale later, you turn the handle. The door is left half-open so a bit of light comes in from the hallway. Her bedroom smells like shampoo, bath salts and spices. She must have taken a shower before she went to sleep. You approach the figure tucked under the silken sheets of the queen-sized bed…

Cassandra is lying on her side, one hand underneath her pillow, the other extended loosely towards the edge of the mattress. She probably sleeps naked, at least from the waist up, but thankfully the covers are wrapped around her chest. Their royal red color makes a stark contrast against the paleness of her skin.

Her face is so… serene.

She is a monster and a sadistic killer, yet right there you can’t deny she looks more like a renaissance painting.

Now onto the hard part.

“My lady… the sun has set.” you whisper, kneeled on the floor beside her. No movement comes. “Hey… I’m here to wake you up?” you try again. Still nothing. Shakily, you bring your hand up to the bed. Not daring to touch her, you leave it beside hers, over the covers. “Cassandra?”

She turns her face deeper into her pillow –no, no, you don’t think it’s cute, what’s wrong with you— but at least she’s finally reacting. You call her name one more time.

Her nose scrunches up a little. Long fingers flex –and they touch yours. She’s cold. A pair of blueish ambers blink open to regard you. Not with malice, or with annoyance.

“Good evening.” you speak, unsure of what else to say.

A smirk slowly curves her lips. She looks like a lazy cat pondering whether or not it’s worth it to pounce and that’s not good. It’s not good, not ‘hot’ like your mind suggests. God, you’ve been in this castle so long you are starting to get messed up.

“Mm, breakfast in bed.” she grins and licks her lower lip sexily. Your eyes fly wide open, but her hand is already gripping the front of your black shirt, trapping you there.

How could you ever find this psycho attractive?! you get mad at yourself. Is she hot now that she’s going to kill you?  

But Cassandra only lets out an airy laugh and releases you. You fall backwards on your behind. “Breathe, darling, I’m joking.” She rolls onto her back and seems to wince from it. Her smile vanishes.

“…does… your back hurt?” you ask when you finally find your voice again.

“Ugh, a Lycan landed a hit on me. He’s pieces now, of course, but my muscles still pull.” she says it casually, like it’s a thing that happens.

Silence falls over the room. You take it as your cue to leave. You stand and bow while she’s looking blankly at the ceiling—

But she stops you.

“Wait. Come here.” you don’t like it when she gets that tone, like she came up with something she cannot wait to try. You’re already close to the bed, you’re not sure what she means. Until she pats the spot right next to her. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You won’t. You know what’s good for you.

Hesitantly, you take a seat on the –admittedly very comfortable— mattress. “Yes, lady?”

“Give me a massage.” she says like it’s your job, like she’s the rich woman in a spa and it’s what’s expected. She turns onto her front, bearing her naked back to you and you have less than five seconds to come to terms with the thought of straddling her.

Carefully, you bring your knees on either side of her thighs and pull the sheets so they rest low at her waist. You feel warmer than you should given the temperature of the castle. If she knows the fine teasing line she’s walking, she is loving every inch of it.

Cassandra loves being the center of attention and she loves being pampered, you realize.

It’s probably amusing to her to make you fluster, but this is also an opportunity for you to get on her good graces. She is a dangerous one and it’ll be a great asset for your survival if she’s leaning favorably towards you. Win-win situation. You just have to be good at your job. Like always.

By some miracle of God, you do know how to work the tension out of muscles.

The first time you touch her, you simply rest your hands on her back to warm it. She doesn’t seem to object, from the way lean muscle stretches out under your fingers. Cassandra feels cool, but not hard like marble. Her skin yields under your touch, soft and smooth.

As you apply more pressure to your stokes, she starts to let out little sighs that you have to mute in your mind before they start to affect you. You’ve been high-strung and without sex for too long. Your body all too eagerly intercepts this death-trap as foreplay.

Minutes roll by.

You alternate between all the methods you know. The one that really seems to get her is when you drive your thumb into the knots and end with a little circle.

Cassandra is –God help you— openly moaning every time you press more. It is a bit too much pressure you’re applying though and you don’t know if you’re hurting her and she’s just into it.

“Is this too much…?” you ask. Fuck, why do you sound so breathless?

“No, it’s good.” she husks back.

“Harder?” You don’t know what innocent means, anymore.

Cassandra sends that little smirk again over her shoulder. “Harder.” she replies and the extra flair she puts into it is enough to nearly fry your brain. And other parts of you.

You’re pretty sure you need a cold shower by the time you leave her room.

...

At diner, you hang back in the shadows, gaze downcast.

You do not need to know what the Dimitrescu family is eating, nor what they’re drinking. You do not need to see Cassandra or risk catching Daniela’s gaze. You love your anonymity in the castle. It has kept you alive.

But it is shattered like frail glass when you bring another bottle of Sanguis Virginis to the table. You’ve almost retreated back to your place, when Daniela’s eyes zero in on you.

“She’s the human!” she exclaims like she’s made the world’s most startling discovery. Bela seems to understand, but the Lady and Cassandra frown over their glasses.

“I am almost afraid to ask, love.” Lady Alcina says…

And she’s right.

“The one who made Cassandra go ‘harder’ and ‘yes, yes!’ earlier this evening.” she impersonates in her sluttiest voice and then breaks into a fit of cackles. Bela’s lip twists into a withheld chuckle.

Lady Dimitrescu nearly chokes on her wine.

Cassandra slaps the back of Daniela’s head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Girls.” Alcina warns and glares until the table calms again.

Then, her eyes curiously fall upon you.

So much for your anonymity.

Ko-Fi

[hmspogue]

Outer Banks season 2 Official Trailer shot-by-shot rundown

A comprehensive post where I scream about analyze the entire trailer frame by frame for clues, theories, and plot. Just my own opinions and general tin foil-hatting

These are screenshots from Netflix’s trailer for Outer Banks season 2. I do not claim or own any of these.

note: this post is tagged as a long post if you wish to avoid having to scroll until your thumbs break.

“My old man used to tell me, ‘it’s best to never say you’ve hit rock bottom’.”

(Putting all of these shots together since they’re scenes we already know but-) Holy shit, okay let’s just....start off like this I guess, damn.

“'Trust me’, he said...”

Kiara looking back and forth between the boys like this really just feeds the headcanon I have that her form of grief this season is going to be her trying to hold it together for their sakes (and eventually just snapping).

JJ just looks fucking furious someone give these kids a hug? I already know this scene is going to ruin me.

“You can always go...”

JJ back working at the hotel. He looks literally so angry again in this scene I could see him self destructing at work and losing his job? (Please do not be isolating yourself you beautiful son of a bitch even though I know you’re going to).

Pope in the Twinkie (costuming wise they all are in warmer looking clothes for some of the shots, so just confirming it’s a little bit into the school year when this all takes place).

“Lower”

Big John was real big into pep talks, I see. (seriously can you imagine Big John having this conversation with like 8 year old John B after he fucking dropped his ice cream cone or some shit I shouldn’t be laughing).

I’m just-

These poor kids, I wanna know how the police all the way down in the Bahama’s knew about them?

Their calves....

“RUN!”

Are going to be so fucking jacked by the end of this season I stg.

Fuck you.

“The gold from the Royal Merchant....it’s here.”

For a while, I had thought that maybe they didn’t even make it to the Bahama’s at the front of the season and ended there (because everyone had been filming in there). But I guess they’re going to be making two trips.

If I were a bird from this POV I’d shit right on that house no questions asked.

oooooh ho hokay. Just so we’re clear. Ward Cameron not only get away with murder and about two dozen other felonies, but-

“Half a billion.”

HE STILL FINDS THE GOLD IN THE CRAIN HOUSE AND GETS TO KEEP IT?

Not the polo with the snap back, I just know this man has a playlist called Sad Boi Hours that is just Juice WRLD’s top 5 songs on Spotify and he tells his friends they wouldn’t know the underground artists he listens to.

Sh, you have lost screaming privileges. Go inside and take a nap maybe.

“John B, we are fugitives in a foreign country.”

So, previously, I was talking about how I was confused how they would still be trying to find him is everyone thought he was dead, but here the wanted poster clearly says “presumed lost at sea”. I think that will be interesting to see how the Pogues all interpret that. 

Especially because they already had a memorial for John B and everything, I wonder if there will be any part of the Pogues holding out hope that they both could still be out there OUCH.

I’m going to circle back to this, but it looks like John B and Sarah are going to get separated for a little while in this man hunt, I could see my idiot himbo son trying to sacrifice himself so Sarah can get away but in reality just....stranding her.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

Oh, sweetie....

“Well, Sarah Cameron, I do stupid things all the time without realizing it.”

The volume of his self awareness is astronomical. sir, that is your whole character summed up in your own words.

GOD, IT’S ME AGAIN. PLEASE LET THEM LEAN INTO COMPLETE HIMBO JOHN B THIS SEASON I’LL DO ANYTHING-

nyyooooOOOOOOOOOOOOM-

“Hold on!”

The complete abject terror I would feel having John Booker Routledge driving get-away and then saying the words “Hold on” while reaching fro the gear shift? The english language fails me. 

Sarah, bestie, I’m so sorry.

I just wanna know-

what the plan or objective was in this situation. What was the reason for being this dramatic.

Rest in piss, bozo <3

“Ward’s still out there...”

Okay, same conversation they were having as before. I wonder what makes them decide they need to get back to the OBX for this tho.

“I can clear my name. This can all be over in one shot.”

It looks like Topper watching this but way more concerningly, correct me if I’m wrong but this 100% looks like....John B gets caught. And the DEATH PENALTY?! He did have a mug shot for the fliers in s1 and the one above but he was never brought in? Plus he just looks super dirty and dishevled in this one so I-

Jail break anyone?

I also still want to know if they’re going to go with a Topper redemption arc this season. like, does he know more than he should just from being around Rafe and his big fat mouth? Is he going to help out the Pogues even if it’s just for Sarah?

This shot just suddenly made me really sad. The thought of this all started because Big John left one last thing for his son to find, his literal life’s work. And when it all started, it was just a fun adventure John B and his best friends were going on together and having fun with. Then it all got dragged to absolute shit and turned into what it did, including the remaining 3 Pogues thinking that this treasure hunt took their two best friends away from them. And it’s nothing like Big John intended it to be.

Why my eyes wet?

Now we’re edging into what I was talking about earlier with John B and Sarah getting separated.

“If you think there is anything I wouldn’t do...”

Once again, John B is no where to be found. Also, just in case y’all didn’t already know or forgot Ward is an actual psychopath.

I believe this one of the new character, played by Jontavious Johnson (Stubbs). Based on the voice over it lowkey sounds like they’re implying Ward maybe hired Stubbs and Cleo to find and bring Sarah back. My theory would be I bet they do go to retrieve her, but she somehow convinces them that it would be more beneficial for them in the end to be on the Pogue’s side instead.

Miss Girl you gotta be keeping your head on a SWIVEL. Especially when you’re a FUGITIVE of the LAW-

“...you haven’t been paying attention.”

My guy, who are you clarifying this for?

It’s what you deserve for monologuing.

in all seriousness, the idea of them coming to face to face with Ward in Nassau after thinking they finally escaped him is genuinely terrifying.

“SARAH!”

It kind of looks like they’re either hiding their faces or covering their noses? I don’t know maybe it was from some tactic to get away from Ward.

What did I literally jsut say about yelling privileges, you unhinged mother fucker?

“I’m calling the shots now. I’m driving.”

The following progression of scenes made me actually snort-

“I can’t drive stick.”

PLEASE THE FINGER GUNS LAUNCHED ME INTO ORBIT I LOVE THEM, YOUR HONOR.

Alright, so now it looks like we’re in Charleston. This is the same scene with Heyward’s truck that got leaked from BTS (read: JJ and Kie shoulder touch).

One of the main things that stuck out to me in the following scenes which, you will see, is it lowkey looks like Pope is kind of heading up this part of the operation, or even going in alone? The following clips are just very Pope focused. 

I don’t know what it means, it’s just an observation.

“John B was not the only one that Ward double-crossed.”

LIMBRY-

Bro, we have been hearing about this woman for literal months and I just have....so many questions? 

Who the hell is she? How is she connected to Ward? Why is she in South Carolina instead of the OBX? How do the Pogues even learn about her and how to track her down? How is she meant to “help” them? GAH I JUST WANNA KNOOOW. I already know I don’t trust her though and no I will not be offering up supporting evidence.

Sir, that is my son please unhand him.

“I think you know what I want.”

.......no? But feel....free to explain yourself?

The print on the paper is the same one that’s on the ceiling tiles in the following scene. Obviously, with a key on it that most likely goes to the place a few shots from now.

Hell yeah, son, let’s get SLEUTHING.

“The treasure belongs to the Pogues.”

DAMN STRAIGHT.

Bestie’s I’m not going to lie, I stared at this frame for a solid 10 minuets and I have no idea what it says on there I’m sorry. Someone in the comments is welcome to enlighten us.

“We gotta find it first.”

I can’t tell if that’s just dirt or if he hurt his head? But he look GOOD right now for one thing. For another, same outfit as the one in the Twinkie from the beginning of the trailer.

Look at her. LooK AT HER! LOOK! AT! HER! I MISSED HER SO MUCH even in that damn smiley face top that continues to haunt my waking hours she is in it so much and it stresses me out for literally no good reason I’m sorry-

I could literally cry right now and I think that speaks volumes to how little we actually see him genuinely happy. Have I mentioned how much I love that red hat?

Also, probably not that important, but this is not from the same scene as the shots of Pope and Kiara were. This is from the next one-

“Woogity-woogity?”

“Give me some woogity, baby!”

Yeah, this pushed me over the fucking edge, the way that they’re actually happy and laughing? The fact that they kept woogity-woogity and made it A Thing? Yes.

I am, however, going to be intentionally ignoring what appears to be the very intentional stagingof having such an obvious space between where Kiara and Pope are sitting adn where JJ sits, even including the level they’re sitting on because I don’t have the emotional capacity to face those implications right now. Thank you for your time.

Yes yeeeeEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

GIVE ME ALL OF THE SCENES OF THEM ACTUALLY GETTING TO BE TEENAGERS AND JUST BREATHE AND LAUGH AND HAVE A GOOD TIME AND NOT BE RUNNING FOR THEIR FUCKING LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!

before Rafe comes in and literally starts shooting because they can’t breathe for more than 7 seconds but we’ll....get to that.

They refer to Sarah as a Pogue this season or I burn Netflix to the ground. Your move, Jonas.

50 bucks says John B is driving the Twinkie again for the first time since being back.

I deadass think the Pogues JUST got Sarah and John B back and they’re just having the time of their life. Kie was in her smiley face outfit when Pope was in this one a few clips ago, and I still hold to the belief that that one still they released of JJ and Kie hopping over a fence is the Pogue reunion so-

Ward? I have no idea what he’s looking at behind the wall paper and I’ll be so honest I don’t care my eyes are only seeing Pogue content right now.

“This is a map of the whole island.”

This fit, when will John B learn how to operate buttons, stay tuned for season 5. Also my previous theory of this being their reunion outfits and stuff because Pope is in the back in the same jacket as before.

The plot thickens and so has JJ’s hair, Rudy drop the shampoo brand.

Please, dear God, tell me they’re back in the sex church. For @jiaaraa sake.

Kiara, your Madison is showing.

Okay, I really did try but all I can make out is Something to the tomb begin something something.

You’re welcome.

I am no expert but I do not believe boats operate on land.

John B looks like he is in the same outfit here that is in his mug shot we saw on the TV screen so I have a sneaking suspicion this is where he gets caught. 

“John B is back-”

Once again with the damn sexual tension that’s always between Barry and Rafe in every scene they do are we about to kiss right now?

“-it’s him or me.”

First of all, no.

Second of all, I’m just....so very confused about this time line this season. It kind of looks like Ward and Rafe follow and find Sarah and John B in Nassau (unless those scenes by the truck were actually back in the OBX). So did they....go to Nassau, then just come right back when they did? I’m just confused.

Put that thing back where it came from or so help me.

Literally when will you stop at this point I am begging you. 

This looks like the same scene the Pogues were, ya know, literally just having a good time at so fuck me, I guess.

Yeah, no, it’s going to be a no from me, I’m just going to pretend like I’m not seeing this and moving on.

I have simply no idea what is going on here or who that is on the bike but maybe JJ? Maybe Luke even? I think that’s JJ’s bike. 

The sewer scene. The SEWER SCENE-

For months sicne that tiktok leaked this damn scene has been genuinely all I could think about. So (obviously) it seems like they’re sending Kie down into the sewer to go do seomthing and things go horribly, horribly wrong. 

If you haven’t seen the tiktok, essentially all it was was JJ and Pope screaming and trying to lift up the man hole cover while Kie is begging for them to hurry from inside. I’m cheating a little bit as this isn’t a shot from the trailer but this picture was posted and it’s from the same scene.

I’ll just....leave this here. Back to the trailer shots.

Nice. Also, same shirt as mugshot.

Hey, um, what? 

Kiara’s car, she’s driving, I can’t tell who’s in the back seat or the front.

Holy God what is going on and how can I as an audience member put a stop to it?

So, same scene as we will see and was in the teaser but, for some reason, they’re all jumping off of a giant ass boat into the little life raft where it looks like JJ gets hurt later but don’t you worry we’re getting to that.

JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE THEY BOTH LOOK SO DAMN GOOD AND THEIR LITTLE SMILES SPARE ME-

Cleo 🥵

I’m so excited to see her arc and what it brings this season you guys have no idea.

Please for the love of God be about to get Ward Cameron’s ass like he deserves literally punt him into jail right from Tanny Hill.

Sarah at My Druther’s with what looks like a bloody bandage on her side? Same outfit she’s wearing when they’re running from the police on the beach and she has the bandage there too so. Interesting. 

Topper hugging who I’m pretty sure is Sarah, being a general douche because he’s clearly looking at John B like 😏 

Clips like these serve to remind me just how many of my worldly posessions I would gladly give up to be able to punch Topper Thorton in the throat one time. 

I think this is Cleo jumping off the boat with Pope after John B and Sarah. 

Absolutely busting a lung at Pope’s form in this one.

John B and Sarah waiting in the life raft, still Cleo and Pope coming after them. The obvious next question is where are JJ and Kiara. The scene I’m sure you all have been waiting for is coming up and clearly takes place in the life raft as well.

So, I really think JJ and Kie get left for last, something horrible happens as they’re trying to jump (my head instantly goes to JJ maybe like pushing Kie out of the way and getting hit on the head instead or even just some accident). 

And, oh my GOD a scene of him falling off the boat after it happens and Kiara diving in after him immediately, having to desperatly try to stop him from sinkingand get to the life raft holy shit-

Girl CATCH HIM?????

Because why wouldn’t this be Rafe’s fault. Part of me wonders if this isn’t related to JJ being hurt.

I am going to try and unpack this as calmly as possible because behind my computer screen I am vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass but respectfully.

WHAT IN THE FUCK IS TIAUEWFHLAILA

Okay, so scene wise, JJ’s hit his head somehow (probably while he was jumping with Kiara) it looks like and now they’re back on the raft. 

In my opinion, this is either:

A) JJ is in really, really bad condition after getting hurt in the jump and they’re not sure he’s going to make it. So this is a “Please stay with me, stay awake, please don’t die” hug OR

B) They very narrowly just avoided a deadly situation (my first thought is JJ hits his head while jumping, passes out in the water, maybe almost drowns but Kie and the others get him onto the life raft in time) and this is more of a “Oh my God, you’re okay, you’re safe now, we’re okay” hug. 

I honestly lean more to the second one based on the little bit of Sarah’s face we saw in the background. To me, it almost looked like she was smiling thru tears, which, fits way more with the second option than the first. 

Anyways. Moving on before I burst a lung again.

(also, before anyone comes at me, no, I’m not happy JJ is hurt, obviously.  

(Once again, arrest outfits). You can still see the bandage but it looks like Sarah’s limping now too so...good Lord give the girl a break maybe?

Everything in this trailer just went to shit so fast I think I have whip lash, can we go back to the Pogues hanging out and being happy now pkease I liked those scenes.

“I get it. You guys are scared.”

“No.”

She’s cute but, uh, hello sewer scene outfits. Seems like them planning to do whatever the hell they were going to do in the sewers but the boys are starting to get cold feet as maybe they should but hind sight is 20/20 I suppose.

“It’s kind of cute.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You should’ve just led with that.”

I will never be able to express how much I adore Pogue banter and general dumbassery and I have a feeling this season will not be lacking in either department

I high key don’t think these two are actually going to be there for this scene to go down but I’ll let it slide this time because-

They do be kinda cute.

It both feels like I’ve been waiting for this damn show for 3 years and also like I just watched season 1 last month explain that to me. 

Either way holy shit. I missed this dumb show and these dumb kids so much it physcially hurts and WE GET THEM BACK IN T-MINUS 16 DAYS.

Also. Where The Hell Is Wheezie Cameron And When Will She Have The Rights She Deserves.

[archived-kin]

petty ghost haunts their murderer but doesn’t actually do anything vengeful, more at eleven

note from kin: i don’t even know what this is myself to be honest but the simple way of putting it is that you were accidentally killed by one of satan’s fits of rage and now your ghost follows him around and messes with him at any given opportunity out of pettiness

basically i came up with the prompt ‘vengeful spirit is more of a slightly miffed and extremely petty spirit who doesn’t actually do much but inconvenience their hauntee, shenanigans ensue’ and ran with it

(as a heads up, reader is not mc in this situation, and this takes place before any of the exchange program stuff, so belphie’s not in the attic and solomon and the angels aren’t in the devildom)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): gn!reader, satan, beelzebub

pairing(s): satan/reader (though it isn’t particularly romantic since you’re, y’know, dead, so it’s more of a satan & reader)

warning(s): references to death, beel eats an entire rotisserie chicken

genre: crack (with a bit of fluff i guess???)

“For the last time, [Name], put the knife down.”

“Bite me, bitch-boy.”

Satan lets out a long-suffering sigh and sets down his mug of coffee, then reaches out and carefully pushes the floating butter knife pointed directly at his jugular back down onto the table. “I don’t know why you keep trying that. You do know it wouldn’t actually get through my skin even if you did manage to hit me, right?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” comes your disembodied voice from somewhere near the ceiling. You’ve probably decided to float up there to sulk like you always do after a failed attack.

“I’d prefer you didn’t think about it at all.”

A still-wet towel pulls itself from the rack on the wall and hits him square in the face. Satan gives an exasperated groan as it slides down his face and lands on the table with a soft splat.

“That’s what you get,” You sniff indignantly, finally materialising in front of him with a scowl. You’re floating upside down in a way that makes it look like you’re standing on the ceiling. “Buttface.”

“Come on, you can come up with better material than that,” Satan shakes his head, pushing back his chair and picking up the wet towel you’ve just flung at him to hang it back up again. “Where did all your creativity from yesterday go?”

“Six feet under with the remains of my body, probably,” you reply with a scowl. Then, as an afterthought, you add, “Confounded cheese wheel.”

“Oh, that’s a new one,” He comments, mildly surprised. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“Made it up myself. Ha!” You bob past him and through the wall, most likely to go terrorise Mammon by making his lights flicker on and off again. “Guess my creativity isn’t as dead as I am after all.”

“You still haven’t gotten over that, I see.” He sighs.

Your head immediately pops back out of the wall and glares across the room at him. “Excuse me?”

“It’s been weeks now - months, even,” Satan explains carefully as he sits back down at the table, not wanting to aggravate you further. The last time he'd brought something like this up, he’d ended up making you so angry that you’d managed to become physically corporeal enough to fling him across the room. “I would have thought you’d have passed on by now, that’s all. Surely it doesn’t take this long for the gates to the Celestial Realm to open?”

You consider his words, apparently appeased by their logic. “...I guess. Maybe I’m not passing on because I can’t rest in peace yet, like the ghosts do in horror films.”

“They’re films, you can’t expect to apply what happens in them to reality,” Satan replies flatly. “Besides, even if that was the situation, you've met all the criteria to 'rest in peace’, haven't you?”

“Are you trying to tell me, the dead one here, what merits as ‘resting in peace’?” You counter, floating back through the wall so that your entire body is in the room again. “My murderer’s still walking about like he doesn’t dress in the entire green colour spectrum and think it’s a good idea. How am I supposed to rest in peace knowing that?”

Satan looks down at his outfit, a little offended. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“What’s right with your clothes?” You shoot back, drifting over to him and passing a ghostly hand through his shoulder, apparently too lazy to muster up the energy to make your hand physical enough to touch him. “Look at it! Your blazer doesn’t even have lapels!”

“It isn’t a blazer.”

“Jacket, then.” You make a move as if to pinch at the fabric, but your fingers just pass right through it like a hot knife through butter. “It doesn’t even fit you. The sleeves are too short.”

Satan resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to wear it if it didn’t fit me. Besides, why does it matter to you?”

“The demon I might be doomed to be attached to for the rest of my afterlife has the worst fashion sense in all three realms is the matter,” You sigh dramatically and float up to the ceiling again. “Why do you even wear rip-off jeans if you’re going to put a belt over it?”

“First of all, they aren’t rip-off jeans,” Satan tells you as you start idly making the kitchen light flicker. He should probably tell you to stop doing that whenever you get bored, but he’s gotten so used to it at this point that he can’t really be bothered to. “And, second of all, why does it matter if I’m wearing a belt on it?”

“Rip-off jeans are meant to be ripped off,” You explain with all the patience of a mother explaining something to a curious child, completely disregarding Satan’s first point. “Putting a belt on top of it kind makes that redundant.”

Satan thinks about it for a moment and begrudgingly comes to the conclusion that your statement is correct - not that it makes a difference to him. “...they’re still not rip-off jeans.”

“Think whatever you want to think, burro verde.”

“What?”

“It means green donkey in Spanish.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I took Spanish for, like, three years when I was in high school,” You shrug, and the light brightens and dims slightly with the movement of your shoulders, as if it’s shrugging with you. “Failed all the exams, but at least I got something worthwhile out of it.”

“Three years of linguistic lessons and all you learn is how to string together bizarre insults,” Satan shakes his head. “You really are incorrigible.”

“That’s a big word. You sure you know what it means?”

“Of course I do,” He gives you a slightly disgruntled look. “I wouldn’t use it if I didn’t. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who doesn’t know what incorrigible means, obviously.” You pretend to aim a kick at the spider perched quietly in the corner of the ceiling, but Timothy ignores your efforts to boot him from his web. After a moment, growing tired of bothering the little guy, you ask, “...what does it mean?”

Satan snickers, then answers, sounding as if he’s reading the definition directly out of a dictionary, “In reference to a person or their behaviour, unable to be changed or reformed.”

You contemplate his words for a few seconds. “Is that a good thing?”

“Not usually when that particular word is used for it, no.”

“Oh. Bitch.”

He pauses at that, moving his mug of now marginally cooler coffee away from his mouth again, having been in the middle of taking another sip when you decided to insult him again. “Where did that come from?”

“You called me incorrigible, which you just said is not a good thing to be,” You explain as if it’s obvious, frowning down at him. “So I’m taking it as an insult and insulting you back. Bitch.”

“You didn’t have to say it again.”

“I didn’t, but it’s fun to call you names.” You snort and glide down from the ceiling to float above the table, crossing your legs and pretending to sit down on it. “It’s not as fun as it used to be, though. You never get all puffed up about it anymore.”

“That’s your own fault for doing it so much that I got used to it,” Satan reproaches. “Besides, it was pointless getting angry. It’s not like I can do anything to you in return.”

“You could ignore me and pretend I don’t exist or something.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“No!” You hurriedly throw up your hands in a gesture of surrender and shake your head so hard that Satan swears he actually feels a breeze - an even more impressive achievement considering that your body isn’t even tangible. “Please don’t. You’re the only being in the entire universe that I can actually interact with.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that is a good thing,” Satan mutters.

“It’s a good thing for me, and that’s all that matters,” You reply, unfazed.

No one other than Satan appears to have the ability to see you, which is an odd thing in and of itself. Ghosts aren’t a foreign thing to the Devildom - they’re so common that you could probably just walk into a convenience store and find one shelving cans of soup - but you don’t seem to follow any of the rules that they do. Sometimes Satan wonders if you’re able to actively choose to not allow his brothers to see you as you drift around the house, but then again, he’s pretty sure that, if you had the option to make Lucifer watch you pretend to fist fight that weird skeleton hanging in his room, you definitely would.

Satan doesn’t pretend to understand the laws of your otherworldly existence - he’s read so many variations on the rules behind lingering spirits like you that he can scarcely tell the difference between pure fiction and actual logical hypothesis. It’s easy enough to wrangle you into behaving for a day so that he can observe you properly by promising to leave his radio on for you while he’s out, but the observations themselves never seem to lead to anything. He knows that you’re able to pass through any physical object (as far as he knows), can make lights (of both the electronic and candle variety) flicker at will, can muster up enough physicality to move and touch things if you try, and can phase in and out of perceivable view, but he doesn’t know why you can do any of those things.

“Quit trying to come up with explanations for everything,” You’d told him wisely a month or so ago, when you’d floated in on him muttering to himself about the possibility of something called ‘ether energy’. “You’re just gonna give yourself a headache.”

Then you’d started making his candles flicker like disco lights until he stopped.

“...but I don’t think he spotted me, since he probably would’ve commented on the floating meat cleaver if he did, and— hey, big guy!”

That last exclamation is aimed at Beel, who has just walked into the kitchen and is now rummaging unceremoniously through the fridge, most likely in search of something to eat. At this point Satan’s pretty sure that you still don’t know any of his brothers’ names - at the very least, even if you do, you’ve never called them by them.

Beel continues to sort through the various already empty boxes and containers in the fridge as you start zooming back and forth through him, marvelling over the sheer broadness of his chest and shoulders. It isn’t the first time you’ve done this to him - or indeed any of the brothers - but Satan can tell that it’s more innocent awe than any kind of objectification or intent to harm, so he doesn’t mind. As mischievous as you are, he’s pretty sure you don’t have a genuinely malicious or wanton bone in your body... well, you don’t have any bones anymore - or a body, for that matter - but the point still stands.

“Hungry?” He guesses, but it’s honestly more of a statement. It is Beel, after all.

The Avatar of Gluttony withdraws from his search briefly to offer a nod. “I didn’t get to finish all of my lunch.”

“Well, there’s a surprise,” You comment as Beel sticks his head back into the fridge, finally tiring of buffeting yourself back and forth like a pendulum and choosing to start hovering just over the second youngest’s shoulders to watch his hunt. “Wonder what he was up to that got him to stop eating.”

Satan opens his mouth to reply, then stops and closes it again. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Beel with the not-really-a-secret of your existence, but he’s sure that at some point or another, Beel will end up letting it slip to Lucifer, who would most likely want to know why your death ended up attaching your spirit to his brother, and Satan’s already gone to great lengths to make sure that the oldest won’t find out about the rampage he went on that cost you your life in the first place. It'd just be a waste of that effort for Lucifer to find out anyway. Besides, it isn’t like the information will make much difference to Beel - he can’t see or hear you, and you’re pretty harmless, so there wouldn’t be any need for him to get involved in the situation anyway.

You, meanwhile, are well aware that Satan isn’t going to be saying anything to you while one of his brothers is in the room - you don’t really understand his reasoning for it, since you like to think that you’re a pleasure of a ghost to know, but you suppose you can’t really force him to make any decisions. Besides, you’re pretty content with the way things are right now; you don’t want to complicate the situation by bringing in another demon who, as far as you know, might just smite you on the spot if they find out about your existence.

Instead, you busy yourself with watching in fascination as Beel somehow pulls what looks like a rotisserie chicken from the very back of the fridge and shove the whole thing in this mouth. You exchange slightly disturbed looks with Satan as he begins to chew - you’re pretty sure you’ve just seen him dislocate his jaw like a snake to fit it in there.

“You might want to calm down, Beel,” Satan advises after a brief moment’s stunned silence, though even he knows that it’s a fruitless warning. “You’ll end up choking.”

Beel nods, but makes absolutely no move to slow in his aggressive chewing.

“This must be what the peak of evolution looks like,” You say in bemused awe as Beel finishes eating. The entire chicken has disappeared down his throat - bones and all. “How the hell does he manage that?”

Satan doesn’t answer, but his subtle shrug says that your guess is as good as his.

Much to your surprise and Satan’s resignation, Beel immediately goes back to the fridge, apparently unsatisfied by the copious amount of fowl he’s just eaten. To be honest, you feel sorry for the guy - while the you from when you’d still been able to eat would have done some unspeakable things to be able to consume as much as he does and still remain that fit, you’re sure that the black hole he calls a stomach must be an awful thing to have to deal with. At least he gets to enjoy a lot of food because of it, though you suppose it’s a double-edged sword if he’s also constantly being scolded for it. Personally, you don’t understand the reasoning behind telling someone off for eating as much food as they need, but they are demons. You probably shouldn’t expect them to have that level of compassion.

By the time you break out of your train of thought, Beel has found something else to eat amidst the many empty boxes in the fridge. It’s much smaller than the rotisserie chicken - some kind of pastry with a dollop of snowy white cream on top, decorated with a few lines of melted chocolate to look like a cat’s face. In fact, it looks almost identical to…

“Hey, wait!” You swipe a useless hand through Beel’s arm as he raises the pastry to his mouth. “Don’t eat that—!”

Too late. The pastry disappears into Beel’s mouth, and you drift backwards again, letting out a defeated groan. Satan shoots you a curious look - you can’t eat, after all, so why are you so upset about Beel eating that pastry? Is there something special about it?

His question is answered when he actually turns to look at his younger brother. The Avatar of Gluttony has gone rigid on the spot and is blinking rapidly, his eyes the size of moons.

“Beel…?” Satan questions hesitantly. “Are you feeling alright?”

Beel takes a long moment to respond, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Satan takes a closer look and realises that Beel’s pupils seem to have dilated to an almost impossible degree, resembling a cat’s eyes when it’s about to go absolutely feral. Whatever it is was in that pastry, it’s definitely hit him hard.

Now, Satan isn’t one to interrupt good fun when it’s about to happen, so instead of stepping in and performing some sort of spell that might help on his possibly-high brother like a good guy, he sits back and watches as Beel’s head swings around the room as if he's never seen anything in it before like the mischief-loving little shit he is. Beel himself doesn’t appear to be negatively affected, so it can’t be that bad, right?

You float cautiously around the giant as his hands ball into fists. His entire body is trembling slightly with pent-up energy. Then, a split second later, as if he’s been zapped by some catalystic bolt of lightning, he abruptly snaps back on his heel and positively zooms out of the room. You can practically see the cartoony cloud of dust that he’s kicking up as he disappears down the corridor.

“He’s absolutely zooted right now,” You comment, flipping upside with a resigned sigh and crossing your arms a little grumpily. “I told him not to eat it.”

“He couldn’t hear you, you know,” Satan says, moving over to the fridge and slamming it shut, since Beel has neglected to. “What was even in that thing?”

You shrug. “Don’t know. I’ve just been calling it demon-nip.”

“I suppose that it does to demons what catnip does to cats, then?” Satan doesn’t even wait for you to answer before continuing - rude. “How did you even get a hold of it? Never mind that, how did you manage to get it in a pastry and put it in the fridge?”

“I got some help from one of the poltergeists downtown to make it,” You wave your hands about dismissively. “You should pay more attention when you go out. I disappeared for, like, five hours, and you didn’t even notice.”

“When even was this?”

“Tuesday, I think. Remember when you bought that giant bag of cat paw-shaped biscuits and then accidentally dropped the bag in the hall and got them everywhere?”

You don’t miss the way that the tips of his ears go slightly pink as he coughs subtly and averts his gaze. “...why would the poltergeists help you? They hate humans.”

“I don’t know, actually…” You ponder for a moment, then decide, “...probably because I’m cute.”

“Are you?” Satan deadpans. “Cute is what you’d call a cat. You’re just… tolerable.”

“Oh, fuck you, I think I’m adorable.” You huff, flying over and poking him hard in the side of the head. Satan hisses in pain and reaches up to rub the sore spot, but he supposes he should have seen that blow coming - you’re never too humble to make yourself physical enough to hit him after an insult.

“Where did that idea even come from?” He asks quickly, not wanting to take another attack. You may be a mere imprint of a dead human, but your fingers are sharp, and he’d prefer not to provoke you further if he can avoid it.

His change of subject is so abrupt and obvious that it’s almost laughable, but you choose not to call him out on it. As much as you’d like to set him on fire or something, he hasn’t given you a really good reason to commit arson yet, and you’d just end up feeling bad for doing it. Well, to be fair, he did kill you… but still, you don’t want to keep holding that over his head.

“I read it in a book.” You answer. Satan’s eyes light up slightly.

“Do you remember the title?” He asks almost eagerly, and you disguise a snicker. His intentions are practically painted in bright red paint across his face - he’s hoping that there’ll be more schemes like the one you’ve performed that he can use against that sadist of an older brother of his.

Unfortunately for him, the book doesn’t exist. “Yeah. It’s called One Hundred Ways To Get Back At The Ass That Killed You, Free Of Murder and Actual Crimes That Might Get You Persecuted And Sent To Super Hell.”

Satan clearly isn’t thinking very hard today, because for a moment he actually looks as if he believes you - you suppose it’s because he’s grown desensitised to the oddness of such long titles after hearing so many weirdly specific anime titles from the otaku brother that you still have yet to see come out of his room. (You’ve floated in a few times to have a look around and appreciate the decor, but other than that, you’ve barely even seen his face. You’re not even sure what his name is, to be honest…)

He realises what you’re getting at after a moment, though, and immediately frowns at you in disapproval. You just grin, pleased with your small victory.

“You're insufferable,” He says, shaking his head with an long sigh.

“No, I'm cute,” You counter, frowning. “Weren't you listening to me earlier?”

He throws his hands up hastily as you drift forward with a hand brandished and a nasty glint in your eye, unwilling to get jabbed at again. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

You, however, don't relent. Eyes narrowing, you float even closer - so close that, if you'd been physical, he’d have been able to feel your breath on his face. “Say it.”

Satan may be one of the seven most powerful demons in the Devildom (below Diavolo, of course, and possibly Barbatos), but the aggression of a pissed-off ghost, especially if that ghost is you, isn't anything he wants to be on the receiving end of right now. “Fine, fine! You're adorable, you're cute, whatever. Now will you leave me alone?”

You finally pull back, beaming in a gratified fashion. “That's all I wanted to hear!”

Satan gives you an irritated look as you drift back across the kitchen, a satisfied grin on your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’ve said that already,” You sing back, laughing in victory when you see his eyebrow twitch slightly in annoyance. “And you had the nerve to lecture me about creativity earlier! Why don’t you come up with better material, Mr Shoes-Up-My-Ass?”

He doesn’t reply for a good moment, attempting to think of a insult to counter your admittedly slightly juvenile one. Try as he might, though, all of his good jibes seem to have evaporated. “...shut up.”

His pathetic response, of course, immediately compels you to take the piss out of him. Clutching your chest dramatically, as if Satan’s just stabbed you with the knife you’d been waving about earlier, you wail, “Oh, thy words do wound me! 'Tis like thou hath rip’d my heart out with thy own hands!”

Satan glares you for a long moment, but he doesn’t have the heart to keep it up when you’re grinning so brightly. Honestly, you’re a nuisance and a brat sometimes, sure, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider you his closest friend at this point. “...do you even know how to use those words?”

You drop the act faster than Asmo throws it down on a Saturday night, shrugging and floating back over to hover just above the chair across from Satan’s. “Nope. It sounded right, though, right?”

“I haven’t read enough works in Old English to know,” Satan admits with a shake of his head. “But it did, I suppose…”

It’s kind of weird that he’s agreeing so easily, you think. Has he just had enough of your bullshit and is complying with to keep you quiet? Or has he just finally seen the light of your brilliance?

...well, you suppose it doesn’t matter. You grin and move to ruffle his hair, but forget to make your hand physical and instead end up flying right through his head. Satan shudders slightly - though he doesn’t feel it, it’s still weird to have an entire hand and arm go through his cranium.

“Could you not?” He complains as you right yourself and pull your hand back again. “This feels weird.”

“Baby.”

“Pet names aren’t going to do anything,” He sighs, pulling his chair to the side so that he’s no longer half-inside your torso. “Hands to yourself.”

“No, it was an insult,” You correct him. “I was calling you a baby. Though bitch-boy works too.”

Satan lets out a long sigh. Now you’re just back where you started.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Realignment

Prompt: I love when Remus is a lot smarter than he lets on, so I’d love a prompt where Logan is overworking himself and not taking care of himself and one tic of the clock away from either passing out or having a full on mental breakdown (not the type you can recover from in a day). Remus notices the little signs Logan shows, and hears the intrusive thoughts Logan has. Remus really becomes concerned when Logan’s intrusive thoughts start to involve taking breaks, going to eat properly rather than inhaling granola bars, and even sleeping. Remus storms in and is like “Logan tf????” Then gets hella soft once he realizes the state Logan is in

Thank you for the prompts, babe! I liked this one the best so I picked it. 

GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A C H E C K P O I N T if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: discussions of self-harm, nothing explicit, some self-destructive tendencies and behaviors. 

Pairings: focus on intrulogical, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Word Count: 2410

Realignment: to align again.

Realignment: to reorganize or make new groupings of.

* * *

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

The problem arises when the shit he starts to hear isn't weird at all.

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

 The more appropriate definition would be ‘fucked up like you wouldn’t fucking believe,’ but one of us has a problem with particularly strong language and shit doesn’t have to be censored in a lot of media anymore. Which is so convenient! For some of us!

 It’s fucking great.

Anyway. Point being. Fucked up shit.

 Intrusive thoughts literally fall under his purview. It’s the fun stuff! The stuff you don’t wanna think about that makes your skin crawl and your eyes pop open at the witching hour and stay awake until the sun rises. That’s Remus’s job.

 And it’s like the whole Mindscape is whack-a-mole that he gets to play with! Buttons here and there, squeeze this part and watch the eyes bug out of this part, bap this one on the head, see which one pokes up next. Who’s gonna have nightmares tonight? Who is having a nightmare tonight?

 It’s fun.

 Point. Right. Right.

 It’s normally pretty easy to tell whose intrusive thoughts are whose. They taste different. Patton’s taste like sugar so sweet it’ll fill your mouth with cavities. Virgil’s taste like spiders, crawling around his mouth. Janus’s taste like salt. So much fucking salt. Dry as hell.

 Roman’s taste like blood. Problem is, Remus’s mouth normally tastes like blood, so…

 Yeah, they gotta work that out.

 Logan’s taste like ink. Which is why it took him so long to figure out that Logan was having them. Not just because the nerdy wolverine was so convinced he couldn’t have them—rationalizing them as philosophy principles, come on—but because Remus isn’t exactly an expert on pens. Writing like normal people. Ugh.

 Normal people.

 What a lie, Janny probably gets a big kick out of those.

 No one is normal and normal is boring.

 Logan. Right.

 Okay, so here’s the thing.

 Logan’s thoughts aren’t really…standard? They are to some extent, you don’t really get a whole lot of variety from him—even when Remus has been so helpful in making his room safe for him to be in during bad days, there’s such a lack of imagination there that he wasn’t sure exactly how to feel—but it’s the recent ones that’ve been getting…weird.

 Remus chews thoughtfully on the kraken tentacle. He swings up to the chandelier and hangs by his ankles, letting the blood run to his head. Makes it easier to think sometimes.

 It hasn’t been very long since they found out…well, since they found out.

 Remus frowns. Why is he censoring himself? It’s not like he can’t fucking say self-harm, it’s not like he can’t describe what it was, it’s not like he can’t close his eyes and see it happening again.

 Then his mind jumps helpfully to the shocked, panicked look on Logan’s face and the soft, furious resignation on Roman’s, and his jaw snaps shut.

 Oh.

 Right.

 He cares. So he has to be gentle with them.

 He growls, swinging himself up to perch on the chandelier proper. He turns the kraken tentacle over and chews on the rubbery side.

 The others are delicate. Not that they’re more breakable than any other metaphysical humanoid, but their minds are fragile when it comes to Remus’s side of things. Could they handle the full spectrum of his side of thoughts and shit? Probably, they’re stronger than they give themselves credit for. Should they have to? Hell to the fuck no. But it means that Remus can’t just throw them in the deep end and see if the kraken spits them out whole or in chunks. Could they survive? Absolutely. Would they still be…them? Doubtful.

 Remus lets one of his legs go, hanging by one knee as he tips over.

 Plus they’re always a little more fragile when it comes to these thoughts anyway. Poking and prodding too much would hurt. Like, the bad kind of hurt.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. Not like that.

 So. Gentle it is then.

 Right. The others. He has a point, he’s just gotta get there.

 Roman…fuck he’s missed his brother. They got—they got so much shit to still work out but they’re gonna do it together and fuck he loves his brother so goddamn much. Roman knows that, he knows that, and he’s always there to pull Remus out of his head when he needs it, hit him with a pillow, or tackle him onto something and hold him tight. He’s—his thoughts taste like blood and Remus hasn’t bitten anything since so that he’ll never miss it again.

 But with Logan...

 Logan is…odd. It hasn’t been long since they first found out—or rather, they confronted him about it, and Remus hasn’t tasted ink without it disappearing very quickly or knocking on someone’s door to please go get your fucking nerd, please. But the ink has only written the usual suspects, whispering the theorems in dark corners, muttering about the incompleteness of a set, the need for Logic, not Logan, and how to jump through the little loophole again.

 It’s not exactly hard for the others to tell.

 Lolo hasn’t been looking great. Sure, he’s all pressed and dressed, glasses perfectly in place, tie done up just so, walking around like everything’s just totally and completely fine, but it’s in his face. Object impermanence aside, normally when Remus bugs him, he reacts in some way.

 Sass is an emotional response and you won’t convince him otherwise.

 Whether it be a wry comment, effortlessly fixing whatever Remus has done to him this time, or even just a look, Lolo does something.

 Not anymore.

 Now he’ll just kind of…sigh and move on? He’ll fix whatever it is only if it’s directly interfering with what he’s trying to do, or when Patton or Virgil come round the corner and freak the fuck out because you’re bleeding! Then he’ll fix it.

 Remus wouldn’t say he’s bored, but he’s worried.

 Mainly because the intrusive thoughts…aren’t what he’d consider intrusive anymore.

 Take a shower.

 Eat something that isn’t just a granola bar.

 Go to sleep.

 Ask someone for help.

 See?

 If those are Lolo’s intrusive thoughts, then what the fuck is normally going on in his head?

 Remus waits. Waits. Keeps waiting.

 The instant his mouth tastes like ink again, with a question of whether or not Logan should take a break, he sinks straight into his shower. He washes his hair thoroughly, gets every single bit of grime off him he can, and puts on the softest pajamas he has—thank you, Roman—and drops himself outside of Logan’s door.

 He strains, mouth still full of ink, to hear anything other than the soft click, click, click of Logan’s keyboard.

 He can’t.

 Fuck.

 He knocks.

 “One moment, please.”

 Indeed, a few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Logan, looking as annoyingly pristine as he always does, surprised to see him.

 “Remus? Did you need something? Why…” he trails off as he takes in what Remus is wearing. “What’s wrong?”

 “Can I come in?”

 “Of—of course,” Logan stammers, moving aside to let him in, “are you alright?”

 “Should be asking you that, Lolo.”

 “Remus, you’ve just knocked, first of all, on my door and asked to come inside.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he sits at his desk. “This is extremely out of character for you.”

 “Uh-huh.” Remus flops onto the bed. “You know what else is out of character?”

 “Not wearing your costume?”

 “Not hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Has—is there something wrong? Are you not hearing any? Do I need to get Roman?”

 Remus frowns. “Why’s it so easy for you to do that?”

 “Do what?”

 “Care. Try and take care of me.”

 Logan blinks. “Because you deserve to be taken care of, Remus. Your needs are important.”

 Remus idly toys with a loose thread on one sleeve. “Why?”

 “Why? Why are you important?” Remus nods. “Because you’re—you’re an important part of Thomas, you’re important to us, and we care about you.”

 “So it’s easy for you to care for me because…you do?”

 “As simple as that sounds,” Logan says with all the softness that should be directed at himself, “yes.”

 Remus nods. “I’m not having problems with hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 “You’re—you’re not?” Logan sighs, relaxing a little back into his chair. “Then why did you say you were?”

 “Because the thoughts that I am hearing aren’t really what I’d consider intrusive.”

 Logan frowns. “Like what?”

 Glad you fucking asked.

 “‘Take a shower,’” Remus says, his eyes fixed firmly on Logan’s face, “'eat something,’ ‘take a break,’ ‘go to sleep.’”

 He watches Logan’s face tense.

 “Sound familiar, Lolo?”

 “You—I—my apologies,” Logan manages after a moment, adjusting his tie, “I did not mean to be an inconvenience. You are correct, those are not intrusive thoughts, I’m not sure why you’re hearing them.”

 He turns to his desk and begins to fish around for a notebook.

 “That is quite intriguing, I wonder what the possibilities for hearing other types of thoughts are, considering—“

 “Lolo.”

 Logan pauses, turning back. “Yes?”

 Remus fixes him with a look, getting up and walking toward him. “They are intrusive thoughts, Logan. The issue is that your intrusive thoughts are about you taking care of yourself.”

 Logan freezes.

 “W-well, I’m sure that it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “So either you can admit that was a lie or Janny’s about to get summoned.”

 “Remus,” Logan sighs, “it’s fine. As you said, these aren’t what are traditionally considered intrusive thoughts, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “No, Lolo, it is,” Remus argues, “because it means that the thought of you taking care of yourself is so foreign, so fucking out of the ordinary that not only does it happen to cross your mind—“ he takes Logan’s chair and spins it around— “but you try to force it out.”

 Gotcha.

 Logan looks anywhere other than Remus’s face and tries to stand. Only to wobble and crash back down.

 “Easy,” Remus says quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder, “you haven’t eaten in a while.”

 “But I have work.”

 “But you need food.”

 “Remus—“

 “Logan.”

 At Logan’s honest-to-fuck pout, he sighs, dragging the poor nerd up and out the chair and sitting him on the bed.

 “Why do you think you don’t deserve to be taken care of?”

 “I didn’t say that—hey!” Logan blinks up at him, scandalized and covering his stomach. “Why did you poke me?”

 “’S what I do when Janny won’t tell me the truth.”

 “I wasn’t—okay, okay!” Logan covers his stomach protectively as Remus readies another poke. “I just…I’ve already asked for help for this before. I shouldn’t have to again.”

 Remus sighs and lightly flicks the side of his head.

 “Hey!”

 “Virgil tries that too.” He stares hard at Logan. “Come on, Lolo, you can do better.”

 “It’s not your jobs to take care of me.”

 For fuck’s sake…

 Remus reaches out and tugs gently on Logan’s tie.

 “Remus, what—“

 “You taking more books outta Patton’s library now?” Remus tilts his head. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Lolo, just be honest.”

 “I am being honest!”

 “You’re not lying, but you’re not being honest.” At the poor nerd’s confusion, he sighs and fixes his glasses on that cute nose. “Just talk to me, Lolo.”

 “I—“ Logan sighs and oh fuck why does he look so tired?

 Well, because he hasn’t been sleeping.

 Or eating.

 Or taking care of himself.

 Unbidden, part of his conversation with Roman flashes into his head.

 “Self-harm can be self-denial too.”

 “Lolo?”

 “It’s bad enough that I’ve made you all worry about me,” Logan says finally, “I would hate to be a burden.”

 Oh, Lolo. “You and Roman, huh?”

 Logan looks up warily. “What do you do with Roman?”

 “You know what I do.”

 Logan sighs. “May at least take my glasses off first?”

 “You might wanna change too, I’m not letting you up for a while.”

 Logan stretches to place his glasses on the nightstand and poofs himself into a t-shirt and boxers. He sighs and opens his arms.

 Remus takes two running steps and tackles the poor nerd onto his bed.

 “Ah!”

 “Am I hurting you?”

 “No, no, just—just a little startled.”

 “Mm.” Remus snuggles closer into Logan, his arms wrapped tightly around him. “So. Wanna try one more time?”

 Logan sighs, deflating them both to the bed. His head lolls to his left, eyes on his open computer screen. Remus follows it, barely suppressing a growl as he stretches his arm out to save whatever’s on screen and shut it.

 “I know what I’m supposed to be doing,” Logan whispers, “I understand the process, I am aware that healing is not a linear concept, I know it’s going to take time, I—I understand.”

 Remus looks down, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “But?”

 “It’s hard,” comes the soft confession.

 Oh, Lolo.

 “I know,” he murmurs, leaning down to hug him properly, “I know, Lolo, I know it’s hard. But you can’t try and do it all yourself, you’ve gotta remember that we’re here for you, we care about you.”

 “But why?”

 Remus smiles and cuddles him tighter. “You said it yourself, Lolo. We care because we do.”

 “O-oh.” He feels Logan’s throat work as he swallows. “Thank you, Remus.”

 “Of course, Lolo. I’m guessing that sinking us to the living room so everyone else can spoil you is a bad idea, right?”

 “Yes.” Finally, finally, he feels Logan shyly tighten his grip on him. “Can we just…stay like this?”

 “Do I have your permission to hold you hostage until you fall asleep?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then go to sleep, Lolo,” Remus murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

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[dreamywriterinthedark]

Recess sobs and bedtime resolutions

Pairing: fem!Reader x Spencer

Request: Ok so the reader is a psychologist and is married to spencer and they have a 5 year old daughter who gets in trouble for punching a kid because they picked on her because they didn't beleive her dad was in the fbi If that makes sense any who if you don't write this i get it I just want to see speancers reaction

Trigger warnings: bullying, physical violence. (let me know if i forgot something)

Category: fluff, slight angst.

A/N: thank you so much for this request! I hope you like it. The daughter sounds a bit older than 5, in my head she’s in the early stages of elementary school. Let me know what you think about it! I’d be glad to receive some feedback. (Btw I hurt my own feelings writing this, you can’t even imagine...)

You were in your office, a typical Tuesday afternoon until you heard your office phone ring once more. You held up your finger to make your client pause what they were saying, you picked up the phone only to hang up.

“I apologise for the inconvenience. Now where were we ?” you said trying to get your client comfortable again despite the ringing. As she was about to speak up again, your cellphone rang, Spencer’s name lit up your screen and that’s when you were starting to get concerned.

“I’m so sorry I have to get that.” You said exiting the office to take the call. You were happy to hear your significant other’s voice nonetheless you knew he wouldn’t normally call you during working hours.

“Hi darling, is everything okay ?”

“No, not really. The school called, there’s an emergency.” he responded wrapping his scarf around his neck as he was making his way to the elevator.

“What happened ?” you asked getting more and more worried.

“She punched a classmate in the face. Can you believe it ?!” he pressed the button 0 waving goodbye to his coworkers.

“What ? Our daughter? Jane ? Are you sure it’s not her evil twin ?”

“Eviler twin you mean ? No offense, Y/n, but if she had one, I’m pretty sure you would remember…”

“Alright, I’ll tell my secretary to cancel all my appointments for the day. I’ll meet you there.”

“Love you, bye.”

“Love you too.” You answered before hanging up. You made it a little bit of a rule to yourself to never say ‘goodbye’ to him because you thought that if you did it may increase the chances of you never seeing him again. You knew it was a bit silly but with all those times he was close to death, you’d believe in any superstition if that meant he would get home safe.

After taking care of your client and letting your secretary handle the rest, you hurried out of your office to drive to your daughter’s elementary school.

You pushed the interphone button, once you were allowed entrance you walked to the principal’s office. You softly knocked, when the door opened it showed Spencer sitting in a chair right across the desk, next to it was an empty chair meant for you.

“I’m sorry, I came as I soon as I could.” you apologized.

“Well, I assume you’re Jane’s mother. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Principal Walker.” he greeted shaking your hand. As you sat down, Spencer gave you his best polite white smile.

“Do you know what you’re here for ?” he inquired.

“You said our daughter was involved in a conflict with a student...” you answered.

“Your daughter punched a student in the face.” He said bluntly.

“Right…”

“Are you sure it’s Jane ?” Spencer asked still struggling to believe it.

“Wait until you see her knuckles...”

Spencer put his face in his hands in defeat, you rubbed his shoulder to bring him comfort.

“What happened exactly ?” you asked.

“Well, it was during the 10AM break. Jane went out to play with her classmates when a boy started arguing with her. Next thing we hear is a scream, the boy is on the floor crying.”

You and Spencer both looked at each other with an immense look of stupor.

“The boy, did he bully her ?” Spencer asked trying to find some innocence in the sweet child of his.

“Not that we know of.” answered the principal.

“Is he okay though ?” you questioned.

“Yes, just a minor injury. He went back home.”

You nodded, “So what happens next ?”

“We are giving her a warning but the next time something like this happens there will be harsher consequences than a simple punishment. Understood ?”

“Yes. we understand. Thank you for your time, sir.” you said as you rose up from your chair. Spencer and you both exited the room finding your daughter in the waiting lounge looking guilty as ever. You saw Spencer’s face look puzzled and hostile. To torture your daughter with even more guilt you told her to ride back home with her dad which she did not love but couldn’t protest.

Spencer hardly spoke to Jane the entire drive. He was dry, so much it looked like he ignored her. Jane was desperate to get him to talk to her.

“Please, dad. Don’t be mad at me!” she exclaimed.

“I’m not mad, I’m disappointed.” those words he pronounced cut like a knife. You knew that by seeing her dad’s reaction she would become aware of the gravity of her actions. And he actually wasn’t mad, at least not until he saw her pouting face. He loved her too much to be angry.

“Okay but can you just talk to me!” she whined.

“Oh we will, back home with your mom.”

That car ride lasted longer for Jane than usual. No music, no anecdotes nor laughs, just plain silence and introspection while gazing at the landscape.

Your house was in the suburbs near a forest, Spencer had all sorts of scientific arguments as to why living near nature was beneficial but you just loved the paysage before your eyes when taking your morning coffee. The location was perfect; in nature which means less pollution, noise and lower criminal rates yet a short car ride from the city which was full of cultural spots and with high quality education.

Jane tried to run up the stairs in hope to avoid her parents’ correction but was interrupted by your strict toned voice; “Not so fast, young lady.”

She shut her eyes stopping dead in her tracks, she lifted her stuffed animal and said to it “It was nice knowing you, fluffy.” She then turned around and sat on the couch.

Spencer was pacing around, “Why did you do it ?” He asked his daughter his voice slightly higher than before. She started melting in tears which truly pained him. You walked up to her, as you were sat on the couch next to her you started stroking her arm and drying her tears.

“It’s okay. We’re just trying to understand why you did that. There’s no way you would’ve done it without a reason.” you told her.

“Jeremy kept making fun of me…” she struggled to get out whimpering.

“How long has he been making fun of you ?” Spencer asked.

“Since Valentine’s day when everyone was exchanging cards but my box was empty.” You glanced at Spencer in shock of how long you hadn’t known your daughter was getting bullied, silently suffering.

“Honey, I’m so sorry you had to go through this.” you reassured her kissing her cheek and running your hands through her hair. “But what happened exactly that made you punch him ?”

“He made fun of dad, he wouldn’t believe he was in the FBI.” She answered tilting her head up. “I asked him to stop but he wouldn’t so I defended myself.” she affirmed seeming not so guilty anymore. You unwrapped your arms from her giving her a frown.

“That’s not how you deal with problems.” Spencer said sitting on the low table across the couch.

“Yeah, you could’ve talked to us first but you didn’t even try. You know you can tell us everything ?” You backed him up.

“I know but I thought I could deal with this problem on my own. You guys always seem so good at it. And I want to be just like you when I grow up.”

You glanced at Spencer both slightly smiling at each other.

“If there’s one thing I learned from my job at the FBI is that violence is never the answer. It’s only justifiable if it’s legitimate defence; when you life is in danger.”

“Dad, do you still love me ?” she asked watching her feet swinging on the edge of the couch.

“Of course, I love you. I always will, no matter what.” he responded taking hold of her hand. “Okay?” She nodded. She didn’t seem to understand that punching someone is wrong. You needed to have a talk with Spencer;

“Now go to your room and do your homework, we’ll talk punishment tomorrow morning.” You said.

“But-“ she protested.

“No buts, go to your room.” You ordered.

You joined Spencer on the couch, he looked completely defeated. “Hey, are you alright ?” You asked him while taking a seat next to him. “Yes.” He answered a bit too quickly. “I mean…No…Not really.” You knew exactly why he was feeling like this. “It’s not your fault, Spence.” you reassured him playing with his hair.

“This whole time…And I didn’t know she was struggling. What kind of father am I ?”

“I come home every night and I didn’t know about this. It’s not because of your job, it’s not because of us. I’m blaming the school, here. They’re the ones who are supposed to prevent bullying from happening.”

He rummaged his hair with his hands whilst his elbows rested on his knees.

“Plus it’s a good sign, she doesn’t get along with kids her age…” you said slightly smirking.

“How?!” Spencer asks slightly irritated due to his public middle school flashbacks.

“It’s a sign of high intellectual potential. Her emotional age is too advanced for kids her age to understand, they tend to be too insensitive for her. She believes animals and inanimate objects have emotions and that they are intelligent. She talks to her stuffed animal like it’s a pet. She took the pepperonis out of her pizza! Also she has an enormous amount of creativity and she’s highly sensitive to her surroundings. Have you seen how she profiled your every move and suddenly her emotions followed ? Just like you she’s protective of the ones she loves. She only punched that kid because he wasn’t exactly talking highly of you…”

“So you’re saying…”

“Our daughter could be a genius.”

“As mother as daughter.” he complimented with a smirk.

“Oh come on we know who’s the genius here!” you said slapping his shoulder playfully.

You both chuckled. You kept talking for at least half an hour to come up with a plan you both agreed to. It’s not good for a child to watch their parents disagree.

~slight time lapse~

An hour after dinner, you went up to your daughter’s bedroom as it was her bedtime. You leaned on the door frame admiring Spencer, sat next to Jane on her bed, reading a story to her about conflict to teach her what to do in the type of situations she got in. He learned that from you since you were a psychologist. He admired how resourceful and clever you were. He couldn’t be more proud to have you as his significant other and the mother of his child. Your foot made a cracking noise on the hard wood floor which caught Jane attention.

“Mommy! Come!” she exclaimed shaking her little hands.

“What’s up?” you ask sitting next to the bed.

“Me and dad were reading this book you got me and now i understand. I’m sorry for not coming to you first. I just didn’t like what they said about dad.”

“Honey, it doesn’t matter what people think of you. Seeking validation from people can be so unhealthy. If you keep bottling up your emotions you’re going to explode like a bomb and that’s no good.”

“Can you forgive me, mommy ?”

“Of course. You’re still growing, as long as you learn from your mistakes I’m confident you’re going to be alright.” You answered squeezing her hand. Spencer watched in awe, it reminded him how in love with you he is.

“Yes, please don’t ever do that again!” he said a bit too quickly with a high pitched voice that made you all burst in laughter.

“Alright, you should get some sleep.” you told her giving her a kiss on the cheek and tucking her in; “Good night, my love.”

Spencer kissed her temple and set aside the little book he was reading to her wishing her good night as well. You walked out switching the lights off. As you walked down the stairs you asked Spencer to stop in his tracks pointing your finger up; Jane was talking to her stuffed animal. You both had to muffle your laughs. The future looked bright.

[shirophantomvox]

Leorio, Hisoka, Illumi, and Chrollo Head Canons #2

What’s up y’all! Thank you so much to the people who have given me feedback about what posts you all would like to see! This post will be about the “Adult Trio” and Leorio about how they would help their significant other with a subject in college. This one is a good suggestion! I’m going to incorporate fluff in this, as I am a sucker for fluff. I hope you all enjoy this! I most certainly do. This post is about 2687 words but don't worry, it's worth the read! These head canons came from my mind its a coincidence that some of these pictures match the thoughts. Portentous (old English) means wonderful or marvelous (in modern English) FYI: I am thinking about creating a discord server for both Voltron and Hunter x Hunter fans. I don’t know how to use the fancy perks of discord yet, so if you know how to and can help me out, send me a message! Alright, let’s get to it! Obviously these images are from Pinterest.

Discord Server for Voltron and HxH fans!

Leorio

“Mr. Leorio”, as we all know, is a sharp guy. He dresses in a suit, carries a suitcase, and wants to be a doctor. This man knows everything about academics, especially math and science. He will need to know these subjects to be a successful medical doctor.

Leorio received an A- in Calculus II and a B+ in Organic Chemistry. He was the only one that passed with flying colors while everyone else barely made it. He didn’t gloat in their faces but as soon as he got into the hallway he jumped for joy.

He was extremely happy about his progress and counted the days until graduation even though that was in 5 years. Wow! Don’t we love graduate school?!

He deserved the high grades because he spent countless nights studying missing parties, football games, and being with you just to make sure he was on the right track to graduating on time.

As we all know, Leorio wanted to pursue this career because he witnessed his best friend dying in front of him powerless to save him. The care for his friend would have been too expensive. Obtaining his degree was in honor of his friend; he’d save countless children, women, and men who’d all thank him for his hard work.

Leorio didn’t socialize much, but he did find himself hanging around a group of classmates that were a part of a co-ed fraternity that provided information on scholarship money for graduate school and job opportunities. This is where he met you. You didn’t want to be a doctor but instead wanted to be a computer scientist and decided to volunteer for this fraternity job fair.

As he rejoiced, his smile faded when he saw you walking down the hallway; tears falling from your face not caring who stared at you. He quickly walked up to you, put his arm around your back, and gave you a soft hug.

“What’s the matter,” he asks.

You were failing Calculus, a class you’ve been taking since the 12th grade but for some reason, you couldn’t pass it. Everyone else had A’s and B’s, while you had a D. D’s aren't accaetable in college; most make you retake the class.

“Don’t worry. I’ve just passed my midterm. I can help you study. You’ll pass; trust me.”

Later on that evening, he kept his promise but gave it a unique twist. He kept the lights off and lit 4 Yankee-sized candles in the room that smelled like Lavender. In the background, he had piano jazz playing on his speaker. You felt confused for a moment. You and Leorio weren’t necessarily dating but you both flirted with each other here and there. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he felt comfortable talking to you.

“Um...what’s the music for?”

“It helps me concentrate. Believe it or not, it helps my brain flow. You like it don’t you?”

“No, actually I don’t.” Truth be told you loved it but you wanted to pull his strings a little. He looked up with a confused look.

“Ok. I’ll turn it off.”

“I'm kidding! It’s great!”

Whenever he cannot solve a Calculus question, he reviews similar problems from Algebra II. He applies this knowledge to your problem.

“Perform the indicated function evaluations for f(x)=3−5x−2x^2 . I’ll solve the first part for an example: f(6+t) simply means you will exchange “x” for 6+t. It will look like f(6+t)=3-5(6+t)-2(6+t)^2=-49 . You’d distribute -5 and -2 to the numbers inside of the brackets in which they are next to.”

Wow, that was easy! Wait, not he must think you’re stupid.

“You must think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

“Of course not! It took me a while to understand it too. You’ll apply the same knowledge for the rest.”

After what seemed like 4 hours (which was 2), you finally finished your homework! It was probably wrong but at least you made it past the 1st question! As you blew out the candles and turned on your LED lights instead, you see Leorio sleeping on your couch. Something about his soft face made you smile and place your hand over your heart.

“My little doctor,” you whispered to yourself.

“Well, come give this doctor some company then. I’m freezing over here!”

The throw blanket was large enough for you both. Snuggling on the couch was a great end to a stressful day.

Chrollo

To everyone else Chrollo was “Boss” or “Boss Man” but to you, he was Chrollo. Big C was known for his love for poetry and language.

He read poetry any chance he had at lunch and even dinner. It had gotten so bad that you had to tell him for the millionth time “No books at the table!”

Given his past, he always read at least 2 hours a day or one book a week. Reading is what got him through the day.

He was staying in your dorm for the day to relax because he had taken and passed his midterms to. The young thief thought about hiding in the closet but he didn’t because he sensed that you’d be tense because of midterms.

As you walked through the door, you looked angry, so angry that you could punch a wall. He immediately rose to his feet, threw his arms straight out in front of him, and motioned for you to stop. You just stared at him blankly.

“Come here,” he said like you, on cue, melted in his arms. He was warm and the deepness of his cooing voice vibrated against your neck. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m failing this stupid Shakespeare class!”

“Really?”

“Yes and if I don’t pass this midterm I’m going to fail the class for the 3rd time. I want to drop out! Who needs this scam anyway?!”

Chrollo held you a bit longer until you were ready to sit down and get to business. You pulled out your college’s book about Shakespeare plays and how he used Old English. Chrollo was the perfect man for the job! He’s read Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet several times!

Chrollo read a few stanzas and explained them. He then had you read some on your own and explain them...still you can’t.

He notices the problem immediately. He catches you snuggling comfortably against his toned arm, nearly falling asleep.

Chrollo laid at the very corner of the couch as you lay horizontally placing your head against his chest. You were comfortable but you weren’t able to focus. He notices this and slightly demands that you go sit at the table. When it came to academics, he was serious.

For as long as he had been reading, he has an arsenal of vocabulary words ready to be of use. He created flashcards for you and had you flip them over for nearly an hour. You start to memorize the words!

But you’re not done yet.

“Say the word ‘portentous’.”

“Por-ten-trious…?”

“No. Por-ten-tas.”

“Tias…?”

He moved his chair next to you, just an inch away from your face. He cups your mouth and moves it as he speaks again. This wasn’t a hard clutch, it was soft and he wasn’t irritated but he could sense that you were becoming irritated.

“Por-ten-tas,” he said again.

Instead of letting your cheeks go, his eyes diverted to your lips. They were moist and plump, ready to be met by his.

“Your lips are gorgeous. Kisseth me quite quaint.”

Oh no. Look at the monster you’ve created.

Chrollo created a reward system. Whenever he did things right as a child, he was rewarded with money and jewels. For every word you pronounced and defined correctly, he kissed you once. For each word you got correct in a row, he’d kiss you twice.

Soon enough he had kissed you so much that you couldn’t see straight!

The kisses worked because you passed your midterm! Each kiss placed a stain in your brain that made you remember the definition and how to pronounce it.

You and Chrollo celebrated by drinking champagne and listened to him read Sonnet 23 and 57.

Hisoka

As unusual as it seems, Hisoka is gifted when it comes to Chemistry specifically. That is why you two work well together...there is some chemistry going on between you two.

His hair down and his glasses were his alter ego, it was something that made him act completely different than what you were used to.

When you all were freshmen, he would skip class, attend parties, and would be hungover almost every week but once he was called into the Dean’s office, he changed.

You slightly missed that edgy side of him, but you enjoyed having a serious beau.

Hisoka is a social butterfly and is the life of the conversation and you loved him for it but sometimes it was awkward.

While he was chatting away about Calcium (Ca) and Iron (Fe), you stood there nodding like an idiot. You had NO IDEA about what he was talking about and that is why you were going to drop your chemistry class.

“I saw an imbecile put aluminum foil in the microwave and it burst into flames. How did they not know that Microwaves are the radio waves falling under frequency around 2500 megahertz? Any metallic object detected by radio waves inside the microwave acts as a reflector of radio waves.”

You shove his arm hard. He was acting arrogant in front of his friends. You were used to this but it got on your nerves. You made mistakes, everyone does!...even those that almost burn down the entire dorm room.

You two leave the party and head to his dorm room. Once you were settled, you released a can of anger and threw it all over your boyfriend.

“Hisoka? You just humiliated me.”

“Oh? No one knows that I was talking about you, my dear.”

“Don’t ‘my dear’ me! I asked for your help and you’re ignoring me. I don’t appreciate that. I didn’t ignore you when you sprained your ankle, did I?”

“No, you didn’t, dear. I supposed I have a few hours to kill. What do you need help with?”

Hisoka’s way of studying was much different from other students. He exercises like crazy before he opens his textbook.

He listens to EDM instrumentals while on the treadmill and when he lifts weights. You weren’t standing there like a trophy, he made you lift too.

“Being healthy will help your brain flow more easily. Lift this dumbbell as heavy as you can.”

He ran a mile on the track upstairs. Sweat dripped from his face like he had been standing outside in the rain.

By the time you returned to his dorm, you were beyond tired. You laid your head on his pillow but just as you closed your eyes, he pulled you up on your feet.”

“Not on my watch,” he tutted. “It’s chemistry time.”

You were having trouble memorizing Chemical Formulas and this by far was the most difficult concept you had come across.

To make you stay awake, he turned on a bright LED light and faced it towards the table. The bright light nearly made your head fall off from the pain it reflected in your eyes.

Hisoka grabbed his book and began to write down the major chemicals on the periodic table and their charges.

“Pay attention to the following abbreviations and charges: Calcium is Ca, Chloride is Cl+2, Carbide is C+2, and Carbon Dioxide is CO+2. Read these over and I’ll test you again.”

He did just that but you still weren’t understanding. You were ready to give up.

Stupid scam. Why do I need a piece of paper to determine what I can do? You thought to yourself. Well, it’s obvious. If you can’t do the work now, what makes you think you can do it at a job? Harsh, I know.

“Let me try this,” He said. He carried you to his bedroom and gently placed you on it. He took off his shirt and removed his glasses. “Aluminum has a charge of +3 and Oxygen has -2. If there were three of me and two of my clones disappeared, how many of me are left?”

“Just you, right? One”

“Correct! Excellent.”

Wow, everything started making sense once he took his shirt off.

From then, he just inserted himself into the equation and then it started to make sense! He apologized for running his mouth earlier and promised to keep any more secrets between you two. The night ended with you sleeping in his bed wrapped in a cotton blanket just cuddling and that was it. And bam! You slept as sound.

Illumi

Dating the “hot” quiet history buff was a flex of its own. Sure Illumi didn’t talk to anyone besides you, but it didn’t matter. People swooned if he looked in their direction.

History was a popular major during your era. People were not like their grandparents; they wanted to learn about other cultures besides their own. Illumi’s specialty was in world history and civilizations. The class was very interesting to you but there was so much information, you could barely process it.

Illumi often wrote his essays in one day proofread and all! He often charged people to look their essays over.

One time he made $500 in one year!

Glancing at your transcripts, he notices that you have a C- and offers to help.

“Why are you looking through my stuff?”

Hey, he’s your boyfriend! But still, he should ask.

“Sorry. It was up on the screen,” he said, throwing his hands in the air.

You began to blush in embarrassment. The hottest smartest man in the building now knew that you were failing one of the easiest classes on campus.

Placing his thumb under your chin, he lifted your head to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I can help you.”

“How? I am so behind! I zoned out after chapter 2!”

“We’ll watch a movie.”

“Oh, God! Not one from PBS is it?!”

“Yes. How else are you supposed to learn?”

He turns on the movie and allows you to lay your head on his shoulder but not too much. He is aware of your tricks and he wants you to pay attention.

Every 15 minutes, he pauses the movie and asks you checkpoint questions. If you got them wrong, you had to stand up with your underclothes on (t-shirt and shorts) in the cool room for 10 minutes. If you got the questions right, he allows you to lay more comfortably. You were already in your underclothes but you were under the blanket.

He made you write down key definitions and the embarrassment of each section.

After the movie, he blindfolds you and reads out a term. Surprisingly, you got them all correct!

As a reward for your past midterm, he takes you to dinner at a restaurant where he slips a promise ring on your finger containing your birthstone.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 17

Hannibal teaches y/n a useful skill.

@dovahdokren @lov3vivian @deadman-inc-bikeshop

Trigger warnings: use of firearms, discussion of firearms, violence

“So where are we off to next?” You asked, following Will around the office. “Are we questioning this Rachel woman, or are we going straight to the church?” 

Will sighed. “Jack and I are going to the church. I’m calling Hannibal to come pick you up.”

“What?” You spat in utter disbelief. “What the hell happened to taking him down together?” 

“You’ve already been more help than we could ask for.” Will explained. “This is the end of the line for you. We--”

He cleared his throat and looked down. “I can’t bear to see you get hurt.” 

“That’s sweet and everything, but,” You folded your arms. “You really think someone is going to hurt me in broad daylight in a megachurch?” 

“Well, somebody stabbed you in broad daylight in a restaurant, and that person just happened to come from this megachurch.” Will rationalized. “So, yes. I wouldn’t say it’s out of the question.” 

“So that’s it, you’re just going to pass me off to Hannibal?” You threw up your arms. “Look, I had enough of this growing up with divorced parents.” 

“Angel,” Will soothed, running a gentle hand down your arm. “Please. I’m begging you, think on this for just a minute and try to see why I don’t want you on this particular excursion?” 

You thought on it for a minute. “Churches do kind of trigger me.”

“I saw how tense you got when that woman said she’d kicked her daughter out of the house for dating a girl. I understand, dealing with people who remind you of Chase is going to trigger you.” Will whispered. “Have you even taken any time to work on healing?” 

“I could say the same to you.” You disputed. “You killed a woman and then came face-to-face with her mother. Why aren’t you trying to work through that?” 

“That’s different.” He blurted out. “That’s my job.” 

“Sure.” You snipped. “I have to take time to work through my PTSD, but you don’t. Got it.” 

“If you go home with Hannibal now, I promise I will...” He hesitated to finish the sentence. “I’ll work on my issues too. Cross my heart.” 

“Oh, I will absolutely hold you to that.” You pointed at him. “And I’m telling Hannibal you said that.” 

Will immediately regretted making that promise and it was obvious from his expression. “Please don’t.” 

“I am absolutely going to do that.” You said, in a way in which he couldn’t tell if you were kidding or not. 

Hannibal opened the passenger’s door for you and greeted you with a kiss. He could tell you were feeling off after only a few seconds. 

“Why so sad, my indulgence?” He asked, pulling out of the parking lot. “Don’t tell me you enjoy Will’s company more than mine?” 

“What? No.” You shook your head. “No way.” 

“You can tell me what’s on your mind, love.” He assured you. 

You sighed and rested your head on the window. “Will doesn’t want me to help on the investigation anymore.” 

“I don’t see why he should.” Hannibal agreed. “You’re tracking down the man who tried to kill you, and he’s tracking down the man who tried to kill his lover. Both of you are far too close to the situation and your mental health will suffer for it. But, in the end, it’s Will’s job.” 

“I know.” You conceded. 

“That, and,” Hannibal continued. “Will is a trained professional under the supervision of other trained professionals. He’s far less likely to get hurt.” 

“I get it.” You groaned and rolled your eyes. “At the end of the day, he’s the action hero and I’m the damsel in distress.” 

“Darling,” Hannibal scolded. “You know our situation isn’t so black-and-white. You know the investigation couldn’t have worked without you.” 

“I know.” You pouted. “I just wanted the final blow, y’know? I think I deserve to finish the job.” 

Hannibal went quiet for a moment. When you came to a stoplight, he turned his gaze to you. “You want to be more proactive in your safety.” 

“Would be nice.” You shrugged. 

“I wasn’t asking.” Hannibal corrected. “You do want to be more proactive. It’s why you have a firearms license in your wallet and a handgun in your car. It’s also why you were looking up hunting equipment last night while you were on the phone with Freddie Lounds.” 

You swallowed. Every word in the English language escaped you. He was right. You never saw the appeal of guns until you lived alone. Even though a "gun owner" was technically what you were, you didn't want to associate yourself with the jingoistic, hyper-masculine culture affixed to the term. You were just a woman who kept a gun in her car and had all the proper licensing and registration for it. Nothing wrong with that. So why did it have you feeling so defensive? 

You lowered your head. “I’m sorry.” 

“For?” 

“Lying about Freddie Lounds.” You finished. “I don’t know why I felt the need to lie about that, in hindsight-” 

“I understand.” Hannibal cut you off. “You were just doing what you felt needed to be done. Will would have done the same.” 

He was right again. 

“Ambitious of you to select a shotgun as your weapon of choice.” Hannibal observed. “At the risk of sounding like a chauvinist, I have to ask. Do you know how to use one?” 

“No.” You admitted. “It was just a power fantasy, I guess. All I know is that you can blast a guy’s head off with one.” 

Without a word, Hannibal took an abrupt turn. 

“Isn’t your place that way?” You asked, pointing in the opposite direction. 

“Do you have your license on you now?” He asked. 

“Of course I do, why?”

“Because we’re going to make your power fantasy a reality.” He answered.

Soon enough, you pulled up to a large hunting store with a shooting range attached. 

“Go in and pick out something you like.” Hannibal instructed, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll be waiting for you at the range and I can teach you how to use it.” 

He offered you one of his shiny metal credit cards. When you didn’t immediately take it, he pushed it closer to you. 

“I just got a thousand dollars from Freddie Lounds.” You pushed his hand away. “I can pay for it.” 

“You deserve something much nicer than only a thousand dollars can buy you.” Hannibal’s voice hardened. 

“So then I’ll buy something more than a thousand dollars and use your credit card to make up the difference.” You offered. 

“No.” Hannibal said, sternly. “I will buy you a nice gun and plenty of ammo, and you will save your thousand dollars for when you open your own restaurant.” 

“How did you-” You objected. 

He cut you off. “Will isn’t very good at keeping secrets, dear. Take it.” 

You laughed uncomfortably. “Hannibal, if you don’t put that credit card away I will bite your finger off.” 

His thin lips curled into a cunning smile. He offered you his other hand. “Bite away, darling.”  

You wordlessly snatched the card from his hand. 

“Oh, pity.” Hannibal feigned disappointment. “Did I call your bluff?” 

You tucked the card away in your pocket. You leaned in as if you were going to give him a kiss on the cheek, but playfully nipped at his earlobe. 

"Remind me to give you a little special attention when the lesson is up." He whispered, his hand clutching your arm.

You made sure to walk away slowly, rolling your hips with every step.

You entered the store, feeling overwhelmed and significantly less confident than you did while shopping for guns online.

An employee approached you. You mentally prepared yourself for whatever sexist comment he was about to hurl at you. But somebody must have taught this particular associate that being a misogynist prick doesn't sell guns.

"Anything I can help you find, ma'am?"

Your mouth ran before your brain. "I'd like to buy a gun, please."

"Well, you've come to the right place." The employee smiled. "What kind of gun are you looking for?"

"A shotgun." You corrected.

"Well, we have plenty of makes and models to choose from." He clapped his hands together and led you to a wall lined with shotguns. "Any specifics in mind?"

"I guess I just want something simple enough to use." You scratched the back of your head. "My boyfriend is taking me skeet shooting this weekend so I don't have time to learn all the complicated mechanics."

"So skeet?" The man put his hands down on the counter and looked deep in thought. He turned around and pulled one off the shelf. "I'd recommend this CZ over-under. It's a good place to start."

He offered it to you. Your eyes widened and your first instinct was to refuse.

He looked at you with confusion. "How are you gonna shoot anything if you don't hold it?"

You shook off your nerves and took the gun in your hands. It was a little heavy, and tilted near the stock. You looked at it as if it were a beautiful but deadly venomous tropical snake.

"Over-under's are the working man's shotgun." The employee said. "Or, woman, as it were."

You held it up to your shoulder like you saw in movies and felt a strange rush of exhilaration pulsing through your body.

"It's nice, right?" He asked. "And you can get to the trigger okay?"

"I'll take it." You said. "And some bullets, please."

"Now we're cooking with gas." He answered, a big smile on his face. "Let's get you rung up."

The fact that he didn't even stop to notice that the name on your license didn't match the name on the credit card only emphasized your country's need for stricter gun control laws. Even if the lack of such laws benefitted you in that moment, the ease of the process killed you a little.

The total came up to just under a thousand dollars. You couldn't bring yourself to spend more than you planned to, even if it was Hannibal's treat. You already felt weird about using Hannibal's money, let alone so much of it.

The employee saw you out with a friendly "happy skeeting" and you set off to meet Hannibal at the range.

"There you are, love." He greeted you. He had removed his suit coat and tie, and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.

For a split second, you completely forgot about the gun and were overtaken by the need to fuck him. You quickly regained control of yourself. "Yeah. I found something."

"I should hope so." He said, beckoning to you from the stall. "Come now. Let me show you what to do."

You stood in front of the booth, ears and eyes protected. At the end of the long booth was a paper target. Hannibal positioned himself behind you. He took your hand in his and guided it to the stock wrist.

"Wrap your fingers around here, like this." He instructed, his dark, accented voice shaking you to your core. "Now extend your finger to reach the trigger. Yes, that's it."

"Now place your other hand on the fore-end and hold the end of the stock against your shoulder."

The way he shaped your body, positioned your limbs felt almost alarmingly natural. He wasn't just indulging your power fantasy, he was directing it.

"Cheek against the stock, love." He instructed. "The gun is an extention of you. You must hold it firmly and give it support. You move with it, it moves with you."

He rummaged through the shopping bag and pulled out a package of shells. "Are you ready to shoot it, darling?"

"I think I should probably load it first." You said, nervously.

"Well that should take us no time at all." Hannibal approached with two 12 gauge shotshells. "Go ahead and engage the break lever right at the edge of the barrel."

When the gun suddenly bent in half, your first thought was that you'd broken it. Hannibal handed you the two shells and watched you timidly slide one into each barrel.

You felt yourself shaking and your palms were damp with sweat. You swallowed. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Were you afraid the first time you drove a car?" Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

"Cripplingly." You nodded. "I was so scared I didn't take my foot off the brake the whole time."

"But now driving comes just as naturally to you as walking." Hannibal smiled comfortingly. He placed his hands over yours and returned you to the shooting position. On one side, the cold stock rested against your cheekbone. On the other, Hannibal's hot breath grazed against your skin. "It just takes some getting used to."

Your finger squeezed the trigger and the massive projectile exploded from the gun. The stock pushed back into your shoulder, making you stumble backwards into Hannibal.

"Holy shit!" You exclaimed. "That's got some serious recoil. Is it supposed to do that?"

Hannibal chuckled and took a step back, giving you a little space. "Yes, darling. Now go ahead and fire off the next shot."

Your eyes widened. "Okay."

"Remember, you move with the gun, you don't fight the gun." He instructed. "It's more afraid of you than you are of it."

You squeezed the trigger again, this time fully expecting the recoil. The shot fired, and this time it hit the target.

You hopped in delight. "Holy shit I actually got one!"

"All it takes is a little getting used to." Hannibal stroked your hair. "Now unload the shotgun shells and let's go again."

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Kiss Me In The Dark

winter prompts day 13 ❄️ rosy cheeks thank you @writinglizards for the title 😘

 Geralt is used to Jaskier staring at him. At first, it was a nuisance, something that only served to ramp up his anxiety, but he's learned to deal with it. And now that he understands Jaskier a little better, he even enjoys it. He knows Jaskier doesn't have the same concerns about his body, and that when he stares it's because he's intrigued . It took a long time to come to terms with, and he would never admit it to his brothers under pain of death, but he likes when Jaskier leers at him, even if it is a little uncomfortable to have so much attention on him all the time. It makes him feel sexy in a way he never thought was possible.

But today, Geralt is the one staring.

Jaskier has taken to the chores at Kaer Morhen as if he's been doing them his whole life and by the looks of it, this morning's task was chopping wood. He's flushed from the cold, his cheeks and nose a vibrant shade of red that Geralt struggles to describe as anything other than adorable. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware that Jaskier is talking to him and that he should be paying attention, but he can't tear his focus away from the flush across his cheeks.

He's pulled abruptly from his thoughts as Jaskier shakes him by the shoulders and he's quick to correct himself.

"You aren't even listening," Jaskier accuses.

"Yes, I am."

"Then when?" Jaskier crosses his arms and looks expectantly at him.

"When what?"

"Was the last time someone kissed you," Jaskier sighs and Geralt hesitates. It's his own fault for not paying attention. If he'd been listening, he could have waved off the question as Jaskier being ridiculous, but now he feels like he owes him an answer.

"I don't know," he shrugs, hoping it will be enough, "the brothel before we come up here." Whatever response Geralt is expecting, it isn't a heavy sigh of defeat

"Of course," Jaskier mumbles and his shoulder slump, "even you've been kissed lately." Geralt's eyes widen and he feels like he's about to be berated for something, but he's not wholly sure what he's done wrong. Then he catches a whiff of bitterness and realizes Jaskier isn't upset with him he's just upset and Geralt doesn't know what to do about it.

Immediately, he wants to fix it, but he doesn't know how. He's not used to Jaskier being sullen and it hits a little harder considering how cheery he usually is.

"What about Eskel?" he offers, knowing the other Witcher is less inclined toward brothels.

"Same as you," Jaskier sighs and Geralt winces. Trust Eskel to visit a brothel the one time he needs him not to.

"Lambert?"

Jaskier looks up at him questioningly. "Has been fucking Aiden since the second they arrived. Geralt, don't tell me you're that dense."

It's not that he's dense, it's just that he's been... preoccupied since they arrived. But he certainly can't tell Jaskier he's been too busy watching after him to notice what Lambert and Aiden are or aren't doing. So he just, regretfully, suggests,

"Vesemir?"

"I didn't ask. It didn't seem respectful. But probably, at this rate." Jaskier sighs dramatically and slumps against the wall behind him. "Since when does no one want to kiss me?"

"Jaskier," Geralt says softly, "we're up in the middle of nowhere. You can hardly think this is about you."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my friend. It is about me. Even the last time I got laid, he just pressed me against the wall and-"

"Jaskier," Geralt bites. He immediately regrets being so harsh, but he can't bear to listen to him replay old encounters. Most of the time, he can hear them when it happens, the last thing he wants is to think about it again. "I get it," he adds a little softer.

"So what's wrong with me, then? Is that all I'm good for? A quick fuck?"

Geralt hesitates. Perhaps he made a mistake bringing Jaskier all the way up here for the winter. They'd talked about it a lot and Jaskier kept bringing it up, so he had thought it was a good idea. And he'd liked the thought of having Jaskier close by all winter, of not having to share his affections for months before they took to the Path once more. But now he's wondering if he shouldn't have taken Jaskier away from his admirers, from the business of Oxenfurt and all the potential lovers therein. Jaskier is the most confident person he knows and seeing him like this twists at something uncomfortable within him.

"It's not you," he says before he can think better of it. Jaskier's face brightens just a little and Geralt drops his gaze to the ground. "There's nothing wrong with you." It feels like he's pulling the words from his throat, but when he looks up at Jaskier again, he looks a little encouraged, so maybe it's worth it.

"Really?" he asks, barely masking the shock in his voice. If Jaskier doesn't believe him, that means it isn't too late to take it back, because his face feels as red as Jaskier's, but the little part of Jaskier that sounds hopeful is overwhelming. Geralt is the one who did that and he wants to do it again.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he mumbles, "it's them."

"You think so?"

"I'll prove it." The words are out of his mouth before he realizes he's saying them, so eager to cheer Jaskier up that he's inevitably digging himself into a deeper hole.

Jaskier looks up at him expectantly and Geralt realizes he has two options here. He can either back out completely and leave Jaskier feeling worse than he did, or he can kiss him. Shit.

It's not that he doesn't want to kiss him. If anything, he's spent so much time thinking about it that he's worried it won't stand up. And Jaskier has kissed so many people. So many people who have much more experience than he does. But Jaskier is just looking at him and the scent of sadness is still entwined with hopefulness and Geralt can't just leave him like this.

He takes a few steps forward until he's close enough that he can tip forward and kiss the tip of his nose. His heart is hammering against his chest and he feels like it might break through, but he follows through. And when he looks back at Jaskier to see the look in his eyes - soft and warm and something like relieved - he doesn't think before cupping Jaskier's face with one hand and leaning in to kiss him properly.

Jaskier lets out a little gasp as their lips collide, but he doesn't pull away and Geralt is encouraged. For just a moment, he's allowed to have this, so he puts everything into it, stroking Jaskier's cheek with his thumb as he crowds him up against the wall. It only lasts a moment, but in that time, his heartbeat settles though he's breathing hard when he pulls back.

"Oh," Jaskier whispers, and Geralt is relieved to find he's similarly breathless. "You're... very good at that." Geralt just huffs, but Jaskier reaches out, curling a hand in his shirt and fiddling with the fabric. "Perhaps you could... just once more?"

Geralt can't help the smile that spreads across his face and as he kisses him again, he winds his arms around Jaskier's waist, tugging him close again. This time, Jaskier hums against his mouth and when his arms wrap around his neck, Geralt sighs and sinks into it. It's overwhelming having Jaskier press against him, wrapped around him, and he has to be careful not to give away too much, but his body doesn't get the memo.

He doesn't realize he's lifting Jaskier off his feet until he's fulling in his arms, legs wrapped firmly around his waist. But Jaskier doesn't even acknowledge the change other than to hold him closer, so Geralt doesn't worry about it.

When he does pull back, Jaskier looks a little stunned, but he's smiling so Geralt considers that a good thing.

"You know," he says playfully, twirling a lock of Geralt's hair around his finger, "if you ever wanted to do this again, I wouldn't object."

"No?"

"Mmm, definitely not." Jaskier's eyes drop to Geralt's lips and he doesn't need any more encouragement than that.

"Good," Geralt breathes and without a second thought, he pulls him back again, kissing him deeply.

[tinyboxxtink]

"Weird Secret Friends" *Chapter 12*

Chapter 11

(i fucked this up by editing on my phone and now I have to post the next chapter link like this. )

Whoooo buddy! The angst is REAL, y'all.

I apologize for this, but also I really don't. And I made it normal length to make up for that short shitty one earlier.

Enjoy!!!! Mwahahahahha

Tag List

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@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

---------

It seemed like forever for the ambulance to get there, Rafael just sat there trembling and crying while you started to convulse in his arms. Finally the door busted open and EMT’s threw you on a gurney and took you downstairs. Rafael sprinted behind them and jumped in the back of the ambulance as it sped away.

���Y/N….Carino please, please don’t die on me…” Rafael stroked your hair as you were hooked up to oxygen and anti drug meds. It was like literal hell having to watch this all over again, even worse that it was someone he actually...loved.

“Please, please don’t die…” He looked up to the sky.

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

Rafael paced the hospital waiting area furiously, they wouldn’t let him go back with you once the ambulance got you both there. When he saw Sonny running up the hallway towards him, he grabbed him by the neck and shoved him up against the wall.

“I TOLD YOU!!!!” He screamed violently, while several nurses ran over and pulled them apart.

“Rafael! Jesus Christ--” Sonny was breathing heavily while he tried to recover from Rafael’s ambush.

“I told you something was wrong, I told you I knew her better than you did!” He tried to wrestle away from the nurses.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’m sorry alright?!” Sonny yelled, tears starting to fill his eyes. “I should have listened to you--”

“You’re god damn right you should have!!!” Rafael continued to scream.“ She could die right now, do you realize that?”

“Of course I realize that!” Sonny screamed back while looking around them, trying not to make a scene.

“God dammit Carisi, she knew better than you. Why didn't you listen to her?!” Rafael was beginning to cry; he was so upset.

“Barba I--” Sonny started to apologize.

“Excuse me, is Miss Y/L/N’s family here?” An orderly came out from the back.

“I am!” Sonny forgot about Rafael and ran over to the man, Rafael did the same.

“I’m sorry sir but this is really just a family conversation--” He started to dismiss Rafael, but Sonny put his hand up.

“He’s fine,” He assured the doctor.

“Right, well--” He cleared his throat as he led them to a more quiet area. “The damage to Y/N’s body is pretty bad,”

“....God,” Sonny muttered, putting a hand over his forehead.

“The mouthwash has several chemicals that aren’t in traditional grain alcohols, mostly lethal. And her pancreas, liver and gallbladder were already severely damaged from the years of alcohol abuse,” He explained as he looked gravely between the two men.

“No…” Rafael put his hands over his face.

Flashbacks of a very similar conversation happening between a doctor and his mother filled his mind. The way his mother fell against the wall when she heard the doctor say there was a good chance his father was never waking up.

“How bad is it, doc?” Sonny’s voice quivered, and Rafael instinctively took his hand.

“Well, we had to completely remove the gallbladder, and parts of her pancreas so she’s most likely going to develop diabetes,” He further explained. “...And she most likely will need a liver transplant, depending on how the next 24 hours go,”

“Christ…” Sonny whipped his hand from Rafael’s touch and put both of his hands over his head while he paced.

“Can we see her?” Rafael asked.

“Yes, you know your daughter is very lucky to be alive,” The doctor informed them.

“...Excuse me?” Sonny asked while he and Rafael exchanged confused looks.

“...Are you two not her dads?” The doctor waved his pen between the two men.

“Oh my god,” Rafael muttered in horror, wanting to vomit right there.

“Uh, no sir-- no we’re not,” Sonny shook his head. “I’m her uncle and this is my partner,”

“Excuse me?!” Rafael practically screamed in disgust.

“...Do you want them to let you back there to see her or not, honey?” Sonny said through his teeth.

“Right,” Rafael nodded uncomfortably, taking Sonny’s hand once more. “We’re her...Uncles,” He tried not to grimace.

“Oh, right. So sorry sirs,” The doctor apologized once more as he led your “Uncles” to the room you were in. You were unconscious, but breathing on your own.

“She might be out a while from the meds, if you’d like to come back tomorrow,” The doctor informed them once more.

“Uh, I think we’ll wait at least for a little while, if you don’t mind doc,” Sonny replied while Rafael walked up to your sleeping body and just stroked your hair lovingly.

“Whatever you two want to do is fine with me,” He nodded. “I have other patients to see, if you’ll excuse me,”

Sonny nodded to him and he walked out of the room leaving the three of you alone. Sonny ran his hands through his hair while Rafael pulled a chair up next to your bed, still stroking your hair.

“...Barba I think you should leave,” Sonny said softly.

“...What?” He laughed. “Are you...are you fucking joking me, Carisi?”

“No look,” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry I didn’t hear her. And I’m sorry that I just...gave up, protecting her,”

“Yeah well--”

“But I hear you now, and-- and she’s going to need to go away,” He looked at your sleeping body sadly.

“She’s in no shape to go anywhere, Carisi,” Rafael clutched your hand as if he was protecting you.

“Not now, no,” Sonny agreed. “But when she’s better--”

“We don’t know if she’s going to get better!” Rafael suddenly stood up and walked towards him; Sonny backed up as he approached, afraid Rafael was going to grab him again.

“Even more reason you shouldn’t be here!” Sonny argued.

“What?”

“Barba look,” He cautiously put a hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “I...I get that you two have some kind of-- I don’t know, connection,” He glanced at you.

“But it doesn’t change the fact that you barely know her, and she barely knows you. You have a job and a life waiting for you tomorrow, you can’t be sitting here sitting vigil for some girl you slept with once,”

“How dare you fucking say that to me, Carisi,” Rafael’s eyes narrowed as he snapped his shoulder from Sonny’s grasp.

“How fucking dare you. First you don’t want me anywhere near her, then you tell her she’s nothing to me, then suddenly you think that I’m in love with her, and-- and now that I’m finally...attached to her-- you want me to just leave her alone again?”

“No, I never wanted you near her because of this exact situation!” Sonny hissed, trying not to wake you. “I told you straight up that she was complicated, and that you weren’t about that life,”

“I am about that life-- I’m serious, about her,” Rafael corrected himself, rolling his eyes at the terms Sonny used.

“Well I don’t think you should be,” Sonny crossed his arms.

“This is the jealousy thing again, isn’t it?” Rafael licked his lips angrily. “You and your stupid ego can’t stand the fact that we--”

“That is NOT it Rafael and you fucking know it,” Sonny narrowed his eyes.

“Then what is it?” Rafael crossed his arms. “It’s clearly not because it’s too much for me, because I’m flat out telling you it’s not,”

“Rafael--” Sonny placed his hands over his face. “I have spent my life protecting this girl, okay? And I may have dropped the ball here, but that just means that I will sure as hell not do it again. And that means that I have to have her best interest at heart,”

“What does that even mean?” Rafael looked at him quizzically.

“Her whole world is different now, Barba!” Sonny gestured to you. “You heard the doc. She has no gallbladder, whatever the fuck that means, she will probably get diabetes, god knows what will happen even if she needs a liver transplant, but my guess is it ain’t good!”

“...Well she won’t be able to drink alcohol,” Rafael said softly.

“Which will make her sobriety that much more urgent and permanent, Barba,” Sonny stepped towards your bed.

“She’s gonna have a long hard road ahead of herself no matter which way this goes right now, and keeping her on track is the only way she is gonna get through it. You think she’s gonna be able to focus on anything but you if you stay here?”

“I can help her--” Rafael insisted, glancing down at your innocent sleeping face. It broke his heart you were hurting, now all he wanted to do was take care of you and make sure you never hurt again.

“You don’t have the time or the freedom to do that, Rafael,” Sonny said sternly. “And you know it,” Sonny’s statement brought him back to reality.

“And you do?” He looked back up at Sonny.

“I’m a detective, Barba. It’s not like I do that much,” Sonny shrugged. “And I have enough PTO for a bit to take care of her. And she’s my responsibility! She’s MY family, Liv will understand that. What she won’t understand is you sitting Shiva at some young girl’s bedside who you barely know,”

“....And what are you going to do when she gets better?” Rafael ran a finger down your bare arm, wishing you would wake up and stop this nonsense your cousin was spewing.

“I’ll ask around,” Sonny now sat next to your bed. “I’ll find her a good place, somewhere she can be taken care of the right way, not some creepy mental hospital,”

“...Alright fine,” He sighed, looking at his watch. It was getting late, and he had an early court date.

“I’m coming back--”

“No, you’re not,” Sonny shook his head. “Look I promise you if she gets worse and needs your emergency liver or kidney or somethin’, I’ll let you know. Other than that, just-- leave her be,”

Rafael flashed back to the last time Sonny had used those words, and how as soon as he agreed, you heard him and it destroyed you. He couldn’t do that again, what if you could still hear him?

“No, I’m coming back--”

“Barba if you come back here I’m gonna tell the nurses that we broke up and you are no family member of hers,”

“You,” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that--”

“If it keeps you away from her, I’ll do anything right now Barba, I’m sorry,” Sonny gave him a sympathetic look.

“...She’ll never forgive you for this, Carisi,” He warned Sonny. “When she finds out you kept us apart she will never forgive you,”

“What are you Romeo and Juliet all of a sudden, counselor?” Sonny scoffed. “Give me a friggin break. I’m sure she’ll get over it, when she’s clean and sober and thinking straight,”

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” he growled with a death glare.

“...Yeah, well--” Sonny stood up and started escorting Rafael out the door. “I guess that’s something I’ll just have to live with,”

Rafael glared at him once more before turning on his heels and stomping down the hall, just as you stirred from your med nap.

“Sunshine?” Sonny quickly ran to your bedside.

“Rafa..?” You sleepily asked, you swore you heard his voice just moments ago.

“It’s Sonny,” He nervously looked back at the door, making sure Rafael hadn’t heard you wake up and came running in again.

“Oh,” You blinked several times, trying to get your vision back. When the blur in your pupils resolved, you saw Sonny’s smiling face beaming at you.

“Hey there,” He kissed your forehead. “You scared the shit outta me there, Sunshine,”

“...I’m so sorry, Sonny,” You began to cry in remorse.

“Hey hey hey,” Sonny took you in his arms and shushed you while he rocked you. “Shh shh shh, you’re alright. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you when you were asking for help, I just--I just let you go,”

“...But Rafael didn’t,” You sniffled as you looked around the room for him. “Where is he?”

“He uh--” Sonny stammered. “He left, Sunshine. Early court meeting tomorrow, y’know. Lawyer stuff,”

“Right,” You nodded.

“...He said he wouldn’t be coming back,” Sonny added with a sympathetic look.

“What?” You blinked in disbelief. Had he really just taken off? Without even saying goodbye?

“Well it’s just,” Sonny took your hands. “Honey you’re-- you’re gonna have a lot to go through these next few weeks, maybe months. And Rafael--”

“He doesn’t have time for that,” You finished for him, accepting the truth.

“Yeah,” Sonny nodded slowly.

“Right,” You picked at your blanket as you stared down at it morosely. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything more than him dropping me here. He tried telling me that he was--”

“He was what?” Sonny quirked an eyebrow. You thought about telling him that Rafael had said he was in love with you, but you weren’t entirely sure that happened anymore, given how out of it you were at the apartment.

“...He was ready for a relationship,” You lied. “But I guess he wasn’t ready for a dumpster fire of a girlfriend,”

“You’re not a dumpster fire, Sunshine,” Sonny assured you.

“...Yeah clearly this doesn’t scream ‘damaged goods’,” You gestured to all the wires you were hooked up to.

“You’re not--” Sonny sighed and shook his head as he wrapped his arms back around you. “You’ll find someone,”

“...Not someone like him,” You whispered sadly, tears dripping down onto your IV tube.

“Well hey,” Sonny coughed as he tried to change the subject. “I better get goin’ make sure you get some good sleep,”

“...But I was just--” You tried to say you had been sleeping this whole time.

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow, kay?” Sonny kissed your head and started heading towards the door. He hated to do this, but he had to keep you safe. He turned around and gave you a sad smile.

“Hey, Sunshine?”

“Yeah, Son?”

“I uh, I don’t wanna rub it in or nothin’, I just--” Sonny cleared his throat. “Barba wanted me to tell you not to contact him anymore,”

“...Oh,” You looked over at your phone, which was charging on the table next to your bed.

“He just thought it would be easier, y’know? Clean break and all,” Sonny lied with a sad smile.

“Yeah, sure no of course,” You nodded, trying to keep it together.

“Alright well, I’ll see ya,” He nodded one more time before shutting the door, leaving you alone.

You immediately grabbed your phone and began typing a message to Rafael, telling him how you were sorry and that you never should have tried to kick him out, and that he saved your life and that you knew you were a huge mess, but that you would clean yourself and do everything in your power to be good enough for him if he just let you--and you just stared at it.

You re-read it a thousand times, tears streaming down your cheeks. You couldn’t send this, it was pathetic. He already made his choice, he tried to tell you he loved you and you had blown him off by almost dying in his arms. And he ran. You couldn’t blame him either, you’d run away faster than a Kenyan track star if you were him.

After going through all that bullshit with his dad, he’d never want to relive that with you, some girl he barely knew. There was no way. And begging him to come back to you after all the shit you said to him at your apartment was just pitiful.

You deleted the message and then started to delete his contact info, but you knew you needed to be drastic. If it was a clean break he wanted, you’d have to give it to him. You’d already put him through way too much stress and punishment than he deserved, you had to be stopped. You highlighted his number and hit “BLOCK NUMBER”, before deleting it from your phone.

There. Now there was no way you could find him, or vice versa. Clean break. You put the phone down next to you and laid down, realizing what you had just done. You had just deleted the potential love of your life from your existence, forever. You cried yourself to sleep, only dreaming of Rafael.

=============

Rafael laid down in his bed after getting home and showering the bad day off of him. He opened the text thread of your messages, and saw the ellipsis light up, signaling that you were typing. It was there for a long time, he became more and more anxious as they just flashed in the darkness, taunting him. He was so happy you were okay, he had to tell you what Sonny said but that he would never be able to keep him from you. He waited and waited, and then the dots were gone. He waited a moment for you to send it, but soon got impatient and just texted you

“Y/N I’m so glad you’re okay, you had me so worried. I miss you,”

He hit SEND, but was met with the most horrifying response:

“The number you have texted has blocked you from contacting them.”

“No…” He muttered alone in the dark. “No, this can’t be happening,”

Did Sonny have your phone? Did he do this? Did he tell you something to make you do this? Did you do this on your own when you realized he had left. Sonny had to have told you something bad, something diabolical. He had no way of contacting you now, and he would never get into the hospital to see you.

What was going on?

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

The next morning after his court session, Rafael headed over to the precinct to talk to Sonny. He practically sprinted through the door into the bullpen, to find it empty.

“...Where’s the SVU squad?” Rafael asked a cop at the front desk.

“Do I look like a concierge, Barba?” The cop rolled his eyes. “Does my badge say ‘doorman’? I don’t keep tabs on you people!”

“Thanks Louie,” Rafael rolled his eyes as he walked out of the station, dialing Sonny’s number on his phone.

“Hello?”

“What did you do?”

“Barba?”

“What did you do, Carisi?!”

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N blocked my number,”

“Well good--”

“NO, not good. Carisi. What did you say to her?”

“Y’know Barba, maybe you should take the hint and move on,”

“Oh fuck you, Carisi,” He growled into the phone. “I’m going to the hospital,”

“Yeah well, good luck getting in here counselor,” Sonny shook his head with a small laugh, glancing over at you in your room, while he stood outside. “I’ve told the nurses you were a deadbeat dad who wanted to kidnap our niece for yourself, so they’re on alert not to let you anywhere near her,”

“You’re evil,” His voice was low and horrified.

“I’m doing what’s best for my baby cousin, Barba. If that makes me the bad guy, so be it,” Sonny spoke like a mob boss, tracing the glass on the window to your room.

“I’ll see her when she gets out,” Rafael sneered.

“Well that might be difficult, seeing as I’ve found her a very nice place to go as soon as she gets outta here. Somewhere far away from here, and you,” Sonny couldn’t help but smirk.

“No, Carisi don’t do this,” Rafael became desperate, his angry threats turned to pathetic pleas. “Please don’t send her away-- I love her,”

“If you love her you’ll let her go, Rafael,” Sonny simply said, ending the call before Rafael could say anything else.

“GOD DAMMIT!!!!” Rafael screamed in the middle of the foot traffic, making people turn and stare at him.

He had to fix this. He couldn’t let you leave thinking he didn’t want you. He couldn’t lose you, not now. Not after everything.

Was he going to lose you forever?

[wisteria-lodge]

a lion snake

Hi! Could you please help sort me? I have no idea what my primary and secondary is … everything just seems relatable on some level? Mbti and Enneagram wise, I’m ENFP 6w7.

I was into both those for a second, but would not count myself an expert. @air-in-words sometimes writes about the connections between SHC and MBTI, but I don’t think we have an Enneagram person.

For Primary, my moral center usually boils down to “if I care about it, I do, if not then **** it.” At least that’s how I was when I was younger (I’m currently 4th year undergrad, for reference.) 

That sounds like an Internal primary (Snake or Lion) thing. “That’s a THEM problem, not a ME problem.”

I deeply value my goals. They are my life, so to say and I’d rather die than not accomplish it. Or at least, die trying ;) I can’t imagine my life without these goals because they’ve always been my entire life.

Snake primary with a small circle (or a circle that’s just you) is possible, but so far I’m going with… probably Lion.

One of my uncles once told me about his friend. The implication here ticked me hard. From what he said, it boiled down to “Don’t be selfish, help your family first. Sacrifice for your family because we are family” I shrugged. I couldn’t imagine someone abandon their life, their goals completely to help their family. In my case, I’d work on what I ‘care’ about first and help my family second. Maybe sending money? I’m normally very ambitious person and I usually don’t let anybody stop me.

So *not* a Badger :D And all this focus on “goals” makes me think Lion. It’s kind of funny, since in the parent system “ambition” was such a hallmark of Snake… but I don’t know. Maybe we’ve… shed that skin…

I see my goals as a mean to carve a place out for myself and to have some control over my life. I want to live my life and work on something larger than just myself.

The Lion primary dream.

I don’t want to die a nobody in the backwater of the world (I’m in Thailand and the country is… well, in ruins might be an understatement.)

You’ve got that fire driving you.

I want more; more fame, more power, more influence. But I don’t want to follow anyone’s rules or the established system. I want to carve out the world on my own terms. Maybe owning a company one day. It doesn’t have to be big, but it must work well enough to help people and environment and to feed me and my people. That’s the most important things for me.

I’ve talked about how “fame” and “power,” are just really attractive concepts to Lions, especially Lions who feel stuck. Your company - help the environment, help people, feed my people - especially in that order, is so Lion.

And I do want to work on something that has positive impact to the world. So, I choose to pursue my works in Indigenous Fisheries. I love sea, I empathize with indigenous people. So that’s what I will do. All I want is to live my life and do work on what I believe in and have the freedom to actually make it happen. 

You’ll do it. I truly believe you will. Also, your English is fantastic.

For secondary. Oh, this is a real menace. In general, I want to use whatever methods that get things done without any repercussion. But if pressed, I’d love the most effective strategy that works in the moment. For some people, it’s better to be a tad bit manipulative while to another it’s better to just be straightforward.

The fact that you’re consciously able to make the choice to be manipulative or straightforward, and have them both work… that tells me you’ve got one of the arms-length secondaries, Bird or Snake. And I am really, really feeling Snake secondary here.

Same goes for the situations, some requires more finesse while another requires straightforward solution. So, change? Maybe? I usually adapt to whatever I have at hands and … when I work on something, I usually come out just fine without really know what I’ve done.

Yes. Snake secondary. Which makes you the first real-life Lion Snake I’ve sorted. Nice. Lion Snakes are a force of nature.

My friends said I’m a fox. Maybe not sly and slick, in fact I’m blunt and generally tactless, but I can get people to work for me even if they might not want to in the first place. Through getting their friends to work for me first and ask for their help, maybe. Or to shift the objectives a bit to cater to their sense of justice … or greed. Whatever works will do.

Oh, that’s some proper Snake.

You know, you mentioned you’re from Thailand. So now I’m thinking about how our little system here does use the Western set of associations when it comes to these animals.

I don’t think there’s too much of a difference for Lions, Birds and Badgers, but Snakes… I want to say that in Buddhism snakes are quite positive, to do with rebirth and healing and transcendence and things like that. It’s only in the Western world that they’ve got the snake-in-the-garden-of-Eden connection, which gives them that link to sneakiness, manipulation, lying. Which (*please* correct me if I’m wrong) in the Eastern world are traits that generally go to the fox. So I think your friends are calling you out for being kind of snakey, is my point, and I just thought that was cool.

I just discovered your Tumblr here and it is so good! I’ve a great time reading it and it is eye-opening. Keep it up. Thank you.

You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoy reading it. I really, really enjoy writing it. <3

[mindibindi]

Beyond disappointed in Ted Lasso. What were they thinking?!

The writing is a complete betrayal and insult to Rebecca’s character and Hannah’s skills as they’re being seriously underused. It’s also insulting Sam’s character.

Hoping someone pulls Rebecca’s head out of her ass tbh. Sam shouldn’t be getting caught in the crossfire of her looking for romance. I know he showed up at her doorstep but she still should’ve turned him away, and not even messaged him in the first place.

Hey, I'm with you, Anon, though we do seem to be in the minority. Sam is definitely not blameless here, he is also in the wrong. But if one of them is more in the wrong, it is Rebecca. I can't speak to whether her head has left her arse as yet because I have quit watching (at least for now). I hear she called it off with Sam in the most recent ep, though not because of any major crisis of conscience or because anyone in her inner circle expressed any reasonable reservations in response to her bad behaviour. And to be honest, I'm not sure we should need to hope and pray that Rebecca's precocious god-daughter, her slimy ex-husband, or the brutal British press will act as a moral compass on this ill-advised relationship. Both Rupert and the press have been set up to some extent as the villains of the piece. And a 14 year old should never have to school her elders on what is and isn't acceptable. Nora's needs have already been neglected by Rebecca for far too long.

If a moral position is to be taken on this, it needs to be taken by the show (because stance matters) and/or by its characters. But the show has for the most part depicted this relationship as ill-advised but ultimately hot, sweet, funny and romantic. As for the characters themselves, Sam has shown at least once that he has some moral backbone but seems to be adorably clueless when it comes to fucking his boss who keeps trying to set boundaries with him. Meanwhile, Rebecca's whole arc in s1 was about learning not to misuse her power for her own selfish ends. In season one, she misused her power within the club in order to exact revenge. In season 2, we have seen her misuse her sexual power, though I still cannot see to what end. I'm a bit at a loss as to what exactly she gets out of this 'relationship' but then I'm a grown woman so I have absolutely no interest in sleeping with a Harry Potter enthusiast barely out of his teens. I couldn't think of anything less sexy and more ick. I was certainly hoping for better character development for her this season.

As to what the writers were thinking, obviously I was not in the writer's room, but I would guess that they were thinking that any drama is good drama, people are stupid and fan devotion will trump any meaningful critique. In other words, they were thinking exactly how every other television writer thinks, despite the fact that this show posited itself as 'not like other TV shows'. This, to me, is where the blame really lies. Not with the characters or with the actors who are doing their best to sell this ludicrous turn of events. It must be noted, however, that both actors were completely blindsided by this relationship that had supposedly been so cleverly foreshadowed. Newsflash: if the people actually living these stories did not see this coming then you haven't foreshadowed shit. Sure, there were a handful of people that paired Rebecca with Sam but this does not constitute proof either. Fans have free-range to imagine and re-imagine characters. In some cases this may extend to imagining relationships between characters who have barely, if ever, interacted. There may be little to no evidence that these characters have even clocked each other's existence and some fans will still ship it. The existence of a handful of shippers does not legitimise such a problematic and divisive plotline making it onscreen.

But wait!, you might argue, this may not be a case of a popular show seeing just how far they can stretch fan devotion. This may not be a case of fan service to a handful of shippers. After all, the creators mapped out the entire three-season arc of Ted Lasso before they even pitched it to Apple. This was their brilliant plan all along! To which I would say: then maybe they should've rethought their second act based on people's strong reactions to their first. Ted Lasso was touted as the show we all needed in 2020. The writers and creators have all marveled at the chord it struck considering it was conceived prior to the pandemic and all the chaos it wrought. And while there is something to be said for having/sticking to a creative vision, there is also something to be said for being flexible and responsive to your audience and the cultural zeitgeist with which you're engaged. Season 1 of Ted Lasso told its story so gently, without creating distrust, division or unnecessary anxiety. It did not treat its audience like a gaggle of stupid lemmings to be led over a succession of narrative cliffs. THIS is what I mean when I say the show has broken with its brand. And look, this whole dark forest thing would be okay if the narrative arc was as well-crafted as s1. Season 1 gave us meaning, cohesion, comfort, sense in a senseless time. It was an almost perfectly crafted season of television. And I kept the faith for 6 episodes, despite the first half of s2 being pretty damn wobbly. But the follow-up to this stellar debut has been less than extraordinary so yeah, perhaps they should've thought a little harder about what made s1 so special before throwing it all out the window.

But wait!, I hear the faithful say, you don't know how things will pan out yet! Wait until the season is over and everything will make sense! But -- wearily and once again, I say -- we should not need to wait until the end of the season to understand what the hell is happening. By this point (over halfway through the season and show) we should have a v clear idea of the show's themes and the characters' arcs. And tbf, from what I can tell there are some fab things happening in other aspects of the show that I wish I could watch and enjoy. But my biggest fear at this point is that they are going to use Sam to solve Rebecca's childlessness. That, like Rupert (because the parallel cannot be avoided), she will become pregnant with a young fling and the show's attitude to this relationship will ultimately be: oh well, it was a bad idea and didn't work out for them but it was all for the best in the end cos who can be mad about a cute lil baaaayyybbbeeee??!! If they do go down this path then I will definitely be abstaining from the rest of the show. I will simply recall my repeated viewings of s1 with fondness tinged with regret at just how badly they fucked up a good thing.

Ultimately, Anon, I think this may be a case of there simply not being a diverse enough perspective in the writer's room. I am not saying that every single woman or every single person of colour will necessarily object to this relationship. I am simply saying that women and people of colour will be more sensitive to the issues of gender and race that are relevant here but that have not been fully or sensitively acknowledged in the writing of this plotline. Neither am I saying that Rebecca is the first woman to sleep with a man much (much, much, MUCH) younger than herself or indulge in an ill-advised relationship. But the comparison with Rupert both works here and doesn't because Rebecca is not being written like a white woman, she is being written like a white man. Realistically, only a white man can engage in this kind of hugely imbalanced relationship seemingly without any major moral qualms or societal ramifications. Not to put too fine a point on it, but this kind of relationship is reserved for all the Bills and Joes and Brendans and Jasons out there -- not for the Rebeccas and definitely not for the Sams. We are way beyond the point in feminism where we believe that liberation is simply the right for a white woman to behave as badly as a white man. The truth is that whatever wealth, power and privilege Rebecca has, the rules are different for men and women. She will not be treated the same as Rupert if and when this affair is uncovered. She will be treated far more savagely than Rupert ever was and Sam will be treated far more savagely than Bex was. This is not an argument for the equal treatment of these two relationships. It is an argument against how the relationship between Rebecca and Sam has been envisaged, i.e. through the wrong perspective. In writing from a 'neutral' white male pov, the show has invisiblised all the many issues activated by this storyline and revealed a blindspot that was always there.

As much as I loved and still love season 1 of this show, it has definite blindspots when it comes to representations of race and gender. There are at least two moments in s1 that stand out for me as being so obviously written by a man. Not necessarily because of what they do but because of what they don't do: what is missed, absent, unacknowledged. I was willing to overlook such minor failings in a debut season for many reasons. But s2 seems to have exacerbated these minor flaws rather than correcting them. And here I can't help thinking of Tina Fey speaking of the diversification of the writer's room at SNL during her tenure as co-headwriter. This notoriously male-dominated environment only began to shift and produce better work when a greater diversity of minds, voices and persepectives was allowed in the room. In this richer environment, she notes, different jokes played differently. Different sketches made it to air. Different perspectives were represented and different performers were celebrated. I can't help wondering if this plotline would have made it to air if there had been a female writer, a writer of colour or both further up the chain of command to challenge the ideas of the straight white dudes in charge.

One of the reasons I didn't think Ted Lasso was for me was that it centred a straight, white, cis-het, able-bodied man who rose to a position he didn't earn. That is just not a pov I would normally choose for myself, especially now that there is such a rich array of alternative perspectives through which to view the world. But I think the show won a lot of females fans with its first season largely due to its portrayal of Rebecca. She is the first person we meet. She is arguably the protagonist of s1. And while she would have been figured as a villain in previous pieces, the show never took that stance with her (because again, stance matters). Other elements like the depiction of female friendships, all centred around Rebecca, made this show female-friendly viewing. But imo, the major reason this show won over female fans (this one, at least) is because, in this post-MeToo, post-TimesUp era, it stood up and said: domestic violence is not okay, we stand with women and all victims of abuse, we will defend you, we know words can hurt, we know it can happen to anyone, we know all about toxic masculinity, we do not take this lightly and we will support you in your healing. Needless to say, this is how women hope men will act when they speak of their most difficult experiences but it is not how they always do.

The shift away from Rebecca this season has however meant that the white male experience is more centred than it was in s1. Rebecca's journey to recovery, health and happiness has been trivialised and sidelined, reduced to a highly questionable sexcapade. Meanwhile, we get overwrought manpain at every turn. We get Beard wandering around London (no, I haven't seen it and no, I don't need to. We've all been raised on white dudes thinking they're genuises when they have a figurative wank all over our screens). We get NO queer represention at all. And the only other female characters on screen are in care/service roles to men. The father/son, mentoring and toxic masculinity themes are all still there but they're no longer balanced out by ANY other competing perspective. One of the reasons I was okay with Ted failing upwards in s1 was that he used his power and privilege to lift up others. He was the one in service. He used his enormous privilege for good, as anyone with such privilege must. (Admittedly, it could be argued that this is just another version of a white savior narrative).

My point here is that I'm not sure that peeking behind the mask at the sad clown is as revolutionary as some might believe. We love it because it's familiar. But this is a narrative with a long and problematic history. Do I believe in tearing down toxic masculinity in all its forms? You bet. Do I believe that patriarchy traumatises men as well as women and every other minority in existence? I mean...nowhere near as much, but absolutely. Do I believe in men expressing their feelings and going to therapy? Wholeheartedly. But I am also aware that 100 or so years ago, we were in a very similar place with our narratives. Everyone is looking for a recapitulation of modernism and frankly, this might be an indicator of just that. Whenever women and people of colour have demanded rights and recognition, there has always been a resurgence of tales about just how frickin' hard it is to be a white man. Minority genders and non-white people have never in western history been as visible or vocal as they are now. So forgive me (or don't, I don't care) if I critique a show not only for centering fathers, sons, boys and men but for blindly and boldly writing one of its only female characters and one of its only black characters as if their gender and race just do not exist. There are many other power differentials at play in this relationship, including age, experience, wealth and position, but race and gender are the two that patriarchy is most invested in invisiblising. So I don't care how brilliant they think they are, I will not trust the writing of a bunch of white dudes trying to tell me that race and gender are irrelevant.

[khaleesiofalicante]

Yeah, here I am once again. Appearing after the chaos I created 😂 but OMG WE HAVE ONLY ONE CHAPTER LEFT?? AND THEN THERE COMES THE ANGST?? I'M READY😎

I'm glad to inform you I finished the homework and I have only two assignments and two exams left that I will today :)) It was like:

Me: Maybe I should do this tomorrow??

Brain: But what about Dani?? And the chapter??

Me: Fuck, you are right, I need to do this :(

But anyways, here I am:

"He had been woken up by music, by love, by violence and by nightmares. And out of all those times, out of all those centuries, this was easily his favourite way to wake up." just the beginning and I'm having lots of feels🥺🥺

“Happy anniversary,” Magnus grinned against the other man’s mouth. “Happy anniversary,” Alec whispered. Fifteen years.Fifteen years since Alec Lightwood loved one man so much that he had changed the world for him." 15 YEARS? HRJWKDJDJ LOVE THEM💙

"Magnus understood why his son was acting all over the place. The boy was supposed to take up the position of Consul after Alec" *singing "Oh baby, no baby, you got it all wrong baby" *

"Next thing he knew, Alec was on top of him. His mouth was on Magnus. Where, exactly, Magnus didn’t notice – or care. He liked Alec everywhere." OH WELL, THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY! 😏

"Not the kind of banging he had hoped to start the day with to be honest." OH god😂😂 I love this man. He is the bane of my existence!” (I just-  The puns are killing me 😂)

“It might be karma, darling,”  (He got a point. Karma is a bitch)

“Since when do you have a problem with excessive glitter?” (Yeah Alec, Your excuses are getting worst 😂)

"You better do it, or I will tell everyone about your secret" YOU LITTLE SHIT!

"That child is the reincarnation of Christopher Lightwood!” 😂😂 i literally scared my dog cause I laughed so hard!!

"There were whispers and rumours all over the shadow world that Angel Raziel had given up on Alec’s Clave." OH THE FUCK NO!! I SWEAR I WILL THROW SOME HANDS AT HEAVEN!! "Because if Magnus found out Raziel was the one causing all this pain for Alec, he would march up to heaven and set the bastard on fire himself." FUCK YEAH. I'M COMING WITH YOU!! 🔪 🔪

“Livia Blackthorn had been listening through the Idris wards to gather pieces of information that might be crucial for Alec’s Council.” I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT WAS LIVVY!!

Selena is Ragnor’s favorite!!! I LOVE IT

“The shadowhunter was a good influence on him. Magnus hoped Alec would see it sooner rather than later.”😂😂 You love him Alec and you know it!!

“She walked over to Magnus and hugged him tightly. And he sensed it immediately. The second heartbeat.” What?? WHAT??? I ALMOST SCREAMED. OMG. OMG

“Magnus stared at the necklace. The necklace he had bought in the 19th century for Camille. The necklace that had ended up in the hands of Will Herondale and then his sister. The necklace that had belonged to the Lightwood family for generations.” OMG SHE IS GIVING HIM THE LIGHTWOOD NECKLACE!!! THAT THING LITERALLY COMPLETE THE CIRCLE. BELONGED TO MAGNUS, CAMILLE, WILL, CECILY, ALL THE LIGHTWOODS AND THE MAGNU’S SON!!

I'm freaking out now because Izzy doesn't know??? Or maybe she does???And it's waiting to tell them?? I feel like a worried parent!!!

“But he knew it was all part of growing up. He would never pressure them to talk about their feelings or force them to make themselves vulnerable. All he could do was be there for them when they were ready to let it all out. “Do you want to tell me about it?” Magnus asked. He tried. Just in case.” What do I see here? Parenting doing right💙💙

“If you want love, you must be willing to accept the vulnerability that comes with it.” I just. This man gives the best advice ever!!

“I’ll try,” Rafael promised. “I don’t like lying.” “I know,” Magnus smiled. “So much like your dad.” But Alec did lie though. Magnus pushed the thought away. (Why is this such a rollercoaster??)

“His children were so much like his husband that sometimes it made Magnus wonder if they needed him at all. It was a ridiculous thought of course. But it stilled swam around his head. Sometimes a part of him thought it would be better if Alec had been the one to stay back and Magnus was the one to leave. The kids would be better off with Alec, his mind said. He always knew what to do with them.” IT'S NOT OK TO MAKE ME CRY WHEN I HAVE AN EXAM IN 3 MINUTES!!

Back from my exam 😂😂 And don’t worry. Just got one mistake :))

“Max of course was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. His regular look. But just below the pearl necklace wrapped around his neck was the Lightwood necklace.” YES. MAX WEARING THE LIGHTWOOD NECKLACE!!

“Alec walked out of their bedroom a moment later, and Magnus quite literally felt his heart stutter. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of loving and Alec still made his heart stutter.” They are the reason I believe in love💙💙

“If Magnus wasn’t wrong, he could see the thin layer of kohl under Alec’s blue eyes. Alec rarely enjoyed wearing makeup. But he rarely enjoyed saying no to children too. Magnus threw Rafael a grateful smile and the boy winked back.” Magnus and Rafael getting Alec to wear makeup is my will to live 😂😂

“The words died on Alec’s lips when his eyes fell on Magnus. The man sighed as he stared at Magnus. Fifteen years. Fifteen years and Magnus still took Alec’s breath away.” Jagcydwjendieu I’m emo

What?” Magnus asked coyly. “Is it too much?” “You know damn well it’s not,” Alec hissed and pulled Magnus towards him. “You look perfect. How do you look so perfect?” “Because I am standing next to you,” Magnus smiled.( They bad/perfect flirting it's just *chef kiss*)

“Bapak is a good looking one in the family,” Rafael pointed out. “You are the chaotic one and I am the smart one.” “What am I then?” Alec asked dryly. “A sack of potatoes?” “You’re the sexy one,” Magnus grinned. “A sexy sack of potatoes.” (THAT FAMILY IS KILLING ME IN THE GOOD WAY💙💙)

Magnus nudged Rafael on the back. The boy sighed and walked to his brother. “Come,” he took Max’s hand and led him to his bedroom. “Let’s find you something nice to wear, okay?” Max mumbled again but followed Rafael anyway. (I just can’t with all the love this family has!!!)

“Nope,” Alec said. “They are stuck with me.” “And you’re stuck with me,” Magnus replied. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Magnus,” Alec randomly speaks poetry… And he says he is not good with words??

“Selena was wearing a blue crop top with the words “MIND YOUR OWN UTEREUS” written in gold. David was in a simple sky-blue t-shirt, the colour of Max’s magic.” OK BUT THEM?? THEY’RE BEAUTIFUL

“Max hadn't changed his clothes. But he was wearing a blue leather jacket that belonged to Rafael. He looked happy about it.” I said it once and I will say it again. They are the definition of siblings

NO!! IT'S TIME FOR THE TOAST. I’M GOING TO CRY!!

"To Alec and Magnus - for being themselves and inspiring everyone else to do the same." CHEERS TO THAT BRO!!

“Isabelle,” Magnus called gently. “Let’s go easy on the champagne tonight, yes?” YES IZZY. I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU AND YOU NEED TO REST AND BE PROTECTED OK? OK

“The argument of “who gave the best gift” had started when Jace and Izzy had gotten drunk on vodka. It didn’t help that Alec had gotten drunk as well. All three Lightwood siblings had then proceeded to have an argument about who had the best spouse. The whole night had been drunken chaos. “

“So, Magnus had let his husband be that 18-year-old boy again. The boy who got drunk and fought with his siblings and sang songs about Magnus’ pretty eyes” 💙💙💙💙 This is just to pure

Ok, I feel like this is the chapter of the snippet from a long time ago. The one of Alec and Magnus in the closet while Mavid were talking, but I’m not sure

Why couldn’t this boy just cause chaos during his travel year like the rest of them? Why did he actually study and do his research as recommended?😂😂LMAOO

“Magnus didn’t know why. But the room suddenly felt rather hot. Poor David noticed his discomfort and came to his rescue. But unfortunately, the rescue attempt only made it worse” David, I love you with all my entire heart, but seriously??

DANI, NO! We have already been through this!! I have trauma out of this!!

OK, ok. It could have been worst

“But the time for talking was done. They were living it now.” I SWEAR I’M NOT CRYING!!

“Afraid of what?” Magnus asked. “I’m afraid you won’t find me attractive,” Alec said so quietly that Magnus barely heard it (MY HEART!!)

“But death is so much better than this. It’s so much better than waiting for the day you look at me and I no longer see that spark in your eyes.” THIS. THIS WAS THE DEAD OF ME

Fuck, i have an exam in 5 minutes and now I’m crying

Finally out of the exam 😂 This teacher literally asks us a question from the guidebook and if it's not 100% what it said there, then we fail

But going back to this HOLY SHIT I LOVE MAGNUS!!

“Did something say something to you?” Jace demanded, standing up angrily. “Because I swear by the angel-” “Nobody said anything, Jace!” Alec rolled his eyes. “I own a mirror!” “And is this mirror broken or something?” Isabelle asked incredulously. “Alec, honestly!” (I BELIEVE IN LIGHTWOOD SIBLINGS SUPREMACY!!)

“Yeah, man!” Simon nodded. “You are objectively good looking.” “Objectively good looking?” Jace snorted. “Excuse you, but my parabatai is smoking hot! He is a freaking prize, okay? If we had a magazine for hot shadowhunters, you would be on the cover page. Every single issue.” “Okay, that’s enough!” Alec interrupted. “Magnus, are you happy? Now all my friends have told me I am pretty.” “I said smoking hot,” Jace corrected. (*Sighs* I fucking love parabatai)

“Dad, I don’t know why you are so worried,” Max said in a bored tone. “You’re a total DILF.” David choked on his champagne and Jace patted him on the back. I’m dying jajdhuwejdjkew😂😂

“It means Dashing and Irresistible Looking Father” Singing again *Oh baby, no baby, you got it all wrong baby* Idk when this turned from Alec feeling self conscious to Thirsting Over Alec Lightwood-Bane but I’m here for it. Seriously. My mom is in front of me. She thinks and doing homework. And I’m just trying to keep a straight face (so hard) This is not working. I’m about to scream😂😂

2I can’t understand how you could look at yourself and not see what I see.”

“They stared at the picture on Max’s wall. The picture of Max and Rafael grinning ear to ear when they had visited Peru to piss Magnus off.” THOSE LIL SHITS!

tiEvery me they call each other baby my skin clears and i have three more years of life

“No,” Magnus managed a smile. “Sometimes things are just sad. So, you need to let yourself be sad.” 💙💙

“It’s Max!” Alec said. “We have to hide!" “Hide? This is our home!” (OH BOY😂😂)

I KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO HAVE THE SCENE!! “When I die, I will love you from my grave,” David said now. “I will love you from heaven.” WHY DO THEY ALL SPEAK POETRY?

Don’t let him go, Magnus whispered to Max inside his heart. Don’t ever let him get away.” MAVID IS JUST SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL!

“He wondered how strong a person must be to not give up on guardian angels and the idea of heaven after being dragged through hell by his demon of a father.” My boy is strong af

“I don’t believe in angels or heaven,” Alec said then. “But I feel blessed to be loved by you too.” Magnus smiled against Alec’s neck. “Stop stealing David’s dialogues.”💙💙 I have said this to much but I love them

“For the rest of the night, they danced and laughed and drank and smiled. Of course, there was the sadness of time hanging over their heads. But they ignored it. They focused on the love in front of them.” These lines are just amazing

“And sorry,” David said quickly. “I apologize if I said something out of turn before. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble-” BOY COULD YOU STOP BEING PERFECT??

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it matters who you brought the necklace for,” David said, his blue eyes on Magnus. “Everything you do is out of love, Mr. Lightwood-Bane. And I think that’s beautiful.” EVEN MAGNUS STAY SPEECHLESS!!

“That’s not what I meant,” Jace shook his head. “David and Max. A shadowhunter and a warlock. They are together. They are happy. That’s cause of you, Alec. You and Magnus did that.” Magnus smiled at this husband. “Listen to your parabatai. He gets wise so very rarely.” YES THEY DID. I’M SO FUCKING PROUD!

“But he did it now. For Alec. Because Alexander Lightwood always has been and always will be his only exception.” The Malec feelings I’m getting from this are to much

“Magnus smiled. “How do I look?” “Immaculate,” Alec whispered. In the mirror, Magnus could see himself. His dark hair was woven with strands of gray. He had wrinkles on his face, just around the eyes. When Magnus smiled, his eyes crinkled.” OMG OMG!! I’M CRYING

“Magnus took Alec’s hand in his and put it over his heart. “Promise me you will stop smoking.” THANK YOU MAGNUS. LITERALLY THANK YOU!!

“I don’t care how they look at me. I care how you look at me," Alec smiled softly. "Because I only ever look back at you, Magnus.” Alec says these things like they aren’t worth a museum

I would never tell you what to do with your body, Alexander. But-” “Well, you tell me sometimes,” Alec snickered against his mouth. “Stop making jokes to avoid serious conversations,” Magnus slapped his husband on the arm. “That’s my thing.”😂😂

“Magnus stayed awake that night. He stayed awake and told his brain to cherish every single memory from tonight. That’s how Magnus spent every night. He would stay awake and ask his mind to remember.” THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND ACCURATE I ACTUALLY FORGET ITS NOT CANON

“And then he dreamt.In his dream, he saw them again. But they weren’t smiling this time.” :) Seriously?? SERIOUSLY? I’M SO DONE, YET I’M STILL HERE??

Ugh this was so beautiful i just can- I closed Tumblr so I didn’t get spoiled 😂 Amazing as always and I’m just going to have Malec feels for the rest of the day.

P.s. I was listening to One Last Time by LP and got even more emo 💙💙

This whole thing me so emo wtf 😭😭😭

I love your reactions so much 🥺🥺🥺

Also you reading fanfiction minutes before the exam is such a big dick move istg never change bro 😎

[writefightandflightclub]

Sink then float (Poe Dameron x GN reader)

Summary: Poe comes back from a mission to find that reader is experiencing a depressive episode, and he does what he can to take care of them while they’re sick. Hurt / comfort. Angst / slight fluff.

Author’s note: Was feeling super crappy at the start of the week (I’m ok now!) and this angst-bomb came out of me. Pleased to have finally written something, though it tackles a tough topic. I’ve tried to be as sensitive as possible while writing about depression, and while it’s something I have experienced in the past, of course it manifests differently for everyone. I have drawn on some personal experience to write this, but it is a fic. Therefore, it is necessarily outside of my direct experience, which opens up the possibility I may have gotten something wrong. Therefore, if you think there’s anything I’ve handled in a way that is harmful (even honest mistakes can be mistakes) I’m happy for you to send me an ask outlining this so I can correct and do better.

Warnings: It deals with reader in a depressive episode, and it is from reader’s POV. As such, it is pretty angsty, ngl, as reader’s thought process is in a bad place. The piece grows more hopeful as it progresses, and ends on a hopeful note, however it may still be difficult reading. I’ve actively tried to acknowledge in the text where reader’s thought-process is skewed by being sick e.g. when they say they are worthless, I’ve tried to directly counter this as it’s not objectively true. The last thing I want is for anyone to feel worse reading this, so I’ve tried not to validate reader’s most difficult thoughts (though what they’re going through is valid and it is valid for reader to be experiencing those thoughts)! That said, please take care when reading, as some of the feelings and thoughts set out may be triggering. Also, whilst there is no direct mention or suicidal thoughts or ideation, I am also warning for that, as there is some crossover in thought patterns. Ultimately, this is a fic about Poe being there to comfort reader, but reader finding that shred of hope inside themseleves, amidst feelings of hopelessness. I didn’t want to suggest that Poe could “fix” reader, so yes, they are still depressed at the end, but more comforted and hopeful than at the start. Sorry for all the warnings, but I wanted to be clear so you can make an informed decision on whether to read. Please stay safe!

GIF by @twillight​. Yowzers, it’s PRETTY AF.

There’s no poetry any more.

There are only syllables. Vowels like an orange in your mouth. Consonants rattling between your teeth. You speak only of sleep. Your words hollow like a worn, sprung mattress; inviting rest but offering no comfort.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

There is no art any more.

Not even in a thousand burning suns. Not even as you tip your face up to the milky black. Not even in his face; that face you love. You look, and you feel numb.

Numb. Numb. 

No music.

Birds sing. It’s just noise, ringing in the hollow of your body.

Noise. 

You want to sleep. It is all you want, and you merely want it because you want nothing else.

No dance in your body. No motion; only stillness.

No fight left in you...

What is left, then?

Nothing?

Nothing left.

Yes.

Nothing but the robust pang of hunger.

Nothing but the parching thirst.

Nothing but this weight on your chest, pressing you to the bed.

Nothing but the refresher door taunting you because you can’t cross the chasm in five steps.

Nothing but the guilt and self-hatred, and false, invasive belief that you are worthless.

Guilt because you...

Can’t.

So much then? So much where there is “nothing”?

You are simply so full of empty that it has pushed everything good down. It has pushed you down until you are sunken. Until you are yelling at yourself from below water, sound muted.

Everything muted.

Colours. Feelings. Life. Love.

Worst of all, your love will be home soon.

Home and sleep is all you...

Home and you haven’t even...

You almost think about ...

You sigh.

You can’t.

You can’t complete the...

You feel nothing, and yet guilty tears fall to the pillow. A part of you understands you are not to blame for being sick, and still, there is this guilt.

You have him. 

Poe. Poe. Poe.

So, shouldn’t you be happy?

Why can’t you be happy?

Love shakes the inside of your chest, rattling against the bars of your ribs and wanting to be known. Reminding you of what you lack. It hurts. Everything hurts when it flexes, even love. Especially love. It flexes and it feels only restriction. It feels only weight on its chest. Such pain.

He will be home soon.

You love him. You know this, intellectually. And yet, you don’t want to see him. Don’t want think of him. Because you don’t want to be seen by him.

Not like this.

You don’t want to let him down. You don’t want to break his heart by meeting his loving gaze so hollow. As if he is not sunshine. As if he is not a thousand suns blazing; and yet, instead of poetry and art and music in your heart when you think of him, there are mere syllables, images, noise. There are those vowels again, large like an orange in your mouth, consonants rattling in between your teeth as you cry muffled sounds into the pillow.

He’ll be home soon. You don’t know how soon. You don’t know how long you have layed like this.

Still, all you can do is lie empty, where the room brims with mess and misery and shadow.

All you can do is lie in this empty room, where you brim full with sorrow.

It is enough. This is enough. You are enough, though you can’t see it.

And so, because you can’t see it, can’t feel it, you bring your hands to your face, despairing. Your fingers find your hair, and it’s dirty.

You just want to sleep. You want to tug the covers back over your head and disappear but..

There is a rap at the door.

He’s home now.

A soft knock, then inistent.

He’s back.

After a week apart he’ll be so...

...disappointed to see you. At least, that’s what you mind is telling you to believe.

You turn away and close your eyes as he pushes through into the dark room. You cannot look at his sunshine. It is too bright, like the round circle of sun at the mouth of a deep well. You cannot look, so your eyes scrunch closed as he flicks on a lamp, and you hear his feet deftly pick through the mess on your floor.

You try not to look.

You try not to hear.

You try not to exist.

How can feeling nothing still hurt? How can you wish to feel even less than this, just to blunt your pain?

Still, you do feel something. You feel his sturdy weight settle on to the bed beside you.

You do hear. You hear him sigh.

Yes, he sighs, but it’s gentle, concerned, and his hand finds your shoulder, his touch like warm sand on your cold, goosepimpled skin. Rough and full of sunshine.That blessed sunshine you cannot -at the present moment-comprehend.

“Honey?” he asks, and you hear his voice, soft and tender. You hear his love, but you can’t feel it. No, you can’t.

His voice should ignite you. There should be blood moving beneath your skin but...

There is nothing. There is nothing in your mouth. Nothing but bones in your body.

“Honey, look at me, please?”

You peel your eyes open, bracing yourself for the disappointment you expect to find carved into his face. His eyes examine you, assess you, eyes flitting around the room to understand how bad things are. The state of you, the state of the room. The half-filled bottle of meds at your bedside- at least you’ve been keeping those up. That’s something. Something where you would insist there is nothing.

That look. That look in your eyes, your pupils like bleak, empty wells he tips his sunlight into, and yet he can’t reach the depths of you. Can’t warm all the way through, even as his eyes brim with tears and love.

He doesn’t look surprised, at least. He ran into one of the others first, then; Leia or Finn or Rey. They warned him. Warned him that you are worthless, a burden. No, you are not those things, you try to remember. They will have warned him that you are sick.

Suddenly, looking at him, you have words.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, your mouth as dry as sandpaper. 

“Why in the hell are you sorry, baby?” he asks gently, surprised now, his eyes searching yours. How does he do that? How does he look at you as if you are beautiful, even like this? Perhaps you are beautiful, even like this. Yes, you are. He sees it when you can’t.

“Because I...” you look away from him and sigh, even these simple words taxing your energy,”...couldn’t....”

Couldn’t get out of bed.

Couldn’t want to.

Couldn’t be happy when he came home.

Couldn’t want to.

Poe doesn’t judge you though. Not for this.

He’s Poe. Of course he doesn’t. Poe knows that people are not to be judged on such blameless matters. People are not the sum of their illnesses and struggles. You are so much more to him. You are everything to him, in fact.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. Always will. That doesn’t change when you’re sick. Why would it? Why would it?

“You did just fine, honey,” he insists through a thin, watery smile. “I’m still proud of you. I’m still glad to see you.”

You look at him.

He looks back.

You know you should feel poetry in it, like all the other times he’s come home. When your skin and your heart and your breath and your words and your lips were alive. When your body danced with his. 

“It’s bad this time?” he asks. “Like before?”

“I guess,” you croak.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself even though you dont deserve that hate for a second. You hate yourself for what you believe Poe must think of you, but you try to remember that your brain lies, and that Poe tells the truth. You try to remember everything he tells you over and over. You try to remember hope. Rebellions are built on hope, after all, and you? You are a Rebel; therefore, you know you must fight this too. A small, vanishing part of you knows that you can fight it, even if a louder voice in your head tells you you can’t. A voice with bad intentions. This sickness.

Still, you always promise Poe you’ll try. You always try. Have been trying. Even the refresher door becomes something that taunts you, a chasm between you and it as you try to make it there. You always try. Regardless, Poe’s always proud of you.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, his warmth and his unsurpassed beauty evident to you even now, even if it you cannot muster any ready response to it.

You shake your head.

“I’m disgusting.”

“Kriff, me too,” he says, his tone natural and easy, and refusing to shrink away from your pain- from the temporarary reality of you, as some do. “Came straight here. Five days on a mission without a shower? We can stink together,” he adds, with a tentative, lopsided smile, hoping to tease one from you too.

Poe has no trouble being hopeful, where that has never come easily to you.

Still, he’s here. He’s here at your side, all warm, sandy voice and his soft, loving eyes. Even if you had been convinced he would never come back. He is here. His rough hand is swooping over your cheek. Caring for you, even though he must be so tired himself.

Your eyes grow watery and your lower lip trembles. “I should be caring for you, you shouldn’t have to come back to me like this, after fighting...”

“Hey,” he protests, his voice hushed but his tone insistent. “You’ve been fighting too, baby. We both got our missions, yeah? If you ask me, I think you got the raw end of the deal.”

He’s perfect. He’s so perfect. You will the blood to move under your skin. You will your heart to ignite, but there’s nothing.

Correction; there’s nothing yet. It will come. It will get better.

Poe’s voice and eyes soothe you as you contemplate this. “There’s nowhere else I wanna be. I just wanna hold you. Okay, baby? Missed your beautiful face. Missed you so much. I’m kriffin’ lucky to come back to you.” 

Missed your smile, he might have said. You missed it too. Misplaced it.

Forgot how to...

Your thought-spiral is interupted as Poe shifts slowly on the bed, and he curls his warm, sturdy body around yours, holding his beloved little spoon tightly.

He’s wrapped around you, but you wish you could feel him.

Still, as his arms wind around you to tug you into him, you clasp his forearms tightly against your chest. A part of you knows. A part of you feels. You know how important this is. That he is home.

“Mission go ok?” you ask in monotone.

“Yeah,” he says, exhaling a tired puff of air into the back of your neck.

You wish you could melt for him and comfort him in return. You try, at least.

You try, but you feel like a gargoyle carved from stone, sorrow frozen on you. Face locked in a grimace. What mason would be so cruel as this? To make this bitter emotion permanent as stone? However, as he squeezes you tighter, fits against you so naturally, so familiar... As he touches you, you remember you are, in fact, skin and bone. You remember, even though the memory may be distant, that although your heart is heavy now, it once was light.

If it once was light it can be that way again.

He kisses your hair, even though it is dirty. He breathes you in, even though you are not clean. He loves you, and even if you think you are broken, he thinks you are perfect.

You are perfect.

His body heat suffuses through you, and you hadn’t realised how cold you were, until he warmed you. Poe had noticed, though. Poe loves you.

“Have you eaten? Drank anything?” he whispers into your neck, after a moment of holding you in gratitude and breathing deep, relieved breaths.

“Finn made me eat something,” you say, almost embarrassed, even though you know Poe does not judge you. “Managed half a ration. It was... today? I think it was today, I don’t know...”

“That’s good, baby!” he praises, entirely genuine. You feel him shift on the bed behind you, sitting up with his back against the headboard.

“C’mere,” he encourages softly, bundling you into his chest, and producing a ration bar from the pocket of his flight suit. “Split this with me while I tell you about the mission, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, and Poe can hear that you sound a little sceptical. You doubt you have the energy to engage with him.

“I’ll tell you all the funny and horrific stories of your boyfriend’s heroics this past week. Shall I do The Thing as well?” he asks, and you swivel your head to look-up at him, seeing him tick up an eyebrow, slightly amused.

“Yes please,” you say, and you even manage the barest of smiles.

Poe proceeds to tell you all about his week as you nestle into his chest, his voice flowing through you like warm sand, pouring in and filling up just a little of the emptiness inside you. He also does The Thing, and he intersperses his animated storytelling with “your” part too, so that you don’t have to worry about upholding a conversation. So that you only have to listen, and you don’t have to worry that you aren’t able to react as you typically would. 

“That would be the bit right there you’d laugh,” he says as he recounts his finest dumbassery from the mission. A small smile inches over your face, as though you are rehearsing your own emotions. Trying them out. “Yeah, I think that one would be dumb enough to get a belly laugh from you.”

He continues.

“This would be the bit you would tear off my clothes because I’m a dashing badass,” he adds as he relays how he took down a ton of TIEs. “Yeah, definitely. You’d try to get steamy right about now.”  

It might be odd, but it is a comfort. It doesn’t remind you what you lack. You feel less of a deficit this way, as it reminds you what you’re capable of. That it is not always like this. That you do not always feel like this.

Will not, as soon as you’re better.

“And you, honey? Mission report?”  

You sigh, trying to think through what you have done, rather than what you haven’t. Even if the things to recount don’t sound as impressive as Poe’s, he always insists the battle is no less worthy. You are worth fighting for, after all.

“Well... I got a lot of sleep. Beebs made sure I took my meds.” It’s a short list, but what could be more important than that? The fact that you held on? Then, you have your first playful thought in days. “My love came home to me, and he thinks he’s all that, but he stinks pretty bad,” you tease, as if you weren’t in an entirely equal state.

“Kriff, you’re teasing me from your sick bed?” Poe’s chest shakes against you in gentle mirth. “Brutal, honey. Kriffin’ brutal.” You have a point though, he concedes. “We should both shower though, huh? Before someone catches a whiff and reports a possible herd of bantha in room z88?”

He clocks your trepidation as your eyes flick over to that taunting refresher door.

He squeezes your arm, and somehow manages to be encouraging without even a hint of being condescending. “Pretty far, huh? You can do it yourself tomorrow, but.. d’ya want your big strong man to carry you for now, baby?”

“Yes please,” you smile, and Poe shifts once again. First, he strips off his flight suit and tosses it aside, and then he peels back the covers and helps you to stand. Then, he helps you step out of your vest and pants, before swooping you up and carrying you the five paces to the refresher door, setting you down gently. You glance back at the rumpled bed, which still calls out to you, and although it is a short distance away, you feel like you have trekked across a damn galaxy.

Poe begins to run the water warm in the shower, casually handing you a fresh tumbler of water to sip on as he does so. Then, he takes your hand and eases you under the stream of water.

Poe’s broad hands lather up your body and your hair, feeling like an act of worship as he slowly, gently, washes days of rest away from you, without question. Without expecting anything from you in return except to let him- and even then, only if you want to. He then makes short work of rinsing off his own body, searching your eyes as he does so.

Water is a funny thing, you think- it can drown and it can cleanse. It can be gentle and forceful, deep and still or turbulent. After days of drowning, it feels good simply to be clean. To begin to rise to the surface.

You reach towards that circle of sunlight at the mouth of the well. You look a little deeper into his eyes. See a little further.

“A little better?” he asks.

You nod. A little better. 

You step out with him, and even though he’s tired -ragged from this mission- he dries you off.

He changes your sheets.

He picks your dirty laundry up from your floor and throws it in the basket. He throws away your trash.

He let the light in.

Literally.

Then figuratively.

Yes, you still feel so heavy. So, so heavy.

But you know. A part of you knows that lightness will come again, if you just hang on. You can see it. You can see that light at the surface, still out of reach, but not forever.

You watch him as he cares for you in all these small ways and suddenly there are vowels and consonants pushing out from beneath your ribs.

“I love you,” you say as you perch on the edge of the bed, right where he seated you, not thinking to move. 

He pauses, dropping what he’s doing and coming to kneel on the floor in front of you. Tenderly, ever so tenderly, he takes your face in his hands, and his warm eyes are as intense as you’ve ever seen him, as if he can’t believe that you fought hard enough to push this love out from the depths. For him. Even though you are so sunken. Even though you cannot do it for yourself yet.

“I love you too,” he promises, entirely earnest. 

You push a small smile on to your face, even though you know you need not wear masks for him.

Yes, it got bad again, but it will get better.

You hang on, and that’s enough. More than enough.

You have to hang on, because there will come a day you’ll be so glad you did.

When everything in your chest rises up and gasps for air and lets you breathe again. You will break the surface and come back strong and eager for this life.

“It scares me when you’re sick. I love you so much.”

“I’ll be okay again,” you nod. “Or, I’ll try.”

That’s all anyone could ask of you. That’s all you can ask of yourself.

That is enough. More than enough.

You are enough. You are more than enough for him.

You look at him. He looks back.

His face. His face is art. You feel all those things; poetry, art, music, dance. They’re there. They’re just sunken. Muted.

Poetry is in the pauses too. The blank lines and empty spaces; in the missed beats. You will come back to yourself, and you will make new art. Feel new things. Things more full and replete with joy. Joy can clamber from out of the deepest wells, given time. It will. It will again.

“Can I kiss you?” Poe asks shyly. “Been desperate to kiss you,” he admits, the corners of his plush lips tugging up into a smile. He is sunshine. He is beautiful. Perfect.

You nod, and his lips meet yours, chaste and gentle, and not expecting anything in return.

You try your best to feel him. To feel at all.

You close your eyes and hope you will open your heart. It has begun, with a crack to let the light in.

There is fight left in you, even if you can’t see it. Even when you can’t feel it.

“I’m so happy to be home with you,” Poe says, and his words are greeted with silence.

That’d be the bit you’d usually say... I’m so happy too. But Poe offers his words freely, and you know he doesn’t expect anything from you in return. He doesn’t expect your happiness. He simply wants to give you his.

This is not a warm story, but he is warm.

Correction; this is not a warm story, not yet.

But, oh. Oh, it will be.

It was so, in the chapter before, and it will be, in the chapter which is coming.

And you? You will thaw, I promise. Not because of him. But because of you. Because you’re a fighter. Because no matter how long you may be sunken, you will float.

Poetry takes a breath sometimes. Misses a beat. It is not a waste. It is not worthelss, this pause. Sometimes it is needed. The big breath hope takes before it floats to the surface. So, maybe there is hope.

Yes. There’s hope.

There is hope.

Hope is like the sun. If you only believe it when you see it you'll never make it through the night.  Isn’t that what Leia says?

You will make it through this night.

This is how you feel now but will not be how you feel forever. You are not carved from stone. You are a fluid thing; you are made of water. Sometimes, you can drown in yourself, and sometimes you can be cleansed. You are always moving and ebbing, even if it’s so far below the surface that you cannot detect the shift.

This will shift.

Love and life and light are straining, deep down, and after all that straining, pushing, trying, when they resurface they will be strong.

There’s a reason they say hope floats.

It cannot be drowned forever, even if it is is drowned right now. It is not set in stone. You will float, up beyond that circle of sunshine. You will heal, even though you are hurt.

Poe knows this. His eyes tell you all this, but most of all, you know it; no, you feel it, in the depths of you. This is truth.

Poe peels back the covers, and he tugs you to his bare body, warm flesh against yours.

He’s tired. All his body can speak of now is sleep.

You are both tired of fighting, so for now, you must rest, and try again tomorrow. You stroke his hair and he strokes your back, and for now, this is enough.

Yes, for now, this is more than enough.

You are enough.