#is now a good time to mention that they’ve damaged me emotionally

[carnivorousdoe]

Here is my most low effort gif in existence. I just wanted to see them kiss (again), I’m sorry.

[easypeasylindyvesey]

I Think it’s Strange We Never Knew: Jimmy Vesey x fem!OC

Summary: After the unforeseen death of Abby’s boyfriend, one of the NHL’s star defenseman and her teammate, she severely struggles with managing her grief. She confides in Jimmy Vesey, who is not only another teammate of hers, but is one of the very few people she has a strong friendship with. That is until that night and the days that followed. Does this life-altering news change the trajectory of their personal perceptions of each other? Or does it entail a chance of crossing boundaries for the risk of moving on?

Word Count: 15,077

*(General) Warnings: (foul) language, mentions/discussion of death, suicide attempt (brief, closed door description), eventual confession of feelings, grief, panic attack(s), angst, eventual sexual implications but no smut, age gap

*Note: This story takes place in the future. Abby is 24-25 and Jimmy is 33-35.

OCTOBER 2027 (Warnings: foul language, angst (LOTS of it, mainly toward the end), consumption of alcohol, choking, jimmy still in his emotionally unavailable era)

‘October is about trees revealing colors they’ve hidden all year. People have an October as well.’

It’s safe to say Jimmy hasn’t fully unleashed his yet.

His moments come and go. They’re far and few between, but if you catch him at the wrong time, you’re in for a rude awakening.

Not to mention the fact he moved his box. Yes, I checked whenever he left the apartment. It didn’t matter if it was only 5 minutes. He obviously took huge offense to it. I’m not really sure why, but it set him off quite a bit to make that change. We haven’t brought it up since. I’ve just become more aware of how even I can’t be trusted not to invade his space.

He hasn’t explicitly stated that to me, but it’s just a reasonable inference. There’s plenty of shit I haven’t explicitly stated to him either. But, as already mentioned, it’s going to come out one way or another. Don’t know when, don’t know how, don’t know the damage it’ll do.

What I do know is he can’t hold all of it in forever. I’ve always seen him as someone with a calm demeanor, never raises his voice, trying to find ways to intervene to benefit the people involved in an argument.

I guess you could say for right now, it’s him vs. me.

And he’s sure as hell not winning.

Preseason has wrapped up, so we’re spending the last of our free time doing our best to relax.

I think I’d feel better if I didn’t drink a cup of coffee every single day, but I started buying hot chocolate because it’s getting chilly out. Fall and spring are my favorite seasons. They’re different in their own ways, but it’s the same feelings I get to process.

While this fall will not be like any others, the leaves will remind me that sometimes, change is good.

Which explains the current process of taring open a packet of french vanilla hot chocolate mix as the breeze flows through the living room windows, the bleak weather dampening not only everything outside, but my chances of even trying to get through to Jimmy.

The standoffishness has not disappeared, nor has it emerged from another place, if not his head, but it does lead back to yet being in another rut. I’m not sure if he wants nothing to do with me, in hopes his attitudes will pass on, but if you really think about it, he’s having a hard time trying to figure out who to open up to. It’s definitely not me anymore.

I’m mixing my hot chocolate mix in my mug, being careful with trying not to spill any on the counter. I hear footsteps creak across the wood floor. I don’t even need to look up to know he’s staring at me, probably judging, for all I know. “Abb, it ain’t even cold enough for that yet,” he says.

“You sure you don’t wanna drink it?” I suggest. “Perhaps it’d warm your heart up.”

He decides to take the high road and not respond. 

“The fuck do you care so much about what I do?” I continue throwing a shot at him, still not looking up.

“It’s just common sense,” he argues back.

I grip my hands on the counter, lifting up my head to be met with his death glare. The one that is so, unfortunately, familiar.

“Common sense would be talking about how you feel.” I turn my back toward him, mug in hand.

“Feel about what?”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “About how I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“At first if you don’t succeed…” He trails off.

“I’m not gonna try again,” I feel the need to remind him.

“I was going to say you’d deflect it on to someone else, but hey, that reassures me.”

I want to drop my mug on the floor and break it on purpose. I really want to reenact the night where I broke the glass cup. But I know that won’t do me any good.

Doing my best to focus on the task at hand, I turn on the stove to warm up the milk in the saucepan. At this rate, I want to burn down this apartment. That can give him the chance to know how it feels to lose something extremely important to you. He’ll care about it this time.

“Careful not to burn the milk,” I hear Jimmy say from behind me, only to step back and feel my entire body tense up, as he decided to stand over me, watching the milk move around. I don’t know what he’s trying to get at. He’s the one that apparently needs space, so he’ll come and invade mine. Got it.

“No, I will,” I tell him, digging my heel into his ankle, signaling him to back away.

But he doesn’t. “Then that’d be a waste of a packet.” His sock brushes up against my foot.

I turn around to face him so he can get the fuck out of my way, but my elbow makes contact with the handle on the pan, and what does it do, in casual fashion?

It spills.

Right onto my feet. Scalding hot.

“The fucking hell did you just do?!” I yell, tears brimming my eyelids. I turn around and turn off the stove, pain already spreading on my foot. “God, it fucking burns!” I hold onto the refrigerator door for leverage, an audible shriek escaping my mouth. It’s incredibly red. I can feel the blisters forming as I keep my eyes shut in hoping it’ll hurt less.

Jimmy’s hand finds mine hanging onto the door, moving it down to my side so he can open the fridge and retrieve a bag of ice from the freezer portion. His fingers are still lightly attached to my own. “Sit,” he tells me. 

Reluctantly, I sit on the floor between the fridge and the oven, watching him bend down and meet me on my eye level, placing the ice down on my left foot, clenching my hands into fists to brace the contact. I can’t help but start to cry.

“Abb, I’m sor-”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss, staring at him through my teary-eyed glasses. “This-this gotta get fucking bandaged now, hell, it could fucking scar. Yeah, let’s add another one to the collection.”

“I-”

“Why the hell were you even towering over me in the first place?” I feel that’s a necessary place to start.

And as per usual, I don’t get an answer. His hand is still pressing down on the bag of ice.

“What is wrong?” My voice cracks. “Seriously, Jim, What is wrong?”

“I-”

“Don’t you dare tell me you don’t know.”

He sighs. “I don’t know.”

I lean my head back against the wall and then lift it back up. “Yes, you do.”

I can feel him take the glasses off my face and place them down on the floor. 

I can feel his thumb gently brush underneath my eyelids to wipe away the stained tears. I don’t move.

“Abby, I really don’t know.”

I sniff loudly. “Do you want to talk to someone?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “No.” He looks away and then back to me. “You can’t fix it.”

“Fix what?”

“This.”

I stare at him again. The pain is still there, but not as evident. “I’m not following.”

“Never mind.”

“Jim-”

“I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

My heart stops as I readjust my sitting position on the floor. He can sense my shock.

He shakes his head. “No, no, not in that way. I just…I don’t know. I just can’t be in this headspace anymore.”

I am so confused.

“I think it’s time you move out.”

I can feel my mouth gape open. “Hey-”

“I really can’t deal with having to micromanage you. It’s every day. I’m walking on eggshells just to make sure you don’t fall into the cracks. It is exhausting. You are exhausting.”

Another round of tears well up in my eyes, but they don’t creep out.

“I think it’s gotten to the point where I need this back to myself. These last 7 months have had me waste my extra space. Waste my extra room. Waste my energy. God, Abb, I am so sick of this.”

“But,” my voice cracks again, “but you said I could stay as long as I needed to.”

“It’s been long enough, don’t you think?” I look into his eyes. They’re not filled with any regret.

I’m struggling to even get one word to escape my mouth. I can’t even figure out where this is coming from. 

I start to become more aware of the ice, the bitter cold sensation digging into my foot. I’ve somewhat attempted to recollect myself. “You can’t just kick me out.”

“It’s my apartment,” Jimmy argues, “and I pay for the rent, and the groceries, and pretty much everything else on top of that, which means I’m paying for an extra room that I really don’t need.”

I roll my eyes. “Then you should’ve just gotten one bedroom. It was your idea to have a spare.”

“I didn’t think it’d be occupied for seven months,” he deadpans.

“Should’ve thought long-term,” I mumble.

He stands up and I watch him walk into the bathroom and turn on the light, returning not longer than a minute later with an unopened pack of athletic wrap and neosporin. He sits down across from me, his back leaning against the bottom of the kitchen counter. Unscrewing the cap of the neosporin, he dabs some onto his index and middle finger before moving it ever so slightly on my foot. It clenches as a reaction.

“Try not to move it,” he says quietly. “Gotta give it time to work.”

I look out the living room window, watching the blue sky start to peak out of the clouds. Even they’re trying to break free from something they want to escape. That’s what he’s trying to do to me.

We sit in silence as he continues applying neosporin on the burns, moving so swiftly, so delicately like he’s repairing the glass I almost broke over his head. I’m sure if he was serious about me leaving, he’d tell me to take care of this myself. Instead, he’s doing it for me, perhaps to atone for his mistakes.

It becomes a little more uncomfortable once he’s wrapping the bandage around my foot, but I’d rather not rush his craft. Because again, he could’ve left me there in the same way he could’ve left me on the bathroom floor. 

And in front of the fireplace.

And in the hotel room itself.

And at the restaurant.

He could’ve left me in the hospital the first time. I’d have to find a way to get home.

He could’ve left me in the hospital the second time. I’d be left alone with people I didn’t know.

He had the choice to not take me in. It’s not like I ever imposed on purpose. It’s not like I knew I’d be living with him, let alone altering his future.

Whatever he’s doing, the passing of the blame and the failure to open up, I can’t tell if it’s all because of me or if there’s another underlying factor. Hell, there could be more than one.

But as he looks at me, those eyes holding a perceived softness, trimming the bandage with the kitchen scissors, trying to be so accurate, and so precise.

He’d know what he’d be giving up if I walked out.

He places the scissors on the floor and it snaps me out of my trance. “All done,” he tells me, extending his hand. “Need help getting up?”

I shake my head, propping myself on my hands and standing up before wobbling on my right foot. I walk down a couple feet to pick up my glasses off the floor, putting them back on my face. I turn back around to see him cleaning out the saucepan and taking out the milk from the fridge.

“What are you doing?”

He looks at me, the gallon of milk in hand. “Making you a new cup since I fucked up the first one.” That stupid smirk appears on the curve of his mouth. He points over to the couch with his free hand. “Go sit down and I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

I don’t even have the energy to retort against him. I say it quietly. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, Abb, I am so, so sorry.” By quick examination of his face, I know he means it. I’m sure.

I nod and don’t engage in it any further, hobbling over to the couch and sitting down in the middle, reaching for the remote in hopes the noise will filter out what’s happening behind me. I listen to the click of the burner, the pouring of the milk, the rustling around of the cabinets, the occasional deep exhales. If this is what it’s going to be like after every accident, every fuck-up, every argument, then yeah. Count me in.

I’ve chosen to immerse myself in watching “The Office”, only because it’s a perfect mix of comedy and seriousness (well, at least when it wants to be). The stove shuts off, which alerts me in knowing the milk is done being heated up. The sound of a cup glides across the counter and I hear the taring of the hot chocolate packet and it being poured into the cup, along with the milk. After the occasional stirring of the contents with what I would assume is a utensil, I hear those heavy footsteps of his make their way onto the wood floor, stretching out his arm, cup in hand. 

I give him a tiny smile. I hope he’s able to notice the hint of apology in there.

“Don’t drink it just yet,” Jimmy says. “Don’t want you burning your tongue too.”

I place the cup on the coffee table. “Yeah, well, that burn would go away a lot quicker.”

The couch becomes heavier as he sits down. A long sigh escapes his lips as he makes himself comfortable. Technically, he’s manspreading, and that’s always a dangerous position for a man to ever sit in.

“You’re not having breakfast?” I turn to him, examining his posture and awaiting his answer.

“It’s already past 10.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s still early. You got any bagels in the fridge?”

He laughs. “Nah, I, uh, I haven’t gotten around to buying any.”

Shaking my head, I return back to my original sitting position. “What a shame.”

He looks down at my legs, perking his head back up. “You should elevate that foot,” he instructs. 

I look around, pretending as if I’m expecting the common sense to fall out of the sky. “Yeah, where am I gonna put it? Can’t damage the table with the smudges. Plus, it’d start to smell.”

“I doubt the smell would even leak through the bandage.” He reaches behind him to retrieve the pillow located in the corner and tosses it to me. “Put that on there instead. No smudging or anything.”

I raise my eyebrows in skepticism. “Not with your sweaty self hogging it.”

He sputters out a laugh. “Hey, I literally just sat down. I haven’t done a damn thing yet.”

“Not that I know of,” I respond, taking the pillow in my hands and relocating it to the table. Propping up my left leg, I would say it’s a little more comfortable, but the friction that results from the bandages doesn’t make it a current situation that would be considered desirable.

Continuing my awkward sitting position after readjusting the pillow, I reach for my hot chocolate and take a tiny sip. It’s not piping hot, but definitely warm enough to make my insides tingle. I can sense he’s watching me, waiting for a reaction. “It’s good,” I tell him. “You really underestimate your ability to be useful in the kitchen.” I put the cup back on the coffee table. “You’ve got potential.”

“I’ll have you know I wouldn’t be able to survive here if I couldn’t cook any of the bare minimum meals.” He leans his head on the back of the couch, giving me a good look at his side profile.

“Yet it’s ironic you don’t have bagels in the fridge,” I retort back.

“Would you let it go already?” Jimmy asks. “There’s plenty of other crap in there we can feast on.”

“Name one thing,” I ask.

I’m met with a turn of the head and a blank stare. “Beer.”

I can’t help but snort. “You are so unserious.” I fixate my focus on the TV.

“Hey, life’s too short to be uptight,” he retorts back. “We’re both aware of that by now.”

I drown out the sounds of Michael and Dwight less than 5 feet away from me. “Yeah,” I say quietly.

“I know I can seem a little controlling at times, but seriously, Abb, it’s because I care. Even when I give you a hard time. I’m just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need you to,” I feel the need to confirm.

“And I know that,” he says back, more in a cautious way. “But at least you have me in case you do need me.”

“But I-”

“I know you don’t. Just accept it, Abb, kay? You’re never getting rid of me.”

I cock my head. “Is that so?”

“Trust me. A year from now, I’ll invite you over and we can watch games together. Make a night out of it.”

Now I give him a side-eye. “And how do you think that night would end?”

He notices my interpretation of that sentence because his cheeks start to flush, just in the slightest, putting it mildly. “I, I didn’t-”

I interrupt him with a laugh. “Would you relax, dude? I know you didn’t mean it like that. Besides, I’ll probably have moved on by then, so I can just go jump another man’s bones.”

A large grin appears on my face as his mouth falters open. “Well.” He clears his throat. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

I nod. “You’ll have your girlfriend taking over the guest room anyway.”

“I wouldn’t be too certain on that yet,” Jimmy repeats for what I feel is the millionth time.

Shaking my head, I return my complete focus to the TV. “I’m still shocked you’re not cuffed yet.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna die alone, that’s all,” he responds.

“Would you cut it out with that?” I exasperatedly sigh, rolling my eyes. “You’re gonna have someone. Trust me.”

He scoffs. “I’m supposed to trust you?”

I know to take that as a joke, so I do. “Hey, if I had someone, you can, too.”

Now it’s Jimmy’s turn to shake his head. “It’s not that easy.”

I reach for my hot chocolate and take a sip. It’s already lukewarm, but I don’t care. “Tell me about it,” I say in agreement.

We spend a little while watching TV in silence, giving ourselves time to somewhat decompress. I feel it’s something we haven’t been able to do together recently. I’m glad we get the chance to now.

As I’m cleaning out my mug in the sink after sitting for so long, I come up with a question to ask him. “Do you know what you’re doing for Halloween yet?”

I hear him sucking in a breath over the running water. I catch his response as I turn it off. “I don’t, no,” he says in that monotone voice of his. “I don’t really care about Halloween.”

“I don’t care either, but we’re still planning on going out, right? Or do you wanna just sit in the apartment and watch ‘Hocus Pocus’?” I hold the soapy mug in my hand and turn around to see his swiveled head facing me.

“I mean, I’m all good with ‘Hocus Pocus,’ he says. “Not like we’re gonna get trick-or-treaters anyway.”

“You’re not gonna stop from buying yourself the mini Snickers, are you?” I flash him a tight-lipped, devious grin.

The beginning formation of his smirk emerges. “No. No, I’m not.”

I finish rinsing out the mug and put it back in the cabinet. I trudge along the floor, dragging my bandaged foot along. I stand in the space that I consider the overlap of the kitchen and living room as Jimmy stands up and takes the remote with him, muting the TV before turning to look at me again. He gestures down to my foot. “We’ll revisit that in a few hours, okay? If it starts to itch or it’s to the point where you can’t move it or even walk, you have to let me know.”

I deter my focus to the movement on the television. “I don’t want another ER trip,” I tell him, not quite looking at him in the eye.

“We will if you can’t move it,” he says, turning around and taking the pillow from the coffee table and tossing it back on the couch. “Just keep it elevated, change the bandaging every 3, maybe 4 hours, and we’ll go from there. It’s a temporary fix.”

I cast a sad gaze over to his line of sight. “Yeah. Could’ve been prevented, too.”

Not giving him the opportunity at having the last word, I slightly hobble toward my room, shut my door, and hop over to my bed and elevate my foot on yet another pillow, wishing I had a strong enough painkiller to knock me out, literally and perhaps figuratively, out of this current, irreversible state.

-----

The locker room is in high spirits after an opening night win. Everyone’s smiling, cracking jokes, raising the volume on the Bluetooth speaker to its highest altitude, secretly in hopes we all suffer from temporary hearing loss.

I happen to be the only one staring across at his locker, wishing he would be here to celebrate with us.

I know he’s here. Just not in the way I want him to be.

Everyone, for the most part, has already showered and changed back into their arrival outfits. I’m sitting in my uncomfortable heels, waiting for Jimmy to be finished with his shower so we can drive home. I’m too exhausted to shower here, and besides, I feel more comfortable doing it in an actual bathroom. It’s not like anyone’s gonna accidentally walk in on me, but I would rather not entertain the thought.

The room starts to become quieter as some of the guys start filtering out, going to meet up with their girlfriends/wives and go home with them. Can’t imagine how that feels anymore.

And so it leaves me and the rest of the staff, quietly perusing around, collecting the jerseys, the towels, anything that could’ve been dispersed during that celebration. I lean back in my stall and wait for him to emerge from the back hallway. Although, I could just take his keys and go sit in the Jeep until he’s done. It saves me the aggravation, along with my sanity.

It’s only a few short moments that I hear footsteps emerge from said hallway, but the voice doesn’t match Jimmy’s. “What are you still doin here?” It asks me.

I force myself out of my slumping sitting position and turn my body and am met with Will. In terms of nicknames, I call him Kool-Aid Man. It’s kind of a take on his last name, but I thought it was funny, so I kept it.

“Waiting for Jim,” I say, watching him walk across the locker room to his stall.

“Yeah, he just got out. Shouldn’t be too long.” He starts sorting through his gear bag.

A quick moment of silence. I don’t talk to Will often, but from what I’ve picked up on, he’s a nice guy, and he has a cat. I haven’t met him, but from the pictures I’ve seen, you can tell he’s adored and cared for. It’s almost a mutual bond, I guess? Like, we’re there for each other, but not in the way Jimmy and I are.

“You played great tonight,” I speak up, shifting in my stall.

Will looks in my direction, sitting in his stall and bending down to put on his socks. “Thanks,” he says. “So did you.”

I give him the tiniest bit of smiles. “How have you been holding up, you know, with everything?”

He seems a little taken aback by the question. “I mean, it’s still sad, don’t get me wrong,” he starts, “but we’re gonna work with it.”

I am so glad he said work with it rather than work through it. Now that’s a man careful with his words. Jimmy could learn a thing or two from him.

I nod. “Yeah. Just gonna take a little while.”

He stands up, walking away from his side of the locker room. “You want me to hang with you until Jim comes out?”

“No need for that,” a different voice protrudes, more clicking of dress shoes against the carpet. “Thanks, though, man.”

Will nods. “Sure thing. You, uh, you guys get home safe, ‘kay?”

“Of course,” Jimmy says before I even get the chance to. “You too.”

And with that, Will leaves, no look back or anything. “Night!” I hear him yell while down the hallway.

I stand up and wince in the slightest existence of pain. It’s mainly coming from my feet and these goddamn shoes. Grabbing my purse and phone, I stand up. “Now can we go?” I cock my head toward the open door.

Jimmy looks at me like I have five heads. “Yeah, Abb. We can go.” He says it with a combination of impatience and sarcasm. I can’t tell which way he’s leaning.

“OhmyGod, we can?” I retort back. “I thought you were gonna leave me here!” I dance across the carpet in my heels, exiting the locker room and speedwalking down the somewhat dark hallway, waiting for him to catch up as we head down toward the parking garage.

“When are you gonna fuck off with that shit?” I hear him say from behind me.

“When you stop threatening to do it,” I answer back. 

I don’t hear a witty response come from him. Haha, gotcha!

The temperature literally plummets as we approach the garage, and the first thing that stands out is a gray Jeep parked underneath one of the lights. It’s shining the brightest it can that it almost blinds me.

The door unlocks and we both get into our respective seats. I listen to the engine turn over and voices of a late-night radio show make their presence known over the display screen. I find it oddly soothing.

With our luck, the garage doors haven’t closed yet, so we’re able to leave easily and grace the streets of Manhattan with our presence. Even though it’s after 10:30pm. Even though I’d rather be falling asleep.

Next to him.

As he’s touching my face. As he’s running his hand through my hair.

As I get to see his smile appear on his face, so soft and reserved, like it’s just for me.

As we talk for as long as both our minds can function before we pass out.

And I can wake up the next morning to remember he’s still sleeping next to me, quiet as a mouse, feet outstretched over the end of the mattress.

As I watch him sleep until he wakes on his own.

Then he finally wakes, presses a sleepy kiss to my head, and we both agree to have breakfast.

And we’ll chat some more and eat before he leaves to go back to his apartment.

But now, I can’t do that.

I mean, I could. 

But as it’s already been known, that relationship is irreplicable.

For right now, I’ve found comfort in that.

I walk through the apartment door and the first thing I do is take off my heels and painfully walk across the floor into my room, flinging them into my closet and taking a random T-shirt off a hanger and a random pair of sweats from the drawer. Walking on my tippy toes at this point, given the status of the heels of my feet and its red, sore, already breaking out into blister areas, there’s not much I can do to relieve the pain I’m feeling, both physically and emotionally.

I’ve stepped one foot onto the bathroom floor before realizing I forgot underwear. Shit.

I turn around and somewhat lose my balance, the peeled skin on my heel making contact with the wall, as I yelp out in agonizing pain, tears probably about to brim my eyes.

The sound of footsteps emerges out from the room next door. Jimmy’s already changed into his pajamas. His hair is pretty much setting the standard for bedtime too. He looks down at my foot and then back at me. “You’re bleeding.”

I just stand there.

He reaches past me to turn on the bathroom light, pointing to the toilet seat. “Go sit,” he says.

I oblige on his behalf because I really don’t think it’s necessary to piss him off right now. I hobble into the bathroom, sitting down and lifting up my foot.

The cabinet underneath the sink opens and he reaches in, pulling out a washcloth and bending back up to turn on the water, running it cold until it’s at least halfway damp. The faucet handle turns off and he crouches down again, taking my foot in his hands, like he’s trying to fit Sleeping Beauty’s missing glass slipper on me, given with how gentle he’s being, dabbing the blood off my heel and any excess that might’ve trickled down the rest of it.

I grip my hands on the toilet seat. Not too tightly, but not too light, either. I can feel my knuckles protrude out of my hands.

“You okay?” He looks up at me, the light providing such a nice, comforting shade to his eyes.

I shake my head. “This shit just never fucking ends. I’ve busted up both feet now.”

Jimmy scoffs. “You can still put them to good use.” He drops the washcloth on the floor and goes back into the cabinet, emerging with witch hazel and a cotton ball. He shakes the bottle and lets a couple drops fall onto the cotton ball, pressing it to my foot, and I can feel the right side of my body flinch as it reacts to the stinging sensation.

“You’re okay,” he says quietly, reapplying the cotton ball with more witch hazel to tend to the other blisters on that foot before moving to the other one. “Just take a breath for a minute.”

I breathe in through my nose, but I don’t let it escape my mouth. I don’t want him to see that side of me right now. I’ve already had too much weakness escape my body at this point.

The stinging continues to shine on both my feet. “It really hurts.” I can’t help but have that developing lump in my throat transform into a voice crack.

“I know, I know.” He reapplies more witch hazel. “Doing so good, yeah? Almost done here.”

I groan. “You’re taking forever.”

He laughs. “You really want these things to become blood blisters? You’ll be in immeasurable pain that you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“It’s already past 11,” I tell him. “I’m not getting any damn sleep.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re off tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll remind myself to let you sleep in.”

I can feel a grimace slide across my face. “Good. You don’t wanna be around a cranky Abby.”

He visibly retaliates. “Oh, trust me, I’ve already dealt with her. She’s not that nice.”

That causes me to crack a smile. “Yeah, I don’t think I’d wanna meet her.”

The witch hazel makes its way back into the cabinet and out comes the bottle of aloe vera. “Everything else about her is great, though.”

I smile again, then look down at the aloe vera, and then back to him. I give him a dumbfounded look. “Really?”

“You’re gonna be uncomfortable all night if you don’t get some relief. Come on. Bare with me here. The hard part’s over.”

What’s the hard part in this scenario?

The same routine is executed, only this time, I feel more relieved as the cool gel travels over my blisters that I’m almost convinced I can sink deeper into how I’m sitting. It feels so nice, so relaxing. 

I can feel him staring at me. “Better?” he says, with a little bit of hesitancy in his voice.

I nod. “Yeah.” I take a pause. “Thank you.”

He puts away the aloe vera and shuts the cabinet door. “No need.” 

As he stands up and leaves me alone in the bathroom, I feel like I have to call out for him to get his attention.

Only for him to come back with my pajamas that I forgot were sitting on my bed. He stands in the doorway, only crossing over a few inches. I reach out my hand so I can take ownership of them. I look up. “I forgot underwear.”

He laughs, stepping back out and I hear the sounds of him rummaging through my drawers, once again coming back with a pink pair of undies, hanging them in front of my eyes, moving it like a pendulum.

I rip it out of his hands, throwing it underneath my sweatpants. “Bet that’s the first time you ever did that, huh?” 

He shrugs with that sarcastic body posture of his. “Just wanted to see how it felt.”

I stand up from the toilet seat and walk the short distance to the tub, turning on the water, waiting for it to warm up. “Get out of here.”

He puts his hands up in self-defense, slowly backing up and out of the bathroom. “Let’s not have you fall in there. Now that would be an embarrassing ER trip.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Don’t put it out there. He could be listening.”

With his large hand leaning on the doorframe, he leans in while his body is fully out in the hallway. “He always is.” I’m met with yet another wink from him, and off he goes into his room, shutting the door.

The water starts spewing out of the shower head and I quickly undress so I can get this done quickly, given how it’s almost midnight, and to save myself the pain that my feet will be experiencing. God, they’ve really taken a brunt recently.

Turns out when you take a lukewarm shower, it doesn’t really hurt too much. I rush through my routine because if I’m being honest, I just want to go to bed. I just want to sleep. I just want to escape through the use of my own head.

And it can’t happen any quicker if I take forever. I turn off the water and carefully step out so that I don’t trip. Reaching for my towel on the sink,  I dry off and change into my pajamas, moisturize, reapply aloe, brush my hair, and clean off my glasses before turning off the bathroom light and opening the door, standing in the middle of the doorway. It’s completely dark, the only light illuminating from the streetlights outside. I turn my head to the right. His door is closed and the lights are off. 

I’m not mad. I didn’t expect him to wait up anyway. As a matter of fact, I don’t really expect much from him at all.

I walk blindly into my room. Luckily, it’s easier to see since I forgot to close my curtains and I’m guided by another streetlight. I toss my towel into my laundry basket, along with my outfit, and across the room to pull my curtains toward each other, submerging myself in all black. I always had a tiny nightlight in my room. Ever since I’ve been staying here, I’ve adjusted without one. I think it’s ironic. I gotta grow up.

I brought a bag of cotton balls and the bottle of aloe vera with me so that God forbid I have to reapply throughout the night, I don’t have to make several trips. I place them on my nightstand and it knocks over my picture frame onto the floor. I pick it up and turn it around.

I feel like I just got hit by a truck again.

It’s still our picture of us at the football game. 

I thought I put that away. I thought I buried it with all his things.

God. Have I really been oblivious this entire time?

How the hell could I have forgotten it was there?

I guess you could say I’m moving on a lot quicker than I thought I was.

I’m not sure if he’d be too thrilled about that.

Me? 

Well. Let’s just say it’s necessary.

Instead of going over to my closet and putting the picture in his box, and instead of putting it in the accompanying nightstand drawers, I let it spin on the floor underneath my bed.

Eventually, it’s going to collect dust.

Primarily, that’s the entire purpose.

--------

I’ve smudged my lipstick for the third time now. Being confined to the bathroom is not really fun anymore. I want to go all out. After all, it is the scariest day of the year.

Halloween.

Like Jimmy, I’ve never been a huge fan of the holiday. I guess my dislike started several years ago. I don’t know. I just find it a little boring. I can’t go trick-or-treating anymore, so for the past two years, and what’s about to be the third, I resort to the second option.

Parties.

And again, I’m not even a fan of parties. They’re overstimulating, too crowded, difficult to maintain a conversation when a bunch of other people keep infiltrating in it, too much alcohol (in this case, it’d have to be consumed in moderation), and I would always feel bad for Ryan because I would, 75% of the time, cling to him all night. He didn’t mind it. He swore he didn’t. Unfortunately, I got one year out of that.

I’ve already found who I’ll be clinging to this year.

I’m startled by a knock at the door. “You okay in there?” 

“Yep!” I say over the other side. “I’m almost done.”

“Hope so,” Jimmy nags. “Laf’s gonna be here in 20 minutes. You know how he doesn’t really like waiting around.”

“Then I’ll blame him if I end up ripping my costume if I’m being rushed,” I answer back.

“It just occurred to me that I have no idea what your costume is,” he says. “You never even told me when you came back from Spirit Halloween.”

“I think that was the whole point,” I say, moving to applying my foundation. “The element of surprise.”

“Is it gonna cause me to have a stroke?”

I laugh. “Nah. It’s not that great anyway. Kinda a last resort thing.”

“I see.” I hear his footsteps depart from the door, but he’s still talking. “I’ve already got mine.”

I furrow my eyebrows in the mirror. “And what are you dressed up as?”

“The element of surprise,” he mocks back. 

I ignore that retort and concentrate on getting my makeup done and to the best extent I possibly can. The hair is already done, courtesy of the curling iron. The costume is already on. I’m not wearing it to impress anyone. That is not the goal this year. I would’ve loved to get Ryan’s reaction out of it. He probably wouldn’t be able to function, stealing those glances all night, and wanting to act on it once the party ended. 

I don’t think we’d be able to escape the car unscathed from that aftermath.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I decide my effort is at its best and I put all my makeup back in my container and put it in the cabinet underneath the sink. I look at the costume from every angle. On the one hand, it does not feel like me. But on the other hand, it feels like an entirely new version of me.

I think I’m willing to embrace it now. 

And so I begin that by opening the door and turning the light off, hearing the sounds of my boots clobber across the floor and stopping near the couch. I look over, but I don’t find Jimmy there.

Instead, I find him sitting on the miniature couch by the fireplace in the corner. It’s not turned on, so I just analyze his crooked yet relaxed posture before I see his head whip around and look at me straight in the eyes. That ‘deer in the headlights’ look is easily reflected. He finally sputters out a sentence. “That is not a last resort costume,” he says, almost along the lines of disbelief.

Giving him a smug smile back, I walk over to the kitchen counter. “Surprise.”

I’m a witch. Yes, that sounds incredibly unoriginal, incredibly boring. The costume get-up, however, is not.

A set of fishnet tights, thigh-high black boots, long-sleeve black coquette mini dress, and a black wool knit witch hat. Of course, I can’t forget my broom. That, however, is not black. I decided to put some life into my costume, so it’s purple. I finally nailed the makeup look. It’s not totally heavy, but recognizable enough.

I’ve still got the man gawked. I look over at his costume. I laugh once again. “What are you supposed to be?” 

He’s able to speak again, gesturing toward his costume. “I’m Harry Potter.”

And I laugh even harder once he admits it. “That is - that is too good.” I cover my face with my hands. “It’s so you. Like, combination of literal nerd and movie nerd. I love it.”

I can’t tell if he’s taking whatever I’m saying seriously. He’s currently hard to read. “I’m so glad you do,” he says, standing up and walking over to the counter. He retrieves a pair of round, brown glasses and puts them on.

Now it’s my turn to gawk again. I have never seen the man wear glasses. I won’t verbally admit it, but he does not look bad in them. Not in the slightest. I wouldn’t mind if he kept them around. “Okay, now you’re just cosplaying as a nerd,” I say while turning around, heading back to my room to grab my broom, phone, and purse.

“Is that what it is?” I hear Jimmy shout.

I emerge back into the kitchen. “That’s exactly how it’s always been.”

I receive an eye roll in return, a sarcastic one, and I linger back by the counter, hoping we can leave sooner rather than later. I feel we’ve just unlocked a new level of awkwardness. 

“You think you would’ve done a matching couples costume this year?” he asks. He takes off the glasses.

“Maybe,” I tell him honestly. “Would’ve been a lot more fun.”

“Hey, we could’ve matched.”

I lower my stare at him. “No. That’s just weird.”

He seems a little let down by that statement, but it’s true. I don’t want to go out in a public setting somewhat having similar costumes and then everyone else around us starts to speculate. Not only would we be uncomfortable, but it would come with nonstop talk. I don’t want that for me, or him.

“Sorry. It’s just-”

“I know,” he replies. “You don’t gotta explain.”

I’m not sure whether to give him a tiny smile, but I force myself not to, and once I hear Jimmy’s phone alert us with a notification, me going under the assumption that Alexis’s waiting outside, I bolt out the door and leave him there alone. I’m looking to prevent an argument that we don’t need.

I make my way in the elevator, go down the 4 floors, and walk quickly out of the apartment entrance area and out into the parking lot, where I notice a large black Cadillac and hear an elongated honk, scaring the crap out of me as I walk toward it. 

I put my hand on the passenger door handle and open it, hoping I claim full ownership of the shotgun position. But when I fully swing the door open, there’s someone already sitting there.

It’s Will. He flashes me a surprised look. “Hey, Abb!” he says with a surprisingly large amount of enthusiasm. For all I know, he could be buzzed. “Love the costume.”

I keep my hand gripped on the door handle. “Thanks. I, uh, I didn’t know Laf was, uh, driving you.” That’s my cue to look over at Alexis in the drivers seat.

“Yeah, it was a last minute thing,” Alexis says. “Figured I got room anyway, so why not? That’s okay with you, right?”

I nod. “Yeah. yeah, that’s okay.” I take a pause. “What are you guys supposed to be?”

“I’m an axe thrower,” Will says. “My axe, well, I should say, my fake axe, is in the trunk.”

I think that’s a great fit for him. Not trying to stir the pot or anything, but he does have nice arms.

“I’m Mario,” Alexis deadpans, and I laugh for what feels like the third time in the last 15 minutes.

“That is honestly such a great idea,” I say. “It suits you. I can actually see the vision.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m gonna win best costume of the night,” he responds. “Although you might be a close contender for second place.”

I nod. “Second is the best, so…” I trail off.

“Anyway, you can hop on in,” Alexis tells me. “Where the hell is Funny?” That’s his nickname for Jimmy.

“He’s coming,” I say as I shut Will’s door and open the one that leads into the back. I take the seat behind him and shut it, putting down my broom and resting my phone and purse in my lap. For whatever reason, I start to feel the tiniest bit anxious. I’m not sure if I’m able to explain it. I think it’s because this is the first major holiday I don’t get to celebrate with him. Thanksgiving next month is probably going to be even worse.

If I can go all night without thinking of him (well, actually, most of the night), I’ll be able to say that I had fun.

The three of us see Jimmy making his way toward the car, motioning over to my side and opening up the door to see me already sitting there. “Oops,” I tell him sarcastically.

His ‘deer in the headlights’ look has regained full control on his face, and so without saying anything, he shuts it and walks over to the other side, opening up the left door. He steps in and shuts it closed. “What’s up, Laf?” 

“And me,” Will chimes in from the passenger seat.

A perplexed look becomes evident on Jimmy’s face. “Oh, hey. I didn’t even know you were in here. My bad.”

“All good,” he says casually. “Let’s go have some fun.”

Alexis shifts the car into drive and we leave the parking lot and out onto the street, where it’s already busier than usual. Nothing beats holiday traffic in New York City, I’ll tell you that much.

We engage in casual conversation while driving to the bar. Actually, it’s more of the men in the car than myself. I can feel the twinge of sadness starting to kick in. I have to keep reminding myself: Do not let this ruin your night.

Mustang Harry’s is having a Halloween party. Dinner, dancing, a costume contest, music, the whole thing. It’s been one of our go-to spots for awhile now. It never disappoints. Tonight should be no different.

As we make our way there, barely moving steadily in the traffic congestion, Alexis pipes up from the drivers seat. “Obviously, I’ll be the DD tonight, so if you guys wanna go ahead and drink, you can. Just don’t get too drunk to the point where you’re gonna vomit everywhere, technically in here, because, well, that’s obviously no fun. But yeah, I ain’t stopping ya.”

My entire body tenses. I’m not sure if Jimmy can sense it since he’s sitting right next to me, but I might just jump out of the car right now. That’s if I had any willpower.

“I don’t drink anyway, so it doesn’t apply to me.” It comes off a little harsh.

It’s quiet for a few seconds before Alexis responds. “Fuck, Abb, I’m sorry. It was - It was just a general statement. Just throwing it out there.”

“I know,” I huff. Then I sigh loudly, more embarrassed than pissed off at myself. “It’s fine. I’m sorry for copping an attitude.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Will interjects. “We’re not gonna hold it against you.”

“I’m so glad,” I say sarcastically. “Better that no lives end tonight out of all nights.”

And now I’ve initiated the silence for the rest of the drive, but luckily, it’s not too long of suffering as we’re able to find a spot on the street and park a couple blocks down, getting out of the car and walking together into the bar. Well, restaurant/bar, if you’d like to be precise.

It’s a little after 6, so it’s not incredibly packed yet, so I guess you could say we beat the rush. The four of us stay together as we head toward the back in search of our table. We notice that nobody else has arrived yet, so we make ourselves comfortable in our booths, me and Will on one side and Alexis and Jimmy on the other. I don’t know what is going on with Jimmy’s face, but he does not look happy to be here.

Or is it because he’s not happy that a certain someone is?

I try to distract myself through the menu. “Are we waiting for everyone else to get here to order?” I ask.

“I’m not waiting,” Alexis says, opening the menu flaps, scanning it with his eyes from top to bottom. “They’ll catch up. They’re not missing out if they’re late, anyway.”

I nod, thankful I was able to receive that answer back because I am starving. I’m unsure of what to order. There are so many good options. They even have a personalized menu for Halloween, so it’s only fitting if I stick to that. The ambience of this place is incredible, like I’ve transported to another world.

Our server comes by and takes our drinks and appetizers order. We plan on starting out light so we’re not already halfway through our meal once they get here. Besides, it gives us extra time to talk before we’ve got 20 other conversations going on at the same time and I can’t even fixate on one.

I take a sip of my water before attempting to begin said conversation. “How’s Vinny treating you, Will?” I turn to look at him. “I’m surprised he hasn’t sent you on your way yet.”

He laughs. “No, he’s definitely gonna be doing it at some point. The hospitality is great, though. Seriously. They treat me well, I’ve got my own room, feels like I’ve been accepted into their family, kinda like a big brother. Something to that effect.”

“You looking around the area?” I continue. “What’s your ideal situation, like an apartment, condo? Gonna go bold and buy an entire house?”

“He’s probably gonna buy the place in the busiest part of Tribeca,” Alexis jokes. “He’s the one to love all the noise.”

Another laugh escapes from Will’s mouth. “Yeah, I’m not really sure yet. I mean, an apartment would be ideal, but rent is outrageous nowadays. And a condo would be where I just buy it immediately and it’s mine forever, but then you have those HOA fees-”

“Tell me about it,” I interject. “They’re ridiculous, but it covers heat, air conditioning, uh, cable, electricity, and when you can’t even make it out the front door once you’ve been buried in a billion feet of snow, they come and shovel it for you. Same thing goes with raking leaves. And if something breaks, or stops working suddenly, they come and fix it. Of course, you’d have to pay for it, but you don’t have to go out of your way to call someone outside of the area. It’s honestly pretty convenient.”

“You got a condo?” Will asks.

“I do. It’s great. I love it.”

“If you loved it, you’d be living in it,” Jimmy finally speaks, his lips engulfing the rim of his beer. 

So, looks like it’s gonna be one of those nights.

Why does he do this? Why does he HAVE to do this? Why does he have to ruin EVERYTHING?

“Oh, that’s right,” Will says, pointing to me and then Jimmy. “You guys are living together.”

“Yup,” I muster.

“How’s it goin with that?” Damn. He sure loves to ask questions.

I open my mouth. “It’s fine-”

“I got an upcharge in my rent to pay for an extra room, but other than that, we’re tolerating it.” 

All I can do is give him a quick little death glare. Tolerating it? 

That’s one way to say you hate this arrangement. Good to know.

I return to spinning my straw in my water cup, reminding myself that he might be the tiniest bit affected by the alcohol right now. Not that it’s a huge deal if he drinks 1 beer, but if it becomes, let’s say, ten, his judgment is already impaired beyond belief.

Do not, my mind tells me, Do not let him prevent you from having fun tonight. 

“My apartment’s great,” Alexis jumps in, saving me from going to strangle Jimmy across the table. “I mean, it’s only me, but I love the complex.”

“Have you talked to your neighbor?” Jimmy vocalizes. “You know, the one that took Ryan’s apartment?” He shoots me a look.

“I have,” Alexis says, a little haltingly, looking over in my direction as well. “He’s a good dude. Quiet, responsible, we talk every so often whenever I’m there for longer than 2 days at this point.”

“Should’ve invited him here,” says Jimmy. “I’d like to know how he’s revamped the place.”

My heart stings.

“Yeah, I actually haven’t been inside it ever since he moved in, so I can’t really vouch for that,” Alexis responds. “But what I can tell you is that he does have a girlfriend, so he probably couldn’t have done that much.”

“You ever hear them fuckin around?” Okay, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him? He points to me. “You ever heard them fuckin around when she’d be over?” 

Alexis’ face, which is already red to begin with, invents a whole new shade of crimson. I can guarantee it’s because he’s embarrassed for me. “Uh, no, not really, to answer both questions. Most of the time, the three of us would hang out together, so…”

“Oh, yeah, I completely forgot about that.” Jimmy taps his fingers on the empty bottle. “Just wanted to rub it in, for what I can infer.” He stops a waiter walking past our table. “Could I get another beer, please?” 

“Absolutely,” the waiter responds joyfully, walking away.

“I heard the places in Flatbush are nice,” Will speaks, coming in to save the day. Thank goodness. “Maybe I’ll look for something around there.”

“Good,” Jimmy says. “Don’t forget to take her with you.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “Why would I move somewhere when I’ve already got my own place?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe so he can accompany you the next time you have to visit the ER.”

I stare in disbelief. I’ve never seen this side of him, consumed with beer, unable to articulate a rational thought.

By the grace of God, our appetizers make our way to the table, and we each order our entrees. I’m fortunate enough to occupy my mouth with chicken wings so I don’t have to react the way I want to.

And as if I couldn’t be any more grateful, a second group of the team shows up, making their way over to where we’re sitting. “What’s up, guys!” I hear Adam say, giving everyone at the table a quick fistbump.

I turn my head to look up and see Tate, to which I automatically break into a smile and stand up, giving her the tightest hug I possibly can. “It is so good to see you!” I exclaim with glee. “I love your costume!”

“Thanks!” Tate responds, pulling back from the hug. “Yours looks amazing!”

“I’m so glad you think so,” I say, batting my eyes back at Jimmy.

She takes the end seat at the table next to us so that we’re still able to talk, and Adam sits across from her. The rest of the squad chooses where they’d like to sit. Braden and his fiancė, Key and his girlfriend, Fil and his girlfriend, Chris, Mika, and Kaapo are the second and final arrival of the night. Everyone else decided to stay home and spend Halloween with their families, perhaps taking their kids out trick-or-treating.

“I thought you guys were gonna wait!” Adam says with joking accusation. He looks over at Alexis. “You liar!”

Alexis shrugs. “Should’ve gotten here at the time we told you, then.”

“God, traffic was insane,” Braden pipes up. “I’m sure it’ll be a lot better once we leave.”

“No one has a curfew, right?” says Jimmy.

Everyone bursts out into laughter, accepting that question as a joke. “Fuck on outta here, man,” Mika replies. 

Jimmy puts up his hands in self-defense. “I’m just sayin, Abby’s got a bedtime of 11, so we gotta make it speedy so that I don’t have to deal with her crankiness tomorrow.”

A few joking laughs sputter around here and there. None of them come from me.

------

A little over an hour later, everyone’s indulging in their meals, happy and content. Conversation bounces from table to table, but given with how loud it’s gotten, we stick to the people we can speak to without having to shout across. 

It is so difficult to even carry on a dialogue when Jimmy just finds any single way he can to interrupt it. He doesn’t even have a good reason. He’s sticking out like a thorn in my side. I’m this close to pulling it out and throwing it straight at his eye.

So I don’t give him the attention that he wants. He’s had 3 whole bottles of beer, but he’s starting to settle down and reach for the water instead. I guess he wants to be in a somewhat conscious state of mind for when I decide if I’m going to rip him a new one by the time we get home, whenever that will be.

I just focus on maintaining conversation with Alexis and Will. I can tell they’ve caught up on what Jimmy’s trying to do, but I guess for my sake, they won’t feed into it. They’ll just know it’ll piss me off. I mean, it already has. The trick is to let him keep doing what he wants without posing a reaction. I’d rather not see him win by giving credit to the glass Heineken bottles in front of him.

To burn off the food, we travel to the floor of the bar to prepare for dancing. It’ll be more of Halloween songs, obviously, but it’s not helping with how many couples costumes I’ve already seen. Just tune it out, Abby. Just tune it out.

One of the most iconic Halloween songs, “Monster Mash” by Bobby Pickett, emerges from the speakers, and it sends the crowd into a frenzy, everyone coming together to sing the lyrics and dance out of their minds.

Meanwhile, I hang out in the middle, just swaying from side to side, unsure of really how to dance in a crowd without looking like a total idiot. The rest of the team is behind me, Will on my right and Alexis on my left. I’m sure Jimmy’s vomiting in the bathroom stall.

“How am I supposed to dance?” I yell over to Alexis.

“What do you mean?” He shouts back.

“Like, what am I supposed to do?”

“Just let go!” He starts drifting further into the already cramped crowd. “Not too much, though!”

I roll my eyes, and before I can give him a sarcastic reaction back, he’s already gone. I turn to Will. “Havin fun?” I’m not even sure if he heard me.

“Totally!” He spits in my face, and I’m not even sure if he’s aware of it, but I shrug it off. “When they gonna play the good shit, though?”

I scoff. “They have been playing the good shit. You must have really terrible taste.”

His face breaks out into a complete smile. “My music taste is superior.”

“Is it?” I joke back. “You wouldn’t even move a muscle to ‘Thriller.’”

“Because it’s already overplayed as is,” he argues. “Everyone already knows it’s a classic.”

“That’s why you still dance to it!” It’s my turn to break into a smile. “Do you secretly hate Halloween or something?”

“Oh, I love Halloween,” he contradicts. “Favorite holiday of the year.”

I shake my head. “Wrong. Christmas.”

“No, you’re wrong,” he yells back. 

“We’re both wrong!” I admit happily. “There’s the silver lining!”

He playfully rolls his eyes, looking up past the crowd. “Somebody’s Watching Me” by Rockwell appears across the bar, and again, more positive reactions ring throughout. The floor starts to loosen up a bit. If I’m not mistaken, for whatever reason, this is apparently going to be the song all the couples will find a way to dance to. 

Well. At least I got this far.

“I guess you’re gonna be my partner,” Will says, snapping me out of my daze. “Unless you wanna sit out and wait for the next one.”

I shake my head. “Nope.” I grab him by the wrist. “We’re dancing.”

We look for some open space and start acting as stupid as we possibly can. The irony of the song is that someone’s supposed to be watching us, but actually, I think it’s quite the opposite.

He is so uncoordinated that it’s actually hilarious. I danced for 8 years and yet I forget how to do the basic spins. We go back and forth, not worrying that anyone is looking us. Since it’s Halloween, and the entire point of the day is to be dressed as someone you’re not, no one will consciously choose to remember what you said, what you did, or however terribly you danced.

It is, I’ll say, quite a freeing escape.

We’re still dancing by the time the song ends and another one comes on. It’s perhaps an old one because I’ve never heard it from what I can recall, but we don’t let it choose to affect us. It’s unfortunate that we start to lose our open space because the rest of the crowd starts to infiltrate back in. The air becomes a little stuffy, but nothing I can’t handle.

It also helps that the music is no longer blaring and blowing my eardrums and has become just the tiniest bit quieter; not by much, but to the point where I can actually hear people talk. I come in close contact with a few strangers, bouncing around and going a little crazy across the floor, making their way down to the furthest point they can. At this rate, you feel like you’re stuck in a mosh pit at a concert. Those things can really bring negative consequences if not addressed right away. Again, how ironic that they preach concertgoer safety and people could still end up hurt.

I’m taken aback by how close Will’s voice is in contact with my ear. “Can I guide you back a little bit?” He asks. “I feel like we’re gonna get trampled.”

I nod, semi-shouting over the speaker. “If you can find any piece of space, then yeah, do it.”

I wasn’t expecting him to grab me roughly by the hips and literally drag me back from where I was standing, so I exhale a hitched breath and turn around, determining if I should confront him, only to realize he wasn’t the one who dragged me.

You’re fucking joking.

“The fuck are you doing?” Jimmy yells over the speaker.

“Having fun!” I yell back in his face. “That’s what you wanted from me, right?”

“Yeah, he’s not fucking touching you, though,” he shouts, gesturing over to Will. I shoot him a confused look. He made it down further into the crowd with everyone else. He has no choice but to shoot me one back.

“Says who?” I retort.

Jimmy’s face changes between the red and orange LEDS. “You’re not dancing with him.”

“Oh, what the fuck do you know?” I try to push past him, but he’s still got his hands tightly squeezing my hips. “Let go of me.”

“Not if you’re going his way,” he says in a pissy tone. “Stay over here.”

“So that you’re not alone? Go mingle. Go bring home a pathetic woman to deflect your drunken state on.”

“That pathetic woman’s you,” he clarifies. “Would be a shame you’d move on so soon, huh?”

“Fuck off.” I attempt to get past him again.

He squeezes my hips so tight that I let out a painful cry. I try to free his hands, but they’re a lot larger and stronger than mine. “Stop telling me that.”

“Stop holding me hostage!” I yell. I’m surprised no one else can see this is going on.

I’m turned around and now pressed up along him, his arm draping over me. Not to mention, I can feel something else of his draping along my ass.

“You want me to fucking piss all over you, then?” I say, his head already dropped to the side of my ear.

“That wouldn’t be appropriate of you, would it?” The Heiniken bounces off his mouth. Yeah, he’s definitely had more since we left the table.

I turn and grab him by the ear, pinching it as hard as I possibly can and bringing his head down to my level. “Actually, yeah. It would be.”

That’s what causes to him to retract his hands from my waist, and with that, before he can even catch me, I sprint, quite literally channeling my inner Usain Bolt and heading to the bathroom, hoping I don’t throw up or even jump out the window, that’s if there is one.

I make it there unscathed and rush in, shutting the door and looking at the empty stalls. I could lock myself in one, but that means it’ll be forever before I choose to leave, so I pick the alternative and walk over to the sink and grip my hands on the side of it, looking down at the faucet, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to ground myself and hopefully not hit my head and pass out. When I have enough leverage, I turn on the sink and take off my glasses, rinsing my face in cold water several times before I dry it off, finally gathering courage to look at myself in the mirror.

My blush is all blotched, my mascara is droopy, my eyes look like they’re going to burst out of their sockets.

I take a few more breaths before I reach into my purse and see that Alexis tried to call me. I redial his number, hoping he’ll pick up, which he does. “Hey, you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m in the bathroom,” I choke out. “Why?”

“We’re uh,” he says over the loud crowd and music, “we’re gonna head out. Jim’s obviously a little buzzed.”

“A little? I think quite a lot,” I reply back.

“Want me to come get you?”

“No, I’ll find my way out,” I tell him. “Make sure he sits in the front, though. I do not want him puking all over me.”

“Will do. See you in a bit.”

I hang up and take one last look in the mirror, recollecting myself with a deep inhale and exhale before swinging the bathroom door open and maneuvering through the crowd, headed straight for the exit in hopes I don’t get pulled back by a random stranger.

By the time I get out and onto the sidewalk, relishing in the fresh air, the car’s already running, and I walk around into the street to get in on the driver’s side. I step on in and sit down, shutting the door and putting my seatbelt on, letting out a loud sigh. It’s a combination of frustration and relief.

Will’s next to me, with Jimmy in the front seat and Alexis obviously still driving. Jimmy’s got a water bottle in his hand, taking slow, cautious sips. “You’re gonna have to drink more than that,” I bark at him.

“Damn. You really do act like a fucking witch,” he slurs, only a little, before putting the cap back on. He rolls down the window and sticks his head out. Please tell me he’s not actually gonna vomit.

“I’m gonna drop you two off first,” Alexis says as he backs up and carefully pulls out into the street.

“Actually, you can just do me,” I say. “I don’t wanna deal with the aftermath of a hangover.”

“That’s a nice way of saying you love me,” Jimmy unnecessarily pipes up. “Reallllll nice.”

I roll my eyes and look out my window, concentrating on the music buzzing out of the radio.

“Remind him to not host Thanksgiving this year,” I say.

“Remind her that she won’t be on my list of things I’m thankful for,” Jimmy snaps back.

“Alright, Jim, cut it out,” Alexis says. “Drink your water, will ya?”

An unhappy gruff escapes his mouth, removing the cap and tilting his head back to drink.

My entire body jumps when Will lightly taps me on the arm. “You gonna be okay with him?” He whispers.

I nod. “I’ve been okay with him for 7 months. It won’t make a difference.”

“Unless you just wanna get dropped off with me, stay the night at Tro’s,” he suggests.

“Then who’s gonna look after him?”

He looks around like a lost puppy. “Laf can.”

I scoff. “Yeah, I’m not putting that burden on him. Thanks, though.”

“Yeah, you bet. Same goes for whenever you might need a break from him.”

“Oh, I need more than a break,” I hint.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks. “Is that why he was all pissy?”

I give him an apologetic look. “Honestly, I can’t tell you. That’d be something you’d have to work out with him. Of course, when he’s in a better state of mind.”

“I can tell he’s very protective over you.”

I look over at the drunk man in the front passenger seat. “He doesn’t need to be.”

It’s a quiet ride back to the apartment. Alexis pulls up the closest he can to the entrance so we don’t have to walk too far. And by ‘we,’ I mean Jimmy not falling and stumbling over his two feet. Surprisingly, his ability to walk isn’t crazily hindered. It’s more of a shuffling and stopping every few steps, which causes me to stop too and keep him moving forward.

“You want us to come in with you?” Will yells from the car.

I turn around, grabbing hold of Jimmy’s wrist so he doesn’t run off. “No, we’ll be fine. See you guys tomorrow.”

“We’re just gonna wait till you get in,” Will calls out.

I flash him a thumbs-up without actually looking back and slowly yet surely make my way back to the apartment entrance. He’s picked up the pace, but still shuffling like an old man. It’s catastrophic how much beer caused an uptick in mood, and a downtick in actual fun being had. 

It’s almost as if it was his plan, so to speak.

I open the door and we walk into the entryway, hearing the car drive off. At this point, it just leaves me.

At the pace of a snail, we’re in the elevator, leaning back against the handrail, staring up at the fluorescent lights. I’m starting to get a headache, and it’s not because of him.

“Look,” Jimmy says lazily, gesturing to the water bottle. “I’m drinking it, Abb.”

I can’t even be given the strength to look at him. “Good for you,” I say nonchalantly.

“This shit is so good,” he states. “Have you ever had this before?”

“I have. It’s my favorite.”

The elevator doors open and I push myself off the handrail and walk out into the hallway, waiting for him to get himself out. “Do I gotta finish it?” He steps out onto the carpeted floor.

“We have practice tomorrow,” I remind him, walking ahead and up to the door. I insert the key in the lock and push the door to the apartment wide open, turning on the lights. “Unless you want the effects to linger for an extra day.”

He shuffles in behind me, shutting the door and remembering to lift the latch across. “Nah.” I hear him kick off his shoes, listening to them being scraped on the wood. “That would not be good.”

I still don’t turn to look back at him and strut toward my room, shutting the door and quickly removing my costume and changing into something more comfortable. I can’t stand to continue this façade.

I open the door and walk into the living room to see Jimmy leaning against the wall near the couch, holding the bottle by the cap. He sends me an uncertain facial expression. “What’s gotten into you, Abb?”

Smiling back, I take a deep breath. “You.”

“You what?”

“You’ve gotten into me.”

“I don’t think that means anything.”

I spread my fingers apart and bring them back to clench into fists. “So your goal wasn’t to sabotage me tonight? Your goal wasn’t to get semi-drunk and somewhat grind up against me?”

He sputters out a laugh. “The fuck are you talking about? I’m just trying to steer your direction.”

“Oh, yeah, Jim?” I wave my hands up. “Where do you not want me to go?”

“Will.” It comes out in such a gravel that I can’t help but think it’s true.

I laugh. “He’s my friend.”

“Didn’t look like that tonight.” He takes off his scarf that was apart of his costume, along with the black cloak. He’s now left in a black button-down and pants. It looks like I’m actually talking to him this time.

“Tryin to fuckin get in his pants from what I could see.”

The back of my eyes start to burn.

Abby, he’s drunk. He doesn’t mean any of this.

Then again, what’s the phrase? Drunk words are sober thoughts? 

I’m not sure what to believe.

“You have no right to even suspect that,” I point a finger at his face. “You are not in charge of who I can and cannot talk to.”

“Sure I am,” he shrugs. “I’m paying for everything, remember?”

I shoot my eyes up at the ceiling. “God, why does that have to play a factor?”

“Because it’s true. It’s my place. I make the decisions.”

“News flash!” I tell him, waving my hands in front of my face. “I’m an adult! I can advocate for myself, I can take care of myself, and I don’t need a bodyguard who chooses to decide when his little princess is being threatened.”

“He’s no good for you,” Jimmy spits out, pushing himself off the wall. 

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I’m sure he would’ve ripped off your tights before we even got back to the car.”

A large, wide smile, full of rage, temporarily replaces my frown. “You are-”

“Right?”

“Full of shit,” I correct him. “And drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” he argues, taking a long sip of water to where you can hear the plastic crinkle. Tilting his head back up, he says “Starting to feel better.”

I scoff. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Still fun though.”

I let out a sigh. “Yeah. I’m sure you had fun belittling me the entire time.”

“When did I belittle you?”

I tap my foot on the floor to show my impatience. “Let’s see. You basically admitted you don’t like that I’m living here, you’re trying to kick me out by having me go move in with Will whenever he’s around to looking for his new place, telling everyone you don’t want to deal with my bitchiness tomorrow morning because I’ll be out for too long, accusing me of moving on, calling me pathetic…” I take a breath. “And that’s not just from tonight. I can go back from March if you need me to.”

“You had to admit I was right about the moving on thing.” He unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt and the top button.

“Yeah?” I ask dubiously. “How so?”

“Because only a slut looking for a rebound would wear a provocative costume like that.”

There’s another example of belittlement to add to the list.

That one’s for sure not leaving my head. That’ll be the first thing I think about when I look at him from now on. He thinks I’m a slut.

There’s nothing. Nothing I can say.

“You’re a dick.”

“That’s all you can come up with?”

“Drink your fucking water.”

“I’m gonna need another one. This one’s almost gone.”

I turn to the fridge and open it, taking an unopened Poland Spring and shutting the door. I unscrew the cap, holding it by my fingers as I make my way over to him.

Jimmy reaches out for it. “Thanks.”

I don’t reciprocate his outstretched hand.

I squeeze the water out of the opening, shooting it like a water gun onto his face, watching it trickle down his chin and down his shirt. I continue that until it’s completely empty. He’s reasonably drenched. When he looks me in the eye, I see anger, a hint of enragement, but I don’t feel the need to run.

That closed smile of his appears across his cross-looking face. He whispers it loud enough in hopes that I hear it. “You fucking bitch.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

His long index finger appears in my line of vision. “You got a reason?”

I look around the room aimlessly. “I don’t know. Maybe it was for the element of a surprise.”

That ticked him off enough to lunge toward me, probably in hopes he’ll grab me again, but I’m able to put my speed to the test and find a temporary solace behind the sink. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Or what?”

“Or I will call the cops to report a drunk and disorderly man that’s going ape-shit in my apartment.”

“It’s my apartment,” he seethes through his teeth. “None of this is yours.”

“Sure it’s mine. I’ve got my own bed, toothbrush-”

“I paid for the bed. You’re just taking up space.”

“I’ve heard that one before too.”

“Anyone ever tell you Ryan never loved you?”

I roll my eyes. “Anyone ever tell you no woman’s ever going to love you?”

Crickets.

“Take that back.”

“I will not,” I say confidently.

Crickets again.

“You know what, Abb?”

“What?”

He just stares.

“What you gonna do? Put your hands on me? Because I can call the cops on that too and charge you with assault.”

He continues staring.

“We can do this in two ways. You can do something you’re going to regret tomorrow morning, perhaps the rest of your life if it gets to that point, or you can change and sleep it off, and we can revisit this when we’re both calm.”

“I am calm.” How funny he says this as his veins are protruding out of his hands.

“You are?” I say, stepping away from the sink and moving around it to now stand in front of him, near the arm of the couch. “Then don’t react.”

I can feel his hand immediately attach to my wrist, probably in hopes he’ll break it off my arm.

“Let. Go.” It comes out hoarse.

“You’ve already done that,” he spits in my face.

I attempt to break free from his grip, but then again, it’s too strong. I would love to kick him in the you-know-where, but I’d figure that would cause more retaliation. Besides, it’s hard to do with only one way of leverage.

“And you never have,” I grit through my teeth.

“Doing better than you ever will.” I can feel my hand start to tingle.

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I would be doing better if you weren’t here.”

“You think I’m threatened by that?”

“I don’t think your ego can withstand any threats at this rate.”

I smile. “That’s so nice.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Do you?”

“Mm-hmm. I just tell everyone I live with a grieving, wilting, ugly scumbag.”

“And I live with a guy that’s only got 2 inches attached to him.”

“Well, it used to be 9, but I’ve lost one every month you’ve been here.”

“Wanna show me?” Whoa. Now that’s bold.

“You know I can’t consent under these conditions.” Fuck, he still figured it out. He’s not wrong, though. But to be clear, it’s a joke.

“But I can consent to being given bruises on my waist?” I lift up my shirt with my free hand, showing the tiny bumps he somehow managed to make from that action alone.

“I did that?” He reaches out to touch one before I take my free hand and back him into the corner of the sink, eliciting a thud from behind him, causing some deep breaths before he grabs me by the V-neck of my shirt.

“Let go,” I croak out of my mouth.

“Or what?” The beer smell has finally dissipated. Now, it’s just close to stone-cold sober words.

I turn around to think his hand will reluctantly remove itself, but that doesn’t work as he drags me back. “Or I will bruise you.”

“Go ahead and try with those petite hands, Ms. Whore. Let’s see if it’s gotten you-”

I take my free hand again and go to pinch his ear like I did before, bringing his head down. He doesn’t flinch.

“That doesn’t hurt,” he tells me.

“So then why is it getting red?” I ask.

“Beats me.”

“Damn right I could.”

He takes his hand off my shirt and steps to turn toward the sink and reach for his phone on the counter. I’m already there first, holding it in my hand. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I wave a hand in front of him. “Relax. I’m not calling the police.”

I can hear Jimmy breathe a sigh of relief. “Good, cause-”

I launch it across the room where it slams into the wall and thuds on the floor. Deep down, I’m praying to God I didn’t break it. I don’t want that on my conscience, and I wouldn’t even be able to excuse that. I’m just so mad right now. I really am.

A feeling of thankfulness surges through me when I see his home screen light up, sending a notification. I’m not sure what, but that’ll be his problem later.

“It’s not broken,” I say, shrugging. “Might have a couple cracks, but still works.”

I didn’t even realize I was still staring at his phone on the ground that when I turn my head and see him up against my side, with honestly no other place to go.

“For Christ’s sake, Jim, it’s not-”

I can’t even finish the sentence as my brain short circuits with the feeling of him turning around and placing his entire hand on my neck and pressing down hard beneath my chin, digging his fingernails into the sides.

I slam my heel into the back of the chair and look straight at him. “Can’t,” I sputter out. “Can’t-”

“Can’t what?” He coos. “Can’t breathe? Can’t admit when you’re wrong?”

I cough in his face, only expelling out a tiny amount of air. “Choke-choking me.”

“I am?” The pads of his fingers drag along my neck. “So tell me.”

“Just-” I cough again. “Just did.”

My chest rises what I consider an abnormal height before I let out a wheeze. All he can manage to do is smile back. “What’s that saying? Karma’s a bitch or something like that?”

I wheeze again.

“Gonna call for help now? I don’t have a phone.”

I let out an unintentional cry. “Help me.”

“You want me to help you?” He laughs. From the sound of it, that’s not a drunk laugh. That’s a sober laugh. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Mur-Murder.”

“I’m not gonna kill you, Abb,” he says. “I mean, in an alternate universe, I could, doesn’t me I will. Well, not today at least.”

My eyes go wide. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t kill me.”

“You’ve already done that to yourself,” he lets out.

Suddenly, it becomes difficult to even inhale a single breath. I don’t wanna risk touching him, so I smack the counter with my hand three times. Then again. And again.

“Stop doing that,” he sarcastically coos. “You’re-”

I can feel my mouth part open as I feel saliva dripping out of it, staring straight into Jimmy’s eyes.

While at the same time, my eyes start to close.

“Abb?” He asks with alarm in his voice. “Abb, hey.”

I fail to answer as I feel myself slide down the side of the counter and hit my head, finding myself sitting on the floor, staring at the outline of his wet outfit with the outline of the brick fireplace taking shape in the corner. His hand instantly retracts off my neck and that’s when I’m sent into a coughing frenzy, feeling like my heart is going to travel up my throat and out of my mouth. I breathe quick and fast. It’s the onset of an attack.

The only difference is I actually can find someone who’s alive to blame.

He continues to sit in front of me, and I can tell by his widened eyes that he is fully aware of what he did. No excuse could make up for almost trying to kill me, quite literally.

Neither of us speak as I start to figure out my breathing pattern, slowing down and moving to sit on my knees, aware of the fact I’m sitting on my feet and I’m maintaining perfect eye contact level.

“Jesus, Abb,” he starts. “I, I don’t know what I was-”

I’m able to give him a taste of his own medicine of knowing how it feels to not be able to speak by taking advantage of no bondage and raising my hand, slapping him across the face, as I watch him bend his head down toward the floor.

He comes back up to look at me again. “Okay, I deserved-”

I take my other hand and slap the other side, watching him repeat the same action. By the time he looks up, both my hands are burning.

I can’t even bother to look up at him for another second before I stand up and move over to his side, extending my hand. “Can I help you now?”

Jimmy looks shocked that even those words are spewing out of my mouth. He stands up off the floor without taking my hand. “Yeah.”

Another incident swept under the carpet.

I motion him to go in his room, as he grabs the remnants of his costume and walks into the dark, turning on his lamp. I’m back in the kitchen, reaching into the top cabinet to retrieve a glass cup and the bottom cabinet to unscrew the Tylenol capsules, dropping two into my hand. I screw the cap back on, put it back in the cabinet, and shut the door. Standing back up, I fill the cup with lukewarm water from the sink because it’s what he deserves now. I walk over to his door and push it open after it moved to being close to shut, sitting on his bed, chin in his hands, running one of them through his hair.

Walking over to his nightstand, I put down the water and the caplets. He looks up to see them in his view, but before he can even thank me (that’s if he was going to), I’ve already shut his door and back into the kitchen to turn off the light before I look around in the dark.

He’s starting to go dark.

And I’m quite afraid that I am too. 

Before I barricade myself in my room, I remember his freshly cracked phone is still lying on the floor. I concentrate on my feet making their way across the cold wood and picking it up, examining it with the little amount of light I have. 

Dragging my finger across the crack, it starts from the top left corner and moves diagonally to the bottom right. I press the power button on the side just to double check it still works. His home screen lights up again. I breathe another sigh of relief for confirmation.

I carry it in my hand and move away from the wall to stand in front of his door. I don’t even bother knocking. I turn the handle and walk into his room. I know for a fact he wasn’t sleeping, but he’s lying down, probably just staring up at the ceiling. That’s a creepy thought to have.

I walk across the carpet and hold it out to him, hoping he’ll take it.

He does, without saying a word. I’m now able to see his face illuminated by the screen.

“I’ll get you a new screen protector,” I say quietly. Looking over to the nightstand, I can see he already took the tylenol. That’s one less thing I’ll feel the need to nag him about.

Jimmy makes contact with those stupid, dilated eyes of his. He doesn’t respond to that either.

And so I turn around and shut his door for the second time. Maybe on the third, it’ll be when we no longer have matching keys.

When that time does come, maybe we’ll no longer be resentful of each other.

[i-cant-sing]

You mentioned platonic yandere rei and enji, how would that go?

 Yandere Platonic Enji & Rei Todoroki

I am so glad you asked. Last post of the year, so... enjoy! Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Yandere Enji & Rei Todoroki:

I think having them as platonic yanderes would be fun. And dangerous, but mostly fun.

So maybe you're from an abusive home, or maybe you just looked liked a helpless or troubled teen that needed help. Both financially and emotionally.

Post redemption Enji has been looking for a second chance at raising a family. Rei has forgiven him, but his relationship with his kids is broken beyond repair.

Rei's also looking for a way to show her maternal love, but her kids have learned to grow up without her and her affection. They may have forgiven her, but they've grown up now and don't need her anymore.

So when they find you, they know they have to have you. You need them and what kind of people would they be if they left you all helpless?

Enji is the no. 1 hero, so he has all the resources he needs to make your family disappear and have you adopted. Of course, they don't want to kidnap you; they want you to have a normal life.

Once they've adopted you, you will be, and this is an understatement, spoiled.

Enji will buy you anything you want. Anything you need, it'll be in your hands before you could even ask for it. He'll give you more pocket money than any other kid, and he'll even give you his black credit card that has no limit.

Rei will be showering you in all of her maternal love. She will be cooking you the most delicious food and all kinds of snacks, but she'll make sure you only get the best organic food that are full of nutrition! If you compliment her cooking skills, she'll kiss your cheeks and ruffle your hair, memorising your favourite dishes.

Rei will also be helping you dress up, even if you're more than capable of doing it yourself. She'll be buying you clothes and accessories, deciding whats appropriate for an event, and pick out your outfits. Just be glad she's not helping you in and out of your clothes.

Although Rei loves doing your hair, even if you insist that she doesn't have to, Enji will also enjoy doing your hair. He's bad at it, never being able to do more than a simple ponytail, but he's willing to learn.

They're both very protective of you, a simple scratch on your knee will send them into overdrive. Rei will be the one to ice your bruises while Enji will be bandaging you up and making sure no serious damage has occurred. And if you ever get sick, they'll be fretting all over you.

You aren't allowed to go to sleepovers, but they're more than happy to host as many as you want. Rei would be the fun cool mom who easily befriends everyone, while Enji will grace you friends with his prescene. He might even tell a heroic story of his.

Any love interests are out of question. And don't bother hiding any relationships; they'll always have some spying on you. They're either threatened or paid off. You don't need anyone besides your family.

They're going to be sending you to the best school in Japan and they will be making sure that they both attend all of your school meetings and extracurricular activities. Even if Enji can't make it, which rarely happens, Rei will always be there to cheer you on. She missed all of this with her kids, she's not going to miss yours.

Enji will be proud of all of your achievements, no matter how small. And he'll even place them on the fridge or boast to Hawks about you. Enji will make sure to tell you how happy he is and if he's extra proud, he'll pat your head.

Quirkless or not, they don't want you to become a hero. Its too dangerous. Why not be a baker or an artist or better yet, don't work at all. They have more than enough money to support you for generations.

Still, if you insist, they'll let you go to UA, but Enji will use his influence to make it difficult for you to get job offers at hero agencies. If you do want to work, why not work at the no. 1 heroes agency? This way, you get to work with the best, and he gets to keep you out of harms way. Plus, now that you're under his wing, Enji has more motivation to not only be the no. 1 hero in Japan, but also no.1 in your eyes.

He will train you himself, but will always make sure not to go hard on you and not let you over exert yourself. If you compliment any of his moves or try to copy them, his heart swell with affection and he'll chuckle as he looks at you with adoration.

Enji will make you his sidekick, fighting off all the villians alone before you even get a chance to. But accidents happen, and so when you get hurt, really badly, by a villian during a fight, Enji will forget all of his principles and incinerate the criminal alive. Then he'll pick your bloody body up and rush you to the hospital and get you treated; he'll even threaten the doctors and the hospital.

Rei will be at the hospital as soon as she hears about your condition. She'll be crying into Enji's arms while he feels guilty that he let you get hurt. Once you wake up, they'll both come into your room and let out a sigh of relief. Rei will be kissing your forehead as she cries tears of joy, while Enji will hold your tiny hand in his large one, looking at your bruises and bandages with worry. They both look at each other and make a silent vow to never let this happen again. Never again.

If you thought they were too overbearing before your incident, think again. Once you've come home, they won't let you have any personal space. They'll be breathing down your neck every second of the day they can. They'll rarely let you out of their sight, and they'll be infantalizing you a lot more. Working as hero was thrown out the window the moment you got hurt. And you'll be rarely let outside of their home, unsupervised especially. Its safer home, princess. We can't afford to let you get hurt again.

If you do manage to sneak out, this is when you'll see their ugly side. Enji will quickly have you brought home, either by himself or by his colleagues. And once you come home, you'll see angry Rei for the first time. Rei would be yelling, screaming at you for being so careless, so stupid. You'll be so scared, you'd be hiding behind Enji. Rei would be more than willing to freeze your legs and break them, just to keep you home. However, Enji will be the more level headed one, simply using his strength to put you into quirk cancelling cuffs.

You will be a whole lot more cautious of Rei now, because you know what triggers off Enji and he always gives you a warning before any sort of punishment. But with Rei, you don't know what sets her off. A simple look outside the window will make you the target of her rage. She'll grab your face, her nails embedded painfully deep in your skin, asking you if she isn't a good mother. "Am I not enough, (Y/n)? Why do you want to leave me? Am I a bad mother? Why do you hate me so much?!" She has hit you with her ice "accidentally" a lot, often knocking you out. Enji would often be the one to your rescue, calming Rei down and reassuring her that you won't leave them, before he comes over to check on you. Once Rei calms down, she'll realise what she's done and will be crying and apologising profusely.

Enji rarely gets mad at you. You're just his small, harmless princess. How could he ever be angry at you? But if he does get mad, he'll give you a pointed look, his turquoise eyes staring you down. And if you don't get the hint, then he'll hold your hand as he slowly warms it up. You always back down before you get burned. Don't worry though, Enji won't ever hurt you. He won't repeat the past.

Rei might return to her previous self, if you behave and reassure her that you won't leave her, but it'll take time. Enji will be wary of letting you out alone, but if you gain his trust back, he'll let you out with a few bodyguards.

Just sit there, be their good little kid, call them mom and dad, and everything will be taken care of.

There isn't a ship name for rei and enji, right? Renji? Reji? Erei?

Requests are open!

[dreamsclock]

crack au where dream and wilburs big plan goes like this: wilbur has been doing nothing but play card games for nine years in the afterlife, dream is an emotionally repressed bastard with a brilliant poker face and the skill to fight if things go south - and quackity is building vegas

naturally, they work together to rob the server blind

- dr3 on twt, i haven’t figured out my tumblr yet lol

dr3,,, DR3,,, this has been giving me such brainrot for the longest time and combines all my favourite characters to write in one incredible scenario,,, this is Peak ,,, the comedy and villainy,,, i’m in love with this au PLS

it’s tagged as -> vegas team au because i’ll probably write more for this soon !!

warnings: blood, trauma, implications of abuse, starvation mention, capitalism, manipulation, injuries/wounds, mental deterioration, dissociation

“So let me get this straight,” Quackity says, slow, suspicious, “you want to work together.”

He eyes his two new potential allies like one might a crocodile and its equally violent owner, and can’t help but feel doubt squeeze his chest. Both of them look like they’ve been through hell - well, he supposes it’s not far from the truth - and he’s not sure how they’re even still standing. Dream sways on his feet, shadows under his eyes more prominent than ever, and even Wilbur’s perfect smile is marred from the blood trickling out of gashes on his face. Breaking Dream out of prison, Quackity gathers, had been harder than they’d expected.

“We do!” Wilbur agrees cheerfully, arm looped around Dream casually. “I think it would be incredibly beneficial for the three of us - each of us have a skill or quality the others lack. Together, we could really get this server in shape.”

Quackity arches an eyebrow. “What skills and qualities would they be?”

“Well, naturally, I’m the charismatic one.” Wilbur lifts his free hand when Quackity goes to interrupt, smile never wavering. “Yes, I know you’re also charismatic, but people also think you’re unhinged.”

“You’re the one who blew up your own fucking country.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “I know, but I succeeded. You tried to kill Technoblade - who, needless to say, is still alive and on all three lives, unlike you, sorry not sorry.”

Affronted, gritting his teeth at the reminder, Quackity scowls. “Go on, then.”

“And we have you,” Wilbur presses on, flattery oozing into his voice - Quackity can sense it a mile off, but it’s still hard not to preen - “you’re resourceful, Big Q. You’re good at business and you’re cunning and you’ve built a whole fucking country and kept it lucrative. Dream and I had something of a struggle keeping our countries in one piece, if you remember correctly.”

Quackity snorts. “Yeah, I remember. And...” His eyes travel to Dream, who looks to be a thousand miles away, whose eyes are faded and unfocused, who really, Quackity thinks, has looked a hell of a lot better and more stable. “What about him?”

“Well, right now, he’s currently walking around on a shattered leg, two broken ribs, no hunger bars, seven days worth of sleep deprivation and a concussion,” Wilbur explains, bright when Quackity goes pale, “not to mention the bucketloads of trauma and mental illness. I honestly don’t know how he’s still standing. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t be. Turns out he’s got quite a good poker face, wouldn’t you say?”

Quackity stares at Dream. “Jesus Christ.”

“I say we’d make a great team.” Wilbur leans closer, grinning. “You’ve got the country and business side of things, I’ve got the charisma and stability - or, well, apparent stability - and Dream has the best fucking poker face I’ve ever seen. Not to mention, he killed eight zombies on the way here while taking hardly any damage. I reckon you need us both.”

“And what do you get out of this?” Quackity asks, because he’s not naïve, and he’s proven correct when Wilbur chuckles in delight and approval. “You’re not just doing this out of the kindness of your hearts.”

Wilbur nods in agreement, eyes sharp as a knife. “Well, we want protection,” he says, like it’s obvious, maybe it is, “we want shelter from the rest of the server and we could do with being a part of a country like yours for the time being. Dream needs somewhere to recover and rest, I need somewhere to lay low for a while, and, well...”

He trails off for a moment, before resuming.

“Well, Big Q, if I’m going to be entirely up front with you, I played card games in the Void for nine straight years, and frankly, I’ve grown fond of them. And what better way than gambling to destroy the server?”

Quackity can’t help amusement curling into his smirk. “You’re fucked up, Wilbur Soot. You’re a fucked up man.”

Wilbur grins. “So you’re on board?”

“Yes, I’m on board, Jesus,” Quackity agrees, running a hand over his face and glancing around, “let’s get you two inside before anyone fuckin’ sees.”

Dream offers him an empty smile that makes his skin crawl. “I don’t suppose you have any health potions, do you?” He asks, like he’s asking about the weather rather than asking for assistance for his crippling health. “I’m on half a heart.”

Quackity winces. “Half a-- yeah, man, we got some health potions. But- I’m gonna need you guys to sign a contract or two first.” Because he’s not an idiot, Wilbur and Dream aren’t idiots, and he doesn’t trust them as far as he can throw them.

“Brilliant!” Wilbur looks pleased. “I have a contract too. Great minds think alike, ey, Quackity?”

Great minds indeed. Quackity rolls his eyes, turning his back and beginning to head in the direction of Vegas. Wilbur hums low under his breath, and begins to follow, with Dream following behind him silently. “This is gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs.

“Or the start of something beautiful,” Wilbur says, something sinister in his voice, “the SMP won’t know what hit them.”

“I’ll be praying for them.” Quackity pauses, turning to Wilbur in bemusement. “You died, right? Does God exist?”

Dream speaks up, voice hoarse. “I’m basically God. I brought him back, you know.” He giggles, and Wilbur looks delighted. “I’m God, Wilbur.”

“Dream is the closest thing to God we have,” Wilbur says, and Quackity can’t help but feel horrified at that thought, “so prayer is pretty much useless.”

“Right,” Quackity says, mildly regretting his decision already, because teaming with a manipulative dead man and a shattered man who thinks he’s God can’t in any world be a good thing, “right, yeah, okay. Does God want a golden apple while we’re signing contracts.”

“If you’ve got one,” Dream says brightly, and Quackity prepares himself for a long couple of months of this team. This is going to go perfect, or it’s going to be the death of them all. Either way, at the very least: things will definitely be interesting.

[johnkrrasinski]

𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

Chapter 2: bad was the blood

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader

Word Count: 4,376

Summary: blessed with telepathic abilities since birth, you were captured by HYDRA and turned into one of their weapons to kill. after the blip, you were pardoned by the government and you were obliged to check up with dr. raynor everyday which you had no clue would lead you to the one soul you’d been waiting for.

Warnings: SMUT!! (18+) angst, mentions of anxiety, nightmares, murders.

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @ohmickeyhenry who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for trusting me with your story. i sincerely hope you like it.

It had been a week since you and Bucky reunited and ever since that night, you and him were practically inseparable. Your bedroom was next to his and each night, he always came to yours to catch up on things and some nights, your conversation would go so deep that he would find himself waking up in your bed when the sun rises. He’d always leave your bed slowly to go into his room so that he wouldn’t wake you.

Each night he sleeps next to you, his nightmare became less intense. They still haunted him but they were vague, it was as if the faces of his victims become blurry and the echoes become whispers. One night, Bucky came back home from a small mission late and by the time he arrived at the compound, you were already asleep. Bucky knew the passcode to your door so he could let himself in anytime. He typed in those numbers and slowly opened the door and he smiled at the view of you sleeping peacefully. He would watch you sleep all night if he could, but he was exhausted and so were you, so he left you alone to rest.

Beads of sweat rolled down your skin as the cold air sent shivers down your spine. You watched the emotions in Natasha’s eyes vanished, as if her soul left her body and that’s left was the vessel. Sam, Tony and Bruce stood there like statues, waiting for your order. They had one thing in common with Natasha and that was the void of emotion. You felt a sense of pride in turning the Avengers into lifeless soldiers. They were at your mercy, you could command them to destroy the entire world with only a whisper.

Then you felt a cold grip on your arm, “Y/N… Why are you doing this?” Those steel blue eyes held so much pain in them as if he had just been betrayed by the person he trusted the most. “Stop this now! This isn’t you.” Bucky pleaded.

“Stand back soldier, or you are next.”

“No, I won’t let you do this to our friends.”

“Stand back. I will not ask you once again,” you warned him without a hint of uncertainty.

“Stop this, now or I will.” Bucky opposed.

“Very well,” with merely a glare, you activated the soldier you once knew. Years ago in the cold bunker of Hydra, ready to murder with a single order.

“готов подчиниться.”

You watched his blue eyes turned to ice, imitating his infamous name. You smirked and leaned close to his ear, “welcome back, soldier.”

You thrashed your body in your sheets and woke up with a loud scream. You thought you were doing well but the nightmare returned. You were doing what you dreaded again to your friends, the people you considered your family now. You sat up in your bed and sobbed until you heard Bucky opened your door with a concerned gaze. “Y/N, are you okay…?” He didn’t hesitate in running to you and sat next to you on your bed.

“I didn’t mean to, I- I never meant to hurt anyone…” You sobbed against Bucky’s chest as he wrapped his arm around you. His flesh arm held your head close to where his heart was beating and he tried to calm you down by stroking your hair and shushed you. He didn't know what you meant by that and he had many questions to ask but he understood better than anyone that in this state, integrating you would only cause more damage, so he let you cry it all out and comfort you in every way he could.

“It’s okay, y/n. I’m here, it’s going to be okay.”

You cried as you laid on Bucky’s chest until exhaustion took you over. You didn’t remember when you both began to drift away but as Bucky was sleeping, he saw visions of you doing heinous things to people, innocent souls who were held against their wills. He heard their screams and their pleas, but they weren’t looking at him, they were looking at… Her. Bucky had never seen her gaze so cold. Then he was transported into another scene… The place where HYDRA used to store him. It was one of the Russian Armed Forces, Vasily Karpov who was in charge of him during his Winter Soldier years.

Bucky remembered every second he spent trapped in the chair as he was given his orders. But this time, it was her strapped on that chair, screaming in agony. He watched him spelling out the activation words, they were different than his but just as effective. Bucky tried to reach her out, wanting to punch all those men and get her out of there but somehow his feet were stuck in place.

As the last word was uttered, he watched the woman he had slowly fallen in love with disappeared, replaced by a soulless soldier who was ready to kill anything that stood in her way. Bucky woke up to faint echoes of his name being called, “Bucky…” And slowly, he began to come back to life, and he saw her face, still the woman he knew, not the soldier in his dream, looming over him. “Did you see it?”

Bucky instantly sat up as he stared at her, “you were one of the winter soldiers. You were there.”

You nodded, “I was… They never referred to me as the winter soldier, however, I was treated just the same as you were. I had the same purpose as you.”

“How come you never told me?” His gaze was soft, he didn’t sound disappointed or betrayed, he just sounded… Worried.

“I couldn’t… I just didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t want to ruin what we had so I figured, if I left you first, I wouldn’t have to hurt you too and I was afraid that if you found out, you’d never look at me the same.”

“Sweetheart, we are both haunted by the same things. I’d never hate you for what you did. Don’t you think I didn’t have the same fears before? We’ll get through this together, I promise.” He held your face in his hands, the contrast of temperature in both of his hands was somehow soothing you, reminding you that he was once just as peccable as you were.

“But I don’t trust myself, Bucky. Someone could find the book and if they say the words, I could hurt people again… I could hurt you too. And I don’t know if I would ever come back.”

“I won’t let that happen, I promise you. I couldn’t trust my own mind too until I went to Wakanda and they fixed me. They removed the winter soldier program and now I’m free.”

“Is that… Possible?”

“Yes, I’ll explain everything in the morning but, right now, we need to rest.”

“Okay…” you were feeling rather drowsy, not only physically but emotionally too. It was never easy to unravel such shame and remorse.

Bucky laid back and opened his arm for you to sneak under it. You placed your head on his chest, feeling safe and sound being so close to him. Bucky’s fingers tangled with your hair as he kissed your forehead. “Promise you’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I promise,” he whispered.

The sound of his steady heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

-

The next morning, Bucky and you had breakfast together. It was early, the dawn had just begun, and some of the Avengers were out for a run or still asleep. You and Bucky had some alone time in the kitchen and you were thankful for the brief moment of solitude.

“So, what I said last night…” Bucky initiated the conversation as he put his coffee mug on the table. “I really think our best option is to go to Wakanda, y/n. They’ve got the best medical equipment, the people are extremely smart, they’ll take care of you. Just like they took care of me.”

“What makes you think they want to treat me, Buck? I mean, they took you in because the king and Steve made an agreement, but they have no idea who I am and even if they do, they don’t owe me anything.”

“The Wakandans may be resourceful and independent, but they are generous people too. I’ll call Ayo and sort everything out. They can spare me a few more favours.”

“If they agree to treat me, I only wanna go if you go too. I don’t wanna be alone in a country I’ve never been to before, Buck. I’m not familiar with their culture, I don’t speak their language, I don’t wanna fuck it up, you know?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there with you every step of the way. I promise.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because you’re the only good thing that happened to me in the past seventy years.”

You never believed in butterflies, but you swore in that moment, the whole damn zoo went nuts. Bucky had a way to make you feel loved and cherished, and you were falling fast. You just hoped that he’d be there to catch you.

The sincerity in his eyes made you smile like you never had before. Looking back, the only times you had ever genuinely smiled was because of Bucky. His texts, his face, his touches, they were your newfound grace. Bucky told you that you were the only good thing that happened to him in the past seventy years, but so was he to you. Was it possible for two fucked up people who had done heinous things to find such love? You could only hope that nothing would come in the way of that.

-

Wakanda was a breath of fresh air. Figuratively and literally. You loved New York, no matter what, it would always be your home. However, Wakanda could definitely give New York a run for its money. The air was free out of pollutions from vehicles, everywhere you look, the landscape was filled with scenic greenery and not to mention the futuristic architectures yet deeply rooted in their culture. The people were welcoming and kind, yet they were not to be crossed over.

When you and Bucky first landed, the king himself, T’Challa with Okoye and Ayo by his sides welcomed you. It was intimidating to be in their presence, yet you were fascinated by how graceful they were. You were hoping that your anxiety wouldn’t make you do something dumb or stupid in front of them so as soon as you were out of the quinjet that Sam was flying, you bowed in front of the king. “We don’t do that here…” T’Challa declared.

You swore you could pass out from embarrassment. Bucky chuckled when you straightened your pose. T’Challa shook hands with Bucky like they were old friends, so did he with Sam. Bucky had been communicating with Ayo regarding your visit today so he didn’t have to explain why you were there anymore. They led you to Shuri’s lab where the miracle occurs.

When she saw you, she was nothing like you expected. She was younger than you but she seemed so ahead of you. She seemed so ahead of everyone in the room. She was bright and had an effervescent personality. The lab was unlike anything you’d ever seen, even Tony’s lab in the compound wasn’t as swanky as this one. Shuri’s lab had equipment you didn't even know existed.

She greeted you both, “welcome back Sergeant Barnes, and who’s your girlfriend?” her bluntness caught you off guard.

“Princess, this is y/n and y/n this is Princess Shuri. King T’challa’s younger sister. She was the one who fixed me eight years ago.”

“Hi Princess, it’s an honour.” You shook her hands.

“Welcome. Now let’s get you comfortable so we can take a look inside your brain, yeah?”

Now here you were, sitting in front of a burning yule log, the fire illuminated your face in the dead of the night. Ayo was standing across you, watching you with her spear ready but she trusted you, regardless. Bucky sat next to you, close enough to reassure you that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you or anyone.

“It’s gonna work, y/n. I promise.”

“What if it doesn’t? How will you bring me back?”

“Shuri would know what to do. I was sceptical of my own mind too at first, but I turned out fine. Better, even. You’re in good hands.”

“If she comes back, and you can’t stop her, promise me you’ll put her out, even if it kills me.”

“Y/N…” He looked wounded, how could he possibly do such a thing to the woman he loved?

“James! I can’t hurt anyone else anymore, and worse, if I hurt you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

He nodded, though his heart was saying otherwise. “Okay, I promise.”

The tears in your eyes crawled down your cheeks and he held you close in the hut you’d been sharing with him. He kissed your hair like he would when he comforted you. The hut was simple and far away from the modern life you were used to in the compound or in New York, but you loved the tranquillity and simplicity of it. Some nights where Bucky and you would lie together, warming each other up, wearing nothing but customary clothes, you’d quietly think, you could get used to this. The simple life, with Bucky. Just you and him, and the rest of the world fade into the background. You wondered, could you still have it? That life? Or was it just wishful thinking? Right now, you could only hope that you’d be released from the demons of your past, that still lived in your head.

“I’ll be here, doll.” Bucky whispered and held your hand until the very last second.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone, Y/N. We successfully removed the winter soldier programs from James’ mind like rotten fur, you have nothing to worry.”

You nodded, “okay Ayo… I’m ready.”

You inhaled and stared at your own feet. The soil seemed like a great distraction at that moment. You wished you could hold Bucky’s hand but you didn’t want to look like a scared little baby. Then you heard it, Ayo’s assured voice spelling out the first codeword and the tension in your body rose. You trembled from the cold air, preparing yourself for the worst to happen as she uttered the next one. With each word, the fear in your veins amplified, thinking that any second now you were going to be a passenger in your own body and the demon that lived within you was going to take over.

But as Ayo uttered the last word, you were still there. You remembered your name, you remember where you were, you remembered the people around you and why you were there. You didn’t feel paralyzed, but rather alive. Freed from chains. You couldn’t believe it, you were never one to believe in miracles but that night, you did.

“You’re free, y/n.” Ayo smile like a proud mother.

“I’m free…” You repeated her words as if you were trying to convince yourself that it’s true.

She nodded, and you looked at Bucky who couldn’t hold himself back from wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your temple. “Oh, baby….” You could hear the genuine happiness in his voice and the shape of his lips forming a smile against you.

“You are both free,” Ayo declared.

You looked into his blue eyes that were gleaming with joy and love for only you. In that moment, you wished you had your phone with you so you could capture the priceless look on his face. You knew he was happy for you, however, you felt like you were celebrating his happiness instead. Maybe that’s what true love really is, celebrating each other’s happiness.

He grabbed your face and kissed you so deeply, taking your breath away. You could taste the saltiness of your tears cascaded down to your lips, but it was okay because you could feel Bucky’s soft lips against yours too and it was all you needed.

You held hands with Bucky, walking down to your shared hut, never wanting to untangle yourself from each other. Each night in Wakanda was an entire voyage itself. The scintillating stars in the sky and the quietness was paradise. You could see why Bucky adored Wakanda so much, everything about this country is perfect.

You laid on Bucky’s chest, playing with his dog tag. Even while sleeping, he never took it off. “I can’t believe I’m finally free…” you whispered.

Bucky looked down at you, “believe it doll, you deserve it.”

You sat up and leaned on your elbow, looking at him, “Thank you for getting me here and for being with me through it all. You’re amazing, Bucky.”

“No, doll, that is you. You’re one of the strongest people I know and I admire that.” Bucky sat up and he stared into your eyes as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.

In that moment, there was a sudden urge to have him in a way you hadn’t had. You didn’t care about anything else, you just needed to feel every inch of him, and you needed him to feel every inch of you. You slammed your lips onto his, taking Bucky by surprise yet he leaned into it. Bucky grabbed your arse, pushing your body closer to him, despite the nonexistent gap between you. Bucky licked your bottom lip, and you took his cue as parting them, allowing his tongue to take over your mouth.

You stopped for a second to gasp for air, and you closed your eyes, letting Bucky take the wheel. Bucky moved his flesh hand to your hair, holding a fistful of it to your face in place. Then when he felt like he needed more, Bucky moved his hands to your thighs, lifting you onto his thighs, then he shifted his body around so that he was on top of you and you were lying on the pillow.

Bucky was still kissing you until he started moving his kisses down to your chin, then to your jaw then to your neck, the spot that he knew would elicit a sound of you. Bucky might’ve been over a hundred years old and he hadn’t been intimate with anyone since 1945 but he still remembered how he used to make a woman scream for his name and he wasn’t going to waste that talent.

Bucky lifted the hem of the tank top you were sleeping in and you raised your hands to make it easier for him to get rid of it. This was the first time Bucky had seen you naked, you were always sleeping in clothes next to him, whether it’s a tank top and super short shorts, you were always covered. But now, you were all bare and you were slightly nervous because you hadn’t let anyone see you like this since you were captured by HYDRA.

Chills ran down your spine from the crisp air, but it was also because of the way Bucky was ogling you. You could see how dilated his pupils are, overshadowing the blue. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathed.

Bucky continued his lecherous act, kissing down your chest then to your right nipple, swirling his tongue around like a lollipop while his other hand toyed with your left breast. You arched your back as you shut your eyes, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. You whimpered, needing more of him. “Bucky…”

He wanted to taste more of you so he trailed kisses down your stomach, waking up the butterflies inside until he was breathing to your core. Even in the darkness, he could see how your wetness glistens. He wrapped his arms in each of your thighs and spread them apart for him to dive in. He could tell you were feeling a little shy but he made sure to make you feel otherwise by kissing the insides of your thighs, telling you, “I bet you taste real sweet, darling…”

His words made you open your eyes and looked down at him, between your things. He smirked mischievously at your reaction. Then he dipped into your core, licking a stripe up to your clit, making you moan out his name. The way his stubble burnt your delicate flesh made you want to close your thighs however, Bucky held them firmly in place. He savoured every drop, devouring you like a famished man. Your thighs trembled around him and you bit your lip trying to surpass the moans. The slurping sounds that he made were sinful.

Then he shoved two of his fingers inside you, scissoring you open for him. You gasped, the intrusion shocked you, causing you to open your eyes and look down at his act. “Oh God, Buck, I’m fucking close…”

He dipped down again, savouring more juices flowing out of you. “Shh, I know doll, let go. I got you.” He continued his assault on your cunt until you felt the bubble in your belly exploded, making you see stars. You had forgotten the pleasure of chasing your orgasm until Bucky reminded you. Bucky swallowed every drop you released, not wanting to waste anything. He stayed there until you had nothing more to give.

Bucky rose from between your thighs, kissing you passionately and you could taste yourself on his tongue. It was so fucking debauched yet you fucking loved it. You wrap your arms around his neck and run your hands through his hair, messing it up and he looked so fucking sexy.

“I want you Bucky, please fill me up,” you pleaded in between makeout.

“You want this doll? You want me?” He knew what you desired, he just wanted to make sure one last time before you go all the way so you wouldn’t regret it in the morning.“

“Yes Bucky, I want all of you… Only you.”

“I got you, sweetheart.” Bucky grabbed your hands and put them above your head. He pulled back to take off his pants, freeing his cock out of his boxer. To say Bucky was packing light would be a massive lie. He was long and thick, not to mention he was painfully hard. You really didn’t expect it. You had thought about it and you guessed he was more on the lengthy side yet, he seemed to surprise you more and more every time.

Bucky saw the way you stared at it and he smirked at your reaction. “Like what you see, doll?” He stroked the shaft, getting it ready to plunge into you.

You bit your lip as your chest heaved at the licentious scene, “can I taste it?”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head while still stroking himself, “not tonight, doll. But I’ll hold your word.” He crawled back up to your body and you spread your legs apart to make room for him, you maintained eye contact as he held both of your hands that were still above your head. You could feel the nudge of the tip of his cock on your bud, making your toes curl, “are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes…” you practically whined. “Please, take me.”

Without a second thought, Bucky pushed himself inside you, slowly yet you could feel every inch of him stretching your walls open and you threw your head back, the friction caused your head to spin. You cried out his name as you tightened your grip on his hands, needing to hold onto something.

Bucky grunted when he was fully inside and he took a moment to hide his face in your neck, “ah, fucking hell, doll. You feel amazing.”

“Move Bucky, please…” you pleaded after you adjusted to him being inside you.

Bucky began to move slowly, started with shallow thrusts, pulling back a bit then pushed it back inside. When you didn’t show any signs of resistance, he began to pick up the pace and it made your moans grow louder. “Oh, fuck…” you cursed due to the sensation. “Faster, Buck…”

Your wish is Bucky’s command, he did as you asked and he was enjoying more and more of it. You lifted your legs higher on his waist, locking them there for dear life. You wailed as his cock impaled you, forgetting that there were probably kids sleeping around your hut but you were too clouded with pleasure to worry about that. The onslaught caused you to clench around him and your coil tightened. Knowing you won’t last much longer, Bucky detached his flesh hand from yours and moved it down to your clit, rubbing it in circles over and over again and you plummeted into bliss, electricity ran through your veins as you hit your peak, releasing yourself all over him.

Bucky kept thrusting, seeing the way your face contorted in satisfaction because of him and how your walls tightened around him threw him off the edge, causing him to reach his own orgasm. He spilt himself inside you, finishing with shallow thrusts until every drop was stored. “Ah, fuck…” He groaned.

Bucky laid on top of you while still staying inside you. You loved the intimacy of being this close to him, honestly, you wouldn’t mind staying in this position until dawn. Both of you tried to gain control over your breathing as you were completely spent. Once he regained composure, he pulled himself out of you and laid next to you.

“That was…”

“Fucking amazing? Yeah…” Bucky completed that sentence as he held you in his arms and kissed your forehead.

“You were amazing, doll.” He continued.

“I haven’t had sex since… Well, since as long as I can remember.”

“Me too, doll. You are my first since everything that happened.”

“You are mine, too.”

For a few seconds, you just stared at each other lovingly with satisfaction plastered all over your faces. You relished in each others’ warmth, despite the hut reeking of sweat and smell of sex, you found comfort in each other, putting both of you to sleep.

tags; @ohmickeyhenry @suitofvibraniumarmor @themaddies-obx @beminetokeep @bluemoon-icecream-blog @bluemoon-icecream @harprs @thefridgeismybestie @abitofeverythingg @wolfonthemoonwatchestvshows @julimelodi @bookscoffeandotherstuff @tanyaherondale @artisancowbells @ferxaniti @intothesoul @hallecarey1 @buckybarnesplumwhore @thefallenbibliophilequote @andiyholly @emizla @capxwinter @jevans2 @alwaysreadingimagineschick @swtltlmrvlgrl @extremelyblackandwhite

[autisticandroids]

"Emotional in*est"- Do you even hear yourself? There's no such thing as emotional in*est. Just say you're a win*est shipper and go. I hate how freaks like you always try to grasp at straws to seem all "intellectual", when you're nothing but a freak who faps to things like ped*philia, best*ality and in*est. THAT'S why Jensen hates shippers. You don't want to see a positive queer relationship, you just want to read about Jensen getting fu*ked no matter who or WHAT it is. You're disgusting

now, i want to be clear, i received this ask at 2:46 am, about an hour after posting this answer. i want you to read that linked post. it’s a discussion of familial abuse. specifically, anon was talking about how upsetting they found the nature of trauma in supernatural - how none of the characters ever break the cycle. they mention how i had talked about sam and dean as a potentially emotionally incestuous relationship as something they found relatable to their own situation of familial abuse. i responded by agreeing that it’s upsetting that supernatural did that, and trying to comfort them a bit.

this anon saw that, and immediately not only accused me of incest fetishism, but sent similar anons to my mutuals.

@steveyockey messaged me this anon that he received, seemingly at about the same time i did. it’s clearly the same person. now, i love ziz, but we don’t have a significant public relationship. we don’t, say, talk about each other in posts or tags. i think i’ve mentioned her once. i reblog a lot of his posts and he reblogs a few of mine, but i have many other much more obvious public relationships, some of them with other BNFs like ziz. i expect that as they start to wake up, they too will notice that they’ve received anons like this.

all of this over explicitly talking about the familial abuse dynamics legible in supernatural, a show whose perhaps most persistent theme is toxic and abusive family dynamics.

the obsessive moral panic over the existence of wincest is fascinating to me, especially coming from destiel shippers. i’ve discussed in the past how i personally don’t think there’s anything wrong with people shipping wincest, as long as they do it far away from me, because i find incest gross and don’t want to hear about it. 

sam and dean have a dynamic in the text of the show that you could reasonably read as emotionally incestuous - they fill the role traditionally filled by a romantic partner. this is emphasized by the fact that when sam tries to escape dean, which he does with some regularity until season eight, which is when he just gives up, he always immediately finds a romantic partner, and is then eventually dragged away from her by dean. sam knows, on some level, that in order to escape dean, which he wants to do, he needs to replace dean in his life with someone else, in order to make it more difficult for dean to reclaim that role by force. 

this stuff is all in the text of the show, with not that much interpretation. it’s a pretty solid depiction of cycles of familial trauma and abuse. john parentifies dean (which is a form of abuse related to covert incest), dean turns around and does covert incest to sam. 

when i’m analyzing supernatural seriously, one of the things that interests me the most is the theme of familial abuse. this interpretation inevitably comes up when i’m discussing that, because it’s an intensely plausible interpretation of the text. the fact that i immediately get accused of being an incest fetishist (and a pedophile and zoophile?) for mentioning it seems to indicate that there is, frankly, something wrong in the destiel fandom.

but frankly, i don’t like this defense of myself. it’s a little too “no, not me! you have the wrong witch!” for my tastes.

even if i were an incest fetishist, it is intensely creepy to me that not only did i get an angry message about it, other people did as well. the wave of purity politics that has overtaken fandom spaces is intensely unsettling to me, especially the anti-sex bent that it’s taken in recent years. 

when i was a teenager, there was still a very damaging purity culture in tumblr fandom, but it was around social justice - how do you be the least racist, least sexist, least transphobic, least homophobic, least ableist person, and so on. this culture was intensely damaging to me, psychologically, exacerbating already present obsessive compulsive and other anxious tendencies, but at least i agreed with the basic project: i do think it’s good for people to try to become less racist, less sexist, less homophobic, less transphobic, less ableist. i think that participating in a terrifying, abusive purity cult is a bad, damaging, and ineffective-in-the-long-term way to do that, but i think the intent is in the right place. 

however, because of certain changes in online culture, that kind of social justice has kind of become “cringe” and therefore fallen apart. like, it’s still present, but far less strong than it used to be. but the purity cult has remained, only now it’s explicitly only about sex. people will try and hunt down the most deviant expression of sexuality they can find, and put that on trial. it doesn’t matter what that sexuality is. i am frequently on record as saying that if wincest didn’t exist, destiel would be considered the irredeemably problematic ship of the supernatural fandom, and in fact i’m constantly surprised that i, personally, have never been cancelled for romanticizing abuse, something which i try not to do, but walk a pretty fine line on. but no one cares about the toxicity of destiel because rather than having a sensible barometer of reasonable behavior, everyone is simply fixated on finding and persecuting the most deviant option available. thus, since destiel is by comparison less deviant than wincest, it’s fine. 

but this culture doesn’t actually have anything to do with, like i said, a sensible barometer of reasonable behavior. it just goes for the most deviant option available. the same culture that comes for wincest shippers is the culture that comes for, i don’t know, people who ship the wrong she-ra ships. as you can probably tell, it’s been a while since i’ve been in a giant fandom full of youngsters. it’s not actually about the specific morality of shipping wincest, it’s about asking “who is it okay for me to hurt” and finding the most deviant people available for an answer. 

this is why they reached so hard to try and accuse me of being a wincest shipper. they wanted to bully someone, or perhaps they had a problem with me (though given that they don’t seem to have searched my blog, because if they had they would have found better ammunition, i suspect it’s the former), and so they accused me of shipping wincest - the worst possible accusation, an accusation that makes it okay to accuse me of anything and do whatever they like to me. 

like, you, The Girl (GN) Reading This, should be creeped out by this behavior. no matter what your opinion of wincest. even if you post “wincesties die�� every day. because you will more than likely at some point in your life find yourself on the wrong end of this culture, for something which you consider totally innocuous. that, or perhaps you will be coerced into participating in some kind of bullying campaign, which is traumatizing in its own sense - even if you enjoy it at the time, it’s likely you will grow to regret it. hurting other people sucks.

i’m going to bed and i’m going to leave this as my last post until i wake up in like, four hours, so as many people can read it as possible. i would love for people to think about the kind of fan culture they’re participating in where not only me but people i interact with get sent these kinds of messages.

i don’t know, i feel like this *checks notes* fifteen hundred word essay i’ve written is a touch pearl-clutchy. anon hate is something normal on the internet. i get it about once a week, and normally i respond with jokes. some people are just assholes. i’m unusually sensitive about this kind of thing because like i said, i’ve had some formatively bad experiences with social justice purity politics. i also put a lot of value on having my cards on the table - if someone is going to get mad at me for saying “i don’t think wincesties should die” i would like them to get mad now, and not wait until i trip over a landmine. so those things were definitely part of the reason i wanted to write this.

but in this case, this person who decided to be an asshole was also sending messages about me to other people i know, which is creepy in and of itself, but also: i don’t necessarily trust the people i know in this fandom not to decide to shun me on the strength of an anonymous accusation of wincest shipping. that’s how strong the purity culture is in this fandom in specific. and i personally find that incredibly distasteful. like, you’re gay people aren’t you? you’re aware that mainstream society will always consider you sexual deviants no matter how respectable you are? yes? like this person wants to intentionally destroy my social connections and reputation. which is much more threatening than just saying nasty shit to me on anon.

[awfulwhumpsideblog]

(cw for abusive relationship under the cut, including mentions of noncon, murder, and suicide)

“You’re... you’re a monster.” [A] said.

[B] looked down on them coldly. “Am I, now? How can you know that?”

“What-- what do you mean, how can I know that?! You’ve hurt so many innocent people!”

“Hmm... there’s the problem, you divide people into two groups-- those who are innocent, and then monsters. I get it. It’s very human to dismiss some people-- whether they be those who disagree with you on issues you deem important, people who hurt you, or just groups you have a bias against... your mind simplifies them into monsters and pieces of shit who don’t experience the broad range of human emotion.”

“Do you have a point or do you just want to share what you learned in your first year psych course?”

“Yes, I do have a point. I have people I hate too.”

“Really? Like the people who won’t put up with your bullshit?”

“In a way. There’s my abusive ex, for one.”

[A] was taken by surprise and didn’t know how to react. This seemed to have come out of nowhere. They tried to respond, “Seriously? I-- that’s... I find it hard to believe, what, what do you mean-- did they hit you sometimes, or something?”

“A bit more than that. They chipped away at my self worth over the course of years, convinced me I was crazy, isolated me from everyone else in my life, made me financially dependent on them, made me think they would kill themselves if I left or stood up for myself, tried to make themselves into the ultimate victim-- you know, because they felt so horrible after they beat me. Ah yes, the way they violently raped me was also pretty bad.”

“That’s...” [A] was at a loss for words as their stomach sank. Their gut reaction was to think that they were making this all up to mess with them-- the idea that anyone could go through something like that made them sick and it would be so much easier to think that this was just some kind of ploy.

“You think I’m lying, don’t you?” [B] said, although they didn’t sound accusatory. Their tone was strangely gentle. “I can’t make you believe me, and I guess it doesn’t matter to me. You don’t need to believe me in order to listen to what I have to say. And all I’m saying is-- I hate this person, from the very bottom of my heart. I hate everything they’ve done to me and the permanent damage I will never fully recover from. I’m not immune to dehumanizing people-- to me, they’re human refuse and I will never acknowledge them as anything other than a source of misery.”

From the way [B] spoke, [A] slowly started to think they were being sincere.

[B] continued, “But of course, even though I can’t see them as one-- they are human. Even if I don’t know it emotionally, I know it cognitively. You know the reason they gave for everything they did? That their father killing their mother and then killing himself messed them up beyond repair. They were so sad that I had such a good relationship with my parents-- how come I kept having to rub my happy and alive parents in their face all the time? Why was I being so cruel?”

[B] left the question in the air for a moment and the gears started turning in [A] head as [B] continued, “So, of course, I tried to be nice. I was being selfish and hurting them by seeing my parents all the time. I thought it was the right thing to do. I could still text them, so what was the big deal? I wanted to do all I could to accommodate the trauma the person I loved had endured.”

Seemingly finished their story, [B] asked them: “Do you think that was the right thing to do? To listen to someone and do what they say just because they were hurting?”

[A] shook their head. “Of course not.”

“Should I have refused to give in to their demands, and maybe even leave them-- despite the pain it would cause them?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” [B] smiled. “Sometimes hurting someone is the right thing to do.”

“But not this time.”

“Agree to disagree.”

[elizabeethan]

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 14 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: Here comes the whump!! There's a good amount of violence in this chapter (well, not really, but it's more than I've ever written). As always, if you need more details you can message me!

Rated M

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~~~~

“Hello, hard worker,” she hears from the door as it creeps open. Looking up from the blank screen, she smiles at Tink. 

 “Hi,” she greets in return. “How are you?” 

 Tink gives her a smirk and chuckles. “Probably not as good as you are.” Emma’s eyes widen and her cheeks turn hot at the implication. She doesn’t even know what Tink is implying, but she does know that she’s pretty experienced in all things related to sex, so her assumtion probably has some backing. “I’m not gonna say anything,” she finally consoles. 

 “You know?”

 She moves into the room, the door already shut as she makes her way for the chair Killian usually sits in. “He didn’t tell me, if that’s what you’re worried about. But when he mentioned leaving, and when he mentioned getting you out, specifically… It was obvious.” 

 “Oh,” Emma nods, biting her bottom lip into her mouth. It’s sweet that the way he talks about her gives him away, but she can’t help but feel nervous about it. Could he be giving himself away to just anyone? 

“It’s also obvious that he loves you, just so you know. But only because we’ve been friends for so long.”

 She takes her words as consolation. They’ve been each other’s only friend for years, learning each other emotionally and physically, so it makes sense that Tink would figure it out before anyone else does. “Thanks,” she says with a smile.

 “And I don’t want you to worry. He ended things with me the night you came here. He and I are friends before anything else; I’m just happy that he’s so happy.” 

 “I wasn’t worried,” Emma says truthfully. “I trust him. And… and you.” 

 “Good,” she says pleasantly, her smile meaningful as she seems to understand Emma’s sentiment; her implication that they’ve become friends, too. “So I guess you’re just sitting here and wasting time until we can go, huh?” 

 “Yeah,” she laughs. She enjoys Tink’s company. It’s easy to laugh with her, her lightheartedness contagious despite them both knowing the danger they're in. Killian has been quietly planning their escape, and it’s almost time to go, so the danger is getting more and more real as the minutes tick on. 

 They sit for a while, joking and laughing together, and Emma reflects silently on how nice it is to have a friend. Killian’s been her friend from the moment they met, but she hasn’t felt this close to another girl in all of her life. She hasn’t felt supported and genuinely liked by another girl since she was a kid, before the runaways and the homelessness left her completely and utterly alone. 

 “You seem happier,” Tink reflects with a soft smile. “The first time we met… Just-- I’m sorry, Emma. I should have been nicer to you. I’m just glad things are starting to look up for you now.” 

 “Thank you,” she smiles. “It’s nice having a friend.” 

 “Yeah,” she laughs. “Elsa’s nice but… I don’t know.” 

 The conversation takes an unexpected turn, guiding Emma down a path she didn’t know was there. The inclusion of Elsa in their discussion of friendship should seem natural enough, but Tink’s suggestion is that she isn’t as good a friend as either of them are to each other. 

 “What?” she asks, easily letting her confusion be known.

 “Something about her,” she answers with a shrug. “I never trusted her. Killian does, though.” 

 “Well, she’s almost like his sister-in-law, right?”

 She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “Yeah, I guess. Not like that seems to mean much to her. Her loyalty lies with her family.” 

 Emma’s eyes narrow suspiciously, wondering what on earth Tink is talking about, where she’s gotten this idea, and what she could possibly know that Killian doesn’t. Killian is Elsa's family. “What are you--” 

 “Hi,” Killian says as he pushes the door open. She bites down against the smile teasing at her lips. 

 “Hi,” she whispers back. “Everything okay?” 

 She wasn’t expecting to see him today, not in the middle of the day, at least. But his arrival is nothing short of a pleasant surprise. It’s not entirely unusual for him to pop in during the day and see how things are going for her, but they should be lying low to avoid stirring suspicion, especially after their risky meetup in the bathroom last night. 

 “Aye, just checking in,” he answers as he bends to plant a kiss to her forehead. “Morning, love,” he says to Tink.

 “Good morning, fearless leader. Everything all set for today?”

 “Yes, indeed,” he answers playfully. She hasn’t ever seen him this light and happy outside of his bed when they share it together. The prospect of finally, finally leaving is a weight lifted off of all of their shoulders, and it’s clear that his spirits are lifting the closer they get to implementing their escape. “Just taking care of some last minute details.”

 Tink nods knowingly, and Emma immediately wonders what he’s talking about. Without her having to ask, she turns to Emma and explains, “convincing Elsa to go will take a certain level of… finesse.” 

 “Not to worry,” Killian consoles gently, placing his hand on hers and giving her a soft and loving smile. It’s the one she knows he saves just for her-- the one she never saw until they started to get close. “I’ll take care of it. I’m about to go and talk to her now, I just couldn’t resist giving my lady love a kiss before I went.” 

 She giggles like someone who has never felt pain before and he bends towards her, planting a soft, slow kiss to her lips that leaves her craving more. She’ll always crave more. And soon, she won’t have to deny herself the pleasure of being with him

 ~~~~

 They’re almost ready. Robin and Killian just need a few more things, some food and clothes and weapons with which to defend themselves, before they're ready to depart. Emma has already shaken enough from Neal’s safe to last them, and she’s certain that he hasn’t noticed and likely won’t until long after they’re gone. The availability of Gold’s yacht is certainly convenient as well, but they must be careful to load their supplies at the last minute, just before they're ready to leave, to avoid being caught.  

 Really, all that’s left is to round each of them up. Tink is more than ready, the two of them dreaming of fleeing for years and finally ready to take action. Robin has been silently wishing his life to be different since he was born into the club. The only person he truly worries about is Elsa, because she’s been gaslighted and unfortunately hasn’t been able to see past their tactics. She spent most of her life here, her mother bringing her and her sister into this lifestyle when they were just children. Now, he has to go against decades of brainwashing to convince her that it’s dangerous here-- that it’s not worth the risk that comes with staying.

 He’s just stepping out of his apartment, having just dropped off some groceries, when it happens. He doesn't even see who does it. He isn’t sure who hits him and with what. But in the blink of an eye, his hopes are dashed as his world goes dark.

 ~~~~

 The blackness fades slowly, the buzzing around the edges of his vision dissolving as he comes to. He moves to scrub his hand over his eyes, but it doesn’t move, prevented by the rough material around his wrist. His other stays put as well, the same material keeping him still. 

 Of course, he thinks in the darkness of the muggy, dank room. Of course this is happening. They were so happy-- they were so close. Of course they’re found out just before they planned to leave.

 “Ah, he lives. Glad you didn’t knock him out too hard, Neal.” 

 “I want him to suffer some more before I do.” 

 He wants to roll his eyes, but when he tries, he’s met with innumerable pain. Neal must have done a number on him, his eye swollen and painful. With each breath, his ribs sting and he hisses. He mumbles, “Bloody hell,” but it’s probably a bad idea. 

 Another fist strikes the left side of his face, further damaging his skin and the bone and tissue underneath and making him cry out. “You’re in for it now, Hook,” Neal hisses. “Elsa told Peter what you did, and I'm gonna make you suffer for it.” 

 He lets out a pained groan, blood trickling from his cheek. He tries again to wipe it away, but the ropes stop him, burning the tender skin of his wrist. “Elsa?” he asks in confusion, still fighting against the haze that’s perpetuated by another strike, this time to his right cheek. His neck cracks in such a way that can’t be good news as his head is whipped to the side.

 “That’s right. Did you expect loyalty from your family? Good luck with that. Unlike you, she understands that we are her family.” 

 Something hard whacks against his shin, making him cry in pain again. It’s not a fist; more likely to be a metal rod or perhaps a plank of wood. “That’s right, Neal,” Peter praises. “We’re all family. Elsa doesn’t have loyalty to only one.” 

 “Because you’ve brainwashed her,” he argues, met with another strike against his already stinging ribs. 

 “We’ve enlightened her. She’s dedicated to her family.” He isn’t even sure which one of them speaks as Neal delivers another sharp blow to his chin. 

 His ears ring as Neal’s open palms meet them, clapping both sides of his head at once and making his eyes grow wide in breathless agony. He can barely make a sound in response, his jaw dropping but any noise in protest stuck in his throat. 

 As the fog in his brain clears after a few moments, Neal allowing him to recover slightly before continuing his torture, he finally speaks again. “She also told us how she found out. She overheard you in the bathroom. During Rufio’s funeral. You sick bastard.” 

 His hand finds Killian’s throat, squeezing firmly until one eye starts twitching and his lips begin to go numb. Then he squeezes harder. 

 “Tell him what she heard, Neal.” 

 “You murdered Rufio,” he accuses knowingly, and Killian realizes that any sense of privacy that he and Emma thought they had was false, even with the door locked. Elsa must’ve gone to use the bathroom they commandeered, and she must’ve been forced to tell Peter and Neal what she overheard when she was caught, too. 

 “And what else?”

 “She heard you attacking my girlfriend,” he hisses, throwing Killian back until his throat is released, although it’s at the expense of his back as the chair tips and he lands solidly against the concrete ground. “She heard you trying to take advantage of her!”

 He lets out a rasped, choking sound as Neal’s boot pushes against his throat, barely giving him time to recover from his last assault. He can’t breathe, the muscles in his neck protesting against the firm weight pressed to him. He isn’t sure if the back of his head hit the floor when he collided with it, but he knows that would be bad. 

 “You fucking bastard!” Neal screams, clearly not worried about their location or activities being given away by an excessive noise level. “You tried to ruin her? Why?!” 

 Neal’s question needs to be answered with finesse. He can’t say anything that will imply that Emma was in any way a willing participant in their activities. He can’t let Neal find out that their affair is two-sided-- that they love each other. That they plan to run away together. 

 Of course, the possibility of their plan actually going off at this point is slim. Honestly, Neal might kill him tonight, his derangement making it impossible for him to see that Emma wants out just as badly as he does. 

 “Answer me!” he finally screams again, removing his boot and driving it forcefully into Killian's ribs. He can’t even double over, or roll onto his side to ease the pain, because he’s still bound to his chair. “Did that whore let you soil her? Or did you force yourself on her?” 

 “She had noth-- nothing to do with it,” he gasps, barely able to speak, barely able to breathe. “It meant nothing; she means nothing to me. I just did it to piss you off.” 

 Neal kicks his broken ribs again and Killian sees white. His vision blurs in response to his torment, but he hopes he doesn’t pass out because he knows he might not wake up if he does. It would be so easy to give into the blackness that clouds the outer rim of his sight, but he can’t. 

 “You took advantage of her. She’s weak, she can’t defend herself. She doesn't know what’s best for her. How dare you?” 

 “Aye,” he agrees painfully. It hurts to admit this in falsity almost as much as it hurts when Neal’s heel drives into his stomach. 

 He hears Peter say something, but his voice is tinny in his ears and he can’t make out his words. He’s slipping under the blanket of unconsciousness, the numbness taking over far too intriguing as he lets his eyes fall shut and his mind go black.

 ~~~~

 “Bring him out,” Peter commands, his violent voice making Emma jump in her seat. She can’t help but notice that her chair has been placed suspiciously closer to Neal’s than it usually is. He sits beside her, his body still and rigid and his eyes staring straight ahead. His face is threatening and tense, his jaw locked. “I need everyone to see what happens when you betray this family.” 

 A family meeting was called unexpectedly, interrupting Emma's sham of dedication to her research. She and Tink stared at each other, terror written across both of their faces as they stood and followed the small crowd to the intimidating room, met with Peter looking absolutely irate at the head of the table. Neal’s knuckles are bruised and bloodied, she’s realized.

The door opens slowly, two men dragging along a limp and seemingly lifeless form before throwing him into a chair and laughing when he groans. 

 Killian. 

 Emma stiffens, her eyes stinging and filling with tears that she immediately works to blink away. She bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. She can’t let anyone see her reaction to seeing him like this, but the fact is, she thinks she might be dying on the inside. 

 He’s so broken, so mutilated. The bruises on his face make him almost unrecognizable, the swelling of his eyes and chin and cheeks distorting his beautiful features painfully. He’s holding his arm over his middle, likely suffering from some injuries to his ribs. He looks like he can barely breathe. There are deep purple bruises painted around his neck, taking on the shape of someone’s angry fingers. 

 The same angry fingers grab for hers, and she knows immediately that Neal has done this to him. He’s hurt her endlessly, but now he’s battered the man she loves, and this cannot stand. 

 “Tell the men what you’ve done, Hook,” Peter insists. One of the men holding him upright in his chair, Walsh, snickers madly. 

 “I--” he starts, his voice rough and tattered. Walsh laughs as he pushes his hand against one of his bruises for sport, causing Killian to wince. “I killed Rufio.” 

 The men around the table gasp, each of them straightening and making as though they’re about to stand and hurt him even more.

 “And what else?” 

 “I tried to damage Neal’s property. I manipulated her; I told her lies to make her believe that I felt something for her.” 

 The words are rehearsed. They trained him in exactly what to say. But still, she feels a stab in her heart at him announcing that she means nothing to him. “And tell them why.” 

 “Because I’m mad. I wanted to cause Neal pain. And I--” he cries out again as Walsh pushes his finger against another angry bruise, laughing at his response. “I want to cause the club to suffer.”

 “He wants the club to suffer, and he’s succeeded. I want everyone to take a long, hard look at the man who used to be our brother. Killian Jones is a dead man. He’ll die at sunrise, but for now, he’s to act as a symbol to anyone considering betraying the club. We’re a family, and we will not be trifled with.”

 The crowd around the table cheers loudly in agreement, each of them getting riled up in response to Peter’s ostentatious speech. He continues, “As for the Kings of Elsinore, we’ll continue our plans of attack. I don’t know about you lot, but I’ve about had enough of people who want to see us suffer. No one messes with the Lost Boys and lives to tell the tale!” The men cheer, fists banging against the table and making Emma jump. “They Kings will be a symbol for any other club thinking of going up against us. We are the rulers here! Prepare for battle, men. At dawn, we raid the Kings’ clubhouse!” 

 She’s silent as the room empties slowly, everyone who walks past Killian giving him some form of further physical punishment as they make their way out the door. Soon, it’s just Robin who remains, staring angrily at Killian, and Neal by her side. 

 “Ems,” Neal says darkly, and her blood runs cold in sudden fear. She’s been so consumed with worry and anger for Killian that she hasn’t even considered the repercussions from Neal at them being discovered. 

 She turns to face him nervously, her fingers shaking as she grips the arms of the chair. “Yeah?” she nearly whispers. 

 He gives her a soft, if not terrifying smile that she thinks is an attempt at being comforting. “I forgive you.” 

 Her brows raise on her head, almost meeting her hairline, and she asks, “You… what?” 

 “I know this bastard manipulated you. I know you’re not… Well, I know you're naive and desperate for attention wherever you can get it. Hook trying to seduce you isn’t your fault. I forgive you.” 

 She nods weakly, feeling as though she's in a trance. In a moment of clarity and brilliance, she decides to go along with his thoughts and says, “Can I have a minute with him? I need to look into the eyes of the man who… who tried to hurt us.” She chooses her words carefully, saying exactly what she knows will coerce him into giving her what she truly wants.

 “I don’t know, baby,” he shakes his head, taking her hand and roughly dragging it towards his mouth. “That’s not your brightest idea.” 

 “Robin’s here,” she reasons. “Look at him-- he’s just as mad as we are that his friend betrayed our family. He’ll keep me safe.” 

 He gives her another leering smile that she’s sure he thinks is sweet and winks. “I guess you’re not so useless up here after all,” he concedes, tapping his finger against her temple. She forces herself not to flinch away. “Rob,” he barks as he stands, “keep her safe from this asshole.” 

 “‘Course, mate,” Robin answers, taking Neal’s hand and shaking it. “I’ll watch him like a hawk.” 

 Neal is out the door in an instant, not bothering to say anything more to Emma in favor of shoving against Killian’s shoulder on his way out. 

 She's still for a moment, taking in the grievous sight of him and barely able to move. It takes her just a second after he lets his eyes fall shut and a weak breath fall from his lips to hurry to him and take his hands. “Killian,” she pleads in a whisper. 

 His brows screw together in pain and she pulls back, but his grip on her hand tightens. “I’m sorry,” he struggles. 

 “No,” she cries, pressing her lips firmly to the top of his hand, the one part of him that hasn’t been battered violently. “Don’t say that, baby. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.” 

 “I didn’t mean it.” He opens his eyes, or tries to, one of them almost completely swollen shut. She’s met with his genuineness, and it breaks her heart. 

 “I know that,” she promises. “You didn’t have to take all of this punishment just to keep me safe.”

 “They’ll never hurt you,” he vows, and it’s like he's promising himself, too. She stands, bending at her knees so that she can look at him head on. His bottom lip is swollen and bloody, but she plants a kiss there anyway. 

 “I love you,” she tells him seriously. “I’m so sorry.” 

 He doesn’t respond-- she doesn’t think he can-- but she does feel him squeezing her hand once more and bumping his likely broken nose against hers.

 This is her fault. He wouldn’t be here if not for her. If not for her making stupid mistakes and getting caught up in ridiculously dangerous situations, she wouldn’t be here and he would be okay. He wouldn’t be bleeding and bruised and have cracked ribs, and she wouldn’t be worried about his lungs being punctured or his skull being fractured. She would be alone, she would be lost without ever knowing him, but at least he would be okay. 

 “We have to get him out,” she says to Rob after a few moments of thick and desperate silence. “He needs help; he needs a doctor.” 

 “I know,” he nods in agreement. 

 “No,” Killian begs weakly. “Just go. Leave me, please. Don’t risk getting caught--” he cuts himself off, gasping in pain as he tries to move in his chair. “Please.” 

 “Killian, no offense, but shut up,” Robin says. “We’re all planning to flee. There’s not a chance in hell we let you die while we walk free.”

 “Right,” Emma breathes, relieved to hear that his friend feels the same as she does. “It’s almost dark. Do you think anyone will be here much longer? Can we sneak him out?” 

 “Rob,” he practically whimpers, letting his head drop back as his breath catches against the pain in his throat. “Please. Don’t put her in any more danger. Please.” 

 The room falls silent again as Robin considers his friend’s pleas, looking between the two of them pensively. Honestly, she doesn't care how it’s done. She just needs to make sure that Killian is out of here and away from danger as soon as possible so that they can follow through with their plan. 

 “Alright,” Robin concedes. “Emma, you should go back with Neal. We still don’t want to tip anyone off to our plans. I’ll get him out since I’m supposed to be keeping watch anyway. But at that point, we’ll both be wanted by the club. Round up Tink and Elsa and meet us. You talked to them both, right?” he asks Killian. 

 He shakes his head. “You have to check on Elsa first,” he insists. “Leave me and make sure she’s alright. She told them--” He gasps again, and Emma rubs her thumbs over the tops of his hands. When he looks into her eyes, he says, “She’s how they found out.” 

 “What-- she what?” 

 Emma’s dumbfounded, shaking her head in thought, unable to wrap her mind around the betrayal. It isn’t until her conversation with Tink makes itself known in her memory that she realizes what she meant. 

 Elsa’s loyalty lies with her family.

 “Emma, please, check on her. They probably tortured it out of her.”  

 She nods, if only so that she doesn’t cause him any further distress as she figures out the truth. There isn’t much about this lifestyle that makes sense to her, but one thing that seems abundantly clear is the fact that Elsa has never been as loyal to her brother-in-law as he has to her. Emma doubts very much that Elsa was tortured at all, much more likely to have given up the information freely. 

 “I will,” she promises, kissing the top of his left hand. “I’ll meet you soon. I love you.” 

 “I love you,” he whispers, letting his eyes fall shut. 

 When she stands, she makes anxious eye contact with Robin and says, “Get him out of here. He needs to see a doctor.” 

 “I will. Grab Tink and Elsa and meet me at the docks when you can. I’ll wait a few hours before I start looking for you.” 

 She nods, making her way towards the door and making a silent vow to herself. She’ll grab Tink, and she’ll prove her own hunch about what Elsa has done to Killian. 

 ~~~~

 Robin has just gotten to the docks, tucking his friend away safely on the boat they’ve pilfered, when he hears the footsteps. He got Killian to the bed, cleaned his wounds-- although he didn’t look much better when he was done with him-- and gave him some rum to help him sleep before he heard someone rustling above deck. Only it’s too soon for Emma to be back. As he steps out of the cabin, he sees a shadowy figure on the dock. 

 “You,” the figure calls, making their way towards their stolen boat. Robin nervously reaches for his gun and points it at the shadow. They reach for something as well, holding it up before themselves, and Robin cocks his gun in response. 

 “I’m armed,” he warns.

 “FBI.” 

~~~~

~~~~

Tagging:  @courtorderedcake​ @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda​ @kday426​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​ @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot​ @ebcaver​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @tiganasummertree​ @gingerchangeling​ @jrob64​ @onceratheart18​ @xhookswenchx​ @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​ @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​ @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​ @batana54​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @deckerstarblanche​ @zaharadessert​ @xarandomdreamx @hookedmom​ @pirateprincessofpizza​

[gothicprep]

was reading your post on how portraying teenagers as Sexual Beings in media perpetuates social anxiety and feeling like you’ve fallen behind everyone else and just want to say that as someone currently a teenager and in pretty much the age of every YA character ever, it’s constantly strange to juxtapose my personal romantic experiences (literally nothing) with those of book characters my age (extremely serious sexual and emotional relationships)

idk I just think that watching people my age throw themselves into relationships less out of genuine desire and more because they feel like they need to be in one seems so harmful, and i’ve watched my friends suffer as a result bc they never tend to be emotionally fulfilling or good in any way? a bit like a personal obligation they’ve put upon themselves that they don’t get anything out of by the end of it

sorry idrk where this was going but I very rarely see people talk about what you were talking about there and just wanted to a) thank you because i’m ngl it’s a little personally reassuring as someone that Is That Age and Has Those Worries and b) say that i agree that media that unnecessarily ages people down to then reflect unrealistic high school standards is pretty harmful to a lot of kids’ mental health (as i watch a lot of my friends go through these experiences) and it’s funny to me that we as a society don’t discuss this more often

hey, i'm happy that post was cathartic for you. & i'm happy that i could provide some comfort in regards to teenager social pressure to be Having These Super Fucking Heavy Experiences That Don't At All Align With The Reality of Most Young People.

but since you mentioned the "relationships for the sake of Doing the Thing" issue, i'd like to return to that thought for a second

I knew/was close with a lot of people who engaged with that when i was younger and i genuinely believe it was damaging to them, & frankly, did weird shit to me mentally by seeing it and thinking that was average. it's palpable. i spent two or so years legitimately believing i was asexual because i was really uncomfortable with behavior i witnessed in my proximity, related to wanting to get deeply into relationships, but without any sort of emotional draw to that person, mainly fueled by a desire to have sex for the first time. i knew something was very off back then, but being much older and having a decently long & serious relationship now... jesus. this wasn't a good way to be. and this is probably tangentially related, but a lot of those people got married and had kids when they were too young to properly attend to those responsibilities and now they're feeling the heat from that.

so i want to let my younger followers know that they can and should move at their own pace with relationships and life milestones. you'll be fine. promise. you're best off to work on yourself and do things at a pace that you personally feel comfortable with. i swore off relationships for a lot of my 20s, and even without that experience, i'm fine. i promise i'm okay. i'm generally happy, and i feel better operating within my comfort levels rather than outside pressures. you really need to let your happiness guide you, not "i should be..."

thoughts like that will fuck you up. do what feels natural. challenge yourself, sure, but operate on the basis of striving towards what you actually want

[ckret2]

meta about Vox & abuse with a side of Angel

Posting about Vox today reminded me of the thoughts I had a few days ago when the Insta accounts first posted those pics of Val smashing Vox’s face for getting his drink order wrong. So here’s a post mainly about Vox but a little about Angel.

So we've got confirmation that Val has shattered Vox's screen multiple times at this point. But there's been no evidence of violence from Vox toward Val, has there? I think it's all been one-sided. Think mention was made that Vox broke Val’s TV at one point, but as far as I can recall that was a one off—whereas Val has threatened to beat Vox’s face in more than once and done so more than once.

Cut for length but also for mentions of abuse—mainly just about how that abuse could affect the narrative/character arcs rather than discussing it in detail.

We might find out later that Vox, Val, and Vel’s dynamic is intended to be read as three goofy roughhousing villains who beat on each other as slapstick comedy and don’t really suffer any long-term physical/mental consequences—Vox & Val’s shark attack on Vel sure suggests that possibility—but the fact that Val’s violence toward Vox appears to be much more frequent and significant, plus the fact that Val is already being characterized as a very scary very real abuser, definitely leaves open the possibility that we’re supposed to take the actions between VV&V more seriously, too.

And it’s definitely easy to take it seriously. Like, looking at this post:

Look past the “haha TV face man got his TV broke, like a TV” visual gag, and this is a some guy taking a selfie of the black eye/broken nose his boyfriend gave him.

But it would be easy to see even these posts as "cartoony jokey violence" unless you stop and remember oh yeah this cartoon plays closer to real world rules rather than bugs bunny rules. There IS still a chance they could play it off as looney toons violence where we're supposed to go "lol look how awful VV&V are toward each other”—but I'm hoping that they do play it as an actual abusive relationship.

Maybe have them treat it like cartoony funny violence. Maybe have them telling themselves that this is all funny, it’s all games, if you’re tough enough then a little thing like a broken screen doesn’t REALLY hurt—and you ARE tough, right, aren’t you Vox?? Aren’t you some big bad overlord?? You’re not some fuckin loser who gets butthurt over a broken screen, are you?? It’d be really easy for the three of them to tell themselves/each other that how they treat each other—especially how Val treats Vox—is fine... and then for the show to peel off the surface layer of their clowning around and point out the damage that’s really being done.

As far as what this means for Vox’s character, I’m interested in the possibility. Vox is currently slated to be an endgame villain for the series. I'm liking the implication that Vox can be this big powerful nigh-unstoppable villain... but is also still just as vulnerable as anyone else to being suckered by an abuser. That's an unexpected but intriguing avenue for character depth.

And if they're willing to give Angel an in depth character arc over being abuse at Val’s hands, then it would feel really weird if they don’t give Vox the same treatment. Not necessarily an arc that ends in character growth, not necessarily one that that concludes with him getting free and/or getting on the road to redemption—particularly if he’s gonna be an endgame villain—but at least one that takes it seriously and explores how that abuse affects his character. It could even make him a good foil for Angel, showing how the two of them handle it/are affected by it differently. (And if canon doesn’t give us that arc, I’ve got two hands and a keyboard and an AO3 account, and that is a threat.)

Saw a theory that this is recent treatment, that Val’s moved on to a fresh target now that Angel is out of reach—but I don’t think he is out of reach. Val is still demanding money from Angel at the start of the pilot episode; and it’s hard to tell from the “Addict” video what’s present day and what’s flashback, but between the insta posts around its release and the video itself, it seems like the dance is definitely present day and the abuse/assault is probably present day. So Angel isn’t out of reach, so Val didn’t “move on” to another target. Which probably means this is just how he always treats Vox.

tbh I’m, like, immediately ten times more invested in Vox/Val than I was before these posts solely out of a desire to get Vox out of that relationship lmao. And/or the desire for Vox to pull his big square head out of his ass, look at Angel, and go "oh wait I've been looking down on him but I should probably be, like... empathizing with him."

I mean you've gotta figure. They move in close enough circles that they've GOT to have seen the results of Val's treatment on each other.

But they apparently haven't ended up allies because—what reason? Maybe Vox looking at Angel and going "Well it doesn't matter what happens to HIM, he's just Val's pet stripper. Our relationship is different, Val and me are equals. We just roughhouse. That's all it is." Maybe Angel looking at Vox and going "Well he's on the same power level as Val, he could obviously just leave if it was bothering him. But he doesn't act like he's bothered, so he must not be," coupled with maybe not even consciously recognizing shattered screens as, y'know, an injury.

Or maybe they’re jealous of each other because they don’t see the full extent of how Val treats them. “What’s Angel complaining about, at least Val doesn’t beat his face in.” “What’s Vox complaining about, it’s not like he’s gotta dance for Val to pay rent.” Either because Val keeps them from getting to know each other too well, or because they’re both currently too emotionally immature to work out how to empathize with each other.

Or maybe Angel does recognize Vox’s situation but doesn't feel like he's got room to reach out when it's VOX, who oozes power out of every port and who gives off the impression that he would be violently offended rather than grateful if someone suggested he's any sort of victim.

Maybe part of Angel’s redemption arc is going to involve recognizing how bad Vox has got it, deciding that even a douchebag like Vox deserves the same chance at salvation that a douchebag like Angel got, and trying to invite him into the hotel to get away from Val.

And maybe part of Vox’s trajectory toward becoming the final villain will be rejecting Angel’s compassion, because he’s clinging so hard to this idea that he’s only “safe” as long as he’s the most goddamn powerful sinner in hell that he can’t bring himself to let go of the lie he tells himself about his own supposed invincibility, even when somebody’s reaching out and offering to help him.

(... All that said, I’m still waiting on standby with my keyboard and my AO3 account, fully prepared to write that “Vox goes to the hotel and now the healing can begin” fic.)

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

Okay, what are your thoughts on Ian's relationships? With his family, his boyfriends, and Mandy (since I think that's the only friend he's had)

Oh, no. Ohhhhhhhh, no. Now you’ve done it. You’ve asked about my dear, darling favorite character on the show. My love for one Ian Gallagher runs deep, which means this answer is going to run super long. The good, the bad, and everything in between—Ian Gallagher lives rent free in my brain and always will. I derive so much satisfaction from seeing Ian interact with other people, in whatever capacity that might be. I admire and aspire to the compassion he has shown for others over the years, even and perhaps most especially those who arguably haven’t earned it. He tries so hard to be good to people, and seeing their love for him manifest when he’s reached such lows where he can’t even fathom why the love of his life would want to be with him forever? That’s powerful.

So, yeah. I said I could write essays on these characters, and that’s exactly what you’re about to get: five hours and 6k words’ worth of my thoughts. (I am so sorry. There will be text walls.)

Let’s dive into Ian’s many and multifaceted relationships—his family, his friends, and his romantic pursuits.

Ian and Family

Ian told us where he stood on this in the very first season, and it set the standard for his character for eleven years to come. Faced with a prospect that others in his position could only dream of—not being Frank’s son and having a wealthy father with a functional, prosperous lifestyle mere miles away—Ian refused to buy into it. He refused to do what might have been objectively better for his future by seeking a relationship with Clayton. In that household, he would have had access to a better public school, more financial resources, a tutor to help him where he was struggling, and less urgency for him to work so that he could enjoy being a kid. When he got sick, he would have had access to better healthcare, too. Perhaps he would have had a better shot at West Point from that background than he did at home. But that’s just it: home was with his family, and he was very clear that they didn’t live in that nice house. All he wanted—all he wanted—was to be with his brothers and sisters. He has never referred to them as only half-siblings or half-cousins; he has never even used the words, “you’re not my dad,” on Frank. That’s his family, the people he loves most in the world, and he’s always been at his best when he’s with them and at his worst when he’s not. Let’s look at each of them:

1.      Frank: It is so striking to me that Ian doesn’t appear to hold the outright contempt for Frank that Fiona, Lip, and Debbie have exhibited at different points over the years. Aside from the handful of instances where they’ve gotten into physical altercations (which Frank always initiated) and kicking him out of the house on occasion, Ian is simply indifferent to him. But there are these moments, these brief glimmers of mutual attachment and loyalty, if those are the right words. In the scene where Ian famously doesn’t count to three before using the pepper spray on him, Frank starts saying how his New Gallaghers weren’t his real kids—that Ian is his real son, and Frank is his real father. It’s a passing thought uttered while trying to manipulate his way into the house that neither of them think much of, nor does the audience…until you remember that biologically, Frank isn’t his father, and he certainly hasn’t behaved like one either. Ian has more right than anyone to comment on that, but he doesn’t because Frank is his father. He’s the father that Ian idly hoped wouldn’t come to his wedding yet sat joking about with Debbie rather than getting pissed off that he was making out with some lady in front of everyone. He’s the father who sat at the table with them eating breakfast in 11x03 and claimed Mickey was the man in their relationship without Ian saying a word to him about it, and who Ian saw no issue with taking Franny to school when no one else could. In s4, as far removed from his family as he’d been for a while, Ian still went straight to the hospital when he heard that Frank was at death’s door. We focus so much on his attitude towards Monica because of how obvious it was that we frequently miss these tiny moments and their implications. It would take an awful lot of patience, compassion, and love not to write Frank off completely after all he’s done. Not necessarily our standard definition of love between a son and his father, perhaps, but a loving soul.

2.      Monica: I have actually written a pretty lengthy post about his relationship with her because while their shared mental illness definitely plays a role in his feelings toward her, that grew complicated far earlier than his diagnosis. The first time we meet her, we see that he has a visceral reaction to news of her presence. He runs. When Ian can’t process strong emotions, that’s what he’s done in the past. I happened upon an interview Cameron did just after the end of s1 where he mentioned something I had already been thinking: Ian’s age when Monica left is extremely important. He was a kid in s1, but one who could roll with the punches, sometimes literally. She left them two years before that. Ian would have been in middle school, roughly as old as Debbie was when she still called Frank “daddy” and forgave him for everything he did. It’s an awkward age that once again set Ian in something of a danger zone—too old to accept an excuse or no explanation at all, but not old enough to process the situation in a healthy way. And then she’s back all of a sudden with no warning. Ian doesn’t cry like Debbie, and he doesn’t typically get explosively angry like Fiona. He can’t deal, so he runs. He hangs back. He only speaks when he has to and compartmentalizes: Monica wants to take Liam, and they need to stop her. It doesn’t have to be about her leaving. They have a goal—he can focus on that. And then she’s back a year later, saying she’s here to stay while Fiona seems to take her at her word and Lip isn’t there to ground everyone. Ian tries so hard to behave like Lip would with his biting sarcasm and attempts to stay emotionally distant in a way that seemed pretty exaggerated for Ian, but he’s also dealing with a fresh wave of guilt over Mickey going to juvie—and Monica gets it. She’s the only person to acknowledge that he’s in pain and actively try to make it better. She’s the only one who really knows at the time, but that hardly matters. This poor kid, whose mother left him when he still needed her, has her standing in front of him and saying she’s sorry and listening when he speaks and taking him dancing—just the two of them. Embarrassing as it was and harmful as it could have been, she tried to facilitate his dreams when no one else wanted him to go into the military. She was there for him when he went AWOL. She came for him when he was arrested and even wanted to make a place for him in her new life, unrealistic as it was. This goes so much deeper than them both being bipolar. Ian’s comment about her parachuting into their lives in s7 wasn’t about Mickey or her role in them breaking up. He trusted her. He wanted her. He needed her. And she’d convinced him that she would be there—until she left. Over and over again. She was there for him and unintentionally took advantage of how desperately he still needed his mother. She made him keep loving her, and that’s both a blessing that has him crying into a voluminous man’s arms when she passes and a curse that wrecked him more than once.

3.      Fiona: The trust these two have for each other cannot be understated. Fiona has discussed things with Ian that she never brought up around any of the other kids throughout the entire series. In the pilot episode, she tells him about feeling needed and takes his opinion on the matter to heart. At the end of the season, he’s the one she talks to about the car because she can trust him to give her an answer even without speaking. In s2, she tells Lip that the two of them are her rocks, and we see that time and time again. That’s part of what makes their falling out over the church hit that much harder: it’s Ian and Fiona. The only time they’d been on the outs in any serious manner up to that point was when Ian was adjusting to his new reality and they were trying to find a balance between sister and caretaker. Otherwise, that bond of trust had never been severed—not until Ian literally sold himself only for it to amount to nothing in the end because she had no idea the lengths to which he’d gone to get that building. That damage gets mended, thankfully, but what a powerful period of time when those two were the only ones who’d never really been at each other’s throats. There is a downside to that trust, though. As I mentioned before, Ian was so responsible and put together when he was younger that Fiona didn’t think twice about his situation with Ned or that he ran away. Not even seventeen yet, and she was telling Debbie that she didn’t like his decision to leave but trusted him. That is one of the things I love about this show—even something like trust that we always prop up as an important factor in our relationships can betray us in the most unexpected ways.

4.      Lip: I won’t go into it here, but the relationship they share is something that means a lot to me on a personal level. It’s part of how I knew that Ian would become my favorite character pretty early on. The way he simultaneously admires and envies Lip, loves and is annoyed by him, relies on him and is desperate to pave his own path in the world—what a beautiful and accurate depiction of what it means to be a younger sibling. Lip is the first person to discover that he’s gay and openly accept him for it. (I think what he tried with Karen came from a well-meaning place even if it was horribly, horribly misguided.) Lip is the one who tries to get him into West Point, hate it as he does. He helps Ian when Terry is after him, takes care of him in the aftermath of the wedding when he realizes just how deeply Ian feels for Mickey, searches the whole damn city for him when he finds out that Ian is in trouble, gets him a job, leans on him in his own time of need… He’s not perfect. He slips up, just like Ian does. Some things break my heart, like Lip insisting that he’s earned his own space when his little brother is asking him for safe harbor or Ian thanking him for being his brother outside the prison. But they love each other so much, and I just… I can’t possibly put into words how much I love their dynamic.

5.      Debbie, Carl, and Liam: I’m grouping these three together because they’re further separated from Ian in age, so we see a lot of the same trends with them as a whole. Ian loves taking care of people. We know this. We also know that Fiona and Lip don’t typically want him taking care of them—they’re the ones who take care of him when he needs it, specifically Lip. With the younger three, however, Ian can be the Big Brother. He can shake his head in utter bafflement at Debbie’s obsession with holding her breath for two minutes, walk Carl through what he needs to go camping, and promise his baby brother postcards when he leaves. The difference here is that his relationship with them is so much less fraught with conflict. We don’t see him fight with Debbie, Carl, or Liam the way he has with Fiona or Lip. While Ian tends to be the voice of reason during conflicts overall, I think it’s also because he relies on his older siblings in a way that he doesn’t with his younger siblings, and the latter don’t tend to rely on him as much as Fiona or Lip as well. There’s a lack of tension in most of their interactions growing up because that pressure isn’t there. Perhaps this is where Ian’s age and standing in the family is a bit more beneficial: young enough to have people he can rely on while too young for anyone to really rely on him for more than his share of the squirrel fund.

Ian and Friends

I’ve seen it mentioned that Ian (and Mickey) not having more friends is bad or lazy writing. I tend to believe that that fails to take something into account that, admittedly, most of us don’t really have to think about: having friends is a luxury. It requires time and effort to cultivate friendships, especially lasting ones. As a kid, Ian spent a lot of his free time working or helping to manage one family crisis after another. Going AWOL, losing his health, struggling to acclimate to his illness, trying to find a new career path, spiraling into the Gay Jesus movement, going to prison, adjusting once again to normal life, getting married, a pandemic… I’m sure he’s had plenty of acquaintances over the years, but having a family to support and constant upheavals would have made it extremely difficult to really forge strong relationships with them. I think that’s part of what makes his relationship with Mandy so special and valuable to him: she’s sort of the same way.

When we met Mandy in s1, she had other friends. We saw her meet up with them and go shopping; she told Ian a story about how one was mad at her for not sharing her make-up. As the trauma in the Milkovich household reached its zenith for her in s2 and she started thinking seriously about getting out of there, we saw those friends fall by the wayside—all except Ian. He saw her and let her see him early on. That’s a level of trust and respect that nobody else in their neighborhood would have displayed, certainly not to her. But then there’s this guy who defended her against their creepy, perverted teacher and treated her like a human being, not an object. It’s no wonder she developed an obvious, unrequited crush and sought physical comfort from him occasionally. It’s no wonder she tried to repay the favor by giving Mickey a hard time in s3 and s4, misguided and rather uninformed as we know it was at the time. (It’s also no wonder that she went for the closest Gallagher to Ian, either, but that’s for another meta.)

And Ian… Ian is loyal to a fault. We have watched Ian cut out his own heart and let the blood drip down his arm to pool on the floor at his feet if it would make a damn bit of difference for the people he loves. Like Fiona and Lip, Mandy immediately accepted him for who he is and suggested an arrangement that would protect him as well as benefit her. That is enormous where they came from. To him, that had to feel like the ultimate sign of friendship: he could trust her with a part of him that he hadn’t even entrusted to most of his family yet. From that point on, she was on the List of People Ian Gallagher Would Do Anything For. Finding out about Terry and what had happened? He held a bake sale, of all things, to fundraise for her. Seeing that his brother—his best friend—was treating her like garbage? He put him in his place. Her boyfriend was beating her? He brought her home and made it his goal to find a safe place for her to stay, even if it ultimately didn’t work. She was going to move away from all of her meager support with that boyfriend? He didn’t just rally his own arguments—he brought in outside help with Lip, who he thought might tip the scales. It’s usually just a saying that true friends will help each other hide a body, but Ian literally tried to do that. Lucky for him, he has a good head on his shoulders and used it.

No, Ian doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends. We’ve seen that he has spheres of influence, if you will, and acquaintances that he can call upon when he needs them. (For example, the guys that helped with the preacher.) However, Ian has always struck me as a “quality over quantity” type of person. Being a soldier or an EMT isn’t lucrative, but they’re meaningful for someone who sees them as vehicles for helping people. Seeing more parts of the world than just Chicago has appealed to him in the past, but he seems perfectly content to carve out a spot for himself right here at home. Having only three best friends—Lip, Mandy, and Mickey—doesn’t seem like much of a hardship for him.

Ian and Romantic Pursuits

I hate to say that there were five, but from Ian’s perspective, there were. So, let’s talk about all five. Even though…there weren’t five. There was only one. We’ll save the best for last.

1.      Kash: The first of Ian’s perceived romantic pursuits that really wasn’t. I hope it goes without saying that I hate this man with the passion of a thousand burning suns. I hate him so much. However, their interactions taught me a whole lot about how kind and compassionate Ian really is—and how naïve. Of course, he would believe that Kash loved him. The man was buying him all sorts of expensive gifts, and that’s what we see on all the commercials and in so many movies, isn’t it? Grand gestures of affection through expensive gifts. Poor as they were, Ian still scraped together the money to buy him baseball tickets and CDs, convinced as he was that that was all part of what you did in a relationship. That desire to do things like a “normal” married couple in s11? Yeah, that starts here. Ian has always been a planner, and he’s always bought into certain stereotypes. We can see that here. What we can also see is Ian’s compassionate, kind, loving soul. He cares so deeply for other people, even ones that he doesn’t know very well, especially if they are living in circumstances that mean something to him. (For example, the mentally ill woman they tried to help at work and the shelter kids whose situations were so similar to Mickey’s.) Kash being a closeted gay man living in misery with a wife he didn’t love and two children he never meant to have clearly tugged at Ian’s heartstrings. Even after everything that happens, even though Ian behaves as though they’re awkward exes who just happen to work together, he still covers for Kash. He gives him that head start and takes it upon himself to break the news to Linda that he’s gone. He defends Kash to Lip when the latter finally says exactly what we all know: he was a pedophile who deserved to rot in prison for what he did. As with Fiona’s trust, Ian’s loving soul, compassionate heart, and desire for love outside his siblings are virtues that have done him harm in the past. This is one such instance.

2.      Ned: The second of Ian’s perceived romantic pursuits that really wasn’t. To be honest, I don’t believe that Ian would even characterize it that way. He seemed very aware that Ned was a distraction from his problems—from Mickey being in juvie, Monica falling into a depressive episode, the money in the squirrel fund being gone, Lip moving out, losing his shot at West Point, and getting denied for service due to his age. Again, though, Ian has always wanted to feel valued, and this rich dude was letting him stay in a fancy hotel room with anything he wanted readily available. This (disgusting predator) guy was giving him attention and a distraction with no strings attached. Then the complications roll in, and he’s once again faced with being the mistress to a closeted, married man. The difference here is that he’s not comfortable with it. He tries to tell Fiona twice, which is enormous for Ian when he has never been very good at communicating if it means burdening others with or even merely facing his own problems. But he tries to tell her. He rejects the GPS unit and tells Ned that he has a boyfriend, boxing him into a strictly sexual arrangement. (This, unfortunately, makes sense. It aligns with how Fiona viewed things: where Jimmy was concerned about it, she told him that it was “just sex.”) He is also visibly embarrassed to admit to Lip and Fiona what has been going on with Ned. By that point, Ian is a year and a half older and, while still scarred and warped in his views because of Kash, perhaps a bit wiser. Emotionally, he kept Ned at arm’s length most of the time. He used Ned not just as a distraction, but as a way to galvanize Mickey into taking their relationship a step forward. But Ian is still Ian, and Ian is compassionate to a fault. Ned played that card by asking if he could have a little understanding for a man whose life was falling apart. Sure, he can. He’s Ian, the Gallagher too empathetic for his own good at times. We know how that spirals out of control. It just goes to show that even when Ian was trying to maintain some emotional distance, his heart is simply too big and his perceptions too heavily impacted by the grooming he’d experienced with two different people by then, and so he [SPOILER ALERT] still feels enough of a connection to Ned after all these years to be mildly bothered that he passed away.

3.      Caleb: The third of Ian’s perceived romantic pursuits that really wasn’t. Ian’s relationship with Caleb strikes me as being similar to what he had with Ned. While more age-appropriate, Ian was very much using Caleb, just as Caleb was using him. That’s why it was so easy for both of them to walk away. Ian was in a difficult spot when they met. He was grateful to the firefighters who saved his life, but he had also just saved someone else at a moment when he was perhaps at his absolute lowest. That’s what he’s always wanted, isn’t it—to be a bit of a hero and help people? So, he’s understandably drawn there, first out of gratitude and then to be surrounded by very attractive gay firemen who helped people, saved his life, and invited him to be part of a function they were holding. But he made himself pretty clear from the start: he was interested in sex with Caleb. That was the draw. He still hasn’t come to terms with being bipolar and losing Mickey, but Ian has never not been with anyone for any extended length of time. That’s just who he is: he’s always sought some level of outward validation—from the army, Kash, Monica, Mickey, and so many others. We’re seeing him struggle with that now as he deals with the opportunities available to him as a mentally ill ex-con felon. So, he pursues Caleb as a distraction just like he did with Ned, only Caleb is a predator in his own right and can smell that his interest is coming from a place of weakness. He immediately (and initially unintentionally) preys on Ian’s desperate need for structure and order by insisting on a traditional date where Ian is very much out of his element and even goes so far as to instruct Ian on how to be intimate. It’s no wonder he mentions Mickey in these moments, as Mickey never wanted him to change, and Ian leans heavily (even slightly hyperbolically) into the fact that Mickey wasn’t a paragon of order and stability like Caleb outwardly appears. 

And I think why Ian puts up with it so long—being taught like a child, being used to upset Caleb’s parents, being paraded in front of his friends to make them jealous—is because he was getting something out of it too, just like with Ned. A stable place to live when their home ownership was in flux, a place away from his family when they weren’t providing the support he needed as he adjusted to his disorder, someone who validated his desires to help people regardless of their ulterior motives, and a physical distraction from his own problems. All of these parallel his relationship with Ned very closely. It was never going to last, of course. Ian is a strong person who temporarily forgot how strong he was because he forgot who he was, and Caleb didn’t want to be cared for—he wanted a project, like all of his sculptures. Being a project, being something that others see as needing to be fixed? That’s a hard no for Ian. It always has been. There’s a moment I love later in their relationship where Caleb tells him to turn off the lights when he goes out and lightly reprimands him for leaving one on the day prior. Ian is in a better place at that point, having regained a lot of his sense of self, and stares after him with indignation at being treated like a kid. He’s then lied to and cheated on, but I think that to mention those things to Caleb when they break up is to admit weakness on his own part—that he stuck with Caleb knowing that he was being mistreated, and Ian is not one to be called a victim. So, while we know from his discussions with Lip and Sue that the cheating and distrust bothered him most, he merely focused on Caleb lying about his sexuality, which removed a lot of the emotion from the situation—just like he did with Ned. It ultimately turned out to be a bad move since Caleb, being a skilled predator, made him question even his own sexuality in return, but we’re starting to see that Ian isn’t here to be someone’s toy anymore. Not an older, married man like Ned, but definitely not anyone his age either. I’m glad this pseudo-relationship happened because it showed Ian how strong he really was and that he could be in control of his own life. Sure, it destabilized him a little in the aftermath, but he worked through it. He leaned on his family, specifically Lip, who has always been his rock without the blurred lines that Fiona represented between sister/mother-figure/caretaker. Caleb is a garbage person, but Ian was the one who pulled the treasure from the trash, not him.

4.      Trevor: The fourth of Ian’s perceived romantic pursuits that really wasn’t. Trevor is perhaps the first relationship where we don’t see Ian dive in. Whether that’s because of his confusion over Trevor’s gender identity or the fact that he was really beginning to fully mature as an adult by that point (ostensibly finishing his education, getting a career, being fully self-sufficient, etc.), he tried to take his time and not jump right in. They hung out, talked around the neighborhood, and yes, engaged in some casual intimacy at the club. Again, Ian might not be in a full relationship, but he’s never without someone for long. At that point in the series, all he was missing was a relationship when it comes to traditional, “normal” goals for people to have. But Trevor posed a situation he’s never been in before since, while gay himself, Ian has never been very interested in activism or engaging in the LGBT community. It’s just not in his culture or environment, so to be faced with someone he’s interested in that challenges a lot of his views of gender and sexuality is something he takes his time with. Unfortunately, Trevor is younger than him and not quite as mature, not quite as experienced. He tells Ian he has plenty of friends and doesn’t need another, which is an ultimatum that has never really sat very well with me personally because I’m generally of the mind that if a person needs time and you really care for them, you’ll let them have that time. I’m not unsympathetic to Trevor: he’s been burned before and has his own trauma stemming from responses to his identity, so it makes complete sense for him not to be patient in this regard. He shouldn’t have to be—but then, Ian shouldn’t have to rush into anything he’s not 100% certain he wants either. That’s exactly what he does, though, because Ian does for others without thinking of the implications for himself a lot of the time. They make great friends, but they don’t make great partners. Trevor treats Ian similarly to Caleb in that he’s a bit of a project. Trevor educates him on the LGBT community and incorporates him into his ventures for the shelter without ever really showing much interest in Ian’s life or family, which suits Ian just fine because for as interested as he is in helping with the shelter and as attracted to Trevor as he is, he seems to know they’re not compatible. Ian, who has been having sex since he was far too young, takes a step back from it when they run into compatibility issues. (And pushes back on the pressure to bottom with some of his own—neither of them were in the right on that.) He doesn’t ask much about Trevor’s family or try to be part of his personal life. They sort of embody the “friends with benefits” stereotype: they hang out, they have sex, and that’s really all there is to their relationship. 

The reason Ian doubles down on trying to make it work isn’t because there was a future for them before Mickey broke out. It’s because he thinks he’s lost Mickey forever, he knows he’s lost Monica forever, and he’s not going to get the support he needs from his family when they couldn’t stand Monica and Fiona told him what he already knew to be true, namely that Mickey being an escaped convict would destroy everything Ian worked so hard for if he got involved. So, he does what Ian does. He needs that distraction—he needs to run from these strong emotions he can’t process, so he bottles them up and unfairly hopes that Trevor will provide some of that comfort after cheating on him with Mickey. (Had Mickey been released, I think they would have broken up. Instead, that was the first match Ian lit, but certainly not the last.) Now, the thing is, Trevor said at the start that he didn’t want to be Ian’s friend. He’s also younger and less mature in a relationship, which means he threw the concept of love out there prematurely, just like Ian thought what he had with Kash was love. The death throes of their relationship were a back and forth where Ian was spiraling and seeking comfort, and Trevor was providing some while keeping their relationship pretty amorphous. (Were they exes? Were they friends? Were they people who shared interests and danced around each other? Were they going to get back together? They never officially broke up—it fizzled and resurged, then fizzled for good.) Ultimately, whatever it was that they had couldn’t survive Mickey, Monica, or Gay Jesus. Trevor wasn’t prepared to deal with a full-blown manic episode, and based on his hands-off approach with involving himself in Ian’s life even before the Mickey-shaped bomb got dropped on them, it doesn’t seem like he really wanted to anyway. He did what he’s always done: prioritized his shelter, which I’m not deriding in the slightest. By that point, Ian was too far gone to care that he disappeared anyway. Had the situation been different and he was getting the support from his family that he needed, it doesn’t seem like he would have cared much there either.

5.      Mickey: Finally. Only took over five thousand words to get here. I’ll preface this with something that anyone who knows me from other fandoms is already well aware of, namely that I don’t do romance. Ever. Never been interested. The relationships I’ve always been most passionately interested in are platonic ones, especially “found families” and siblings, which is probably obvious from the other five thousand words here. Ian and Mickey are the first relationship I’ve actively shipped or written for in a fandom. They’re the first I’ve been invested in to this extent. As such, one of the biggest pet peeves I had when I first joined this fandom was the saying, “Ian fell first, Mickey fell harder.” These two wonderful dumbasses face planted on the concrete in front of the Kash and Grab in s1 and never recovered. I could go on forever about these two, but that particular wall of text would probably be too daunting for even the most avid Gallavich stan to traverse, so I’ll keep it fairly brief. As we can see above, Ian has a very strict sense of what he “should” want in a partner. Someone who is moderately successful in their chosen field, makes enough money to at least live comfortably, and typically does something that helps other people (a doctor, a fireman, a youth counselor). These aren’t passionate people. They’re not men who operate on instinct the way most of the people in his life have always had to by virtue of their social standing. They have life goals and opportunities that he envies, and Ian has a great deal of compassion for them when they hit a roadblock or things don’t work out. The amazing dichotomy of Ian Gallagher is that he straddles a line most people can’t between the rough neighborhood that has instilled in him all of his values/behaviors and the middle-class mentality of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and aspiring to more. Ian has always aimed for what Lip said wasn’t possible for poor people: being successful without having to scam or steal. But as I said way back at the beginning of this manifesto, the South Side is his home. His family is his family. And none of the people he’s been with personify the South Side quite like Mickey—they don’t personify home like Mickey. 

And I think that’s where the initial draw for Ian is. (I’m going to focus on Ian’s side since he’s who your question focused on.) The other guys look great on paper, and Ian’s brain says that that’s what he should aim for. We know better, though. We know that Ian has an enormous heart that belongs first and foremost to his family and their home. His heart says that this person—this dirty, rude, mean, violent person—is home. His heart says this person is everything about himself that he denies having, just like Ian was everything about Mickey that the latter declined to openly acknowledge for so long. I don’t like relationships built on “making each other better.” I really don’t. The wonderful thing about this is that it’s never been that way. Ian didn’t change Mickey. He’s exactly who he’s always been, but he’s grown past the fear of his own emotions and Terry’s response to them. He’s still a thief, a con artist, violent, and rude. Mickey didn’t change Ian either. He’s still rigidly conforming to certain stereotypes of what he thinks he should want, seeking structure (to his own detriment at times), and not a great communicator. The point for them is that they complement each other, not that they make the other a better person—not even that they bring something out of each other that wasn’t already there. That’s what Ian’s other relationships did. They made him shave off his edges so that he could fit a square peg into a round hole, and that’s not happiness. It’s simply what he thought he was supposed to do—what “normal” people did. 

With Mickey, he doesn’t have to worry so much about what is normal or acceptable. He doesn’t have to worry about whether or not his life is objectively “on track,” not until fairly recently. Mickey is the only person he’s ever been with who has accepted him for who he is, faults and strengths alike, without the underlying insinuation that he should be aiming for something else or pretending to be whatever the other person needs him to be in order to care for them. Kash needed an escape—Ian provided it. Ned needed a very specific brand of toy—Ian played that role. Caleb needed a project to feel fulfilled—Ian went along with it for a bit. Trevor needed someone who accepted him as he was but did things his way—Ian did that. To care for Mickey has only ever meant being himself because all Mickey ever really needed was him. Mickey didn’t need an escape from his home—his relationship with his family is more complicated than that. Mickey didn’t need to be saved from his upbringing—it’s what made him the person Ian fell in love with and who he is happy to be. Mickey didn’t need someone to change who he is on a fundamental level because unless it is going to get him into trouble and separate them, Ian never wanted him to. (Even then, it’s about what he does, not who he is.) And yes, I’m sure that there’s a level of excitement that Ian finds exhilarating where Mickey is concerned, but I tend to believe it goes a lot deeper than that. What he finds exciting about Mickey is what Mickey embodies about the South Side—about home. About his own upbringing, but also Ian’s. About Frank and Monica, his siblings, school, work, ROTC—existing and surviving in an environment where it’s not guaranteed that you’ll have money to keep the heat on this winter or feed your family. They spent the early seasons living in a constant state of fight or flight. They couldn’t afford not to. And there’s excitement in that. Look at how many people say that the first seasons are their favorite! There hasn’t been a huge shift in the quality or direction of the writing, just the trajectory of the characters. They’ve gotten older, and their problems have been different. It’s not about survival so much of the time anymore, but those are the storylines that excite us. For Ian, that exhilaration in the constant battle of survival in their neighborhood is sewn into the fiber of his being just like it is Mickey’s. He saw his home in Mickey before they truly fell in love, and when that followed, Mickey became home.

In Conclusion

Ian has spent his entire life looking for the “right” path only to realize that it was laid before him: his family, his small circle of friends, and Mickey. I love that that is coming full circle this season, where [SPOILER ALERT] marriage has almost made him regress a bit to that place where there must be a right way of doing things going forward, and slowly but surely, we’re seeing him loosen up.

Good morning. It’s Ian Gallagher loving hours.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Riding the Lightning: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

There are only two hours left, so if you’re going to do something, then you need to do it now. Penelope has been working overtime to see if she can’t track down Riley without the help of Sarah, but she really made sure he wouldn’t be found. She really doesn’t want Riley to surface.

“Check all police and hospital records dating back to September 1990,” Gideon asks of Penelope, and she gets straight to work.

“You know, you should check local newspapers to see if anyone reported any abandoned babies,” Spencer suggests.

“Yeah, I don't give a damn where the governor is, we may have found proof that Sarah Jean is innocent,” Sam Shapiro says over the phone.

“She really only had a maximum of three hours between police visits. It was four p.m. so traffic was pretty heavy. Whatever she did with Riley had to be local,” Spencer theorized.

“In 1990, there were three babies that were abandoned in Septemeber,” Penelope reveals.

“Three-year-old boys?” you ask.

“None.

“Why doesn't she just tell us where Riley is?” Spencer says in frustration.

“She is protecting him against Jacob. She refuses to let him be Jacob’s last victim. If he knows who his real parents are, then he’s haunted for life, and that’s exactly what Sarah doesn’t want.”

“Look, they are being executed within an hour of each other. What hope do we even have to finding him in time?” JJ asks.

“You know, it's quite possible, she doesn't even know where he is anyway.”

“No. she knows. We’ve got to get into her cell. Y/N, come with me.”

You follow Gideon to find the warden since he is the only one who can grant her access outside of her cell. He’s right outside of Jacob’s cell, and as much as you despise being around him, it’s for Sarah. Once he sees you, he smiles evilly, but you ignore him as best as you can.

“You've come to see the show?” Jacob asks.

He’s in the process of being shaved for the electric chair, but you ignore him.

“We need to get into Sarah Jean's cell. I believe the proof--”

“I can't do that!” Charles Diehl hisses and takes you two off to the side. “All official lines of communication are now over.”

“We just need five minutes,” you beg.

“Agents! They want the memory of these two individuals erased.”

“Five minutes. Please. That’s all we need,” you plead.

Charles sees the desperation in your eyes, and he just sighs with a gentle roll of his eyes.

“Five minutes.”

“Thank you. Come on,” Gideon urges.

He takes you to Sarah’s cell once it’s clear to go inside and look through everything she has. It isn’t much, but you don’t have a lot of time. Gideon goes straight to work in rifling through the books and mattress for something, but you’re drawn to the painting of her son in the field. He’s running happily, and you realize there is something pulling you to that specific painting. Gideon notices you just staring at it, but he doesn’t yell at you to keep looking. He knows you have something.

“What is it?”

You reach for the painting and take it off the wall, turning it over to reveal a newspaper clipping of a teenage boy. It’s about an award that he won, but there is no mention of what the award is, where he got it, or his name. However, you take one look at this picture and know it’s Riley.

“This is Riley. He’s alive,” you say and show him the picture.

“Let’s go.”

Gideon puts everything back the way it was before leaving the cell. You can’t be here when Sarah Jean comes back, and luckily, Penelope isn’t that far from her cell. As soon as the technical analysis sees the picture, she freaks just a little.

“That's Riley. It's her son, isn't it? Someone tell me it's him, please,” she begs.

“Yes, it is,” you nod.

“JJ, circulate this photo to the press. See if anybody recognizes this boy,” Hotch orders.

“Do I say who we think he is?”

“No just put him out as the missing persons.”

Before she can leave, a loud noise goes off that signals something. It’s not a good noise, you know that for sure.

“Okay, what does that mean?” JJ asks.

“It means Jacob is being moved to the execution chamber,” Spencer says.

You grab the photo of Riley and inspect it. There is nothing on here that suggests where he is because Sarah cut out the words. All she wanted was a picture of him, and that was enough for her.

“She cut around the photo so no one can read the text. He was two when he disappeared. This boy is sixteen or seventeen. If he's Riley, it would mean it's a recent photo.”

“Once Jacob's dead, do you think Sarah Jean would tell us if this is Riley?” JJ wonders.

“No, she won’t,” you shake your head.

“Gideon, she has to know we know.”

Gideon gives one single nod as the two of you head over to Sarah’s cell where she is finished being prepped for the execution chamber. She knows you took her photo which means she knows you know Riley is alive and well. It doesn’t take long for Jacob to be killed, and as soon as he is, you hope Sarah will tell you where Riley is.

“Jacob is gone. He's no longer any threat to Riley. Tell me where he is. We can stop this madness,” Gideon says when he sees her.

“There is no greater gift in life than that of being a parent. Yet so many of us abuse and squander that gift. You can deny being a parent all you want, but I know you are one,” she says to you. “I made my decision fifteen years ago. This has never been about Jacob. It's always been about Riley.”

“That's why we can't let you do this,” you beg.

“This isn't about you and me.”

“I know it isn't. That's why I'm not going to let Riley lose the greatest gift he knew he had,” Gideon declares.

“But that is my gift to him, and I'll not let you destroy that.”

You two leave her cell, and Gideon looks at you with a curious gaze.

“Are you a parent?”

“No. She’s lying,” you shake your head. You refuse to open the locked parts of your mind. There are a lot of secrets back there, and they are locked away for a reason. “We have to find Riley. Come on.”

You two head back to where Penelope and the rest of the gang are.

“Only people Jacob allowed Sarah Jean to know were the family she cleaned for,” Gideon thinks out loud.

“Sarah Jean worked for wealthy families all over Hampton. Let's go over all the families in the state of Florida who were looking to adopt in 1990, and let's see how many lived in Hampton,” Hotch orders, and Penelope goes to work.

“Families looking to adopt... hundreds.”

“How many from Hampton?”

“Uh, three families. The James', the Coulfied's, and the Sheffield's.”

“Looks like the Sheffield's removed themselves from the list in October 1990, and then moved out of Hampton,” you note when you read what’s on her screen.

“That's one month after Riley vanished where did they go?” Gideon asks.

“Uh, Keystone Heights. We got a match on the photo. It was in a piece of local daily news.”

“Call Morgan and Elle and tell them to get to the Sheffield's house.”

You take out your phone and dial Derek’s number with waited breath.

“You got something?” Derek answers.

“Get to the Sheffield’s house. We found her son. Keystone Heights,” you say and give him the address.

“That’s not far from here. We’re on our way.”

“Thanks. Call when you get there,” you say to him and look at Gideon. “He’s going there now.”

“Byran Sheffield,” Spencer reads from the real article the picture came from. “Local cello prodigy, seventeen-year-old Byran Sheffield won a scholarship to play the cello.”

“Let’s go,” Gideon motions for you to follow him.

You rush over to where Charles Diehl is taking Sarah to the execution chamber. They haven’t gone in yet, and you arrive just in time.

“We found him. We found her son,” Gideon reveals to the warden.

“Unless I receive an official stay of execution from the governor, I'm duty-bound to see this through,” he sighs.

“My son is dead, agent Gideon,” Sarah tries.

“I have agents on the way to his house as we speak, and the governor is standing by.”

“Why can you not accept the truth?”

“We can't. This isn't it,” you say emotionally.

“Agents are with in minutes of finding her son, alive,” Gideon says to Charles.

“I am truly sorry,” he sighs and pauses right outside the door. “Hold here.”

“What wouldn't you do for your son to give him a life you could never hope to dream of? I am at peace in the knowledge that my son is free to be whatever he chooses to be.”

“If he knew who you were, do you think he'd choose to allow you to walk in there?” you ask.

“If he knew who his parents were, can you imagine the damage my legacy would leave him?”

“Can you imagine what he would feel? Knowing his mother spent fifteen years on death row, innocent of all charges, just so he can be free of her?” Gideon argues.

“Not me, Jacob. It isn't just my life you have in your hands. It's Riley's life, too. You have the chance to save my son's life.”

“We choose to save yours, too,” you sniffle tearfully.

“My life ended the day I met Jacob,” she repeats herself.

“Gideon, I've got Elle. She says they're at the Sheffield's house,” Penelope says over the earpiece.

“It’s time,” Charles sighs and reaches for Sarah Jean.

“Take your hands off her,” Gideon snaps and speaks into the earpiece next. “Tell Morgan to kick the door and get in the house… whatever it takes. I said take your hands off her.”

“Agent Gideon!”

“A few moments, please,” you beg.

“Gideon, they've got him. What do are we doing here?” Hotch says from next to you two.

“I'm standing here because of choices I've made. Don't let my son be Jacob's last victim. Let me go. Let us both go,” Sarah begs with tears in her eyes.

You can’t help but cry at this because she is an innocent woman being killed for something she never did. Gideon sees this, but he knows he can’t do that to her. It’s all up to Gideon right now, and he makes the right choice.

“Tell Morgan... it's not her son. That we've made a mistake,” he sighs sadly.

“Let him go it's not the boy,” Hotch says into his earpiece.

“Would it be too much to ask if you two are the last faces I see?” she asks of you and Gideon.

“No, it wouldn't,” you whisper.

She gets taken inside the room, and you and Gideon make your way to the gallery where there are other people. You can’t believe they are here to watch a monster die, but you know she is completely innocent. You’re full-on crying right now, but Gideon is keeping it together better than you are.

Sarah Jean sees you two, and she just smiles at the thought of going in peace. You hold eye contact until the black cloth is placed over her head, and you just continue to let the tears fall for the woman who did what she thought was right.

“What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world, remains and is immortal." - Albert Pine

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[pynkhues]

(1/2) Hey, I'm the anon from the last request. Just have a few follow up q's if you're alright with that (dont have a tumblr to message directly rip)? With Gerri, its strange that she's Shiv's godmother yet both Shiv and Roman dont really know her in the pilot- was there a prior schism? Also did not know about St Andrews, if its not a military school then do you think it adds another layer to the dog kennel story?

(2/2- sorry!) I get what you mean when you say he also coddles Roman but to me its the emotional detachment thats striking. Like in the car post-slapgate, its obvs awks from the slap but they also don't seem to have natural connection or conversation vs Logan and car scenes with the others. There's also the references to him beating Roman (not to say he didn't beat the others but its only Roman mentioned). I think in s3, his new status as fave son might bring up some old wounds for Roman.

(x)

Hey! Ooo, these are really great follow ups, thank you! I hope you don't mind me breaking them into sections!

Is it strange that Shiv and Roman don't really know Gerri well in the pilot?

It is strange, but I also think it's just the result of a few things being shuffled around post-pilot. Pilots are usually shot months if not a whole year before the first season is as the point of them is to sell the network on the show. In that sense, they're effectively proof-of-concept tools and so it's common for things to change. I'm not sure if you're a crossover anon, haha, but I talk a lot about Good Girls as well, and the pilot of that even had a completely different lead actress they had to do re-shoots around for 1.01.

Jesse Armstrong, the Succession showrunner, has said that a few things were shuffled around after the pilot – one of the biggest things for instance is that Roman wears a wedding ring in the pilot and Grace is supposed to be his wife (she's even listed as Grace Roy in 1.01 on IMDB!) and Isla their daughter together. They changed that after the pilot though because they thought it worked better with Grace as just his girlfriend, and Isla as Grace's daughter, not his.

I think Gerri's role in the show really bulked up between the pilot and episode 2, and that's why there's more distance between the Roy kids and Gerri in the first couple of episodes than there is later in the season. Gosh, even the fact that she's not at Logan's 80th birthday party in the pilot feels so weird now with how much they've shifted her role in the family, haha.

Rest of the answers under the cut!

Does St. Andrew's not being a military school when Roman attended add another layer to the dog kennel plot?

Yeah, I think it does, but I also think more than anything, it's reiterating what's already there. That entire subplot is really steeped in how Kendall, Roman and Connor all have different memories of this same game. For Roman it's formative, for Kendall it's just a memory of a childish game, and for Connor, it's seen as through older eyes and, more than anything, an insight into their father, not an insight into Roman and Kendall.

In a lot of ways, Roman stressing that St Andrew's was a military school when it wasn't undermines his own memory of the game, just as Connor telling him it wasn't dogfood it was chocolate cake does, just as Connor telling him he asked to be sent away does. Does that make it any less real for Roman? I don't think so. It's obviously something he's remembered as traumatic, and it resulted in a very real, tangible removal of him from Manhattan, where Kendall and Shiv stayed and went to school. Regardless of whether or not it was military school, it was a boarding school, and I think that feeling of distance and isolation was likely very real.

I'm really curious though about Connor's different stories to Kendall and Roman. He tells Roman that he asked to be sent away, and Kendall that their dad sent Roman because you separate fighting dogs and you send the weak one away so that everyone knows the hierarchy. The interesting thing though to me is that I think Connor was telling the truth in both instances, but the former does make the latter read differently.

If Roman wanted to go, it undermines Connor's memory of Logan, because Logan was not only giving Roman what he wanted, but he was giving Roman greater freedom, greater independence, greater agency at an outdoorsy boarding school that wasn't actually a military school at all. So does that mean that Logan saw Roman as the weak dog, or Kendall? Who he kept close and on a short leash in the comfort of home?

Kendall obviously takes Connor at his word, but I'm not so sure that we're supposed to as an audience. I think the story can be read in a lot of different ways, and more than anything, I think it can be read as Logan understanding that Kendall and Roman were not (and are not) the same, and needed different things as children. How that can be spun though is anyone's guess.

Are Logan and Roman emotionally distant?

That's an interesting point about the emotional distance there. I think there is and there isn't? Logan obviously dotes on Shiv and pendulums between coddling, controlling and bullying Kendall, but I think both of those things are more just indicative of really different dynamics. Roman's clearly got a 'class clown' sort of personality that Logan obviously doesn't appreciate and struggles to deal with, particularly given he's a pretty humourless guy (gosh, I think a lot about the fact that one of the only times we've seen Logan actually laugh was when the kids didn't want to see their mum, haha).

In that sense though, I think Logan doesn't understand Roman. It comes back to what I said in the other post – I actually do think Logan sees Roman's strengths, and the fact that Roman doesn't utilise them is, I think to Logan, unforgivable. Logan had to claw his way out of abject poverty through whatever it was he could get, and while Shiv, Kendall and Connor lack, I think Logan looks at Roman and sees waste.

It's why he doesn't have a stomach for the jokes, or the immaturity, and I think contributes to this failure to connect emotionally because he doesn't understand Roman in the way that he understands Shiv's rebellion and Kendall's foibles.

The aftermath of him hitting Roman is interesting too, because I actually think Logan's not trying to create distance in the aftermath, I think he's trying to re-write history to preserve his sense of self. He offers the untruth to Roman as an opening – a map for them to navigate unstable and uncertain terrain, and Roman takes it and follows his lead because he doesn't know how to navigate it either.

Does that make it right or forgiveable? Absolutely not – Logan hit his son, and trying to make everyone pretend that that never happened is an awful example of gaslighting – but I also find it really indicative of the cycle of abuse. We know that Noah was horrifically abusive to Logan, as seen by the scars on his back, and I actually get the impression that Logan tried not to be abusive to his children, but sometimes was because of his temper and his health.

Like, I think when he struck Iverson in the thanksgiving ep it was the first time he'd ever raised a hand to one of his grandchildren, especially given the reaction of people, and even hitting Roman summoned a pretty huge reaction from people, and seemed not to be something Roman was prepared for. It also I think stems back to that point of Logan not knowing how to handle Roman (or Iverson!) and resorting to violence he very quickly regrets because for a man who runs the news, he very rarely utilises words.

Logan was raised in violence, and I think it's a language he's both fluent in and has tried to reject, but one he falls back on when he can no longer communicate.

It's wrong, and awful, of course, but I think it's really interesting because I think it's deliberately a part of this broader theme with the Roy's about how fractured their communication with one another is. They don't know how to connect or talk to each other, and so frequently that breaks down into violence, whether to each other or themselves or to the collateral damage - the NRPIs.

I totally agree though that I think some Thoughts around all of this is likely to resurface for Roman in season 3, especially as Logan no doubt starts to lean on him as the new heir.

[uponrightful]

Hi! I’ve just finished Welcome Company-it was so good, your writing is amazing! I have a question about one of the last scenes if that’s OK? Partly about Pups point of view, because a lot of what happened to her post Order 66 is clearly in her mind, but seems to read differently emotionally later if that makes sense? I’d also like to know why you decided to include the scene of Pup having to fight one last time. -RebelMedic99

“Wolffe! Please!” She sobbed through the pain and fear, whimpering when the kid pulled her own arm around her throat, locking in a chokehold she was unable to break from. He laughed dryly in her ear, yanking on her broken wrist to elicit another scream.

“He’s not coming back you little slut.” He fell into another fit of laughter, “And even if he did you’ll be so used he won’t even want to look at you.” His evil words cut right through her. She was already broken, and yet another piece was about to be taken, and smashed on the floor right in front of her. She felt the pain of his remarks, feeling just as useless as he’d appraised.

She wanted to fight anyways.

The pain in her wrist didn’t subside, but it wasn’t going to stop until she got his filthy hands off her. And without that blaster, she really didn’t have a chance at getting off the ship, or keeping the ship safe until Wolffe got back. She struggled to keep her breath even, fighting to pull her broken wrist out of his grasp so she could get free.

Think fast…

Get him off guard…

“You really want me?” She choked out, wincing from the abrasive words cutting at her tongue. If he was that young, there was a chance he’d fall for it and drop the -hopefully- act long enough for her to grab the upper hand.

“You’re a fucking slut! Already turning towards the closest man you can get in your pants!” He snarled, yanking her wrist again. The girl held back her cry, again repeating the question for him, praying it would make a bigger impact this time.

“I’ll behave. I promise.” She faked convincingly enough through her tears. The kid’s grip faltered just for a second before retaining its unflinching need to inflict pain again. Yet, by miracle, he released her wrist and stepped back with the blaster dropped down at his side. Miraculously, his anger suddenly disappeared, and a look of disbelief came over him.

“Pick me.” He ordered harshly, as she turned to face him.

Everything moved so quickly.

Commentary Track for Welcome Company

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I’ll give my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character’s- when I wrote it!

*send one in here*

This one is challenging, but we'll see if I can explain it without sounding like a complete dumbass... 😅

***

We'll start with addressing her emotional shift towards Order 66 first, and that will help set up the reasoning why she had this "last stand" at the end. (This won't be from her POV, it'll make things a little simpler.)

Pup's true knowledge of what Order 66 is comes in small bits and pieces after she flees Coruscant. It's obvious right away that something changed, but it's not for a really long time that she finds out that there might be something "unwilling" about the whole situation. In this time frame -of a couple years- she's actually left to her own devices and thought-process to make sense of it all. And a couple of years can really take a toll on someone's perception of what is really going on.

There is talk of manipulation, and how 'robotic' the clones are. All of it culminating in a bunch of half-assed theories as to why they suddenly have this unbending will for the Empire when they fought for the Republic for so long. (The bar fight Wolffe was in, is where I tried to explore this a little bit with the Cerean.) But Pup only hears rumors, and those weak excuses aren't enough to dissuade her fear of seeing troopers again. Because ultimatley, there are hundreds of them who'd been to her home, and in her mind, it's possible that they could come after her and punish her for that. It's not a realistic fear, but if you combine it with her last experience with a clone, it's one that would easily create a serious emotional trigger.

I meant for it to be a tad bit confusing when reading her emotions. Pup wants to love the clones -and she still does- but seeing one of them in real life would be fucking terrifying. Their sweet memories are always there, and she does her best to only think of those. However it's easy to be reminded of why she can't still see them, when she's living on a backwater planet to try and reassure herself that she'll never have to risk seeing a clone again. Because all of the love that they'd given her -in her mind- is completely gone the second she's shot by one.

And her entire being is damaged assuming that Wolffe is no different than the rest of them. Pup knows all the clones are acting this way, and Wolffe is really no exception. So even though she loves him dearly it's really scary when she sees him for the first time after all these years. Is he safe? Is there something still wrong with him? Does he want to take her with him, back to the Empire? These are all questions she has, because she's never seen a clone after Order 66 without a functioning chip.

The reason her change of heart is so sudden, is because Pup didn't let go of the good memories she had of her troopers. That integral part of her character is to forgive and be patient -even if she's been damaged by something or someone. Yes, she keeps it bottled up. But that was because she couldn't get rid of her base traits. You can't wholly change your personality very easily, and Pup never really wanted to in the first place. She was just forced to create this harder persona so she could survive. Then after Wolffe comes back, and he's painstakingly careful in trying to prove that he's not under influence any longer, it makes that desire to care for him -like she's always had- come back much smoother.

(It's a continuity error that I never gave a proper scene dedication to it; But I did have a draft that included an Order 66 conversation with Rex and Pup during that scene in Chapter 14.)

I chose not to include it because I wanted someone to focus on Pup's traumas faced during the transition period of planet-hopping. It might sound cruel of me to not include his struggles, but they've been covered so many times in other fics, that I gave the assumption my "Initial Implementation" scene and "Chip Removal Scene" would be emotionally sympathetic and exploratory enough of how Wolffe felt during and after, without needing to express it to you directly. Not to mention, after Pup and Wolffe are reunited, she's not stupid enough to not infer that it was against his will. She quite frequently notes throughout that his guilty looks and hesitancy to make physical contact with her are very noticeable and telling of how he feels about his time with the Empire.

All of this said, now her fight scene:

Right before they leave the cabin, she's feeling a little loss of home. But really, Pup never had too much of an attachment to her house on Takodana in the first place. What's really getting her emotional at this point is the realization that she finally has Wolffe back. It's security she's wanted this whole time, and although the boys aren't letting her help with the bounty, she's willing to do whatever they want because she understands that they've got the experience here. Plus, she's really not physically able to do a whole lot after her slight hypothermia exposure.

I wanted her weak for this: Emotionally, physically, mentally. It had to be that way for a reason.

Until this point, Pup hasn't ever shown a real motivation to fight for anything, other than making the trip to the outpost to save her friend. BUT. That's risking herself to save someone else. Pup has never done anything for her own benefit, without it being equally helpful for someone else. Even when she got Wolf, it wasn't just for herself. Iahcen was getting something out of it as well.

I know it's cliche, but her last moments alone on that ship waiting was where her character development needed to reach and end. Because I made the overarching plot of fighting for love, but I needed that same lesson to be learned in-story, as well to round it out. It had to be Pup, because she's been running this whole time. Wolffe can't learn it, because he's been fighting the entire time.

The kid is a symbol of kindness not being returned. This is key, because Pup has always been nice -even when she didn't need to be. And he attacks her for that. He comes in as the tool to show her that being kind doesn't always work; And sometimes you have to stand against something, instead of running or letting someone run over her. I also made certain to have the kid attack Wolffe's character. This was essential, because Pup has nothing else she wants to fight for. Wolffe has always been her one essential thing, and he was what made her realize that being a little selfish and desiring something isn't a bad thing. This kid is a product of her sympathetic nature, and he's willingly insulting and threatening her chance at having the one thing Pup has always wanted.

Pup needed fight or flight, and the only time her 'fight mode' kicks in, is when she realizes there's something she wants. On Coruscant, she had nothing, so she ran. Pup wanted to live for Wolffe, in the hopes that he might still be alive, and that was the first time her fight response kicked in. Then her friend was in danger of dying, that was the second time she chose to fight.

Her love and security in Wolffe was being threatened, and that was Pup's final character development, and why she needed this fight scene without Wolffe -or anyone else's assistance- in the matter.

***

I hope this wasn't garbage 😅 and I explained it decently... If not, please let me know. I'll do anything I can to answer your questions!

Much Love, Rightful 🤍

[peantutbutter]

69. “We are not going to steal someone’s dog.” with Michael, Gavin and Jeremy please!

 69. (nice) “We are not going to steal someone’s dog.”

Trigger Warning for brief mentions of animal abuse. Nothing is graphically explicit and everything turns out ok and the dog is rescued, but the thought of an injured animal is triggering or otherwise too emotionally distressing for you, go ahead and keep scrolling

The Mad Lad’s Animal Rescue Agency [ao3]

It’s odd.

As far as Michael knows, both Gavin and Jeremy are what he would consider cat people. Pets aren’t allowed in the penthouse, of course, but both get swept up in conversations about what they would name potential future cats, and both go out of their way to set out food and water for the strays of the city.

So when the two come to him cooing and gushing about a sweet looking pit bull they’ve met, Michael is a little astonished when they start telling him their plans for whisking her away in the dead of night.

“We’re not stealing someone’s dog,” he deadpans, and he can’t fucking believe that he has to say it.

“Awww, c’mon Michael, why not? Lookat her!” Gavin whines, shoving his phone in his face.

And, yeah, alright, she’s fucking cute — chocolate brown fur; a light pink tongue lolling out of her mouth; a tail that’s blurry because it’s wagging so fast; and large, shining brown eyes that are staring adoringly at Gavin in the selfie he’s taken — but Michael can’t just let his boys go off and steal a dog for no good reason. “Because it’ll shit all over the goddamn floor!” he argues. “Where are we gonna keep her, Gavin? We gonna make her ride an elevator every time she needs to take a piss?”

But the thing about Gavin is that once he gets something in his head, there’s really no stopping him. And with Jeremy involved, really, all Michael can do is hope to mitigate the inevitable collateral damage.

It’s ass o’clock in the morning when Michael pulls into what is possibly the most boring middle class neighborhood and parks across the street from a house that looks like the dozens of others surrounding it. He cuts the engine of their unmarked van and looks to Gavin and Jeremy making their last-minute preparations in the back. The entire vehicle smells like peanut butter and Gavin slaps Jeremy’s hand away from the bag of bacon he had fried up before leaving. “That’s not for you!” he hisses.

Jeremy pouts indignantly, but lets it be. They grab a pair of bolt cutters, while Gavin stuffs his pockets full of treats and clips various dog toys to his belt. A brightly colored rope dangles from his hips, and right beside it a squeaky chicken. He pauses for a minute, tennis ball in hand, and frowns thoughtfully, trying to figure out where to place it.

Ultimately, he sets it down, deciding that his skirt of toys is sufficient.

Jeremy pulls on a pair of gloves and grabs a leash dangling from a hook. They shoot Gavin an eager look, which he eagerly returns.

“You look like fucking idiots,” Michael says, because one: it’s true, and two: he apparently has a compulsive need to kill the mood if it’s stupid, like this one. Gavin and Jeremy just look at him, still smiling, mischief gleaming in their eyes. Michael rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “Go get the damn dog.”

The other two excitedly scramble out of the car and crouch-run their way across the street, like they’re on some sort of actual heist. Michael barely suppresses an eye roll. It’s not like the hazy moonlight or streetlamps are illuminating the street or anything. Idiots.

He watches them stealth their way to a chain-link fence. On the other side, Michael can make out what appears to be a ramshackle doghouse, and a tiny figure curled up just outside it. He can’t hear it, but he assumes Gavin whistles or does something to get the dog’s attention, because the figure’s head pops up and it pushes itself onto it’s legs.

Or at least it tries.

Jeremy is clipping away at the fence when Michael notices how the poor thing’s back paws are dragging uselessly along the ground. Her tail wags furiously as she crawls over to Gavin, but she isn’t moving very fast.

Oh. That’s why they’d been so adamant about doing this.

His knuckles turn white, and the steering wheel creaks under his grip. That familiar burn courses through his body, licking flames up and down his arms and legs. The vein in his jaw throbs, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. Going in and beating the owner senseless is tempting — “How does it feel, huh? How does it fucking feel? — but running in blindly, fists flying, would be reckless and stupid. And while he has his moments, tonight he’s the sensible one.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself. But when a light flicks on in the house while Jeremy is in the middle of unhooking the dog’s chain and latching their own, all of Michael’s self restraint leaves him. There’s a shadow moving throughout the house, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He pulls the baseball bat from the passenger footwell and tears out of the van.

Gavin exclaims loudly as Michael rips past.

“Get the dog outta here, I’ll cover you!” Michael yells, and his lifetime of hopping fences pays off as he effortlessly scales the wire structure. His feet land on the ground with a soft thump and gets into position on the other side of the sliding glass door. He chokes up on the bat, ready to swing.

Jeremy finally manages to slip the hook of their leash through the loop on the dog’s collar just as the door slides open. The man inside is screaming angrily, but Michael doesn’t hear what he’s saying. He’s more focused on how he’s going to make this dickbag scream for another reason.

The guy steps outside, not seeing Michael where he hides just behind him, and he reaches for something tucked in his waistband. The second Michael realizes it’s a gun, he pounces, striking the guy in the back of the knees and bringing the bat down on the guy’s back with a satisfying crack.

He fucking whales on the guy, letting all that righteous anger course through him. Each strike shakes his bones, and he’s pleasantly reminded why this is his primary weapon of choice. There’s something so deliciously personal about taking a guy apart with a big stick. He keeps swinging until he’s sure Gavin and Jeremy have pulled the poor pup to safety. The bastard is curled into the fetal position, and his gun, which Michael had kicked away, lay just out of reach.

The horn of the van blares — one of his lads letting him know they’re clear — and Michael brings the bat down for a final strike. It makes a wet crunch against the back of the guy’s head. He’s not one hundred percent sure whether the guy is unconscious or actually dead. He doesn’t particularly care. He’s got no love for people who beat their animals, and, frankly, he’s killed for less.

His arms burn, and as he wipes blood from his face, he realizes that the lights in the surrounding houses are flicking on. The sound of an approaching siren kicks him into gear. He scrambles over the fence — a feat more difficult now that his limbs feel gooey with exertion — and books it across the street.

The engine revs as Jeremy puts the key in the ignition. Sirens are growing closer, and tired civilians are emerging from their homes to see what the fuss is about. The doors to the back are wide open, and Gavin, gently cradling the dog, yells at him to “Hurry up!”

Michael flings himself into the back of the van, and Jeremy takes off like a bullet, tires squealing against the asphalt, leaving behind the scent of burned rubber.

They fly out of the neighborhood, and Jeremy takes a few random turns, shaking any potential pursuers off their trail. All the while, Gavin is cooing at the creature in his arms. “Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good Bella?” he asks. “Who doesn’t have to worry about that mean old man ever again? Yes, it’s you!”

He pets Bella until she calms down, mindful of her legs, which rest gingerly on the seat. Slowly, her eyes drift shut, and she falls asleep under his touch. He smiles softly, and Michael can’t help but do the same at the scene before him.

Then Gavin turns to look at him. “Thank you, Michael,” he murmurs, barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Michael shrugs. “Don’t understand why you didn’t tell me why you wanted to steal this guy’s dog in the first place.”

“Ah, well…” Gavin pauses for a moment, trying to figure out what he wants to say. “Lil J and I kind of figured you riding out your rage would be the best cover in case we got caught. And that’s something that only really happens in the moment. So we needed you going in blind.”

Michael stares blankly for a moment, blinking slowly, trying to understand the reasoning. “You didn’t tell me,” he says slowly, “because you wanted me to be pissed off enough to attack a guy in case he caught you.”

Gavin presses his lips together and nods. “Yeah.”

Michael scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You two are fucking ridiculous,” he says. Then his gaze travels towards the peacefully sleeping dog. “What are you going to do with her?”

Gavin shrugs. “Gonna get our medic to take a look at her and see what he can do. After that…I dunno, try to find a nice place for her to live. Fredo’s been saying he wants a dog, so maybe he’ll be willing to take care of her.”

“So you never planned on her living in the penthouse, did you?” Michael asks.

“Of course not, Michael boy,” Gavin answers easily. His eyes sparkle with humor. “We’re not gonna make her ride the elevator every time she needs to take a leak.”

[phantaloon]

right so, vent below on all for the game aka the book series I finished in three and half days bc my stupid brain would not let me live my life if I didn't finish and I haven't studied for two tests I've got tomorrow but this is somehow more important in my brain (and everyday I'm more convinced about adhd)

first things first... I love neil josten with all my fucking heart and oh jesus christ I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM, he's the typical damaged mysterious character I always love but I can't regret it, like I love every single one of these characters which is a lot to say bc that never happens? (well except maybe aaron, but he has his moments, and I totally get his attitude) BUT NEIL owns my heart, like genuinely, he is my everything now, he might be one of my favorite ever characters?? like I said, I love this type of angsty character, and it's dumb but I love him

also can I say how much I love this bc it literally is one of my favorite tropes? like found family? check. queer? check. mentally and emotionally unstable? check. enemies to friends to lovers? check. abusive pieces if shit getting what they deserve? check. did I mention found family????

like I genuinely love this, and the suspense of wtf will happen next is honestly what's pushed me not to sleep this past few days and push my assignments aside (which is so not me lmao) because I physically need to know what's gonna happen fr

like nora is a very clever writer that way, even though three books cover a year which is odd, she really has a way to captivate the readers, ffs she got me to read a sports novel?? I just love the simplicity and symbolism of her writing

but oc at this point, if you have any semblance of how I am you know exactly what my vibe is... andrew and neil. lowkey toxic relationship at first, andrew was truly a piece of shit as a friend, but am I a sucker for characters finding that person they can call home and feel safe around after not ever having that?? absolutely. (warm is the word I love when describing this, a person that makes you feel warm) the way their relationship was shaped over the three books and how subtle the details are is amazing

and how much of a fucking simp neil is. there you have andrew hiding his sexuality like a pro for a long ass while and then neil just cannot stop staring at andrew like dan howell looks at phil lester. he really did nothing to try to hide his fondness for andrew once they started hooking up even though they pretended it was purely physical. I just love how hard neil fell for andrew in so little time, like he went from yes I think I'm attracted to andrew to loving and looking for andrew like nothing else mattered (big percabeth vibes)

also can't not love andrew's development. like not in the literary character development kind of way, but more of a... personal kind of way, like it's not in a writing sense, it's simply his emotional development in a human sense. idk how to say it. it's not like apollo's in toa or damon salvatore's or tony stark's. it's simply his personal development from being self isolating, possessive, closed off, and just done with everything, with no semblance of a purpose to live, to someone whose doors just opened in every way. he gave in to his own dreams, his feelings, and he understands that he truly is not alone, he has aaron again and kevin and nicky and renee and neil and everyone else. he actually allows himself to be happy and live for once instead of just existing, and maybe he's not there yet, but he's definitely working to get there now, and I love him so much istg I wanna cry rn as I write this

but getting back to neil and andrew, god I love their relationship. they worked through every step of the way, they're so caring and careful of each other's boundaries and triggers and stuff, and they just understand each other so perfectly. not one of them expects of the other more than they can give, and they just work so well. I love that they never told anyone absolutely anything, their relationship is theirs, and theirs only, they don't deny anything, they're not ashamed of being together, but I really love that they chose not to let the others make a big deal out of it.

and I can't ever forget how much andrew must really love neil. we know neil is head over heels for andrew, but technically we don't know how andrew feels. except every single action he does proves it. it's in the details. from the second book and onward, andrew has such a soft spot for neil, even through what happened with drake in TRK, god andrew cares so fucking much for neil it hurts. he may pass it off as 'there's nothing here', but every one of his actions proves otherwise. even right after coming back from rehab, he cared for neil like he cared for no one else, not aaron or kevin. everything that happened was perfectly paced. from their first kiss to their last. just andrew even going against kevin when he was being too aggressive to neil is enough proof, not to talk about andrew letting the deal with Aaron go to be with neil, or everything when neil was kidnapped.

it's just, they both deserve all the happiness in the world, and I'm very fucking happy they found love in each other after all they've been through.

I'm sorry I'm ranting so much, but you can guess how I feel about smth when I've slept so little the past three days bc I was obsessed with finishing it despite having too much to do (I didn't pay attention to a class bc I was reading and it's fair to say I didn't do good in the following quiz), so yeah I have a lot of feels for this series

I just love their little family so much, you don't understand <3 found family is just my favorite ever trope and I have to stop my rant short before I write way too much when I should be studying for my very important tests to come

anyway you can bet I'll keep posting about this lmao <3 truly recommend it but mind the trigger warnings, some content can be a lot for some people, hell I like reading angst and I had to put my phone down a couple of times bc it's a lot, so yeah, ttyl