#i cannot take a picture I like to save my damn life today

[vivanightcity]

Name: Yash 'V' Vala

Age: 23

Gender + Pronouns: Man, he/him

Occupation: Courier and runner, both legally and less so. Largely operating in the southern parts of NC, but officially covers the whole city. If something small and physical needs to be somewhere safe and fast and undetected? He's a pretty good option.

Cyberware: Sandevistan, gills, grip feet, reinforced tendons, smuggling compartments in his legs. (Gills provide up to 4 hours of time underwater without resurfacing, given where he got them, they include a filter to help - but not eliminate - the trouble from unclean or dangerous waters. Grip feet basically makes feet prehensile and adds an extra grip surface to the bottom. The storage space used for smuggling is just small compartments, 2 x 6 inches, one in each thigh.)

Long form backstory under the cut: It's long yall, I went a bit ott with it.

His mom was from the Raven and Rats nomadic group when her family arrived in London. Settling their narrowboats in what would’ve been around Limehouse - since the flooding caused by the Thames Barrier bombing, there were a lot of new routes and waterways for the nomads.

After the fall of the thames barrier, Equinox more or less left that area of east london to rot. Seeing it as too much effort for what they’d get back. So for decades there was rampant crime in an almost entirely ungoverned and abandoned city. Officially, no one there existed. No one lived there. Despite the crowded streets of floating walkways, and salvaged tops of flooded old brick buildings turned into rare dry outcroppings, and houseboats, narrowboats, floating shacks made of salvage, littered the entire place. It was alive. Always was. Just. Not according to the government.

In the mid 2050s, there was another push to reclaim and control the area. As it grew, moving into the flooded thames, encroaching more into the highly militarized City and Westminster, there were more clashes between BCF - British Combined Forces - and citizens, as well as criminal groups that used the growing slums and waterways to their benefit. 

Multiple corporations, especially those with headquarters in the city, were pushing for the government to take action and start up a new Urban Development Committee after the past ones failed, or abandoned, the area, to at least get the border pushed back.

ETB - English Tourist Board - wanted to clean up the city to make it more appealing again, especially with R&R and other trouble making groups being able to hide more easily in the sprawling river. IMA - Imperial Metropolitan Agriculture - wanted to use the large flooded space to build artificial floating island farms, to make the most out of the potential, as more and more of the Good British Soil (TM) was being worked to death and lost to city expansion. If they wanted to keep telling people to BUY BRITISH (TM) they’d need more space. 

It was easy to hide the initial clashes and push back, these weren’t residents, there was no proof they were even UK citizens, so it was easy to sell it as the typical xenophobic fearmongering that kept so many in check. Only the east end wasn’t going down easy, and the BCF found themselves against a strangely, and worryingly, united force of nomadic groups who needed the river, criminal groups that thrived in the ungoverned corners, and even militia groups from a bit further east, as the thames basins flooding was felt all the way along, with many areas of South Essex not caring a shit about what was happening in Colchester and the north, but connecting - as they always did - with east london. A shared river, a shared blood, a shared history. So it was easy to redirect from action in East Anglia to a new front. 

Yash’s family were not involved. Like many civilians, they were just caught in between. He wasn’t even born yet when his father was killed. Shot by BCF working as private security on behalf of EBT to scout and find historic areas that could be salvaged of worth or even turned into tourist destinations - the top of greenwich hill, the observatory itself, being a great place to start trying to reclaim for tourism, from the destruction it has seen after decades of apparent ‘misuse’ as a crowded indoor market, with the rare areas of dry actual earth and land around it turned into lush community garden. All fiercely protected by a tight community, quickly labelled as a ‘gang’ by the government. His father worked there, as a mechanic, helping people repair their boats and homewares. When the EBT scouts tried to clear people out, they were harassing people who worked there, civilians of all kinds, including the elderly and children. They moved too slow, they didn’t listen or respond as wanted, to screamed orders and threats. 

His dad stepped in to argue with them, unarmed, untrained, but angry, they can’t treat people like that, and he got shot for his trouble. He was considered a hero to many of them, and his death was a spark for that mislabelled gang to maybe take the label more seriously. If they were going to treat them like criminals, they’ll defend themselves like criminals. When EBT returned to take the royal observatory by force, they were fought back. It was bloody and violent, and the locals lost a lot more people, but they won. There is a mural of those lost still in the observatory, touched up, and sometimes added to, over the decades since. His dad is front and center.

Both his older brothers knew their father very well, being 13 and 9 at the time he was killed. They both deified him, and the fight he set off, and went whole-hog anti-government and anti-corp. They’re, essentially, Rockerboys. (I just can’t remember if Rockerboy is only for that specific genre, or can be applied to any and all anti-authoritarian musicians in the cyberpunk verse? If it’s only the genre, then it doesn’t fit.). They were founding members of the Foundlings. A community gang made up of kids around their age who saw what was done to try and erase the east end, and are going to guerilla warfare street tactics the shit out of things to protect their home. The name coming from the pure numbers who were orphaned and alone after what became seen as a war with the corporations and BCF along the river. 

Yash always tried to keep up with his brothers, but they wouldn’t let him, he was too young, he didn’t understand fully why they did what they did. He was raised with a hatred and distrust of corps and government, and a fierce personal anger for them taking a father he never got to know from him, but he didn’t see the level of violence that the war was. He wasn’t involved. There were still clashes, but it wasn’t the same. The metal wars were in the news, sure, but they weren’t theirs to care about. They had enough trouble on their front door step. 

He got his job as a courier initially through the Mudlarks - A more recent, largely non-violent, smuggling group that operates along the river - not knowing that his brothers put some pressure in to stop him being allowed into the more criminal aspects, even with that, he eventually started pushing to get involved in running dead drops and collections along the river during low tide.

It was the mudlarks that landed him in NC. A london based gin maker - an illegal business without licensing - needed to get some out to NC because an NC based celebrity was throwing a party, and was requesting it. Deep pockets and an affinity since they’d done a world tour and tried some in London.

It was his job to see it got there safely. They’d have someone meeting the cargo at the other end, but he had to accompany it on the orbital transit. When he gets into NCX, he is indeed met, but by NCPD and orbital corp customs. He managed to duck them, but it wasn’t like he could walk back into NCX and try to leave, although NCPD seemed to drop the grudge quickly, he knew Orbital Corp still had him on the no-fly list. On the plus side, he did get a pretty decent pay day when he delivered the order to Empathy, no middle man cut for people in NC. He still transferred what was owed to the mudlarks back to them, but kept the rest. 

They told him to lie low, and even gave him some contacts, largely within Pacifica, Heywood, and the City Center. Pacifica felt the most like home, so he set up shop, got in good with the right fixers, spent some time learning the fastest ways around, and built a good reputation from there.

'V' was actually the symbol his brothers used as a tag, the name they released music under, and they'd always talk a big game about how it was for the east ends victory over the BCF, and the peace they're fighting for etc. etc. but Yash knows damn well that last bit is just a line they thought up later. Typical younger brother, the second he got the chance, he took it. Decided V was his thing now. They couldn't stop him all this way from home after all.

He meets Jackie in the canonical Streetkid way, just without the Heywood local vibes.

[kimdokjas]

Hi~ I binge-read orv webtoon today and I have just finished. I came to Tumblr to know more about the fandom and I realised that people ship Dokja with Joonghyuk. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that. I thought their "flirty"(? interactions were just some sort of fan service or silly jokes. Is there anything in the novel that implies a relationship between them? Or maybe something that I missed in the webtoon? (I struggle with picking up social cues, especially romantic cues)

I hope this ask doesn't upset you, you were one of the top orv blogs that Tumblr showed me

(also, I apologize for my bad English, it isn't my first language)

Wait I'm one of the top orv blogs??? 💀💀💀 But for sure, I don't mind at all, anon! I love having an excuse to rant about orv <3

To preface this: yes, most of the heavier joongdok content comes until later in the novel, but there ARE some highlights in the webtoon as well so far.

I think most of the appeal of early joongdok interactions in the webtoon comes from the enemies to lovers vibe they have going on. Picture KDJ hyperfixating on his single favorite character for 10+ years, through every up and down of his life. In his narration during their FIRST meeting he explicitly says:

I liked you, hated you, resented you, and cheered for you. I was with you throughout your three-thousand episode journey. (webtoon ch. 12)

AND THEN. He finds out his favorite blorbo comes to life and proceeds to annoy him until he starts choking him over a bridge with a sunset backdrop like something out of a romance drama. It's all about the tension and subversion of expectations 🤌

Their relationship is very much a slowburn. YJH very reasonably distrusts KDJ at first (due to some past trauma) but we do see him gradually start to warm up to KDJ as the story progresses.

One of the main highlights is during ch. ~100 in the Disaster of Floods scenario. When KDJ sacrifices himself for YJH, he proceeds to freak out, tries to save him even when he knows it's futile, and refuses to kill him for coins even when YJH is often largely pragmatic in his interactions with others. We're told that YJH pretty much never uses the word "companion" because it holds too much meaning for him and he's never acknowledged KDJ as such, even though KDJ insists they're "life and death companions" (which is already pretty damn poetic if not romantic imo). But when Shin Yoosung asks who KDJ is to him, YJH says:

"That guy. He is my companion." (ch. 102)

(This got translated as "a companion of mine" in the webtoon but the novel is where it's at.) And keep in mind this is also an actual quote from the novel btw:

The weight of this word, 'companion', was too great for Yoo Joonghyuk. (ch. 12)

However, as I mentioned, their relationship only really starts to develop until later in the novel. To be clear, there's no explicit romance in orv–which I personally really appreciate because it opens up the floor instead to flesh out all the platonic relationships all of the characters have with one another that are JUST as deep and profound.

But even so, joongdok is very much canon to me. I don't want to give too much away because I'd be spoiling the rest of the novel for you, but they really are cosmic soulmates meant for one another in a way that is so narratively profound and completely goes full circle. The lengths they go to for one another are actually insane and there's no doubt in my mind the love and devotion they feel for one another is real and simultaneously indescribable by mere labels.

I really hope you're planning on continuing to read the novel now that you finished the webtoon! I truly cannot recommend it enough. It is literally and unironically the single greatest piece of literature I've ever read and the journey is 100% worth it. Plus, the webtoon will take a long time to complete at the current rate so the only way to find out what happens next is by reading the novel 😉

Anyway, I hope this was somewhat helpful to you! I think it's really admirable that you're trying to search for a different interpretation from your own. There's a saying in orv by one of the characters: "Read it again", and the intention there is that by rereading (or looking at things again in a new light) you will always find new meaning even within the exact same text, as long as you're willing to look for it. So the fact that you're asking this question is very much in the spirit of orv itself <3

And this goes without saying but you're also completely free to interpret them in your own way as well!

(By the way, I highly advise you to blacklist the "orv spoilers" tag and try to tread with caution if you're searching for content! There are spoilers literally EVERYWHERE and while orv is still very much enjoyable even with spoilers, all the reveals won't hit as hard–trust me. There really is so much that can be spoiled.)

[erikahammerschmidt]

so here are some of my thoughts on the idea of "longtermism."

i.e. the idea that we should focus on human well-being from a big-picture perspective, including all the possible future generations of humans, perhaps even before considering the well-being of people currently alive.

which to me sounds like mostly absolute nonsense.

Not because I don't care about the thought of distant future humans still thriving and happy thousands of years from now.

I do! I think that would be awesome, and I hope it happens.

BUT

for the most part, we CANNOT predict anything far enough in advance, in this chaotic world, to have ANY IDEA what actions today will even BE good for humans thousands of years from now.

And, the few things where it does seem kinda brainlessly obvious what would be good? like, "don't blow up the world today"?

ARE ALSO THE THINGS THAT ARE GOOD FOR PEOPLE RIGHT NOW.

so, why would it be a question? why would you even have to choose?

example:

for some of these longtermist thinkers, the main goal is space travel.

from this viewpoint, the big fear is that the planet Earth and the Sol system won't last forever, no matter what we do…. and if humans don't travel to other planets, other star systems, by that time, humanity will be wiped out and nothing we ever did will matter.

now. setting aside for a moment this dismal view of what it means for one's life to "matter"…

HOW exactly can humanity get to space? well. we would have to figure out a whole shitton of things that we are not even close to.

how can we get space travel to speeds that would get us anywhere in an even imaginable timeframe?

how can humans survive the radiation in space, for a long enough time to get anyplace even at the maximum conceivable speed?

how would we sustain the basic food and air and water needs of human populations during such travel?

and, to me, that last one seems like the most obvious place to start. because we DO NOT have the technology to keep a self-sustaining, human-sustaining biological ecosystem going inside a space colony! either on the surface of an alien planet, or inside a space station or a generation ship.

we have barely even tried to figure it out! …ok, we tried, once, decades ago, with the Biosphere 2 project, and failed and never really tried much again as far as I know.

we are failing kind of badly at even maintaining the sorta self-sustaining ecosystem that Earth itself gave us! the one that took millions of years to evolve! which ONLY sorta works to sustain us because our species literally evolved to fit into it!

…and the techbros who currently talk about colonizing Mars seem to be talking as if this is all some super easy soft thing that they'll figure out when they get there!

you know what would help us get to space the most? first priority, before anything else?

figure out how to manage a damn ecosystem.

Not only because it'll be an obvious necessity for the space travel itself.

but also because it is gonna take a DAMN LONG TIME to develop workable long-distance space travel, IF (and this is a big IF) it is even physically possible in any way.

AND, during that damn long time, WE STILL NEED TO BE SURVIVING ON THIS PLANET.

Not to mention that, even if some of our eggs get into other interplanetary baskets someday, Earth is gonna keep being ONE of our baskets for a very long time.

ideally as long as fucking possible! because it's the one that works best, and probably always will be, for as long as it exists. WE EVOLVED HERE.

and, guess what!

the steps we could take toward advancing space travel in that way? the managing-ecosystems steps?

ARE ALSO THINGS THAT WOULD MAKE LIFE BETTER FOR PEOPLE HERE ON EARTH RIGHT NOW.

another thing that comes up in the longtermism discussion is "overpopulation." The idea that distant future humanity will be better off if current humanity does things to reduce our population to save resources.

now. i think it's pretty damn clear that the problem with human population and resources is MOSTLY that the rich and powerful elements of present-day humanity are doing a terrible job of distributing the resources that currently exist to the population that currently exists.

and this is mostly a greed issue.

and regardless of what happens to actual population numbers, the most obvious benefit to future generations of humanity would be figuring that mess out.

starting with the goddamn greed.

...now. there ARE, in some ways, challenges in this endeavor that are particularly difficult because of certain ratios of human populations to resources.

like for example (though I am not an expert on this) I have heard this discussion among local progressives about the resource of water, for the population of southern california.

before european settlement, before the aqueduct, this particular area naturally got enough water to produce enough food for a certain number of native people.

then, the aqueduct made it possible to sustain the much bigger population of non-native people who were settling here.

And that whole process damaged the ecosystem so badly that, if the aqueduct stopped working today, the population sustainable by the natural resources here would now be much smaller than it was at the beginning.

and there is uncertainty about how sustainable the aqueduct is... and what other options would be possible for supplying the current enormous population of this land with water.

but... even assuming that this would become significantly easier with fewer humans...

none of the malthusean ideas about population reduction are anywhere near ethical. and from a viewpoint of cold heartless numbers, they don't even seem PRACTICAL. genocide and forcible sterilization tend to focus on the groups that are using the fewest resources per person anyway.

and populations adapt to what is available! currently, this is happening through the mechanism of "younger generations aren't having kids because no one can afford to have kids."

this kind of adaptation sort of works-- although, like other population control methods, it still allows the wealthiest and and most lavish resource-users to breed pretty freely.

BUT it is… kinda sorta ethical, in a sort of terrible individual way.

at least… it's more ethical than other types of "population reduction"... and it is much more ethical than the opposite goal of "forcing everyone to reproduce no matter what they can and can't afford."

and THAT is the dystopia most likely to happen now! THAT is what'll happen if we don't VICIOUSLY defend body autonomy and access to birth control for those who want it.

there was a time, decades ago, when I was a bit brainwashed by that same paranoia about overpopulation! BUT, the more i learned about the issues, the more clear it became that the way to a sustainable population is to let people decide how many kids to have. THAT is how populations adapt to what the society can sustain.

so even from a "omg overpopulation scary!" viewpoint, the best bet for the happiness of distant future generations is probably gonna be a combination of:

"figure out how to manage resources in a goddamn reasonable not-greedy way"

and

"protect goddamn REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS."

both of which-- guess what? ARE ALSO THE BEST WAY TO MAKE THINGS GOOD FOR THE DAMN CURRENT POPULATION.

so… longtermism, to me, is both important and a non-issue.

it works itself out best when we ignore it and take care of our community right now.

[frogsandfries]

I feel like I need more than two days off every week, especially with this schedule. I am having such a difficult time adjusting to this new schedule. I think it's the fact that they changed it so close to daylight savings. I'm pretty sure I've never changed schedules around DST--and never while working from home.

Also, I think a certain possession of mine is definitely in need of emergency replacement. It finally met its end after almost five years, which is a rather respectable life for a piece of cheap Chinese manufacturing. Urrrggggghhhhhh!!!!

Anyway, I feel like crap. I think not leaving the house when I wanted to because I couldn't think of where I wanted to go was a bad decision. I just had to do some housekeeping and I knew I was going to want a nap. Then they're supposed to do this inspection thing.......

You wouldn't believe the giant wad of hair, and all the dust, there was SO. MUCH. like, I don't know if it was like........ somehow the cat litter?? Or just.... desert dust? Ewwwwww what if the previous resident just vacuumed and the carpet didn't get wet cleaned?

Tomorrow I have to get the litter vacuumed up. Vacuuming seems like one of those things, like when you're living in apartment, there just Is a Proper Time of Day, to vacuum, and in taking a nap today, I missed the window to vacuum the litter.

I wonder, if we'd had this vacuum--a vacuum that isn't in need of repairs that'll never happen--how much filth would be in that carpet, given the ex wore their shoes inside. Heathen.

Anyway, the Tumblr book for my 2012 posts is starting to get into November, and first, Canva is letting me add way more pictures than I thought I'd be able to, which means, second, that this book is a ton bigger than I'd expected--and that's before the additional, minimum five, pages that I'll need to add once I get everything resized and moved around. That also means I'll probably also need to re-size my expectations. I wasn't assuming I'd have to step up my expectations to at least two books per year, but perhaps even three. Like, it was a vague possibility before, but now I'm reassessing my estimate to possibly three books per year--three respectably thick tomes, possibly hard-cover big. I'm also rethinking my color choices for my covers, to expand the color options. Incidentally and kind of off to the side, I'm also thinking of including my photo archive into this retrospective. However, the photo books are going to be 8×11. They cannot be any smaller.

I broke off of that for a while, put more pages into the Canva project for Lapsarian. Not many, maybe a couple chapters before I moved from that to fiddling with the mug. I think part of what makes this Stosphia Tumblr retrospective hard is, partly all the cringe, but also, that twenty-year-old had a really hard time. Like. Damn.

I've always had a hard life, but if I'd blogged about it into the internet from the time I was twelve, I maybe wouldn't be able to minimize that if I ever turned to face it from the future. It's probably better that I didn't start preserving my life like this until I was about twenty, when I was finally starting to become aware of it and also, when I started to move away from the locust of the pain.

Like, this was so much. The only way to get over it and get through it was to just...... minimize and forget.

Anyway, facing that, facing past me is a lot and it's kinda hard.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 294: A Half-Assed Escape

Previously on BnHA: Mirio was all “SURPRISE I’M BACK THANKS TO OUR RESIDENT SEVEN-YEAR-OLD WHO RECENTLY EARNED HER BACHELOR’S OF BEING A TOTAL BADASS.” Kacchan was all, “you know what, Dabi’s been trending long enough, time to remind the fandom what a real G looks like,” and he blasted his little bleeding body back into the fray and was all “FROM HERE ON OUT CALL ME DYNAMIGHT!!” Mirio was all, “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... oh, you’re serious,” and Kacchan was all “!!”, and so that’s the story of how my son got murdered twice in one day. Meanwhile in the Todoroki Drama Zone, Deku was all “STOP MURDERING MY FRIEND” and Dabi was all “THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS” and fandom had a whole big debate about Whether Or Not Dabi Trying To Murder Deku’s Friends And Mentors Is Any Of Deku’s Business, which went exactly how you think it went. Anyway, so then Deku yelled at Dabi, and Endeavor was all moved by his manly words and randomly went to go uppercut Machia in the chin. And, seeing as how the Momoserum finally chose that exact moment to kick in, Machia is now down for the count.

Today on BnHA: The Miriosquad handles the Nearly High End Noumus, freeing up Jeanist to jasphyxiate (okay that one doesn’t really work so well) the rest of the League. Compress is all “TIME FOR THIS MILD-MANNERED SIDE CHARACTER VILLAIN TO SHINE”, except that by “shine” what he actually means is “use his quirk to punch a literal hole right through his own ass to free himself.” The rest of the chapter is basically just a back and forth between him and Jeanist, with Jeanist trying to recapture him, and Compress repeatedly thwarting him by chopping more holes out of himself because HE’S FRESH OUT OF FUCKS, AND THE ONES AT THE STORE ARE ALL SOLD OUT, MOTHERFUCKERS. Anyway, so with Compress basically dying and all, Horikoshi is all “you know what that means”, and delivers a freshly-baked villain flashback revealing that Compress is a descendant of Harima Ouji, a.k.a. the Peerless Thief, a.k.a. some famous guy whom Gentle mentioned this one time for like two seconds back in the day. The chapter ends with Compress finally demasking himself and dumping Tomura back onto the ground, a.k.a. The Worst Possible Place For Tomura To Be. ( •﹏•)

WHY IS CRUST HERE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD

-- OH WAIT, SHIT. OH

AIZAWAAAA you’re alive and receiving medical help thank GOD. HOW MANY EYES DO YOU HAVE. AND MIRKO!! HOW MANY LIMBS DO YOU HAVE, OMG

so is this Aizawa dreaming about Crust’s final moments, then?? jesus. with All Due Respect to Crust’s memory, does Aizawa not already have enough misplaced guilt on his conscience as it is?? “nope, we’re gonna keep piling it on. that’s all he is now. three limbs, an indeterminate number of eyes, sexy hair, and Guilt” well shit

motherfucker y’all really out here placing an oxygen mask on Gran Torino’s corpse. fucking shounen characters. each one comes with a lifetime warranty

DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI WHY DO YOU KEEP SHOWING THESE CLOSE-UPS OF HAWKS’S UNCONSCIOUS FACE ALL WHUMPED OUT AND EXHAUSTED. HOW MUCH MORE OF THIS ARE WE GOING TO GET. ARE YOU PLANNING ON KILLING ME WITH THE UPCOMING CONVALESCENCE ARC, BECAUSE IF SO, AT LEAST HAVE THE DECENCY TO TELL ME AHEAD OF TIME SO I CAN MAKE A WILL

for a moment I considered going back and checking my previous recaps to count how many times I’ve already made a joke about Dabi’s fire incinerating Hawks’s wings but not touching so much as a hair on his five o’clock shadow, so that I could calculate whether or not I could possibly get away with making that same joke one more time. but then I realized I could just do it in this kind of roundabout way I’m doing right now instead. so there you have it

FFFFFFFMT LADY AND MIDNIGHT NOOOOO

PLEASE BE ALIVE. PLEASE RESPECT THE SIGN ON THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING. THE ONE THAT SAYS “NO LADY CHARACTERS ALLOWED TO DIE”, WITH THE FINE PRINT AT THE BOTTOM “AT LEAST NOT UNTIL HORIKOSHI GIVES US LIKE TWENTY-SIX MORE OF THEM FIRST IF THAT’S THE WAY HE WANTS TO PLAY IT.” IT’S A GOOD SIGN, PLEASE RESPECT ITS WISHES!!

so anyway though, Jeanist is giving a speech about how god knows how many people all worked together to bring Machia down. and now RHA is getting in on those fabric puns too, I see. “A SINGLE STRAND MAY BE THIN BUT TOGETHER THEY FORM A STRONG ROPE” oh so you think you guys are funny eh? I’m a frayed knot

MEANWHILE EXCUSE ME BUT WHY ARE YOU FUCKING CRYING BLOOD, HOLY SHIT

fffffff. so much for him taking over as the Number One once all this is over. so let’s just recap real quick, because Horikoshi has long since made it clear that one of his plot goals for this arc is to wipe out every single member of the Billboard Top Ten. so how we doin?

Endeavor - was just figuratively eviscerated in front of the entire nation by his homicidal zombiepunk son. also burnt half to death and possibly down a lung. will almost certainly be forced to retire after this one way or the other

Hawks - lying prettily in a medical tent. wings status: gone. hair status: still perfect

Jeanist - WELL I THOUGHT HE WAS FINE BUT APPARENTLY HE’S OUT HERE DYING, JESUS CHRIST

Edgeshot - MIA, last seen fighting Re-Destro. I really want him to have kicked RD’s ass because fuck that guy, but realistically they probably fought to a draw at best

Mirko - alive but in critical condition and missing something like 1.5 limbs

Crust - dead, currently haunting Aizawa’s traumatized dreams. now he’s gonna be triggered the rest of his life by people giving him the thumbs up, THANKS A LOT

Kamui Woods - was set on fire which is His Weakness. thoughts and prayers

Wash - last seen floating hospital patients to safety as Tomura’s wave of decay descended towards him. probably dead ffff

Old Man Samurai - haven’t seen this fucker in a hot minute, who even knows where he’s wandered off to

Ryuukyuu - currently being treated for her wounds, looked pretty bad off. but it’s hard to tell how hurt she is since most of the injuries were acquired in her transformed state. SHE BETTER GET WELL SOON

anyways, so yeah. so much for the top ten. guess that’s another reason Horikoshi brought Mirio back now, huh

so there’s a big panel of everyone fighting the Noumu while Machia lies there all “blurgh.” good riddance my dude. it took like twenty chapters and a hundred people to stop this guy so I really fucking hope he stays down. you’ve had your fun

anyway so Jeanist is sending another steel thread towards Dabi! and he’s all “just a bit more!!” fklklj this is gonna go real well isn’t it

meanwhile Mirio’s fighting a Nearly High End with all of these weird rock formations jutting out of its skin. go on and kick his ass then, Mirio

“each of these guys is probably just as strong as the Noumu from Kyuushuu” hold on I thought Ujiko or Tomura or someone said that wasn’t the case? not that Mirio would know I suppose. anyways let’s just hope he’s wrong cuz if not these kids are probably screwed

kLSDKFHLSKHGLKLK OH MY GODDDD

IIDA FUCKING TENYA YOU’RE A PEACH. THINKS THE NAME IS OUTRAGEOUS, CHECK. USES IT ANYWAY, CHECK. “JUST BECAUSE I DON’T UNDERSTAND DOESN’T MEAN I CAN’T BE SUPPORTIVE.” WHAT A CLASS ACT

AND KACCHAN IS RESPONDING WITH AS MUCH DIGNITY AS HE CAN MUSTER

WOW, SON. IT’S ALMOST AS THOUGH YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO, OR SOMETHING!! although listen up, real talk, the fact that Kacchan of all people can’t muster the energy to yell at someone questioning his ability to kick ass is HIGHKEY troubling and we may be in need of an intervention here soon :/

now Jeanist is finally turning his attention to the League! was... was it not already on the League. omg

ACTUAL SCREAMING AHHHHHH FUCK FUCKLK LK AHHLKHKFFFF

hey so um. what the actual fucked up hell. my soul left my body. imagine if you saw the reflection of this panel on your bedroom window. you would never sleep again

OKAY RHA TRANSLATORS ARE YOU HAVING YOURSELF A LAUGH AGAIN

THIS CANNOT BE WHAT HE’S ACTUALLY SAYING RIGHT. BUT IT’S RIGHT IN THAT UNCANNY VALLEY OF NOT BEING QUITE SURE, THOUGH... (　ﾟдﾟ)

(ETA: just a next-day clarification here, apparently my sleep-deprived ADHD word-skipping brain completely skipped right over the “a” in that last panel, so what I read was, “and Shigaraki’s limp noodle.” so yeah, the moral of this story is always read the speech bubble carefully before you start making running jokes throughout the rest of your post, folks.)

oh wow he’s really freaking out lmao

to be fair though, I’d argue that Dabi has gotten pre-tty close at this point :’) thrilled for him, really I am

but anyway, well then figure something out you big dramatic robot-armed fiend. didn’t you just say you could touch your own ass? can you not just Compress yourself to break free?? does it not work on you? or would you be stuck afterwards lol

(ETA: I was picturing him compressing his entire body at once, not just chunks of it. ghhhlkh.)

um

holy shit Jeanist. are you stupidly trying to cut off their air, or are you going for more of a sleeper hold (jleeper hold??) thing instead. the latter would be way smarter and faster and probably safer as well just saying

but unless Spinner is just being super dramatic, it sure looks like he’s fucking strangling them djslkjlk. this will certainly cement his popularity among the villain stans. good thing you’re not running for office any time soon bud

anyway so I have no idea what these guys are trying to do now. what is this

do you even have till the count of 5 at this rate. I mean

OH MY GOODNESS

HE’S REALLY FUCKING DOING IT!! HE’S COMPRESSING HIS BUTT!! OMFG. TOMURA HIDE YOUR NOODLE!!!

WHAT THE FUCK

DID YOU COMPRESS A PIECE OF YOUR OWN ASS. FUCKING WHAT. PUT THIS MAN’S PICTURE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO THE WORD “LOYALTY”, HOLY CRAP

HOLY SHIT COMPRESS

“HOLY SHIT DID THAT GUY JUST PUNCH A HOLE THROUGH HIS OWN ASS IN ORDER TO SAVE HIS VILLAIN PALS. FUCK IT, HE DESERVES TO ESCAPE”

jeez, talk about... A HALF-ASSED ESCAPE ATTEMPT :D :D :D hahaha. but real talk though, Horikoshi has clearly never tried to leap twelve feet straight up in the air multiple times in succession with only half his glutes though. everyone, I regret to inform you that this panel right here on the left may be slightly unrealistic

also where the hell is he going to go?? did you pack a jetpack away in one of those little marbles sir. and what about Dabi?? and Skeptic too, I guess, but we don’t really care about Skeptic

(ETA: at this point I had to stop reading for about two hours because I had to go out and take care of something; that’s also why this is being posted later than usual lol. anyways so where were we.)

oh my lord

the existence of a translator’s note here implies that the earlier line about Compress being able to reach Tomura’s junk was not, in fact, ad-libbed. hmm. hmmmmmmmm

anyway so now he’s grabbing Compress again because OF COURSE HE IS, so now we’re right back to square one! except now Tomura and Spinner are secured inside of little marbles, and presumably Compress is the only one who can release them

oh nevermind he’s just maiming himself again instead, SHEESH

Skeptic a man is dying please have some goddamn respect

so, uh. is he gonna die, though??

I really can’t tell wtf is going on here, this is the most confusing the art has been in a while. Horikoshi put all of his spoons into that creepyass close-up panel earlier, that bastard

OMG WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

DON’T FUCKING TELL ME THE “COMPRESS IS RELATED TO THIS THIEF GUY FROM OLDEN TIMES” THEORY IS ACTUALLY TRUE WHAAAAAAT. OH SHIT

so apparently Harima was a Robin Hood type guy who stole from... heroes?? wtf. are heroes the 1% in this scenario. y’all didn’t have any Fortune 500 CEOs to steal from?

THAT’S THE BLOOD THAT FLOWS THROUGH YOU, OH SHIT. and in a related oh shit, the fact that we are getting a Compress flashback now of all times doesn’t bode super well for him. ffff

MEANWHILE THE TODOROKIS ARE STILL TODOROKI-ING

listen here boy if you touch one freaking hair on Shouto’s candy cane head I swear to god --

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY!!!

SHOUTO NOOOOOO. WTF YOU’RE LITERALLY THE ONE GUY WHOSE WEAKNESS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FIRE. DABI YOU SHIT, YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF!! I’M PRINTING OUT A COPY OF THAT COMPRESS PANEL!!! KEEP AN EYE OUT ON THAT BEDROOM WINDOW YOU PUNK!!!

SO NOW POOR SHOUTO IS UNCONSCIOUS AND FALLING!! SOMEONE SAVE HIM!! WHO CATCHES THE CATCHER

COMPRESS LITERALLY HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE RIGHT NOW, WHAT IS HAPPENING

PLEASE DON’T CALL TOMURA LEADER OF THE “PLF” YOU KNOW I CAN’T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY WHEN YOU DO THAT. ARE YOU DYING. ARE YOU JUST A FUCKING HEAD NOW WTF

(ETA: “masks are removable, makeste” you know what it’s been a long day okay lmao. or I suppose Compress is really the one who is lmao.)

GASPPPPPP

okay. okay. looooool okay then

WHY WERE YOU COVERING THIS SEXY MOP OF HAIR UNDER THAT HOOD YOU TOOL. IT WOULD HAVE LOOKED SO GOOD WITH THE TOP HAT. I’M SO MAD AT YOU RIGHT NOW

as if it wasn’t enough for him to demask himself, he also had to get all shirtless and then do this weird attempt at a sexypose too huh

hard to say exactly how much of his torso is currently missing, but safe to say that’s proooooooobably not good. :///// fuck

on the other hand, Kacchan also has a torso hole and he’s still flying around like he just drank a dozen red bulls, so

this man lost his ass and he’s still out here monologuing like it’s the last two minutes of The Prestige. one might say he is monologuing his ass off

so he let Spinner and Tomura free, but is Dabi still trapped in his marble?? wasn’t he all on fire and stuff?? hopefully he can still turn off his quirk in there because if not that’s a pretty fucked up way to die. somewhere out there Snatch’s ghost is all “YEAH I’LL SAY.” oh how the turntables

last but not least, sooooooo. Tomura. back on the ground. that’s. um. ...shiiiiiiiit

[atlatus]

Disease

Character: Xiao

Pronouns: They/them

Post type: Angst

The green haired man opens his eyes to an unfamiliar scenery. He was on the ground, trees covering his surroundings, he can't seem to remember how he got here. Pushing himself up with his arms, he stands up, walking towards the crowd of trees.

While walking through the forest, he finally sees light. The adeptus runs towards it, arriving to see unusual contraptions¹ that he has never seen before. He furrows his eyebrows, 'Where am I? What is this place?' Due to his unusual appearance and clothing, a bystander unsurprisingly notices him. "Excuse me sir, are you perhaps lost?" He turns around, his eyes narrowing, "Who are you?" They're eyes widen, "Oh, sorry! I haven't introduced myself. My name's (F/N)." They smile.

He looks at them suspiciously, ". . . . My name is Xiao." (F/N)'s eyes widen a bit before smiling, "What a nice name! Won't you come with me? It's a bit cold out tonight." They propose. Though the adeptus is cautious, he nods. They giggle, holding out their hand, "Now, let's get you somewhere warm." 

_

After about 2 weeks with Xiao, you decided to try and convince your parents to get him into to your school. Even though you're quite calm most of the time, you were determined to convince them. Your parents sigh before nodding, beaming with excitement, you rush to the guest room. Knocking on the door frantically, Xiao opens it, clearly agitated. "What do you want?" You smile, "Hey hey! You're going to my school now!" 

He furrows his eyebrows, "I don't see the reason for me to go to school." Pushing the door the close it but you caught it with your foot, "C'mon~, it won't be that bad." You say. He rolls his eyes sighing before nodding. Your heart beats with excitement.

_

Xiao's first day in school has finally arrived, wearing different clothes made him itch a bit. He's isn't used to this type of attire.

Looking up at the school, surprised at the size of it. His face made you giggle a bit, "Alright, let's go." They both walk up to the entrance,  you open the door for him. He narrows his eyes a bit before continuing on through the hallway. Immediately, people started noticing him, some observing his face while others looked more shocked. 

'Hey doesn't that guy look like that character in Genshin?'

'Is he a cosplayer or something?'

'I have to take a picture with him!'

'Oh my god, he looks so cute!' 

The whispering got louder and louder, 'Why is everyone staring at me like that?'  Finally arriving to his classroom, you both enter. The sound of the door opening got the attention of everyone, the teacher looked over at the door, "Ah, you must be the new student! I'm Mr. Johnson, I'll be your teacher this school year!"

Xiao looked uneasy and uncomfortable, you quickly pat him on the back before sending him a reassuring smile, quietly telling him "It'll be alright."

"Now, would you mind introducing yourself?" The green haired man nods a bit before saying, "My name is Xiao, it's a pleasure to meet you." Some people in the classroom start whispering to their friends, "Oh my god, no way is it actually him?" "How did he even get here?" They were beaming with excitement.

"Well, nice to meet you Xiao! Why don't you sit next to your friend there. They sit at the corner seat over there." You smile before guiding him to where you're sitting. The teacher quickly quiets the class down before starting the lesson.

_

Xiao unsurprisingly got popular, many people would crowd around him to either talk to him, ask to hang out, or take pictures. He was quickly overwhelmed with the attention but got used to it after a few days. He started gaining friends fast and wasn't able to be with you anymore. Though you are glad he's happy, you can't brush off the feeling in the pit of your stomach. It feels like thorns poking in your chest and throat. You despised it. Not only did it hurt, but it made you feel like throwing up.

Everyday, you miss his conversations with you. Watching from afar with jealousy evident in your eyes. It's the same cycle everyday, people crowding him when you both arrive to the school. He

doesn't even look at you anymore. You feel like a ghost, no one acknowledging your existence, you're basically just. . . there. 

One day, the urge to throw up made you lurch forward, putting a hand on your lips. You stand up quickly before running to the restroom. Kneeling down in front of the toilet, you throw up the, coughing and gagging. You look in the toilet bowl, eyes suddenly going wide. 'Flowers? What the hell-'  Panic quickly flows through your body, 'What is this? Am I gonna die?'  You reach for your phone in your pocket, searching up 'throwing up flowers'. The first result is something called the Hanahaki Disease. The article states that, "Hanahaki disease is a disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated." Your eyes scan through the article again, 'Unrequited or one-sided love?'  You start to panic again, 'I won't be able to breath if this is untreated?'  Your breathing becomes uneven and shaky, your expression suddenly turns into one that's sad, 'Does this mean Xiao. . . doesn't like me back?. . .'

Looking at the article again, you see 'cures for the disease', "Hanahaki can be cured through surgical removal of the plants' roots, but this excision also has the effect of removing the patient's capacity for romantic love. It may also erase the patient's feelings for and memories of the enamoured. It can also be cured by the reciprocation of the victim's feelings. These feelings cannot be feelings of friendship but must be feelings of genuine love."

'I can get them surgically removed, but, what's the point? I'll lose my feelings for him. I don't want to. I like it when my heart thumps whenever he smiles, or whenever he pouts in embarrassment due to a teasing comment from me. I don't.. I don't want these feelings to end.'

The ongoing thought of you losing your feelings for him made you cringe. '

Is it too late?'

_

Throughout a month, the condition only got worse. Throwing up these petals made you feel sick, it feels like God is planning to take your life right then and there. Xiao doesn't even talk to you anymore, you see him in the house sometimes but he's outside most of the time. The disease affected your mental and physical health, you were noticeably skinny and tired. The bags under your eyes proved it. Your parents have tried to talk to you about it but, you refuse to say anything.

The desire to keep feeling love made you like this. Your grades have dropped and now you lost all your friends, they're all too caught up with Xiao. At this point, you gave up on getting help. This whole situation will end when you die. You plan to talk to Xiao once more before you pass.

_

Two months. . .

It's been two months now. . .

The condition worsened greatly. Flower petals littered your room. You looked sickly, almost like a dead body. Well, that's what you're going to be in a couple days. . .

Using all your strength, you lift yourself up. "Need. . to go. . talk to. . Xiao." Right now, Xiao was with his friends. Luckily, you slipped a note in his locker the day before-

Meet me on top of hill tomorrow at 5:30 p.m.

- Sincerely, (F/N)

You had followed him when he opened his locker, he shrugged before stuffing the note into his backpack. You hoped that he would listen to it. If he doesn't show up today, you'll die happily knowing he is happy without you. His happiness is more important than your feelings or life.

You arrived at the hill. Looking at your watch, '5:15. Guess I'm early.'  You sit down on top of it, looking at the sun slowly setting.  

After a few minutes, you hear footsteps. Turning around, you see Xiao, his face neutral and calm. He then sat beside you, "So, what did you need?" He asks. You look back at the sun before smiling, "Have you enjoyed your time here?" Though your throat is aching, you still managed to say something.

He seems confused, "Of course I have. I've never been this

happy. ." Knowing he's happy made you feel relieved. To think that you found him in front of a forest, confused and cautious. It almost made you tear up.

"I'm happy that you are, Xiao."

You both stay silent, "Xiao, before I go, whatever happens after, promise me you'll be happy. I can't stand seeing you with a frown." You say with a raspy voice.

". . .Of course." 

 _

You find yourself laying on a hospital bed. You try to move but your body is too sore. Your ears perked up to muffled talking, "I'm sorry sir, ma'am but the kid is going to be gone soon. The Hanahaki disease already clogged up most of the patients lungs. We can either surgically remove it or-" The doctor was quickly cut off, "Surgically remove it! Please save them! Just remove the damn flowers, please!" You heard your mom scream.

"Ma'am, we have to get the patients consent. Removing the flowers will cause the patients enamored feelings for their-" The doctor was cut off once again, "I don't care anymore! Just please, save my kid!"

The argument was ongoing before you stored up all your strength and spoke, "M-mom. . . I don't want my. . . feelings to go. . . away." Your voice was barely audible, but they heard it. Your mom rushes over to your bed (despite the doctors warnings), "(F/N)! Don't be like that! Your life is more important!"

Tears start welling up your mom's eyes, "Please don't leave us. . ."

You stare at her before smiling, "It's okay mom, besides-" You cough, "It's already. . . too late." Despair was evident in your mothers face.

"Oh and. . . before I go. . . tell Xiao to stay happy. . . and that I love him."

The lights started to go dim, eyes slowly closing before your slow breathing stopped-

Permanently. 

_

Your funeral was held at a nearby cemetery. Your coffin was the color brown, a glass covering the top of it so they could see you. Xiao was there, staring at your face.  When he got the news that you died, his world fell apart. He thought this was just some sick joke, but the body in the coffin proved him wrong. He could faintly see flower petals near your mouth.

Your funeral and seeing your body is what made Xiao cry and scream out in agony and sadness. "No No NO! (F/N) don't leave me!! Please tell me this is a joke please! (F/N)! I love you please don't leave!"

He prayed and prayed that you would wake up. . .

But his prayers weren't heard.

_

One week after your funeral, Xiao's whole demeanor changed. He was a calm boy who would speak only when spoken to. But now, he doesn't speak. He ignores all his friends, he ignores your parents, he ignores everyone. He stays cooped up in your room. Sleeping on your bed and smelling your scent that lingers on it. Oh how he misses talking to you, your bright smile was what made him feel alive.

He was laying on your bed one day (as usual) and for some reason, he felt a bit sick. He brushed it off thinking it would go away in a few hours. But it only got worse.

He rushes to the bathroom then looks at the mirror. He looks terrible, bags under his eyes and skin looking a bit pale. He suddenly lurches forward, coughing and gagging.

He looks down and laughs a bit. Petals, beautiful petals covered in blood.

Looks like he's going to suffer with this disease as well. . .

Unusual contraptions¹ - cars

[binniedeactivated]

txt reactions. || 👾👾

as dads... 👨🏻‍🍼

a/n; i’m sorryyy i’ve been in a fluffy mood lately I haven’t posted smut in a while but I promise I will! enjoy this though <3

soobin -

bro, he’s the clueless dad

doesn’t know anything about being a parent. is lazy about preparing to be a dad but he has a few tricks up his sleeve

everything would fluster the hell out of him. when the baby poops, when the baby pees, when they baby pukes, or when the baby cries he’d get surprised about it every single time as if it doesn’t happen

you know those type of dads where everything is literally a learning moment for them? yes, that’s soobin

is a dorky dad

his children will most likely own him, he won’t own his children

type of dad that gets beat up by his toddler kids for absolutely nothing

they walk in and kick him in the shin while he’s cooking

or pull his hair while he’s trying to read to them before bed

feel like his daughter would be the exact replica of him like seriously, would have his his whole entire face and matching dimples

with that being said, is an absolute sucker for his daughter

gives her anything she wants even if she’s a spoiled brat he’s scared to say no

needs his wife to teach him how to put his foot down

i feel like soobin’s son would be wild asf lmao

repeats every inappropriate thing that soobin says

“daddy? what does bullshit mean?”.

will scold his kids if they’re acting too wild but they never listen to him so it doesn’t really matter

again, he needs his wife to help discipline the kids

i know it can be quite common for parents of color (minorities) to hit their children but in my opinion I don’t really think soobin would hit his kids all that much

he  would pay a lot of attention to them though and know them like the back of his hand but he can’t really control the shit that goes on in his wild household

his wife will mainly come home every night to a messy kitchen and messy living room with soobin passed out on the couch and the kids curled on top of him snoring

all in all he loves them though, they’re his babies <3

yeonjun --

honestly, yeonjun is a pretty attentive father

i think he would be veryyyyy playful and affectionate

would want to do EVERYTHING with the baby

want to cook, want to clean, want to watch tv, want to talk to him/her and hold them all the time

has separation anxiety when his children are away from him for too long

even if he’s at work he’ll face time his wife often just so he can see the baby

if he takes his kids to the park he’s literally watching their every move

will still hug and kiss them on their cheeks and forehead no matter how old they get

extremely overprotective

no really, don’t touch yeonjun’s babies unless you want to die

protects his daughter from anyone that tries to date her

i think yeonjun’s son would most likely pick up one of his talents and his daughter will pick up the other

his son can sing and his daughter could dance, vice versa

encourages them to follow their dreams

supports anything and EVERYTHING they

definitely documents everything lmao, even if it’s small he’ll record or take a picture

will make a photo album of all of his children’s achievements

is the type of dad that’s always talking about his kids

literally fr--he mentions them in every conversation

he’s just a proud dad alright? don’t judge him

i think yeonjun’s children would be extremely well behaved and well kept 

mostly because yeonjun doesn’t play around LMAO

nah fr, he’s a dad that knows how to scold and punish. his kids know better than to cross him

gives his kids anything they want

takes them on vacations allllll the time 

universal studios, disney world, legoland, you name it and he already booked the trip

honestly the type of dad that’s always somewhere having fun with his kids and posting photos on social media

is IN LOVE with being a dad

beomgyu --

lmao beomie is the cool dad

literally will talk to his baby like he/she is grown 

“i’m tired of this show. you want to watch netflix? big mouth has a new episode”.

“can you stop crying? that’s weird. all you did was pee. you’re acting you’re a baby or something”.

“why don’t you just use words? tell me when you’re hungry. stop acting like you can’t talk”. (his baby is literally 2 months old)

loves sleeping with his babies the most. loves when they cuddle with him in bed and just fall asleep in his arms and on his chest

plays with them all the time, chasing them around the house playing laser tag or ‘the floor is lava’ lmao

loves playing video games with them, doesn’t let them win just because they’re young

will literally beat them in every game with no remorse, he just tells them they have to learn how to beat him

when they’re older he’ll literally let them do whatever they want 

“dad can I go to a party?”.  “sure whatever”.

“dad I’m going to a club with my friends”.  “alright. be safe”.

“dad I think I’m pregnant”.   “damn how that happen? I hope your baby’s father isn’t ugly tbh”.

is the type of dad that will lie to his wife about their children’s bad grades to save their asses

always sugar coats the parent teacher conferences to his wife, telling her that they’re the star students (even if they’re bad as hell)

laughs when one of his kids curse

teaches them the cheat codes to getting what they want in life

his kids ADORE him lmfao

is the most understanding and caring dad there is

taehyun --

strict dad who is a good listener lmao

i think taehyun would be more prepared when he knows he’s about to be a parent. of course he knows he doesn’t know everything but this man would be so prepared lmao

literally would do research on different things just to try and get a better understanding of how children’s minds work

his kids would be baby geniuses please

his daughter would be playing mozart on the piano at the age of two

his son would be a mathematician at four

LMAO i feel like his kids would be smart and mean ASF

literally the bougie kids at school with the latest clothes and shoes and don’t want to associate with the dumber kids

spoiled ROTTEN by taehyun will literally call him for the smallest inconvenience

“dad can you put more money on my credit card? I’m feeling sad today”

“dad I need a spa day”.

and yes taehyun will do these things for them at the drop of a dime

i feel like he’s the type of dad that knows everything, literally can’t outsmart him

if one of his children lies he already knows that they’re lying and already has evidence to prove it

I don’t think any of his children would ever lie to him though lmao taehyun don’t play that shit

type of dad that will allow his spoiled ass kids to live in his house for as long as they want without requiring them to move out

absolutely weak for them

will set up bank accounts and college funds for them

literally does EVERYTHING for them i cannot stress this ENOUGH

will buy their first apartment if they want it

will buy them their first cars

taehyun’s kids : part time job? what’s that?

type of dad that his kids can talk about anything and everything with and they love him for it

can be a crackhead dad too, will do the craziest shit to make his kids laugh

his kids are his world <3

kai --

lmfao i feel like kai is the fine line between being prepared and not knowing what the fuck to do every second

literally needs his wife because he’ll get anxiety trying to make big decisions for them

i think he would be at his prime parenting during the toddler stage since he has a lot of energy. he would bring his kids to trampoline parks and bounce house places allllll the time

his kids’ fondest childhood memories would be somewhere in a bounce house jumping and having fun with their dad

would also love turning on a soft playlist and have coloring sessions with them

is the type to make his kids dress like him, oversized sweaters, baggy jeans and cute sneakers

would buy his kids matching outfits and toys

also would be big on accessories i think. would love buying them cute backpacks, lunchboxes, and pens and pencils lmao

i think kai’s children would be chaotic as helllllllllllll

extremely hyperactive and don’t know the concept of bedtime

has frequent food fights in the kitchen

whenever they take a bath they get suds all over the floor

they eat and nap in the kitchen cabinets even though kai specifically told them not to do that

kids would be EXTREMELY cute so it would always be hard for kai to scold them

his version of scolding is literally, “hey don’t do that”. will never yell or hit

can never find a babysitter for when him and his wife have date nights because his children are always on a rampage

and when they do have do have date nights his children always find a way to facetime him fifteen hundred times about nothing

i think out of all kids, kai’s kids would be the baddest ones in school just because of the contrast lmfaoo

his son draws curse words on his desk

his daughter gets into fights all the time

parent teacher conferences are the funniest because kai is smiling no matter how bad the teacher says his kids are

literally cannot control them LMAO

but they’re so funny and sweet to him he can’t help but become weak for them

when they’re older though I feel like they’ll mellow out only a little but still kinda rebellious 

kai is a positive dad who tries his absolute best lmao but he loves them with all his heart <3

[lxstfulbeans]

*Busts in with a plastic bag of crack* You want some crack, kids? I’ll give it to ya! 🥸 So Y/N forgot where she placed her phone at and her crush decides to call her phone to help hear the ringtone so she can find it better. However, Y/N forgot that she uses funny ass ringtones for said crush and even has funny contact pics/names for them in her phone. Said songs are “Something about you girl” by Ice JJ Fish, “Wap” but with Carl Wheezer’s voice, “Interior Crocodile Alligator”, and the NFL theme song. I would love to see head cannons of this for Hawks, Dabi, Aizawa and Bakugo.

“Something about you girl” - Hawks. He’s saved as “KFC” and his contact pic is of him making the light skin face that sent y/n to orbit (he thought she deleted it cuz it’s cringy)

“Wap” - Dabi. He’s saved as “Patchy the Pirate” and his pic is a blurred image of him chasing Y/N.

“Interior crocodile alligator” - Aizawa. He’s saved as “Dad of 20” and his pic is of him laying face first in his sleeping bag

“NFL Theme song” - Bakugo. He’s “Boom Boom Pomeranian” and his pic is of a Pomeranian with his hair photoshopped on it.

I know they’ll give some funny reactions! They’ll look at sis confused and she’ll just go “See about that...” and book it when she takes her phone. This idea had me busting my pancreas 💀💀💀

Bruh I- 💀 I’m literally hearin these damn audios as I’m reading this ask, I’m rolling. This is the best 😂

— 3. 2. 1. ACTION!! —

HEADCANON: Y/N loses her phone and forgets that she saved crack-fuelled pictures and ringtones assigned to her crush.

KEIGO TAKAMI [HAWKS]:

You were losing your fucking mind at this point.

Where the fuck could you have misplaced your cellphone?? You had to meet your homegirls at the club for girls night, PRONTO!!

Keigo raised a brow as he walked in on you basically tearing apart your living room for your phone, almost crying from frustration. “Whoa, kid. Ya lose something?” He had the nerve to ask when it was clearly the case.

Sure, there was a whole lotta things to love about this bird-man, but that smartass attitude was gonna get slapped outta him.

“dId yOu lOsE sOmeThInG- YES FOOL MY DAYUM PHONE!!” You huff, throwing another couch cushion on the floor before you fell to the floor in exhaustion. “I got to meet the girls for girls night in twenty minutes, and I can’t find my phone!” You briefly explain.

You heard him chuckle, pulling out his own phone. “Okay, okay, calm down, kid. It ain’t the end of the world, y’know. I’ll just call it and we’ll listen out for the ringtone.” He says, scrolling for a bit before finding your contact, pressing the call button and..

That’s when y’all heard it.

“THERE’S SOMETHIN’ ABOUTCHA GURLL! THAT JUST MAKES MY HEAD WANNA TWIRL!!”

Your ringtone went off under the couch, making Keigo look at you with the most confused face ever, his wings puffing up as he looked at you, yet you couldn’t stop laughing as he used one of his feathers to drag the phone from under the couch.

“What the hell, kid?? I though you deleted this cringey ass selfie!” He whined, looking at the contact photo of him making that dumbass lightskin face that had you howling the other day. “And what the hell is this ringtone?? AND YOU SAVED ME AS KFC??”

“BRUH I CAN’T BREATHE SHUT UPP—“ You screech as you curl up, tears pricking your eyes as you roll on the floor. Keigo couldn’t help but snicker, rolling his eyes at you as he got you off the floor, “Okay, you got some explaining to do.”

“Well, you see, what had happened was-“ You begin, trying to hold back your laughter before snatching your phone and purse, running out of the door. “I’ll see you later, KFC!! I’m running late!”

DABI:

“Aw, damn! Where in the entire hell did I put my phone??” You groaned.

Of course, this wasn’t the first time you lost your phone and you swore it would’ve been the last. But, you were so caught up on multitasking with so much shit you wanted to get out of the way, you completely forgot about your phone.

You sighed as you now have to tear apart the lounge that you JUST straightened up, making this much worse than it had to be.

“Hey, little mouse. What’s with all the whining and hollering for?”

“I can’t find my phone, I’ve been all up in y’all raggedy-ass lair lookin’ for my shit so I can bounce!” You say with an eye roll as you placed your hands on your hips, clearly not in the mood for the bullshit right now.

“Okay, calm down. It’s just a phone, I can just call it and you can listen out for the ringtone.” He said with a sigh as he brought out his phone, dialing your number and waiting for the tone to play. The two of you went from room to room, getting more anxious everytime the phone went to voicemail. You were visibly going to cry, there was no way that you could’ve left your phone anywhere that WASN’T in the LOV Lair.

“I swear, if you start crying, I won’t let you live it down.” You hear Dabi mumble to you as you both entered the last room, dialing your number one last time until...

“NYEOW FROM THE TOP, MAKE IT DROP, THAT’S A WHAP. BRING A BUCKET AND A MOP, THAT’S WHAP”

Your phone was jamming out on a chair, Dabi looking at you like you just committed a grave sin while the ringtone played. The longer he stared at you, wanting an explanation, you can’t help but burst into laughter as you crawl to your phone, and let the tone finish.

You just hoped that your crush was still going to hang out with you after this crackhead mishap.

“MACARONI IN A POT, THAT’S A WHAP. JIMMYY”

Dabi was literally at a loss for words, (lookin’ a lil like confused bakugou rn 👀) as you wheezed in laughter. “[Y/N]... what in the fuck was that?” He asked, you can tell he was serious from how low and menacing your name was said. You were either about to run for your life or die laughing.

“And why the fuck is my name, “Patchy The Pirate”? And what the hell is this photo?” He asked again. Man, was it getting hot in there or was it just you?

“Well, you see here, uh- MOINK!” You shout, howling in laughter as you were chased around the building. Kurogiri shaking his head in disappointment.

SHŌTA AIZAWA (DADDY. ERASERHEAD):

“Oh no.”

“Oh, no...”

“Oh, no no no no no..”

This cannot be happening, this CANNOT be happening right now. Lord have mercy, please let today not be the day.

“Goddamn it, where’s my phone?!”

Yep, your phone. Your new phone that Shōta got for your birthday, who you also had a huge crush on but would never tell that to ANYONE. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t lose this phone, it was definitely the most precious thing ever.

“Fuuuuck!” You whined, already on the verge of panicking while your tore apart your room for that birthday gift. “Hey, what’s all this racket for? I’m trying to sleep.” said your friend, roommate, and crush, Shōta.

“I-I’m just lookin’ for somethin’, Shō! Sorry for all this noise..” you mumbled an apology as you continued your search, swinging your arm around underneath the bed.

“You lost your phone, didn’t you, [Y/N]?”

DAMN, he catches on quick for somebody who sleeps 25/8. Maybe it’s because you don’t really have trouble looking for stuff unless it’s something really important to you.

You sighed, the embarrassment and disappointment washing over you as you laid in defeat on the floor. “Yeah.. I can’t find it..” you mumbled.

The older man sighed, cracking his neck as he got out his phone. “Okay, just calm down. I’ll call it and we’ll just listen out for your ringtone, okay? If we can’t hear it, we’ll track it.”

God, why was he so hot when he took responsibility? You couldn’t help but sit up and nod at his words as he scrolled through his contacts until he found your name, confirming the call until..

“INTERIOR CROCODILE ALLIGATOR. I DRIVE A CHEVROLET MOVIE THEATER.”

Your phone blasted the same line over and over, as hard as you tried to contain it, you couldn’t help but screech in laughter when you looked up to see Shōta’s disturbed, confused, and concerned face as he picked up your phone from underneath your dresser.

“”Dad of 20”?? What the hell type of name is that?” He asked, the iconic sleeping bag worm as his contact photo. The joke behind it was the fact that he was a whole teacher at U.A. You always thought it was cute that he was basically a father figure to those future heroes.

Plus, you wouldn’t stop joking about them being his, “lil chilrens”.

“Aight, aight. I wanna thank you for finding my phone, I promise not to lose it again!” You quickly say, trying to creep out of the room until you were confined with his capture weapon.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Fuck..

KATSUKI BAKUGOU:

“Hey, dumbass! Hurry up, or we’ll miss the movie!”

Damn, damn, damn!! You can’t believe you just lost your phone right now, you could’ve sworn you left it on your bed before you started fixing your hair in the bathroom.

“Shit, shit! Bakugou, can you help me find my phone real quick? Pretty please?” You call out to him, really anxious because you were really looking forward to this movie and you could not miss a second of it!

“Ugh, are you serious?? What did I tell you about keeping up with your shit!” He groaned, getting out his phone as he dialed your number and listened to the trill.

“I know, I know! I promise I’ll be more careful!” You say as you listened out for it, only to pull aside your blankets to see your vibrating phone with the ringtone on blast.

Oh yes, the NFL Theme. What made you lose your shit was Bakugou’s flabbergasted facial expression as he looked down at your contact photo and nickname for him.

You couldn’t help but cackle as you saw a vein pop out, popping hands reaching out for you. “Hey! What the fuck is this shit?? Imma show you a pomeranian!” He shouted.

“Katsu! Katsu! Relaaaxx!! You know you’re my bestie and I love you, but we got a movie to catch so let’s do this later fam.” You snicker, trying to calm yourself down as you yoinked your phone and took off out the door with your purse.

“OH, JUST WAIT UNTIL WE GET BACK HOME!”

— END SCENE —

Sorry that Bakugou’s was kinda short! But, hope you enjoyed these!

[honoredbastard]

I COME BACK WITH THOUGHTS/THEORIES ON ITADORI AND HIS RELATIONS- I THINK.

anyways, so i'll just point this out: i'm not good at speaking my thoughts in an organized manner. i absolutely suck at it, i speak on how my brain brings up the thoughts so i might ramble, get over my head in a thought, etc. i can't control it so i apologize in advance for the jumpiness of the texts. i will spell a lot of things wrong and not everything will be correct, as i read translations and on a manga site. don't worry it's not illegal, i believe.

MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD.

i apologize for my absence! last week or two weeks ago the tower to my computer completely broke and will not turn on. i tried to repair it and follow my fathers instructions but nothing worked. even cleaned off the fan and went through countless nights readjusting things. it's not my cords either so to help me out my father is working extra shifts to get me a new pc. so in the meantime i'll do small posts like these but not full writing/head canons until i have a computer tower lol. a family member was kind enough to allow me to have their phone while we work throughout this issue.

now onto the actual topic:

kenjaku and itadori's relationship. ( family wise ).

for context in the most recent chapter, 160 "colony" kamo shows up in sasaki's home and talks to her about the culling game and a barrier. but that's not the point, the point is as he's guiding her to the barrier inside her "dream" at the end he says "oh right. i almost forgot to tell you. thank you for getting along with my son." and then she is awakened inside the barrier, in her pajamas beside iguchi. when sasaki and iguchi look at the barrier and gather themselves they bring up kamo.

sasaki asked iguchi if he mentioned his son and he says no. this leaves sasaki in a state of confusion when itadori flashes in her mind. she says his name aloud like she finally connected the dots. now. why am i bringing up this whole kenjaku thanking sasaki for being his "son"'s friend. it throws me off because why didn't he thank iguchi?

did he not think iguchi meant their friendship? because sasaki was the one uninjured and still counted itadori as a friend? does iguchi not consider itadori as a friend anymore?

because we haven't seen these two at all since the incident. that raised many questions in me. as well "how can itadori be related to kamo?" and itadori is related to choso.

because kamo's technique is explained ( vaguely. we are aware he can create barriers, take over bodies, and has incredible cursed tools. chapter 134. this is also where choso makes his connection ( i believe. ) to itadori yuji as his brother. but because we saw this with todo many thought itadori just had another unconsious technique that allows the person who is hit create false memories and believe of a completely made up relationship with itadori without his knowledge. but alas, i was wrong. ) and we're given more hints shown than told ( imo ) i tried my best to make sense out of the situation and what he said. i think my conclusions are pretty solid, so continuing on.

we're given very little history on itadori, his past, and family. at the start of the manga we know that itadori's only family he knows is his grandfather and that he is ill in the hospital. at the very very beginning we learn that itadori is your average cute, fluffy, laid back but strong and goofy protagonist. in smaller words: itadori is kirby but even cuter and dumber.

my first impressions of him is a pineapple. if you're confused to this saying: it's calling a person prickly on the outside but sweet on the inside. and this is true, itadori's grandfather seems prickly and cold on the outside but he genuinely cares for itadori.

he raised itadori for all we know and did that with his all in assumption. but this ends up backfiring onto itadori, because he cares so much for his grandson - he ends up leaving a " curse " on yuji.

help people. save them.

itadori takes this to heart as his grandfathers speech is his last one. when he looks over to his grandfather the man is dead and now yuji is left alone. then the following events occur.

at this point in time i assumed itadori was an orphan ( he technically is if we're connecting the dots. his parents has not been shown, he doesn't speak of them, they aren't in the picture. we can conclude either they disowned itadori or died before he could make complete memories of them. )

but when we are shown in chapter 143 itadori's parents we see this "woman" jin ( yuji's father ) and his grandfather talking about has the same scar pattern. this scar pattern is either stitching ( assuming that is how kamo keeps the top of the opened skull from coming off. this is also how kamo revealed his cursed technique / body of sorts ( the brain, assuming that is kenjaku in his cursed technique and not the body / puppet he is controlling " getou suguru " ) to gojou. )

this is the only way i find kamo being able to assign itadori as his son. why is that you might be asking this dumbass here.

we do not have the full story, exact date, location, and full context of the memory/dream itadori is having. this cannot be fake either because kamo would than have no reason to call itadori his son. or is there? anyways.

take a leap of faith with me. imagine that before itadori is born ( he seems no more than a few weeks or days old in this memory. hence why i am thinking my conclusion is pretty solid in theory. but yknow gege, there might be something different. ) anywhooo.

TW. D3ATH/IMPLYING ANTI LIFE ATTEMPT

kamo had to have taken over yuji's mothers body after an accident OR after she gave birth to yuji. his grandfather is interrupted by her before he can finish his sentence but it seems to be leading to the conclusion that either kaori ( yuji's mother ) died while giving birth to yuji or kaori could not conceive and tried to take her own life or cause an accident that would take her life. ( i read a fan translation for this part but im pretty sure i also read the official translation today too and it added up to the same. )

i believe in the first idea, but since kamo's cursed technique wasn't explained in detail i don't know the conditions of his body technique. does the original host of the body have to be dead? can he regenerate body limbs ( i highly doubt. getou lost an arm during his fight with yuta. overconfident dick. reminding me of an ex ANTWAYS. i forgive him for being overconfident smooch. he learned. OFF TOPIC but continuing on i promise.

this is being continued from the cut off point. i'm so upset so it'll just be summarized. i can't believe this shit lol i took three hours just to finish it for it to literally cut off the bottom half.

continuing on in a sadge mood. kamo must not have the complete ability to take over a body. after all getou took his only arm he had as he was dying and choked his own body to his full ability. getou was willing to die ( possibly, you never know he could be alive if he killed his own body. moving on. ) just to have the chance to save his friend from being swallowed by a damn box.

so there has to be a chance that kamo cannot fully take over the previous persons complete consious and memory of their body. if getou still had his other arm after losing the fight to yuta, he could've choked kamo with both arms. in theory kamo wouldn't be able to control the right arm and die to the previous host choking him to death.

so why wouldn't the other hosts do it? after all, kamo did say it was his first time experiencing such a thing. assuming kamo has lived throughout many bodies in his 150+ lifespan none of the previous hosts could take control of their body.

i believe getou was completely influenced by gojou and his six eyes. there is no way gojou would even try to speak out to his friend unless he had an inkling or saw getou still in there. helpless and without the ability to save himself from the cage he's in.

being used and puppeteered in his own body by an external force. laughing in the world he could not. putting getou into a constant misery and defeat that he couldn't escape his hell. the one he tried so hard to fight and get out of. even if it was the wrong path.

gojou was the last person to witness getou dying. he had to watch getou bleed out after their conversation because he couldn't bring himself to kill his friend. the one he spent his whole jujutsu student life with. so for gojou to say such a thing to getou despite all that he did had to break getou out of his misery and give him that small sliver of hope that he could do something. of course he failed, but i doubt that's going to be the end of that.

the only way i see kamo being related to yuji is if he took over kaori's body before the pregnancy. assuming that when kamo takes over a body he becomes one with said body and is that person for however long he lives in said body. my only thing is, can he take over a persons body whilst they are alive? i would go more in depth like i did the last time but i am extremely upset about my work being erased so that's the end of this part.

thank you for reading! i have one more thing for you though.

the last time we see sukuna in a manga page after the shibuya incident is where he is on his throne and in his domain. this is after yuji is stabbed by yuta and is presumed "dead" at the time. he seems to be interested in yuta and i can think of 2-3 things. I would love to hear your theories too so don't be afraid to barge into my dms like the koolaid man.

A - sukuna is interested in Yuta because of his ability to use the reverse healing technique ( only a few sorcerers know this. sukuna being the first. shoko being the second one to be told that she has this power and then gojou. ) because of this he sees potential in yuta as well or has added this boy into his plans. after all, there is very few that can make sukuna make an expression that isn't an RBF. aka megumi and possibly gojou. I was looking at the page of him stabbing yuji and noticed we only see the entry point of where the blade enters. it's smaller because some got chunked off so its a possibility yuta used this to his advantage when "killing" yuji and instead hit an artery that could kill him but quickly healed him afterwards. or just his heart. the ideas.

B. Rika, Yuta is able to completely control Rika as shown. Even though he claims he is on the weak side, these two combined seem like an unstoppable force. He may be interested in Rika as she is a curse that has been put on someone that can fully control it. Not many people is shown to be able to control their curse. As we haven't met many.

this was enti and that's the last of my post! thank you for reading and it was a fun one. even though i had to restore this shit. anyways, i'd love you to add or fix up my ideas and tell me your thoughts and opinions! Thanks a bunch!

^ this is for pure humor

[skiesofthesketchy]

Unsend {1}

JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: You accidentally sent your nude to your friend lol.

AN: Hi! Ummm... I wrote this. Idk lemme know if you like it and if you’d like to read a part 2!! Me.. over here obsessed with JJ baby. Ok thanks for reading love you :)

Warnings: lots of swearing, somewhat explicit descriptions, a smidge of blackmail...

Word count: 2.9k

Part 2: Send It

***

It was one of those days where you weren’t feeling particularly great about yourself. Nothing specific was the cause of such feelings, but today you just felt... bleh. 

Your rattiest pair of sweatpants adorned your legs and you wore an extra large shirt on top. Your hair was pulled into something that sort of resembled a bun, your face was covered in a mud mask, which looked and smelled gross, but the packaging said it would make your skin soft. You usually didn’t mind your appearance, especially when you’re just lounging around at home, but today you didn’t feel pretty. 

Pretty is not the most important thing in the world. Still, it felt nice to feel pretty. 

This led you to go through some of your old photos. It always made you happier to look back on some of the amazing memories you’d made. Scrolling through your camera roll on your phone, you found pictures from instances you had totally forgotten about. Your heart melted when you clicked on one of you and your friends.

It was the first day of summer, and your squad spent the entire day surfing before hanging out at the Chateau afterwards. John B. and JJ had grilled up some burgers while you helped Pope make a fire in the yard. Kiara had been the designated DJ of the night, which was her excuse for not helping with dinner. You all sat in camping chairs and hammocks as you ate and listened to music, talking and laughing about anything that came up. 

It was a pure moment, and you smiled at the photo. You had insisted on taking a picture to commemorate the amazing day, the first day of a wild summer ahead of you. You had set your phone on the porch with a timer, and yelled at everyone to quickly pose. They were already standing in somewhat of a formation, and as you ran to them to get ready for the picture, JJ grabbed you by the waist and spun you around so that he was holding you with your back against his chest. 

“Say pogues for life!” Kiara shouted, and you all huddled closer together in a group hug, JJ smooshing his cheek against yours with arms around your waist as you all screamed at the top of your lungs, “Pogues for life!”

You saved the photo to favorites, the sight of it making you feel better already. Before scrolling again, you zoomed in on your face, your cheek squished against JJ’s, and it made you blush. Any time he held you close, it made your skin heat up and your insides turn to mush.

Sighing, you kept scrolling, and were surprised to find a handful of scandalous pictures you had taken. You remember this day too, and you were feeling extra great about yourself then. So great that you had decided to snap a few nudes. You hadn’t sent them to anyone, but figured it was nice to have a few photos of you looking sexy. You blushed as you looked through these, wondering if you’d ever have the courage to actually send them to someone someday.

Your screen still displayed one of your nudes when you got a text from Kie. For some unknown reason, your phone spazzed out and the screen froze. “Come on,” you mumbled, pressing on the screen and the home button several times. You tapped repeatedly on the screen, annoyed that nothing was happening. Then it seemed to have started working again, because it lit up and you were suddenly watching your photo being sent to someone. 

“Oh my fucking god.” Your eyes widened. “What the fuck did I just do!?” 

Panic surged throughout your whole body. Your phone seemed to be working just fine now, but did you actually just send your nude to somebody?! You rushed to your messaging app, and the first name at the top of the screen was none other than JJ Maybank.

“No!” you yelled. You clicked on his name and sure enough, your naked body was in the chat, underneath it, the word, ‘Delivered.’

You threw your phone onto the bed. “This cannot be happening to me right now.” ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ was all that was running through your head on a loop as you tried to think of what to do.

‘Maybe he hasn’t seen it yet,’ you thought. You quickly picked up your phone again and called JJ, praying he would pick up. You needed to tell him NOT to open his messages. To delete the whole chat right now before he sees the picture. 

He didn’t answer, and you huffed, dialing his number again. You had to get a hold of him. If there’s any chance he hasn’t seen it yet, you were going to make sure he never does. You don’t know how you’d live with the humiliation. 

The call once again went to voicemail, and you were on your feet in seconds. You still had hope, thinking if he wasn’t answering your calls, he didn’t even have his phone on him, which means he couldn’t have seen the picture yet. 

You slid on some shoes and grabbed your backpack, not even bothering to look in the mirror before running out of your house. You knew JJ would be at the Chateau, and it was only a fifteen minute walk from your house. You figured you could make it in five if you ran. 

Then you were sprinting down the streets like a mad woman, your face still painted with the brown mud mask, which was starting to melt off as it mixed with your sweat. You didn’t even care. You just needed to get to JJ’s phone before he did. 

“I’m gon’ take a shower,” John B. muttered to JJ. JJ didn’t respond as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He found his phone resting on the couch as he sat down, taking a swig of Coors. He scrolled through the few notifications he had, the boy furrowing his brows when he saw two missed calls from you and a text. 

He didn’t think anything of it when he clicked on your text message, but what he saw had him spitting out his beer all over his lap and the coffee table. 

Your face wasn’t in the shot, but JJ knew it was you without a doubt. You were completely naked and laid across your bed. The frame showed from your collarbones down to your thighs, one of your legs propped up lazily, showing all of your most private parts.

JJ was stunned. He wasn’t thinking about why you had sent him this photo out of the blue. He was left ogling the picture in utter disbelief. Your tits were on full display, your nipples hardened into peaks, your skin looking flawless. JJ couldn’t help the grunt that escaped him when he zoomed in on your pussy. He had only dreamed of seeing you this way, but never in a million years thought that he actually would. Naughty thoughts started to swirl in his head when he heard the sound of rapid footsteps just outside.

It was you, panting wildly and your mind still racing. “JJ?” you yelled as you bounded up the porch steps. JJ quickly tucked his phone away on instinct, as if he already knew he shouldn’t have been looking at that photo.

You barged into the front door and stopped in your tracks when you found JJ standing in the living room. He chuckled as he looked you up and down. You were a complete mess, and it was plainly obvious that you had just been running for your life. “Y/N?” he asked.

“Where’s your phone?” You didn’t have time to explain, and you didn’t want to. You just needed to delete the photo without JJ knowing, and then you could forget this ever happened. 

JJ decided to play dumb. He found the current state you were in more than amusing, and he thought about how his day has already gotten so much better. “Uh, I don’t know. Why?”

“Come on, J, where is it?”

“I said I don’t have it. What’s this about?” He had an idea of why you ran in demanding his phone, but he wanted to watch you squirm as you tried to explain it. He wasn’t going to let you know he had seen your nude just yet.

“Nothing, I just need it, okay?” You started frantically looking around, throwing pillows and blankets onto the floor. “Where is it?” you grumbled. You still looked like a crazy person, and JJ was enjoying the scene in front of him way too much.

“I’ll help you look if you tell me why you need it.” The man was smirking, which pissed you off but you were too busy panicking to care right now. 

“I’ll just call it,” you said, before taking your phone out to call him. JJ took another swig of his beer as he watched you, totally unhinged. He knew he was about to be caught in his lie, but he was excited for it. This whole situation excited him. 

His ringtone started blaring from his pocket and you looked at him in disbelief. “JJ, seriously? Gimme your damn phone.” You were now standing in front of him, still quivering with nerves but putting on an angry face for him.

“No,” he smiled, looking more like the devil than the JJ you know and love. 

“I swear to god, JJ, I will murder you.” You reached for his pockets, but he had already slipped the phone out and held it above his head, out of your reach.

“Just tell me why you need it so badly!” He laughed as you jumped and yanked on his arm trying to get his phone. He easily kept it away from you, but you were putting in an admirable amount of effort. 

“None of your business!” you yelled childishly, hitting him in the chest as you continued to reach for the phone.

“My phone, my business.” You shouted in anguish and jumped on him, making you both crash onto the couch with you practically laying on top of him. Being in this position with your friend would’ve made you embarrassed, but you had too much adrenaline pumping through your veins to care. 

Your hands finally grabbed hold of the phone but he snatched it away from you and tucked it into the front of his pants. You looked at him again baffled. “Go on, take it,” he said. You wanted to slap the smirk right off his face. 

“Don’t think I won't.” 

“I hope you do, sweetheart.” His eyes burned into you in a challenging stare, his face only inches from yours. You knew he was just having the time of his life right now, teasing the shit out of you. You held his gaze, wishing you could burn a hole right through him. 

“Fine. You win,” you sighed. It was a bluff. You weren’t going to actually stick your hand down his pants! You sat back in defeat, but that’s when you realized the position you were in. You were straddling JJ, your top half leaning over him and his stupid, cocky face right under you. Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurried to get off of him. 

“Seriously JJ. I accidentally sent you something that you’re not supposed to see.” You decided to come clean, the embarrassment of the situation too much for you to handle any longer. You just needed to get this over with.

He sat up, deciding to come clean as well. “Oh, are you talking about the nudie?” he asked.

Your eyes widened until they were bulging out of your head. “You saw it?!” you screamed. This was your worst nightmare, accidentally sending a naked photo to someone. Of course it had to randomly be sent to JJ. You knew he would never let you live this down. You were right, this is utterly humiliating.

“Come on,” JJ laughed, still enjoying every second of this. “Don’t be embarrassed!”

“Of course I’m embarrassed, JJ!” you yelled at him. “You weren’t supposed to see that. It was an accident!”

“It’s nothing to get so worked up about. It’s a great picture, and I’ll cherish it forever.” The gleam in his eye had your stomach twisting in knots.

“Like hell you will. Fucking delete it.”

“You sent it to me. It’s mine now,” he smiled wickedly. 

“JJ,” you warned, glaring at him. He didn’t take you seriously though, mud still on your face in patches.

“Y/N...” he teased. 

The scolding approach wasn’t going to work, and you sighed. “Please JJ? Can’t you see how humiliating this is for me?” 

“It shouldn't be. You’re hot as fuck and you should be flaunting it.” Your cheeks burned at his words and the butterflies you knew oh so well were set loose in your stomach. The butterflies that only seemed to appear when you’re with JJ.

“What? That-- that’s not the point,” you stuttered. “I don’t want a naked picture of me to be on your phone!” 

“But I do,” he argued.

“JJ!” You didn’t let your mind drift to why he wanted the photo and only focused on getting the picture deleted. “You’re being a dick!”

“Fine, I’ll delete it,” he said after laughing at your pissed off expression, then standing up and retrieving the phone from his crotch. “On one condition.”

You hit him repeatedly in the chest, overrun by anger once again. “So you’re gonna blackmail me now? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He laughed, not affected at all by your assault. “I’m not above blackmail, sweetheart. Do you want to hear my condition or not?”

You crossed your arms over your chest with a huff. “Fine. What is it?”

He smirked, coming closer to you. As scary and seductive as he looked right now, you held your ground, eyes meeting his devilish stare. 

“I’ll delete the pic if I get to see the real thing.” 

“What?!” Your mind was spinning once again as heat rushed to your cheeks. “You-- You’re not serious!”

“Dead serious, Y/N.” He was shameless. Despite his attraction and feelings towards you, he knew you were off limits. No pogue on pogue macking was the rule. But today’s series of events had him thinking perhaps you weren’t as out of reach as he thought. 

If you agreed to his condition, it would be the best day of his life. If not, he knew he’d have to deal with you hating him for a while until he finally made it up to you, but this was a risk he was willing to take. 

You shook your head, turning away from him to hide your embarrassment. You didn’t understand why he would actually suggest such a thing. Was he really going to treat you like every other touron he picked up? Or did he like you? You couldn’t fathom the latter actually being true. 

“That’ll never happen, JJ.” 

He ignored the pain in his chest that was struck by your words. “Then I guess I’m the proud owner of one of your nudes,” he smiled. 

“Come on, JJ. This isn’t funny.”

“I think it’s funny.”

“Well it’s not!” You eyed the phone in his hands and decided to take a chance. You pushed the man as hard as you could and when he crashed to the couch, you lunged for it.

“Ha!” you yelled, grinning ear to ear with his phone in your hands. 

“Hey, give that back!” JJ got up, but you bolted out of the house, JJ running after you.

As you tried not to stumble over your own feet, you unlocked his phone and clicked on your message. “You better not delete it!” he yelled after you, catching up fast. Despite how serious you thought this situation was, it really wasn’t too big of a deal. He was laughing as he chased you, and you cheered in triumph when you finally managed to delete the photo.

‘Crisis averted,’ you thought. Except now you had to deal with the knowledge that JJ actually saw a naked photo of you. You were still embarrassed, but at least now there’s no evidence of this ever actually happening.

“Aw, come on,” JJ chuckled as he finally caught up to you. “I didn’t even have a chance to jerk off to it yet.”

“JJ!” You hit him in the chest. You didn’t think you could take much more of his teasing. Not today.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to get my hands on it again someday,” he smirked. You rolled your eyes and started stalking away, ready to just go home now. He only laughed as he watched you retreat. 

“Wait, Y/N!” 

You turned around to find him behind you, looking as handsome as ever. “What?”

“It was sexy,” he said bluntly, as if his words didn’t just light your insides on fire. “You’re sexy.” He winked at you, then casually sauntered off back to the house, leaving you in a confused daze.  

“Fuck you!” you yelled after him before running off into the direction of your house. ‘At least that’s over with,’ you thought, but you knew JJ was only going to continue teasing and flirting with you now that he saw how riled up you had become. How you were going to handle that, you didn’t know, but for some crazy reason, you smiled at the thought.

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

part 2??

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (1/?)

Summary: When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Do you know what’s a great way to distract yourself from writing and other responsibilities? By writing a story that you shouldn’t be writing. So, here we are, and I hope you enjoy 😂

On AO3 | Here | 

-/-

June

The ocean water runs over his toes before disappearing, heading back to its home beyond the sand. It’s a cool contrast against the heat of the sun that’s warmly beating down on his skin, but it matches the chill of the beer bottle against his palm. Who knows what time it is? From the emptiness of the beach, Killian is guessing it’s mid-morning, but seriously, who the hell knows anymore?

Likely everyone other than him.

After more water washes over his feet and up his ankles, he decides the water is too cold to stay standing this close to the shoreline, so he walks up the path to his house and closes the gate behind him. He sits down at the bench by his pool and then buries his face in his hands before moving to take a sip of the beer.

God, he hopes it’s not truly the morning because he’s one second away from tipping the bottle enough for the beer to tumble down his throat.

Killian yanks it away and tosses it to the ground. He expects the damn thing to shatter against the tile, but it doesn’t. It rolls away into the grass, spilling a little beer with every turn until it stops against the tall grass lining the gate. Killian bends down and picks up another bottle, popping it open, then pouring it out. He does the same thing over and over again until his grass is fertilized with alcohol.

At least his body isn’t.

What a thought to have (presumably) so early in the morning.

His eyes close, the sun no longer blinding his vision, and he starts picking up the bottles, chasing them around and cursing himself for even buying the damn case in the first place. He has no clue what damn day it is, but he does know that it’s too damn early for him to be drinking. And if he’s going to get wasted and waste his day, he might as well do it with rum or whiskey. He doesn’t even like beer.

Killian chucks the bottles in the bin resting against the side of the rental house and goes through the side door into the kitchen. It’s clean today, all the white countertops empty of plates and pitchers and the junk that accumulates over time. The living room is clean as well, all the pillows in the right place, the throw blankets over the correct corners of couches, and he can see vacuum lines in the rug. He’s sure if he were to walk to the mantle, it’d be empty of dust. Ariel must have sent someone in to clean yesterday while he was away from the house. He’s got to have her stop doing that. He’s thirty-five years old. He can clean the house he’s staying in. He doesn’t need her taking care of his life for him.

Though, it is literally her job, but Ariel takes things far past being his manager. He doesn’t know anyone else who does all the things she does for their client, especially when he isn’t bringing in the same amount anymore. Sponsors aren’t exactly lining up at the door for disgraced football – not the American kind as everyone here believes – players, but he still has a few hanging around and good enough investments that he’ll be alright for a long while. Bored as hell with too much time for him to wander to bars in Martha’s Vineyard before talking himself out of them and sitting in a twenty-four-hour diner all night. He’s got his favorites. One has better coffee than the others, but the booths aren’t clean. Another has clean booths but a piss excuse for coffee, and his favorite has a selection of pies that have him eating in ways he hasn’t since he was young. Still, they’re all pathetic little places for him to spend his time so he doesn’t drink more than he can tolerate.

At least no one knows him here. It’s actually why he’s here to begin with. There are obviously less famous towns and places in the world, but he wanted to be near the ocean, wanted to at least have that if he was going to be in disgraced isolation. This area has beach for miles and different nooks to disappear into, and so far, it’s nice. He’d rather be in London or New York, but he knows this is better.

He collapses onto the couch and sees a note on the coffee table in Ariel’s neat script. When was she even here? Honestly.

Killian, Eric and I are in town for the week. Please come to lunch at our house. We’d love to have you! I know you don’t have anything better to do, so don’t bother calling me with an excuse. Hope you enjoy the clean house!

-   A

He runs his hand over his face and scratches at his too-long beard before fumbling for his phone and checking the date and time. It’s half past eight. He can get two, maybe three, hours of sleep now, and he’ll only look half as pissed as he feels when he makes his way to Ariel and Eric’s house a few miles over in Tisbury.

At least he isn’t actually pissed. Always the positives, he guesses.

-/-

Ariel’s house is covered in gray shingles with white trim. The shutters are cherry red, much like her hair, and while there are obvious updates to the place, it looks just as it did in the pictures he’s seen from when Ariel was young. She was raised here, her father a local fisherman, and while she now resides outside of London, on occasion, she returns to Tisbury for a holiday. It’s why he chose to holiday here even if he’s over in Edgartown on the beach in a house too large for one person. He spent years listening to her talk about her childhood, and then visiting when she married Eric here, and he wanted that calm sense of relaxation.

Right now, however, he wants nothing more than to be back in a city. The firing squad won’t be as intrusive there where he can get lost in a crowd instead of being the center of attention.

Killian opens the unlocked front door that squeaks on its hinges, and he immediately smells garlic bread baking in the oven. She must be making her pasta, and his stomach growls for real food. As he walks through the hall at the entrance of the house, he notices that everything is the same, all the family portraits are in the same places, there are a few too many nautical decorations, but it all works. Killian looks into the kitchen, sees that it’s empty, and calls out for Ariel and Eric, no answer. He takes the liberty of checking the oven, and when he notices the bread is slightly overdone, he grabs an oven mitt and takes it out, placing the tray on the stove.

Where the hell are they?

He pushes open the kitchen door that leads to the backyard, and he sees two figures toward the side of the yard. Killian sighs and walks over to them, only stopping when he realizes it’s three people instead of two.

Ariel and Eric are talking to a gorgeous woman in a pair of small white shorts and a fitted polo. She’s got long, thick blonde hair pulled off her neck, and he can’t stop glancing down at her legs. He doesn’t usually pay much attention to people anymore, unless of course they are paying attention to him, but he cannot help but notice her. Because she’s stunning, of course, but also because he wasn’t expecting to see anyone else. He thought they would be isolated, and his gut tells him to turn around and run.

He doesn’t.

“Hello?” he starts, and they all turn to him. “I, uh, took your bread out of the oven.”

“Oh shit,” Ariel mumbles. “I forgot I’d put the bread in the oven. Is it burned?”

“No, I think I saved it just in time, love.”

Ariel’s shoulders deflate, and then she’s closing the distance between them, hugging him tightly, before Eric does the same and claps him on his back several times. He’s missed them, and it feels good to be embraced by something other than a heavy blanket. When Eric releases him, Killian can see the woman still standing in the yard, shifting on her feet.

“Hello,” he greets, nodding in her direction.

“Hi,” she nods back.

“Oh, Emma,” Ariel begins, walking over to her and grabbing her arm, “this is my friend, Killian. He’s staying on the island for awhile. Killian, this is Emma. We rent the house to her for most of the year, so we’ve invaded her home this week, I’m afraid.”

“It’s fine,” Emma says. “You guys basically give me the place for free, and I picked up some extra shifts at the club. I’d never be home anyway.”

“What do you do, love?”

“Not your love,” she corrects, and he feels the sting even if he uses the term for many a woman, “and I’m a manager at a little place by the shore, but sometimes during the summer I’ll wait tables at the local country club for extra money. The people will treat you like shit, but at least they tip well since they have no concept of real-life money.”

“What’s the restaurant?” he asks. “Maybe I could eat there.”

Her brows raise, and he gets the feeling she’s not a fan of the idea of him disturbing her at work. He gets the feeling she’s not a fan of him at all. Funny, his first impressions are usually better than this.

“The Blue Dog Tavern.” She points to the logo on her shirt. “I actually have to go there now. I just had to drop by and get my shirt since my boss is coming by today. I’ll stay out of your way when I get home tonight,” she tells Ariel and Eric. “It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“Oh, no, honey,” Ariel sighs, smiling at Emma, “we’re the ones disturbing you. I promise, it’ll be a fast week, and then everything can go back to normal.”

Emma nods with a tight smile, and he definitely gets the idea that she isn’t a fan of having Ariel and Eric here. He wouldn’t be either if he had to share his home with his landlords. She walks away into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her, and Killian makes a note of the restaurant she mentioned, not necessarily to see her but to venture somewhere that isn’t a twenty-four-hour diner.

“Is that why I couldn’t stay here?” Killian asks. “Because you already rent it out?”

“Yep. Plus, it’s not on the beach, and that was your request. This isn’t really to your taste anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, A?”

She shrugs and walks toward the kitchen. “Nothing. I’ve got to finish cooking. I was just about to put the pasta on the stove when Emma came in through the back gate, and I got distracted. Thanks for saving the bread, Jones.”

“Is she okay?” Killian asks Eric.

“Yeah, mate, she’s fine.” He claps his hand onto Killian’s shoulder. “And what she meant by that is that you’re an ex-football player who is hiding from the world and is used to a certain kind of luxury. You’d lose your mind living in this house for months. It’s smaller than a quarter of your flat back home.”

“I would not lose my mind living here. It’s charming.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “You would. I think the giant crab pillow in the living room would be what pushed you over the edge.”

“That thing is still here?”

“It’ll never leave, and I’ve offered to pay Emma to get rid of it many times. I think she throws it out, and it finds its way back inside.”

Killian snickers and settles down on the bench of the dining table they keep outside, letting Eric follow. He feels like he hasn’t talked to another human being in ages, and he’s only been here for a few weeks. “You know her pretty well then? Emma?”

“No,” Eric starts, waving his hand, “no, no, no, no. You cannot go there.”

“What the hell are you on about? I can’t go where?”

“Emma. You can’t go there. She’s not a one-night stand for you. She lives here, takes care of it since we’re gone all the time. You can’t mess that up. Ariel would murder you if you screwed this arrangement up.”

Killian flashes a smile, the ones he’s used to get whatever he wants a million times. There’s an art to being in the public eye, one he figured out only to ruin it all over again, but he still knows the old tricks. Smile, be charming, never let them see any hesitation in your actions. If a question is too invasive or the answer to telling, redirect. It’s all about the redirection. Killian was never one to lie, but he was certainly one to evade, especially toward the end when he couldn’t handle hearing what everyone had to say.

Here, he doesn’t want to admit that Eric might be right about him, but mostly, he’s tired of people controlling his life because they think he can’t make good decisions.

“What?” he laughs, shaking his head. “You think I’m not capable of simply asking about a woman?”

“I think you are, but I don’t want Ariel to have any reason to kill you.”

“Eric,” Ariel yells from the kitchen, stopping Killian before he can speak, “set the table! We can eat in fifteen.”

Saved by the bell. Or the Ariel.

He hates himself a little for rhyming in his head. If this is how he thinks sober, he’s not sure he wants to stay this way.

“And Killian,” Ariel calls, “you can make the lemonade!”

Okay, so maybe he can, if only because Ariel will kill him if he collapses into the pit again, and she won’t be the only one. He’s had a few downfalls into drowning in alcohol since coming here. Maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s sadness, who the hell knows? What he does know is that it makes the demons all disappear for the night, sometimes the morning too, but then it all comes roaring back in screaming color.

And with a hell of a screaming headache.

One or two drinks every few days, he reminds himself. That’s what he’s working with, and besides the few slips, he’s been pretty damn successful.

Killian heads inside to help Ariel, though he thinks he hinders her more than helps since he can’t find a damn thing, but eventually they get it all done and eat. Mostly, he has to listen to Ariel give him a briefing on things he has to do over the next few weeks. He has contracts to sign, video interviews and conferences to attend, and they need to happen at certain times. That’s a bit obnoxious, but he can’t complain. He’d be the biggest ass in the world if he did, and he’s certainly already in the running for that title. People still want his face and brand to represent them, and he doesn’t even kick around a ball anymore.

Fools. All of them.

Ariel asks him to stay for dessert, but he’s already eaten too much off his usual diet. Old habits die hard, and he isn’t working out like he used to. Maybe he’ll take up running again soon, but right now, the thought is exhausting. Killian excuses himself from the table, hugging the Fishers goodbye and wishing them goodnight. He’s sure he’ll see them before they return to England and go back to their regular lives. Ariel still has Will and Rob to manage, so she can’t spend all of her time on him. There are other pieces of work out there.

The streets are crowded as Killian drives back to his rental house. Tourists and native islanders alike are out to go to dinner or bars, likely a party or two, and while Killian is tempted to take a turn and go out himself, he doesn’t. He continues along the GPS guide back to his rental house until the garage door is closing behind him.

Day seventeen of being here - now that he knows the date, he’s reminded of when he arrived - is done and dusted, and he cannot wait to close his eyes and go to sleep. He’s been running on fumes all day.

Once inside, Killian quickly showers and puts on a pair of pajama bottoms, collapsing under the covers of his bed as soon as possible. So, of course, that’s when his phone rings.

“It’s bloody half past one in the morning where you are.”

“And only half past eight where you are, so why are you in bed? You look horrible.”

Killian groans and pinches his nose as he props the phone up to get a better look at the screen. “Thanks, Els.”

“No problem.” She flips her blonde braid over her shoulder, and despite the time, she looks as if she could be up and ready for work in minutes. “I was up, couldn’t sleep, and I figured I needed to check on you. I’m sorry I don’t have the girls with me.”

“Did you tell Ally and Sophia I love them?”

“I tell them every day, but I think they’d appreciate it more if they heard it from their actual uncle.”

“I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Good,” Elsa sighs. She adjusts herself on her couch, pulling her blanket up higher on her body, and the familiar pang of guilt hits Killian. It happens anytime he talks to just Elsa. The girls act as a buffer, and he feels guilty for using them like that. He feels guilt about a lot of things. “How are you?”

“Good,” he lies. “Really good. I think I’m going to take up real running again soon, maybe finally check out the gym in the basement of this house. What about you, love?”

“I’m okay. Work has kept me really busy, which I like. I have this one house with the biggest garden I’ve ever seen, and designing it has proven to be a bit of a challenge. But I miss spending time with the girls. Anna has been such a big help, though. I love having her here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that’s great.” Killian runs his hand through his hair, yanking at the strands, and sinks a little further into the bed. It’s nice that Anna is around, that she’s been around this entire time while Killian fucked off across western Europe and then eventually to America. Yet again, he’s let someone he loves down because he’s an absolute tosser. “It’s nice to have a family you can count on.”

“Hey, don’t start that again, Killian. I’m not here for self-pity. You’ve had a hard year, and you needed some time away. No one is blaming you for that.”

“I’m not the one who lost my husband, love. I wasn’t left with two little girls with no father.”

Killian tilts his head up so he doesn’t have to see Elsa as water gathers around his eyes. Today was an okay day. Started off rough, but it ended up being alright. Now he’s gone and made Elsa talk about Liam’s death instead of having a normal conversation with her.

“My grief doesn’t negate yours, darling. You lost your brother, who was your best friend, and you lost the career you spent your entire life building. We can both be sad. It’s not a competition.”

Killian blows air out his nose and blinks the forming tears away. “How’d you get so wise?”

“Well, you see, when a child with a head the size of a football comes out of your vagina, you get special emotional intelligence. It’s something to do with all the hormones and pain.”

Killian finally looks down at his phone to see Elsa laughing, and the corners of his mouth twitch. “You make me glad to be a man.”

“You should be glad. You’re at least fifteen steps ahead of every woman in the world. Now, come on, I want to hear about everything you’ve been doing. Have you made any friends?”

“What am I? A lad in reception?”

“No, because my child in reception has many friends.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “Well, I met the loveliest waitress last night. Reminded me of my Gran, and, uh, today I met the woman who lives in Ariel and Eric’s house. Don’t think she was a fan of me.”

“However could a woman resist your charms?”

He laughs, even if he doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm, and this time when he sinks a little deeper into the bed, it’s for comfort and not to hide. When Killian got the news Liam died in a Naval accident, it felt like his world was ending, that the ground was crumbling underneath his feet. He was at the club warming up to head out onto the pitch, and suddenly his sacred place wasn’t so sacred. He couldn’t understand any words leaving Elsa’s voice over the phone. Everything was ringing, and his legs collapsed from underneath him.

He’ll never forget that day. One moment everything in his world was right, and then it wasn’t. and he’ll never get over the fact that Elsa has been the one who has had to continue holding him up when she lost someone too.

“Well, if their names are Ally and Sophia Jones, they are experts at resisting my charms.”

“Unless you give them sweets.”

Killian chuckles. “Those are my good charms.” Elsa smiles and yawns on the other end of the line. “Els, I think you need to go to sleep. I promise to call the girls tomorrow.”

She nods and flips her braid over. “Don’t go breaking your promises to them.”

“Never, love. I’m a man of my word.”

Or, at least, he used to be. His word seems to falter lately, but mostly only his words to himself. Killian looks out the glass doors and windows toward the ocean, watching the water crest much like this morning, but he hopes that tomorrow morning he won’t be standing there with a bottle of beer in his hands.

Maybe he can keep that promise to himself at least.

-/-

-/-

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(You can be added or removed at any time. I don’t know where my list went, so I’ve just taken it from my last story 😘)

[whitehotharlots]

The point is control

Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc. 

This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism. 

Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable. 

The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.

Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself. 

Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing. 

But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.

Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.

So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.

Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being? It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.

But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.

And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.

But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.

I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.

Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.

So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.

Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want  students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse. 

My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...

This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back. 

And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure. 

[collecting-stories]

Initiative - Harry  Bingham

Request: 26 w harry bingham? ☺️

A/N: My first time writing The Society. I played with the wording of the prompt a little to fit the story better. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“Well, aren’t you looking great.” You laughed, walking into the bedroom on the second floor. While every other room in the house felt like it was being taken over by kids you could barely remember going to school with, this room was untouched. Save for, of course, one occupant who was laying in the king sized bed, one foot sticking out from under the covers, “Kelly really did a number on you.”

The lump on the bed groaned and rolled over, revealing your best friend. He sat up, glaring at you as he combed his hair with his hands, “I don’t give two shits about Kelly.” He muttered.

“I can tell.” You replied, sitting at the end the bed, “you’re obviously coping really well. It’s applaudable.”

“What do you want?” Harry groaned, sitting up in bed. He just wanted to go back to sleep. To lay under the covers until all these people were out of his house and his parents were home. He just needed to rewind or fast forward, whatever would get him home faster.  

You turned to look at him, getting a better picture of your friend’s current state now that you could see him clearly. Mussed hair, bloodshot eyes, he looked like he hadn’t bathed in days. You couldn’t help the frown that crossed your face at the sight of him. It wasn’t that you expected Harry to be taking any of this well, he’d been on a rampage since the first night, but this was worse than you thought.  

“I wanted to make sure you were okay, I know this shit is scary.”

“Oh do you?” Harry laughed, “you know what fucking shit is going on out there? I heard you agree with Cassandra that we should all be sharing houses. Thanks, this is fucking awesome.” He shouted, startling you slightly.  

“Yeah I did agree with Cass...I think we need to be proactive about what’s happening.”  

“Great well, in the meantime my house is full of fucking people and all my friends are running around play pretend with Cass.”

“You need a serious reality check babe,” you replied, “whatever is happening to us...we need to be proactive and Cass is the only one doing anything. Now...come on, get up and get dressed, you’re making me depressed just sitting here.”

“Some friend you are.” Harry grumbled, throwing himself back down on the bed and pulling his blankets up once again.  

You’d been friends with Harry forever, your parents worked together, you had almost always ended up in the same class, it was just meant to be. Or at least, being friends seemed meant to be for him, since he jumped at the opportunity to date Kelly, and had been since freshman year. You, on the other hand, existed in some romantic cliche universe where you were totally head over heels for your best friend.  

“You can’t sulk forever.”  

“Did you only come over to bother me?” He asked, muffled slightly through the blanket but you understood him.  

“No, I came over to tell you that I cannot possibly stay in my house one more day-”

“See it’s driving you crazy too.”

“Have you ever roomed with Gwen, Olivia, and Madison?” You replied, “I’m about ready to eat a bullet.”

Harry moved the blanket away, sitting up once more and scooting himself to the end of the bed to sit beside you, “let me get this straight...you come over here, bitching to me about how I should follow Cassandra’s leadership but then you hate it too?”

“I don’t hate it. I think it’s a good idea...I just wish I had gotten better house mates. Besides, this whole thing is insane Harry, we’re all just playing it by ear.” You admitted. “Have you talked to Kelly? What’s she doing?”

“I’m over that.” He replied, getting up and walking to the mini fridge he had in the corner to grab a bottle of water, he could feel the headache setting in now that he was on his feet.  

“You’re over that? Please...this place really must be turning everything upside down if you’ve decided that you’re over Kelly.” You almost couldn’t believe your ears when he told you and you definitely didn’t want to get your hopes up. Just because he was ‘over’ Kelly didn’t mean he was ready to fall into your arms.  

“Yeah well, believe it.”  

“So what then, she breaks up with you and just like magic you’re cured?” You joked, “no more begging for her to come back and crying over her in bed? Cause I’ll say you were doing a bang up job when I came in.”

“I told you that wasn’t about her. Besides, I have feelings for someone else.” He replied, shrugging as if it was totally obvious that he was thinking about someone new so soon after he and Kelly broke up.  

“Wow, you move fast.”

“Yeah well after Kelly broke things off I kind of realized that it might not be her I was so in love with all this time.”

“Mystery crush have a name?” You asked, watching him as he came to sit down next to you again. “Or you gonna keep that a secret from your oldest and dearest friend?”

“My oldest and dearest friend who’s jumped ship to Cassandra’s side.” He replied.  

“You’re such a baby Harry, people need leadership and Cass is leading. Be mad all you want but she’s only doing what needs to be done. You all wanted her to have answers and now you crucify her for it. You better be telling me that I’m this secret love of your life cause otherwise I’m out the door for good. Until you come to your senses.” You said, crossing your arms.  

Harry nodded his head, lips pursed as if he was thinking about what you had said before he finally opened his mouth, “you are.”

“What?”

“You are...the secret love of my life.”  

“Don’t fuck with me Bingham. I'm not even in the mood for your shit today.” You replied.  You weren’t going to sit here and fall for some bored practical joke that he and all his buddies could laugh about later.  

“I’m not fucking with you, I’m serious. Kelly breaking up with me was the moment of clarity I needed.”

“You sound like your mom.” You laughed.  

“Come on, you seriously don’t believe me?”

“No.” You shook your head, there was no way you were going to believe something as outlandish as Harry liking you back. “It does fuel my theory that we’re in some kind of parallel universe though.”

“Parallel universe?” Harry laughed, “we’re not in a parallel universe, this isn’t a sci-fi novel. And I’m being serious. I like you. I’m not fucking with you...though I wouldn’t mind fucking you.”

“Oh god, you are the same Harry,” you laughed, standing when he scooted closer to you. “there’s no way I’m even kissing you after you’ve been cooped up under those covers for days. Babe, you smell like a locker room.”  

“Fine,” he replied, “I’m gonna take a shower,” he stopped at the door, looking back at you. “Since Cassandra has her new initiatives, you should probably join me. Ya know, to save water.”  

“To save water?” You laughed.

“What? You’re the one who told me that I needed to make an effort? You’re not gonna turn around and change your mind now are you?” He said, grinning at you. And damn if his smile couldn’t make you do anything he wanted. 

-

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Kingdom Collisions XVII

masterlist; my links

CW: blood, death

Phew, when i first started this fic (way back when in august last year, i think) i didn’t expect it to become a multi-chapter nor did i expect it to go in literally any of the directions it went in. with each new chapter the boys cooked up something different and apparently more and more dark. nonetheless this has been one of the most absolute fun, exciting, and rewarding fics i’ve ever put out there because 1. i just kind of did whatever i liked with it (plot holes be damned) and 2. because the interaction i got from this fic was mind-boggling. Every plot twist brought a gasp, an angst gremlin, and a sweet supporter to my doorstep (i cant name anyone because you all swopped roles continuously). 

when i started writing this chapter tbh i was dreading it because how on earth do i get myself out of the sheer monstrosity that i dug myself into in the last one? but i wrote some words and even though they were all wrong and it was only seven hundred of them at least i had written something you know? but then i was at the beach and the ocean water was shoving itself into my lungs and the salt was stinging my eyes and i literally couldn’t have been happier if i tried and suddenly i just kind of knew what i wanted to write... or rather i knew i wanted to write and these troublesome princes knew how they wanted their story to close. yes, indeed, close. somehow, without me realising it, we kind of got to the last chapter. i truly didn’t think this would be it but with each word i put down it just kept drawing closer and closer to a close. and i can’t force this fic to be anything but what it is. So, my dear ones, this is the last chapter of Kingdom Collisions. thank you for coming along, i hope with all my heart you enjoyed it even a fraction as much as i did. I love these Princes so hard and Nish, Gretch, and A can tell you how sad i was to see them end. Nonetheless, please enjoy!

Since it’s been a hot minute since the previous chapter, here’s a recap:

Prince Jason Grace stumbles from the mouth of the arena and falls to his knees in front of the platform.

“Kill him Perseus.” A voice glimmers around him, leaking in through the ringing in his ears.

“Come home Prince,” That voice lilts, “Do not die so far from the sea.”

Jason looks up at him, blue eyes hazy, a dagger loose in his clasp. “Hello Prince.”

Percy steps down from the platform, and takes the dagger from his husband’s hands. It is almost sickening how easily he gives it over.

The crowd stomps its feet: they are ready for blood; they are ready for slaughter.

He holds the dagger up, making sure it glints in the sun. And then he draws his husband close until there is nothing between their bodies, not space, not even air.

“Let’s go home my love.” He whispers. “We will not die so far from the sea.”

Prince Perseus Jackson brings the blade down.

[image has alt text]

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

Prince Perseus Jackson knows he’s going to die today. It is not a feeling, or a morbid premonition. It is the cold, hard truth. If he does not the world will continue to suffer for it. And what kind of prince would he be if he allowed his people to suffer? His father would say he’d be a coward. His father did not know the meaning of the word until he screamed as a blade sunk into his chest. Percy wonders how a man made from the Rivers themselves, can die by knife. He supposes when you spend long enough pretending to be human, you die like one too.

All the same Percy must take his last breath today, before the setting sun has managed to hide for the night. Before the darkness can wrap around his bones like cigarette smoke, and keep him trapped once more. 

But first, Percy must kill his husband. 

The crowd is violent; their need for bloodshed a hyena’s cackle in his head. He cannot keep them out. He cannot keep them at bay. It drives into his blood, makes every dangerous drop slosh through him, as wild as the rivers of his father. As wild as the blue eyes staring him down.

Perseus Jackson looks at his husband, barely an inch apart, so close it seems no room is left for air. He can’t breathe, so it must have been pushed away, pushed out. Those blue eyes, as striking as the brilliant sky above them, are looking at him with so much… sorrow, love, joy, rage? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know and it terrifies him. He knows and that scares him more. Prince Jason Grace is looking at him with delight and it makes him want to sin.

“I will find you again, my love.” His lips brush the sensitive skin of his ear. He feels that beautiful body shudder underneath him.

The musician’s box echoes with the notes of the wind, a melody that rackets around in his head, bouncing off the walls of his memories. He has died to this tune many times. Died as a king, and a peasant, and a squallor, and a whore, and every form of human scum and royalty alike. They all bleed the same in the end. All die with regrets on their tongue, and the unconquering falsehood of love in their hearts, as if that alone is enough to save them. He has never been safe from death. But love saves him all the same. He wonders if he will die again.

“I will not be lost.” Jason whispers back, so quiet, so full of sweet darkness.

Percy slams the blade into his Jason’s heart and watches as the light from beckoning eyes morphs into a smile that surrenders the world. He doesn’t acknowledge the warmth at his side. There is only his Prince, his husband, his other half, his, his, his. 

“I will be waiting.” Jason Grace grins. Jason Grace dies.

Already he can feel the absence of his other. It is not a dull ache, nor a sharp one. It is not really an ache at all. Rather as if a veil has been placed over him, leeching the world of colour and light. Leeching him of any goodness. What is a destroyer, without his healer?

The Prince of Mare pulls the knife out of his husband’s chest and holds it up to the crowd. His smile dances, violence coating the angles of his face like a liquid mask. The colosseum responds in vigour, chanting his name, chanting the name of Princess Piper Mclean, chanting victory as if they’ve won. Dust begins to settle at his feet, settle then jump as they jump, then settle once more. And endless dance. He knows the score by heart. 

“What you have witnessed today my good people,” The woman in power stands in her box, surveying the scene before her with triumph in her brown, glinting eyes. “Is the beginning of forever, again.”

The people cheer, clap, stomp their feet, make the stone underneath them quiver.

A drop of blood falls to the floor.

“We have completed what our ancestors could not. We have made sure that the threat— ” She sneers at them; at him in his bloodied rags, and the husband still in his arms, limp and fast growing cold. “The threat of Our Downfall may never rise from the ashes.”

The deafening sound of celebration is a vice around his throat. He wants to rip the air from their lungs, make their joy a noose around their necks. They celebrate the loss of a life as if it were the birth of a thousand more; they celebrate the death of his husband as if they had won the war. But they have never seen war. And his past selves, rushing up to him in these moments, like reeling pictures, smile at the prospect. They seem to gather in his mind, grinning with endless terror and say, so very softly, “You think this is war? We’ve only just begun.”

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

“My people,” Piper’s voice is a lull in the tides, a blind comfort to distract from the storm ahead. “We have severed the wings of a phoenix so it may never rise again.”

The crowd stomps, he stomps with them. A fissure runs under his feet, small, unnoticeable. Blood drips down, down, down, into the cracks. There is nothing left for him here. He smiles, soft and small. It is a smile only he knows exists.

With a gentleness he does not possess for anyone else but the man before him he lays his husband down, wincing as the dusty platform touches that beautiful golden skin. But he does not have time to make it clean. To give him a worthy place to rest. He only has right now. Eternity is a second in itself.

And when Prince Perseus stands, straight and unburdened. He reveals the last piece in a twisted puzzle. For sticking out of his own side— the side his prince was pressed against— is a dagger of his own. One that is killing him slowly.

The people are still cheering, Princess Piper is still revelling in her glory. She looks ethereal up on her dais, every bit the goddess she craves to be. Her brown skin shines in the brightening sun, her black hair flowing down, down, down past her hips, swishing at her thighs. And the crown that sits on her head, perched there as if it was too scared to be trapped to such power, glints almost menacingly, jewels reflecting onto the people closest to her. To the woman at her side. Annabeth, sister to Jason, lover to Piper, and honorary daughter of Hekima, sees him. Sees all of him and goes as pale as the moon. She grabs her lover’s arm, points a shaky finger in their direction, at the blade in his side.

The look of horror on their faces is almost enough to make him laugh; it’s certainly enough to make him smile. He watches on as their plans unravel, remembering the deadly words Piper had said to him all those days ago. “Instead we will kill one of you and keep the other continually alive.” But what good would that do, if he had killed them both, if he made sure his blood was smeared across his husband’s wound; if he made sure his husband’s blood could not be used to heal them. He has become the destroyer they so badly wanted. 

Prince Perseus Jackson falls to his knees, at the symphony of a princess’s screech. And as he looks to his side, his fingers find the cool hand of Jason Grace. The sky is a lover’s blue. He closes his eyes. He finds his husband amongst the dead. And ever so slowly, the colosseum starts to crumble. For the blood from his wound seeps into the cracks running rivers of their own, and eats at the stone that holds the people, the power, the world. He has become his father. His mind is fill of his own stories, just like his mother. He feels the cold band on his husband’s finger. He becomes life.

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

The walls behind her turn to dust in slow motion. She sees particles fall, land at her feet in never-ending waterfalls. Her gaze tilts to the sky where she half expects to find it raining blue, as if the whole world would collapse on top of them. She can hear the screaming, she doesn’t known if it’s joy or fear. Sh doesn’t know if anyone has realised what’s just happened, if they know the true extent of her failure. 

“PIPER!” That voice is so far away, but it is one she recognizes. One she has loved since she was left on a lover’s bench ten years prior. “We have to go, we have to stop it from reaching the water.”

A pale hand gestures in front of her, to the crimson rivers speeding across the ground. They are the prettiest canals she’s ever seen. She wants to— 

“PIPER,” The time for shock has gone, and in it’s place is a violent need to save herself, to be saved. “We have to get out of here, this whole place is going to come down.”

When she looks to Annabeth, grey eyes bright with fear, she is struck with feeling so deep she fears she may drown. It wouldn't’ matter; she’ll be dead before she gets to submerge.

“My people,” Her voice is loud, blessedly steady, as she surveys the uneasy crowd who are only now noticing the red brooks bubbling up to meet them. “We must leave here at once. The colosseum is no longer safe. I urge you to go home to your famililes, to pack important things and make your way as far from the oceans and rivers as possible. Danger is here, and it is not a force we can fight.”

A thousand eyes look at her, emotions blatant on their faces ranging from denial, to anger, to fear, to the worst of them all, resignation. Those are the ones, she knows, who have lived through this before, in some way or the other. Whether in a past life, or the echo of their current one through stories carried down.

The ground underneath them shakes, making their feet stumble, their legs quiver. It is laughing at them, at the idea that they can escape this destruction. It has done this a thousand times before, it will do it a thousand more. The end has never been about them. They cannot escape it, no matter where they run, how hard they pray. And people are. Praying. They don’t know it is their gods who order this. Their gods who have no care for the lives of them when they can create a million more. In the end they are pawns to an endless game of chess. The first to be discarded, despite how hard they fight to prove useful. And Jason, her lover’s brother, and Perseus, her own ex lover, are soldiers sent to do their duty. Pawns themselves, maybe knights. But gods they have never been, and gods they will never become.

Annabeth’s hand is warm in hers as they race to their death. Her blonde curls fly behind her and Piper thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. And then the princess looks to her and she changes her mind. With each glance, each step, each squeeze of their skin, she changes and changes and changes. Until the beauty cannot be pinned to a single thing, until it is a tapestry continuously incomplete, of all the features that make up her love. If she— when, when she dies she will do it with this image in her mind.

And then they’re at the river, the one that feeds her kingdom, the one that runs into to the forest and branches to the five other kingdoms, before feeding into Perseus’s own and out to the ocean. There is no red tainting it’s glistening blue. They have time, maybe, just maybe they have time to save the only home they have ever known, the only one they ever will. 

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

Quickly, with a haste she has never seen, Annabeth pulls a single match from her pocket.

“Will you grant me permission, my love?” Her princess nods to the little stick.

There is only one way to stop a stream from turning towards a river. She nods. “For the kingdoms.”

“For the kingdoms.” The blonde echoes. She strikes the match.

Sunshine yellow flame bursts from the small head, and as it settles it turns orange, blue, goes back to yellow. Annabeth lets it fall to the floor.

And they both watch, flames dancing in their eyes, as the little match catches a dry leaf, which catches dry wood, which catches, and catches, and catches.

They clasp hands, look at each other. Piper runs a finger down a freckled cheek, skin already so warm from the blaze before them.

“Let us live.” Her princess whispers.

They jump into the river. The forest burns to an inferno behind them.

But there, trickling slowly, as if it has all the time in the world, is a single stream of blood. It creeps through the forest, turning already charring soil to nothing. The fire jumps over it, around it, beyond it. The fire does not stop it. 

A single drop of blood catches on a shard of blackened stick, once a match, and as the wind blows it carries the wood over over over. It lands in the river. The stick floats away. The blood spreads wide.

And two princesses, still hand in hand, frantically swimming for their life, start to crumble to ash, like the forest they had left to burn.

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

Perseus Jackson opens his eyes to sky blue, ice blue, saviour blue. And he cannot help but smile.

“Where have you been, my love?”

“Just had to take care of some things before i could join you.” He reaches up a hand to caress a golden cheek, warm and reddening under his touch.

“Are we finally free?” That voice is so soft, full of angled hope.

“Till the next time.” He sees that hope startle and shape before him, as if it can bend to fit around steeled will.

“What shall we do while we wait?”

“As long as we are together,” He brushes back a lock of gold. “It does not matter to me.”

“Might i suggest, staying here for the next decade at the very least?” A laughing reply, one that heats him to his bones.

“Your wish,” His green eyes sparkle dangerously, deliciously, “Is my salvation.”

“Wicked, wicked being.” Lips find his, press to him. It is so familiar, and somehow new all at once. As if the shadows they are made from need to get used to the light within them once more. As if they have not done this for a millennia, longer. 

“I cannot help it when i’m with you.”

“And you are always with me,” Those blue eyes set him on fire.

“Yes,” He says simply. He touches the golden chest, the heart within. His heart.

“What shall we be in the next life?” The question is soft against his skin, raising bumps across his arms.

“I think i shall be a painter,” He muses, lips falling to a shoulder. They trace their way up, catching on collarbones and the crook of a neck, and the dimple behind an ear. “And you, my sweet? How do you intend for us to meet?”

“I think i shall like to be your nude model.” That grin is enough to cause a flush through his form.

“And who will be our heroes?”

“The queen of course.” The blonde’s voice gets conspiratorially low, “I’m her favourite servant you see, and she cannot bear the idea of anyone else seeing me naked.”

He cannot hold in his laughter, the mind of his other half an endless stream of amusement. “And how do we intend to end it this time?”

“That’s up to you dear one.” The being curled into him smiles, “I can only heal, and you know i will only heal you.”

“You make me such a villian.” His expression is violent, and beautiful, so so beautiful.

“We have never been anything else.” 

He stares into the face of eternal love and is struck by the thought that it is all for him, that it has only ever been for him. He cradles a golden face in his hand, and with a deep unhurried breath, kisses Jason.

For the infinite time in his endless life, Perseus tastes fire.

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

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01 : to Nish for loving this fic harder than anyone, and for loving me harder still.

@queen-of-demons-and-hell : to Gretch for always being there even though were many countries, and many timezones apart

@leyontheway : to Ley for the endless and unwavering support and for making me smile no matter what

@sparkythunderstorm : to Lily for the continuous love and the wonderful comments

@comradefurudate : to avatar for the hilarious interactions and for loving this the way you did. Your comments made my day.

@aalikun : to ali for the theories and the comments that made me smile so hard my cheeks hurt

to A : you don’t have a tumblr account but you asked if you could read one of my fanfics and i sent you this one and you sent me back a 3 minute long voice note telling me every reason you loved it and i cannot begin to explain to you how much it means to me. i listen to the vn all the time. i love you.

and to every single one of you who liked, and/or commented on this fic: you are special to me in every way that matters and i think about you all the time.

[drakewalkerfantasy]

Consequences: Chapter 1

Synopsis: 

Jordan Williams is a former Marine who starts a new life joining Medical school at age of 27. 

Rachel Ferguson is a freshly out of college graduate and Medical school 1st year student. 

Two complete strangers who fell in bed together for a night of solace from their moment of anger and hurt. By chance, they were brought together and their fates intertwined. 

Not realising yet that not only they share the same house, they also share the person they cannot lose no matter what. 

What will happen when the reality of the one night’s actions filled with lust and anger will hit them both? What will happen when he will find out that the girl he spent the night with is not only his housemate but also his best friend’s little sister? The one he swore to himself never to touch, the one for whom he will never be good enough. Will he be able to keep his hands off her? Or are they doomed from the beginning?

Words: 3600

Authors notes: Some chapters maybe NSFW or have a mature content

Jordan Williams x Rachel Ferguson (Rae, Rae-Rae)

**Warnings: Alcohol consumption, anger, bad decisions in next chapter.*

Jordan Williams never was the one who scared easily, or backed out of his decision for that matter.

Former Marine, even though his parents didn’t support him or approve of it... the one of the few survivors of his platoon… The hero, who single handedly carried his friends out from the burning hell on Earth not knowing if they were dead or alive. Who by some miracle survived, but was left with the nightmares to remind him of how lucky or cursed he was, and with the ugly scars to never let him forget of the ones who weren’t as fortunate. Limping on his right leg, but at least breathing and moving.

And today even though he still wasn’t scared, he was nervous. This was the last Friday before he was starting his new life. No more deployments. No more deaths, at least not on his watch. And as many lives as he could save after he would learn how to do that. After he would become one of the best surgeons and open the clinic for the people like him, who would survive beating all odds. For Doctors without the borders who wouldn't be scared to help people in the burning hells... who will be ready and willing to help as many dying to survive, be it soldiers or civilians, something that he failed to do then. But damn him, if he wouldn't do it now, after he would learn how to do that.

And he was determined to learn how… nothing and no-one would stop him, that is what he swore to himself that day. That is what kept him going no matter how difficult it was.

Trying to block the nerves raking through him he gripped the steering wheel firmer trying not to think of the only thing that overshadowed his new beginning. Of the fact that the place that he found for the living, was already occupied, which meant that he would have a housemate, something that he was determined never to have. The main reason why no matter how hard his best friend tried to convince him to rent a house together, he did not succumb to his persuasion. Preferring solitude instead to the company. Not wanting anyone to see him at his lowest or to hear his screams during the nights, while he would wake up sweating from yet another nightmare night after night. And as a result of that he got himself in a situation in which he was now, fated to share the house with the person he even never met.

He huffed, driving toward the lonely standing house, someone’s car was already parked there. He looked around, leaving his car in a free space. Getting out of his SUV, Jordan went toward the house.

Getting inside, he noticed still packed boxes in the hall, but he couldn't hear or see anyone else, which meant that his housemate left without unpacking.

Typicall. He thought, walking further into the house, entering a living room he would be forced to share with someone else. He looked around the neat and cozy room, two armchairs were standing opposite the fireplace, the massive bookcase was located along one of the walls.

He was about to go and check the kitchen when he heard his phone calling. Taking it out, he checked the Caller’s ID before answering the call, listening for a familiar voice coming from his mobile.

“Hey, Jody.”

“Morning to you too, Brandon,” replied Jordan, putting his keys into the bowl and moving further into the kitchen.

“I take it, you finally get to your new place? Settled in okay? How is your new housemate? Still not regretting not moving in with me?” questioned Brandon in his carefree manner, as if he wasn’t on the verge of death no more than six month back after he would save Jordan's life, and in return Jordan saved his. His cheerful voice caused a surge of amazement through Jordan while he listened to his friend.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Jordan growled frowning after finally the questions stopped in that annoyingly abrupt manner he hated. “And yes, I already got to my new place but had no chance to settle in just yet. Answering your last question, I have no idea who my new housemate is as I can see only unopened boxes there. But I do hope that the person I share this place with is someone who will not interrupt my study or throw constant parties... Although based on the fact that instead of unpacking, this housemate just left… I guess I can say goodbye to that…”

“Yes, yes… Got it,” brushed him off Brandon. “About your studies. Even though I still don't know why you need it in the first place, you always could join the forces, but what I do know, is the fact that you need to unwind before it starts… let loose... have meaningless one-night fun... sometimes I really think you forget how to have fun spending all your free time buried in books,” said Brandon, making Jordan flinch at his choice of words. He could be buried… they both could be... as were most of the guys from their platoon.

Pale, bloodied faces appeared in front of his eyes. His hand is suddenly covered in blood right in front of his eyes… screams deafeningly loud dying on their lips twisted in agony, leaving only few of them alive, and if no one would come soon they would join their comrades, their friends… faster than they could finish the prayer…  not that either of them believed, not after what they have seen or could lose.

“What do you mean?” forced out Jordan, closing his eyes and letting out the slow breath. 

“I mean that you wouldn’t recognise fun and beauty even if she bumped into you... And you are coming with me to the party. I need a wingman, and you need to unwind. Hopefully with some cute girl, whose face you will forget the next morning,” chuckled Brandon, making Jordan frown moving his phone a bit further from his ear.

“Never,“ cut Jordan, shaking his head. He was done with partying or with women. Done… "You know I don’t do parties… not anymore.”

“Yes, but you also know I will not give up until you say yes. So let’s make it easier on both of us. Should we?,” laughed Brandon.

“I need to unpack my stuff, and it may take the whole day. Also, I need to go to the library to pick up some books for my studies as tomorrow the library will be closed. So this time you will need to manage this on your own.”

“If these are the only reasons then I don’t see any reason why not.”

“I told you, I will not have…,” Jordan tried to say.

“Nope, still cannot see why you wouldn’t have time for some fun. I will be at your place in twenty minutes and will help you unpack, and then we will pick up your books before crashing this party.”

“You will not give up… aren’t you?”

“Man, you should know by now that never.”

“Fine…” sighed Jordan exasperatedly, looking at his watch. “Be here in twenty minutes, but I will leave the party before 10 pm. Understood?”

“See you in twenty minutes,” replied Brandon, ending the call.

Almost an hour later Jordan finally heard a knock on the door. Grudgingly, he opened it, letting his best friend inside the house.

“You are late,” stated he, holding one of the boxes in his hands. The pain shot through his body, but he didn’t even flinch, still staring at his friend.

“Sorry, I met my new neighbours. Movers bailed on her and her little boy, so I helped her to carry boxes inside,” shrugged Brandon nonchalantly passing by Jordan feeling not even the slightest bit sorry for his delay.

Another hour later and unloading the last boxes that Jordan brought with him, they finally started to unpack them. And in another three hours, they were finally done.

All the stuff that Jordan took with him were put neatly to their places. The bookshelf in the living room stocked with books he brought, and a picture of him and his older sister was put above the fireplace. They both looked in satisfaction around the room putting the empty boxes into the storage place. Brandon patted Jordan on the back before going toward the door.

“So now, when we finally finished unpacking,” started his friend. His eyes widening, when he noticed how Jordan with displeasure looked on his new housemate’s still packed boxes. 

Quickly his friend marched back to him grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door, letting him only grab his keys on the way out. “Don’t you even dare to think about that. You are NOT touching your roomies’ stuff. Now…. let’s go to this place, where you need to be quiet and bore yourself to death or we will be late to the party.”

That word again… thought Jordan. The word that made him flinch every time, remembering the day of his friends’ deaths. Still blaming himself that he couldn’t have saved them all, didn't see approaching danger earlier and when he did it was already too late to warn guys as all hell broke loose just a second after he sensed the danger.

“Can you stop calling it that? And the library can be fun when you know what you are looking for,” he snapped, hoping his friend missed his reaction before they both exited the house, shutting the door behind.

It was already three o’clock when they rushed toward the library, trying to get on time before it was closed. After another ten minutes of arguing that Brandon should wait for him in the car instead of constantly complaining about the place or flirting with every single girl they would meet, Jordan ran up the stairs taking two steps at the time before disappearing behind the heavy doors. When he was about to round the corner, he felt someone bumping straight into him. The heavy books the person was carrying fell to the ground hitting his foot painfully. Making him swear under his breath, looking at the person in front of him with the frown.

“Haven’t you ever been taught that you need to look where you are going?” huffed Jordan in annoyance, crouching in front of the girl with the blonde hair and helping her to collect scattered books. “Next time, watch where you are going,” said he with a scowl on his face, shoving the books into her arms before looking at her for the first time. 

The girl looked at him with the wide open forest green eyes that looked somehow familiar, no matter how silly it may sound. He quickly raked his gaze over her, taking in every detail of her petite form, before hastily returning it back to her eyes. The tongue darted out running over her lips, making his gaze drop to them darkening just for a split second, while following the movement. Her rosy lips parted as if forming a reply, but he quickly shook himself out of his state and before she could utter even a word he raised to his feet and strolled into the library, leaving a startled stranger behind.

“What a jerk,” she mumbled, standing up with the help of her friends and adjusting her skirt.

“But he is a handsome jerk,” whistled an athletic-looking guy, watching after Jordan, throwing a hand over the blonde girl’s shoulder. “Isn’t he, Heath?”

“Ohhhh, yes. He is yummy, and that ass in low cut jeans,” moaned Heather turning to face her friend. “And did you see his lips? Rae-Rae, if I would bump into him… he wouldn’t leave… so easily,” said she with a wink.

“You two are just ridiculous... I hate you,” groaned Rachel, covering her face with books she was now holding in front of her. Her cheeks flamed. “Can you think of anything, but sex?”

Heather and Derek, the guy, who threw a hand over her shoulder, shared an incredulous look, before shaking their heads and answering in unison.

“Nope… never… And you love us, girl.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” frowned Rachel, raising her head to look at her friend.

“Yes, I do. And this is why I don’t try to get the boy myself. Also, because he is straight,” shrugged off Derek, with a wide smile.

“And how exactly do you know that?” questioned Rachel rolling her eyes.

“Did you see the way he looked at you?” asked Derek, sharing another look with Heather, the plan already building in their heads.

“Okay, you two… drop it. I know this look, and you will not try to hook me up with him. He looked at me the same way as any other rich boy in town would look at me. He is a jerk and a snob. And I’m not interested. Besides you know I have a lot on my plate right now. So stop even thinking about this. Be thankful I even agreed to go to that party with you, because if my brother finds out I lied to him... He will kill you first for dragging me there and then lock me up until graduation... or death in solitude,” she mumbled quickly before taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. “And Derek, don’t you dare to forget that you promised me to do our dance. We need to practice.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll remember. I’m always up to show my new moves,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“Okay, then let’s go. You know I need to change first and unpack my boxes before my housemate will arrive, which you also promised to do with me,” reminded Rachel, and they went to her house, laughing on their way there.

By the time the clock struck seven, Jordan went into a club hosting a party, scowling at the number of people there. His posture was stiff and on alert while he looked around. Ready to jump into an action at any time.

“Brandon, tell me again, why exactly did I agree to go with you?” said he in a loud voice, while trying to get through the crowd and not to lose his friend from the view, who already scanned the crowd for the distraction for the night.

“To have fun, plus I needed a wingman... Actually... scratch out the last one, I see a target at the bar, bored, single, challenging, redhead. Wingman not required,” Brandon said with a wink, when they finally got inside, instantly starting to move into the direction of the petite girl who captured his attention leaving Jordan behind.

He followed his friend with a glance before looking around the floor. His attention immediately drew to a dancing couple in the middle of the dance floor. Both moving as a whole to the sounds of Latin Music. The sensual dance attracted the drunken crowd closer to them, creating a commotion on the dance floor from enthusiastic screams and whistles. His brows furrowed instantly when he recognised the same pretty blonde girl he met earlier today. Her hair laid in soft waves. And he felt how his gaze unintentionally riveted to her, watching her every move, unable to tear his gaze away.

He watched how the guy led her into a low dip. His hand shifted to the small of her back when another traveled along her neck caressing her body as if they were in the confidentiality of the bedroom. His hand slowly reached for her knee making her stretch out her leg. A beautiful red dress flowed around her body, dancing around her petite frame like flames. At some point during the dance, she looked straight into his eyes, and he felt as if falling under her spell. Her soft forest green eyes were burning with fire, alighting something unexplored inside of him. Something that had died with his friends that day, something that they never will have and something that he will never deserve.

He could feel how his heart sped up beating as never before, and his breath elevated, from the beats of sultry music and the way her body moved in another man’s arms. Waves of golden hair refracted the lights of the club, and she moved, holding his gaze as though burning him alive from the inside. As if under the spell, Jordan moved closer to the dancers not even realising it until a buzzing of his mobile broke him out of his daze.

It seemed that eternity had passed when in reality it was only a splitting second, second that he would be not able to get out of his mind. He could feel the pounding of his heart increasing with impending anger as he looked at the caller’s ID, blinking once... twice at the phone clenched in his hand. Contemplating for a moment to just let it go to the voicemail. Not wanting or ready for another confrontation that was inevitably coming.

Deep down he knew that it wasn’t a solution and no matter how long he would avoid it his mother would find the way to get to him, so before he could think about that more he went outside of the club to take a call, not even sparing another glance to the dance floor... or to the girl who’s eyes looked so familiar.

“Mother,” he said, taking a call. “Sorry, I…,” he started, interrupted by his mother’s voice “No mother, I didn’t… I’m with Brandon… Yes, he is still my friend,” replied Jordan, trying to stay calm, while listening to his mother. His grip on the phone was getting firmer and firmer with every word she said, surprised that it didn't break in half by the time he had a chance to speak again. “Mother, no I still plan to study Medicine and not business,” said he, annoyed by yet another remark from his mother. “MOTHER,” he said, raising his voice and losing control just for a split second, before taking a deep calming breath and closing his eyes. “This is my life, and I have all the right to decide what I want or don’t want to do with it. Look what you've done to Leslie? Isn’t it enough…,” exasperatedly said he, only to be shut up by his mother once again. “Yes, mother,” he gritted through his clenched teeth, feeling how his blood started to boil again, wanting nothing more than to get drunk, and to get away as far as possible from his family as he did while he served in the Marine Corps, until he couldn't do that anymore.

His hand reached for his hip by instinct. The wound was deep enough to make him bleed to death on that ill fated day leaving him dead, but it didn’t happen... Instead it made him limp, but he could manage that. This he could hide from everyone with the prescribed medicine when the pain got to the point of unbearable and with the gritted teeth when he just wanted to limp, not caring if somebody will consider it a weakness. And it took him the hell of a lot of willpower to remember it. To remember that he cannot allow himself to be weak, couldn’t allow to show it. No one knew how bad it was... no one except Brandon, who was there for him after he saved his life. The only person who knew that if the bullet would have hit the inch higher or if the help would get there a little bit later Jordan would bleed to death. The only person to whom he told how bad it is and how much pain it causes him even now.

“No, I will not change my mind,” said he on autopilot before ending the phone call abruptly without listening to what else his mother wanted to say. After a moment, he finally shoved the phone back into the pocket of his dark blue jeans moving back into the club and walking toward the bar. 

The music has changed to something slower and sensual, and when he looked on the dance floor his eyes landed on the same tantalisingly beautiful stranger who was in the middle of the argument. 

He could see how some man grabbed her hand, but she jerked it from him and stormed toward the exit.

He huffed, downing one drink after another, not paying attention to what he was drinking, his eyes dropping back to the bar in front of him. His thoughts involuntarily returned to the girl, but he pushed them away. Frustrated and angry by the fact that he couldn’t get her out of his head for some inexplicable reason. Hurt and angry by the fact his mother managed to get under his skin once again.

By the time he was done and ready to leave the club, the anger boiling inside him reached the limit. Jordan rose abruptly, almost tripping over his feet, when the pain in his hip shot through his leg, making him curse under his breath, taking a moment to compose himself. 

He looked around, searching for Brandon, but couldn’t find him anywhere, so he typed him a quick message letting him know that he was heading back to his place. When he was just about to exit the club, he felt someone bump straight into him. His arms instinctively wrapped around the person’s shoulders, preventing them both from the fall.

Tagging: @choices-bound​ @lahelasaveiro​

[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen (pt 14)

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I’m back at college but the next, and final 2 (!!) parts will be up within two weeks! AH! Thank you all so much for reading xoxo

Word count: 6.7k

Tw: angst, cursing, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“When I got home from Florida the house was even emptier. During the four days I was stuck in a hotel room drowning in my own tears and the minibar, you packed up the rest of your stuff and left. At that point, most of your things were in your apartment, all you had to get was some clothes and books. I wonder how long it took you to pack it all up, pack your life with me up. Did you stare at the walls and cry? The same way I did when I packed today? Did you take your time, go through each room and remember everything we did? Did you take it all in? Admire what we could have been? Were you even a little bit sad about leaving the life we tried and failed to build together? Or were you in and out in ten minutes? Did you shove your clothes in a suitcase, the same way you did in Florida, and walk out like it was nothing? Was it easy? Was it a relief? Were you happy to leave the key, lock the door, and never have to come back? 

I know I was devastated when I found it. 

It was in the dish we used to put our car keys and ID tags in. It was right by the front door. It was the first thing I saw when I got home. I walked in and dropped my own keys in the dish, and to my surprise I heard them clink as they hit into yours. At first I thought that meant you were there, waiting for me. I thought you were going to emerge from the kitchen with a wide smile and I’d run into your arms. So, I called out for you, yelling like an idiot in the front doorway, but I was only met with silence. The silence that signified the absence of you. The silence I had grown comfortable floating in. 

I stared at the key for a while, trying and failing to remember when I gave it to you. I feel like I gave you it pretty early on; you definitely had one before Jacksonville. But I cannot for the life of me pinpoint what day I handed you the key, with the hope that you’d always have it. The hope that my home would always be your home because we only felt at home when we were together. 

That damn key, sitting in a dish from Target was your way of saying that your home was no longer my home. It was your way of saying that you were done too, and the storm I had tried to control became a full on hurricane. I was sobbing, sitting against the front door and holding onto your key like it was the life raft that could stop me from drowning.

I’d give you this key as your momento, but I had to give it back to my landlord this morning. And now I have a new set of keys waiting for me in Seattle. Keys to a home that isn’t yours; only mine.”

Spencer sat on the couch now, appreciating the softness of it in comparison to the harshness of the dishwasher and kitchen floor. The boarding pass was burning into the kitchen table, his hands sweaty and trembling as he read and remembered. 

He remembered every moment after the breakup more vividly than he normally did. Usually his memories were like film strips that he had stored on a shelf in the corner of his mind. He could pick the one he needed out, kick his feet up in the theater of his mind and watch them back, popcorn in hand. But these memories were different. Memories of you were burned in. His brain was branded with them. It wasn’t a movie he could choose to play or not, it was constant, like a sad song stuck in his head, driving him insane. He never stopped thinking about it, replaying every word, regretting every moment, every yell, every item shoved in a suitcase, every raindrop, every tear stained sleeve. 

He hated himself for walking out. He hated that he could leave so easily, after his whole life was plagued with people leaving him too easily. He never wanted to be that man, especially to you. He surprised himself when he grabbed the suitcase, held you tightly one last time, and got in the elevator. He was ashamed to admit that the second those steel doors closed and he could no longer see you crying in the hallway, the first thing he felt was relief. He was finally alone again.

But then he realized he was actually alone. All alone. You weren’t there waiting for him to come back anymore. You were gone, and he was alone. 

The whole flight home didn’t feel real, it was like an out of body experience. He felt like a shell of a person, a hollow body merely going through the motions as the events of the last three years played in his mind. How did those people who danced in the kitchen in the daybreak’s sunlight end up here? One of you on a plane to escape the other, who was no doubt drowning themselves in mini tequila bottles and crappy room service food. How did the people who swore  to love each other through everything, end up as two lonely hearts wondering why promises and hearts are so damn easy to break.

The numbness first started up there in the sky, with nothing but gray stratus clouds to keep him company. The realization hit him up there. He was wrong. He couldn’t do this alone. He couldn’t be alone. He needed you; you needed each other. He thought about asking the pilot to turn around, take him back to that island so he could save this. He could pull the blue velvet ring box out of his bag and fix everything with just a few words. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead, he ate airplane peanuts and tried not to cry. When they landed and took the subway out as far as it would go and walked to your house. He hadn’t even intended to go there, it just happened. He started walking and his feet brought him there without his brain having any say. He stared at the front of the house, remembering the countless times he carried you over the threshold because you couldn’t stand. He remembered how he’d decorate for Halloween in September and how the day after Thanksgiving, you’d beg him to take out the boxes of Christmas decorations. He remembered how you insisted on listening to ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas,’ as he strung lights around the front porch and you made him hot chocolate.  

The house he saw now was bare. There were no Christmas lights strung on the front step, like they usually would have been by December fourth. There were no statues of snowmen and no wreath. It was just a house that was so clearly devoid of any and all love. 

He hadn’t thought about how the weather would be different there than in Florida, but the cold was comforting in a way. He didn’t bother changing. He stood in front of the house he no longer had any right to call his own, in flip flops, shorts, and a dress shirt. He allowed the cold air to bite at his skin until he was as numb on the outside as he was on the inside. 

He unlocked the door with his key, and took his time moving around. He started at the front door, where he saw the picture of the two of you at Rossi’s and his hatred for the four walls he used to call home came back. You hadn’t changed much of the place. The ultrasound was still pinned to the fridge with a smiley face magnet. Old flowers were hanging from the wall, case files littered the table. It looked like home, it just didn’t feel like home. 

He went through everything slowly, over several days. He started in the living room, where he saw the cave of blankets you’d no doubt been living in and the crack in his heart became a canyon. He should’ve been laying in those blankets with you, staring at the TV and listening to you drone on and on about how much you love Nick Miller. He hated that he wasn’t there with you. He climbed inside, in an attempt to make up for all the times he missed, and allowed the smell of you to envelope him. He dreamt of you. 

When he woke up the next morning, he smelled you again and instinctively reached out to pull you close to him, but when he did his hands were met by a mass of blankets rather than your warm skin. He sighed, and went into the kitchen. There he grabbed his favorite mug from the cabinet, filled it up, and sat at the table as he read the newspaper. He imagined you next to him, bringing him the sugar bowl and laughing at the name of the obscure town on the top of the page. 

“Where is Biwabik?” You’d say, pushing the sugar bowl over to him as he took two more spoonfuls.

“Minnesota,” he’d say plainly, reading about their local fireman’s bazaar.

“Oh, yeah, Biwabik, Minnesota,” You’d laugh and kiss his forehead before going upstairs to take a shower. 

He finished his coffee while staring at the gray sky. He hoped it would snow, so when you came home you’d be greeted by your favorite weather. 

He took a blisteringly hot shower and opened up your body wash just so he could memorize what it smelled like, just in case he never got to smell it again. The hot water defrosted his inner and outer numbness, allowing all his feelings to come to the top. The water mixed with his tears, the same way yours had with the rain. He was waiting for the day dream to end, all he wanted was to hear the sound of you opening the shower curtain, poking your head and asking, “Can I join?”

But that soothing sound never came. 

He stood under the hot water until it went cold, and moved into the bedroom. He stared at the bed he used to curl up next to you in. He found it hard to even look at, considering the last time he slept in it he woke up to the sheets being stained in blood. He moved to sit on the bed, trying not to disturb the specific way you made it. He looked at the sticky note you had placed next to you. It was from him, saying ‘I went in a little early today, didn’t want to disturb you on your day off. I can’t wait to see you at 6. I love you, Love.’ He smiled, knowing you placed it there so it was the first thing that you saw when you woke up each morning. But then he remembered that you put it there because each morning you weren’t waking up next to him. This note was as close as you could get. 

He looked through your drawers, smiling at the CalTech hoodie folded neatly on top. He decided to leave that one in the drawer. That way you’d always have a physical piece of him, even though you’d always have his heart. 

He moved from there into the nursery. It was empty. A regular person would just think it was a green spare bedroom, but he knew. He knew which wall the crib was going to go on. He knew that the hook from the ceiling was meant for the mobile Penelope had made. He knew what should’ve been there. 

Spencer spent three entire days in the house. He ate there, slept there, cried there. He felt all the feelings he’d been running from, and regretted that he hadn’t stayed with you to feel them together. 

Rossi was right, the only way through this was to lean on each other. Spencer hadn’t. He leaned as far away from you as he could. He realized just how lonely that two-bedroom could feel, and he understood how you’d nearly gone crazy in there. He was there for three entire days, and felt like he aged fifty years. Somehow, he felt closer to you than he had in months, even though you were 1,074.6 miles away in a hotel room he should’ve been in too. 

He talked to the moon each night, begging it to answer him. He didn’t know what to do. Should he let you go? Isn’t that the saying? ‘If you love something, let it go. If it doesn’t come back it was never yours in the first place’? Would you ever come back? Were you ever his? Was he ever really yours? Should he honor your wishes to break up? Should he pack this life up and leave without any closure? Without a proper goodbye? Or should he wait for you there? Kiss you the second you walked in the door and tell you that he was a fool, an idiot, that no one ever meant as much to him as you do? Should he fight for you?

But then he heard your voice ringing in his ears, “Don’t bother.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Don’t bother.”

And he didn’t. He packed his few things up, took one long, final look around with tears in his eyes, dropped his spare key in a dish, and walked home alone. 

“You forgot a few things, of course. You forgot the watch. You forgot the CalTech hoodie. You forgot your favorite mug. You can tell it’s well used and well loved because there’s a permanent coffee stain in the porcelain around the top where you always let it sit because it was too hot to drink. 

I gave you the mug my first day back to work. I couldn’t stand looking at it every time I opened the cupboard. I decided to be nice, give it to you as a peace offering before we started onto the uphill battle that was working together. I’d also like to consider this whole box a peace offering. I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. It’s the complete opposite, Spence. I love you too much to just watch you and not be with you. 

Three weeks after Florida, Hotch called me in for another mandatory evaluation. And I passed. I passed because I went to the counselor. I talked to Dr. Stevens for an hour and a half every Thursday and Sunday morning. I’d go in and he’d give me a glass of water and we’d chat. Sometimes it was about work, turns out I have a lot of pent up grief from all the things I’ve seen, but usually it was about us. I think I spent at least an hour and fifteen minutes each week talking about us. I told Dr. Stevens about every memory I’ve included in these letters. I told him about all of it, from the day I realized I love you, to the day I realized that I couldn’t anymore.

It was hard, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I had to pour my heart out to someone who didn’t know me. I had to pour my heart out to someone who wasn’t you. I had to grieve the loss of a child and of a lover at once. But to my surprise, he helped. In a weird way, he seemed to understand. I know that’s just because it’s his job, he is literally trained to understand and help people with their grief, but I feel like he knew me. Not nearly the way that you did, but he knew me.”

A dark green monster formed in Spencer’s chest. The thought of another man learning about you in the way he had was enough to make his mouth taste sour. You let this other man into the most intimate parts of your brain, places only Spencer had ever gotten to go before. Did Dr. Stevens know you better than him? He couldn’t help the envy blooming in his chest at the idea. He wanted to be the person you poured yourself out to, and he had been. He wanted that back. 

“I’m doing better. That’s how I passed the eval. A male grief counselor helped me through my grief, which you said wouldn’t work. And you were wrong. I must admit it gives me a little bit of joy to tell you that. For once, Spencer Reid, you were wrong. And maybe if you had just agreed to go with me, you would feel better too. If you had just agreed, we never would have had that fight. You never would have packed a suitcase and gone down an elevator alone. 

I was right. For once in our lives, I was right, and you were wrong. I just wish it was about something more trivial than this. 

My first day back was a Wednesday, about a month and a half ago. I was terrified. I hadn’t seen you since Florida and everyone knew what had happened. Hell, my first day back in DC after the breakup, Derek sat me down with a bottle of tequila and let me cry until the couch was underwater. I just knew it would be awkward and painful and sad. I knew that our friends would stare at us and ‘pick sides’ as if we had suddenly become enemies. I was scared to sit at my desk across from yours and have to look at you. I was scared of the feelings. I was scared of all the progress I’d made in counseling going down the toilet the second I laid eyes on you, and I was right.

I showed up that morning in my best pencil skirt and blouse and pretty red heels. I did my hair. I put on makeup. I tried to make myself look good, so then I’d feel good. I had to fake it, so you wouldn’t be able to see the real me. I caked on makeup to cover up the bags under my eyes from crying over you for weeks. I brushed my hair and strands kept falling out because my hormones changed and I couldn’t eat most nights. I wore black tights so you wouldn’t be able to see the bruises on my knees from the nights I drank and cried and ended up with my head in a toilet, knees bumping the cold tile floor; desperately wishing it was morning sickness, so you’d be close behind me, rubbing my back and taking care of me.

When I exited the elevator, everyone greeted me as usual. I got hugs from the whole team, but you didn’t budge from your desk. You were staring at a book that I know you weren’t reading because you weren’t turning the pages. You were listening to me say hi to Rossi, tell him I missed him, and I could swear eyes flicked towards me a few times when I hugged Derek. That’s probably just wishful thinking, because I wanted you to look at me. I wanted you to see me, see that I was “fine.” I wanted you to look at me because I couldn’t stop looking at you. You, who I fell in love with over these same BAU desk partitions. I saw the ghosts of me and you three years ago, young and happy, your hair curling over your eyebrow, your pursed lips, the way your tie was just slightly crooked. I saw the you I wanted. I saw the man I stared at with lovesick stars in my eyes as we filled out Hotch’s paperwork. I saw me and you and Jacksonville and Meridian Hill Park and everything that we could have been.

And I cracked.

You didn’t even have to speak to me, Spencer, and I cracked.

I dropped my bag on the floor next to my desk and ran to the bathroom to cry off the makeup. Seeing you felt like I was drowning but on fire at the same time. I swear time stopped for a moment when I exited Garcia’s hug and saw you across the BAU. And suddenly I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t remember a single coping mechanism Dr. Stevens showed me. I just stood there. Frozen. Trepidation. Regret.

I stared at myself in the shitty flourescent lights of the bathroom, tears washing away my concealer and exposing the dark bags that matched my blood shot eyes. I stared at the way my cheek bones hollowed out since I’d lost over twenty pounds. I stared at a person I didn’t recognize, and that’s when I realized that I wasn’t the same person you fell in love with over the BAU partition either. I wasn’t the chirpy girl helping you jump start your car anymore. I wasn’t the same girl who bought your mother’s favorite book just to try and impress her. I wasn’t me. You weren’t you. So how could we possibly be us?”

Hotch had called Spencer into his office that morning to tell him you would be coming back.

“Is this going to be an issue?” He said, Spencer fiddling with his thumbs in an attempt to hide from Hotch’s stare.

“No, no problem.”

Hotch knew he was lying, and Spencer knew Hotch knew he was lying, but he was nice enough to let it go.

He sat at his desk and opened that book on epicureanism with the full intention of reading it. He was going to immerse himself in that in an attempt to avoid you. But when he opened the cover, the letters all jumbled together like alphabet soup on the page. Then he heard the familiar clack of your heels, and he looked up, just for a second. He noticed how beautiful you looked, but he recognized the sadness in your body. It was the same sadness he saw in his own every morning as he struggled to find the will to move from his position in bed.

He hadn’t gone to a counselor and learned coping mechanisms, the only one he knew was avoidance, but how could he avoid you? How could he avoid the way your smell lingered even after you dropped your bag and bolted to the bathroom? How could he avoid staring at the way Derek wrapped his arms around you, wishing they were his instead? How could he avoid the persistent, twisted, aching heart in his chest? How had he managed to avoid you for so long? He saw you up close, in the place you fell in love, for just a moment and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to kiss you. 

“When I got back from the bathroom, I knew you could see me. You could see the real me, the me you didn’t want. 

I decided I wasn’t going to make this as painful for everyone else as it was for us, so I grabbed my bag, took the mug out and handed it to you. 

“I, uh, I found this in the cabinet,” I said weakly, and you grabbed it, our fingertips just brushing each other, an action that usually sent lightning down my spine, “I know it’s your favorite one so I wanted you to have it back.”

“T-Thanks,” You cleared your throat, “I’ll go fill it up with coffee. Want one?”

I smiled through the pain, proud of myself that our first interaction went well, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You brought me a coffee, made correctly. Cream and one sugar. I took it from you with a fake smile, trying to force back the pain in my chest.

Derek watched that entire painfully awkward interaction, and he pulled me into his office after.

”You good? That was a lot back there.”

 I whined, “No. I’m not good. I’m actually very bad.”

He sighed and pulled me in for a hug, “You’ve got this. You and Reid can handle it. We all know you still love each other.”

I started to cry into his chest, just softly. I didn’t need anyone else seeing how broken I was.

“Why did I think I could do it? I should just transfer.”

That was the first time I considered it out loud. The thought had been rattling around in my head for a bit, but saying it made it real.

Derek argued, “No, you don’t need to transfer.”

“Yes I do! Hotch said as much three years ago.”

“Just focus on getting through today, okay?”

I nodded, taking three deep breaths with Derek’s arms on my shoulders, keeping me grounded.

That’s when Penelope opened the door, poking her head in and telling us it was wheels up in twenty.

“You can stay here with me,” She said, coming over to hug me.

I shook my head, wiping away my last few stray tears, “No, I’ve been gone for far too long. I’m coming back.”

She smiled, “I’m so glad you are.”

We all went on the jet, Hotch insisting he’d brief us in the air. I sat at a window seat, next to Derek and across from Hotch and Rossi. You, Alex, and JJ sat opposite from us. I could feel the tension, the passing glances, the sides being chosen, the hushed voice you spoke in so I wouldn’t hear you or even look at you. I felt like an outcast in a plane full of my favorite people.

The case was in Las Vegas. Of course my first case back had to be in your hometown. Of course it had to be in a place that felt like a second home for me. 

“Morgan, Y/N, take the latest crime scene,” Hotch ordered me, and I let out a nervous sigh that was much louder than I intended. You all turned to look at me, expressions varied from pity from Hotch to annoyance from you.

Hotch looked me up and down, “Actually, Y/N come with me to the precinct.”

“I-uh-okay?” I said, feeling embarrassed and small and useless and worthless. Because while you got to look at the bodies, I got to look at sweaty Vegas cops.

He didn’t think I could handle it. No one did. None of you thought I could, and guess what? You were right.

I fell apart. That entire case I was a wreck. My brain didn’t work right. I couldn’t profile, crime scene photos made me want to cry, I could barely even look at the family members.

I was actually useless there. I was useless because of you. Because the way the files smelled reminded me of you and I had to watch you talk to Alex and JJ and not talk to me and I had to watch the way you scrunch up your nose and the way your hair falls in your eyes and you brush it away. Because you had all the answers and I had none. Because you were always everything, and I merely accompanied you. Because you’re more of an asset to them than five of me would be.

And that’s why I left.

I left because after that case you stayed back for a day and saw your mom, and usually I would’ve been there with you. I left because that flight home was empty without you, even though you weren’t even looking at me. I left because I don’t know what’d I’d do if you ever got hurt and I wasn't the one sleeping in your hospital bed with you. I left because I cannot live in a life that I shared with you anymore. I left because I love you too much to stay.

When we landed in Quantico that day, I went to the bathroom again to cry. Derek followed me but I shoved him off. I locked myself in a stall and screamed one of those silent screams when you’re too angry and frustrated to even make a noise.

I stared at myself in the mirror again. I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t accepted that part yet. I’d accepted everything else except for the fact that I was broken, and no amount of hugs from Penelope or stolen glances at you were going to fix it. The only thing that would fix it was going as far away from you as possible.

I got my transfer papers from Hotch the next day.

He argued, told me to rethink, told me to take more days off, told me that it would all get better with time.

“Reid’s reasonable,” He said, “And if it’s time–”

“No, I know that I want to transfer. You said so yourself. If it got too hard, I’d have to go. Well it’s too hard, Aaron. I have to go.”

He sighed, “What unit? I can get you a place almost anywhere. Sex crimes? Back in organized?”

I twiddled my thumbs and sighed, “LA?”

“LA?,” He shook his head and gestured for me to sit down, “Sit Y/N. We need to talk about this.”

He went on a very convincing lecture then. He almost got me to stay, but the only person who actually could’ve gotten me to stay was you. At the end he reluctantly gave me the paperwork and told me, “I hope you don’t regret this.”

I really, really, hope I don’t.

The papers sat in a file folder on my desk for three weeks, taunting me. I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to fill them out yet. I’m not sure what I was waiting for. I think maybe I was waiting for you, or maybe I was waiting for it to get better. Waiting for it to not hurt every time I looked over at you or heard you laugh with JJ. But after three weeks, I realized that was never going to happen. It was never going to stop hurting me or stop hurting you, so I filled out the papers last  Thursday, and five days later Hotch told me about Seattle. I immediately accepted, and packed up my desk.

Except for this, your item for this letter, my name plate. “Y/N Y/L/N Supervisory Special Agent- Behavioral Analysis Unit” doesn’t really belong on my new desk. The nameplate reminds me of pining over you across the round table and Emily poking my shoulder and telling me ‘just go for it!’ It reminds me of sneaking into your hotel room on cases and double-cheek kisses from Rossi. It reminds me of filling out paperwork to declare our relationship, and filling out paperwork to get away from it. It reminds me of us, all of us. It reminds me of my old life. The life I’d like to leave behind, so it’s yours.”

Spencer’s fingers traced the engraved letters of your name, one by one, his mind far away recalling that case and the few days when he stayed back in Las Vegas. He saw his mom for the first time since everything happened. 

The first day he visited and the nurses told him it was a good day, one of her best days in recent history. He smiled sadly, knowing that what he was about to share would make it one of the worst.

He walked into her room, every muscle tensed. Diana smiled, wrapped her arms around him warmly and the first thing she did was ask for you. 

“When I heard I was getting a visit I was thrilled! Where’s Y/N? Gosh she must be big by now.”

He avoided her gaze, as if he was a child avoiding being scolded, “Y/N isn’t coming.”

“She’s not?” She asked, and Spencer immediately regretted not telling her about the last two months sooner. He kept putting it off, not quite knowing how to break his mother's heart while dealing with his own. 

“No, mom, and I think you should sit down.”

“Sit? Spencer, sweetheart, what is it? You’re worrying me.”

He sat down, knee bouncing and hands fidgeting just to release some of the pent up energy inside of him, “Y/N and I, we–we broke up.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, just as his always did, lips pressed into a line, “Spencer Reid you left a pregnant girl? I raised you better than that!”

He bit his lips, not knowing exactly how to say the words that came next, “Mom, Y/N, she–“ He stopped himself, correcting himself for once, “We lost her.”

Diana’s mouth fell open slightly, “Lost the baby?”

Spencer couldn’t do much but nod, the tears he had been forcing back for weeks flooding his eyes and running over like a waterfall. His eyes were shut, the shame of it all overcoming him. 

The next thing he felt were her arms around him, pulling him close as he fell apart. 

“Th-there was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do,” he choked out between ragged breaths, “I-I should’ve been able to do something! I should’ve been able to protect her and I didn’t and now—”

She cut him off, her cold hands rubbing the tears off his hot cheeks, “Sometimes things just, well they just happen.”

He nodded, “And then Y/N…”

“Spencer, how’d you let her go?”

He shrugged, wiping at his nose, “I-I don’t know. I can’t believe I left. I just—“

His voice was getting rushed and his breath was getting quick, like he was drowning in tears and regret. 

“Shh, stop,” She said, hands running through his hair the same way they did when he was a boy, “You’ve already lost so much, don’t lose her too.”

When he left his mother that day he took her words to heart. He wasn’t going to lose you too, he was going to make up for those two months. When he arrived back in DC, his first stop was your house. He knocked on the door, go-bag on his shoulder. There was no answer. He knocked again. And again. And again. 

You never opened up.

He was expecting you to open the door and smile at him and invite him inside, but the door stayed locked, his key to it being inside. That night he stayed on the step until one in the morning, when he begrudgingly got in his car and drove away. The next night he came back, and the next, and the next, and the next, the door always staying shut. He left each time feeling more and more defeated.

He knew you were in there, he could see your shadow appear and disappear, and every night he’d stay until the January air became too much to bear. He swore he could hear you slide down the door a few times, sitting as close back to back with him as possible. 

He went every night until one day, when he was laying against the cold door, half asleep and frostbitten, Derek appeared in front of him.

“Reid,” He whispered, voice sympathetic but also stern, “You gotta stop doing this. This isn’t healthy.”

Spencer stood up, his breath visible as he spoke, “I know.”

“She isn’t going to let you in.”

“I know,” he mumbled, fixing his wool coat and starting to walk away. Derek watched him as he made his way across the snow-covered yard. He turned around and called to him.

“Morgan! Just, just tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I miss her.”

Derek nodded, opening your front door and entering the place Spencer wished he could be: with you. 

“I don’t know what happened to you in Vegas, but when you came back, you were different. At work you still avoided me like I was a rat with the plague, but then every night I’d hear you knocking on my door, begging to be let in.

“I love you,” you’d say, “I take it all back.” As if you ever could. 

I’d sit on the stairs that face the door, head in my hands, trying to find the willpower to keep the door closed. Then I’d see your key, sitting in the dish you put it in, and it was easy to keep the door closed, because you’re the one who shut it.

You came almost nightly for a week. I’d always look through the peephole. I’d sit with my back to the door the same way yours was. I’d wrap myself in a blanket and sleep there, as close to you as I could, but I kept the door shut.

I know it’s terrible, but part of me wishes that we never met. That instead I stayed making espresso shots in Connecticut and never went back to this life. In this wish, Dave never called me. I never saw your dopey smile and immediately fell in love. Maybe then you wouldn’t be all I think about. Maybe then you’d get out of my head, because as long as I know you, I’ll never love anyone else.

But that way of thinking is behind me. Now, I see you as a lesson I had to be taught. I learned how to love, and how I deserve to be loved. I learned how to smile and laugh and really care about someone other than myself. I learned how to grieve and appreciate my life and I learned what real, true love is. I learned about soulmates and science and how to smile so hard my cheeks hurt. I learned how to let go.

But I learned hard lessons too; like that the Beatles were wrong, love isn’t all you need. You need passion and commitment and happiness and compromise. I learned that sadness can be a greater emotion than love. I learned that heartbreak is real and sometimes the people you love more than anything in this world can hurt you. And I’m grateful to you, for every lesson you ever taught me. I’m grateful for every single second I spent with you. I’m grateful for you, Spencer Reid.

Thank you.”

“Thank you”

He could practically hear you whisper it to him.

He found it funny that you were thanking him for breaking your heart, time and time again, because all he felt was regret.

He glanced up at the clock, realizing that he needed to leave now if he had any chance of making the flight to you. He haphazardly collected the letters and all the objects you gave him from where he placed them around the apartment. He grabbed a duffle bag, stuffing it with clothes and whatever things he thought he may need. He grabbed the ring box, debating for a moment whether or not it was too much, too soon. He decided to throw caution to the wind.

What is it Morgan says? Go big or go home?

Spencer was going big, and you were coming home. 

He kicked the front door closed as he left, box overflowing with papers and the ring box burning in his back pocket.

Letter fifteen would have to wait.

Part 15!

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