#i have no supporting evidence at this time

[sonotpattismith]

gee willikers, batman!

pairing: boxer!choso x nurse!reader word count: 11k content: fluff, always a lil angsty w/ me, commitment issues, mentions of toxic relationship dynamics, for my girlies w/ a fearful-avoidant attachment style, big brother choso, mentions of abuse and domestic violence, smut, 18+ a/n: not sure if I like how this turned out but alas we shall persevere :')

You desperately needed to develop a better taste in men. Or a therapist. Whichever came to you faster would be best. 

In reality, it should have been a sign early on into your career when you were so drawn toward the Emergency Department specifically that perhaps you had a certain… affinity for the more chaotic things in life. It was evident in your job, and it was evident in your disaster ex-boyfriend who you’d just broken up with a mere week shy of your one year anniversary. 

He, like the many other men you’ve let waltz into your life, might as well have had ‘RED FLAG’ tattooed across his forehead, but it seemed you were never satisfied unless you were on the brink of a complete crash out— at least that was how you’d always felt until now. Maybe you were getting too old for it, all the bad boy types who had you clinging onto your phone in a furious rage most nights arguing over god knows what. It was never simple, but you seemed to enjoy the thrill of the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ types of attitudes. 

Again, at least until your latest wannabe edge lord candidate had had you so fed up with his overbearing possessiveness that you were sure your nervous system was completely fried. It wasn’t until that last fight though, that ended with your phone screen shattered after he’d tossed it across the room in a child-like tantrum that was just so like him— the one after which you found yourself having to practice the very same fucking grounding techniques you’d show your patients when experiencing panic attacks prior to procedures— you thought perhaps it was time for a change. 

Which was precisely why you couldn’t for the life of you understand why your coworker insisted on taking you here of all places. Ierie had been working with you for a few years now, so she had already heard about every argument, block, and makeup between you and that disaster of an ex-boyfriend of yours. Though she tried (not very hard but tried nonetheless) to conceal her unbridled excitement when you told you that you had ended things, she was practically bursting at the seams. 

After the poorly concealed praise to a higher being she performed following the news, she did still want to be there for you. That was why she insisted on hanging out tonight so you wouldn’t have to be alone on what was supposed to be your one year anniversary. The catch was though, she seemed to have forgotten that she had already promised one of her long time friends from highschool that she’d be at his fight that same night. 

Which led you to the very predicament you were in now, damn near overstimulated by the hollering and sweaty bodies pushing against you in the overcrowded, modestly sized arena that looked like it hadn’t been maintenanced in at least ten years. Ierie’s cold hand was dragging you by the wrist to assure you didn’t get swallowed up by the crowd, claiming that her friend had already reserved two spots toward the front. 

“I know I came here to support him, but I don’t think Suguru is winning this thing.” She shouted over the crowd once you two found your spots, watching as a burly man stalked around the area taking bets for the fight. 

“Geez, some friend you are.” You snorted with an amused shake of your head. “Does he suck or something?”

Truthfully, you knew nothing about boxing. It was never really your thing, even though you seemed to have quite a few mutual friends involved in the local boxing scene. You weren’t sure of the big names that everyone threw around, who was good and who was mediocre. Despite the fact that you’d much rather be rotting in bed, wallowing in your own self-pity right about now, you figured you should at least try to enjoy yourself and understand what you were watching. 

“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head, her neck craning up to watch as the boxers began making their way out. “The guy he’s going up against is like a fucking machine. He never loses— at least I’ve never seen it.”

“Crazy strong?” You assumed, watching as the man you recognized as her friend hopped into the ring, his long hair pulled back into a neat bun out of his face. Shoko hummed unconvincingly. 

“Nah, I heard he’s got a kid or something. So, I think he’s just crazy determined is all.” 

You hummed, suddenly intrigued to see someone going against Geto— who was already scarily large in your book— with nothing but pure motivation to provide under his belt. As they announced his name— Choso— and he ducked into the ring across from his opponent, you realized that he definitely had more on his side than Shoko let on. 

“Holy shit.” You muttered under your breath, lips parting as you watched him shed his jacket. He looked fairly young for a father, but the dark circles under his eyes surely fit the bill. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so shocked given his line of work, but the man was built like a tank, insanely broad shoulders to carry around those down right dangerous biceps of his.

“Eh? Didn’t I say this would take your mind off of what’s his face?” Your friend grinned knowingly with a teasing nudge of her elbow. She jutted her chin toward the ring. “Think his kid needs a step-mom?”

“Ierie,” You flushed with a breathless laugh. Suguru and Choso met in the middle of the ring, touching their gloved fists together as they awaited the match to begin. “Did you not hear me when I said I need a little bit of peace in my life for once?”

She didn’t respond to your rhetorical question though, because the opening bell was ringing and the boxers began dancing around the ring faster than you could process, administering and dodging blows so fluidly it almost looked choreographed. You noticed how Choso protected his face the majority of the match, ducking and dodging far more than actually swinging. When he did swing though, he swung hard. You wondered with your limited knowledge of the sport if his strategy was just tiring his opponent out. 

A few minutes in, you found yourself flinching back with each punch that was thrown his way, but Geto rarely landed one on his opponent. 

“I knew you’d go gaga for this!” Shoko shouted with a delighted laugh. “You love the dangerous ones!” 

“Shut up!” You grumbled back at her, chewing at the side of your thumb anxiously as the two grew closer to the side of the ring you and Shoko were stationed at. 

Of course, they likely knew what they were doing, but you couldn’t help but think of worst case scenario where these two two-hundred plus pound fighters toppled over the ring and onto your unsuspecting and unprepared body. You abruptly stood from your seat as Geto was cornered against the ring, his back facing you just a mere couple feet away. 

From up close as Choso was landing calculated blows on his trapped opponent, you were able to see that subtle pout in his lips that contrasted against the big and scary vibe every other part of him emanated. The mark across his nose scrunched up in sheer focus, stray bangs from his haphazard bun falling across his forehead. 

It only took a second, your abrupt movement shifting in his peripheral. His dark eyes drifted up just over Geto’s shoulder and met yours. The gloved fists that had been raised and shielding his face for nearly the entire match slowly faltered, drifting down in hopes of getting a better look at your wide eyed expression. 

Those glossy eyes were locked on him, and perhaps he was too awestruck to note that— yeah, everyone was looking at him right now— because it truly did feel as though you were the only one in the room for even just a moment. The whiplash hit him straight in the ribs harder than any opponent could land, knocking the air from his lungs as he watched your face morph in horror. It was just milliseconds following the abrupt change that Geto’s glove was hitting him smack-dab in the center of his face. 

You yelled out in surprise as Choso was instantly knocked back, falling onto the unforgiving ground below him while the arena erupted in hollers, because shit, everyone had bet on him. Even Suguru looked taken aback by how quickly his opponent dropped, because he’d fought with him before and definitely knew that he usually kept his stance stiff enough so that blows like that didn’t take him down so easily— and they certainly never kept him down.

The referee had knelt down beside him to count him down, but you were more concerned by the way blood had begun to trickle out of his nose and even the corner of his mouth. His eyes were barely open, squinting blearily at the blinding lights above him. 

“He’s gonna aspirate if they don’t move him off his back.” You shouted desperately at Shoko, clutching anxiously onto her elbow. 

“They have to count him down— rules are rules.” She stated absentmindedly, getting on her tiptoes to get a better look. “You’re off the clock.”

Ten seconds. He could get through it, you tried to convince yourself as you bounced on your heels. Time was moving too slow though, and you watched in dread as his chest heaved with a cough, the blood that had gathered in his mouth sputtering up to paint his chin and cheeks. 

“They’re gonna kill him.” Your frantic declaration had barely processed in your friend's mind before you were hopping through the ropes and hoisting yourself into the ring. She was yelling out to you, and one of the boxer’s cornermen shot forward to stop you, but you had already slid onto your knees beside the referee, who was also trying to push you back. “He’s choking on his blood!” 

They paused at your sudden, furied response, too startled to do anything as you grabbed his shoulder and mustered all your strength to roll him onto his side. Finally on his side, you reached over to pull the guard from his mouth. At once, Choso began sputtering up and coughing, coating the floor with the blood that he had been drowning in.

As he continued clearing his airway, your fingers carefully dug into the back of his head, threading through his hair to check for blood. With the sudden movements, he was slowly beginning to come to, though all he could hear through the ringing in his ears was the muffled uproar from the crowd. Blinking back his delirium, he lazily shifted onto his back once again, eyes drifting back shut.

“No, no, no— sit up for me.” Your voice instructed him through the haze of his attempted slumber. 

Even Geto had shed his gloves and was kneeling down to help you get him upright. 

“I didn’t even hit him that hard.” He explained in bafflement, the most subtle layer of guilt twinging his tone. “It’s like he completely ragdolled for a second.”

It took all the energy Choso had remaining to blink up at you. The sight of you— the same girl who had thrown him out of his zone for likely the first time ever in his career— his consciousness seemed to come flooding back to him. Sitting up quickly with your’s and Geto’s urging hands under his back, he looked around frantically in an attempt to grasp what had happened. 

“Do you feel nauseous?” You asked him as he watched your lips form in a frenzy around the words. 

Blood was beginning to pour from his quickly bruising nose into his lips, and the thus far useless cornermen bounded over with a small towel. Bunching it up, you carefully placed it onto his nose before tilting his head forward to allow it to flow out. 

“I-I don’t—” Choso was stammering, as was so very common for him, but never in the ring, and he was coming to the mortifying revelation that the insanely gorgeous girl just watched him get the lights knocked out of him with a single blow. 

Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words. You moved the towel aside to hear him better. 

“I don’t usually, uh—” He gulped, face flushing embarrassingly dark for someone who was on the brink of a possible concussion. You tilted your head at him. “Y’know, lose that easy— hah.” 

His attempted nonchalant laughter sounded more like a nervous sigh, but his slurred explanation had an amused smile curling through the concerned pout of your lips. He found himself smiling along with you, blood coating his teeth. 

“So I’ve heard, hot-shot.” You quipped with a shake of your head, pressing the towel back into his nose just as the medic finally hopped into the ring. Your eyes remained on his dopey expression as you tilted your head to the side to address them in a hushed tone. “Check him for a concussion, he’s looking crazy.”

Choso did not, in fact, have a concussion. At least that’s what the medic deduced in the back after having assessed him. Given that there, for some god forsaken reason, only seemed to be one medic present, you aided in transporting him to the back where you stuck around for support. Shoko was rolling her eyes in exasperation, mumbling something incoherent about your never taking a day off. She was however thoroughly entertained by the notion that the Choso Kamo got knocked onto his ass for the first time solely because he got a glimpse of you. Despite the evidence that was pointing there, you vehemently continued to disagree with her on what caused his little hiccup in the ring. 

The medic was packing his things up as you were not-so-subtly re-checking his pupil reactions, because you seriously were questioning the credentials of the supposed medical professional that was about to let the man aspirate right in the ring. Choso didn’t question your insistence on double-checking, his wide, chocolate eyes following your pen light obediently— any excuse to be at the center of your attention for a little longer, right?

“So you’re, um—” His gaze fluttered as you clicked the light off before switching it to your other hand and turning it back on. “You’re a doctor?” 

You smiled fondly and shook your head. 

“An ER nurse— my friend over there’s a doctor though.” You explained, nodding your head back to where Shoko was speaking to Geto. She shouted something about being off the clock before continuing her conversation. 

Choso hummed, blinking away the spots in his eyes left behind by the light. Upon closer inspection, you noted that the mark running jaggedly across his nose and cheeks was a scar, and not an oddly placed tattoo as you had assumed when first seeing it. If he noticed you staring, he made no indication of it— not with the puppy-dog like gaze he still had on you, a small smile on his blood-stained lips. 

His attention was pulled away from you as a ping rang from his dufflebag. Tearing his eyes from yours, he quickly fumbled through his clothes before procuring his cellphone. In a last-ditch effort to make it seem like you weren’t just staring at the man, you busied yourself with cleaning up the blood-soaked towels and tissues that had begun surrounding him. 

“Is everything okay?” Choso had barely glanced at the screen before quickly taking the call. “He’s still not asleep?”

You watched his brows furrow from your peripheral, and you desperately tried to mind your own business. In the louder corners of your mind though, Shoko’s words rang in your mind about his having a child. Despite only having spoken a few words to him, you just couldn’t see how this young, gentle-giant of a man was a father. 

“Yeah,” His voice had become lighter suddenly, an amused smile painting his face so affectionately it damn near gave you baby fever. “Tell him I’m fine— I should be home in a little bit.”

You quickly averted your sidelong glance once he hung up the phone, moving to wash your blood stained hands in the dingy sink that sat in the corner. From the mirror, you could see him digging through his bag to grab a shirt. 

“Sorry— my babysitter called.” He explained as he tugged a baggy, graphic tee over his head. As if it took him a moment to realize how that sounded, his frantic face was quickly popping out the neck of the shirt to clarify. “I take care of my little brother, I mean. I’m not um— y’know, his… dad.”

With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you could have cursed yourself for the subtle excitement brewing in your stomach at the fact that this man was likely single—�� and he wanted you to know it, too. Reaching down to grab your bag from the bench, you slung it over your shoulder.  Jumping into action, Choso was quickly picking up his own bag to walk beside you. 

“Big brother’s a boxer, huh? He must think you’re a god.” 

“Oh, he doesn’t know, actually.” He corrected with a subtle flush, his hand fiddling with the strap of his bag. Noting the way your brows rose in surprise, he offered a meek smile. “I just don’t want him getting caught up in all this.”

“And how does he suppose you get all those bruises then?” You teased, but you were quickly putting two and two together that keeping his job a secret from his little brother was likely the reason for his oddly calculated boxing approach. He never seemed to make risky moves, always preferring to protect himself above all else and only striking when he was sure to land it. 

Suddenly, a bashful expression overtook his face, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly as his eyes darted away from you. It was undeniably endearing to see such a tall and muscular man so easily flustered, especially considering how solemnly terrifying he appeared in the ring. 

“Well, he…” He scratched at his head before huffing out a chuckle. “He kind of thinks I’m Batman.”

A choked laugh attempted to hide itself within your throat, but it, of course, failed miserably. Choso turned away from you in hopes that you wouldn’t see the maroon color that painted his neck and cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. That’s just really cute.” You explained through uncontrolled giggles, not missing the way Shoko rose a knowing brow at you as the two of you drew closer. “Well, uh… good luck with that bruise then, Batman.”

“Y-You should let me grab you dinner— y’know to… thank you for not letting me choke.” You turned as Choso chuckled nervously, the hand you had placed on your friend’s arm to head out with her falling. 

 Your gaze fluttered as you looked back at his hopeful expression, but all you could think about was the fact that you’d just broken up with your boyfriend just a week prior because he was no good for you. Staring back at the crusted blood at the corner of his mouth, along with the way his nose was blossoming with a vibrant black and blue hue, you shook your head with an apologetic smile. 

“I’ve got a shift in the morning.” You explained, having to turn away lest your heart break at the way his face seemed to fall ever-so-slightly. “But I hope you feel better!”

As you and Shoko left, she was whisper-shouting over her shoulder an apology to him about your only liking assholes with a feigned subtlety. It was the subdued goodnight that he still called out to you even in the midst of his rejection that had you staring up at your ceiling that night wondering if you’d always be hard-wired to make things difficult for yourself. 

You wished you had had the opportunity to forget about the interaction altogether the following morning at the start of your shift. Typically, working in the ER meant fast-paced, constantly needing to be on edge, and certainly not having the time to think about anything else other than what might be walking through those doors at any moment. As fate would have it though, today was one of the rare instances that your shift was absolutely dragging. 

It was already nearly a quarter of the way into your shift, and all you had triaged so far was an elderly woman with a mild cough, a kid trying to get out of his school’s testing day with a feigned stomach ache, and a hungover college student in desperate need of IV fluids. Needless to say, you were beginning to grow restless. 

You were a mere ten minutes away from throwing in the towel and taking your lunch break early, a luxury you were almost never privileged to, when your pager pinged alerting a new patient. Sitting up with a start, you quickly clicked at your computer to wake it up and check the chart. 

Possible head injury; rule out TBI

Maybe if you hadn’t been so eager to just get up and do something, you would have read into their chart more. For now though, you were avidly collecting your things to check in the first patient you’ve had in the last two hours. Lugging the vitals machine behind you, you offered a soft knock on the wall as you glanced over the chart one more time and slid the curtain open. Your mouth popped open as your eyes finally landed on the name. 

“Choso?” You muttered under your breath, brows furrowing as you looked up from the chart to see the very man you suspected perched upon the sterile bed. 

He almost looked surprised to see you at first, those dewey eyes of his widening ever-so-slightly at the sight of you before a smile spread across his lips. Upon first glance, he looked to be the picture of health (save for the now diabolical bruise spread across the center of his face), smiling and bright eyed with no visible reason for why he’d be complaining of a head injury. As if noting the way your eyes began to narrow doubtfully at him, he quickly attempted to wipe the smile from his face. 

“Um— I was… I was starting to feel symptoms of a concussion.” The burly man stammered out as though rehearsed. 

Barely able to bite back your own amused grin, you tucked the chart under your arm before leaning against the wall expectantly. You made a go on motion with a wave of your hand, but Choso hadn’t expected to be so distracted by the sight of you in your scrubs. Rolling his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, he gulped nervously. 

“Y’know, like a… headache a-and uh…” An anxious smile graced his face as you raised a skeptical brow at him. He couldn’t help it though— not with the way your jogger-style scrub bottoms hugged at your curves so tantalizingly, and you looked so cute with your stethoscope hanging around your neck, the one that would surely catch the way his traitorous heart was racing against his rib cage. 

“How did you know which hospital I worked at, Choso?” You finally interrogated once he’d been stammering a little too long to come up with other relevant symptoms. 

He cast his eyes to the side as you moved to pull the sleeve of his t-shirt up to wrap the blood pressure cuff around his bulging bicep. Though you had already deduced that he was likely fine, he had still been registered as a patient, and now you needed to go through the typical procedures. You wondered if he was even aware of how attractive he was, because the way he remained oblivious to the manner in which you ran a hand unnecessarily down his arm on your way to the pump told you that he had no clue.

“Lucky guess.” He tried to come off as cool, hoping you wouldn’t see through the fact that this was the third emergency room he’d been to today. It wouldn’t let him rest though— the memory of you hovering above him as he came to, the thought that you had jumped into a boxing ring for a stranger and essentially saved his life. “You didn’t let me thank you yesterday. You saved my life.”

“Don’t you have a kid to be taking care of?” You quipped teasingly, a bit flustered at his gratitude as you undid the cuff from his arm. This time around, he did notice the way you rubbed soothingly at the mark left behind by the cuff, and whether conscious or not, he found himself flexing his arm ever-so-slightly just for you.

“Yuji? He’s at school.” Choso explained dismissively before quickly veering back on topic. “I wanted to make sure you were coming to the rematch, but I didn’t have your number.”

He opened his mouth obediently as you nudged the thermometer against his lips, lifting his tongue for you to rest it underneath. The way his pretty, pink lips wrapped around the thermometer made your breath hitch, and you forced yourself to tear your eyes from his as they bore intently into you. You hummed once it beeped, shedding the sterile cover into the bin by the bed. 

“Rematch, huh?” He nodded, fervent eyes following each of your movements as you turned to confirm his vitals into the machine before turning back to face him once again. “I hate to disappoint, but I’m not actually into boxing.”

“You were front row at the match last night.” He rationalized, and his shoulders were slowly falling in disappointment. After a moment, he shook his head before continuing his pursuit. “Then let me take you to dinner at least.”

“Listen, I’m just not really—”

Your excuse was cut off when, after barely a moment of contemplation, Choso grabbed the chart from your hand and tossed it to the floor. A few owlish blinks were sent his way.   

“Your friend said you like assholes.” The man explained simply, but it was clearly eating him alive, evident in the way his determined eyes darted between you and the clipboard that had just got done clattering on the floor. A couple, painfully silent seconds passed before he kissed his teeth quietly, sliding off the bed to pick it back up for you anyway.

Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for your sanity, that little failed stunt worked on you, and Choso bounded out of the ER that afternoon with your contact in his phone. Still, you made it clear to him that you’d reach out to him when you were ready. He nodded along intently as you explained that you had only just gotten out of a relationship, and you didn’t exactly feel that you trusted your ability to pick a man right now. 

It didn’t matter to him though, because you had saved his number under Batman on your phone, and he had never been so proud of the silly persona his baby brother had assigned to him. So, he assured you not to worry, that there was no rush, and that he owed you a dinner whenever it was that you felt like having him.  Sure, the next few days may have been spent glued to his phone in hopes that you’d get over your idiot of an ex-boyfriend sooner rather than later, but he could be patient, right?

It wasn’t until nearly a month later that he began to worry that perhaps you had only taken his number with the hopes that he’d leave you alone. Perhaps you were just letting him down easy. After all, he had shown up to your job after already having gotten a no from you. Choso had never been great with women​​— he’d never had the opportunity to, what with his taking over care for Yuji so early on into what were supposed to be his prime bachelor days. 

Up until now though, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t had the chance to grow out of his awkward, teenage boy cadence, he’d never thought much of it. Sure, he was a man, and he had needs too, but there were always more important things to worry about— like putting food on the table and keeping a roof over the head of his baby brother. His job certainly didn’t require him to be a smooth talker, or a talker at all for that matter. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read the body language or social cues that women threw at him— not until it was you that he couldn’t get a read on. 

What he didn’t know was that you had spent the month waging war on yourself. The battle consisted of the you that wanted to remain in the familiar arms of men who your commitment fearing heart was sure to see no future with and the you that wondered if taking the hot, kind-eyed boxer’s offer of taking you to dinner and treating you like an adult human being was such a bad thing. 

The decision was proving to be more difficult than you could have ever anticipated, because it was as if your man-child of an ex-boyfriend could smell that you were contemplating doing better for yourself once, and he had been texting you for weeks now. There were apologies, paragraphs sent about how your constant arguments only meant that you two were passionate about one another— ones that had you rolling your eyes while simultaneously thinking that this was the safe option. 

You had come to a fork in the road though, as you stared down at his text asking if you’d meet him at the place you two met— some dingy arcade where you always had to hold your breath in because it seemed none of the men in attendance knew what soap or deodorant were. It was the same place where you remember finding it charming how heated he’d get over losing a game— it was quirky and hot and you couldn’t possibly see how that short-temper might pose a challenge to your relationship. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, your thumbs hovered over the cracked screen that had lain witness to just how un-charming that temper could get. Glancing up at your carefully placed makeup in the mirror, you realized that you had missed getting all done up— missed going out instead of sulking in your apartment and contemplating where your abysmal attachment style could have possibly manifested from. With a shake of your head, you decided that you had put far too much effort into yourself to end up in that cesspool of a joint by the end of the night. 

The cool wind nipped at your cheeks as you tried to borrow yourself deeper into the collar of your coat. You thought that perhaps you should have just waited in the car, but, then again, you weren’t exactly familiar with the protocol for proper dates. The dim lighting offered by the awning outside of the quietly buzzing restaurant cast a soft glow onto the wooden bench you were sitting on as you anxiously peered at the parking lot. 

Just as you were on the brink of losing a toe to hyperthermia, an older looking, black cat peeled into the parking lot, barely coming to a stop before the driver’s door was swinging open. Choso’s frantic gaze caught yours almost instantly, and he almost appeared relieved that you hadn’t left.

“I’m so sorry, I know I’m late.” He babbled, shutting his door firmly before glancing into the back of his car. “Look, I um… I understand if you’re not cool with this, but my babysitter canceled on me last minute.”

In the midst of his hesitant explanation, he was tugging the backseat open, offering you one last apprehensive glance before ducking his head in. When he emerged once again, it was with a pink-haired, bright-eyed toddler in his arms. You stood up as Choso walked your way, whispering something that, by the look of the softly stern expression on his face, looked to be a warning to behave to his little brother before setting him down.

“I’m really sorry about this. If you want to go I—”

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to my date, Choso?” Your mockingly stern tone halted his mortified rambling. 

The boy, barely reaching his brother’s mid-thigh, was looking up at you with that fiercely curious expression that only a toddler assessing your danger level could pull off. His small, gloved hand was clutching onto Choso’s pointer and middle finger as the fake fur on his tiger beanie swayed with the gust of wind that whipped his way. 

It certainly wasn’t how you had expected to spend your night off, but something about that exasperated guilt in Choso’s tone made your heart clench. All these years you had spent worrying about which douchebag you’d be picking yourself back up over, and this man, who couldn’t have been much older than you at all, had never had that stupid privilege. Such a miniscule act as not raising a fuss over his bringing his baby brother to dinner with him had him staring at you as though you’d hung the stars in the sky, and you suddenly decided that you had made the right decision that night. 

A small, delighted smile tugged at his lips, and he quickly looked down to nudge the boy forward.

“This is Yuji, and he promised he was going to be on his best behavior for our friend tonight, right?” Choso urged with a subtle desperation hidden in his eyes. Your heart nearly melted as he nodded ardently with a soft sneeze.

“Niichan never has girl friends—” 

“Okay, Yuji! Why don’t you show her how you open the door like a gentleman?” He eagerly cut off his brother’s innocent confession with a rapidly flushing face, scooping him up so that he could reach the handle. You offered a knowing, sidelong glance at the flustered man, unable to bite back your tickled smile as you nodded to Yuji in thanks as he held the door open for you with a prideful beam.

Choso had just about jumped out of his skin when your name randomly popped onto his phone. He must have re-read your text twenty times to assure he was understanding correctly, because the girl who had been radio silent for nearly a month was asking if tonight was a good night for her to cash in on the dinner he owed her. 

Truthfully, it wasn’t a good night. He had been expecting to stay home with Yuji tonight given he didn’t have a match, and his brother didn’t have school the next morning. Because of that, he really didn’t have anyone lined up to babysit tonight. He frantically called his usual babysitter, practically begging her to come on such short notice, and he nearly did a backflip when she agreed. 

Yuji was following him around the house with that lighthearted laugh, the kind that made Choso think that maybe he wasn’t doing such a bad job at taking care of him after all, asking him why he was practically bouncing around the house as he rushed to shower and dug recklessly through his closet for something decent to wear. 

It had all come crashing down on him just ten minutes before he was supposed to leave, already having explained to his little brother that his babysitter would be coming tonight, when the woman in question called to let him know that her shift at her full-time job had gone over schedule. He sat hunched over his phone on the couch for what seemed like eternity as he contemplated what to do.

It had taken you an entire month to finally agree to a date with him. Would you change your mind if he canceled on you with such short notice? Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he noted that he was already going to be late, and the thought of leaving you waiting for him at the restaurant had him making the executive decision to bundle his little brother up in his winter clothes and pack him in the car with him. 

Halfway to the restaurant was when it hit him that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, but it was too late now. He wasn’t sure anything could have prepared him for how quickly you’d let it slide off your shoulders, and certainly not for how easily you’d work Yuji into what was meant to be a date with just you two. 

Here he was though, lips parted stupidly as he watched you allow the boy to steal bites off of your plate (despite how many times he’d already swatted his hand away in mortification) and follow along with all the longwinded stories that toddlers were so good at telling with no real conclusion in sight. It seemed impossible for him to have found you anymore beautiful than he already did, but you were proving him wrong with every affectionate smile sent his way each time Yuji would innocently reveal another humiliating detail about his older brother to you.

“If I had known he was going to woo you so hard I would have left him in the car.” Choso joked with a timid smile, already having had his fill of embarrassment for one night following Yuji’s announcement that he cried everytime he watched Brother Bear with him.

You thought having the five-year-old around helped lessen what typically would have been a painfully awkward first date. Additionally, the seemingly tight-knit relationship they had made you wonder how Choso had found himself with such a responsibility so young in the first place. Of course, with Yuji around, it was hard to veer onto the topic. 

“And how else would I have found out so much about the big, bad Choso Kamo?” You teased as Yuji busied himself with a coloring page the waitress had brought over (much to his brother’s relief). “Brother Bear, huh? Can’t blame you, that one used to get me too.”

“I don’t cry everytime.” 

“Mhmm,” With an unconvinced hum, you peered up at him through the rim of your cup as you took a sip. “So, what turned you into a bear then, hm?”

The fond smile on his face slowly dissipated, leading you to believe that what you thought was a harmlessly joking question held more depth than you gave it credit for. Soon, your smile was quickly falling too as you sat up a little straighter.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” He reassured, attempting to bring that same lighthearted nature back around, but his eyes were heavier as he regarded you kindly. “I just… had to be.”

It was the only explanation he offered you, and somehow it was enough for you to understand the gravity of whatever their situation must have been— at least for now.

“So,” Your gaze fluttered about his chiseled face as you tried to rectify the now solemn energy at the table. Glancing toward Yuji, you noted that he was still concentrated on his coloring, a crayon clutched in one hand and a fry in the other. Still, you lowered your voice a bit as you leaned in closer to Choso. “How did your rematch go?”

“Thought you said you weren’t into it.” 

“Didn’t say I wasn’t into you.”

This caught him off guard, whatever fleeting confidence he had to banter back and forth with you flying out the window just as your own words processed back to you. For a fleeting moment, you almost allowed yourself to be embarrassed by your own forwardness. Something about how easily he could be rendered speechless made it worth it though. After a moment, his lips twitched up nervously as he tried to reign in control of the conversation once again. 

“Thought you liked assholes.” Choso whispered, praying his little brother wasn’t going to absorb that word into his subconscious to spring on him later. 

Pursing your lips, you looked down at the cracked phone screen that had pulled you out of your stupor just hours prior. The man followed your eyes, taking note of the way you ran your finger absentmindedly down the shattered glass. You didn’t say anything, but he seemed to have heard it all, his face falling in quiet recognition. He had seen it before— that look of silent defeat in your eyes fighting against a cycle all too familiar to him.

“The rematch was good.” He offered with a soft, knowing smile, hoping to pull you from wherever your thoughts had wandered to. You peered back up at him. “Kicked his ass. I can be an asshole too— just… not to you, yeah?”

Choso couldn’t have known how deep his words burrowed themselves into your mind, replaying on repeat that entire drive home as your heart pounded against your chest. He had walked you to your car after dinner, Yuji clinging onto his back as he drifted off into what looked to be a nasty food coma. The look on his face said that he wasn’t sure what to do next, but you could certainly guess what was on his mind. 

So, you were grateful when his little brother stirred away and tugged at his hair, pouting about it being too cold and wanting to go home. The man’s shoulder’s deflated ever-so-slightly, and he offered an apologetic smile and a promise that he’d text you.

You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

Choso Kamo scared you unlike any other raging hot-head had ever managed to in the past. At least with your past… distasteful selections, you could predict their moves, you knew it would only go so far. With him though, you could feel yourself wanting more, because he was sweet and genuine, and he was the type of guy that would make a nest in your heart so as not to disturb your peace rather than shatter it with an attempt to mold it to accommodate the jagged edges he refused to file down.

Without the expected downfalls of the disasters you set yourself up for, how could you prepare yourself if he disappointed you in a way you hadn’t already premeditated? Other men filtered in and out of your life, never leaving an impact heavier than a break of routine in their wake— but Choso? If you allowed him to stay, you knew it would ache in ways you’d never known if Choso left. 

Despite your fear of falling, you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore him when he texted you later that night asking if you'd made it home, or even the next morning when he wished you a good shift. With each affectionate-smiled reply, you could feel your stomach twisting in fear as you hoped you’d snap out of this haze before the shoe dropped. 

It was the very reason that you hesitated when your phone rang just two days later, his name lighting up your phone at an hour far too late at night to be considered friendly. Blinking back the tired haze in your eyes from staring at your television for too long, you felt that familiar anxiety swimming in your throat. Your thumb trembled nervously as it hovered over the button to accept the call. Shaking off your nerves, you swiped to answer the call. 

“Hey, Cho—”

“Hello?” His voice was panicked on the other line, making you sit up from where you had been vegetating on your couch. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it’s late— I need your help.”

Muffled in the background, you could hear the distinct wailing of a child you assumed to be his little brother. The sound made you kick the blanket off your lap, already breaking out into a nervous cold-sweat. 

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Yuji— he’s sick, and his fever won’t go down, and he’s not keeping down any of his medicine, and—”

“Okay, calm down.” You cut off his nervous rambling as you shoved your boots on under your fleece pajama pants. “How high is his fever? You should take him to urgent care.”

“I’m trying, h-he has a thing with hospitals.” The man sounded as though he was on the brink of tears, panting subtly in a manner that had you wondering how long he had been wrestling with the boy in order to get him to an urgent care before he gave up and called you. “Please, I don’t know what to do.”

Choso could barely hear your knocking over his brother’s incessant crying, and had he been more alert of his surroundings he would have wondered how in the hell his neighbors hadn’t sent in a noise complaint yet. After nearly a minute with no response, you knocked again, more forcefully this time. 

When he finally opened the door, you would have assumed that he was the one battling a flu— what with his flushed face, disheveled locks, and red waterline. Having to endure his brother’s suffering alone was killing him, and he’d never felt more useless than he did tonight. 

“Choso…” You sighed regretfully, nearly reaching up to pull him into a hug, but he was quickly latching onto your wrist to pull you into the living room where Yuji was bundled up on the couch, his little face flaming with a mix of the exertion from his pained wails and the fever that was still ravaging his system. 

Kneeling down beside the couch, you touched your hand against his forehead. Even with the frigidness that still nipped at your hands from the chill outside, it was clear that he was practically scorching.

“He’s burning up, Choso.” You muttered frantically, making quick work to pull the countless blankets off of him. He was kicking out in protest with each layer you removed, and his brother was quickly moving to push his legs down lest you get kicked in the face. “You need to cool him down.”

“He— he kept shivering…” The man was gulping down tears of frustration, because all he was trying to do was to get him to stop crying. It was breaking his heart with each octave he reached, and he was sure that he’d find a way to make the sun rise early if it meant he could have stopped whatever it was that was making Yuji so uncomfortable. 

“It’s okay,” You reassured, taking note of the fragile emotional state this situation had put him in. It was becoming clearer by the minute that Choso was new to doing this on his own. “We need to put him in a cold bath.”

The man nodded in a haze, reaching down to scoop the flailing boy into his arms as he cried out in protest. You followed closely behind him as he made his way to the bathroom and flipped the light on. 

“I’m cold!” Yuji choked out, only making his brother feel that much more guilty as he pried his clothes off of him. You stepped around him to fill the tub with cool water. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Choso mumbled despondently, dodging each of his kicks with stunning precision. “We’re trying to help you, buddy, okay?”

“What have you given him?” You questioned, finally shedding your puffer jacket you began to sweat with the frantic movements. 

“Nothing, he’s spitting everything out.” Choso’s voice raised in exasperation, though you knew better than to think it was directed at you. 

You paced out the restroom as he lowered Yuji into the frigid water, and you thought surely his throat would start to bleed soon from the way his screams were scratching it raw. It didn’t take long for you to find the medicine cabinet after rummaging through the kitchen, and you made quick work to toss a fever reducer into a plastic bag to begin crushing it. Peeking your head into the refrigerator, you grabbed the carton of apple juice that was sitting on the shelf. Once your child-proof cocktail was thoroughly mixed, you made your way back down the hall.

“Please, Yuji, just sit still.” You heard Choso pleading desperately, followed by the frantic splashes of the attempted escapee. 

“Let me go!”

“It’ll make you feel better—”

“I want Mom!” 

You paused in the doorway at Yuji’s sobbed request, unsure whether or not to intrude. Clutching the cup to your constricting chest, you leaned against the wall just beside the bathroom door as you heard Choso sigh despairingly.

“Mom’s not here, Yuji. We’ve talked about this, please. Don’t do this to me.” His tone wavered notably, and it was clear that the dam holding up the strongest parts of him was weakening by the second, but his younger brother only repeated his request. 

“Yuji,” You called out, finally stepping in to kneel beside Choso. He quickly cast his gaze down, but not before you caught the tears slipping down his face. Brushing back the pink hair that clung to the boy’s forehead as he panted up at you through choked cries, you showed him the cup. “Look, if you drink all your juice then we’ll get your bed nice and ready for you, okay?” 

He sniffled messily as his blubbering slowed, eyeing you skeptically. 

“It’s apple juice, see?” You tilted the cup closer toward him so he could see the familiar yellow color. Noting his apprehension, you leaned in closer to whisper to him in feigned secrecy. “Niichan can’t protect the city if you don’t get better.”

Through dewy hiccups, he slowly released the grip his little hands had on Choso’s wrists to take the cup from you. Beside you, his brother heaved out a sigh of relief watching as he quickly downed the cup, eager to get into his bed and under the covers as promised. The both of you held your breaths until the last drop was sucked up. 

After running a few more handfuls of cold water over his head for good measure, you nodded at Choso to take him out once his skin was finally a bit cooler to the touch. As he dried and dressed his brother back up to prepare him for bed, you busied yourself with cleaning up the puddles of water Yuji’s thrashing had created on the floor of the bathroom. A good couple of minutes had passed before apprehensive footsteps finally made their way back to the bathroom where you remained kneeled on the floor. 

“I’m sorry.” Choso whispered, slowly lowering himself down beside you. 

You peered over at him as he buried his head into his hands. The t-shirt he wore was clinging to his chest as it still dripped with leftover bath water along with the ends of his loose, tousled hair. His shoulders shook every so often with the sniffles he was trying so desperately to conceal, but it had all been too much for him. 

“I know the last thing you wanted to be doing on your day off was working.” He continued as he finally looked up at you, tears of frustration swimming in his dark, tired eyes. “I just— I didn’t know—”

“Choso?” You whispered, resting a careful hand on his raised knee. He blinked at you in question, swiping furiously at the tear that raced down his flushed cheek at the motion. “How… how did you end up with Yuji?”

His eyes quickly fell, observing the way his knuckles whitened as he clenched and unclenched his hands pensively. 

“He’s my half-brother.” He began quietly. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he looked back up at you. “Wanna talk assholes? My step-dad— Yuji’s dad— was just…”

You gulped, watching the way his jaw seemed to clench unconsciously at the memory of him. A gradual sense of dread twisted in your stomach as you began to guess where his story would go. 

“We fought all the time. Our mom hated it, but I couldn’t stand the way he treated her, and it—” Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the ceiling to calm the way his tears seemed to continue to betray him. “It killed me that she let him.”

Your gaze fluttered with their own misty haze as his words sunk in, an unnecessary guilt clawing at your chest. Shuddering away the tremble in his tone, he finally looked back down at you. Swiping at his nose with a quick sniffle, he continued. 

“We got into a huge fight a while after I finished school. He was mad about— god, I can’t even remember what had him so heated, but h-he threw a bottle at our mom.”

“Choso…” You sighed shakily, shifting forward to grasp at his hand. Though he made no attempt to halt his story, he accepted your hand, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as another tear raced down his face. 

“I told him that if he wanted to throw shit to throw it at me.” With red-splotched eyes, he offered a humorless laugh and gestured toward the jagged scar that ran across his face. It was now you who was failing to hold back stinging tears. “I thought after— I don’t know, twenty stitches that she’d leave, but she didn’t. So, I did.”

His head dropped down toward his chest, shaking side to side regretfully. 

“I left. I wasn’t there for her when she died— I wasn’t there for Yuji.” You quickly climbed over to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling his face into your chest as you allowed yourself to cry silently along with him. “I left him. He was only three. I left him, I—”

“You came back for him, Choso.” You quickly interjected. 

“I should’ve never left in the first place.” His fingers drifted up to dig into your back as you settled onto his lap. “I thought if I learned how to fight— y’know, got bigger and stronger that he couldn’t hurt me anymore, he couldn’t hurt my mom anymore cause I would finally be able to do something about it, but I was just scared. I was scared, and I left.”

“You were just a kid.” You clarified, sliding your hands down to grip his face and force him to look at you. “And you’re here now.”

The grip you had on his cheeks forced his lips into a smushed pout, his wet lashes emphasizing the dark circles that surrounded his irises. Your thumb grazed gently over the scar on his face, and it broke your heart even more as you pictured it on a smaller, more defenseless version of him. You could see that Choso still ever-present in the fear that lingered in his eyes, in the doubt that clung to his frown that told him that nothing he could do for Yuji would ever be enough. 

“And I’d like to see someone try to lay a finger on Yuji now.” You encouraged with a soft laugh. The tiniest of smiles cracked through his solemn gaze, but he was still searching your eyes with an intensity that nearly knocked you on your ass. 

“Why do you do it?” He questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head at him curiously. “I mean, you have a good job, you’re smart, and pretty, and you’re kind— why give it to people who don’t deserve you?”

His hands dug firmly into your waist as you attempted to lean away from his raw stare. You felt naked— humiliatingly exposed as though you had just been the one to air your dirty laundry out. The hands on your sides drew you in closer and closer with each pathetic open and close of your stammering lips.

“I think I came to terms a long time ago with the fact that I’d never get to understand why my mom stayed. I had to be okay with it.” Choso’s brows were furrowing as his gaze drifted down your face before meeting yours once again. “Then I met you, and… I feel that same frustration I felt when I was a teenager.” 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” The scarred bridge of his nose grazed against yours as the two of you drew closer. With a strained gulp, you shook your head. “Do you—” He paused as his face flushed, but he fought to push past his timid nature. “Do you want someone to be mean to you? Is that what it is?”

“Choso—”

“Because if that’s the case then let it be me, okay?” His plea had you biting back a wanton whine, because his lips were brushing against yours with all the anticipation of a building promise. Your fingers tangled into the drying hair on his nape. “I’ll be rough with you, and I’ll make you want to cry.”

Leaning forward, he slotted his mouth around your pouted bottom lip, pressing you closer against him as you two pulled at one another despairingly. 

“I’ll be an asshole, but I’ll never hurt you— it’ll always be for you. Is that what you want?”

You could only nod hazily, too lost in the desperation in his tone and the craving he’d instilled in you for the lips you’d only come to know just minutes prior. Without so much as a grunt of effort, he was lifting himself off the ground with you in tow, stumbling toward the hallway in a craven pursuit of his bedroom. The hand holding you up against him squeezed vigorously at your ass, pinching at it until you yelped out into his lips.

“Shh, Yuji’s sleeping.” He still had the nerve to chastise you lowly, using your back to press the door shut. 

With you squeezed between him and the door behind you, he allowed his hand to dance up and grip your jaw, hooking his thumb into the corner of it as his forefinger dug into your bottom lip and pried your mouth ajar. You panted against him, eyes half-lidded as you awaited his next move with baited breath, but as he’d promised, it felt as though he wanted you to cry for him, his lips exploring your neck and jaw at an agonizing pace.

“Choso—” Your plea was cut short by your gasp as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder that had been left exposed in the flimsy tank you had been wearing to bed prior to his call. He moaned against your skin, digging his canines ever-so-slightly deeper into the flesh to feel the way you jolted at the sting. “Ah— ahh!”

The man only hummed contentedly, arm hooking under your thighs once again to pry you from the wall and drop you onto the disheveled covers of his bed and pull the damp shirt from his back. He surveyed the way your eyes ran down his body, your reddened lips parted and your brows drawn softly together, and he deduced that he couldn’t possibly look at you if he was to ravage you like he hated you. 

Dipping down, he flipped you easily onto your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pajama pants. Pausing for a moment, he leaned down, and you shuddered at the feeling of his warm chest pressing you against the bed.

“Is this what you wanted?” He whispered into your ear, knowing it would only take a shake of your head for his resolve to crumble. 

Your ribcage expanded and deflated beneath him in tandem with your anticipatory panting, and you could only nod through your flushed face, too embarrassed to confirm your desires aloud, yet your senses too lit ablaze by every inch of muscle you could feel on him to deny yourself the pleasure. There was a longing kiss pressed against your temple— an unspoken promise that he meant it when he said he wouldn’t hurt you— before he slowly pulled away from you to yank your bottoms down. 

Choso bit down on his bottom lip, rough enough to draw blood as he fought to maintain his composure. Running his hands up your thighs until they met the swell of your ass, he raised a knee to rest beside your hip before hiking your ass up. 

“Make me understand it.” He pleaded, a subtle growl laced into his tone as he drew teasingly close to where you were throbbing for him. 

“I don’t know, Choso—” Your voice had raised to an embarrassing pitch as you fisted his sheets between your fingers. They smelled just like him, and it was by no means aiding in your coherent thought process.

“Do you need someone to tell you you’re worth more?” At once, his fingers plunged into your incandescent center, twisting mercilessly as he continued to ration with you. “Because I’ll do it, I’ll remind you every fucking day if I have to.”

But his words were quickly becoming background noise that harmonized sweetly with each of your slack-jawed moans. Reaching back, your fingers barely grazed his wrist in an attempt to gain any semblance of control over his pace, but he quickly collected both your hands in his free one to pin them at the small of your back.

“Is that what you need?” He asked again, and his fingers curled up with a striking precision, drawing a pathetically pitched squeak from the depths of your throat. 

You buried your face into the sheets to conceal the way your eyes began to water at the growing warmth pooling overwhelmingly fast in your stomach. After a moment of your whimpering silence, his fingers abandoned you in favor of a resounding smack against your sensitive core. Your legs seemed to snap shut involuntarily, but it didn’t last long before he pried them open once again. 

“Answer me.” Choso demanded. His tone was barely stern— the fervent desperation to understand more present than anything. He threaded his fingers into your hair to pull your head to the side and reveal your face. “I said is this what you needed?”

“Yes!” You gasped, your hearing feeling as though it had increased tenfold as you listened to his sweatpants rusting while they hit the ground. “Please, please, Choso.” 

Despite his insistence that he’d be rough with you as you so pleased, he couldn’t bring himself to stop the gentle way in which he eased into you, savoring each hitch in your breath. Hooking his arm under your neck, he pulled you up to press flush against his perspiring chest, the slow descent up aiding in burying the last few inches of him into you. 

There was a crack in his resolve, evident in the broken moan that his lips pressed right against your flushed ear. The tears that he had promised you finally slipped down your cheeks. His eyes tracked it with a sharp vigilance, the sight making him pull you in that much closer. With a hand gentler than what he had planned for you, he swiped at the salty stream before allowing his fingers to settle around the column of your throat. 

“Keep crying for me.” 

And he made sure you did, his pace relentless as his sculpted hips slapped against your ass. For each overwhelmed tear of pleasure that escaped you, Choso chased it with a kiss; to your cheek and your jaw, to your helplessly parted lips and temple until there wasn’t an inch of you within his reach that his lips hadn’t become acquainted with. You thought your back would snap in two as you arched against him through your high, yet his furious pace didn’t slow until you slumped back against him, only held up by the hand at your throat and his will. 

The man watched as your head fell back onto his shoulders, eyes half-lidded as they stared at the way his gaze never seemed to falter. Only then did he pause, carefully lowering you to lay on your back against his cool pillows. Crawling over you, it was clear that his intent had shifted with the fulfillment of his goal. 

His hair tickled your cheeks as he leaned down to capture your lips tenderly. Reaching down, he caressed the side of your neck with the same hand he had used to restrain it as he entered you once again, this time with the intent of proving that it didn’t always have to be so merciless. With each purposeful roll of his hips into you he proved that you too were worthy of being handled with all the gentleness he had never been on the receiving end of. 

Choso clung onto you as he finished, and he didn’t leave when you allowed yourself to wrap your arms under his shoulders and press your cheek against his heaving chest. Instead, he pulled the covers up and assured they reached your shoulders that had since broken out into goosebumps— though you weren’t sure you could blame them on the cold. 

He brought your hands up to kiss the parts of your wrists that had been locked in his fierce grip. For the first time in years you weren’t itching to leave before he had the chance to leave you, because all the weight and muscle he’d worked so hard for in order to protect that scared, teenage boy in him were enveloping you with a crushing safety while his faint snores into your ear lulled you to sleep. 

Perhaps Yuji wasn’t so naive in believing his big brother was a superhero.

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[xiaq]

Story time: Amazon can go fuck itself, and other genteel thoughts.

Good evening. I’m angry.

Up until now, I’ve purchased the majority of items I can’t thrift from Amazon because it’s easy and cost-effective, despite the moral qualms I have about the company. Previously, support was simple. If an item was damaged or a package didn’t arrive, you hopped on chat/the phone, provided proof, and they gave you a refund or return label.

But some shitstain from on high has introduced a new “incident report” process when something goes wrong. You submit your details, you wait 72 hours, and then they give you a refund. This would also be fine. If it fucking worked. But I have, at this point, irrefutable evidence that this is not actually how the process is intended to work. It’s meant to drive you so far up the wall that you either die from a stress-induced heart attack, or rage quit, and they get to keep your money.

In the last several months, I’ve had to submit three incident reports for damaged and undelivered items (I’m also encountering a lot more issues with item delivery, but that’s a different story).

ALL THREE TIMES, the process has taken weeks rather than days because ALL THREE TIMES they conveniently “had no record” of multiple incident reports I submitted despite the fact that I had confirmation emails each and every time.

Now, I’m a petty bitch, so even though the hours I was spending checking in, waiting on hold on the phone, being passed from agent to agent, was not worth the $10 and $20 refunds I was trying to get them to honor, I wasn’t going to give up. This last time, though. Oh they really tried.

So. My item isn’t delivered. I submit an incident report on the 12th and get my confirmation email of the submission on the 12th. I haven’t heard back by the 14th so I call and check. Shockingly, they have no record of my report. I submit another one, get another confirmation email. I call back the next day to check they received it. They have not. I beg them to let me forward the confirmation emails I have. I ask what else I can do different. They tell me to submit a new report and hang up on me. I submit another report. I receive another confirmation email. I call the next day. Can you guess? They have no record of it. This time, I ask for them to stay on the line with me while I submit a new report and confirm it’s been received. He confirms receipt and promises I will receive a response by the 21st. I record this conversation because I have a suspicion.

Hello. It is the 21st. Have I received a response? No. I call back. THIS ASSHOLE, who I’m pretty sure is reading this shit from a script, says, (are you ready for this) “There’s no record of an incident report, you’ll need to submit one.” I insist that I had confirmation in writing and verbally. She insists it does not exist.

So I tell her. I now have four confirmation emails. I have a recording of an Amazon support person with their credentials assuring me with the product number stated, that they’ve received my report. I also have been recording this conversation. And if she cannot assist me, I will be posting those emails and both recordings to every social media platform I have, filing a BBB complaint, and checking with my lawyer to see what options I have for legal action (do I have a lawyer? Of course not. But she doesn’t know that).

Immediately, she is backpedaling. “Oh, let me check again, maybe I missed it.” Less than 30 seconds later she’s back on the line. “I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding, I do have your report here. I will process a refund now.” Shocking. I am shocked.

IT SHOULD NOT TAKE THIS MUCH EFFORT TO GET A COMPANY TO HONOR THEIR PROMISED LEVEL OF SUPPORT.

Jesus Christ.

B and I will be finding different local places to purchase items we tend to buy via Amazon now, because I have every intention of ending our Prime membership. It looks like between Costco and Target we should be covered.

Anyway. No point to this except to rant. Thanks for reading if you got this far. I’m going to go lay under the weight of my dog and try to get my heart rate down.

[poetinthelakes]

SPEAK NOW . . . . gojo satoru .ᐟ

LYRICS. horrified looks from everyone in the room but i'm only looking at you ──────ex-husbands!gojo x fem!reader ⋆

NOTES. part two of this scenario, i think everything is a bit rushed so i didn't like it so much but anw, happy ending!! i wanted to write something angsty but ended up doing this, enjoy and thank you for the support <3 .ᐟ

Gojo Satoru’s heart had never raced as wildly as it was beating at this moment. The anxiety and nervousness coursing through him as he sprinted towards the venue where his ex-wife was getting married was unmatched.

Had you already said “I do”? Were you thinking about him? Had Megumi and Tsumiki managed to delay the ceremony long enough for him to get there on time?

A flood of questions swirled in his mind, none of which would be answered until he reached the place where you stood at the altar, dressed in for the white veil occasion with a man that didn’t deserve you in the slightest.

When he got there, a man in a suit stopped him, asking what did he want.

“I’m Gojo Satoru, i'm here for the wedding of Yn Ln and Kenji Hirano, where are they?” he demanded breathlessly, the desperation in his voice growing more evident.

“Oh, Miss Yn and Mr. Kenji are on the third floor, the main hall to the right and—” the man began, but before he could finish, the white-haired man bolted towards the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator.

Please don’t say yes. Please don’t say yes. Please don’t say yes.

The voice of an officiant became clearer and clearer as he neared the hall where the love of his life was about to get married.

“If anyone has a valid reason to object to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace,” Satoru heard just as he reached the doors. A tense silence filled the room.

It seemed like his kids had executed the plan exactly as they'd rehearsed.

The man with ocean-blue eyes pushed the doors open dramatically, causing every head to turn towards him with horrified looks but Satoru didn’t care about anyone else in the room, his eyes were solely on you as he strode confidently to where you stood. Your surprised expression, as if straight out of a soap opera, met his.

“Satoru? W-what are you doing here? how did—?” you stammered, your eyes flickering briefly to where your kids stood, grinning in delight.

“I, Gojo Satoru, object to this wedding,” he declared, turning to face the man who was just minutes away from becoming your husband. Then, he shifted his gaze to the officiant as he added, “This man doesn’t deserve Yn, he doesn’t love her. And i don’t think she loves him either.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you idiot?” Kenji shot back angrily.

“I’m talking about how you’ve been using her all this time. Don’t think you can fool me, because i know you’re no saint,” Satoru said, eliciting shocked gasps from the crowd.

“Love, this man has cheated on you more than once, lying about loving you while sneaking around with other women behind your back,” he revealed, making your jaw drop in disbelief.

“What? Is that true, Kenji?” you demanded, your voice tinged with denial, unable to process what Satoru just said.

Obviously your fiancé immediately started to deny everything.

“Of course not! t-this idiot is just making things up to stop you from marrying me!” Kenji protested, growing increasingly nervous, so much that you began to suspect that Satoru was telling the truth but it was clear that your ex-husband was the only one being honest.

“I have photos, Yn, if you wanna see them. . .” Satoru began, pulling out his phone, but you stopped him by placing your hand on his.

Shaking your head, you replied, “You don’t need to show me anything. I believe you, Satoru.”

“You do?” he asked, hope lighting up his face.

“Of course i do, you would never lie to me about something like this. I know you, Satoru,” you said and the white-haired man smiled softly just as your kids ran up to join you both, leaving Kenji staring in disbelief.

“Let’s go, Mom! The car’s waiting,” Megumi said, and Tsumiki held up your car keys with a grin, making you smile softly as well.

“Well? what do you say?” Satoru asked eagerly, his eyes filled with that irresistible look you could never say no to.

The room buzzed with whispers as the guests ───and your family─── awaited your response.

You took a moment to think before soflty nodding, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Let’s go,” you said, smiling at the only man who had ever truly captured your heart.

With no hesitation, Satoru grabbed your hand, and the two of you bolted towards the exit, Megumi and Tsumiki following close behind as Kenji yelled after you, begging for you to come back.

This was a decision you knew you’d never regret.

BONUS .ᐟ

“You drive me crazy, angel,” said your now-boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, giving you a mischievous grin after what had been the best night you’d had in a long time.

Your bare body wrapped in nothing but a sheet, and the man of your dreams lying beside you made it feel like a dream you never wanted to wake up from.

“I love you, Satoru,” you murmured, looking at him with a smile as you leaned in to give him a fervent kiss. Satoru placed one hand on your waist and the other on your cheek, caressing it tenderly.

“I love you more, sweetheart,” he whispered, peppering your body with soft kisses, making you laugh and wonder how you'd ever thought of ending your marriage with someone as wonderful as him.

This time, Satoru wasn’t going to let you go, and you knew you’d never want to leave his side ever again.

© POETINTHELAKES 2025

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Also, why is the left suddenly citing neo-nazis (or "neo-nazis") as a credible source? Trump repudiates white supremacy multiple times and they, if they even acknowledge it at all, they claim he's lying and tell us to never believe a nazi. Yet now we're supposed to believe that the people so deluded that they still self-identify as nazis are suddenly unbiased arbiters of fact and truth?

Who should you believe more? A neo-nazi who really wants to believe that the people in power support his ideology seeing a gesture that looks, at first glance in a deceptively edited clip, like it may be a nazi salute saying it's a nazi salute and ignoring all evidence that doesn't support his ideology as real neo-nazis always do? Or a group like the ADL, who constantly lies about conservatives being nazis and supporting white supremacy and anti-semitism, who is no friend to Trump or Elon, saying "actually guys, that's just an awkward gesture. Please stop saying it's a nazi salute?"?

Me personally, I tend to put more trust in a partisan group breaking with the partisan talking point than I do a group who have a proved track record of having no idea what they're talking about on almost all issues confirming their own biases.

USA... Elon Musk just did the sieg heil (nazi salut to Hitler)

[inseobts]

In the Shadow

Trafalgar Law x Strawhat Reader

Eustass Kidd x Strawhat Reader (not really but could be implied)

Reader power explained: Chaos Magic (like Scarlet Witch from Avengers), aka telekinesis, telepathy, and energy manipulation.

Warning: Wano arc spoilers I guess

Masterlist

The battlefield in Wano was chaos, flames and smoke rising into the blood-red sky. The rumble of Kaido’s forces clashing with the samurai and pirates was deafening, but you stood your ground on a jagged cliff overlooking the chaos.

Beside you, Trafalgar Law stood stoically, though his exhaustion was evident. His breathing was shallow, and blood dripped from a cut, but he refused to lean on anyone for support.

“Don’t move!” you snap, crouching beside him where he leaned. His hand pressed to the wound, blood pooling through his fingers. He looks at you with his silver eyes, sharp even through his pain.

“I’m not your responsibility, Y/N-ya” he muttered.

“Shut up.” Your words come out harsher than intended, but you don’t care. “I can’t just leave you to bleed out!”

He smirks faintly. “You’re a Strawhat. You should be chasing your captain, not wasting your time on me.”

“You’re an ally now.” Your voice wavered, betraying more emotion than you wanted. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re safe.”

Law looks away, the tension in his jaw softening for just a moment. It isn’t like him to let anyone fuss over him, but something in the way you hovered told him it was useless to argue.

You worked quickly, tearing a strip of fabric from your shirt to bind the wound. “You know,” you say, trying to fill the silence, “for a brilliant tactician, you’ve got a real knack for getting yourself nearly killed.”

“Funny” Law says after a small chuckle.

After a few seconds of silence, an all-too-familiar voice cut through the tense air.

“Oi, Strawhat girl! Didn’t think you’d be babysitting him of all people.”

You turn, meeting Eustass Kidd’s cocky grin as he walks toward you. Despite the chaos of the battlefield, he looks annoyingly composed.

“Kidd,” you say, voice laced with exasperation. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much,” Kidd replies, stopping a few feet away and crossing his arms. “Just wondering why you’re babysitting him when you could be out there kicking more ass.” He nods toward Law with a smirk. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to play nursemaid. Guess the surgeon isn’t as invincible as he thinks.”

“Say that again, and I’ll carve you into pieces” Law growls, though his voice lacked its usual menace.

Kidd laughs, crouching beside you with an infuriatingly amused expression. “Relax, doc. She’s got it covered. Right, Y/N?”

You sigh. Kidd’s presence is a double-edged sword—helpful, sure, but he never knows when to stop pushing buttons.

“We don’t have time for this” you mutter, tying off the bandage around Law’s wound.

“Hey, I could carry him if you want” Kidd offers, his grin widening when Law shot him a murderous glare.

“As if I’d let you.”

“Oh? Afraid I’d drop you on purpose?” Kidd teases, standing back up and stretching. “You should be thanking me for offering to help your girlfriend.”

Your face burning, “He’s not…”

“She’s not…” Law cut in at the same time.

Kidd’s laughter echoes, “You two are pathetic.”

But before you could fire back, a distant explosion shook the ground beneath your feet. You all turn toward the palace in the distance, where Luffy and the others are undoubtedly making their stand.

You stood, determination hardening your features. “We need to move.”

You are now at Law’s side, wrapping an arm around him to steady him. He stiffened but didn’t pull away, too proud to admit he needs the support at least until his wound would heal a bit.

Kidd raises an eyebrow, clearly biting back another remark. But this time, he says nothing, merely watching as you help Law.

Later, after the fighting died down, the allied forces regrouped at the ruins of the performance floor. The surviving fighters gathering to tend their wounds and plan the next move.

“You didn’t have to save me back there” Law says quietly, breaking the silence.

“Don’t be stupid” you reply, staring out at the sea. “Of course I did.”

He stays silent for a long moment. Then, almost too softly to hear: “You’re too kind for your own good.”

You turn to him, frowning. “And you’re too stubborn to admit you care about anyone.”

For once, he doesn’t argue.

From a distance, you hear Kidd’s voice as his crew prepare their ship for the next adventure.

“Hey, Strawhat girl!” he calls. “Try not to get yourself killed before I see you again.”

You roll your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Why tomorrow don’t you try saying goodbye without the insults” you shot back.

Kidd grins, a glint of something unspoken in his eyes, before turning away.

You feel Law’s gaze on you.

“You really attract the strangest people” he murmures.

You laugh softly, leaning back against the railing. “Takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”

Law doesn’t respond, but the faintest smile plays at the corners of his lips.

For now, it is enough.

Everyone is now enjoying the celebration, the air filled with laughter, food, and the occasional argument over meat.

You sit cross-legged a bit farther from your friends, jocking with your powers. Threads of energy between your fingers, forming intricate shapes that shimmered.

“Hey, Y/N!” Luffy bouces over, eyes wide with excitement. “Make something big this time! Like… a dragon like Momo!”

You smirk, twisting your fingers in sharp, deliberate motions. A glowing construct of Momonosuke’s dragon form coiled into existence above your hands, its fiery eyes flicking toward Luffy.

“Whoa! So cool!” Luffy reaches out to touch it, but the dragon snaps at his hand, dissolving just before contact.

“Careful,” you tease “It bites.”

Luffy laughs, unfazed, and then goes off to wrestle more food.

From across, you hear Kidd’s voice booming over the din.

“Still playing with your little magic tricks, Y/N?” he says with a grin plastered across his face.

You roll your eyes, “Jealous I can make things without smashing half the town?”

The crews burst into laughter as Kidd scowles, though a small smirk tugged at his lips.

Zoro observes the scene while drinking, “She might make you disappear next.”

“Like I’d let her” Kidd shoots back, crossing his arms.

“Should I prove it?” you say, standing and letting threads of energy crackle around your hands.

Before things could escalate, Law’s voice cut through the noise.

“Enough” His tone is calm but firm, the kind of voice that demanded attention.

You turn to see him standing with his arms crossed with his usual stoic expression. But there is something different in his eyes, something that makes your heart skip.

His gaze locks on you as he says “Don’t waste your power on pointless shows.”

Everyone stops drinking and laughing and went quiet, turning to watch the exchange. You feel a flicker of irritation rise in your chest, you drank a bit too much for this.

“It’s not pointless, I’m just having fun.”

“Fun gets people killed” Law replies evenly.

“You’re so dramatic” you say as your temper flared, and before you could stop yourself, you raise a hand. A surge of energy lashes out, wrapping around Law’s hat and yanking it from his head.

The entire crowd froze again.

Law’s expression darkens, and you could see the faintest twitch in his jaw.

“You’ve got three seconds to give that back” he says, his voice dangerously low.

You twirl the hat in your hand, smirking: “Make me.”

Gasps erupt from the crews. No one ever challenged Trafalgar Law like that—at least, not without regretting it.

But instead of retaliating, Law surprises everyone. He steps closer, closing the distance between you, until he was inches away. His eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, in a move so swift you almost didn’t see it, he snatches the hat from your hand and place it back on his head.

“You’re impossible” he says, turning to walk away.

“Aw, is that your way of saying you like me?” you tease, your grin widening.

Law stops in his tracks, his back to you. The crews erupted into laughter and cheers, but you barely hear them over the pounding of your own heart.

When Law finally turns, his face was unreadable, but there is a faint flush on his cheeks.

“Maybe” he says quietly, so only you can hear. Then, louder: “But if you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The crew’s laughter grew louder, and you can’t help but laugh too, the tension between you and Law dissipating in an instant.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you on your toes, then” you say, your voice light.

Law shake his head, but there is a small smile on his lips as he walks away, the crews still hollering behind him.

And from the other side, Kidd watched the exchange with a scowl.

“Idiots” he mutter, but there was no mistaking the jealousy in his eyes.

[aeolianblues]

This was a really insightful listen. She's an older former MAGA supporter who was at Jan 6, but has refused Trump's pardon. She says she was misinformed, what I found interesting was how she described it. She said all these sources around her (on social media) she could find were telling her the election was 'being stolen by democrats', and she mentions it coming from seemingly 'knowledgeable people who had 2 or 3 PhDs'. She wasn't an extremist, but was someone who had worked as an alcohol and drugs councillor who had been sold on a 'communism' boogeyman. The misinformed concerned citizen. The penny finally dropped when she realised how many times any evidence she brought up to the contrary was rejected as 'fake', she described it as being part of a con.

She reckons the pardons are so that Trump can have his own violent thugs prowling the streets in his name. And she's probably right. When else has trump ever given a fuck about the useful idiots that have done his bidding?

[onlydylanobrien]

Dylan O’Brien Used Director James Sweeney’s ‘Gay Scale’ to Play Brothers in ‘Twinless’: He’d Say ‘You Were Too Straight on That’

“I’m egregiously picky,” insists Dylan O’Brien, reflecting on a burst of productivity that, in the last 12 months, includes the films “Ponyboi,” “Saturday Night,” “Caddo Lake,” the Max comedy series “Fantasmas” and James Sweeney’s “Twinless,” which screens at Sundance. “I’m going to get skewered for this type of quote being out there … but I would have a much different career, I think, if I was a ‘yes to everything’ person.”

After launching his career more than a decade ago as a heartthrob on MTV’s “Teen Wolf” and in the “Maze Runner” films, each of those recent projects earned the actor praise for his versatility; no two roles are the same. But according to O’Brien, his recent slate reflects not just one year of work but more than five — a period that also encompasses guest spots (as “himself”) on “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and “The Other Two,” four more features and “All Too Well,” a short film directed by Taylor Swift.

His run of projects actually started back in 2019 after reading “Twinless.” In the film, which earned Sweeney a spot on Variety’s 2025 Directors to Watch, he plays twin brothers Roman and Rocky, with the former bonding with a fellow support group member (played by Sweeney) after the latter dies unexpectedly. Even facing the challenge of dual parts — one is straight, one is gay — the actor says that Sweeney’s writing gave him exactly the kind of charge that tells him to get on board a project.

“When I read something, it’s like I can hear the guy’s voice or I can’t,” O’Brien says. “And from the second I picked up the script, I was just like, ‘Roman is in me.’ I know this guy. And then when I get to Rocky, I had an instinct for him too.”

He remembers that it was his transformation into the introspective Roman, who, like O’Brien, is straight, that most surprised Sweeney. “My Roman voice, I got self-conscious about it immediately because he pointed it out,” he says. “But that’s how I was processing the weight of the very sheltered life he had experienced until that point, and then the tragedy that he experienced — and that’s what the fuck came out. [James] was like, ‘I love it.’”

Meanwhile, in order to play Rocky — authentically, but never stereotypically — O’Brien says the pair implemented a “gay scale” on set that Sweeney (who is gay) would dial up or down. “Most of the time, he’d be like, ‘You were too straight on that,’” he recalls with a laugh. “I was happy for that permission … a sign of a great filmmaker is to always give you the permission to go into a direction or not.”

The believability of both performances — like the others released before it — evidence a centeredness that O’Brien attributes to his increasing capacity for identifying nurturing, creative environments. “By that I mean your filmmaker, the piece in and of itself and the confidence you feel in it,” he says. “A helpful tool to either have or try to develop is to be able to identify whether you’re in safe hands or not.”

Though he admits that being in a music video is a “space that makes me really uncomfortable,” O’Brien indicated that two of those safe hands belonged to Taylor Swift, who in 2021 enlisted him to play the male lead in “All Too Well.” “For that to be her first time directing, Taylor had the absolute right instinct to be like, ‘I hired these actors because I am a fan of the work that they’ve done, and I’m going to let them come in and do that work’,” he says. “I loved what she was trying to tell with that. And I fully felt like I understood my role in it, and that excited me.”

Indicating he’s finally “being able to operate with choice,” the actor says his future plans include a reunion with Sweeney (“James and I are definitely going to partner up again on something”), and the June 27, 2025 release of “Ponyboi,” which first premiered at Sundance in 2024. “I’m very fortunate to be in some kind of position to pick these projects that I feel really drawn to and inspired by — and I have in me,” he says.

“These choices that I’ve been making, that you’ve seen in this past year, identify with what I want to be doing,” O’Brien adds. “It’s not like I don’t identify with my role on ‘Teen Wolf’ or the ‘Maze Runner’ movies. Those were my building blocks. But it doesn’t tell the whole story of who I am as a creative person.”

Source: variety.com

[witchytakes]

the only concern I can have for this is that would be enough milk to feed the baby, because you know, sometimes there's not that much, when lactation happened with me because of antidepressants, what I got was just little drips

Like this isn't an asspull it comes from the very same source known for making trans women waiting 8/15 years for the first appointment while clinics are empty, we're not talking about a trans biased source if TERFs want to play the ad hominem game

BTW the thing with the sexualization could be blamed on Ray Blanchard which the pseudoscience describe any lived experience of a trans woman as a fetish

(btw write Trans women separated because together is a TERF language)

[aperrywilliams]

Satellite Call. Part I: What You Kept Hiden from Me (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

------------------ 

Author Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Words count for this part: 3.2k

Series summary: Your world crushes when Spencer is arrested. Between finding a way to get him out and keeping you afloat, there is something else you need to focus on, too. And even when you thought things couldn’t go worse, a tragedy makes you question if you can make it through.

Part I summary: One of Spencer's trips to Mexico ends badly, and you don't know how to react and what to do.

Series warnings: ANGST (with CAPS). 18+ (MDNI). Some heavy topics will be discussed and shown here. Prison arc, but mostly from Reader's perspective and Emily’s. More detailed under the cut.

Spencer lies to his wife. Drug consumption (against their will). Pregnancy symptoms. Spencer is in jail for more than three months. Hospital visits, doctor’s info dumping (not accurate). Alcohol consumption. Arguing. Strong language. A lot of crying. Emotional breakdowns. A car crash happens (as in the CM storyline). Character dies. More hospital things. Miscarriage. More angst. Depressing symptoms. Mourning. Self-doubt. Suicidal ideation, and almost consummated. Emily is everyone’s emotional support.

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

Spencer thought you would be outside the correctional, just as Penelope is now, waiting for him. But you are not. He either didn't ask JJ why you weren't with her picking him up from inside in the first place. Spencer just assumed you didn't want to be in there, and he understood your reasons. You stopped visiting him because it was hard to see him locked up like that and not do anything about it. Or at least it was what you said to him in a letter Emily handed him during a visit time when you didn't show up. It was a month ago.

After a tight hug with Penelope, Spencer couldn't help but ask.

"Where is she?"

JJ, Luke, and Garcia exchange a troubled look, something Spencer sure does notice. When he sees Garcia's glassy eyes, his gaze settles on JJ and Luke for answers.

"Spence, she—" JJ doesn't know how to express a fact she knows will break her friend.

"Man, she - we should go to the hospital right now." Luke chooses to point out what to do instead of why.

"What?! Why? What happened?!" A frantic Spencer starts to question. What the hell had happened to you? Why are you in a hospital? There are too many questions in his brain right now.

With a hand on his shoulder, Luke gently propels him to start walking to the car.

"We are going to tell you everything, I swear. But let's go to the car, okay?" This time, it's JJ's turn to speak, trying to make Spencer move.

Spencer hasn't felt so confused and afraid even in the four months of being locked up in jail.

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

Five months ago

Exhausted. It's the definition of how you feel after the draining case you just ended in Tampa. The jet is quiet enough to assume everyone is sleeping. But although the evident tiredness consumes your body and brain, you can't bring yourself to sleep. Instead, you look at your front, where your husband is reading a book. His eyes look heavy, but you know he can't sleep either, not before decompressing first. And for that, a good book tends to work most of the time.

It's amazing how you can love someone so much. After two years of marriage and a couple of years as coworkers and friends before that, it isn't easy to think of Spencer as anything less than your soulmate and the love of your life.

You are lost in your thoughts, and you don't notice Spencer's eyes on you, a lazy smile on his face.

"Where did that pretty little head go?"

You don't know if the blush on your cheeks is from being caught or from Spencer's loving tone. Maybe both.

"Nowhere in particular. Just wondering."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-mm."

"Care to share?" Spencer asks with curious eyes.

"Well," you start, smiling at him. "Since you brought it up and knowing we have two days off, what about a getaway out of the city, huh?"

It's not a sudden idea. You and Spencer have been thinking about doing something like that for a few weeks. After a chaotic couple of months at the BAU, you both need time for yourself.

Spencer's eyes softened—a little pout on his lips.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I promised my mom's doctor I would be in Houston tomorrow."

You don't remember Spencer telling you that. Could it be that you had forgotten?

"Oh. I didn't know. Something happened to Diana?"

Spencer shakes his head.

"No. Just the usual. The doctors are adjusting the treatment, and we're doing a follow-up, that's all."

Another source of stress for Spencer in the past months has been Diana's health. After an important decline, he got her mom into an experimental treatment in Houston. Spencer fought hard to get her admitted, and even if you weren't sure about it, you supported him in everything related to it. That's why you won't even protest losing another chance to spend time together.

"I'm sorry," Spencer apologizes when he sees you haven't said anything. Reaching for your hand, you hold it and squeeze it reassuringly.

"It's okay, Spence. You must be there. And maybe it's a good chance for me to have a long beauty sleep," you shrug. In all honesty, your body has been yelling for uninterrupted sleeping hours in the past weeks.

"I promise we'll make up for the lost time when I come back, okay?" Spencer offers, kissing your hand. You nod and give him a soothing smile.

Some weeks later, the loud ringing of your phone wakes you from your sleep. Not fully conscious of your surroundings, you pat to the right side of the bed, expecting to feel Spencer next to you, but it's empty. Then you remember you are alone because Spencer had to go to Houston again this week.

"Hello?"

"Did I wake you up?" A confused Emily asks at the other end of the call. You check your bedside clock, and it reads 11 AM. You have been sleeping for twelve hours now.

"Yeah," you rub your tired eyes. I think I caught something. My stomach feels funny, and I was so exhausted last night. What is it? Do we have a case?"

"No, but- Have you heard from Spencer?" Emily asks cautiously.

"He called last night and told me he would come back today." There is a tense silence between you both. "Emily, what's wrong?" you ask.

"You should come to the BAU." It's all she says, and you know something bad happened.

Everything has been a blur since Emily's call and your arrival at the BAU.

As you bolt into your boss's office, you see her, David, and Penelope there, a troubled expression on their faces.

Emily is who delivers the news. Spencer has been arrested in Mexico after a car chase and caught with drugs in the trunk.

It's like she is telling you a movie plot. There is no chance she is talking about Spencer, your husband. No, it can't be. Your husband left two days ago for Houston to check on his mom, as he has been doing in the past month.

But as much as you want to deny what you are hearing, Spencer's mugshot, appearing on Garcia's screen, is screaming the truth.

You think you might throw up. And you do. Quickly excusing yourself, you run to the nearest bathroom to empty your stomach.

It's the same Emily Prentiss who enters the bathroom after you and holds your hair as you keep kneeling before the toilet.

"We are going to bring him back. I swear. Everything is going to be okay," Emily assures you, rubbing your back.

You want to believe her, but not knowing why this is happening makes it hard to think clearly.

You insist on going to Matamoros with Luke and Rossi, and no one dares to protest. You're visibly upset and confused, but staying in Quantico is not an option.

On the plane, Emily sits in front of you. You know why.

"I swear I didn't know anything, Em. I'm as confused as everyone," you confess. "And it's killing me. I know Spencer never would do what they say he did, but either I can explain why he was there."

"I know, but you must have caught something. Has Spencer seemed nervous or extremely quiet lately? Maybe a phone call or something that made him change his mood."

You think for a moment. Spencer has indeed been more pensive in recent weeks, particularly since Diana joined the new treatment. It's also true he's told you less and less about how things are going with her. But you assume it's because he's been worried about everything going well and not because something bad was happening.

A memory suddenly appears in your mind. One night after arriving from the BAU, you were making something to eat, and Spencer left his phone on the counter while he took a shower. You looked at the device, thinking it might be from work, but the name 'Dr. Medina' appeared on the screen. You didn't recognize the name because, according to what Spencer had told you, her mom's new doctor was Dr. Hammond.

"After he checked his phone, he quickly called back, but he went to the bedroom to make the call. I didn't pay enough attention. I should have done—" You trail off, and Emily rubs your arm to comfort you.

"Hey, don't. We don't know if that has to do with what's going on, so let's not get ahead of ourselves."

It's easy to say but almost impossible to achieve, especially when, upon arriving at the Matamoros police station, in one of the cells, you see your husband lying on a bench with his eyes lost in the ceiling.

"Spencer?" you mumble, but loud enough to catch Spencer's attention. He sits and looks at you with eyebrows furrowed as if trying to remember who you are. Some feet behind you, Emily, Luke, and Rossi stand, witnessing your interaction.

Without saying anything, Spencer gets up and walks over to where you are, only separated by his cell bars. With that closeness, you can see the several cuts all over your husband's face; his clothes are torn. But what shocks you are Spencer's red and lost eyes. He is visibly high.

"Do you know who I am?" you ask almost in a whisper, scared of his answer. Spencer nods slowly, his eyes shifting from lost to sad. He recognizes you.

"I'm sorry." It's not much, but you can't hold it against him right now, not when answers are required in the first place.

"Baby, it's okay. We're going to get you out of here, okay? But you need to talk to us. Can you do that?"

It's not until a couple of hours later Spencer fully returns to himself, the effects of the drugs leaving his body.

For the sake of the case, you stay out of it while Spencer tells the team what happened. You don’t want Spencer to feel uncomfortable admitting he has lied to you for weeks.

After Emily conducts a cognitive interview to get details that could help, Spencer returns to his cell. When Emily, Luke, and Rossi leave the police station to search for evidence, only you are left there with him.

Spencer looks embarrassed, and you can feel the gears in his head turning as he tries to find a way to talk to you. When he comes empty of words, he addresses you instead.

"Can you please say something?" His voice is tentative and pained.

"I don't know what you want me to say," you reply honestly.

Spencer sighs deeply. "Tell me whatever you're thinking now. Yell at me, tell me I'm a fucking liar, that I dragged you into this mess, tell me I'm a terrible husband."

You consider his words for a moment. Is it true everything Spencer says is what you're thinking? It probably is, but you don't feel like you have the energy to bring it out the way he wants. However, there is one underlying question that has been on your mind since all this started.

"Why? Why you kept it from me? You don't trust me enough to tell me those things?"

"No, don't say that. I do trust you," Spencer rushes to say, but he knows it's a weak defense considering the circumstances.

"Then I don't get it. Why, Spencer?" Your tone isn't accusatory but sad. You could have helped him if you had known. But he, for some reason, decided against it.

"I was trying to protect you," he says and shakes his head. "I know it sounds stupid now we are here, but it's true. I didn't want you to worry about my mom's situation. I'm so sorry."

Spencer is probably telling the truth, but it doesn't make you feel better. Not seeing him behind bars like this.

The helplessness of not having anticipated this situation and now being unable to do anything to solve it eats you up inside. Despite that, you know Spencer is having it worse. So you, as his partner and who loves him the way you never loved anyone, decide to put your feelings aside to be his support at this difficult moment.

"It's okay," you assure him, placing your hands between the bars to hold his. Spencer is quick to respond and grabs onto your hands as if you were a lifeline to him. "We'll figure it out."

Spencer's eyes fill with tears as he repeatedly murmurs, 'Thank you' and 'I love you.'

You have always considered yourself a strong and tenacious woman. Since you were a kid, you have been independent and able to overcome everything that came your way. But adult life has continued to test you, and this has been no exception. When you find out Nadie Ramos has been murdered and all the evidence points to Spencer, you're about to break down. Still, you can't because if you do, who's going to support your husband? You have to be strong. Some reprieve emerges when you learn Ramos is an American citizen and Spencer can be prosecuted on American soil.

Baby steps.

The jet is mostly silent, save for Emily's occasional page-turning or Luke's typing on his phone. Rossi seems to be sleeping. You and Spencer are in one of the back seats. Spencer's head is in your lap while you absentmindedly play with his hair, looking at the night sky out the window.

"You think Scratch is behind this?" Spencer asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. You consider your answer for a couple of seconds.

"I do. I mean, it's such a damn elaborate plan. I can't think of anyone but Scratch."

Spencer assumes a sitting position and examines your face. He knows you are upset. Cupping your cheeks, he looks directly at your eyes.

"I have no words to say how sorry I am. And I promise to make it up to you for the rest of my life when this is over."

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. When you open them again, you are met with Spencer's expecting gaze.

"I know you will." And you really think that. "I love you, Spencer. I'm sure we are going to get through this." Your voice trembles with emotion, but your words seal a promise you mean to keep.

"And I love you. So so much. God, I'm so lucky to have you." Spencer's arms envelope you in a tight embrace. You melt into him, breathing his scent. It's the way you usually use to ground yourself. It's hard right now because, once the jet lands in Virginia, Spencer will get snatched from you, for God knows how much time it will take.

When the BAU elevator doors open, you find JJ, Penelope, and Tara waiting for you all. Spencer has his cuffed hands covered with your FBI jacket so as not to attract too much attention. Garcia is the first to rush forward and hug him.

You only have fifteen minutes. Then, the police officers will take him to the station to book him and leave him in a cell.

JJ and Tara hug him, too. You assume they are giving him reassuring words, something you know he needs right now. From your peripheral, you see Emily exchange glances with Stephen and retreating to Emily's office. You can't say what's going on, but curiosity gets the best of you, and you follow them. You know Tara, Penelope, and JJ will keep Spencer occupied for a couple more minutes.

"What? Is the bureau abandoning him?" You hear Emily ask, visibly upset.

"They said Reid traveled with his personal passport and didn't inform the office. That's enough for them to step aside," Stephen explains.

"So we don't have legal support," Emily confirms, and Stephen nods.

You can't help but interrupt the conversation.

"What? Spencer will not have a defense?" Both Emily and Stephen startle and turn to see you. While Stephen gives you an apologetic look, Emily is quick to speak.

"Not provided by the FBI, but it doesn't mean Spencer will be alone in this. We'll find a lawyer for him."

"They do want to bury this, don't they? It's bad publicity, and Spencer will fall for it," you start to complain, your breathing picking up speed.

"Hey! We won't let that happen, do you hear me?" your boss steadies you and makes you look at her with both hands on your shoulders. "But for now, Spencer can't know. Not until we get this figured out."

As in cue, you look through Emily's window and see Spencer still chatting with JJ and Penelope.

"This is a nightmare," you mumble. Emily squeezes your shoulder.

"We're going to solve it, I promise."

You see Spencer looking around with a frown. Penelope and JJ are still talking to him, but Spencer seems to be looking for something, better said, someone: you. Cautiously, you descend the stairs to join him. You know you don’t have much time, and you know you can’t tell him about the lack of a lawyer.

“Hey,” Spencer calls when he finally sees you.

“Sorry, I went to talk to Emily about something real quick while giving you time with the team.” You don’t want to delve into specifics and hope Spencer doesn't ask about it.

“Thank you. Can we talk more privately?”

“Sure.” You both move to a corner with fewer people around. Spencer’s eyes trail every part of your face as he wants to engrave you in his memory. At the lack of words, you frown. “Spencer?”

“I know this isn’t going to be easy. I’m terrified, and not just for me. I’m scared about how this will affect you and us. I just want to say that I love you with all my heart, but I will understand if this becomes too much. You don't owe me anything. Don’t feel obligated-”

“Stop! Stop right there. Don’t even try to finish that sentence,” you rush to cut him off.

“But-”

“No. You are my husband. You are the love of my life. You are the person I chose to share my life with. In thick and thin, remember?” You cup his face so he can look directly at your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Physically, we’ll be apart, but I won’t rest until I get you out, and we'll be together again, okay?”

Spencer’s eyes fill with tears, and so do yours. He leans down to catch your lips with his. He can’t hold you - he’s cuffed - but for now, you can do that work. Lacing your arms around his neck, you deepen the kiss, and you can feel your tears mixing.

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” Spencer mumbles on your lips.

“I know you will,” you mumble back before kissing him again.

Emily clearing her throat takes you both out of your bubble.

“I’m sorry, guys, but it’s time. Police are here,” she apologetically announces. You look at Spencer, and he nods. It's time. With a last lingering kiss and an ‘I love you,’ he turns and follows Emily down the hall. Spencer doesn't turn around because he knows if he does and looks at you, he won’t be able to leave you there.

You watch him walk away and wonder if this nightmare will end soon. You don't know if you'll have the strength to hold on to him and yourself and if the love you share will be enough to keep the hope of a better tomorrow alive.

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

Next part

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[theconstitutionisgayculture]

"Putting your hand over your heart isn't a part of a Nazi salute!"

Not the original salute no, but it is part of the salute being used by Neo Nazis. So here's a link to a video comparing them, showing his gesture was identical to a Neo Nazi salute.

https://www.reddit.com/r/france/s/2bdn5cuvf6

"Even the ADL said it wasn't a Nazi salute!"

The ADL can be wrong just like any other group of people can. You people hate their stance on hate speech, so why are you magically in agreement with them just because they support your worldview?

"It was so bad that it couldn't have been a real salute, Hitler would have killed him for mocking him!"

Bad salutes are still salutes, just as bad insurrections are still insurrections.

"He was symbolically throwing his heart to the crowd!"

Here he is doing it a second time while facing away from the crowd.

"He said his heart went out to the crowd!"

Yeah so he could have some deniability for idiots like you to cling to and defend him with.

"Kalama did the same gesture!"

She waved and pointed. You're just blind. There's something wrong with you if you can't distinguish a wave from an actual Nazi salute. Here's them being conpared side by side.

https://x.com/tify330/status/1881512417387040998

The sad part Is, if you saw this back in 2012, your immediate thought would have been "Oh my god Elon Musk did a nazi salute!", but Trump has so successfully brainwashed you, conditioned you, and groomed you, that his richest and most vocal supporter can preform a blatant Nazi salute, and you'll deny the obvious evidence before you to defend him, ignoring everything before your eyes and ears, because you've been made incapable of acknowledging the evilness, or the nature, of your cult.

It should have been obvious when he showed up to the Madison Square Garden rally in a custom black MAGA hat that used a typeface that was associated with the Hitler and the Nazis, the font the Nazis regularly used as a sign of nationalism that Hitler chose as the as the font for the cover of his autobiography.

https://www.ndtv.com/world-news/elon-musks-maga-cap-text-has-eerie-resemblance-with-hitlers-nazi-font-6903216/amp/1](https://www.ndtv.com/world-news/elon-musks-maga-cap-text-has-eerie-resemblance-with-hitlers-nazi-font-6903216/amp/1

You guys are REALLY bad at taking hints due to your programing.

"Trump, who is nothing like a nazi and never talks about nazis or white supremacists except to disavow them, brainwashed you into thinking Elon Musk isn't a nazi" sure is an interesting take.

Anyway you're putting a lot of words into my mouth and the ones you're quoting that are actually mine explain pretty well why what Elon did isn't a nazi salute, so I'm not going point by point and addressing your nonsense (especially the "nazi font" shit. Jesus do you even hear yourself?)

What I am going to address?

"Here he is doing it a second time while facing away from the crowd"

There were people behind the stage behind him. I don't know if you can see them during Elon's full speech but here's the same setup from when Trump was at the arena

You can clearly see the white star bunting that's behind Elon in the clips of him doing the "salute". The stage is in the center of the arena with people all around.

I'll also explain why I trust the ADL here, again, because apparently you either didn't see it or, more likely, your leftist brain selectively edits everything that doesn't conform to your warped world view.

The ADL is a partisan left wing group that constantly calls conservatives, but especially Trump and his allies, nazis, racists, white supremacists, anti-Semites, and every other ist and phobe under the sun. They rarely let a chance to lie about the right go by. The fact that a group like that is saying "that wasn't a nazi salute" means a lot, because they're going against the talking points of their own ideology in favor of a person they hate. When a group, even a partisan hack group like the ADL, goes against their interests and the interests of their allies in favor of a person or a group they normally can't stand, that gives their words a lot of extra weight.

She waved and pointed. You're just blind. There's something wrong with you if you can't distinguish a wave from an actual Nazi salute.

Yes. That's the point. She waved and pointed. Elon symbolically "threw his heart" to the crowd. Neither were nazi salutes. Both could made to look like one out of context. The media only cared about doing it with Elon.

I don't expect any of this to get through to you, because you still think J6 was an iNsUrReCtIoN. But maybe one day, after you grow out of this weird leftist phase, you'll look back and remember this and feel as silly as you should.

[sweetdreamscabot]

LITTLE LIES - E. PRENTISS

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Emily Prentiss x Fem Reader ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

RECAP: You - a confident and composed woman with a hidden life as an escort - find yourself at the centre of a murder investigation after witnessing the aftermath of a client’s death. To protect your secret, you tell your girlfriend, Emily Prentiss, that you were there for a business meeting, a lie she believes. As Emily reassures you and vows to support you through the ordeal, you’re left grappling with guilt and the looming fear that your truth could destroy your relationship and unravel everything you’ve built together.

Beneath the stains of time The feelings disappear You are someone else I'm still right here

What have I become? My sweetest friend Everyone I know goes away In the end

CHAPTER ONE

THE BAU OFFICE HAD a particular hum in the mornings - a steady blend of coffee brewing, keyboards clacking, and muted conversation as the team prepared for the day ahead. This morning, however, that hum was different. It was sharper, heavier, carrying the weight of a new case that had rolled in overnight.

Emily stood in the briefing room, her arms crossed, posture rigid as she stared at the projection screen. Her dark eyes skimmed over the crime scene photos: a sleek, modern office drenched in clean lines and expensive furniture, now marred by splashes of blood on its pristine white marble floor. The victim, Derek Parker, lay face-up in the centre of the room, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Two clean bullet wounds to his chest were evident, the stark red against his tailored grey suit a testament to the precision of his killer.

Spencer Reid’s voice broke the heavy silence. “Two shots, center mass, fired at close range. The shooter was either very skilled or very confident. Maybe both.”

Emily barely acknowledged him, her gaze fixed on the details of the scene. The polished surroundings, the lack of struggle, it all pointed to a calculated attack. She tapped her fingers against her arm, her mind already running through the possibilities.

“He’s a CEO,” Rossi said, leaning back in his chair as he reviewed the profile forming before them. “Tech startup. Made millions young, then grew the company into a juggernaut. No public scandals, no known criminal activity. On paper, he’s the guy everyone wants to be.”

“Or the guy everyone wants something from,” JJ interjected, flipping through the victim’s file. She tapped her pen against the table as she continued. “According to preliminary interviews, Parker was well-liked but kept his personal life under wraps. The only red flag so far is his client list - it’s long and includes some pretty powerful people.”

“Powerful people often have powerful enemies,” Rossi mused.

“Except this doesn’t feel personal,” Emily said, her voice cutting through the conversation. She gestured to the photo. “Look at the precision. Two shots, no signs of a struggle. The unsub didn’t hesitate, didn’t make a mess. This wasn’t emotional; it was professional.”

JJ nodded. “The police are saying the same thing. The unsub was in and out, no witnesses except one woman who claims she arrived just after the shots were fired.”

Emily felt her chest tighten as JJ brought up the witness. She didn’t need to look at the file to know who it was. She’d come home to you the night before, shaken and pale, as you recounted what little you said you’d seen. Your story had been simple: a business meeting in the same building, running late when you heard the shots and saw the aftermath.

“What do we know about the witness?” Rossi asked, leaning forward slightly.

JJ tapped her folder. “Her name’s [Y/N]. Late twenties, independent consultant, according to her. She was in the building for a meeting with one of Parker’s clients but claims she didn’t know Parker personally. She heard the shots, saw his body, and called the police. She’s been cleared as a suspect, but...”

“There’s always a but,” Rossi said knowingly.

JJ shrugged. “Her story checks out for now, but it’s thin. No one can confirm the details of her meeting or who she was with, and she didn’t recognize the shooter. Either she really didn’t see much, or she’s holding something back.”

Emily’s jaw tightened, and she forced her voice to remain neutral. “She’s not a suspect,” she said firmly. “There’s no evidence tying her to the crime beyond proximity.”

The room went quiet for a beat, JJ and Rossi exchanging a glance before Hotch’s voice broke the tension.

“Emily’s right. Until we have reason to believe otherwise, we treat her as a witness. Our focus should be on Parker. Garcia, what do we have on him?”

Penelope Garcia’s voice piped in from the speakerphone, her usual chipper tone tempered by the gravity of the case. “Well, our dear Derek Parker is a golden boy, at least on paper. Born in a small town, climbed the ladder of success, started a tech company in his early twenties, and turned it into a multimillion-dollar empire. He’s been squeaky clean in public - no scandals, no lawsuits, no nasty breakups. He’s even got a spotless social media presence. If there’s dirt on him, it’s buried deep.”

“Find it,” Hotch said without hesitation. “Dig into his financials, his personal life, everything. Reid, JJ, focus on the unsub’s behaviour and potential motivations. Emily, Rossi, you’re going to the crime scene. I want fresh eyes on this.”

Emily nodded, already grabbing her go-bag from beside her chair. As the team dispersed, she lingered for a moment, her thoughts on you. She’d believed you last night, your fear too raw to fake. But as JJ had spoken, doubt had crept in. Not about your honesty, but about the world you’d stepped into - a world that now seemed far more dangerous than she’d realized.

“Emily,” Rossi said, snapping her out of her thoughts. He was waiting for her by the door, a questioning look in his eyes.

“Coming,” she said quickly, pushing your face to the back of her mind - for now.

[valleyian]

Thoughts on Cursed Child becoming a movie

A very random late night rant, but here we go. I’ve seen a lot of fake trailers circle around the web and on social media in regards to a potential HPCC movie. And whilst that’s all fun and games, I also want to talk about the actual consequences a movie like that would have on both the fandom and people.

First off I need people to understand that HPCC is an (almost) separate entity of the Wizarding World franchise, being mostly excluded or regarded as “non canon” by the mainstream. However this does NOT mean JKR doesn’t receive royalties from the play, she still earns money from it. The ethics of spending money on the play is also something to be discussed, however I want to specifically talk about the consequences that a potential movie would have on the HPCC story and the representation within it.

First of, HPCC although it has controversies, is in my opinion the best installation in the Harry Potter universe when it comes to representation. What do I mean by that? Since HPCC is a theatre play, it follows general casting rules which in most cases is colour blind. This is implemented in most theatre productions where ethnicity of actors do not matter, HPCC is not an exception. This means that a lot of POC actors get opportunities to be on stage and portray these characters, not to mention the deliberate casting of Hermione Granger. (Although I will note that this casting has caused a lot of stir, in addition to the fact most of the productions have yet to cast a POC lead in the role of Albus, not counting Tokyo or Brazil).

Although only speculation on my part, I can’t imagine a HPCC movie would be able to deliver on the representation shown in the play, with the numerous casts that have been. I also would assumed they’d return to the white casting of Rose and Hermione, which obviously would erase the theatre play castings purpose.

Then onto my second point; being queer representation. Although it’s not confirmed 100%, and also wouldn’t be able to be confirmed as long as JKR has her dirty grubby hands on the IP, Scorbus is as close to canon as possible. This became evident after the script rewrite, a rewrite that was deliberately written by the current queer actors of the play. It was also written as a retaliation agains JKRs bigoted statements which she had began to spread at that time. So as of now, the play leaves the relationship between Albus and Scorpius ambiguous, yet it is very obvious there is a romantic undertone. This is the closest to any LGBTQ rep in the Harry Potter Universe, (no I will not count Dumbledore and Grindewald) and it means so much to people. A movie by Warner Bros and directed by JKR would most certainly remove all aspects of this, and return to the original script with the very forced addition of Scorpius x Rose. (Nothing against the ship, but I’m against the way it was used as a last minute ploy to remove any assumed gayness).

A subsection to this topic I want to touch upon is also queer representation within the casting. It’s not uncommon for theatre to feature a diverse cast both in ethnicity and orientations. HPCC again is no exception. Over the shows 8 year long run, there has been countless of queer and trans actors who have played in it. There have been gay and trans leads in the roles of Albus and Scorpius as well as the ensemble, and this representation is crucial. Especially since this is an IP within JKRs hands, casting people of said groups is such a powerful move. I can almost guarantee a movie would NOT be as inclusive.

And lastly, if there is a movie, should you support it? It’s not my place to say, and I will also acknowledge I am hypocritical when it comes to what I chose to consume and spend money on in regards to the Harry Potter franchise. However I also want to acknowledge that when you are supporting the theatre play, you do give money to JKR, but you also give money to the numerous queer and POC actors in the cast, a lot of whom are activist. I personally will stay away from any HPCC content that erases any of the current representation added. Unless the movie follows the new script, with POC and queer actors, as well as minimal influence for JKR, I WILL NOT support it. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

Also, feel free to correct me if I stated something incorrect or false in this rant!

[urialnathanonwright]

Trump’s War on Science: A Betrayal of Public Health and Common Sense

You ever hear a bad idea so blindingly stupid you have to stop and wonder if it was cooked up by someone actively rooting for humanity’s downfall? Well, Donald Trump has managed to pull a double-header in that department. First, his administration is plotting to halt federal funding for gain-of-function research—critical work that helps us understand and combat the next global pandemic. Second, Trump’s team wants to muzzle the CDC, NIH, and other federal health agencies, halting their ability to communicate with the public and fund life-saving research. Folks, this is not just incompetence; it’s a slow-motion catastrophe.

Let’s start with gain-of-function research. Now, I get it—making viruses more dangerous in a lab sounds like the start of a bad sci-fi movie. But the reality is this: it’s one of the best tools we have to predict and prevent pandemics. It’s like doing a fire drill—you simulate the worst-case scenario so you’re ready when the real thing happens. But Trump and his enablers, in their infinite ignorance, want to shut it all down. Why? Because a bunch of conspiracy-loving Republicans blame it for Covid-19, even though there’s zero evidence to support that claim. None. Nada. Zilch.

Let me be clear: killing this research won’t make us safer—it’ll leave us defenseless. You think other countries will stop doing this work? Of course not. China, Russia, and others will keep pushing the envelope, while we sit here twiddling our thumbs, pretending ignorance is a shield against viruses. Spoiler alert: it’s not. Pandemics don’t care about your politics. They don’t care if you think science is scary or inconvenient. They just spread—and if we’re not ready, people die. It’s that simple.

Now, let’s move on to the second act of this disaster: silencing our top health agencies. Trump’s HHS has decided that all scientific communications must be vetted by political appointees before being released. Translation: they’re putting public health in the hands of spin doctors. This isn’t just unethical; it’s dangerous. During a bird flu outbreak, they’re delaying critical reports. Scientists can’t publish data, can’t approve grants, and can’t even speak publicly without some bureaucrat rubber-stamping it first. And all this during a time when trust in public health institutions is already hanging by a thread.

Let me spell this out: these actions are not about protecting people. They’re about control. Trump and his cronies are weaponizing ignorance, suppressing inconvenient truths, and sabotaging the very systems designed to keep us safe—all for political gain. This isn’t just bad policy; it’s an abdication of responsibility, a betrayal of trust, and a clear and present danger to every single one of us.

So, what do we do? We fight back. We demand accountability. We refuse to let science be politicized by a man whose grasp of facts is as flimsy as his hairline. This isn’t about left or right—it’s about survival. If we let this slide, if we let Trump’s war on science go unchecked, we won’t just be risking the next pandemic—we’ll be inviting it. And when it comes, the blame will lie squarely at the feet of those who chose politics over progress and willful ignorance over wisdom. Let’s make sure history remembers their names—and ours, as the ones who stood up and said, "Enough."

[starsintheskyandtheeye]

"So why the fluff piece," Jimmy asked, leaning up against the shelves by Lois's desk. Since ghosts didn't show up well on camera Perry had him working with Cat on a high society wedding over making the article look like a product of cheap ghost hunting. This was the first time he'd seen Lois, or Clark, since before they'd gone back to what was apparently ghost central station.

"You mean instead of talking about the near literal war going on between LexCorp and half a dozen religions? Or those religions spinning desperately with the fact that ghosts are real and don't want to talk to them? Or something about the scientific discoveries that lead to this mess, or the ones since? Or literally anything other than a fluffy morality piece," Lois answered, spinning slowly in her chair as she did, to stare pointedly at her partner. "I don't know Jimmy, why don't you ask Clark."

Clark smiled beatifically at his partner's sore loser behavior and it showed in his voice as he spoke directly to Jimmy. "Those are the headlines topics in all the other big papers right now, yes. But do you know why those are the big topics?" Clark saw Jimmy's confused look, and Lois's eye roll, and said, "Wait, I'll rephrase, do you know why all the other papers are reporting on the fallout from the news?"

"Ohhhhhh," Jimmy said, understanding. "Very clever CK. We've got the only published interview with an actual ghost, and they're all focusing on boring old humans.

"Still though, why the general fluff instead of a specific point?"

"Do you know how hard it is to interview a teenager," Lois answered, annoyed at the memory. "Much less a dead one," she said, a little more subdued. "We were originally going to focus more on Phantom's life and death, or the nature of the afterlife, or on how exactly the crossing over happened."

"So why didn't you? Those both sound like your usual stuff."

"Like she said, evidently the teenage ability to avoid the subject remains after death," Clark said, remembering the way the kid had managed to politely, firmly, and slightly desperately changed the subject every other time they asked a question. He hadn't heard someone change the subject that many times in one sentence since he'd asked Bruce how Selina was doing on her trip to Themyscira.

"And, much as I hate to pin my name to anything sweet and fluffy," Lois said, "It's the right article to write right now. Public opinion is fickle, showing people the humanity of these guys important. You've seen how much emphasis LexCorp is putting on the dangerous aspect and those mad scientists having so much of their work focused on studying them like animals."

"This changes the tone," Clark said, picking up the thread where Lois lost it to future story threads. "People will read it because it's the first ever verifiable interview with a ghost. And while they're reading it they'll see something a lot calmer than anything else being published right now. A story about a different culture, and a very relatable person on the face of it.

"It makes sense," Jimmy acknowledges, "but I'd hate to be in between Lois and her next story. Especially if she goes after Luthor like I heard Perry talking about." Lois focused on Jimmy at that, with a hint of the look that made him so concerned for her next story subject.

"Did Perry okay me to write another piece directly about Luthor?"

"Not sure, I just heard him saying something about the Ghost Investigation Ward with your name, his, and 'inevitable.'"

Lois's grin was downright predatory. Jimmy winced a bit and looked to Clark to support. Clark was smiling softly at his partner as she whipped her chair back to her desk to begin typing.

"Oh that reminds me Jimmy, did you get those pictures of LexCorp's water treatment facilities? Perry's busy and I think he'll be okay with it if I pick one to go with my article about lead pipes in Metropolis."

"Yeah CK, I got them like you asked, a couple where the sign is front and center and a couple where it's mostly pipes with a few branded junction box type things. I'd go with the pipes, it looks technical and gets your message across more subtly."

Clark grinned a smaller version of Lois's scary smile. He thought a moment then told Jimmy. "You should go with Lois next time. You're the best photographer I know. I'm sure you can get something usable, or at least interesting from the ghosts."

"Just Lois? Not you both?"

"Probably not no. Superman was there last time, and said that he'd be working a lot in Metropolis soon," Clark coughed a bit then said, "Apparently he went with us to take a look at what LexCorp was doing. We found some leads so I'm going to be staying here to report any developments as they happen."

"I can't decide if you're a great guy for giving Lois all the scoops on literal ghosts or a very smart guy for finding a way to keep all the scoops on what our own literal alien celebrity is doing."

"He's a menace and I'm so glad you're finally noticing Olsen," Lois chimed in without looking up.

"Oh definitely a great guy," Clark said. "Just a simple farm boy right here."

Respect for the Dead

By Lois Lane and Clark Kent

1,436 words

By now most of the world has been shaken by the news.

Ghosts are real! And ghosts are in danger! The original publication written by Lois Lane can be found here but we are not here to follow that well trodden avenue of discussion.

Here at the Daily Planet we have elected to focus on speaking to the ghosts themselves, rather than debate their existence alongside our fellow papers. During the hunt for the new source of Kryptonite that sparked this discovery Lois Lane made contact with one Danny Phantom. Originally he chose to anonymous but since the outpouring of support from much of the world he has since chosen to come forward publicly.

Given that the ghostly teenager is operating as a hero similar to our own Superman much of his personal history could not be shared. What was safe to share however was very different from what this reporting team had been expecting.

We had gone in prepared to hear the story of what caused a ghost that looks like a schoolboy to lead a life of ghostly vigilantism.

What we got was sweetly sarcastic individual giving us amusing anecdotes of his start as a hero, descriptions of the stranger habits he's gained since his death, and many many tips on how to politely interact with a ghost. At our confusion (who knew there were so many different types of ghost!) Phantom went on to explain and correct several common misconceptions about ghosts. So without further ado; here are the highlights of that discussion.

We begin with what was given to us as the number one rule of human/ghost etiquette. Never ask the individual, be they glowing werewolf, ghostly lunch-lady, or undead rock star, about the circumstances of their death.

It seems simple does it not? A matter of everyday politeness, and yet that is the number one reason for communication breakdowns between ectoplasmic entities and still living humans. Fortunately for the health of the interview this reporting team did not make that mistake. Phantom did not explain the nature of the offense but did not need to. It was clear that the, until then, friendly conversation would have ended abruptly if we had gone any farther down that path.

What we were encouraged (and warned) to talk to a ghost about was their obsession. As Phantom explained, "It's what drives a ghost, why we are still here, or why we formed at all."

When asked about his own obsession Phantom laughed a bit and said, "I'm a bit young for a ghost, so I don't really have one yet, I bounce around a lot. My doctor, he's a yeti, says it's normal for me though! The options are all over the place though. I know one ghost that haunts the high school to prevent bullying, a really nice guy. Another just wants to have her music heard by the world. Unfortunately her music brainwashes people to love her so we aren't super close. Or another that is all about granting wishes, but not in a singing blue genie way, in a fairy tale way, it's a mess whenever she gets over here."

That seems to be a common theme in ghostly/human interaction. Ghosts largely mean no harm but the pursuit of their own obsessions can have devastating effects on any that stand between them and their goal. Something to keep in mind if you're ordering pizza when the Box Ghost is at large.

Hoping it wouldn't cross into the realm of ghostly faux pas we went on to ask how old Phantom is. Once again Phantom seemed somewhat awkward although no more than what seemed to be his baseline when talking to (self claimed) famous reporters, saying only, "Time works differently in the realms. It can be really weird sometimes, you'll be talking to someone that looks like a toddler only to learn that they were last in a human world during the 1400s or something."

As Phantom continued to share however, the everlasting aspect seemed to be the least interesting part of the Infinite Realms, or the Ghost Zone as the Doctors Fenton, previously mentioned as ghostly experts here, call the place where the vast majority of ghosts dwell.

Ghostly yetis practicing medicine, while certainly not the least of the inhabitants were just the start. Phantom went on to share with us a sampling of the being he has encountered in his travels, medieval women moonlighting as temperamental dragons, the very concept of time, a warden of any ghosts that cross his path, and of course the ubiquitous creepy toddler so often featured on the silver screen.

According to Phantom up until extremely recently (whether by ghostly or human terms we were unable to determine) the Infinite Realms was closed off from our own home except for the occasional haunting. Which was explained to us by the telling of what was, to Phantom, a very funny joke about pop culture influencing ghost culture as people died and brought it over with them. From this we can glean several things. That the realms of the living and the dead have never been so far apart as it would have seemed to the living. That the near future will hold many changes as major religions, governments, and the common people hear what the dead have to say as they weigh in on what respect for the dead really means. And that while many things do translate, ghostly humor is not one of them.

Although of course that may be that, despite his real age being possibly many times our own - combined, Phantom is still eternally a teenager. And a teenagers jokes are often incomprehensible to any who do not share that state.

When asked about the sudden ghostly interest in our own living Earth Phantom had this to say, "Lots of ghosts want to go to the lands of the living. Especially anyone that used to be alive themselves. And anyone that didn't is curious what the fuss is about. Earth is so different from the ghost zone but it's still where a lot of us came from. If someone gets a chance to hop through the portal they'll go, to see how things have changed, or to keep things from changing, or just to stretch their obsessions. Really it's a chance to go home, just for a little while," he said, reminding us that for all they look like aliens ghosts are just as human as you or I.

With a few caveats.

The portal Phantom spoke of is an invention by the Doctors Fenton, Ectobiologists. Up until recently Jack and Maddie Fenton had been the worlds foremost ghostly experts, building a portal to the "Ghost Zone" in order to study what up until recently had been considered to be a non-sentient classification of emotional ectoplasmic imprintation.

We spoke to the researchers after our interview with Phantom, at his request. Despite the recent evidence come to light the couple remain the foremost (living) human scientists in the field. When asked about the setback to their work they had this to say, "We were devastated of course. To learn that we won't be able to study spooks -" Jack Fenton broke off there, at an extremely well executed elbow jab from Maddie Fenton who then said. "We got an extreme tunnel vision, a hazard of obsessive science. We were told we were wrong about the existence of ghosts for so long that we forgot to check that we were correct about their nature. We look forward to pivoting to ghostly anthropology and human/ghost interaction technology."

Ultimately we did not learn any groundbreaking secrets, but then if a ghost willing to go on record ( a written record at least, our recorded transcript of the conversation was near unusable due to static) you sit down and listen. We can never anticipate what a reader will take from an article but if we could make a suggestion? In this reporting teams opinion, the balance of ghost and human realms is not unlike the inversion of a mirror. We are reflections of one another. Opposite, yes, and dangerous to one another for it, but ultimately we are all the same. After all what is a ghost but emotion and ectoplasm (according to current science)? And for all that we try to rise above it, what is a human but emotion and flesh?

Fin.

Coming Soon!

Keep an eye out for top ten tips on ghostly interaction and interviews with the Justice League on diplomatic efforts with GHOSTLY ROYALTY!!

[putschki1969]

hi puts!

First of all congrats to you and all the kalafans that have made it to the Anni concert! I just couldn't find a way to fly there thanks to the silly leave policies in my company ( i was at work sobbing while the girls were singing probably their last kala live😭😭)

So, what do you think about the possibility of WKH singing live together in the future? I saw a lot of tweets saying there is slim chance... even the girls themselves didn't seem optimistic about it, and the “一夜限り” slogans seemed like they're trying to deliver a long overdue farewell to the fans by this concert for the past 7 years 😭 it's giving me a feeling that they're striving to respond to the love they received from the kalafans, while risking almost recklessly of losing tremendous support from YK sensei's side. I also saw a tweet about the fact that YK unfollowed K&H, this made me so sad although I knew it was totally rational since they previously broke up in such notorious way🥹

But all in all seeing WKH loving each other is the best new year gift to me, i hope them don't lose this precious connection ♥️

Thanks for reading my message!

Hello there!

Awww, thank you! It truly was the experience of a lifetime and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.🥰 Whether it was their "best" concert is probably up to personal preference (the setlist wasn't my cup of tea to be honest) but it definitely felt like their most important concert to me. I think it gave everyone involved a certain peace of mind after everything that had happened in the past seven years.

I am really sorry that you weren't able to make it. Thankfully, we will be getting a TV broadcast so that's a tiny consolation at least.

Hmmmn, as I mentioned in my live report, the girls didn’t even hint at any possible future activities. There was just an endless amount of appreciation/gratitude for the past and present. And as you say, it was more about treasuring a special night together, this miraculous opportunity to sing together one more time. The entire concert had somewhat of a final feel to it, like it was giving us a sense of closure (which we had previously been denied).

While there don't seem to be any concrete plans for the future, the girls are clearly not without hope. They didn't dare (or weren't able) to say anything specific but Keiko didn't miss the chance to utter a few hopeful words, more like a prayer actually, "叶うならまた~/If my wish would come true, maybe [we can do this/sing together] again~"

There's a clear desire to be together again and they evidently have so much love for each other (💙🖤🤍) so that's really all I need to know to remain hopeful. Will it take time? Sure! Will sacrifices have to be made? Absolutely! This concert has strengthened my conviction, my love for Kalafina is as strong as ever, if not stronger. I will wait as long as it takes but I think it's also valid to interpret this concert as a solid send-off for everyone who has previously struggled to let go due to the abrupt way things ended back in the day.

As for Yuki Kajiura and losing her support, I currently don't know what's true and what's not. How does she really feel about all of this? Her initial statement was harsh and immature if you ask me. Was it her prerogative to be upset about the situation, of course! Should she have taken a step back to reflect on what was happening in order to release a more professional statement, I personally think so. But hey, what's done is done and for what it's worth, I think that first tweet was probably the most honest reflection of her feelings. Everything that followed felt a little disingenuous to me, like empty platitudes, her way of providing some much needed damage control. Hikaru and Keiko seem to have talked things through with Yuki but it was probably on a surface level. They apparently had no big issues working together during the YKL Asia Tour but really, what other choice could they have had seeing as their participation was decided long before the whole Kalafina debacle. I wonder though, how all of this will affect future activities. I believe Yuki when she says she still respects the girls as singers but that doesn't mean she is willing to work with them as much as she used to. For the time being, I am optimistic though and feel like nothing much will change on that front. So Keiko will most likely remain a regular member of FJ and Hikaru may appear as guest vocalist from time to time. Although Yuki might refrain from doing Kalafina covers for a while. Or she'll double down and focus even more on Kalafina covers out of spite. We'll know more by March when details for YKL Vol.#21 are announced.

I was not aware of the Twitter thing. Can't say I keep track of who Yuki is following so I wouldn't even be able to confirm that she ever followed the girls in the first place. But if she really unfollowed them over this, I would find it more than petty of her. But I guess it would track with the usual M.O. of ignoring each other's online presence in the ever-lasting feud between Team Yuki and Team Space Craft. Maybe now that Hikaru and Keiko are "aligning themselves with the enemy" (i.e. participating in the Kalafina live and following Wakana on social media) they have fallen out of favour and are being considered as "Space Craft adjacent". Who knows...

I am honestly curious what sort of arrangement Keiko and Hikaru have going on with Space Craft. They obviously did not sign a proper management contract since Keiko is presumably still with Tristone and Hikaru is still a freelancer but there must be some contractual obligations that may or may not affect some of their current and future activities. Keiko has pretty much stopped doing Instagram Lives and mainly shares insights through her Yodel app so I cannot help but wonder if that has anything to do with certain Space Craft restrictions. According to Keiko's messages in Yodel, it is more of a personal choice but meh, the timing is a bit suspicious.

Either way, I hope to see them do more promotional stuff for the upcoming TV broadcast and share a few more pictures/thoughts regarding the concert. Ideally, I want to see them do casual stuff together and post about it on social media 💙🖤🤍but I'm not sure that's gonna happen. I also wonder if we'll get anything special for tomorrow (their actual anniversary). It's probably best not to get my hopes up.🙃

I don't need Kalafina to release any new music and they don't even have to go back to regular live activities but I'd be more than happy to see them hold an annual concert or so. Let's keep our fingers crossed!

Additionally, I hope the girls can continue to focus on their solo careers. Hikaru hinted at already having some plans for further activities once her tour is over (hope to get an announcement soon) and Wakana has her spring live line up. Nothing special in store for Keiko yet (except for that Tristone event) so I am eager for some updates.🙏

[gliphyartfan]

Lately I've been feeling bad and feel like I'm going to hurt myself again. I want to know how you think yan Chain would react to a reader self-harming, I just need a little comfort :b

Hey there sweetpea , thank you for trusting me with your feelings. I’ll do my best to bring you a smile!

So, how I think the Chain would react?

Hmm

Well:

TIME wouldn’t let anything slip past his notice. The moment he saw evidence of self-harm, his almost deceptively calm tone would freeze them in place. ‘What have you done to yourself?’

Time would try to keep things calm around Reader.

He wouldn’t demand answers right away, they’d definitely be startled at being caught, he’d let them. come to him.

He’d tell them that when they were doing stoped then and there, like He says it softly, but his tone leaves no room for argument.

Whether it’s his hand resting gently on Reader’s shoulder or sitting quietly in the same room, he’d make sure they know they’re not alone.

he’d kneel in front of Reader, take their hands gently, and assure them that he’s here to stay, no matter what.

He’d quietly remind them that pain is temporary and that leaning on him, on them, is okay.

-

For WIND?

He’d immediately want to take charge, pulling Reader into a tight hug and whispering assurances and how Reader should have to feel so miserable as to want to do that.

He’d go out of his way to cheer them up, his antics sometimes over tha top but always sincere and concerned. Whether it’s telling stories, cracking jokes, or planning little adventures away from the group when they want space, he’d do whatever it takes to see Reader happy again. Cause beneath his playful actions, he’s deeply worried about them.

His yandere tendencies might slip through in how much he needs to see Reader happy. If they seem down, he won’t rest until he’s made them smile again, even if it means going overboard.

—

WARRIORS would mask his worry with charm, trying to keep things, ya know, happy and casual and upbeat to take Reader’s mind off their pain. But his concern would show in the way he watches them, his sharp eyes never missing a thing.

He’d focus on removing anything harmful from their reach while reassuring them that he wasn’t upset, just…worried (and hurt, and scared of the possibilities if he hadn’t caught them)

He’d start to insist on walking them everyone when the others arent around, pulling them close if he senses any danger, even if it’s just his overactive imagination.

He’d be a bit more touchy…holding their hand more, patting their shoulders and head, it’s all casual but it remains him they’re still ok.

——

FOUR would likely notice the signs before anyone else, his observant nature catching even the smallest details. He’d approach Reader cautiously, his voice soft as he asked if tehy were okay.

He’d of course, would be devastated but wouldn’t show it outwardly. Instead, he’d focus on what he could do to help, his hands steady as he tended to their wounds if they had any.

His colors would react differently. All equally worried, all equally wanting to comfort Reader. Maybe they accidentally overwhelm them and after that little mistake they take turns spending time with Reader.

Red wouod make flower chains with Reader.

Green would take them on walks.

Vio and surprisingly Blue, would have quiet moments. The two would just hang around while Reader did their own thing. (Kinda like how cats hang around each other without bothering one another? Like that!)

They’d definitely channel theur emotions into creating something for Reader, maybe a charm, a piece of jewelry? something tangible to remind Readee of their worth. His actions would speak louder than words.

Four when whole would keep close, offering quiet but unwavering support. If Reader needed a distraction, he’d work on a small project beside them, his presence a quiet reminder that they’renot alone.

——-

TWILIGHT would be devastated but wouldn’t show it outwardly. He’d, after making sure they won’t bolt in fear, immediately scoop Reader up in his arms, holding them tightly as if that alone could shield them from harm.

He’d be both heartbroken and angry, at himself for not protecting them better and at the world for making them feel this way.

Reader would feel like Twi’s entire world revolves around keeping them safe, even if it means following them everywhere (on two legs or four) or sleeping by their door at night. (Though if them want him in the room so they can snuggle, he definitely wouldn’t decline)

———

WILD wouldn’t say anything at first, his eyes taking in every detail. He’d carefully tend to their wounds with a mix of gentleness and…I’m gonna say delicate-ness? It’s just very careful. his hands steady even as his emotions were all over the place beneath the surface. his expression unreadable as he took the time to process what was happening. Then he’d gently pull Reader into a very gentle hug, his arms trembling slightly.

He’s become even more protective, Reader would catch him watching them constantly, his eyes always scanning for any signs of distress.

He’d channel his guilt into action, He’ll “accidentally” leave little gifts for them, freshly cooked meals, rare ingredients, trinkets he scavenged. and staying by Reader’s side as much as he could.

———-

LEGEND might not know the right words to say at first, he’s probably really caught off guard at what he catches sight of. But when Reader is looking at him in fear and trying to hide the evidence of what they’ve done, his actions would speak volumes. He’d take charge, patching up any wounds with gentle hands.

(He’d pretend his hands weren’t shaking, taht they weren’t betraying how deeply affected he truly was.)

He’d keep them company, even if he isn’t sitting right next to Reader, he’d be within their view. He’d take their hand and guide them away if he noticed them stressing out. He’d tell them stories of his adventures, small things that would bring a fragile smile on Reader’s face. And even if it isn’t bring a smile, it’d give them something to focus on. Something to ground them as them calm down.

And when Reader is calm and relaxed, he’d sit close and quietly admit how much he cares, how much Reader’s mere presence is worth to him and his life.

————

SKY would react with a mix of sadness and internal fury, fury at himself for not noticing sooner. He’d gently take their hands in his, brushing over any scars or fresh wounds, his voice trembling as he tells Reader it’s going to be alright.

He’s…not familiar with someone who has gone through this. If there was anyone like that in Skyloft, well…he never caught wind of it. So he’s very very terrified by this.

He’d be sleeping next to Reader that night…tho I doubt he’s sleep, probably watching how their chest rises and falls, scared that the rhythm would suddenly stop if he looked away.

Sky would be endlessly patient once he gathers himself, his warm, gentleness would be a constant source of comfort. He’d sit beside Reader, holding their hand if they let him, and quietly let them know it’s okay to feel whatever they are feeling.

He’d shower them with small, tender gestures, braiding their hair if it’s long, bringing them flowers, or playing his harp softly to them.

Sky might slip up by being overly protective, like insisting they stay close to him at all times. But he’d easily back off (for a little while at least) when Reader brings it up. Just wanting them comfortable and happy.

————-

HYRULE would be devastated.

He’d immediately try to take care of them, healing magic at the ready to heal any wounds. Gentle but practically pleading in a trembling voice if there are any other injuries he should know about.

He’d apologize frequently if Reader shows any signs of pain. He’d hold their hands afterwards, thumbs on their wrists, most likely focusing on the warmth and pulse beneath.

He tries not to hover, but it’s hard not to when his every instinct tells him to protect them.

If Reader ever tries brushes off his concerns to ask him not to worry, he’d..well not accept that.

“Don’t…don’t…lie to me. Please…even if you want me away from you for the moment, I’d rather you be honest…I just want to help.”

Hyrule would shower them with affection, his actions almost frantic as he tried to show them how much they mean to him. But he’s also holding back, scare he’ll push them away when they are already fragile in a way his magic can’t heal.

He wants them better, but he knows how terrible the fight against one’s mind can be. All he can do is be there by Reader’s side.

—————

Reader might not even notice at first, but slowly, anything that could be used to hurt themselves would disappear or get replaced with safer alternatives.

Legend quietly pockets sharp objects or anything suspicious without mentioning it. Four might ‘ upgrade’ certain tools so that they’re less dangerous (and not tell them why).

They are gonna be very focused on limiting access to anything harmless they’re trying not to make Reader feel like their autonomy’s being stripped.

They know nights are hard, so Reader would often find one or two of them staying up a bit later, coincidentally near wherever they’re sleeping.

Twilight might claim he’s just reading by the fire, while Warriors hovers at the edge of camp, but both keep an ear out for any sign of distress.

If Reader wakes up from a nightmare or dark thoughts, they’re immediately there, offering water, a blanket, or just a quiet ear.

They’ll all be aware that sometimes Reader’s thoughts get dark. So they plan little distractions, Wind invites you for a short stroll, Hyrule shares a story from his travels, or Wild asks for help with cooking or someone to tag along as he wanders around (if they’re up for it).

If Reader ever express guilt for worrying them, they instantly (almost too quickly) jump in with reassurance. Because guilt is a slippery slope that keeping spiraling down with great difficulty getting out of it.

They actively hold back on their more intense behaviors. Time wants to command Reader to stay put, but he softens his tone. Warriors wants to lecture them into next week, but he bites his tongue. Twilight’s instincts scream to keep them locked away safe, but he chooses to give them space.

Each hero attempts to give Reader breathing room, but they also catch themselves hovering, exchanging quick looks when Reader moves out of sight

They want Reader to feel cherished, protected, and above all, happy and alive. So they’ll do everything they can to accommodate and accomplish that.