#like it is heavily implied he was a womanizer and there is even a cut scene where he hits on/sexually harasses and gropes

[a-simple-gaywitch]

A Healing Light

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner's little sister comes running into the BAU, Spencer doesn't expect her to take up such a large part of his heart

Warnings: referenced/heavily implied domestic violence, referenced child abuse, PTSD, other canon-typical violence

Word Count: 9413

Author's Note: my life has been a total shitshow lately so here’s a fic I made to cope. Disclaimer, all of my knowledge of medical education comes from TV shows and brief Googling. Also I could easily write a part 2 to this I have so many ideas with this concept

“Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.” ~Maya Angelou

~

When Spencer heard the BAU’s glass doors open, he looked up to see a young woman rushing in. She was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and long pants, unusual for the warm weather the northeast was currently experiencing. 

“Ma’am, can I help you?” one of the agents asked, reaching a hand out towards her. Spencer saw her flinch back a bit. 

“I-I need to see Aaron Hotchner,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but-”

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said, stepping out of his office. 

“Aaron!” The woman ran over and wrapped her arms around Hotch in a tight hug. Aaron hugged her back. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but-” Aaron froze as he took in your face. Makeup was caked on and there were obvious tear tracks cutting through concealer on your cheeks. Your mascara was also severely smudged under your eyes. Aaron brushed his thumb across your cheekbone, revealing a large, dark bruise. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“He showed up at the restaurant, Aaron. He showed up while I was at work. I-I’m just lucky Lucy saw him in the parking lot from the hostess stand. I ran to the back and Joey gave me the keys to his truck, told me to go somewhere safe, so I came here.”

Hotch looked over at the team, who were not-so-sneakily eavesdropping. “Let’s go talk in my office.” He gently led you through the door and pulled his blinds shut. 

Meanwhile, the team, minus Gideon, gathered in the bullpen. 

“Who was that?”

“His sister,” explained Derek.

“I didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Garcia said.

“Oh, yeah. Sean and (Y/N) are both younger. I only met (Y/N) one other time.”

“She definitely looks more like Sean than Hotch.” 

“Wonder where they get their looks from, mom or dad?” Emily chimed in. 

Spencer’s eyes drifted to the windows of Hotch’s office, where shadows were moving around. “Guys,” he said, nodding toward the opening office door. The team scattered back to their respective desks, Garcia perching herself on Emily’s. 

“Garcia!” Hotch called. 

“Sir!” She scrambled off the desk. 

“I need you to find everything you can on Nathaniel Walker. Credit card purchases, social media posts, everything. And if he comes even 50 miles from the city, you tell me immediately. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” she said, grabbing one of Emily’s sticky notes and jotting down the name before slipping off to her office. 

“Anderson!” He called. The blond man popped his head up from his desk. Hotch held up an envelope. “Take this to the DA. Tell her it’s a rush order from Agent Hotchner.”

“Yes, sir!” Anderson took the envelope and scurried off. 

“Reid, take (Y/N) to the cafeteria. Make sure she gets something to eat.” Hotch rested his hand on your shoulder. “I have to go call Haley, let her know what’s going on.”

“Oh. Uh, o-okay,” you said. 

“Go with Spencer, get something to eat,” he said, his voice soft in a way the team rarely heard. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go, okay?”

You nodded and walked over to the man indicated as Spencer. You followed him through the glass doors and onto the elevator. 

“So,” Spencer said, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled around you, “I heard you work in a restaurant?”

“Oh, yeah. Just to work my way through med school. Sean pulled some strings and got me a waitressing gig in Boston.”

“Medical school? Which one? Emerson? Suffolk?”

“Northeastern, actually,” you said. Spencer saw a hint of a smile on your face. “I have one semester left.”

The elevator doors opened to the cafeteria. Spencer gestured for you to go first. “So, uh, what are you planning to specialize in?”

“I want to go into Pediatric Oncology,” you said. 

“Wow, that’s-”

“Ambitious? Crazy? Unattainable? Believe me, I’ve heard it all,” you said with a dry laugh. “Mostly from Nate,” you muttered.

“Actually, I was going to say that’s amazing.” The two of you slipped into the cafeteria line. “So, last semester. You have a residency program picked out?”

You cleared your throat. “So, uh, what’s good to eat here? Aaron’s always complaining about the cafeteria’s food.”

~

Aaron sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. He’d just gotten off the phone with Haley. He sighed when there was a knock at his door. He looked up to see Gideon standing in the doorway. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

Aaron shook his head. “I’m about ready to drive up to Boston and give (Y/N)’s no-good piece of shit boyfriend a piece of my mind.”

“Hotch.”

He looked up. “She’s my baby sister, Jason. The bastard beat her to hell and back, and I wasn’t there to stop him.” 

Jason sat in the chair across the desk. “Aaron, she’s an adult, she can make her own choices. And she chose to drive hours to come see you for help. The best thing you can do right now is help her through the aftermath. Did you call Sean?”

“Not yet. I just got off the phone with Haley. She agrees, (Y/N) should stay with us until this is all settled. I just sent an emergency protective order to DA Martinez. Garcia’s watching Nate’s movements, making sure he doesn’t track her down.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to do. I mean, when it’s a case we’re working it all seems so simple, so obvious. But when it’s your own family…”

“I get it,” Jason said. “Look, why don’t you head home. Take a day or two, help (Y/N) get settled. If there’s anything major, I’ll call you.”

~

“Did you know that in the late 19th century, a surgeon named Robert Liston  was responsible for a 300% mortality rate in a single surgery?” Spencer asked as the two of you picked at the food in front of you. 

“Oh, that was only one of the crazy things Liston did,” you laughed. “The man was crazy egotistical. To be fair, he was considered the best surgeon in the world at the time.” You took one of the fries in front of you. “I mean, he cut off a man’s balls on accident, but he’s still legendary.”

Spencer couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted from him. When he saw Hotch walking over, he cleared his throat. “Sir.”

“Reid,” Hotch said with a nod. “(Y/N), you ready to go?”

“Sure. It was nice talking to you, Spencer,” you said. 

“You, too.” As you walked away, Spencer felt the butterflies in his stomach finally start to settle. 

~ 

The drive home was mostly silent. You knew Aaron was thinking, and you were coming down from the adrenaline rush. You felt your eyes drooping as you rested your head against the cool window. The radio played softly in the background. Aaron knew any real conversations about what happened would have to wait until you rested.

As the two of you pulled into the driveway,  Haley came running out, baby Jack on her hip. You and Aaron climbed out of the car. 

“Oh, (Y/N)!” She gave you the best one-armed hug she could. “Aaron told me everything. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

You were steered towards the house when the realization fully hit you like a freight train.

“I only have my purse. I don’t have any of my stuff.” Your breath started coming in heavy puffs. 

“(Y/N). (Y/N), look at me,” Aaron said, his hands heavy on your shoulders. “Breathe. Follow me. Deep breath in, count to five, deep breath out.” He coached your breathing back to normal, continuing to model deep breathing. When you were breathing normally again, he said, “I called Sean. He’s driving to Boston to clear out your apartment. He’ll bring your car down with him. And for now, we have plenty. If there’s something you need, we’ll get it, okay?”

You nodded, tears falling again. “Okay.” 

You walked into your brother’s house and were immediately met with the warm smell of Haley’s cooking. Even though you didn’t visit often, you always enjoyed Haley’s home cooked meals. 

“I made a roast. I hope that’s okay,” Haley said as she set Jack down in his pack-n-play. 

“That sounds lovely, Hales.”

After dinner, Haley ushered you upstairs and led you to the spare room. 

“This is your room for as long as you need,” Haley said. “I put some fresh towels and some soap in the bathroom for you. Help yourself if you need anything, okay? Our house is your house.”

~

It didn’t take you long at all to fall asleep. You’d taken a nice, long shower and Haley had given you a pair of extremely comfortable pajamas to sleep in.

You ended up sleeping for nearly 20 hours. When you did wake up, it was to the sounds of Aaron and Haley arguing. You followed their voices toward the home office. As you got closer, you were able to make out their words.

“She’s your sister, Aaron!” Haley hissed. “She needs your help!”

“And the team needs my help, too!” Aaron shot back. 

“So they’re more important than family?”

You cleared your throat and they spun around. “Sorry to eavesdrop,” you said, “but I don’t want to be a point of contention. If Aaron needs to leave for work, it’s okay. Really. I need to call the university and handle stuff with them anyway.”

“See? She doesn’t need me,” he said. “And we’re only going to Philadelphia.”

Haley sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. Go. We’ll be here. Like always.”

“You’re the best,” Aaron said, giving her a quick kiss and grabbing his bag. “Love you.” He kissed your forehead. “Love you too.” He practically ran out of the house. Haley glared out the window. If looks could kill…

~

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling in your new temporary bedroom. Your phone was on speaker, playing mildly annoying music from where it rested on your bed. 

Haley popped her head in, a basket of laundry in her arms. “That music’s been playing for like half an hour.”

You groaned. “I know. I’ve been on hold with the dean’s office.”

Haley clucked her tongue. “Unacceptable.” She walked over to the house phone sitting on your side table and dialed. When whoever was on the other end picked up, she said, “Julia, hi, it’s Haley. Tell your husband to get off his ass and call me on his work phone. Why? Because my sister-in-law has been on hold with Dean Wilkins for almost an hour. Yes, I know, she’s horrible.” Haley laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so right.” She laughed again. “Okay, thank you Jules. I’ll see you at the next fundraiser. Okay, bye.” She turned to you. “My sorority sister is married to the president of the university. He’ll be calling us soon.”

As if on cue, the phone began to ring. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything.”

The call went better than you were expecting. After explaining the situation, the president practically bent over backwards to find a solution for you. 

“Let me put in some calls. You might be able to finish up down there.” Was what he had said. 

When that call was finally over, you sat staring at your phone for a while. You knew you needed to call the restaurant, let everyone know you’re okay. But for some reason, that was the call you had been dreading. 

With a couple deep breaths, you picked up the phone and dialed. 

“Park View Bistro, this is Lucy. Dining in or carry-out?”

“Hey, Luce, it’s me.”

She gasped. “Guys, it’s (Y/N)!”

“Are you okay?”

“Where are you?”

“Are you safe?”

You heard your coworkers chime in. You couldn’t fight the smile crossing your face. 

“I’m okay, I’m safe,” you said. “I’m at my brother’s.”

“Which brother?” Tad, one of the busboys, asked. “New York or FBI?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “FBI.”

The response was a chorus of “that’s good” and “smart choice” and other positive comments. 

“Well, we gave you a bit of a head start,” Lucy said. “I called the police. They, um. They found a gun on him.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, fine. Is Jerry there?”

“Right here,” you heard your manager’s voice. 

“So, kind of obvious, but yesterday was kinda my last day. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said. “Just stay safe, okay? Don’t be afraid to reach out if you need anything, though.”

~ 

You were laying on the living room couch, flipping through the flashcards you kept in your purse. Jack was happily playing in his playpen and Haley was grabbing a quick shower. 

“Peripheral nervous system,” you muttered to yourself. “the sensory and motor neurons that connect the central nervous system to the rest of the body. Voluntary movement of skeletal-“

Before you could finish your thought, the doorbell rang. 

“I got it!” You called up to Haley. “Sean!”

Your brother scooped you up in a hug. When he set you down, he gripped your shoulders and looked over your face. “How are you doing? And don’t bullshit me. I know you’re not fine.”

Your chin started to wobble and your eyes started to sting. You started crying yet again, for what felt like the millionth time in 24 hours. Sean pulled you into another tight hug. 

When you finally calmed down, Sean asked, “Where’s Aaron?”

With a sniffle and wiping your eyes, you said, “On a case.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Of course he is.” He walked over to his car and opened the trunk. “I grabbed some essentials. Your landlord was very understanding. He said he’ll send your stuff down, free of charge.”

“What? Why-why would he do that?”

“Because you’re a ray of goddamn sunshine,” he said. “You charm everyone you meet. You have a whole army of people ready to hunt down one man on your behalf. Everyone loves you, (Y/N).”

~

You were staring at the pile of envelopes on your bed. Sean had brought your mail in the boxes. He was helping you unpack them before heading back to New York.

“What’s up?” Sean asked, noticing your staring. “Did those letters personally offend you or something?”

“They’re internship offers,” you said. 

“(Y/N), that’s great! There’s like seven letters here!”

“Mmh.”

Sean’s brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” He gestured for you to sit with him on the bed. “This is all you’ve wanted since you were, what, seven years old? Why aren’t you more excited about this?”

You sat silently for a few moments, chewing on your lip. “Did you know that only 30% of interns make it through their residency?”

“What? (Y/N), what are you talking about?”

“What if I’m part of the 70%?” you whispered. “What if I fail out? What if I can’t do it?”

“Nate really messed you up, didn’t he? (Y/N), when people ask me about my family, you know what I say? Well, firstly, I say that my brother’s a jackass but we love him anyway.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “But then I say that my little sister is a genius. She’s going to be the one to cure cancer. She’s so smart and talented, and works so hard. I couldn’t be prouder of her.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m not your little sister, I’m your twin, dickhead,” you said with a smile. 

~

“Why did you wait so long to open these?” Haley asked. “There are some really good offers in this pile. 

You chewed the skin around your thumb. “Nate. He wanted me to stay in Boston. I didn’t get an offer from Boston. He didn’t understand how internships work so he got mad. That, um, that’s actually what set him off this last time.”

“Oh, honey,” Haley said, pulling you into a hug.

Hours later, Haley said, “So, we’ve narrowed your choices down to Johns Hopkins Medicine-Sibley Memorial Hospital and George Washington University.”

Your leg was bouncing and you were chewing the skin around your thumb. “I don’t know. I mean, the peds department at any Hopkins hospital is world-class. But the research department at George Washington produces some of the most cutting-edge advancements. You rubbed your face with both your hands. 

“Hello?” came Aaron’s voice from the kitchen. “I’m home!”

“Living room!” Haley called. She turned to look at you. “Well, you want to help kids with cancer, right? Which place is going to allow you to do that the most?”

“What are we doing in here? Hey, Sean.”

Sean nodded toward Aaron as Haley explained, “Helping (Y/N/N) decide where she’s gonna intern in July. We’re down to two hospitals.”

Aaron looked at the letters on the table. “George Washington University and Johns Hopkins?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I can’t decide.”

He looked over the letters. “George Washington pays more. Go with them.”

Sean scoffed as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What? It’s practical.”

“It’s not that easy, Aaron,” you said. “I need to think about how they can propel my future. Which one’s gonna offer me the better education.” 

“Okay, how about this,” Sean offered. “Close your eyes, no thinking, random questions.”

“Sean, that doesn’t work here,” you said. “Yeah, it’s a fun game for easy choices when we were kids, but-”

“What about a pro-con list?” Aaron suggested. “I’ll get paper, we’ll write it out.”

You scoffed. “You sound like Dad.”

“Hey!” He gently punched your arm with a huffed laugh. “Uncalled for.”

In the end, after hours of debating, you decided on Hopkins. It was a short train away from the house, and it was going to help you get where you wanted to go better than the university hospital. And simply making that decision lifted a huge weight you didn’t even realize was sitting on your chest. 

~ 

Penelope rushed down the hallway from her office to the bullpen. 

“Hey-“ Morgan’s greeting was promptly ignored as she raced up the steps to Hotch’s office, “-babygirl.”

She knocked hurriedly on the door. 

“Come in!”

“Sir,” Penelope panted out, clutching her tablet to her chest. 

“Garcia? What’s wrong?” 

“You told me to tell you if any of Nathaniel Walker’s information changed. Well, his credit cards show he stopped at a gun shop in Maryland and he just got gas in Baltimore.” Hotch’s stomach dropped when she continued, “It looks like he’s heading for here.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch said, doing his best to hide is panic. “You can go.” He reached for his phone and dialed. 

“Hello?”

“(Y/N), where are you? Please tell me you’re at the house.”

“Um, no,” you said. “Haley and I are at the mall. Why?”

“Don’t- don’t worry about it. Just, stay there, okay?”

“Aaron, what’s going on?” you demanded.

He sighed and said, “Might as well tell you. Nathaniel is looking for you.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. I have someone tracking his car. And, you have a protective order which means police have to intervene if he comes within 50 feet of you. Besides, it looks like he’s coming here first.”

“Is he really stupid enough to show up to a federal building?” Haley asked. The two of you had taken a bench in the mall, and you’d put Aaron on speakerphone. 

“He’s stupid enough to follow (Y/N). I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“What-what do we do if he finds us here?” you asked. 

“He won’t,” Haley assured you. 

“He doesn’t know where the house is. Go home, it’s the safest place right now.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Haley said. “Besides, Jack is starting to get cranky.”

When you got back to the house, you sat by the phone, staring, waiting for it to ring. What if he attacked Aaron? What if Aaron attacked him? He may be horrible to you, and you were definitely broken up, but a part of you still loved him. After all, you were together for over three years. You’d even discussed marriage with him. 

Finally, after what felt like years, the phone rang. You scrambled to pick it up. 

“Aaron?”

“Hey.” He was panting on the other end of the line. 

“What happened?

“Well, you won’t have to worry about him anymore.” 

“What? Is he-“

“He’s alive,” your brother said. “Probably wishing he was dead, though. He probably has some broken ribs and he definitely has a concussion. He’s also facing up to 20 years in federal prison.”

“What happened?” 

“Do you really want to know?” You heard him mutter “thank you” to someone in the office. 

You chewed your lip. “I guess not.”

~ 

July came much faster than you were expecting. Maybe that was because your spring was so busy - testifying in court about Nate, finishing your last few tests, and 

“Okay, what do we think?” You asked Haley, slowly spinning with your arms held out. “Too casual? Or too formal?”

“No, it looks nice,” Haley assured you. “Professional without being too stuffy. And your makeup is lovely.”

“Why are you bothering?” Aaron asked. “Aren’t you just going to change into scrubs anyway?”

You sighed with an eye-roll as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What?”

“It’s about making a first impression,” you said. “I’m going to be working here for at least 5 years, I need to start on the right foot.” You straightened out the blouse you had chosen. “Besides, they’re making us sit in a bunch of meetings for most of the morning, I won’t get my scrubs until later.” You took a deep breath before slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Today’s the day.”

~ 

It didn’t take long for you to make friends at the hospital. You clicked well with a few of the other interns in your class: Austin, Syd, and Ella. By some miracle, you were all scheduled off at the same time, after a long and grueling day. Syd suggested going to the bar down the street, and you all thought it sounded like a good idea.

“What are you guys drinking?” Syd asked, shouldering her way to the bar. “I’m thinking we start with a round of shots.” She started pointing around your small group. “Shots? Shots? Shots?”

You laughed. “Sure. Set me up. Ella?”

“I’m down.”

“Well, if we’re all doing it…” Austin joked. 

“Awesome! Four tequilas,” she said when she flagged down the bartender.

Before you knew it, you and your friends were loosened up and laughing around a table. 

“No way, you were totally ready to jump over Ness to scrub in,” Austin laughed. “I have never met anyone more competitive.”

“Ah, well, when you grow up with two brothers and a father who uses love and affection as a reward for achievement, you learn to fight for everything.” You took a sip from your run and coke before noticing the table went silent. “What?”

Syd cleared her throat. “Nothing. Did, uh, did any of you sit in the gallery for that transplant?”

“Oh, yeah, so cool,” Ella said. “Kidney transplant on a 5-month-old.”

Austin finished the rest of his drink. “Anyone want to dance?”

“I’ll go,” Syd offered, standing up with him. “There’s some cute guys on the floor. Ella?”

“Sure. How ‘bout you, (Y/N/N)?”

“No thanks,” you said. “I am gonna get a water, though.” After you flagged down the bartender for your drink, you felt someone step up beside you. 

“Looks like residency is treating you well.”

Your head whipped around. “Dr. Reid?”

“Spencer. Please, just Spencer.”

You smiled at him as the bartender placed your drink in front of you. “Is the whole team here?”

“Most of them.” He nodded over toward the dance floor where Morgan was clearly flirting with your girls. “Gideon and Hotch chose to go home. JJ and Garcia are over at our table with Emily.” He was about to say something else when his phone started ringing. “Damn.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t that how it always goes?” 

He smiled and you felt your stomach flutter in a way it hadn’t in years. Your eyes followed him as he met back up with Derek and the girls. 

“I’m telling you, he’s married!”

“Wouldn’t he have a ring if he were married, Syd?”

“No, he would take it off. Besides, what other reason can you think of for a guy suddenly needing to leave after getting a text?”

“You guys talking about Derek?” You asked.

“Wait, how’d you know his name? We didn’t tell you!” Ella said. 

“He works with my brother. They just got called for a case.”

“Ha! He’s not married, Syd! Take that!” Ella said. She turned to you. “You think he’ll call?”

“Probably,” you shrugged. 

“Wait,” Austin said. “You’ve known this guy for how long, and you’re not showing any interest in Mr. Muscles? What’s wrong with him?”

You scoffed. “Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just… not my type.”

Austin crossed his arms over his chest. “Really? Adonis isn’t your type?”

You shrugged in response. 

“Okay, so what is your type?” Syd asked. 

Your eyes were still tracking Spencer where the team was gathered. “Tall and lanky,” you said. “Kinda nerdy and dorky. Someone with a heart of gold.”

~ 

You were at the library, pouring over a stack of books. The intern exam was coming up quicker than you thought, and you were trying to be as prepared as possible. You marked down some notes before shifting back to the book. 

“Little light reading?” someone asked. 

You looked up, prepared to tell the person off, but the words died on your tongue when a familiar mop of brown hair and hazel eyes came into your line of sight. “Dr. Reid!” Your cheeks flushed and you mentally cursed yourself. “It’s uh, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, is this your idea of a fun night off?”

You laughed and bookmarked the page you were on. “Kind of,” you said. “Intern exams are in 8 weeks so it’s cram time.”

Spencer hummed. “You want a study-buddy?” he offered.

“Dr. Reid-”

“Oh, Spencer, please. Just Spencer.”

You cleared your throat. “I don’t want to take up your night off.”

He scoffed as he slid into the seat across from you. “I didn’t have any plans. I was gonna check out some books and hide myself away in my apartment. This is definitely an upgrade.” 

You smiled and ducked your head to hide your ever-flushed cheeks. 

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, gesturing toward your notebook. 

“Oh! Um, sure.” You slid it across from him. “My resident wrote down some practice questions for me and I’ve been drilling the answers.”

After looking through your notes, he said, “So, just out of curiosity, why pediatric oncology?”

You took in a big breath. “I’ve known a lot of people who’ve suffered from cancer. My dad, my grandmother. But the one that affected me the most was my best friend’s baby sister.” Your eyes started to glaze over as you thought back. 

“Sophia lived two streets away from us. We spent just about every day together. When we were four, her mom got pregnant. Lindsey was born severely underweight and had a bunch of health issues from the beginning. She was barely four pounds. Because her parents were practically living in the hospital, my mom let Sophia stay with us. It was actually pretty fun for a bit. It was like we were sisters. And, you know, having two brothers, all you really want is a sister. But then they took us to meet Lindsey. It was rough. She was so small and so pale, hooked up to so many machines. I remember there was this light shining on her. I didn’t know then but it was for her bilirubin level. They didn’t know what was wrong so they were trying everything in the book. But after months of testing and testing and testing, they finally diagnosed her. Leukemia.

You wiped at your eyes. “We didn’t really know what that meant, of course. But we knew our parents were really upset about it.” You took a shuddering breath. “They tried everything. Chemo, surgeries, different radiation treatments. But nothing helped. We lost Lindsey before her second birthday.”

“I’m sure that was really hard for your families. It sounds like you were really close.”

“Yeah. We were. That was really my first real experience with death. And I just remember thinking, this is a brand new person. Why would the universe let her get this horrible, horrible disease? And why does no one know how to stop it? Well, anyway, that was when I decided I wanted to be a doctor and find a cure. For Lindsey and the McDermott’s.”

“So you’ve known what you wanted to do since you were six?” Spencer asked, his admiration for you growing.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“The only other person I’ve known who’s known what they wanted to do since they were that age is well… me.”

“Seems like we have a lot in common then,” you said with a smile.

You had a great time studying with Spencer. He had some great memorizing techniques, and he knew when you needed a break from cramming before you did. He made the time fly by, to the point the librarians had to kick you out so they could close.

You and Spencer were laughing together as you walked to the metro station. 

“Wait, so Sean thought zebras were fake until high school? How is that even possible?” Spencer laughed. 

“Well, it’s not like our dad ever took us to the zoo,” you said. “His idea of a fun family outing was making us sit in the gallery of a courtroom watching him prance like a peacock.”

“At least yours didn’t leave you to take care of your chronically ill mother before you hit puberty,” Spencer said. He then bit his tongue. He barely knew you, why was he compelled to tell you something so personal?

“Hey, fellow member of the Shitty Dads Club, high five!” You held up your hand and laughed as Spencer tentatively clapped your hand. Spencer felt the knot that formed unfurl. “Tonight was fun,” you said as you got to your platform.

“It was. I, uh, I had a good time.”

“Well. This is my train. See you around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely! Oh, uh, let me know how you do on the exam.”

“Sure. Yeah, I definitely will.”

~

Aaron was on the plane with the team when his phone started ringing. “Hello?”

“I passed!” you yelled down the line. “Actually, I didn’t just pass, I got it perfect!”

“Hey, that’s awesome!” He turned to the rest of the plane. “(Y/N) passed her intern exam!”

“Hey!”

“Alright!”

“Good for her!”

“Okay, that was it,” you said. “I have to get back to work.” You whooped, “I passed!”

Aaron laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Oh, okay, bye!”

~

Spencer was distracted. Usually on the plane to a new case, he was pouring over the file. But this time, he was staring out the window, lost in thought. 

“Alright, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said, plopping down next to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?” Spencer snapped away from the window. “Oh, hey, Morgan.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“What? Nothing.” He looked around the plane, briefly making eye contact with Hotch. “No-nothing’s going on.”

Morgan looked at him for a moment. “Fine. Don’t tell me now. But I’m not dropping this, kid. I’ll find out what’s got you all distracted. I’m bringing this up again.”

Unfortunately, Morgan didn’t get a chance to bring it up again until much later. The case went off the rails faster and harder than anyone could have expected, with both Spencer and JJ disappearing. As the case continued to unfold, the team knew Tobias Hankle wasn’t going to come in easy. 

The team fought, and fought hard. They stayed awake for over 24 hours trying to rescue Reid. Finally, finally, the team succeeded. After what felt like hours of debating, Hotch convinced Reid to go to the hospital to be examined. 

“This is ridiculous,” Spencer said from the ER gurney. “I’m fine.”

“Kid, you’re not fine,” Morgan said. “You were held captive for two days and tortured. Let the damn doctors examine you.”

He sighed and flopped himself back on the bed. 

Derek leaned closer to the bed. “So, can we finally talk about this girl you got on your mind?”

Spencer’s head snapped over to him. “You-”

“You really thought I wouldn’t piece it together? C’mon, kid, we’re profilers. So, who is she?”

Spencer glanced around before finally admitting, “(Y/N).”

“Wait, wait, as in-”

“Hotch’s sister. Yeah. We, uh, I ran into her at the library a few nights ago, and we had a good time. Did you know she skipped two grades? Second and tenth. And she was valedictorian at her undergrad.” Spencer smiled up at the ceiling. “And she’s funny. She made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe.” He grew quiet. He whispered, “Thinking of her helped me get through it. Her smile, her laugh. When I thought about just giving up, I thought about how she lights up the room. She gave me hope.”

~

You were having a terrible day. You’d woken up late, meaning you nearly missed morning rounds. Then, you got stuck doing scut work for being late. Then, while you were working on some papers, you knocked your coffee all over the file and yourself. 

“Hate this damn day,” you muttered, grabbing the box of tissues nearby to mop up the papers. “God fuckin-”

“Well,” Ella drawled, sidling up to the counter, “I have something that might cheer you up.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“There’s a very handsome professor guy asking for you,” she said. “Says he wants to talk to you.”

You looked up from the desk, prepared to yell at whoever was interrupting your already terrible day. Whatever vitriol you were about to spill died when you saw who Ella was talking about. 

“Spencer!” You jumped up, completely forgetting about the coffee seeping into your scrubs. You ran around the desk. “Aaron told me what happened in Georgia, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m okay. I, uh, wanted to talk to you, though.”

“Sure. What’s-what’s going on?”

“Actually,” ‘he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “can we talk somewhere private?”

“Oh! Sure.” You led him to a nearby exam room that was empty. “So, what’s up?” He was looking everywhere but at your face. “Spencer?”

He took a deep breath. “Look, I had a really great time with you at the library. I loved getting to know you and-and I would love to get to know you better.”

You started smiling. “Spencer Reid, are you asking me out?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am. Or, well, at least I’m trying. I’ve never really been good at this kind of stuff.”

You were smiling so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. “Well, I’d love to go on a date with you,” you said. “And I promise, I won’t be wearing coffee-soaked scrubs.”

Spencer laughed and said, “Well, I still think you look great. You always do.” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as Spencer gazed at you. “So, uh, I know you have a crazy schedule. Are you free Friday at 7?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I actually get done at 6. Meet here?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

Your day went a lot better after that.

~

It was almost 3 in the morning when you got to the door. Your heels were in one hand, and you tried to quietly unlock the back door with the keys in your other hand. You winced as the door squeaked open and you started tiptoeing across the kitchen floor. You were halfway to the stairs when the light flicked on. 

“Shit!” you hissed.

Aaron was sat at the kitchen counter. “So, you want to tell me where you’ve been all night?” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “I plead the fifth.” Aaron looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Look, I’m an adult, I don’t need to tell you where I was or who I was with! I’m not in high school anymore, Aaron. And you’re not Dad.”

“So you were on a date.”

“Maybe.”

“With who?”

“Not telling.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, I get that you’re looking out for me, I do. But I’m not a teenager, and you’re not my legal guardian anymore. You have to let me live my life. Make my own mistakes”

“(Y/N), this is your first date since Nathaniel-”

“That you know of.”

“-are you really so surprised I’m worried about you?”

You sighed and sat down next to him. “No, I’m not surprised. But I really like this guy,” you said. “I don’t want you scaring him off by going all Scary Big Brother on him. If it helps, I know you’ll like him.” Aaron just hummed in response. You leaned your head on his shoulder and the two of you sat in silence for a bit. “For the record,” you said, “I’m glad you’re not Dad. You care more than he ever did.” 

~

Spencer hummed happily as he added sugar to his morning coffee. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling at the message on the screen. 

“So, I take it the big date went well,” Morgan said, walking up next to Spencer and pulling his own cup out of the cabinet. 

Spencer hid his smile with his mug as he took a sip of his coffee. 

“Wait, wait, did I hear the word date in relation to Reid?” Emily asked. 

“You sure did. Pretty Boy’s got game. So, is there a second date in your future?”

“Possibly.” Spencer felt his face flushing and he took another sip of coffee to hide it.

“So, what’s the name of this girl that’s got you all starry-eyed?” Emily asked as they walked back to their desks. 

“I think I’m gonna keep that to myself for a little longer,” Spencer said, his eyes tracking Hotch as he walked from Gideon’s office to his own. 

“Okay, well, if you won’t tell us her name, can you at least tell us where you took her?”

“Well, we started at an escape room, like Morgan suggested, but we beat it way too quickly. They said we set a new record.”

“Wow. How long?”

“Five minutes. Then, since we couldn’t make any reservations, we just walked around the city, seeing what looked interesting. We found a bar hosting a trivia night. And then we just spent the rest of the night… talking. We just sat there, getting to know each other. It was- it was actually really nice.”

“Sounds like all that worrying was for nothing,” Morgan said. 

“Well, not for nothing,” he said. “There’s still that big elephant in the room.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Emily asked. “Morgan knows who it is?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the one that convinced me to ask her out.”

“And it’s more like the elephant in the big office,” Morgan quipped. “You’re gonna have to tell him eventually.”

“And we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But for now, she doesn’t want to tell him and I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell him.”

“Reid, please tell me you’re not seeing a married woman.”

“What? No! Emily, no!”

“Let’s just say she has a pretty protective family,” Morgan said. “Someone who’s known to flip his lid if his family is hurt.”

“Wait a second…” Emily took in how Spencer was avoiding eye contact and Morgan’s eyes flicked between him and Hotch’s office with a smirk. She gasped. “No way!”

~

“So, how’d date night go?” Syd asked the next day at work. 

“It was great. Until Aaron caught me sneaking back into the house.”

She barked out a laugh. “What are you, 15?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, Abbot,” you joked as you lined up for your morning rounds.

“So, is he taking you out again?”

“Yeah, next Wednesday. We’re going to see a show at the Kennedy Center.”

“Ooh, which one?”

“Abbot, Hotchner!” your resident snapped. “Something you’d like to share with the group?”

You cleared your throat. “No, ma’am. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“It better not, or you’ll be buried to your eyes in scut. Now, who’d like to present?”

~

“You sure you’re ready to do this?” Spencer asked you. The two of you had been together for four months, and had decided to make things official by telling your family. 

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, besides, I think he already knows and he’s just waiting to hear it from me.” You took a deep breath and unlocked the door. “Aaron? Haley?”

“Kitchen!”

You motioned for Spencer to wait as you walked in the room. “I, uh, I have someone I want you to meet,” you said. “Or, well, you’ll see. Uh, I want to introduce my boyfriend. Spencer.”

You motioned for him to come into the room and you gripped his hand. He gave yours a squeeze in reassurance.

Aaron smiled. “I was wondering when you’d finally admit it.”

~

Date nights with Spencer were probably your favorite nights. The two of you had decided to have a night in rather than go out. Dinner was simple: just pasta with some frozen garlic bread. Neither of you was a very talented cook. 

You were helping clean up, putting dishes back in the cabinets, when a plate slipped from your hand and smashed on the floor. 

Suddenly, you were back in Boston with Nate. He was yelling, cursing at you, and you were just standing there. 

You jumped when an arm landed on your shoulder. You cried out and scrunched in on yourself, expecting Nate’s harsh slap. 

Instead, you were met with Spencer’s concerned eyes and soft, “(Y/N)?”

You snapped yourself out of it. “You know, I-I just remembered, I have an early shift tomorrow. I-I should probably go,” you stuttered out before grabbing your purse off the counter and rushing from the apartment. 

“(Y/N)-”

The next day in the office, Spencer went to Hotch’s office. He sat down in the chair across from his desk and said, “(Y/N) made it home last night, right?”

Hotch looked up. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. She, uh, she dropped a plate and it broke. Then she just stood there, staring at it. I wasn’t thinking and touched and she freaked out. She got all defensive, her breath started racing and she rushed out of my apartment. She claimed she had to work but I know she has off today.”

Hotch frowned. “She had a flashback.”

“I think so. I want to fix it but I don’t know how,” he admitted. “I mean, what am I supposed to say? I promise I’m not like your psycho ex, I care more about you and your safety than a piece of porcelain?”

“Well, I would leave out the psycho ex part,” Hotch said, giving Spencer a small smile. “But sincerely, give her a little bit of time.”

“She seemed really distressed, Hotch.”

He sat for a moment before saying, “Okay.” He picked up his phone and dialed. “Hey. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I need a favor. It’s for (Y/N).”

You were sitting on the living room couch, bundled in a blanket. You were staring absently at the blank TV, your mind filled with what felt like static. When you heard keys in the door, you jumped. You let out a sigh when you saw Haley’s familiar blonde head peak in the door. 

“(Y/N)? Hey.” She walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of you. “You okay?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Do I look okay?”

Haley gave you one of her sympathetic smiles before saying, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You found you did. So you told her everything. “It was like I was right back there,” you said. “I was back in that Boston apartment and Nate was breaking things and throwing things because I wasn’t doing what he wanted.” Tears were running down your face. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Haley said, moving to the couch to pull you into a hug. “I’m so sorry. But you know, you weren’t back there. You were with Spencer, one of the most gentle, caring men I know.”

“I know, I know. Logically, I know that. Logically, I know Spencer wouldn’t hurt me. But in that moment, I couldn’t think logically. I was back in fight or flight.” 

After a few days, you decided to sit with Spencer and talk it out. You explained where your head was, and Spencer assured you the episode didn’t scare him away; he was in it for the long haul with you.

~

“You ever notice how we’re always at my place?” Spencer asked, breaking away from where the two of you were making out on his couch. 

“What?” You brushed some hair out of your face. 

“Not that I mind,” Spencer rushed out. “I mean, I-I get it. You’re still living with Hotch, he’s my boss, it’s awkward.”

“Yeah? Spence, where are you going with this?”

“You spend most of your nights here anyway. I think my closet is more your clothes than mine-”

“Spencer.” You gripped his hand. 

“Right, right. I’m rambling.” He cleared his throat. “Um, I was thinking. What if- what if you moved in here? With me?”

Rather than a verbal answer, you tackled him down on the couch, kissing him again.

When you finally broke away, Spencer laughed, “I take it that was a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes! I love you.” You froze. That was the first time either of you had said those words. A knot of panic was starting to form in your chest.

Spencer must have noticed because he gently took your hands. “Hey, hey, breathe. You’re okay.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you, too.”

~

You groaned as you unlocked the door. “You would not believe the day I had,” you said, kicking your shoes off by the door. Your boyfriend looked up from where he was reading a book on the couch.

“First, the coffee machine in the lounge was busted. Then, I was put in the ER which, you know, fine, whatever. But this group of drunk college girls come in because their friend passed out and we had to pump her stomach. Normal Friday night, right? Well, as we’re taking care of this girl, one of her friends vomits all over me. But, before I can go change my scrubs, an emergency trauma comes in. Apparently, this guy collects Civil War memorabilia and he and his buddy thought it would be fun to play with the musket. So this guy has a bayonet stuck in his abdomen and a bullet wound that’s stuffed with a sock that had clearly been worn recently so we have to worry about infection on top of him bleeding out. All over me, by the way. Then, finally, I get a chance to change my scrubs because they need me in L&D. So I’m helping with this geriatric pregnancy, which by the way is a term I hate, and the mom starts coding. So we’re rushing, trying to get a crash cart, prepared to resuscitate, and then we see the DNR order on the chart. At least the baby was healthy. And nearly 9 pounds.”

You huffed and plopped onto the couch. Spencer pulled your legs up into his lap. “I’m sorry, baby. Hey, you know what might cheer you up? Morgan got yelled at by the accountant for kicking down an unlocked door on our last case. And Penelope totally embarrassed herself answering the phone.”

You snorted a laugh. “Course she did.”

“Oh, and she invited us on a double-date with her and Kevin. Movie night. It might help you destress a bit. Take your mind off that chief resident decision I know you’re constantly thinking about. Which, by the way, you’re gonna get. You’re perfect for the job, they’d be crazy to pass you over for this.” He lifted your hand up and kissed the back of it.

~

Spencer was right, they’d chosen you as chief resident. And you loved it. It was stressful and difficult, but it was what you’d been waiting for. It came with unexpected challenges, like when an emergency trauma came through the ICU. 

You were on your way to check on the unconscious man when you noticed a crowd gathered in front of the room. 

“What is this?” You asked, pushing your way through the crowd of mostly interns and first-year residents. “Out of the way. Move.” When you finally made your way into the room, you saw a familiar group talking to the intern sent to check vitals. “Agents.”

Your brother was standing next to the bed, and you noticed handcuffs around both the patient’s hands. You pursed your lips before turning to the gathered crowd. “I know you all have somewhere to be. Go!” Finally, you turned back to the team. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“When will Mr. Holsten be awake?” Aaron asked. “Your intern here didn’t seem to have an answer for us.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “First of all, don’t talk about my intern in that way. Dr. Lester has only been here a few weeks, the new class just started. Secondly, we can’t say for certain. He had significant trauma, so he’s pretty heavily sedated at the moment and-“

“Can you wake him? We have some questions he needs to answer.”

“No, we cannot wake him, Agent Hotchner. Waking him could prove detrimental to his healing. Over the course of his treatment we will start to decrease the medications, but we will not forcibly wake him.”

“You don’t understand, Dr. Hotchner, this man killed-“

You held up your hand. “Right now, at this moment, I don’t care who he killed. He could have slaughtered a convent full of nuns and I would not provide less than adequate care. Within these walls, he is just a patient in need of medical attention. I refuse to violate my Hippocratic oath for your investigation. So, you have two options. One, let us care for him as our team seems fit and you can ask all your questions after he wakes up. Or two, you leave this hospital and wait for him to be discharged. The choice is yours.”

As you stared down with your brother, the team could clearly see the family resemblance. It was in your eyes, in the stubbornness you both exhibited. 

Finally, Aaron took a step back. “Fine. Call us the second he wakes up. But the cuffs stay on unless absolutely necessary.”

“Deal.”

~

It was a rare night when you and Spencer were both home, at a normal time, and at the same time. You’d had a nice dinner together and were laying in bed. Spencer was reading a book while you were working on a report for the research grant team. 

“(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?”

“We should go to Vegas,” he said. “To see my mom.”

You froze. “You want me to meet your mom?”

“Well, yeah.” He set his book on the side table and turned to face you. “I’ve already told Mom all about you. She loves you already and she hasn’t even met you. She’s been doing really really well on this medication and I really want the two most important people in my life to meet each other.” He took your hand and squeezed it. 

You gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, might as well get the hard part over with, right?” You took a deep breath. “I have to meet her sooner or later, why not make it sooner?”

The next day at work, you were telling your friends about the conversation. 

“So it looks like I’ll be cashing in some of my PTO.”

“You’re really going to meet his mom?” Syd asked. “That’s, like, practically a step away from getting married. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Definitely not,” you said. “From what Spence has told me, she’s, like, Superwoman. She was this awesome English professor for years and raised Spencer on her own after his dad left.”

“So you’re totally intimidated,” Ella said. 

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Hey look on the bright side,” Austin chimed in. “At least he doesn’t have to meet your parents.”

You laughed. “Yeah, just one of the many reasons I’m glad my father’s under the ground. Think I would have wanted my mom to meet him, though.”

~ 

The end of your residency was quickly approaching. Offers for fellowship positions were starting to come in, meaning your class had to finalize their specialties with the head of the program. 

“Dr. Hotchner,” the director of the program said, looking over your file, “you’ve shown much interest in pediatric oncology. Are you sure that’s the specialty you want?” 

“Absolutely.”

He set the file down. “You do know that specialty’s not easy? Not from a technical perspective, but from the very nature of who your patients are and what they’re facing.”

“I know, sir.”

“You show great promise as a trauma surgeon. Are you sure-”

“Sir, with all due respect,” you said, scooting the chair closer to the desk and straightening up in the chair, “I’ve wanted this job since I was a child. I know what I’m getting into. This is not something I’ve decided on a whim.”

He sighed. “Alright. In that case, I should let you know, I received a call from the chief over at St. Jude’s. They wish to extend a fellowship offer to you, of course with the condition that you pass your board certification.”

~

That night, Spencer came home to find you pacing and muttering to yourself. 

“(Y/N)?”

“Good, you’re home,” you said. “I, uh, I need to talk to you.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed in concern. “Okay?” He sat down on the couch with you. “(Y/N), what’s going on?” You were fidgety, looking everywhere but at Spencer. “(Y/N)?”

Finally, you took a deep breath and said, “I got some big news today. I, uh, I got a fellowship offer from St. Jude.”

“What? (Y/N), that’s fantastic! That’s, like, your dream to work there.” He took in how distressed you seem. “What’s wrong?”

“Spencer, fellowships are three years long. I’d be living in Memphis for three years. I don’t know if I want to live that far apart from you for that long.”

“So you’re torn between your professional dream and me.” He turned his body to face you. “(Y/N), I wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from your goals because of me.” After a few moments of silence, Spencer said, “I could go with you.”

“What?”

“Yeah! There’s an FBI office in Memphis, I could transfer there,” he said. “If you’re turning this down because of me-”

“Spence, it’s not just because of you,” you said. “I love working at this hospital. I love the team I work with, and I feel like I can learn just as much from Hopkins as I can from St. Jude. Plus, Aaron and Jack are here. I can’t leave them after they just lost Haley. And you can’t leave the team here. They’re your family.” You gripped his hand in yours. “I promise, I thought this through. It’s all I’ve done all day.”

After the end of your conversation, Spencer spent some time thinking. He impulsively offered to uproot his life so that you could follow your dream. Never did he think he would be the kind of person to do that. He thought back to six years ago, when you first walked through the doors of the BAU. If only he knew then how absolutely head over heels he was for you, While you were on the phone with your brother, telling him about your decision, he decided he needed to call Penelope. 

He needed help picking out a ring.

[freebreadmoon]

Percy Jackson

The Monster’s Gone

warnings: little violence? fluff, percy being bf material, no use of y/n, implied female child of athena reader, based heavily off the plot of CotG

requests are open!!

Percy hated quests.

Percy hated it even more when you were involved.

You’d been walking around mindlessly the whole day, through Times Square to the Flatiron District, having no idea where Iris, the rainbow goddess, could be.

“Why would a god willing even live here? The city is a hell in itself, but tourist areas?” Percy sighed, dodging a passing man while simultaneously trying to keep you in eyeshot, which proved to be very hard. Looking around the area, his sea-green eyes landed on a small Gift Loft shop. He grabbed your hand and pulled you in, holding your shoulders to steady you.

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows at him, surprised at his sudden choice to make a detour. “Quieter. Too many people in the streets,” he ran a hand through his hair, pausing, “and easier to focus on…crafting a plan, or whatever that brain of yours does.” He smiled, letting go of you and settling on crossing his arms. “Plan. Right. Except you literally have no information for me to ‘craft’ anything out of.” You mimicked his movements, tilting your head as you look up at him. “I promise we won’t be in here longer than we need to, but it’s harder to…” Percy’s rambling was cut off by you putting your hand of his mouth, staring behind him at the old woman that seemed to stare right back. He stared at you, waiting for you to clarify what was wrong. “Dracaena, I think. Can’t see her fully through the mist.” You breathed, reaching instinctively for your weapon, separating yourself from Percy. He did the same, uncapping Riptide. “never a dull moment…” He muttered, putting himself in front of you. The Dracaena approached, the mist pulling away to show her slithering body. “Perseus Jackson, what a fun surprise this is.” She looked at you, lizard-like eyes narrowing “And an appetizer. How thoughtful.” She lunged, and Percy dodged, trying to pull you with him as she clawed a shallow cut into the skin of your stomach, earning a yelp from you as the pain set in. Percy immediately noticed, clenching his teeth. He ripped a ‘I Love NY’ shirt off a rack, tying it to you like a makeshift bandage. “Sit tight. Gotta go kill a monster for you.”

And the way he looked at you, love filled and kind, contrasted to the way he looked at the Dracaena, he could’ve been two different people. He swung effortlessly at her, and you watched with wide eyes as she erupted into gold dust, as if it were the first time you saw him all over again. He rushed over to you, smiling apologetically and pushing a small bottle of ambrosia into your hands. “M’sorry.” He sits back on his knees, watching you heal. “Not your fault, Perce.” You wrapped your pinky around his, squeezing subtly, smiling when he returns the movement. “A little my fault.” He laughed, helping you up, letting you lean against him, smoothing your hair through his fingers. “I hate seeing you hurt.” Percy looked away, his attention turned back to the sidewalk as you two returned to the sidewalk, no plan crafted.

“I love you too, Percy.” You said, kissing his cheek, watching the smile and blush creep up his face. “Enough to stop getting hurt?” He raised an eyebrow sarcastically. “Oh, never that.” You nudged him, grinning back.

Percy hated going on quests, yes.

Percy hated it even more when you were involved.

But oh, was he head over heels.

[greenqueenhightower]

Alicent's Harem of Useless Boys: A Green Council Scene in 2x05 Analysis:

The scene opens with a shot of Alicent’s hands on the small council table. As the camera slowly moves upwards we see Alicent's worried expression. Grand Maester Orwyle reports on Aegon's condition and adds: "There are more injuries within, injuries we cannot see." Alicent flinches. How much does this comment describe the state of her own soul.

"I'm not sure he will ever wake". Alicent makes a conscious effort to appear strong and obscure any display of emotion that might make the male council members think of her as vulnerable and weak. As much as it pains her to think about the possibility of her son's death, the small council isn't the place for her to expose her agony. She is sitting on that council as a Queen and an advisor. She must put any personal feelings aside. She is ready to play her part as a politician.

"We must name a regent to take his place until he recovers. Or does not." Alicent self-regulates by tapping her nails on the hardwood before her. She stands up and states how the small council ought to proceed next. They should capitalize on the battle at Rook's Rest and let the smallfolk hear about the King's heroic deeds. Then, it is she who first recognizes the need for a regent to rule in his place.

"I myself served in this role for my husband. I am well-prepared to do it again." Alicent knows it will be difficult to take all the council members to her side as she vies for herself as a regent. The camera cuts to all of them, Ironrod, Orwyle, Tyland, her son Aemond, Larys, and Criston, as Alicent reveals her eagerness and readiness to rule. I'm exceptionally struck by the shot where Alicent has stood up, presenting herself as both a sacrifice and a means of salvation, evidently stating: "Here I am, your new regent" and the council does not even dare look at her. They are unwilling to consider the possibility of having Alicent, a woman, rule over them let alone lead or save them. They have no need for a female Messiah, no more than they require a female King.

"And here I had forgotten." Alicent responds sarcastically to Ironrod's comment about her unfitness to rule, having only done so in a time of peace. Alicent is no stranger to difficult circumstances. Her restraint from impulsive violence, trained leadership qualities, and acute sensitivity towards the good of the smallfolk are exactly what this realm needs. Why don't they see her point? Who else has ruling experience? Certainly not Aemond, whose rash actions have caused two catastrophes already? Doesn't anyone fear what else Aemond might be capable of if he gains more power and the authority to exercise it any way he likes?

"The obvious choice is his immediate successor, Prince Aemond." The council members willingly blind themselves to the dangers of naming Aemond as regent. There is a moment of awkward silence as Alicent seeks supporters within her council. She turns to Criston who avoids her gaze yet again.

"Experience is valuable, yes, but the Dowager Queen is a woman." Grand Maester Orwyle is the only one to speak in her favor but is quickly silenced by Ironrod and Tyland who imply a lack of strength for their side if a woman is to rule. Alicent affirms how suited she has proved to be for the role before she turns to Larys, her ally, for support.

"What would it say if, in response to Rhaenyra's crowning, we raised up a woman of our own?" Alicent breathes more heavily as she understands that the nature of her being completely sidelined and bypassed for her unruly son is political. They are not expected to be taken seriously by their fealty houses and allies who have offered their support precisely because they dislike the idea of having a woman sit the Iron Throne. The basis of the Green agenda has come to be reduced to the patriarchal principle. Aegon should have been crowned instead of Rhaenyra because he was the first-born male heir. Any male heir in his place will do for the Green cause, regardless of whether he is the best choice and irrespective of any consequences to the realm. It simply does not matter.

"It's agreed then." Alicent sits back down and Aemond assumes the place of regent. Scorned by her lover, her allies, her son, and the rest of the council, Alicent experiences disillusionment with her own political ambitions. Right in front of her eyes, the men in her life conspire to silence her as they pursue their own goals. Larys did not miss a beat to expose Criston's betrayal to sting her. Does he hope to salvage a relationship with her? Does he now gloat over his triumph for making her feel like a complete fool for sleeping with one of them and doing favors for the other? Does he relish seeing her tower of trust in them both crumble, as the power slips through her fingers? Larys' gaze seems apologetic; Criston cannot bear to face her yet again.

"No one is to leave or enter, save with our consent." As the men in the council resume making their plans, the camera is fixed on Alicent who recognizes the little value placed on all she's done and sacrificed because she’s a woman. Alicent, who the entire time effectively hid any emotional vulnerability associated with femininity, now disassociates, shakes her head in dismay, breathes heavily and tears up, reveals her anguish over Aemond's decisions, and has the pangs of utter rejection engraved on her face. Alicent knows that closing the gates is a bad idea, yet she says nothing. Does her advice have any value anymore? Alicent finally discovers that her political prowess as a ruler is reduced to that of a spectator. There will always be someone contesting and undermining her grasp for power because she was born out of the Targaryen male-dominated world. But what hurts more at the moment, is the revelation that she supported it.

Or worse, that she gave birth to it.

She is once again a prisoner to the narrative that she so wished to escape, and her captors sit right next to her at the same table.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

From the Cage to... Another Cage

Okay so, I'm desperate for some a/b/o alpha König, so if anyone knows anything, hit me up pls. I am desperate. I'm so desperate I made my own. I'm so sorry for being so degenerate.

MDNI SFW

tw: Sexual themes implied (heavily)

Story below the cut

From the Cage to... Another Cage

“Are you certain she is the one?” a giant man turned to his companion, a korean man staring at a piece of paper.

“I… I think she is,” the beta type A scowled at the paper, “but she’s a bit…”

“What am I supposed to do with her?” the alpha type A gestured at you through the bars of your cage, ���this must be a mistake!”

“This is what the SHA came up with, not me,” the paper flapped in the korean’s hand as he dropped it to his side.

“She’s not too bad,” a tall beta type A stalked from the shadows to lean down to see you better, “you’re kinda cute, for an omega.”

You glared at her. She was only a beta, but still she was able to lord her status well above you. An omega type O like you was the absolute bottom of the barrel. You were the weakest of the weak and everyone in the room knew it. It’s not like it was a hidden secret. Omega type Os were typically used in the breeding program, so it wasn’t that surprising that you were selected as a candidate for the alpha. If anything, it was odd that he didn’t seem to be thrilled by your omega status.

“Stilleto, you’re scaring the poor girl,” a man with ochre skin called from the other side of the room. 

Another alpha, this one type B. He seemed more sympathetic than the others, at least.

He walked up to you and knelt down.

“Look, we don’t even know your name. Can you tell us who you are?”

You gave your name in a quiet voice. Submissive, just as you were trained to be. You played your part beautifully, which is part of why it was so startling that the alpha was so upset.

“I never asked for this!” the big alpha kicked a can across the room.

“I know, I know,” the beta man sighed and rubbed the big man’s shoulder, “but we don’t have a choice in this.”

“If I knew this was part of enlisting, I never would’ve done it,” the big man seethed.

“It’s not so bad, König,” the other tall man stood up to his full height, “I got myself a beta, and sure it’s awkward at first, but now? I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“I’m not ready!” the biggest man, evidently König, snapped before rubbing his temples under his mask.

“Dude, you’re a colonel. It’s a wonder you weren’t set up earlier,” the man scratched the back of his head, “but seeing as you’ve gotten so far so quickly, the higher ups are gonna be desperate.”

“So I suffer for my success,” König groaned.

“Cheer up,” the woman laughed as she turned to face the man mountain, “now you’ve got a new toy to play with when you’re mad.”

The man froze in place. Even you, despite not knowing a single thing about these people (aside from the obvious), shivered and backed further into your cage. The woman, however, stood strong against the goliath, looking upon him with Davidian confidence.

“König,” the woman challenged him further.

“Stilleto,” the colossus gritted out.

“If you lay one finger on me, this omega will be the least of your problems,” the woman said cooly.

The man growled from deep within his chest, but he relaxed his shoulders. He still looked like he would reach out and snap her neck without a second thought, but at the very least he redirected his anger. Unfortunately, he redirected it to you.

“If I could leave you to rot in this cage, I would,” the alpha seethed.

“Oh come on man. That’s no way to speak to your omega,” the korean man sighed, somehow visibly rolling his eyes despite wearing sunglasses.

König rubbed his temples again as he took a seat on the floor in front of you. The dark skinned man urged the others to leave the room before shutting the door behind him with a click, leaving you alone with this ‘König’ to get used to you.

König hung his head as he took in the current situation. You couldn’t help but feel guilty, even though you were just as much a victim of the situation as he was. It’s not like you would’ve chosen an alpha type A yourself. Quite frankly, you’d heard enough legends about how aggressive and destructive these alphas were, so you were keen on pairing up with a beta. A beta would’ve been lovely, honestly. Someone nice, calm, easy-going. Betas were known to go into heats and ruts, sure, but they were at least capable of controlling their urges outside of their seasons. A beta was easy to get along with, and they weren’t naturally submissive and weak like an omega, but they weren’t as dominant and headstrong as an alpha. A beta would have been kind and loving while breeding you. An alpha? An alpha type A? You’d be lucky if you came out in one piece.

“You.”

You snapped your head to look up at the man in front of you, wincing slightly when you locked eyes with him.

“You know that as of today, we are both off suppressants.” 

That… You were unfortunately aware of. You knew your purpose here, and he knew it too. Good soldiers didn’t come from nowhere, and the government was always hungry for more. To satisfy a growing demand, your program was developed. And now, you were with your new partner for life.

“Once you get out of this cage, I’ll bring you back home. Do not look up at others. Just follow behind me and keep your head down.”

You nodded along to his orders. Something told you it wasn’t possession that prompted him to order you to keep your eyes down, but something else. Shame, maybe?

“And when we get home,” König faltered, “we will figure it out. I have a guest bedroom for you.”

“Are you sure?” you curled into yourself at his withering stare.

“If the SHA does a follow up interview, we sleep in the same bed and I breed you every other night,” König stumbled through the sentence awkwardly, but you didn’t dare question him. You were curious how he would explain two fertile partners not being able to produce any offspring by the time of a follow up, but you figured he’d figure it out.

König reached up and slid the latch of the cage, opening the door and letting you crawl out slowly.

“Did they really ship you in this cage?” König wondered aloud.

“It was just an overnight,” you said as you shook your limbs. Crouching down for over twelve hours had been excrutiating.

“Do you have a washroom anywhere?” you turned to him, and he silently led you to a public washroom.

You looked around the building as you walked out of the washroom only to hear a sharp clicking sound. You whipped your head to look at König, only to realize that you were already breaking his rules. You quickly train your eyes on the ground, relaxing when the man gives an affirmative hum. You wondered how you’ll know where you’re going when you felt a warm pressure on the back of your neck. It dawned on you that he’d be essentially scruffing you and dragging you along back to his home. It was humiliating, but there was no way to avoid the shame.

As the man walked you out to the parking lot, you endured whistles and catcalls, surprisingly not directed at you, but rather at mocking the man that pushed you along. He seemed to try and hurry you to the best of your abilities, but your legs weren’t nearly as long as his and he had to slow down lest he topple you over. It was laughable how this big man seemed so shy around those who were obviously of a lower rank, but still he seemed anxious as he rushed you to the parking lot.

Once in the parking lot, he hurried you into the passenger seat of a large pickup truck, evidently the only thing that could accommodate his size.

In the car, he slumped with his head in his hands, panting and gasping like a suffocated dog.

“It’s okay,” you gingerly rubbed his back, “it’s over now.”

König groaned and dropped his head onto the horn. You winced at the drawn out honk before he bonked his head against the horn as he processed what had just happened.

“Hey, hey you don’t have to-You should probably stop-”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he flopped back into his seat and dug his palms into his eye sockets, “ever.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you tried to assure him but he was inconsolable.

“They all know who you are now. You know, they’ve been making jokes about me for years, ja?” König barked a bitter laugh, “and now they’ve actually seen you. I’ve spent years building up my reputation and now it’s all over.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, unable to help the man beside you.

“It’s fine,” he waved you off, “it’s not your fault. Just… I wish they could’ve delivered you after work or something. I mean, while I’m working? Ridiculous.”

You watched as he composed himself. He jammed the keys in the ignition and cranked it harshly. He backed out of his parking spot, then zipped out of the parking lot as quickly as he could.

After a couple of clicks, he glanced over at you.

“I’m a colonel,” he said, “so I get certain perks, ja? I get my own home. It’s nice, but small. Not as big as my home back home.”

“Home back home?” you looked at him strangely.

“I come from Austria,” he explained, “so my real home is back in Austria, near my parents. It is very good, but I cannot go there often.”

“When you go there, will I be coming with you?” you asked timidly.

“Well, my current home does not belong to me. It’s only a temporary home on the base,” König explained, “so ja, you would come home with me.”

“Do I need a passport for that?” you asked.

“You didn’t come with one?” König questioned you bitterly.

“I don’t think so,” you picked apart your file for all your identification, “no, it doesn’t look like it.”

“Just…” König sighed, “wonderful.”

The rest of the drive was silent.

AU Masterlist

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader (can be read as an unnamed oc) wc — 1.8k synopsis — wear the hat, ride the cowboy—even if it might get you disowned.

note — there's one line referring to the reader as jack's twin, but no physical description is given. also, this one-shot is a "party favor" from our feb slumber party

specific content warnings under the cut.

cw — quinn being a dramatic, misogynistic douche-canoe 3000 for the entirety (ratty matty has his moments, too), no actual smut but it's heavily implied they do the dirty on the reg, a disgustingly intimate situationship — ick, off-color comment(s) relating to first times and the concept of virginity, lots and lots of familial angst (jack is a snake), oh! and more than a few loose ends... but you know the drill by now, i'm incapable of keeping a story contained

“Go on, Palomino Princess. Ride me like one of your ponies.” 

Condescension drips from the lazy taunt. Matthew earns a palm to the chest for it; her ire lands with a faint thud, but he doesn’t mind. He gets off on riling her up, and after two years of backseat meetings and hushed phone calls, he’s damn good at it too. That, and she might be the most reactive person he’s ever met—and that’s saying something. 

Matthew’s been going head-to-head with all three of her brothers for over a decade, and he’s known their family for even longer. Having a short fuse must be genetic.    

“Y’won’t break me if that’s the hold-up. S’gonna take a hell of a lot more than a dry humpin’ buckle bunny to put me outta commission, sweetheart.” 

He knows damn well she ain’t anywhere close to the derogatory term, but he likes what the complete disregard for her accomplishments does to her deceptively cherubic face. 

It may look less harrowing than every other event on the card, but barrel racing ain’t for the faint-hearted. The event is a death wish personified, and it feels about as good as someone taking a metal pipe to both shins. It takes balls—metaphorically, in her case—to charge into an arena on an American Quarter horse with the intention of guiding it through a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels while sprinting at top speed, but it takes dedication and skill to succeed the way she has. The winner is determined by just thousandths of a second. 

The woman perched on his tailgate is unmatched—undefeated.  

Flames of pride lap at his loins, the fire of desire stoked by the wicked roll of her hips. 

“Ohh—shit!” Matthew hisses, his head lolling back as his hips buck into her heat. 

She smirks, apparently vindictive as ever. “How’s that, cowboy? Everything you dreamed?” 

“And more,” he growls as he grabs a fistful of her backside. 

His grip is tighter than it needs to be as he switches positions. Not nearly as rough as she would prefer it; beggars can’t be choosers.  

Matthew steps between her knees, and, despite herself, she shivers with anticipation. Chuckling, amusement twinkles in his baby blues. “Now give me a kiss, sweetheart. My lips are feelin’ a little lonely tonight, and you happen to be wearin’ my hat, Little Miss.” 

He flicks the brim of his hat. She catches it before it hits the ground before plopping it back on the rightful owner, the damage already done.  

“You just love that antiquated rule,” she shakes her head while most definitely laughing at his expense. “Y’wouldn’t see any action without it, now would you?” 

Matthew grins. Trading insults is his favorite form of foreplay. “Neither would you. Isn’t that your signature move, outlaw?”

“I should kick you to the back of the line with that attitude. Hell, I’d probably be better off keeping you at a distance anyway.” 

“Keep mouthin’ off and see how far it gets ya. Definitely nowhere near that McMansion castle you call home, that’s for sure.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout me, sugar. I’ve got plenty of options if I need a ride home.” 

“I’ll bet, show pony. Sexiest can chaser east of the Mississippi; who wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to carry Cinderella home to her Daddy?” 

Men have a habit of gawking at her; Matthew has a habit of relieving them of their teeth. 

He leans in to taunt her ear with greedy lips and barbed arrogance. “Best of luck finding one that’ll fuck you better than me.”     

“Do you think about other guys fucking me often?” she fires without missing a beat.

More than he would like, actually.

With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, he runs a hand over his face. His patience is running thin, and his jeans are starting to chafe. Exasperated, he tries coaxing her to reason, “Sweetheart, c’mon. We both know you want this—want me. Stop makin’ this so damn hard.” 

“Why? Because you already are?” 

Matthew makes an exaggerated show of play-biting her scrunched-up nose. 

“Woman, you drive me insane.”

“It’s why you’re so obses—“ 

Her teasing is thwarted by the sound of her own name. Spat out of her older brother’s mouth like a heirloom gone sour, it's no great surprise Quinn looks at her like he can’t recognize her. Like a stranger—like a traitor. 

Guilt, thin and fleeting, pieces the tenderness between her ribs. 

She squirms, attempting to put some distance between them as if that could erase the discovery—and her culpability—from his mind. Matthew and his shit-eating grin keep her from getting too far but don’t be fooled. This is no chivalrous encouragement to stand her ground. It’s got nothing to do with her and everything to do with her brother. 

Quinn rages outside the hauler housing Matthew’s precious 3500 Laramie. Walking by, seeing the main trailer hitched Brady’s F-350 made his stomach churn. It didn’t sit right, and now he knew why. 

“You can’t be serious! Nuh-uh, no—no fucking way. Get out here before I drag you out myself.”  

At his tone, what little remorse she felt dissipates. They were both far too old for his tired, overbearing song-and-dance. 

“Who died and made you king?” 

Quinn, blinded by overripe anger, sweeps over the irritation, twisting her tongue and the disbelief arching her brow. “I thought I made myself clear last time. Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

“Oh, crystal, Quinny.” Matthew snorts at the juvenile nickname but is swiftly cajoled into silence with a pinch to the side. “Message received.” 

“Then quit screwin’ around and get your ass back to the truck before Dad blows a gasket. He’s been lookin’ all over for you. So, you best be thanking your lucky stars I got here first. That its me catchin’ you red-handed colluding with the enemy.” 

He’s so serious, nearly shaking with rage, it’s difficult not to laugh. She can count on one hand the instances wherein her brother became visibly angry—all of them involving the man standing between her dangling feet. She fares better than him, but that’s to be expected. Unlike her accomplice, for her, there’s real risk involved. 

“Just ‘cause I heard you don’t mean I have to listen.” 

Lips pressed to her temple, Matthew clicks his tongue in approval. ‘Bout damn time she started giving back what Quinn so readily dishes out. 

“Look, y’can spread your legs for anyone with big dreams and a buckle some other night. Parade around the circuit acting like a slut, see if I give a shit. But not tonight. And not with him.” 

The knowing glint in Quinn’s blackened eyes is telling, but it isn’t as menacing as he thinks it is. The Hughes heir apparent couldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have a lick of proof. Just suspicion and a personal vendetta the size of Texas. 

A safety net swaying below, Matthew decides to have a little fun. “Whoa, settle down, Trust Fund. Y’can’t talk to a lady like that, ‘specially not your sister.” 

He’s no white knight, but he can pretend. 

And isn’t that what you’re all doing? Pretending to be people you aren’t. Acting out your roles, putting on a show. After all, a performance will always be more entertaining than the truth. 

“—and here I thought etiquette classes were a Rodeo Royalty rite of passage. Glad t’know she ain’t the only roughneck hellion in your family tree, Huggy.” 

Quinn’s jaw tightens. His tongue threatens to put a hole through his cheek. Hands on his hips, the eldest sibling only nods. He ignores Matthew entirely. 

“Real winner y’got there. A class act. You really know how to pick ‘em—cream of the goddamn crop. Say, what’re you gonna do when he inevitably gets bored of you? When he gets his hands on a fresh doe-eyed virgin to tarnish?” 

After she finishes with Matthew, she’s kicking Jack’s sorry ass. 

Those anxieties—and that majorly personal tidbit of information—were shared in confidence. Because unlike her older brother, she trusted her twin. Well, she used to, at least. Luke’ll be over the moon at the chance to be her favorite. 

She bares her teeth like a scorned lapdog. “We’re not kids anymore, Q. You can’t push me around whenever you want or tell me what to do like you’re my father. And you sure as shit can’t bully me into submission, either. Give it up, or get lost.” 

“Whatever,” Quinn barks as he backs away from the trailer. “Your fuckin’ funeral.” 

Listening to the fading sound of her brother’s Ariats pounding through the dirt, she buries her face in the warm, familiar crook of Matthew’s neck; she needs a moment alone. He seems to understand this, his mouth zipped shut as he runs calloused hands up and down her sides. She’s breathing heavily, but he does her the simple mercy of leaving it be. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was growing on you,” Matthew hums, a low-maintenance attempt to lighten the mood. 

They don’t do the touchy-feely BS. It’s one of the things that reeled him in—and kept him coming back. 

“But you do.” She pulls away to look up at him, chin resting on his sternum. He hates that her melancholic eyes are red-rimmed. “—and stop thinking, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“And what does, princess? I’m dyin’ for your insight.” 

“Shut the door and I’ll show you.” 

He blinks, taken aback. Who is this brazen tart, and when did she take your place? Matthew wonders to himself. Maybe he is the bad influence everyone paints him as… He hasn’t really thought about it until now, and it's troubling the way it makes his chest tighten. 

Matthew clears his throat—and, from his mind, the distressing notion that he’s ruined someone good with his carelessness—as he leans over. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He pulls the hauler’s heavy metal door shut with clamorous finality.  

Matthew Tkachuk might be the most self-serving swindler on dirt, but Quinn Hughes is just another name on his list. A box to tick and then forget. He wouldn’t lose sleep, it wasn’t like their friendship meant a damn thing. Not anymore. A friend turned foe, reduced to another obstacle in his way, a hurdle to jump. 

Tonight, his sister’s fealty; tomorrow, his title.

Retribution is at his fingertips, so close he can taste it. Yet, it would seem that Matthew merely traded one hornet’s nest for another. 

At least this one’s easy on the eyes. 

⤑ to my inbox💌

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[skylarsblue]

this isn’t really a request or anythin’, just a thought. 141 havin to deal with a southern team member who only gets progressively more accented the more they get mad.

100% projecting here

pretty unaccented, American, whatever —> ✨ anger ✨ —> Memphis called they want their “oo-ol” back (translation: oil).

i have no idea if they’d be annoyed, charmed, or just confused.

✦141 + Los Vaqueros With A Southern!Teammate✦

(My first C.o.D request and it's for pEOPLE LIKE MEEEE, southern traassh! This my shit. Fair warning, I've never played one of these games cause I don't have a console, so if they're ooc, please tell me how I can improve writing them!)

✦Random headcanons, Southern slang, GN!Reader, Race neutral as well but American, implied to be Oklahoma/Texas style southern, aggressive cursing because I have the mouth of a sailor, a bit of Google Translated Spanish(forgive me), Rudy doesn't have a color cause I ran out I'm so sorry precious boy✦

✧Simon Riley✧

He's not real fond of Americans, admittedly. He's got a little voice in the back of his head that automatically associates Americans with betrayal, but he'll keep quiet.

He cringes at your accent at first. He's not fond of Americans, even less so of most American accents. It's a very thick drawl and after being in the team for a while, he'll tease you about it, telling you to "Speak English" like he does with Soap.

He shuts up when you bring up his Manchester accent being illegible sometimes. It's all in good fun though!

After proving you're trustworthy, he'll basically call you his "special American", to show you're an exception. He will never stop poking fun at you though, just as you do to him. Particularly when you say something intensely American.

"Look at her ass, out here pitchin' a bitch fit with a tail on it." "...What in the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

He'll give you one thing, you treat beef well, which he appreciates. Given he used to be a butcher's apprentice. Americans from the southern states know how to make a hamburger and we know how to cook a steak, that's like...the one thing we can brag about.

If you're like me and you dunk on your own country, he thinks those moments are really funny. Especially when you sound so American.

He probably enjoys you being angry the most. He loves it so much, he thinks it's extremely entertaining. Especially if you're a more small, non-intimidating person on the surface.

"Fuck off! Out here makin' a damn mess of the place, runnin' around like a chicken with its head cut off, wrecking my shit! I outta whoop yer ass!" "Should we step in?" "No no, let it go on a little longer..."

Probably tries to make your call sign something heavily American stereotypical, in a funny way. (ie. Bald Eagle, Stars(JILL!), Shotgun, etc.)

A bit hypocritical but if you have a farm with cows on it, he doesn't really wanna see them. His first thought his how to butcher them from years of training, and if they're not butcher cows, he feels kinda bad for thinking it.

Congrats! You're the only American Simon likes, aside from maybe Alex but I don't know for sure.

✧Johnny MacTavish✧

Laughs when you first speak. He apologizes but like, he laughs at you, I'm sorry.

Definitely asks if you have a cowboy hat, and he will lose his fucking mind if you do. The more cowboy shit you own the more he's entertained, especially if you wear them around base/on field.

He understands you super well but no one understands how or why. Johnny explains that it's just because he's good with accents. He'll hear weird euphemisms and, though it may take a second, 9 times out of 10 he'll get it.

"Fucker's so cheap I bet he pinches quarters til they scream." "What?! What does that mean!?" "Means he's a penny pincher! He's cheap. C'mon, that one was obvious, keep up, yeah?"

If you're a woman/female leaning, he'll call you cowgirl. If you're male/male leaning, you get the nickname cowboy. Non-binary/Genderfluid/Etc.? He calls you partner, and he'll always say it with a shitty imitation of your accent.

Asks you a buncha questions about American-Southern stereotypes to see if they're true. If they are, he gets really giggly about it.

If they ever have a mission in America, he'll insist you lead them everywhere. He likes seeing how you interact with people, especially if you're in a big city where some nutsos are. This man would have a blast watching you in a Waffle House. It's the only time he likes seeing you yell in public, thinks it's hilarious.

If you have any farm experience he's gotta see it. He needs to. I don't care if the farm is your great grandpa's and you haven't been there in a decade, you better take him to see the cows and tractors right now, immediately. Especially if there are chickens. He loves chickens.

He makes fun of your accent but he thinks it's really hot sometimes and he's very annoyed at himself for it. Particularly when you speak softly, trying to console/comfort him, slipping in a typical southern pet name.

"You alright there, sugar? Took quite a hit there. You need anythin', sweetheart?" "...I uh, uhm, ahem. N-no, no I'm alright." "Are ya sure, sweetpea? Your face is goin' redder than a tomato."" NO, I'M GOOD."

Manages to get the entire team to call you a southern callsign, whether you like it or not. He'll force it to stick. Most are animal-based too. (Cowboy/Cowgirl, Chick/Rooster, Bull/Heffer, Big Tex, etc.)

Your accent grows on him significantly. While he thinks you're very sexy when you're angry, he's really affected when you're soft and sweet. (bonus note; if you're faux sweet when you're mad? The whole "Oh...bless your heart" type thing? He's prolly gonna pop a boner, not gonna lie.)

✧John Price✧

He's not American but there are a lot of American things he likes, admittedly. Specifically, old western stuff, horses, ranches, etc. That whole aesthetic is something he's always enjoyed. He won't say it, but he has a particular fondness for your accent when he first hears it.

Doesn't understand you when your accent gets super thick but he thinks it's entertaining nevertheless. Unlike Ghost or Soap, he doesn't comment on it, because he doesn't think he has room to talk. Maybe he'd do it once and then you'd throw it back at him and he'd realize that...yeah he has no room to talk.

He's a calm individual but he will yell when necessary. But, what he finds admirable is when you jump in and yell for him. Like you can read his mind and he can save his throat, watching the people who were pissing him off jump back at thick southern curses being yelled at them.

"I outta jerk a damn knot in your fuckin' tail, ya fuckin' dumbass! Didn't ya momma ever teach you respect?! You ain't ever gonna talk to my damn captain like that again or I'll skin yer fuckin' hide!" "Ahem, thank you, sergeant, that's enough."

Buys you a cowboy hat if you don't already have one, for sure. Whether you take it as a genuine gift or you take it as a light jab at your roots, he'll get a lil' dopey smile if you decide to wear it. Gaz definitely makes fun of you two. Soap points out that Gaz also wears a hat religiously and he & Ghost start callin' you the hat trio.

Man melts at southern-drawl-spoken pet names. He truly does. Much like Soap, there's something about it that makes the tension leaves his body, though he's not really sure why.

"You alright there, Cap? You're lookin' bout ready to drop..." "I'm alright soldier, just need to finish this." "Captain, it'll be there in the mornin'. How bout a nap instead, huh? You can't go workin' yourself to the bone, hun. It ain't healthy."" ...oh alright, just for a bit though." "Sure, sugarcube, just long enough to have some tea."

He'll probably pick up on a few pet names and call you them. Whether you wanna take it as platonic or not, it's really just a sweet gesture that he wants to return. Pet names are kinda just...a staple of southern slang. It's part of the accent that he really enjoys, therefore he wants to return it.

If he ends up helping you with a call sign, it's going to be a really sweet & nice one. Or perhaps something that's from an old western he's seen. Probably based on something you've said before. (Sugarcube, Lasso, Hun/Hunny.) Bonus points if you get a super sweet name that doesn't match your stature, he thinks it's funny if it throws people off.

Piggybacking off the last one, I think it'd be real funny if your call name was "Sugarcube" and you're like...a 6'0"+ buff dude with a deep voice. That shit would be funny. Anyway!

If you own/live on a ranch or farm in your off time, he'll feel honored if you invite him to see it. Don't worry, he won't laze around and just appreciate the cute animals. (Looking at you Soap) He's got a little bit of experience with cows & horses, so he'll do his best to help you move the hay and such. Don't let him drive a tractor though, it's one of the few things he just can't do.

John doesn't play favorites, he's fair and precise to his entire team. But...off the field? ...you might get a little favoritism, he's got a weakness for bein' sweettalked through southern drawl. Don't let that go to your head though!

✧Kyle Garrick✧

Kyle doesn't care too much, he thinks every country has shitty stuff and cool stuff. He's a pretty big believer in silver linings. While America is far from his favorite country, and he knows the common trope of uh...less than tolerant people from the south, that doesn't affect how he sees you at all.

He does snicker at your accent sometimes, but only when you say something really aggressively southern. Especially making up random southern phrases that he doesn't understand at all. He finds it endearing.

"We just gotta haul ass and go tear shit up, run through like a buncha Tasmanian devils, right?" "...I understood...some of those words. Uh, sure, right." "We need to move our asses and fuck shit up." "Ah, okay. Could've just said that, but alright."

Thinks you're kinda scary when you're mad. He'll be the type to try and calm you down, but he understands if it's someone who deserves it. Not that he doesn't find your drawl fun to listen too, especially if someone was being an ass, but he doesn't like seeing you upset.

If the person you're yelling at was being a real big ass, he'll let you yell for a little, but step in. However, if you're doing condescending rage? Oh, go for it, do it all you want. He thinks it's hilarious.

Finds it particularly sweet if you're angry on the teams/his behalf. He can fight his own battles but he thinks it's a big sign of trust, friendship, etc. that you feel the need to defend him.

"Bless your heart, your brain ain't firing off on all cylinders is it, hun? Tsk, that's a shame..." "Excuse me?!" "You're excused, sweetpea. You're not gonna talk to my team that way, but you can turn your happy ass around and walk away. I ain't gonna have you disrespectin' the people who've been fightin' the good fight. Have a lovely day!" "How can you sound so sweet and yet so angry at the same time?" "Southern livin', sugar. Southern livin'."

Gaz is a bit of a foodie type, he likes trying cooking from any area he can go to. Southern cooking would...it'd be a new weakness for sure. A lot of it is unhealthy, yes, but he doesn't give a shit. It tastes good. Sometimes he thinks American food is an absolute sin and a disgrace, and he'll state it as such. Usually, it's stuff you agree on. Like bacon-covered donuts or fried butter. That shit's egregious. But things like southern-style chicken or rib-eye on a grill? You're gonna make him swoon with them roasted vegetables. Cooking for him is a surefire way to make you an unapologetic favorite in his book.

He won't say anything at the little jokes that people jab at you for your accent, but he will tell someone off if they say something that's clearly not funny and upsets you. Like trying to imply you're stupid because you come from Texas. (Speaking from personal experience) He thinks it's such a dumb thing to give someone shit over and he won't hesitate to say they're an idiot for trying to use it against you.

Hates sweet tea, I'm sorry. It's just tea but he can't stand it. He'll drink the unsweetened tea you make, but he'll make a dramatic face if he mixes them up. Something that you always laugh at.

He's great at driving basically any vehicle. Helicopters to mini coopers. He's never controlled a tractor before, but if you sit him in one and tell him the levers, it'll take him like...three minutes to get it down perfectly. Definitely gets a smug ass grin if you show you're amazed.

If he helps get you your call sign, he won't necessarily make it based on where you're from, it'll probably be based on a nickname, skill, or crucial event in your career. (Crash; you were thrown through a window, Hotshot; skill for sniping, etc.) But if he were to have one based on your southern ways? Sweet Tea, both for the fact you make it and the pet name you sometimes call him. (sweet pea)

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Like Ghost, he's not super fond of Americans. His experience with most Americans are annoying tourists and Graves, leaves a pretty bad impression. He comes across unintentionally snappy when he first meets you, but Rudy will point it out, and he'll correct himself.

You aren't the annoying people he's dealt with and he knows it's not fair to say you are. Definitely talks shit on America though, and he'll honestly give you respect if you do the same. Since he's used to the kind of Americans that think being American give them a right to treat others like shit. He hates entitlement.

If you speak Spanish, he's gonna try really hard to not laugh at how your accent affects some words, but it's really hard. He means it in kind and if you're still learning when you meet him, he's proud when he hears you doing well in comprehension and sentences. Still, sounds just a lil silly.

He loves when your accent gets thick from rage, but he his favorite thing is if you speak Spanish in a rage, with your accent on top of it. It's a combination that fills his brain with serotonin.

"Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" "Wha- Haha! What does that mean?!" "Did they say some super weird analogy?" "Si! They did!" "Yeaaah, they do that a lot."

He's notorious for having a naturally flirty personality, it's just how he's always been. Hence why not much phases him, but he does get a quite wide & genuine grin if you flirt back, making your accent extra intense. Especially with the pet names, another man who likes sweet words.

Thinks you having a southern call sign is really cute, especially if it's something your team calls you exclusively. He thinks it shows your endearment to your team. However, if your call sign is something you insist is only for friends, he'll get super giddy about being allowed to call you it.

If he were to pick? (Belle; Like southern belle whether you're fem! or not, Rodeo, and he might call you Americano- but like, in the coffee way. Like it's a sweet nickname, not just him saying your nationality)

Southern hospitality is something he is not used to. Again, bad experience with Americans. So if you explain all the various manners and nice gestures that are considered expected in your home state? He's completely confused, wondering why the Americans he's met don't keep that attitude up when they leave home.

Again, really likes it if you use southern pet names. Especially if you're trying to console him after a really tough day/mission. For some reason it really helps, like a cup of warm coffee on a cold morning.

"Aye, don't stress yourself over it, darlin'. Bad things happen that we can't control, you did everything you could and you were great at it. Don't let it eat at'cha, honey-bun." "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" "Anytime, big guy. Now, you wanna see me try and fail again to open a de la Rosa without breaking it?" "Aha! How about I show you a trick to do it instead?"

Again, like Ghost, you're his special American. Gaz calls you his emotional-support American once and he thinks it's really funny, he'll call you as such every now and then.

✧Rodolfo Parra✧

Sweet darling man. He has nothing against you being American, nothing. But...he cannot understand anything you're saying. He's doing his best but he really doesn't know. He can feel his brain frying every time you bring up something super southern, trying to understand.

He'll have to lean over to your team to ask for a translation, anyone but Soap & Price will tack on an "I think, I'm not sure" at the end of their explanation. If he hears you use a phrase more than once, he'll add it to a little list of notes with the translation underneath it. Treats it like a whole different language. It's adorable.

Like Alejandro, he thinks it's funny if you speak Spanish with your accent. He'll keep a straight face because he knows you can't help it, but man is it fun to hear.

He's not very fond of a lot of yelling if he can avoid it, Rudy prefers disputes to be handled with calm words if possible. But he understands that sometimes it's necessary. Still, he'd want to try and calm you down if you're yelling. But, if you're just acting sickeningly-sweet, kind words that are clearly dripping with venom? He'll just watch. He thinks that shows you handle yourself very well and it's pretty attractive to him, not gonna lie.

"Awww I'm so sorry you're upset, poor thing. God bless you, sir, you have a lovely day. I hope that stick up your ass doesn't hurt too bad." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" "Shh, sugar, it's fine. He wants to be rude, I can be rude back. An eye for an eye. Don't worry your pretty lil' head bout it, sweetheart." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas."

He's really hesitant about American food. It smells great sometimes but all he hears about American food is that it's greasy, or too salty, etc. Still, he won't deny any meal you make. He thinks it's rude to deny food unless it's something you're allergic to.

He ends up liking a few things, but he is biased to his home cooking. But if you start making his favorite foods, or somehow combine the styles in an honoring way? Oh, those are his favorites. He's particularly fond of American sweets though!

Please bake for this man, bake for him, I beg. Apple pie is an American staple for a reason and he'll jokingly claim he'll move to America if it means he can have apple pie every day.

"Rudy, that's your fourth piece! Ahaha, if I knew you liked it so much I woulda made ya more." "Ay, please do! ¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" "Alright then, hun, I'll be sure to make you all the apple pie ya want."

Rudy really likes if you wear stuff like a cowboy hat. He's not really sure why, he just thinks it's really cute. If it's a staple of your whole look(like John's hat), seeing you protective over it, he thinks that's really cute. If you're protective of your cowboy hat but let him hold it/put it on his head to hold it, it's gonna fluster him. Even if your guy's relationship is completely platonic.

If you live near the border of Texas & Mexico, it makes visiting you pretty easy, so he'll have no qualms about going back and forth when off duty. He'll be more comfortable in his home but he won't turn down the offer to see your home, especially if it's a ranch. He's got a soft spot for farm animals. (Particularly goats)

If he has any control of how you choose your call sign, he'll likely pick something the same way Gaz does. But, if you have a thing about what certain people call you - like how only Ghost can call Soap "Johnny" - He feels really warm and fuzzy if he gets a special privilege.

(Translations; "Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" - "You're a fucking idiot - as useful as a bull's tits/about as useful as tits on a bull!" "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" - "Thank you, bella/beauty. I needed it." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" - "Soldier! You can't say that..." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas." - "God, sometimes you amaze and terrify me." "¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" - "It was sent from heaven!")

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER TWO — VIOLENT DELIGHTS at HARRINGTON’S HOUSE

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: it's a rager at the harrington household! you attempt to reconnect with carol, tommy and the gang (it goes horribly, but they started it), accidentally connect with robin buckley and inadvertently have your life saved by eddie munson and his stupid van. you swear, this guy is following you. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing boots the house down, underage drinking, good old fashioned 80s homophobia and slut shaming, mean mom moment, implied attempted sexual assault, billy hargrove haters club (sorry) word count: 4.7k

Dear reader, I know you think of yourself as a harsh person. 

Cold and exacting, surgical in the way you deal with people. You put on a good show, though, masking it all up with quiet confidence and pretty smiles. The prettiest smiles. And you’re never too mean. At least, not out loud. 

It’s different when it comes to him, though. With him, you’ve got all the reason in the world to be mean. Vicious, even.

His dad is the reason your dad is in prison. That simple fact makes you want to grab his ridiculous hair and slam his head against the lockers so his ears ring. 

Al Munson probably has no bearing on the way Eddie Munson lives his life, because he’s a deadbeat the way his son is destined to be a deadbeat. But the mere genetic suggestion of that piece of shit is enough for you to want to cut the brake lines in his little boy’s van. 

You’re trying not to think about it too much, but it’s harder and harder when he’s right across the fucking lot, playing the same pedantic guitar riff over and over and over and–

Ssskrrrp. 

The pressure you’ve been putting on your poor fountain pen tears through the lined paper, interrupting your line of thinking. 

What doesn’t interrupt, what has no sign of stopping, is Munson’s incessant fretboard shredding coupled with–Christ almighty–an ear piercing harmonica. And look, you’re not one to ignore technique– he’s fine, you suppose, as much as anyone who can adequately handle an instrument can be fine, but it’s the fact that he keeps going. He’s relentless.

Doesn’t this place get noise complaints? 

You almost yank up your window and aim the nearest heavy thing in reach–a commemorative Indianapolis Christmapolis snowglobe from 1981–toward Munson’s window in the hope that it sails clean in and puts a hole right through his amp, but you stop yourself short. 

You do not exist to me and I better not exist to you. 

You’re a woman of your word. 

And you’ve got a party to get ready for. 

You’ll admit, the trepidation factor of showing up to Steve Harrington’s house after your trailer trash makeunder is major. This is why every element of your look has to be just meticulously so, from your hot roller curls to the angle your off-the-shoulder dress sits at. 

“Are you going somewhere?” your mom mumbles from the doorway. 

It almost make you draw a jagged edge in your lip liner– you’d forgot you left the door ajar and she moves like a ninja nowadays. Silent and deadly, or not at all. At the very least she’s not slurring her words; she’d heavily upped the intake of Beaujolais since she had to appear on the witness stand. You wonder what she’ll do when the contents of her old wine cellar that’s now living in the trailer’s living room runs out. 

You wonder what number glass is the one she’s currently clutching. 

“It’s Friday night,” you say, like that’s a sufficient response.

“Whatever happened to keeping a low profile, hon?” she says, perching on your dinky twin bed. She pokes around the measly few pieces of jewelry you’ve scattered there, the only ones you have left. The rest went to the pawn shop, then that went to the legal fund. 

Fat lot of good that did us, you think. 

“I get that you’re probably… upset by all this change, but,” she continues, sighing deep, “Going out and making a fool of us isn’t going to help anything.” 

You cap your lip liner and wonder just who the fuck your mother thinks she’s talking to. 

“And drinking yourself into a stupor in front of cable TV is?” you bite, “--scratch that. We can’t afford cable anymore, can we, Mommy?” 

Your mother’s purple-tinged lips peel over her teeth in a sickened smile. “Don’t be a bitch, Lacy. No one likes a bitch.” 

“I’m not,” you assure, unrolling the first of your hot rollers, “I’m being pragmatic. Game face, right? That’s what Daddy said. We’re not going to let this town of gossip mongering wannabes tell us who we are,” you say, rendering a pitch-perfect impression of your dad that makes your mom shudder. “I’m going out. I’m going to a party. I’m going to act like nothing has changed because it hasn’t–” 

It’s eerie how easily you can lie to yourself. 

“--you’re the one who’s not being a team player.” You don’t exactly say that your mother is the one that’s bringing extracurricular shame to the family name, but that’s what the reality is. If there’s not whispers flying about your incarcerated father, there’s mumblings about your mother showing up blotto in Melvald’s with more than one run in her stockings. 

Getting up from your makeshift dressing table to pick your jewelry from the bed, you turn– and run chest-first into your mother’s wine glass. She lets the wine spill down the front of your dress–your white dress–with just enough manufactured shock to let you know it wasn’t an accident. You gasp– is she serious?! The stain spreads just like her smile does; slow and languid and completely immovable. 

“Oh, baby, look at that mess,” she pouts mirthlessly, “Do you know how difficult it is to get red wine stains out?”

You just about keep your composure as she leaves your bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It might appear that your mother has nothing left in this world, but she still has the ability to make you feel two feet tall. 

Blinking away the hornet’s sting of tears in your freshly mascara’d eyes, you glance to the clock radio– no! You had planned on a bus route that included a fifteen minute walk from the park to get you to Steve’s on time (and to avoid another car ride full of ribbing with Carol, Tommy et al) and there’s no way you’re going to make it now. Plus, you now need a full outfit revamp and you still weren’t organized enough for that. 

Panic runs a trail of hot spikes up the back of your neck as you rifle through the nearest suitcase for anything remotely appropriate and you come up with– something. 

Something slightly risque, that you weren’t counting on debuting at a party where you needed to convince people that I’m normal and nothing’s different and everything is fine. 

Your new outfit requires you to be practically hermetically sealed into it, it’s so tight, but it matches your shoes at least– you’re a stickler for details. You’re also a stickler for multitasking, so you drum up a last ditch attempt at hitching a ride to Harrington’s house and barrel out the trailer door without so much as a Don’t wait up, Mom!

A sharp left is your first move, and you nearly swear you see Munson drop a note in his hard rock symphony as you dash past his window. Good. Hope you can’t nail that intro for the rest of the night, just like you can’t nail anything else. 

You’re sure, no, you’re positive that you’ve seen that car around here somewhere… and just like a very dangerous North Star, the Chevy Camaro sits askew in front of a nearby trailer home. The front door pops open, there’s some incoherent yelling, and a shadowy figure identifiable only by a trail of cigarette smoke and an ever-present cloud of too-strong drugstore cologne swaggers towards the vehicle. 

Someone up there’s looking out for me.

“Billy!” you call, teetering his way on your heels, “Hey.” 

Or wants me dead.

Billy Hargrove pauses in his tracks, tossing the dying ember of his cigarette into some nearby, extremely dead and extremely flammable, shrubbery. He drinks you in, top of the lid to the bottom of the label, and you want to fidget with your outfit. A black waistcoat with nothing but a bra underneath hitches your breasts to your clavicle. The matching skirt feels suddenly illicitly short. He’s regarding you with a newfound if sleazy appreciation– then again, you daresay Billy Hargrove eyes up froyo with the same lascivious look. Guy has a chronic case of eyeball nymphomania. 

“Lacy, right?” he drawls, like you haven’t been in the same social sphere at least a dozen different times. You nod, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear in an effort to out-cute yourself. This is very not you behavior, but– needs must. “Fresh meat.” 

Again, like you haven’t met a billion times before, but trailer park politics change everything. 

“Yeah,” you say, skipping over that particular prelude to a come-on, “Um, no way you’re going to Harrington’s party, are you?”

Billy heel-toes his way toward you, slow like molasses (or slurry, or tar), giving you his best half-lidded come-hither shit. Look, you get what Tina and Carol and the rest of the girls see in him– it’s the whole greased up dirtbag, fuelled by chauvinism, sponsored by Pall Mall thing that is designed to piss off their parents and give them bacterial vaginosis. It’s their first taste of adulthood. You, on the other hand, have tastes in the opposite sex that are as-yet unmet by this half-assed corn maze of a town. 

“I was thinkin’ about it,” he smirks, barely a breath away from you. And you play right up into it, even if you want to recoil from his ratty moustache. 

“Well, think I could ride shotgun?” you ask, and tack on, “With you?” 

“What’s in it for me?”

Oh, Jesus Christ, does it ever end. You have to swallow in order not to roll your eyes and ask him if he ever thinks about changing that broken flirting record. 

“The most impeccable company in Hawkins, of course,” you simper, amping up the princess angle. Though you were pretty sure that dynamic played better when you weren’t living on the edge of civilization.

Billy folds easily, but doesn’t go so far as to open the passenger door for you. He jams the radio on as soon as the key’s in ignition, speed metal rattling through the car’s interior. Another cigarette lit and he’s revving up and out, while you’re still struggling to find the non-existent seatbelt. You give up and reach for a smoke from the open soft pack on the dash– it’s not a regular habit outside of parties and stealing your mom’s every once in a while, but again, needs must. 

Billy flicks a Zippo dangerously close to your face. “What’s your deal.” 

Despite the monotone delivery, you’re sure it’s the closest thing to an honest-to-god question Billy’s ever asked you– or any girl, for that matter. 

“That’s a vague line of questioning, Billy,” you say, cracking a window so the smoke can escape. 

“You’re like, bad now or something?” he scoffs, “Shunned from the suburbs so you’re acting all edgy?” 

By hitching a ride with you, you mean. God, how pathetic to uphold yourself as the standard of bad behavior– as far as bad goes, I could do a lot better.

“Thaaat’s it,” you nod animatedly, half-yelling over the din of 'The Four Horsemen', “I figured with my father in the big house, I might as well commit to the bit. I might even get a tattoo. How’s that make you feel?”  

Billy barely emotes an answer, his himbot expression set on seduce mode. He’s just smirking, lashes low. “If you wanna let loose, I know someplace we could do that.” 

His free hand, the one that isn’t oh-so-casually resting on the wheel, reaches over to brush a lock of hair from your cheek. The knuckle trails down to your jawline, skips to your shoulder, your forearm, until his palm comes to cup your knee. Your skin feels like it hardens under his touch.

You’ve seen this movie before. Rebel Without a Condom: Skull Rock Edition.

Your hand closes over Billy’s, holding it firmly in place. He has a hair-trigger temper. You know that. You're attempting to handle it delicately.

“So do I. Harrington’s party.” 

His tongue runs along the edge of his bottom lip, and you wonder what’s fundamentally missing in you that this shit doesn’t have you trembling. He grips tighter, fingers edging up your thigh under your vice. Your stomach seizes. “I mean really loosen up, Lacy. You wanna be bad, let’s go be bad.” 

And suddenly, as his foot edges the gas to push you down the dirt road faster, you are trembling. But for all the wrong reasons. 

Then– an ungodly rumble from behind, headlights blaring through the rear window as a vehicle zooms almost bumper-to-bumper with Billy’s. The horn honks and each car’s sound system wages a war to be heard– Metallica versus Black Sabbath. 

Your neck snaps around. You don’t even need to see past the blinding light into the driver’s seat to know who the hell that is. 

The van hits a dangerous swerve in order to come neck and neck with Billy’s car, spooking him enough that he snaps his hand off of your leg. The van boisterously overtakes you and Billy slams on the horn, revving the engine from his position behind. The sign of relief you breathe is barely contained, but can’t be heard over metal-on-metal drums. 

“What the fuck is this freak’s problem?!”

“At least he’s bringing party favors.” 

–

While Billy Hargrove’s admittedly sick Camaro sure can burn rubber, she’s no match for Eddie’s old lady in the arena of sheer bull-in-a-china-shop obnoxiousness. She hauls a lotta ass and takes up a lotta road, which is perfect for raising the blood pressure of an asshole like this. 

And before you think it, before you even imagine it– he’s not fucking up Billy’s cruising hours because of you. 

Not entirely, anyway. 

Truth is, his uncle’s hours have been cut at the plant, as have Eddie’s shifts at the Hideout so he’s seizing opportunity wherever he can. Keep the lights on, right? And if that means palming off dimebags and powder to some drunk kids who are overzealous with their unpetty cash, then fine. He’d got the word from a couple of meatheads that his services might be useful, so it’s not as if he’s planning on gatecrashing Harrington’s. Gatecrashing a Quaker meeting would be more entertaining, if you ask Eddie. 

But, gun to his head? Alarm bells started ringing when he saw you bowl out of your trailer in that ho–... that outfit and head towards Hargrove’s. Well, Mayfield’s, technically– the only time Hargrove shows up there is to cool off when his dad kicks him out. Hargrove’s dad and the redhead kid’s mom have split, and she is not taking it well, so add in the macho madness of Billy and you’ve got a maelstrom of disaster.  

Sometimes he sees Little Red sneak out in the middle of the night and he’s gotten in the habit of keeping an eye on her. 

From a safe distance, of course. That kid’s like a rabid dog, jumpy and paranoid. He’s positive she bites.

Anyway, that’s how come he came to spot you. Activity in the Hargrove enclosure. And again, if he’s to believe any kind of insidious gossip, girls that slide into the passenger seat of Hargrove’s ride are not necessarily safe. 

So, he figures, it’s time to peel out and get to work. 

Eddie manages to keep Billy entertained on his tail right until the turn to Harrington’s, so you don’t swerve off onto an unlit dirt road with him. What can he say, he loves the chase!

Billy’s car almost blocks him in when he pulls up, you clambering out of the passenger side unassisted. Douchebag. The minute Eddie’s sneakers hit the pavement, Billy is just about nose to nose with him, frothing at the mouth. Rabid dog must run in the family.  

“Fuck was that about, huh?”

“Jeez, Hargrove, a little early to be scamming on your date already,” Eddie teases, drawing up to his full height– he’s got a couple of inches on Hargrove, which he knows is a sore spot. “But I’m flattered.”

On instinct, not insistence, Eddie’s eyes snap to you– but you don’t give him so much as a glance, just huff, “Thanks for the ride, Hargrove,” and head into the party. His eyes follow you, watching you stalk inside with your shoulders all hunched and your ankles about ready to give out in those dumb shoes. 

Billy shoves him, hard, as if to draw his attention back. “Fucking wanna go, huh?” 

But Eddie, at this point, is beyond over it. He’s done all the dick measuring he wants to do tonight. He digs a joint out of his pocket and slaps it into Billy’s hand. 

“Christ, Scrappy Doo, hit the brakes already. Have one on me.” 

–

The one time in your life you’ll be thankful for the bottomless pit of the male ego is tonight. Billy completely rerouted his fucking pea brain to dog Munson all the way to Steve’s house, and all you had to endure was motion sickness. 

Could have been a lot worse. 

You’re still regaining your land legs by the time you cross the Harringtons’ porch and are instantly cornered by Tina and Nicole. 

“Lacy,” they say, in unison and almost gravely. Very the twins from The Shining. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Wait, did you come here with–”

“--Billy Hargrove,” you supply before anyone can make any stupid assumptions. “Almost died in a game of chicken in the process, but that’s that Forest Hills life for ya.” 

Tina looks past you, distracted and distant. “I always forget he lives there,” Nicole shrugs. You don’t bother to correct her, because you don’t think he does. Whatever. 

“Wish I could forget I live there!” you chirp, “In fact, that’s exactly what I’d like to do– forget. What are we drinking, ladies?”

You push past the hovering bodies and make your way to the kitchen, the girls bringing up the rear but real slowly. Something’s wrong– something’s off with them. But then again, maybe something’s just off with you. You choose to forget about it, forcing your party mode switch to on. 

“Jesus, what is Robin Dykely doing here?” Nicole scoffs over your shoulder as you search the kitchen island for anything you can free pour, and fast. You purse your lips– Nicole’s obviously started early, because when she’s tipsy, she’s got no volume control nor spatial awareness. The Robin Buckley in question is lingering by a punch bowl and definitely in ear shot. 

“Looks like she’s drinking punch at a party, Nic,” you say flatly, pulling a bottle of vodka from the gaggle of glassware. That’ll do fine. 

“Probably hoping Tam Thompson will finally join the softball team.” 

“Doesn’t Steve work with her?”

“Yeah, they’re like, buddy-buddy right?” you non-committally muse, grabbing a shot glass; in fact, you had seen the mousy girl mousing around Family Video with Steve. He’d even given her a ride to school a couple of times, whatever the hell that dynamic was. You didn’t know much about Robin, other than she was in band so you matriculated in the same gym space what with due to your spot on the cheerleading squad. Well, that, and the obvious rumors. 

But largely and absolutely, you didn’t care. She’s a relative nobody. 

You knock back a searing shot of vodka. 

“That’s proof Harrington’s exhibiting early signs of dementia, I’m sure,” Tina grimaces. “Like, doesn’t he know she’s a carpet muncher?”

“Like Harrington can’t have a girl within three feet of him without wanting to bang her?” you say, matching Tina’s grimace with a strained voice after the shot. “Yet here you are, Tina.”

It’s a little meaner than Tina is used to from you– and it shows. She blinks, once, twice, three times, visibly hurt because she knows that you know that she’s had a thing for Steve Harrington since the dawn of forever. 

Well, fucking get in line. 

Then she scoffs, recovering herself. “Have another drink, Lace. ‘bout time you loosened up.” 

Tina slinks by you toward the patio and you almost call after her, but don’t. Nicole, starting after her with a roll of her eyes, tells you, “We’ll be by the pool. See you out there, maybe?”

Your mouth curls into a sarcastic smile and you wave the bottle of vodka. “Soon as I catch up, girl!”

The vodka lands with a clunk on the counter after you line up another shooter. You look up, and catch Robin Buckley staring at you, right before she has the chance to avert her eyes. She’s gripping onto that solo cup for dear life. You can see the cracking dents in the plastic. 

“You want a shot?” you yell over the music and the people and the claustrophobia of it all. 

“Uh,” she says– too damn slow. You grab another glass and fill it, passing it her way. 

“I’ve, um, I’ve never really done this before. What’s, like, the custom, should we cheers?” Robin half-yells over the kitchen island.

You shrug. Fuck it. “Sure– here’s to being in places we think we belong with people we secretly hate!” 

“Oh, I for sure don’t belong here!” 

Robin sinks the vodka and chokes on it, spluttering up the shot. You gulp yours like a fish gulping water and dash around the island to slap her on the back. She recovers pretty quickly, wiping the dribbled booze off her face with the back of her hand. She wheezes gratefully when you pass her a sticky dishcloth. “Gross.” 

“I know, right? Party.”

“I get it, though, by the way,” Robin says, husk in her voice more pronounced after she’s coughed a lung up. She dabs awkwardly at her argyle printed shirt, doing nothing. “The secretly hating people thing.” 

Fuck, had you really said that? That’s way too personal. That’s way too revealing, especially to someone like her. Reverse, reverse, abort abort abort! “Well, it’s not that, y’know how it gets with your friends sometimes–”

“Because I know Steve. Like, I really know Steve– but not, not in like a sexual way because that’s not– more in like a paternal, fraternal, we were worms together in another lifetime sort of way– I just, I know Steve,” Robin steamrolls you, nodding. From the glassy look in her eye, that punch is finally hitting her. And she really does mean what she says, from the timbre of her voice. She gives a real fuck about Harrington, which is more than you can say for ninety percent of the people in this house. “He, y’know, he’s not exactly made for this crowd either.” 

You unscrew the bottle of vodka and take a cursory swig, then another, which makes Robin’s eyes widen and makes you feel a little bit like a pirate. “Then why are we all here, band girl? At his house? Why am I drinking his father’s Stoli?”

She casts her eyes down and shrugs, looking back up with a sour smile. “Party?”

Your shoulders drop and your head lolls back. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here after all. “Ffffffuck.” 

“I totally hate drinking. I hate that wobbly out-of-control thing,” Robin says, scooping more punch into her half-crushed cup. It occurs to you that she might not realize the punch is alcoholic. 

“You said it, sister.” 

“I like your outfit, by the way. It’s like if a librarian was… a slut.”

God, if this is the way she flirts, I hope Sarah Lawrence is kind to her.

“You said it, sister,” you repeat, hitting the bottle again. 

When you perform a quick scan of the room, you spot Billy advancing through the crowd, lighting a cigarette with another cigarette like he’s about to just smoke both cigarettes because that would be double badass. 

And then, veering in from the right just like he did on the way here, is Eddie Munson. He looks as if he’s looking… for you. 

Well, not the fuck anymore!

“Pleasure doing business with you, band girl,” you mutter, grabbing the solo cup from her hand and chugging the rest of the contents, “Don’t drink any more of that shit, it’s three quarters peach schnapps.”

You maneuver yourself (just barely) to the patio, where the gang, your gang, are all holding court on the pool loungers. There’s Carol, Tommy Hagan, Tina, Nicole, Cass, even Tammy Thompson if Robin’s still looking, but no Harrington in sight. Maybe it’s because of what Robin just told you, but you feel like this would feel less bad if he was here. 

A hush falls over the group as you approach– you know, the kind where you know people have just been talking about you? That lead feeling in your gut makes you take another sip of vodka. 

“Well, hello there,” you say, and it comes out as one slurred-up noise. Wellyellothur. Not ideal.

Tina gestures to the bottle. “Washing something down, Lacy?”

“A shot of Hargrove spunk?” Carol drawls. 

“With a Buckley bush chaser,” Hagan sniggers. Fucking Statler and Waldorf over here. 

“You guys, c’mon,” Nicole starts– and it sounds like a defense, but she’s the meanest motherfucker of them all when you give her some leash. “Lacy’s way too frigid for that.” 

“Guess that tracks,” Hagan shrugs, leaning forward to flick his cigarette into the pool. He looks at you in a way that drills a hole, only the way ugly, empty-eyed bastards know how to do. “I mean, if it’s true that your dad was pimping you out to Al Munson, it makes sense he’s in the slammer. No one got their fuckin’ money’s worth in that deal.”

“Shit, that is so true, Tommy,” you start, before you even know where it’s going. All you know? It’s going to be bad. Real bad. So bad that you set the bottle on the ground next to you and clasp your hands behind your back. Debate team stance is what you used to call this. “About me being frigid, I mean. Because I sure remember turning you down a lot– like, a lot.”

Hagan scoffs and lights another cigarette. Something electric in you makes you lean over and grab it, “Lemme have this one. –but like, you don’t remember that? Because I remember you begging–like hands and knees begging–me to fuck you the night of junior prom.” 

“Bullshit,” he scoffs again, like ‘scoff’ and ‘chauvinist insult’ are the only retorts he’s wired for. 

“And on the last lake trip,” you go on, taking a drag of the cigarette. “Oh! And on the night of Carol’s eighteenth birthday! Which was like, what? Two months ago? And every time, I said no. Do you remember why I said no, Tommy?”

This Greek chorus of Brat Pack wannabes, they just sit there and stare at you. And you don’t even notice the hush that’s crawled over the crowd assembled on the patio. The party rages on indoors, but those who are out here are rapt. 

Tina emits a nervous snort, which makes you bend at the waist and cup your ear, like you’re in the goddamn elementary school production of Horton Hears a What the Fuck Have You Got to Say.

“Bet you could tell me why, Tins,” you grin, big and houndlike. “I drove you to the clinic, remember? I fronted you the money for the lice cream– which you never paid me back for, by the way! Not even when I got all poo–oor!”

Tina reacts in a scramble, gasping unto herself and darting her eyes away from everyone. She doesn’t know where to look– no one knows where to look! No one but Carol, dear awful honeybun Carol, who has gone so pale it looks like her blush was painted on by Bozo the Clown. She stares you right down and you stare back. One of you is the barrel of the gun, and one of you is the poor loser looking right down it.

“You’re a fucking dirty liar, Lacy!” The sound of her voice feels like it’s ricocheting off every stony surface on Steve Harrington’s patio, that’s how deadly silent it’s gotten.

In a flourish, you throw the cigarette on the ground and stamp on it, hard and heavy! 

“Only one way to know for sure, Caroline!” you holler, flinging your arms out, “Feelin’ itchy lately?!”

All you know is you’re cackling louder than the thundering crowd rush that erupts when Carol fucking lunges for you.

author's notes: CLIFFHANGER ALERT! everyone fucking dies. jk but thank you so much for reading this chapter that i had so much fucking fun writing. and thank you for showing love for chapter one! i'm posting this one a little sooner than i planned because i want to get this show on the road for y'all. so, a few bits: - the song eddie is playing is the wizard by black sabbath which goes so incredibly hard. he also definitely learned how to shred on harmonica from wayne which is a piece of fanon i think i picked up from chrissy and eddie’s infinite mixtape, the preeminent hellcheer fic by @little-scribblers-heart (i don’t even go in for hellcheer like that but Now That’s What I Call Characterization) - never heard of Indianapolis Christmapolis before? check out the history here! - there is nothing i love more on this planet than making fun of a swaggerlicious shitbag character like billy hargrove. anyway he was blasting the four horsemen by metallica in the car which he canonically listens to in the show! you know, the scene where he puts cologne on his balls. i like to think billy only knows one song and this is it - rebel without a condom: skull rock edition is a reference to rebel without a cause and goes out to all the failed threesomes that have happened at skull rock - scrappy doo found dead in miami after one hit of eddie munson's ditch weed - i also have to say, i feel like more people knew robin was a lesbian than robin realizes, which is truly The Gay Experience. absolutely no one will be surprised that she's fucking crushing puss at a liberal arts college once stranger things 5 comes out in 2038 - anyway, crabs are a real threat, be safe and get tested! thanks so much for reading, pls reblog, like and comment to show support and i will throw things around my enclosure with the wild abandon of a dopamine rush. ur everything to me

[staylovesmiley]

request 👉👈: Han as a pirate crew member falls in love with The captain's (Chans) younger sister(also a crew member,doctor of the ship)and how they sneak around chan to see eachother, tooth rotting fluff

(please)

author’s note; I really hope I did your request justice~ I know you said tooth rotting fluff but I couldn’t help but thrown in some angst near the end with this prompt hehe-

If you want to be tagged in any future skz reqs or reqs of other groups I write for pls see here

ᯓᡣ𐭩Pairing; Han Jisung x Female!Reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩Warnings; fluff, angst, reader is Chan’s little sister, implied sexual relationship between reader and Han, fluff could have been more tooth rotting pls forgive me-, threats of s*icide (kind of? Putting this here just in case), illness, and murderous Chan oops-

Neither of them had intended for things to end up like this, but neither could be truly saddened by the out either.

It started as just him being clumsy, the raven haired man often ending up in the little room she used to treat the crew of various injuries and ailments.

Y/n, ever the diligent doctor, though she only achieved the title since the man she was under apprenticeship with had fallen ill himself and succumb to the sickness while they were still at sea. Her brother wasn’t so fond of the idea of putting her in a position where she was at risk of the same fate treating the sick constantly, but she had insisted that this was her way of being able to contribute more to the crew and after weeks of pleading with the captain he finally allowed it.

Ah yes, Captain Bang’s little sister. She had joined the crew along with her brother under the previous captain’s charge as they were orphans. When the old man finally kicked the bucket and handed over the title to the young Christopher Bang, he had half a mind to drop his beloved little sister off at a convent where she would be safe away from the life of pirating they had always known, but upon seeing her tearful eyes at the thought of being separated from him he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

She was the only woman on board, and the first thing the young captain would tell anyone who set foot on his ship was that she was off limits. No one was to make a pass at her, one lingering glance and your eyes would be gouged out he would say with a smirk that let you think he was merely teasing though the look in his eyes said he was serious.

Han Jisung had no intentions of falling for her, though he had always found her beauty to rival that of the finest jewels, he knew better than to enter those waters under the heavily watchful eye of her older brother, his captain.

But one day after he had cut his palm something nasty while helping out in the kitchens he had been escorted to where the young maiden did her duties. She had welcomed him in with a smile like sunshine and a voice so soft it felt like he was dreaming. Gentle hands worked on his wounds carefully as she kept up small talk to distract the pirate.

It wasn’t the first time he would find himself being tended to by her delicate hands, he was just so clumsy after all.

From a sprained ankle or wrist to splinters or even a mild concussion at one point, y/n took care of it all with a warm smile and gentle care as to not harm him any further.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you just want an excuse to come and see me.” She teased one evening after the crew had all gone to sleep and the raven haired man ended up knocking on the door to her private quarters with a mild case of sea sickness. “Would that…would it be so wrong of me to admit that it could be the case?” He spoke just above a whisper as she looked through a trunk for something to soothe his sore stomach.

Her hands froze on the bottle of tonic. “Is that so?” She said softly, slowly moving back over to the young pirate with the bottle after a moment to regain her composure and attempt to mask the glee she felt at his confession. “And if it is?” His eyes locked with hers, hand moving to grip her wrist lightly where she held the bottle up to his lips. “A-A sip of this should help calm your-“ before she could finish her instructions, Jisung had moved the tonic away and brought his free hand to cup her cheek gently.

“H-Han we can’t-“ she spoke softly, eyes wide as she knew how protective her brother could be. “Just once, please y/n…just one kiss is all I ask.” Her resolve withered rapidly as soft brown eyes gazed deeply into her own, filled with desire and longing she had never witnessed before but had always craved. Silently she nodded in acceptance, letting him pull her to him slowly until their lips brushed against each other softly.

Her breath hitched in her throat at the contact, though it was barely there, and she took the initiative to close the rest of the distance and press her lips to his firmly. It was a bit clumsy, laced with inexperience as neither party had ever shared a kiss with anyone before, but it didn’t stop the butterflies that erupted in either of their chests as her hands found their way to play with the hairs at the back of his neck and his fell to rest gently on her waist.

Once they pulled away for air, a silent promise was muttered that they would never speak of this to another soul, and that was how it began.

It continued just the same, mysterious ailments and injuries plaguing the young crew mate and causing him to have to visit the young physician often. Because of his clumsy and over exaggerated nature no one seemed to be the wiser to the truth of their meetings.

That was until one afternoon while working in the kitchen, first mate Lee Minho happened to slip and land awfully on his hip causing it to pop out of place. He limped his way to y/n’s little office on the ship, stubbornly refusing the help of the crew to get there and when he pushed open the door he was glad it was only he who was there to witness what was behind it.

There, on the cot she laid underneath one of the crew, someone he considered closest to him, Han Jisung. The two of them had pulled away from each other at the sound but it was obvious by the way his shirt was untucked and the first few buttons on her blouse were undone what the situation had been.

Y/n sat up so quickly she almost bumped heads with the man on top of her, the both of them scrambling away from each other and frantically trying to explain away what he had witnessed. “Save it, I saw nothing here. Now, miss y/n, please assist me in getting my hip back into place?” Minho closed the door behind him, moving to lean against the small desk in the room as both Jisung and Y/n looked from the intruder to each other. “Well- I don’t have all day and I’m in an awful lot of pain standing here.”

As if snapped back to reality she went into action, helping her brother’s first mate get his joints sorted before giving him something for the pain. “Please get some rest, Minho.” She spoke softly, giving him an anxious smile. “I will, and you need to learn to be more careful…had it been anyone else that walked through that door and this would have been a different story.” With wide eyes the couple nodded in understanding and Han moved to help the elder crew mate out of the office and back to the bunk room below.

They continued like that for months, meeting now under the security of moonlight while the rest of the ship was deep in slumber, the pair would lay together in her private quarters on the other side of the ship from the captain and crew. As the pale light shown through the single window down onto their naked forms, Jisung would trace slow shapes on her skin as they spoke of what life could be like if they didn’t have to hide their love. Jisung always made sure to leave just before she drifted asleep, whispering apologies and how he wished he could stay till morning but unless they wanted to be found out he needed to return below deck to the rest of the crew before they woke for the morning chores.

Just as autumn began, a chill settling in the salty sea air, the crew began to fall ill one by one. A fever would settle into their bones and though most recovered after a week or so of care and rest, there were few fatalities among them that had those fortunate enough to not fall ill hoping and praying that it wouldn’t be them next.

Y/n was in her office, taking stock of her supplies as she heard the door swing open and yet another sick crew mate dropped onto the cot in the corner of the room. As she stood to make her way over and examine the pirate, her movements froze upon seeing the identity of her newest patient. Her lover, Han Jisung, lay clammy and shivering on the cot and her hand flew to cover her mouth with a gasp.

Minho and another crew mate, Seo Changbin, had brought him there and while Changbin regarded her reaction curiously, Minho sent her a look that told her she had better compose herself and do her job. Y/n quickly covered the lower part of her face with her handkerchief and tied it into place before getting to work.

She had Minho boil a pot of water and once it was brought to her she worked to calm the chills that wracked the body in front of her, administering some of the medicine that had seemed to help those of the crew who had recovered. Working late into the night, y/n tried her dammdest to bring Jisung’s fever down but to no avail.

As the days went on and he didn’t seem to be getting any better, Captain Bang found his sister waiting for him in his cabin on morning with fear and desperation evident in her expression. “Brother, please…can we dock at the nearest town so that I can find him a doctor- a real doctor, please.” She begged, clutching onto his forearm tightly as she looked into his eyes with her own full of sadness he hadn’t seen there since when he had threatened to separate from her all those years ago.

Shaking his head, he was firm in his decision. “You know I can’t do that, y/n. That town isn’t very keen on pirates and we are likely to be captured the second we are within their waters.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she continued to plead with the captain, suspicion beginning to rise in her brother at the rate of her desperation.

“Over the course of this illness you haven’t once begged for the life of another crew mate like this. Pray tell, what is so special about Han Jisung?” He tone was taunting and cold, his dismissive demeanor causing desperation and fear for the wellbeing of her lover to boil into anger and frustration at being disregarded by her older brother. “We have a strong crew still, if he is to perish then we will mourn him but it is just the way of our life.” With a wave of his hand he motioned for her to leave and drop the subject and the motion seemed to snap something within her.

“His life be meaningless to you but he is all I hold dear in this world, brother- please.” This seemed to pique his interest and he turned to face her once again. “Y/n what are you saying…” With a new set determination and anger coursing through her she stood her ground. “Christopher I am telling you that I love him.”

The captain only let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head. “So the rumors I have heard are true, is that we’re he has been sneaking off to in the evenings? Several crew members have reported him absent at bunk checks several nights now…he’s been going to meet with you, hasn’t he?” Taking a deep breath, now seeing the rage in her brothers eyes at the blatant disregard for the rules he had set in place as captain, she regretted admitting her feelings to him.

“If this is true then he’d better pray the illness takes him before I can get my hands on him.” He said lowly while staring towards the door as if his gaze could pierce through the wood and across the ship to set the sick man ablaze in the bed he rest in. “Christopher please- I’m a grown woman. I know you care for me but if you wish to show me that you will spare him.”

Christopher only shook his head, grabbing one of his pistols from his desk before making his way to the door. “Better to put him out of his misery now and spare anyone else from catching his fever.” Y/n eyes widened and she began pulling frantically at her brothers arms and coat. “Christopher please! Please don’t do this-“ fresh tears sprang to her eyes as she used all the strength she could muster to stop him. “If you end his life I- I will go overboard. I’d rather be without life than without my beloved!” Her screams halted him where his hand pulled at the door.

At the realization that she was serious, seeing the fire burning in her eyes he sighed, running his free hand through his curly dark brown hair before going to set his pistol back on his desk. “I can’t dock at the next town, I’m sorry. You’ll have to pray he makes it through without.”

Nodding, y/n would accept this now if it was only a small victory to spare the life of the one she held dear from certain death as now it was all she could control before making her way back to the office to check on his condition.

It was a long week of praying and working throughout the night to keep his fever under control but all the lack of sleep she received during was made worth it when the fever finally broke and Jisung recovered well, as if the secret of their love was what was holding him back from healing, plaguing the both of their souls and preventing treatment from being effective.

As he fully regained consciousness, y/n explained to him what had happened, tears rolling down her cheeks as she recalled how terrifying her brother had been in that moment and how horribly she had feared for his life.

“Hey, y/n, my love….it’s over, I’m not going anywhere.” His soft, heart shaped smile seemed to calm her instantly and she quickly launched herself at the pirate causing laughter to erupt from his chest as he held onto her tightly. “I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you…” she mumbled into his chest as she clung to him tightly, as if he would disappear should she let go. “Like I said…I’m not going anywhere.”

[ravencincaide]

The First Time is the Hardest 

Summary:  You got yourself in the biggest shit in your life and didn’t know where to go or who to turn to. Luckily Chuuya’s door was always open for you, no matter the time or the state you were  in. Or the time you find out your innocent boyfriend may not be so innocent after all. 

Pairing: fem!reader x Chuuya Nakahara

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 20: Showering 

Warnings: Murder/implied self defense, blood, heavily implied abuse, cursing, nudity + showering together, dark content. Light angst/ Hurt and Sweet Chuuya comfort. 

Enjoy~

You barely registered the whipping rain. The large drops of icy water were hitting your practically nude body; dressed only in a torn, shredded drenched- summer dress which clung to your body like second skin, Over it; a black scarf, a large thing which you had draped over your head, snaked over your shoulders and then bunched up at your chest. You held it up with both arms, giving you an almost widow-like eerily broken appearance. A sight that made most humans uncomfortable on a normal day. To add to the grim sight; you wore no shoes on your feet and no socks, just the reminiscence of your tights, full of long holes, as if you got caught on something and pulled, tearing the thin synthetic to slivers.  

A young woman in the middle of a heavy rainstorm with that appearance made people avert their gaze from you as though you bore the plague. No one wanted to get involved; no one dared to engage. 

Slowly you dragged yourself forward, head bowed. You didn’t know how long you walked, you didn’t even know where you were going. Your feet just carried you seemingly at random. When you had nowhere to go, it didn’t matter what path you took or how long you strolled about. It was not like you were wanted or waited anywhere. 

No, that was- 

You cut your trail of morbid thoughts off as you recognized the area. Your eyes widened and you  looked up just as you came to stand in front of a house. Like a fairytale, it stood on top of a hill, fairly isolated from its neighbors. With large modern windows, two stories and a flat roof perfect for private picnics. One side of it overlooked the water while the second faced the city. You could see the lights in the windows of the top floor, peeking through the tiny gap between the thick black curtains. 

At that moment, you didn’t know whether to feel sad or relieved that he was home.

You barely registered  as your feet propelled you forward with a speed you didn’t know your body had. Stumbling over rocks and your own feet you caught yourself over and over again as you ran to his front door. On the last step you tripped again and fell forward unable to catch yourself. Your knees made painful contact with the cobblestone outside his door. The pain was barely noticeable on your chilled skin but that little amount of it was sufficient to make you burst into tears. Your arms wrapped around your shoulders, sobs tearing through your body. You needed to save yourself, to reach up and ring that doorbell but you were too damaged to do so.

Was this going to be the end of you?

“ Sweetheart, what the hell are you doing here?” Chuuya’s alarmed voice suddenly reached your ears. You sobbed harder. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there, or when he had opened the door, but his voice felt like heaven. A sweet salvation you did not deserve. 

“ I’m sorry” You sobbed out as he pulled you up to your feet. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him. “ I didn’t know where else to go-” 

“ C’mere” Chuuya sighed as his arms grasped your body and pulled you inside. His foot kicked the door shut behind you, yet he instantly regretted the action when you jumped from the sound. A kiss on the forehead as an apology made you less stiff. Another kiss, and Chuuya’s hands began to pry away the soaked scarf out of your icy cold hands. His lips pressed more kisses to your head as he worked on unraveling it from your body. Half way through however he visibly froze, a hitch in his breath sounding louder than your quiet cries. 

The scarf fell out of his hands, slapping against the marble floors with heavy duns; “ Dollface w-why are you covered in blood?” 

You had never heard his voice sound so different; so small. So shocked and perhaps a little scared. An almost vulnerable sound you couldn’t quite understand. But you knew you were at fault; you caused this mess and now were dragging him into it. Truly you were the worst human being in existence. Could you even call yourself human any more? 

You hung your head lower, larger tears rolling down your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I did it, I-I– him I– K-ki— I’m so so sorry” you repeated that cursed word in between sobs as if it would somehow fix everything. Would take away your guilt; turn back time and erase your sin. 

You expected him to yell, to scream and curse and call the police. To shy away from you; to express his disgust at the fact that you had taken a life. To chase you away like the monster you were. Without the scarf your hands could only feebly grasp at the remanence of your blood stained dress, the sticky splatters on your clothes which reinforced your sin. The sight- the smell of it made you cry harder. 

“ I – What? Tsk’ed okay, Come on Sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up first” Chuuya stated in a calm voice; his hands wrapped themselves around your shaking bloody body and guided you in the direction of the bathroom. He helped you up the stairs, through the door then held onto you as he turned on the water. One arm around your waist, the second checking the temperature. 

Then he stepped under the water, clothes and all, pulling you with him. 

One arm remained propping you up and close to his chest, letting you sob into it.  His second worked on getting the shreds of the dress off. He tossed it into the corner of his bathroom. Then he tore your tights the rest of the way before tossing the damaged material into the same corner as the dress. His breath hitched in his throat as his fingers brushed against the bruises on your body; newly forming ones on your arms- old ones on your stomach, back and thighs. His look darkened- how the fuck did he miss those?! 

“ Oh my sweetheart” Chuuya mumbled in a whisper, careful not to scare you further. The next kiss he pressed was longer. You could have sworn Chuuya, himself was shaking. 

Before you could apologize again he got to work; determined to wash every last drop of that bastards blood off your body. He started with your shoulders, the sponge with soap carefully scrubbing each inch of your skin. Then down your back. Then to your stomach. At your permission he unclipped your bra and ran the sponge over your chest. 

“ You’re doing so good m’ gorgeous girl” he mumbled, gently hushing your sobs, calming your tears. 

He waited until you seemed a little calmer before he shifted you ever so slightly. “ Here hold onto me” he said as he raised your hands and rested them on his shoulders. Then he knelt down running the sponge over your bare legs. He focused extra attention on your feet, determined to scrub the dirt and hours of bare-foot walking away from your skin. As scratches reopened Chuuya growled, feeling of anger and incompetence, a hopeless feeling filled his chest. A reminder of his own failure to protect you. A sensation which made his hold tighten on you; “ How long were you walking around sweetheart?” he asked quietly as he dropped the sponge and rested his head on your stomach. “ How long?!” 

“ I don’t know” you whispered numbly, your eyes staring blankly at the soaked head of ginger. The once white dress shirt had splotches of red on it. And the suit pants didn’t look much better  for wear. All bećause of you-

“Hmph- Did anyone see you?” 

You swallowed and shrugged. You didn’t know. How could you know- you were still out of it. Still in shock over why he was washing your bloody body instead of having you locked up behind bars. Why was he still with you; still kissing you, holding you all that much closer, as if you had suddenly become all that much more precious? 

Why? 

 “ Chuu” you whispered and instantly he looked up at you. Blue eyes rimmed red- but whether it was from tears or shower water you couldn’t tell. “ You don’t need to cover for me. It’s okay, it’s okay– I’m sorry for dragging you into this I’--” 

“ Hah, as if one corpse is gonna make me turn tail, pretty girl. Get to hundreds and then we talk” Chuuya chuckled and pressed another kiss to your bare stomach before standing up. As if he had said the most natural thing in the world. He reached for the shampoo bottle and poured some into his hand before beginning to rub it into your hair, his eyes focused entirely  on the way the white froth turned red. 

“ W-what?!” you gaped not even being able to fathom to repeat this more times; one time was hard enough- a sin enough- wasn’t it? 

“ You heard me sweetheart; trust me when I say, the first time is the hardest. After the fifth it’s no different than doing taxes” 

You close your eyes as he tilted your head backwards, gentle fingers washed out the shampoo. Then tilted your head up again as a cold dollop of conditioner was applied. Chuuya began to massage your scalp, then the lengths of your hair, making sure to focus on the tangled strands. He was going to wash every single single reminder of the heinous act off your body. 

Your lips pull up into a wry smile at his comparison. Then you hesitate for a long moment. Salvaging the feeling of him washing your hair. The feeling brought you the tiniest bit of hope that things would turn out okay- a firm reminder that you did not deserve him  “Then… can you make it go away?” you whispered as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks “ To make it all okay?” 

Chuuya sighed and brought you closer to his chest, your tears tugging on his heart in ways he never wanted to experience ever again. Your broken expression and agonized cries felt worse than any stab wound he experienced. “ I’ll take care of everything baby, trust me? Shhh my sweetheart. Come tomorrow, this will feel like a bad dream- a nightmare you won’t give a second thought to. In time my sweets this won't cause you tears anymore; as I said, first time is always the hardest..” 

And as he pressed his lips to yours, you prayed that was the case. 

Though a little voice inside your mind told you Chuuya knew what he was talking about. At least when it came to this. You knew you should be afraid but at that moment you were just thanking the gods. If he was going to help you cover up your sin, then who were you to be concerned over the blood on his hands? 

Author Note: ... No one gets to point out my counting abilities okay? Lets focus on the fic instead, mm? It's a bit dark but definitely in my sweeter category. Originally it was like 3 times as long but hey even I can't have however-long-fics posted in one post. That being said it's only quickly edited because I just don't have the strengths for a longer edit rn. So I'm sorry for all the mistakes i'd normally catch; I'll most likely go back one day and fix it up. Until then, please enjoy this Chuuya "fluff?" Wait, can it even be called that?!

[mavrintarou]

[Daddies in December] Haitani Rindou

I feel like I make these Tokoyo Rev baddies into softies...

Warning: soft Rindou, smut

.

Aside from getting blood splatter on his nice and expensive as hell suits, the next thing that Rindou hated was when Y/n was upset with him and her cold shoulders.

The first time she was upset with him and gave him cold shoulders (which implied no sex and no talking, he couldn’t even hold her hand) he nearly went mad. He never had an issue wooing a woman back after making her mad but Y/n held her fucken ground. She would not forgive him until he explained how he learned from the lesson and how he was going to do better.

The damage he took to his pride just for her forgiveness.

Since then, in their two-year relationship, he ensured that if it was a mistake on his behalf, he would own up to it and apologize immediately.

Earlier that day he was fine, his day was going well but it wasn’t until he received a text message from her asking what he wanted for dinner and he responded, it’s up to you.

His fucken thumb tapped the send button too fast before his brain could register that she did not like that response.

“Well if it was up to me, I wouldn’t be asking you in the first place?”

Her reply was received five minutes later, okay.

Okay.

Rindou exhaled deeply, her reply sat heavily on his mind. It was neither good nor bad but he couldn’t tell by her tone if she was upset and annoyed at his response.

His palm was sweaty as he gripped the large and obnoxious bouquet and headed home. He wasn’t even sure why he was nervous, he just knew something was different about Y/n and he hated that he couldn’t figure it out. With her, she was always keeping him on his toes.

Her emotions were all over the place now that she was pregnant.

One minute she’s happy he is home and the next minute she’s mad because the kitchen shears aren’t sharp enough and the next minute, she’s sad with tears streaming down her cheeks about the squirrels being cold in the middle of winter.

He knew very little about pregnant women, had to purchase two books, and educated himself when he was at work.

“Are you… fucken reading?” Ran burst out laughing when he entered the board room and found Rindou engrossed in a book. When his younger brother didn’t bother to jab him back with a snarky response, he picked up the second book and his eyes widened. “Y/n is pregnant?”

“Yes,” Rindou murmurs, “maybe you should also read too, I saw a book on how to be an uncle.”

Their apartment was quiet and that upped Rindou’s nervousness.

“Baby?” he called softly, toeing off his shoes. “Y/n? Love? Where are you?”

“In the kitchen.”

His long legs took him straight into the kitchen where he presented his bouquet. He opened his mouth, like a child ready to present a present to their mom but when he saw her tear-streaked face, he tossed the bouquet on the table in front of her and was immediately at her side. “What happened? Who do I need to kill?”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand but Rindou was faster, reaching to wipe her tears away.

“It’s not that…” she muttered.

“What made you and baby sad then?” he rephrased, one hand cupping her cheek while the other rubbed her belly which was just beginning to show.

Instead of answering, Y/n turned to point at the counter a few feet away. He stood up and face contorted. “Onions?”

“I was trying to make dinner but accidentally cut off the butt of it and couldn’t finish chopping the onions before I started crying.” She continued to wipe her eyes, “goodness that fucken stings.”

Rindou’s lips tremble before he laughs wholeheartedly.

Y/n shoulders shook as she joined him, laughing hysterically.

“God, I love you.” He kissed her softly, “never a dull moment with you.” Y/n moans against his mouth, her hand quickly undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and he chuckled. “Needy?”

“Just a little…” she pulled away, glancing at his swollen lips she just hungrily nipped at. “I had a dream about you.”

Rindou stood up, pulling her up and tugging her along as he led them to the couch. He pulled her down his lap, “do tell me, what was it about?”

Y/n’s hand rests over his heart, feeling the beats beneath her palm. “You were fucking me…”

“Hmm?” he urged her to continue.

“You… were holding me, your strong arms,” she touched his muscular bicep, “supporting my weight and pounding hard into me while I hold on to your shoulders…”

Rindou’s eyes darken as he nods his head, “ah, is that so?”

Y/n nodded, she reached to brush his lower lip with her thumb. “I���ve been thinking about it all day…”

Rindou nipped her thumb before soothing it with his tongue, “what should I do about it?”

She looks up at him, “I think you should fuck me like how you did in my dream?”

“You would like for me to turn it into a reality?”

“Yes please,” she whispered.

He nodded his head with a small smirk, “anything you want.” He pinched her chin between his finger and thumb, bringing her face closer until he could kiss her again.

Without breaking their kiss, he guided her to straddle his lap, his hands slipping underneath her shirt, feeling the warmth of her naked skin. He cupped her breast through her bra before they slid behind to undo the claps. Rindou pulled away from their heated kiss, to tug her clothing off.

His lips pressed against her collarbone, tongue running up to her throat. “You want my cock? Then take me out then.”

Her hand reached for his pants, tugging at his belt and button before pulling the zipper painfully slow. His cock was already erect, bulging against the materials of his boxers. Her hand slid inside, stroking his cock.

Rindou's head rests against her chest as he groans already underneath the touch of her hand. “Faster, baby…”

Her hand fastened until he felt himself ready to combust. He gripped her wrist, “hurry and strip so I can fuck you like your dreams.”

Y/n quickly scrambles to stand, pushing down her jeans and underwear.

Rindou leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her small bulging belly. “You look so fucken sexy pregnant.”

Her fingers threaded through his neatly combed hair, “even when I become bigger?”

“Hmm,” he agreed, standing up to push his pants and boxers down.

In one swift movement, he picked her up, her legs and arms locking around his body. “Let’s make your dream come true, ‘eh?” He lowered her and thrust into her at the same.

Y/n hugged him close, legs tightening around his waist. Her breath shook as she clamped around his cock. “Feels – feels just like my dream…”

Readjusting his arms, he hooked them behind her knees and began to slowly rock her on his cock.

“Rin…” Y/n moaned, her clit rubbing against his patch of trimmed public hair. Rolling her hips, she took him deeper doing so, “yes… yes, Rin!”

Rindou grunted, thrusting harder that their living room was filled with the sound of slapping skin.

Y/n’s back arched as she tightened around him, cumming.

Groaning, Rindou thrust a few more times before he came. He can feel his cock tugging with each spurt of cum. He maneuvered his arms to support her weight. “Bath?”

She nodded, her head still buried against the curve of his neck.

Kicking their clothes aside, he slowly walked towards the hall down to their room. With each step, he felt her clamp around him, making him flinch.

“If you keep squeezing me like that, I’m going to get hard again.”

. . .

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

[dear-kumari]

Okay, topical Malevolent ep 44 reaction. Based on the wiki, it looks like the characters' choices to not return to the windmill and to get the witch's body were made by voting patrons, which further convinces me that the votes don't improve or even significantly change the story most of the time. Whenever Jorthur (yes, Jorthur) make a Patreon decision they usually have to justify it in-universe with a little debate, and besides just being kinda tedious, the justification often doesn't line up with the story's action. The patrons understandably wanted to explore the hallways over the windmill, which was justified in-universe by saying Arthur was too weak and injured to climb back there. But then the only interesting loot on offer is a piece of the witch, and once they chose that there's suddenly a big pool in the way and the world's most stabbed man suddenly has incredible lung capacity (I checked, he's underwater for 3:20 minutes and is yelling as they're launched out) and can swim with a metal breastplate on and cut through limbs once he's down there. He even conveniently brought all his shit with him despite the potential for water damage, so they didn't lose their inventory by being unexpectedly spat out. (John doesn't even sound like he's all that worried about him drowning either lol, though that's a separate issue of him being a slow horror podcast narrator first and an active character second.)

I understand why you would gamify a story loosely based on a role-playing campaign, but as someone who already doesn't get the appeal of listening to other people play TTRPGs, I struggle to imagine what the patrons get out of this (besides financially supporting a show they like, obvi). It's not really like a role-playing game because you don't control everything the protagonists do or have the context you need to make the best decisions (in this case, the characters know they dumped the witch in a deep pool, but the patrons probably didn't), nor is it really like a choose-your-own-adventure story because you don't get to try the alternate paths and everything will lead back to the author's planned narrative anyway. It's good for the story but presumably not much fun for the players that the author has an outline and an ending set in stone iirc.

Since someone could see this and go "well here's when the voting really worked for me," I did want to be fair and find an instance where the voting mechanism (probably) led to a good story choice. I like that the seemingly innocuous choice to ring the doorbell in ep 33 leads Arthur to realize that he fucked up several episodes prior by leaving his name at the hotel. That was a nice reveal, and maybe the lack of context actually made the vote more fun. It would have been revealed either way by Daniel being shot at the door, but ig Arthur stopping him before he opened it saved his life or something, idk. It feels pointless to speculate on when we're never going to see what happens if he knocks. Ultimately the difference between that and ep 44 to me, a non-patron, is just that Arthur fucking up by trying to be smart and realizing it at the last second is a good story beat, one with a clear line between cause and effect. Jorthur faffing about in the halls when they apparently could've just left through the windmill and then diving with armor on to mutilate a woman's corpse because the author is on a birth imagery kick is not.

Uhh other thoughts, I guess I am pretty glad they're finally out of the weird yonic caverns, even if I can tell that Jorthur entering civilization will lead to more ~historical liberties~ that will cause me actual pain. The voice acting is great as always. I like Yorick. I don't like that we're getting more dad!Arthur moments because come on. Also personally I would not have named the cute owl sidekick after the heavily implied CSA victim with no voice or agency from Oscar's grimdark edgyboy backstory, but that's just me

[kittehbiscuits]

please tell me about your keatlejuice thoughts i am desperate for an analysis of him that isn’t just Evil

EDIT BC APPARENTLY PUTTING IT ALL OVER THE TAGS WASN'T ENOUGH: BEETLEBABES DNI!!!! HOLY SHIT DAWG PLEASE I'M BEGGING 🙏 😭

Omg haiiiii hiiii taps mic is this on yess hellow *shuffles with notes*

warning this will probably be a LONG post

enjoy :3

Ok. So. Keatlejuice. Movie Beetlejuice. 600 year old man. Alive during the 1300s AKA the black death in Europe (proved by the second movie). In the original script for the movie he is described as "vaguely middle-eastern" which is probably racist BUT I have decided to interpret that as a potential ancestry for him.

In the musical he is heavily implied to be Jewish so I was thinkinggg maybe his family is a Jewish family that originated in the Middle East and migrated to Europe.

Every time I've tried to find how he died (pre-sequel) I find the same result but NO source for it. EVEN ON THE WIKI THERE ISN'T A SOURCE

ANYWAY this kind of paints a picture on his life when he was alive, the movie says he was a grave robber so obviously a peasant scraping by to survive. Betelgeuse is not someone who I can imagine surviving in any society based on. social skills. he's kind of a goofy silly guy I don't think he can relate to most of the people around him especially with disease rampant I don't think he has many people in his life. With this need for survival I think he's adopted quite the antisocial personality.

People around you die, you go through their pockets for cash, thus is life. Definitely not a pleasant person to be around and so I don't think he ever tries to be, even long after his death. He knows something is fundamentally wrong with him and he embraces that for the sake of survival.

I'm gonna be so honest I cast him with the MOMMY ISSUES BEAM GRAHHHH I'm sure his mother passed during his life due to disease or tons of other mideival shit. (I will bring this up later just put a pin in it) Betelgeuse is suuuuper silly goofy in the brain (depression and BPD possibly) and I personally imagine him as surprisingly. Calm. As a human. Not kind, but not exactly the manic personality he embraces in the movies.

It's near the end of his life when he believes there isn't anything left for him in life, he never grew or got better he only fell deeper into the deep pit of depravity he dug himself into. I think near the end is when he acted the most like his movie self, erratic and selfish not afraid to draw attention hoping it would make him feel better somehow.

So. I have absolutely no idea how he bagged Delores to be honest but in MY interpretation (with a mix of the sequel's lore) Delores dies, and I think that's his final straw. Either by his own hand or unrelated events losing her as the only thing of value in his shitty mideival peasant life means he's done for (he's 30-something btw). He cuts off her ring finger and hangs himself.

Of course, that isn't the end, He wakes up, still hanging, and rips and tears at the rope, shredding his nails and skin until finally it snaps dropping him to the floor. In a delirious state he looks around. A woman stands above him, slit throat wafting smoke, and tosses him a striped uniform.

Some backstory on prison uniforms:

Using this article and just some research from my memory, prison uniforms are made to identify a man as a criminal, to emasculate them and take away individuality. The stripes can even represent the bars of a prison cell, making the person wearing the uniform feel like they have no escape from their criminal identity. ANYWAYYYYY (sorry I have beef with the justice system)

Suicidees in the Neitherworld are made civil servants. It's their debt to pay for the crime of killing themselves and in the movie both Juno and Betelgeuse are among those ranks.

In my interpretation, when Betelgeuse dies Juno isn't at the rank she's at in the movie and she guides suicidees to their new job. As she rised the ranks, she employed Betelgeuse as an assistant (I don't really think he could find any other purpose for himself in this strange new afterlife, and it's not like he has a choice.)

This is where the mommy issues come in wheroeowheh soo Juno is an older woman and authority figure so I think *PLATONICALLY* Betelgeuse has sort of an attachement to her because of that, she's the only anchor he's got in the Neitherworld after all.

As he gets a better handle on things, he does what he always does, he finds shifty places to lurk and loopholes to slip through. Now that he's dead, he doesn't need to worry about his personal safety anymore (not that he did before) and being dead has given him powers he's never had before. He starts his bio-exorcism business a hundred or two years after dying. It's not really about the money, but the control it gives him and something he's *meant* to do, that he made for himself and wasn't picking from the scraps of others.

After a while he starts slacking on his civil services. So far he's ridden on Juno's coattails and found his way around the legal system easily enough so he uses it to help his guide job instead. He gets cocky, Juno is pissed because he's not doing any work after all she gave him (oughh mother thinking moment) and fires him. It goes over very poorly, Betelgeuse gets his nose broken (300 something years after death) And becomes purely a bio-exorcist.

OKAY THAT IS ALL FOR NOW honestly I could ramble forever but it's late and I must go but if anyone has any questions please feel free to ask!!!

(Also he's pansexual and genderfluid on top of all of that but he doesn't figure that out until the 90's)

[invinciblerodent]

My silly little post talking about this tweet

popped up on my activity page again, and in light of the recent info about choice imports, I can't seem to stop thinking about this lol

I think I've some pretty reasonable predictions for companion returns, so I kinda wanna ramble a bit about this- please, bear with me and my utter wall of text. (I tried to break it up a bit, but I am mostly just rambling and speculating, roughly a month before Veilguard's release. I kinda just wanna refer back to this post-release, to see if I was right.)

To preface, I feel like it bears stating that when conflicting info is given, I personally consider the comics to be less canon than the novels, and the novels less canon than the games, if that makes sense. I believe that the comics and novels are both meant to be set in "Bioware's canon", so I consider them more like suggestions, with a slight bit more emphasis on the novels for how often they're interconnected with the plot of Inquisition, and how Masked Empire and Asunder fed into Inquisition, and how Last Flight and Tevinter Nights seem to feed into Veilguard.

That said.

Origins

With the exception of Morrigan, much as we love them, I think none of the Origins companions are ever likely to return, as they can all have (mostly) on-screen opportunities to die, as the consequence of player choices.

No matter how unlikely each outcome is, Zevran can die (I think maybe twice), Leliana can turn on the Warden and die (and despite her returning for Inquisition even then, the end of that game suggests that that death was actually permanent, and she was actually some sort of a spirit), Shale can turn against the Warden if they side with Branka and die, Sten and the dog can die due to the Warden's neglect, and Loghain and Alistair in particular can be dead like three times over, with Alistair having three drastically different life paths he can have, only one of which leads to him being at Weisshaupt at any point past 9:41.

Oghren can die in both Origins (but gets better) and then Awakening, and regardless, (spoiler) is more or less implied to be dead both by Wynne in Asunder, and by the letter he sends his child in World of Thedas 2 (I believe). Finally, even if Wynne survives the Circle Tower quest, her death is discussed at length in Asunder.

And yeah, neither of these last two is an on-screen death, strictly speaking, but they happen in auxiliary materials the contents of which are more or less treated as canon by Inquisition. (end spoiler)

(Plus, by Veilguard, Wynne would be roughly 80-85-ish years old at minimum, so god, please let that woman retire lol.) (Yeah, if Asunder is supposed to be fully canon, then Shale has to be alive, but again, comic<novel<game.)

Awakening

These companions are a bit less clear-cut, because most of the potential deaths can happen either in epilogue text, or they straight up just disappear, which is kind of promising.

Of the ones who only appear here, Nathaniel can die defending the Keep (and at no time after, interestingly), Sigrun is heavily implied to be dead in at least two of her potential epilogues (leaving for one's Calling is pretty much a death sentence, and it's been roughly 20 years since), and Velanna disappears with -as far as I can tell- no text indicating that she would have died, as her body was never found.

I feel like Velanna, being staunchly Dalish, is a somewhat likely candidate for a returning character, possibly to feature in either Davrin's or Bellara's storylines. The only thing making me doubt this is that she'll have been a Grey Warden 20+ years at that point, and while Wardens typically get 30-ish years, Sigrun leaving explicitly for her Calling in one scenario leaves me nervous about Velanna too.

Dragon Age 2

Most of the DA2 companions can also be dead: Anders' potential murder is a very prominent plotpoint (and it affects Sebastian's outcome greatly, which leads me to believe that despite showing up as Prince of Starkhaven in both The Knight Errant and a letter in Inquisition, he won't appear either), Bethany/Carver can die at least twice over, Merrill can die defending the Circle if Hawke supports the Templars, and Fenris, despite featuring heavily in the Blue Wraith comic, can turn on Hawke and die by their hand.

Justice leaves me in a bit of a pickle, as he is a spirit, even though he is fused with Anders- I wouldn't fully distance myself from the possibility of him being able to survive Anders' death, but I think if he showed up as a truncated, disembodied spirit-fragment, he would probably need to mention his host's death, so he's not very likely to be featured either.

Aveline and Isabela are the only ones who can't actually die, as even if she turns on Hawke, Aveline refuses to fight them and walks away (and the main difference in her life is just whether she was married once or twice), and Isabela sides with Hawke no matter what- plus Varric says that she probably evaded the qunari if she was handed over to them (which she might not need to ever acknowledge), so if anyone from this cast is likely to appear, I would say it'd be those two.

Inquisition

In Inquisition, it's yet again a little bit less clear-cut: Blackwall, Bull, Cullen, and Leliana are the only ones who can be explicitly dead by the end of Trespasser. Cole is a bit of a mystery (but, since his essence can be fundamentally altered by player choice, I doubt he'll show up), and the fates of Cassandra and Vivienne have a lot of variables to account for (with them potentially having the responsibility of being the southern Divine), so they're not likely to appear either.

Sera on the other hand is in the same place/position regardless of whether she was recruited or not (starts a Red Jenny, ends a Red Jenny), as is Josephine (head of the Montilyet family in Antiva), and Dorian (a Magister in Tevinter, even if he wasn't recruited).

As for The Descent, yeah, Renn is super dead, but I'd be very happy to see Valta in some capacity, and it's heavily implied that she will be relevant in some way.

I think of these four, Dorian is the most likely to return, given the setting, how he literally cannot die or be in a place other than the one he is in, how heavily he was featured in some of the comics, and (spoiler) someone having confirmed that Maevaris is going to make an appearance, which, it'd be strange if she showed up, but not the far more prominent fan favorite character she's standing next to in the epilogue slide lol. (end spoiler)

So, this is kind of my prediction.

Sorta-conclusion

If only one companion character shows up, it'll be Dorian. And I'm not saying this out of bias, or because he's my canon romance and favorite character, he's just... by far the most clearly set up to come back, with him being in the literal city where the prologue is set, and being a genuine fan favorite- I would think it to be actually very surprising if he didn't appear.

If multiples, then Shaper Valta, Velanna, Josephine, Sera, Isabela, and Aveline are the ones who, imo, have a somewhat good chance of appearing in a meaningful capacity, in roughly that order- both due to them not having a lot of player-dependent outcomes that are that different, and just... them being the ones who are alive (or at least not-dead) no matter what.

And I'm personally very, very okay with this spread, lol.

If we're a bit more lenient with choices and on-screen deaths, that could also add Cassandra, Vivienne, Sebastian, Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Cole into the running as well, but I believe these characters showing up to be far less likely than the first batch, to the point where I'd be pleasantly surprised (though potentially a bit confused) if they did feature.

These are my -I think- realistic expectations for major characters- for minor ones, there's too many to break down like this lol, but I want to say that if there is a version of reality in which a character is dead, I don't personally believe that they are going to appear.

(Side note, very interesting that with the exception of Dorian, all the companions who are likely to show up according to my interpretations are women. Which, while I'm happy about, I do wonder if that's coincidence, the result of conscious planning to include these characters in particular in the future, or just... the devs being ever so slightly more reluctant to give the players opportunities to kill women.) (Literally, of the characters that can be dead by the end of Inquisition, Leliana is the only woman, and the only way for her to be dead is if she was killed in Origins and had been dead a decade by then! It's interesting!)

[busines-as-unusual]

˖ ࣪ ⭑⟡Chapter 7 - Last Go ‘round ⟡⭑ ࣪ ˖

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Content Warning for this chapter for: blood, gore, violence, HEAVILY implied sexual assault in reader’s past. It gets kinda rough so proceed with caution.

You bit the bullet and immediately regretted it.

Now you sat alone in the Vees’ meeting room, feeling on edge as the electro-sharks circled you like vultures waiting to sink their teeth into prey, studying you for any weaknesses. The room was colder than necessary, and you rubbed the goosebumps peppering your arms. Tall, glass walls trapped you in like you were the animal on display. The Overlords most likely set this room up as a subtle intimidation tactic to help sway deals in their favor.

That, or Vox just really liked sharks.

Either way, you refused to let any demon or shark bully you into lackluster negotiations. You weren’t leaving this room without getting what you came here for.

Whatever strings (and limbs) Alastor pulled got you through the door of Vee Tower like a charm. Barely a day passed before he informed you that he got you an audience with Vox. You’d be more grateful if not for that damn deal Alastor made you make.

You fretted over the humiliated probing questions he no doubt had in store. When you’d asked when he planned on cashing the questions, he made a show of thinking it over before deciding it’d be more fun to spring them on you when you least expected it. Fucking yaaaay.

The door burst open, tearing you away from your anxious thoughts. In walked Vox, the leader of the Vees, swaggering in with all the charisma of a man who reveled in being in charge. When he spotted you, his cocky smile immediately dropped to a frown. “Where the fuck is Alastor?”

Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you laughed. “Of course, that’s what he told you to get me this meeting.”

Digital eyes looked you over as Vox made his way past the table to fix himself a drink at the minibar. “So he sent you because he couldn’t face me, huh? And you’re, what, his little gofer?”

You decided to ignore his dismissive comment. Letting out an airy chuckle, you plastered on a simpering smile. “Look Vox. I know you’re a busy man and I have a lot of respect for what you do for Hell, so I’ll cut to the chase. I’m not in the business of wasting your time.”

Vox sipped his drink, a small but receptive smile on his monitor. Perfect. Flattery was an effective tool, especially— from your personal experience— with men. Especially especially with men who had egos bigger than their heads.

(Which was saying something in Vox’s case…)

“I’m working with the princess of Hell and her hotel. Your partner, Valentino, forbade his employee Angel Dust from participating, and I need him to lay off, so to speak.”

“Val’s dealings are his business. You should be having this conversation with him.”

“No offense to Valentino, but I wanted to talk to the man who’s really in charge.”

He swirled the amber-colored liquid around in his glass, his smirk widening. “Miss Temerity. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Your smile dipped a hair. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Of course! I recognize a lovely woman of a lower but respectable income bracket. Plus, that club of yours is pretty popular, especially with newer souls. You must get a lot of foot traffic through your doors.”

“I say it gets an average amount.” You saw this coming. You don’t make deals with someone like Vox without giving something in return. Not that you weren’t receptive to it. Business was business after all.

Vox set down his drink and glided toward you like one of his sharks. He ran a hand along your chair, stopping right behind you. “No need to be modest, sweetheart. I do love a businesswoman.” His fingers crept from the chair to your shoulders and squeezed. Your breath hitched as his claws dented your flesh through the fabric of your clothes. “Even if she’s friends with that old-timey radio fucker.”

He kept his tone guarded, but it slipped into a dark vocal effect when he mentioned Alastor.

He rubbed circles into your shoulders. You crossed your legs to keep from flinching and tried your best to relax. Getting tricked into having this meeting surely pissed him off. You couldn’t let his anger trickle down to you. You’d have to choose your next words carefully.

“Alastor is a close associate of mine, I’ll admit it. However, his beef with you is not on my menu, so to speak. Besides,” you snaked your fingers through his and looked over your shoulder, “you’re both big boys. Why would little old me get involved? I’m just trying to do my job.”

He chuckled low in your ear. “Good to know.” After a moment he let go, and you took the opportunity to exhale when he turned. “So I get Val to let Angel do this… whatever of yours, then what? What’s in it for me?”

A fair question. You prepared for that. “We both know it’s in everyone’s best interest to play nice and get along. How will it look when an Overlord like Val is bullying his underlings for partaking in harmless extracurriculars? ‘Petty, insecure control freak’ wouldn’t be something I’d want attached to my brand.”

Vox scowled but you kept going, “Hun, I’m just stating what you already know. And let’s be honest, between the three Vees, Val isn’t the one winning the popularity contest, sad to say.”

He mulled over your words in silence for a moment. You wondered if maybe you took it too far, but then he turned to face you with a grin, and you knew you had him.

“You know what? You’ve convinced me. I’ll have Val let Angel do his little whatever at the hotel. But you have to do two things for me.”

Again you saw this coming. You knew you had no real leverage going into this; convincing Vox to play along was always going to be half the battle.

“I’d like to partner with you. Sell Vox brand energy drinks, liquor, snacks, and etcetera at your establishments. Hang up a couple advertisements, hand out some circulars, run our ads on TV. Simple, easy. And of course, we’d pay you a commission. We’ll get you all set up with our affiliate program.”

You nodded. Honestly, it wasn’t a terrible deal. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but every opportunity to open new streams of revenue was advantageous. And if they were paying you for every sale and new customer, then it was a win-win. “And the second thing?”

“I want you as my date to the unveiling of Velvette’s new fashion line.”

That… that was the last thing you expected him to ask. You were silent for a beat too long. “Uh, not that I’m saying no, but why would you want me as your date? Don’t you usually attend those things with Valentino?”

“I think this benefits both of us. You get to be seen on my arm where you’ll get to advertise your business and your little charity work with the hotel, and I get to piss off hoof-footed, triangle-assed jackass!”

Your eyes blinked at separate speeds. “Vox, darling, again I’m not quite following.”

Vox shook his head like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “Come now, sweetheart. Alastor must hold you in high regard to take the time to swing this meeting for you. I know that asshole would hate to see an ally get in bed with one of his enemies… so to speak.”

Ah, was that his angle? Granted, you could admit Alastor regarded you to be a step up from actual vermin, but he was no altruist. He only pulled this favor for you so he could screw with you at a later date. Even then, you knew Alastor could not give less of a fuck who you got in bed with, literal or otherwise. An impersonal business alliance? He wouldn’t bat an eye.

So you shrugged. “Of course, if it’ll make you happy, dear. I’m all in.”

He shot you a sharp-toothed grin, ruby liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Excellent.”

From there it was all business. Vox offered to pour you a drink and when you declined he fixed you one anyway and slyly scooted it in front of you. To decline it would be rude, but to drink it was an act of professional submission. So you sipped at it, making sure to leave it two-thirds full.

Vox was charismatic and definitely attractive, but he was… enervating. You imagined in a more casual and social setting he would be a delight to conversate with and an excellent lay.

But you had to be on guard around him. You were well aware of his hypnotic prowess and while you knew you had a stronger will than most, you weren’t one hundred percent positive you could resist him. You were glad to finally be out of that shark-infested room.

Thank Charlie in Hell the hotel had a bar. After talks with Vox, you trudged through the doors of the hotel and plopped down at the bar. Angel was already there, drink in hand, along with Niffty who was busy fashioning roaches into jewelry.

“Husk, dear,” you said, “can you do a lady a favor and pour a gin and gin?”

Husk popped open a brand new bottle and poured three fingers into a glass. “Bad news, I take it?”

“Good news, you’ll have it!” You shot back your drink, smiling when it burned going down. “Angel can audition.”

“Seriously?” Angel gaped, barely reacting when Niffty swiftly placed roach bracelets on all his wrists. His face darkened. “The fuck did ya do?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You waved away his concern as Charlie entered the room with Vaggie and Alastor in tow, chatting away about something you couldn’t hear. “Don’t worry about it. Knock that audition out of the park and it’ll be worth it.”

“Angel, you're still auditioning?” Charlie called excitedly as the three approached the bar. She grabbed his hands and bounced on her feet, smiling bright as a Hellish morning. “That’s wonderful! This is so exciting!”

You sipped your gin and pretended not to feel Alastor’s eyes burning holes into your back. Your new goal in the afterlife? Never be alone with Alastor ever again.

Your theater hosted The Pentagram City players: the best damned collection of actors, dancers, and singers in the entire Pride Ring. You had constant recruiters out and about looking for fresh souls and ripe talent, always holding out hope that maybe you could snag Andrew Lloyd Webber or Lin Manuel Miranda if they made their way down here. The money you’d make with them would have everyone mistake Mammon for Leviathan.

The players put on a short show for Alastor and Charlie to show them what they were made of. To no surprise, they failed to disappoint. They took a bow and Charlie gave a standing ovation. Alastor clapped with more restraint, hands in front of his chest.

You stood off to the side of the stage and let Charlie compliment the actors and tell them about her hotel. She had that pitch practiced and ready to go at a moment's notice. Impressive. Too busy watching your players get the accolades they deserve, you hadn’t noticed when Alastor snuck up behind her until his breath brushed against your neck.

“My, what a riveting performance. I knew I picked the right woman for the job.”

An involuntary shiver ran through you. What were you just saying about not being alone with Alastor?!

You faced him but didn’t look him in the eye. “Thank you, Alastor! But I can’t take all the credit. My people work their butts off. I can be a bit of a slave driver, but at least I pay them well, right guys?!”

They responded positively despite not hearing a word you said. You laughed. Alastor made a sound of mild amusement, his eyes catching on your hip.

“Tem, dear.” His brows furrowed. “What is in your pocket?”

You glanced at your hip. You elected to wear pants this day, as you often dressed in more business attire when you worked at the theater. The pocket of your pants held your new phone. Vox insisted on sending one to you and you were mildly interested in trying out the new toy. You hadn’t planned on keeping it.

You fixed him with a dry look. “Oh Alastor, I’m just happy to see you.”

He laughed flatly, then darkly added, “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You’d hoped your half-serious flirtation would turn him away. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, pulled you close, and reached into your pocket.

“A-Alastor! Hey!” You squeaked when his hand brushed the space between your hip and pelvis.

He grabbed your phone, holding it with disgust like a used rag. “What is this?”

“Come now. I know you know what— the fuck?!”

Alastor crushed the phone in his hand, spilling the glitchy, broken bits onto the floor like sand.

“There we are!” He chirped. “Much better.”

Was your eye twitching? Your eye was twitching. Alastor petted you between your ears and you fought the urge to bite his hand like a feral animal

“Oh, don’t be so sour.” He booped you on the nose. “I did you quite a favor. I know you’re well aware how that flat-face imbecile likes to spy on all the denizens of Hell.”

He was right. Goddammit, he was right. But still…

“I had it turned off,” you said.

“Irrelevant, my dear. Those frivolous devices are always poised to listen. You’re better off without one.”

You crossed your arms. “So you know what’s best for me now? What are you, my mother?”

“Did your mother also catch you hiding things you didn’t need?”

“I wasn’t hiding—”

“It makes me wonder what else you’re hiding from me.” He closed the distance between you two to loom. “If you’re not careful, I might cash in on those questions, dear.”

Brow furrowing, you sneered. “Threats, Alastor? How gauche of you.”

His smile twisted into a scowl. Before he could rebut, Alicia, the theater assistant manager, walked up, phone in hand.

“Ma’am.” Her eyes anxiously flicked between you and Alastor. “Sorry, but there’s a phone call for you.”

Your shoulders dropped, grateful for the distraction. “Who is it?”

“Some sort of fucked up goblin man?”

You thanked Alicia, then excused yourself from Alastor with an eye roll to take the call in private.

“Hello, Blitzø.”

“Hey, bitch! Get a damn cell phone already, will ya? You are impossible to get a hold of when you’re out. You know how many people I pissed off in the phone book before I got to you?”

You glared at Alastor from across the theater. “I had a–”

“It was twelve. Thirteen if I count that guy who called me back to cuss me out, and I do, so thirteen.”

“What the fuck is it, Blitzø?

“We got the guy~” he sang so proudly. “Come get him sooner rather than later, Moxxie keeps bitching that we have to keep knocking the bastard out and I’m running out of chloroform.”

It was time.

It was finally time.

You trembled, hardly able to hold the phone. “I'll be right there.”

As if on autopilot, you handed the phone back to Alicia and informed Charlie you had a personal matter you needed to attend to.

“Oh no!” Eyes wide with genuine concern. “Is everything alright?”

You smiled reassuringly. “Everything is right as rain, dear. I have someone I need to meet, but Alicia here will take care of you for the rest of the day.”

Charlie still looked worried but wished you the best of luck. You were touched. The girl was so sweet; it had to be the angel in her.

Before you reached the door, Alastor appeared from the shadows and cut you off. “Care to share where you’re heading off to in such a rush?”

“I already told Charlie. There’s a man I need to see.”

“Another bedfellow, perchance?”

Any other time you’d laugh that off. You never took offense to any comment or insult about your sexual promiscuity. They were true anyway.

But in this case, with this man, you couldn’t bring herself to even smile.

“Alastor, sweetie, I’d never play hooky at work just to get laid. Well, maybe for the right man, but the man I’m seeing is lucky I’m giving him the time of day.”

His smile grew in interest. You figured he was considering using one of his questions. You couldn’t have that. Not here.

Not about this.

You stepped around him and pushed past the door. “Au revoir, darlings! I’ll be seeing you all soon.”

The slam from the door sent a burst of chilled air that followed you out of the building.

You picked up Jet on your way to I.M.P. While you were strong for your size, he was much stronger and you needed help with the heavy lifting.

Blitzø presented the man tied up with a bag over his head with a flourish and a “ta-dah!”

You took in the slumped form of the man you loathed, hogtied and unconscious, and you felt a twinge of fear twist at your chest. And that fear quickly morphed into rage.

You clenched your fist but quickly drew back when your nail bit in too deep.

Moxxie seemed halfway concerned about what you planned to do with him, not convinced when you said you two were only going to have a chat.

But it was true. Mostly.

Jet dropped the man off in your basement, making sure to secure him tightly to the chair. You wondered where he learned to tie ropes like that, but figured it was best if you didn’t know. You made sure to pay him extra and had him take the next day off.

You sat at the top of the stairs of the basement in a white silk slip, a third cigarette between your lips. Tired eyes stared down at the man tied to the chair. A dry nothingness spread from your heart and trickled through your veins.

With a final drag, you finished off the cigarette and flicked it into the bucket of water by your feet. Showtime. You carried the bucket down the stairs and your feet carried you to stand in front of the man who’d hurt you. As a demon, he took on the form of some kind of hideous vermin. How fitting.

You dumped the icy water on his head and he sputtered to life, coughing and gagging.

You grinned down at your captive. “Good! You’re awake.”

“What the— where am I?”

“It’s a little late, but welcome to Hell, well my basement in Hell. Semantics, semantics.”

Bucket still in hand, you grabbed the quarterstaff hidden in the shadows of the oddly frigid corner of the room. As a child, a wooden one was your mother’s favorite instrument of discipline, but you preferred the heft of a metal one, especially ones made out of angelic steel.

Back in front of the hideous vermin. “Remember me?”

His lips curled in contempt. “Why would I remember some… purple raccoon broad?”

You laughed… then slammed the bucket over his head with all your strength, relishing his cry of pain. You did it again, then again. “July twenty-six, nineteen thirty-two! Ring any bells?”

At first it didn't, then his eyes widened as church bells went off in his head.

“There he is!” You cried, pointing the quarterstaff his way. “He does remember, but he might want to be more specific before I get impatient!”

”T-t-there was that dark-haired gal,” he stammered. “Me and my buddies… we met her in N’awlins.”

”Don’t be shy.” You tossed the bucket aside, not caring where it landed. “You did more than meet. Refresh my memory, what did you do again, after you spent the better part of an hour needling her away from better company?”

He shook harder than a leaf in a tornado. He looked up at you with wet, pleading eyes. “It was y-you. You were—”

You struck him across the face, bone cracking a satisfying wet crunch. Blood splattered across your skin and dress. You didn’t care.

The temperature in the room dropped. The air buzzed, and your ears rang.

“What did. You do. To her?”

Tears slipped down his cheeks, running through the blood. He was crying. Sobbing. The fucking audacity of him to be the one shedding tears; you almost killed him permanently right then and there. “I… I killed her.”

“Close!” You leaned in to face him. The smell of copper strong. “You didn’t just kill that girl. You brutalized that girl. You beat and humiliated that girl, and had your buddies do the same. Choked her within an inch of her life. Is that right?”

He nodded, eyes cast down. Coward.

“And you knew she wasn’t dead when you put her in the ground. You… knew.” Your voice quivered and you bit your lip. You had to keep it together until he was double dead and six feet under the ground. You’d had plenty of time to cry then.

“Please!” He full-on sobbed like a baby now, snot running down his nose like tears as he begged for his afterlife. “Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Oh, I know.” Using the tip of the quarterstaff, you forced him to look at you. “Only a sorry man could do what you did.”

Looking at him for this long made your bones ache with searing grief. You had more to tell him. You wanted to taunt him about his shattered legacy, about a family that would do everything in their power to disown him post-mortem for his crime. You wanted to remind him of every evil little detail you had to suffer through, while he got to live a full life, get married, have children, make memories. You didn’t necessarily want those things in Hell or life, but that wasn’t the point. This man took all possibilities from you.

There was so much you’d wanted to experience on Earth. You wanted to see, dance, dance, drink, eat, fuck, do everything you could manage to do before your heart gave out. You missed out on so much music and history and sights. You could’ve met people and had friends, real genuine friends, not the entourage you hung out with to distract from your loneliness. You could’ve taken a chance that night in New Orleans…

It wouldn’t have been easy. It would have been damn hard. But you were euphoric to live life no matter what because you got to live on your terms. It was your life. Yours!

…and then some bastards blew in and took that from you. Stole that from you in one of the most violent, degrading ways you could treat another human being.

White hot rage possessed you, and you struck him across his face again. You reveled in the sounds of crushed teeth and broken bones. You swung against his rib cage. The crunch of bone reverberated up the quarterstaff and rattled yours. Another swing, his throat gave way. You stuck him again and again and again, over and over and over and over and over anD OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND O

You didn’t stop when the staff bent out of shape or when the blood stung your eyes or when bone showed through torn skin. You didn’t stop when gore flew on your dress and hair. You didn’t stop when he stopped moving.

You laughed until you cried then you laughed again. Now he was the one at your mercy. You were the one who kept going even when he begged and pleaded for you to stop. You were the one who massacred him until all the fight had left his soul and he was a bloody unrecognizable mess.

With a final few swings, you finally stopped, quarterstaff dropping to the ground with a clatter. You fell to your knees, heart stony as you looked at the mess of what was once a man.

The first four times you exacted revenge, it felt like you were opening up an old scar and bleeding old blood, reshedding what’s been shed, and it burned each and every time. Now, for the fifth and final time, it felt like you had a bone rebroken. It was a heavier pain that lasted longer, but you knew it had to be reset in order to properly heal.

Grief, joy, and relief all swirled together in your soul in equal measure. You felt too much, all conflicting, all at once. It made your stomach ache.

Then it happened. Something that made your stomach churn over the edge of sickness.

Applause.

Crisp, solid applause. The kind you get with one pair of hands.

Seconds passed before you scraped together the courage to look behind you. You came eye to eye with the source of the clapping.

Alastor sat with his legs crossed at the top of the stairs, trapping you in the basement. Behind him, the light of your home gave him a false angelic glow, dwarfed by the glowing red of his eyes that pinned you in place like a spotlight.

”Another riveting performance my dear! You never fail to entertain.”

A/N: This chapter was a lot. It’s the most violent and angsty thing I’ve ever written. It’s also my first time writing Vox so I hope I got him right.

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[crispy0nion]

hello it is now time for me to inflict YOU with the explaining lore to a new player curse. Essentially, this is an invitation to infodump about your favorite guy.

I've been hearing/reading a lot about Cayde-6 throughout the game (and Ikora made me watch his death), but who is he? What's his deal?

Oh this is fantastic. Get ready for a full essay (under the cut so I don't clog up people's dashes). I tried to link some relevant lore tabs, but still i recommend reading at least The Man They Called Cayde, or to just skim through the Cayde-6 section of the Ishtar Collective website.

Cayde-6 was the sixth Hunter Vanguard, a position widely considered to be cursed as all previous Hunter Vanguards have either died or gone MIA (Tallulah Fairwind, killed by an Ahamkara; Caliban-8, MIA; Aparajita-4, MIA; Kauko Swiftriver, went MIA and was later declared dead; Andal Brask, killed by Taniks The Scarred; Cayde-6, killed by Uldren Sov). The position is currently empty, but it is heavily implied that Crow will step up as the new Hunter Vanguard soon.

Now, let's try to go in order of events. Like all Exos, Cayde used to be a human during the Golden Age. He was a soldier, and it is likely that he had a gambling problem (a habit he retained in his Guardian life): simply put, he had a big debt hanging over his head. That's when Clovis Bray, the creator of Exos, approached him with a job offer. The reason Clovis approached him is because people like Cayde were exactly what BrayTech needed for the Exo Project: disposable and with their backs to the wall. Cayde accepted to essentially give his body to the Project in exchange for his debts to be cleared. The job offer itself was never explicited, but Cayde recounts being kidnapped and brought to Europa. This was around the time the Collapse happened.

We don't know everything that happened in his lives from 1 to 6. We know that for most of his lives before becoming a Guardian, he worked for BrayTech, first as a generic worker and later as a guard. This is where he had his first (and only, probably) interaction with Micah Abram, who at the time was a chid. Micah is a lore-only Exo Hunter, now known as Micah-10, known for her role as the 'mother-hen of Ghosts' - she protects upaired Ghosts from the Ghost Hunter, Cyrell. But why is Micah relevant to Cayde's story? Well, Cayde-6 would often mention how he used to have a son when he was human, as well as a wife. He refers to the kid as 'Ace', and to the woman as simply the Queen of Hearts. He talks about her in a TTK mission to retrieve his stash, and some of his journal entries are written as letters for his son - he also worked with Banshee-44 to craft a gun inspired by him, his Ace of Spades.

The interaction that Cayde-1 had with Micah - who, being a trans woman, was at the time a little boy - caused him to retain fragmented memories of a child in his current Guardian life. I recommend reading the lore tabs about their encounter (both Micah's POV and Cayde's POV). The following letter from Micah's POV also mentions how immediately after Cayde picked her up, he was deactivated.

So, the fragmented memories he retained from this interaction where what he based off this delusion of having a son, because yes, both his wife and son never existed, and Cayde himself admits to making them up as a coping mechanism in the last entry of his journal.

But if Micah Abram was his Ace, who was his Queen? Easy: Maya Sundaresh.

Maya Sundaresh was a Golden Age scientist who worked for the Ishtar Collective on Venus, and collaborated with Clovis on an occasion. She's also the founder of Neomuna, on Neptune. Cayde (between 2 and 6) was part of the batch of Exos who Clovis assigned to work as guards for Dr. Sundaresh during their collaboration. That's when Cayde first met her, and to say he was down bad would be an understatement. Unfortunately for him, Dr. Sundaresh was not only a psycho, but also a married lesbian. She never even acknowledged him, but still he fell in love with her. The memory of this feeling stayed with him through the resets and his death, and he contructed the memory of the Queen of Hearts over that.

As far as I know, we don't have any information regarding Cayde's death, other that he was resurrected near a cliff. After freaking out, running off the cliff and being revived again, he found on his person a journal, potentially the same one he keeps using in his Guardian life. Cayde believes his past self (specifially, Cayde-5) wrote and left this journal to guide him, to prevent him from taking the wrong path and becoming Cayde-7 - something he seemed to be absolutely against. Side note, but I find that to be an extremely interesting detail since Bungie's own signature is the number 7.

Regarding his years before becoming Vanguard, we know Cayde has been around for at least 126 years, probably more. He used to run with a group of Hunters, his 'crew': Andal Brask, Shiro-4 and Tevis Larsen. A fifth member, Lush, would also join them sometimes, being Shiro's protégé. Of these five members of the Hunter crew, Shiro is the only one currently alive. Andal was killed by Taniks before the game events, Tevis died at the hands of the Vex during TTK, and Lush lost his Ghost the first time the crew ran into Taniks, then died on a solo mission later on.

Cayde was especially close with Andal, referring to him as his best friend and brother. If you recall, Andal was also the Hunter Vanguard before Cayde; this actually is something that happened because of the Exo. Hunters have this thing called 'The Dare'; every Hunter Vanguard needs to have their own, since the Dare is what estabilishes how the next Vanguard has to be chosen. The Vanguard that came before Andal, Kauko Swiftriver, went missing for two years, later being declared dead, and his Dare was never found. For this reason, The Speaker - who created the first Dare together with Tallulah Fairwind - told the Hunters to figure it out and find a new Vanguard.

One evening, after the crew had already had their first run in with Taniks - an Eliksni mercenary, who claimed many Guardian lives - Andal and Cayde got drinking, and in the heat of the moment they made a bet, their own Dare: if one of them found and killed Taniks, the other had to step up and become Vanguard. They didn't think much of it, until Cayde actually killed Taniks first (side note: 'killed' isn't completely right. Taniks keeps coming back, and even after we killed him in the DSC raid there is a chance he is still alive). Andal, being a man of his word, became Vanguard; and Cayde wasn't happy about it, because it's a time consuming job, so Andal now spent significantly less time with the crew.

Now Taniks, after somehow escaping death, finds and kills Andal. Because of this, Cayde feels obliged to take the role of Hunter Vanguard. He also goes on a rampage, and quite violently kills Taniks again. He begins wearing Andal's cloak, and officially becomes the Hunter Vanguard we all know and love.

Cayde had always been one to constantly crack jokes and use humor to cover up all the ugly things, and Andal's death, followed some time later by Tevis's, only reinforced that. In addition to that, the job of Vanguard comes with a price: you can rarely leave the Tower. This was especially true for Cayde, considering he was both a known troublemaker and potentially in danger for filling the Hunter Vanguard position (after five consecutive deaths, anyone would get a bit paranoid), and it was something that bothered him deeply.

During the events of D1 and D2 up to Forsaken, he does... many things. Like blowing up Eris's ship in order to get the Guardian on the Dreadnaught during TTK. Overall, none of these are worth mentioning, considering this post is already very long.

What I want to talk about next are the events of Forsaken, starting from about one in-game year before the game events. The comicbook 'Cayde's Six' is a good starting point: Cayde was tasked by Petra Venj with hunting the Fallen Barons, who under the command of a corrupted Uldren Sov had been causing chaos on The Reef. His task was to find them and bring them to the Prison of Elders. To do this he assembles a small team (Suraya Hawthorne, Banshee-44, Jin, Nadiya and Petra Venj); they eventually succeed in their goal, even imprisoning the Forsaken Prince himself. Fast-forward to a year later, the events of Forsaken unfold: Uldren Sov and his Barons, now Scorn, escape the Prison of Elders, leaving behind a dead Cayde, who only died because he happened to stand in their way (it's unlikely that Uldren held any resentment as he was... very out of it, probably too much to care about anything but Mara).

This later caused the Young Wolf to go on a rampage, finding and killing all the Barons and Uldren himself (a very nice parallel to the Taniks-Andal situation). Forsaken also brought a new exotic hand cannon: the Ace of Spades, Cayde's beloved weapon. The quest to obtain this weapon, Ace in the Hole, is quite interesting: the YW has to travel across the system to find Cayde's secret stashes, that he specifically left for when he would die. These chests, other than parts to repair Ace, also contain recorded messages, each adressed to a different character. Eris, Taniks, Drifter, Petra, 'the minds behind the DSC', Hawthorne, 'any hunter who kills him' (which he speculates could be Marcus Ren), Zavala, Ikora, and the Young Wolf. Ten messages for ten meaningful people, in all senses. He left them with the intention of having these people listen to them in case they were the ones to kill him. They are very interesting, I recommend looking them up (here's Byf's video, where he also does a bit of analysis).

Many things emerge from these messages, but there's only three that i wanna talk about: Petra's, the voices's and Ikora's messages.

Petra's message is highlighted by the presence of an encrypted message Cayde asks Petra to relay to someone called 'Paladin Oran'. This 'Paladin Oran' is actually an Awoken code to indicate that the next thing he will say is a secret message. The message essentially boils down to the sentence 'It's on Enceladus'. To this day, we still don't know what is on Enceladus. The most popular theory is that Cayde thought the DSC was there, since it was only rediscovered on Europa after his death.

The message he adresses to 'the minds behind the Deep Stone Crypt' introduces us to the Long Slow Whisper, something all Exos seem to be affected by as a side-effect of, well... being an Exo. Long story short, it's the voice of the Darkness: the reason Exos hear it almost constantly is because Clovis used Clarity, a power born from Darkness, to create them. We discover much more about Exos, the LSW, Clarity and the DSC during Beyond Light.

Lastly, Ikora's message. Not much to say, other than how heart shattering it is. In most messages, Cayde still maintained his humorous personality, however this one is the only one adressed to an ally in which Cayde unmasks. He knows Ikora sees through his facade anyways, and since he's dead, he might as well be honest. Here, he admits to thinking most people dislike him; he is convinced Ikora hates him, and makes sure to specify how 'it wasn't mutual'.

Once you find all 10 caches, you unlock the Ace of Spades, and Cayde's story ends there. He says in the message adressed to the YW that every story has it's end, and this is his. He instructs us to burn his journal and move on. And that's all. At least it was until a year ago, when Bungie released the TFS Teaser Trailer, officially bringing back Cayde for this last stand against Darkness.

As we recently discovered from the Unforseen Consequences Ship's lore tab, it is very likely that he was actually brought back because of a wish Crow accidentally made to an unnamed Ahamkara (likely Riven), disguised as Mara. This means that the chances of Cayde fading away at the end of the TFS campaign are very high, but I guess we'll find out on the 4th!

This is all I got. Anyone who reached the end, feel free to add to this if you noticed I missed something.

[narcoticwriter]

My Rankings of the Guilty Gear Strive Cast: Contextualized as Hell Edition (In No Particular Order)

Given the previous tier list where I didn't have many opinions on some of them, I have read the wikis, watched some videos, and have done my due diligence. Note how I didn't say I disliked any of them as the writing for this franchise is superb.

I believe that I have at least made a valiant attempt to atone for my previous sins, so I make this in good faith and genuine appreciation! I will ask again not to be stoned but this time, I can dodge. Friendly conversation, however, is more than welcome.

My yapping is underneath the cut:

They're Alright -

Ky Kiske: Firstly, I don't hate him at all. I just need him to apologize to his son because what in the Catholic guilt is his name? Really man? Really? He was really going through it, huh. The character arc of him being able to recognize this and make active steps to fix it is quite nice and I hope he succeeds for his sake.

Faust: His backstory is tragic in the way that it wasn't even his fault. The rampage after he snapped? Sure, he can take responsibility and atone for that, but the event itself that caused it? Entirely out of his hands. His character of seeking out truth over most other things and circumstances is also admirable.

Goldlewis Dickinson: From what I understand, he's a relatively new character on the scene and there's not as much stuff on him as for some others. However, I will give him this: he's the level of delusional about cryptids that you can chuckle at, but if he ever wants to go private in his business, it wouldn't surprise me.

Bedman (?): I am a simple person with simple likes and dislikes. It is heavily implied that Bedman (?) in his current state is precisely because of Delilah and the disjointed scrambling of the inner workings as a result. The story as to why hurts me and fuels the kind of emotion in me that reminds me that I'm a human being.

Asuka R. Kreutz: Oh brother... where do I even start? Not only is he the reason that this entire story exists as it is, but he's also trying to fix it... because he's (rightfully) guilty over what he's done. What the hell? Like, what the actual hell, man? I am genuinely befuddled by this man and the real kicker is that so is everyone else. And apparently, he's on the moon now. Absolutely insane to me.

These Guys Are Pretty Neat -

Sol Badguy: It continues to baffle me how he was apparently a man of science at one point in his life and also responsible for a good chunk of the cast implicitly. If there is anyone in this story who deserves a break, it's him, but unfortunately as the protagonist, that is a luxury that he cannot afford.

May: If I ticked her off, I would run. What business does she have slugging around an anchor like it's nothing? Also, I completely understand her deal with Johnny, but the instant she understands how he sees her, I don't know how she'll cope. Maybe she'll get it when it happens. Great personality though.

Zato-One: I've got one word for his backstory and entire deal: Jesus. So yeah, he and Eddie are pretty neat. I don't know what else to say. If I think any more about it, I don't know if I'll have the strength to go on.

Leo Whitefang: The trope of the loud boisterous personality hiding a bunch of self-flagellation and self-criticism due to heavy responsibilities and realizations is one that I have always been a sucker for. And how he thinks about it? Another part of why I think he's pretty neat. So sue me, I have distinct types.

I-No: She has a pretty abrasive personality and after reading her voice lines, I have to begrudgingly give credit where it is due. Some of those double entendes are pretty damn clever. I will also argue that she was never even given a proper chance in the first place, so she is warranted to pop off like she did. She also scares me. Do with that what you will.

Johnny: The man, the myth, the legend... and apparently the golden-hearted. Somewhat. The man's a womanizer, but he also takes some girls in for arguably decent reasons given the absolute state of the world at that time. And quite frankly, the unexaggerated swagger of the gambler is a favorite of mine.

Quite Likable and Mostly Enjoyable -

Axl Low: From what I've seen, this is a man that is simply trying his best with the somewhat shitty hand of cards that he has been given and somehow, he has not turned into a shitty person because of it. From what I've found, at least he got his happy ending with the person he loves the most, and that's enough for me.

Potemkin: I despair for Potemkin because he does not despair for himself. (A bomb collar? A fucking bomb collar? What the fuck?) He believes, but he also knows how hollow it is sometimes. He's a gentle giant who was forced into this whole thing and while he's taking it in stride... it hurts. It hurts.

Millia Rage: For starters, there are a lot of victims of the Crusades and I'm very glad that the story has shown how this can affect some of the characters in certain ways. Millia's ultimate choice of choosing a sense of inner peace (as well as herself) and sticking with her ideals resonates deeply with me.

Anji Mito: Anji is like me in certain ways, as I too have poked around in different places trying to find answers in ways that some people would call my methodology 'unorthodox'. However, my favorite thing about him is that he's also quite 'inconsistent' in the sense that his intuition and emotions have gotten him into less-than-desirable situations with those he cares about. He makes it work, but it's a breath of fresh air to me.

Bridget: I will say that while not parallel, the war within and the disassociation she felt on a somewhat regular basis is extremely relatable because I went through an experience like that. I also appreciate the self-discovery that has taken place within her arcs as well as how she seems to have finally rediscovered herself. It's nice to see.

Elphelt Valentine: There is an undeniable charm in the purposeful and genuinely authentic exaggeration of one's personality traits to the point of cartoonish and almost comical lunacy. There was going to be a pick like this for purely personal reasons as for taste at some point. I find her absolutely adorable with those antics. However... what the hell happened to her first husband?

Queen Dizzy: She has every right to hate people, but she is a ray of sunshine and genuinely? I would have tea with her. Period. She deserves everything that is good and kind in this world and more. Ky may have made their marriage public, but (in my mind) he has a lot more work to do to make up for a good chunk of what happened to her.

Cool to Me and in Their Own Rights -

Chipp Zanuff: I really know how to pick them, huh. For all intents and purposes, this man is in the wrong genre. Put him in a shounen and he will rise above some of the current game in that sphere. But here? Nah. Regardless of that, I find his attitude to be one that inspires people to not only do better but to find themselves at a higher station. Is the way he goes about it completely half-baked and hare-brained? Arguably. But is he trying? Yes. He's cool in my book.

Ramlethal Valentine: If all it took for her to say 'you know, people aren't really that bad' was taking a bite into a fast-food chain burger —that probably started off frozen and was made with some of the cheapest things that the chain could get away with— and immensely enjoying it, then clearly, she is going in this tier. I am also excited to see her live as a person and not a weapon. She rocks.

Giovanna: Alright, alright, it was the dog okay? It's the dog. That's why she's here. That's why she's in the tier. It's not because of her attitude about how other people think of her conduct, it's not because of how unapologetic she is about what she wants, it's not because of the potential backstory and lore, and it's definitely not because of how sick her entire movesets are in game.

Jack-O' Valentine: I could go into her backstory, I could gush about how adorable she is, and I could even profess my admiration for her zeal for life but... I find that I really don't need to justify this one. Besides, this says everything I want to already:

Sin Kiske: My boy, I know you were holding back when you called your father a 'shitty king' and I don't blame you at all but he needs to hear it all. However, this ain't about him, so I will say that Sin is a better person than me. If Chipp is fueled by determination, then Sin is fueled by unrelenting optimism and genuine empathy for everyone he meets. Even with the strained relationship with his father, he's still open and willing to have it work out! Sin, don't let the world snuff that out. It's a good thing to have.

Slayer: I love seeing married characters knocking it out of the park with the combination of an eternal lifespan, a lovely doting wife, plenty of projects and interests to speak of, and god-class powers in their own rights. Slayer ticks off all of those boxes, not to mention how fun he is... and surprisingly? I don't really mind him being a vampire. I would love to chat it up with him and Sharon over tea sometime.

Undisputed Favorites -

Nagoriyuki: Finally, some proper goddamn adaptation of Yasuke in the 2020s that isn't some sort of caricature or badly executed take, and this time, he has an inner struggle within him as someone out of time and fighting his urges to stay true to his beliefs and ideals. It certainly doesn't help that his disposition is rather calm and composed. Did I mention that he's a vampire samurai? I feel like that's also very important. So yeah, one of my favorites!

Happy Chaos: Folks, please understand that this man has had me passively gripped by the throat ever since he was released. He was going to be here regardless of what I've learned about him, and what I have learned is that the man at his core is hilarious. There's a difference between characters that 'instigate' in ways that hurt others in some sort of subtle and a man who genuinely fucks around and finds out with pleasure, and I am glad to say that Happy Chaos is the latter.

Baiken: To start off, I-No scares me, but Baiken terrifies me. I would not want to be on a bounty, I would not want to be within her living radius, I would not want to be around her when she's pissed off. This is a woman who has nothing to lose and virtually everything to gain. This is not to say that I dislike her though, quite the contrary actually! She has easily one of the most conclusive and well-done development arcs I've seen for a character ever and to be frank with you, I would love to see where she goes from here.

Testament: Testament fucking rocks. Now this is a character that I can relate to heavily. Testament has been through the highs and lows of the uniquely human experience and despite becoming a Gear and loathing humanity, has somehow managed to circle back to precisely what that is. They are everything I want to be in how I pursue my interests, treat others, and simply live life while also confronting the past and making peace with it. 'Testament' is quite apt of a name, if I say so myself.

A.B.A: Too many people are afraid of genuinely unhealthy, unhinged, and unwell women. I am not one of those people. Her entire isolation from birth aside, there is something admirable about her relationships with others. While it is not perfect nor seamless in execution, there are attempts made to not only have other meaningful attachments to others but to also improve her own very warped relationship with Paracelsus. The both of them have agreed to try and have committed to attempting it together, and this gives me a strange sense of hope in how perhaps I can do the same for myself.

Conclusion -

I've said it before and I'll say it again: You guys have something really special with the Guilty Gear franchise. The characters are a breath of fresh air in comparison to some of my other experiences, and the way that they are weaved and accentuated with music, art, and the care poured into them by their creator is nothing short of beautiful to me.

And to believe that this is a fighting game! Crazy. Anyway, like I've said, any and all friendly discussion is encouraged. I'm more than down to hear it.