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mikkomacko · 3 days ago

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Him and I- Diamond Rings

Pairing: Mob Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: some cursing, crying, nothing much

A/n: bit of a fluffer chapter after sad Nico and reader last chapter. Hope you all like it! I’ll be back soon with a Christmas blurb for y’all :))

Previous chapter

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Nico can’t sleep.

You can hear him pacing the room, the light taps of his feet on the hardwood floor as he attempts to quietly distract himself.

He’s always praised you for your ability to be light on your toes, amazed at how you move around on jobs with the boys without making a sound. It’s why he’s always called you sneaky. And it’s a skill he himself has never been able to fully accomplish.

Even now, with fuzzy socks up to his ankles and an awkward gait that he gets from trying to balance on the balls of his feet, you can hear him.

Careful to not move too much, you blink away sleep and watch him. He doesn’t walk too far, going from one end of the bed to the next. Sometimes he’ll look out the window, but most of the time he’s just nibbling on the side of his thumb, one arm crossed over his bare chest.

Something in your chest aches, throbbing painfully in the space that your heart normally resides. Except it doesn’t feel like your heart is there anymore. Only the echoing beats of it, painful thrums in the empty captivity that gapes there.

Maybe you messed up, talking to Rino like that. You wanted to protect Nico, to keep his father from hurting him again but it feels like you’ve just hurt him in place of his father. Nico didn’t get to confront him, didn’t get to ask him what this has all been for. But worst of all, you didn’t even give him a chance at closure.

Softly kicking the blankets back, the rustle of the sheets makes Nico look over. He drops his thumb from his mouth, fiddling with the raw skin instead.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He apologizes, reaching out for you once you’ve gotten close enough. His hand is cold, even through the shirt you’ve got on and you’re glad you fell asleep with your socks on earlier. You hate the feeling of cold floors.

“You didn’t,” you say, taking a hold of the hand he’s picking at “maybe I just missed you.” You press a kiss to the pad of his thumb, wrapping the digit protectively in your first.

“M’right here,” he eyes your mouth, your tongue instinctively prodding at the scabbed wound under his attention. It stings, not enough to make you outwardly wince but Nico notices anyway. “Should have let me ice that before bed.”

“It’s ok,” you dodge, “just a scratch I swear.” Nico raises his eyebrows, humming like he doesn’t believe you but he’ll let it go, for now.

“Did you have a bad dream?” He cradles your face, eyes examining you like he’s expecting to see physical evidence of a pained sleep.

“No,” you assure, laying your hand over his heart, feeling the steady thump-thump under his skin. Nico wraps you up in his arms, pining you to his chest when you shiver.

Arms squished between your bodies, you happily snuggle into his hold. “Let’s get you back into bed baby,” he murmurs, lips on your temple. Taking him by the hand, you guide him back to the bed, kneeing your way onto the mattress. His body is warm against your back as he follows, collapsing into the pillows.

Mimicking him, you pull the blankets over the both of you. It’s cute, the way his cheek squishes into the pillow, eyes bright even in the dim room. Nico looks younger like this, when it’s just the two of you in the quiet night. No families to sabotage, no Devs boys to watch over. No expectations.

Just you and him.

That spot in your chest throbs again, the emptiness rattling your bones and you squeeze the blankets in your hand, pulling them tighter over you and him. Like that’ll keep everything out.

“Did it feel like this?” You ask, unable to keep the sadness out of your voice. Nico frowns, questioningly. “When it was me up at night, pacing and-and…”

“Scared?”

You nod, the pillowcase rustling in your ear. Nico blinks, gaze morphing from looking at you to looking through you. It’s visible in his eyes that he’s reliving the months after you were taken by Philly, before Johnny and Alex were there to distract you, to help you. How everyday it felt like you were fighting just to breathe. And Nico, he was fighting for everything on behalf of you.

You wonder what moments he sees when he thinks about it, which ones were the worst for him.

“Empty,” he finally croaks, searching your face. “I felt so empty. I wanted to give you everything, I wanted to fix everything and it was hard because I felt like I didn’t have anything to give.”

A lump swells in your throat, pressing tightly into your windpipe and it’s suddenly so stuffy and warm in the room. But the covers feel nice, safe, so you stay buried in them.

“You did do everything,” you tell him “even when it felt like that, just having you with me made it so much better.”

The eyebrow not pressed to the pillow quirks, as if trying to say ‘look at us now, you’re doing the same thing baby’.

“M’not scared,” he murmurs, quiet but not unsure. “About what happened, about my family. Not sad either- I mean of course I’m sad it got you hurt but I’m not sad about…”

“Rino,” you fill in, “you’re not sad that he’s gone.”

Nico’s jaw ticks, the muscles of it flexing as he chews at the inside of his cheek. Unlike his thumb, there no way for you to shield that sensitive piece of skin from his teeth. That doesn’t stop you from frowning though, eyeing the dent in his cheek.

“He never liked me anyway,” Nico finally responds, a yawn stretching his mouth. “I was always just…business. Never a kid to him, never a son, never a man. Never enough, I guess.

“So I didn’t really lose anything. Not in him anyway.”

The rest of the thought goes unspoken, but it’s clear you both know what he’s been contemplating over. Was his mom involved? Did Luca have any idea that Rino was still commanding some of the men here? What about Nina? Was they all in on this gimmick to get Nico back to Switzerland?

You wouldn’t really blame them, if they were. Not that you’re condoning what they did but you know how people feel about Nico. He’s such a strong person, a strong leader, and it almost feels necessary to always have him around. You wouldn’t fault anyone for wanting to have him around, even if you were the collateral damage.

Not that they deserve him. They don’t love Nico the way you do, they don’t see how relaxed and sure of himself he becomes with you, with the Devs. He’s yours to keep and love forever, and as they’ve all seen, you’ll go to hell and back for him.

“How did you deal with it?” You ask, steering away from his family. “That empty feeling?”

All you want to do right now is bundle him up in your arms, tuck him into that hollow part of your chest where no one can ever hurt him again. But that’s impossible, you can’t protect him from everything.

A tiny smile curls at his lips, almost bashful and he’s gesturing over your head. “Hand me my phone.” You shuffle under the covers, stretching across the king sized bed to get his phone off the nightstand.

Nico unlocks it, the screen lighting up his face and he moves onto his back, sitting up on his pillows. You follow, fitting yourself into his side with your head on his shoulder. The hand that finds your hip is warm and safe, almost guarding as it holds you.

Turning his phone to you, he encouraged, Go ahead, take it.”

So you do, blinking away the spots in your vision until the light adjusts and you can see the notes app open on his phone. It doesn’t have a title, but it’s a numbered list.

Sleeping with the tv on

Don’t let her go to the bathroom by herself

Likes when I touch her neck but only softly

Mario voice “it’s a me!”

Talking about her favorite books

Hold her hand when she calls Marino

Car rides with hot coco

Hot coco in general

“Nico what is this?”

He taps at the screen, scrolling all the way to the bottom where the last entry reads Taking care of Alex.

“It’s a list of everything that made you smile or laugh, even for a just a second, for those months after Philly.”

When you think about it, a lot of these moments are things you did with him when you were struggling. Nico stopped setting the sleep timer on the tv and would instead leave it on the channel that plays sitcoms all night. In case you woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. And he would play guard at the bathroom door for you, even at restaurants and grocery stores when you afraid of being left alone. He’d get you a hot drink and the two of you would drive around Jersey and New York for hours, tolls and traffic be damned. Always holding your hand, touching the back of your neck when he could tell you were nervous. And Alex coming to Jersey had been the final thing to pull you out of the hole. You had a young boy that needed help and a family, and you loved him from the moment he stepped off the plane.

You could give him a family. You were happy to even just try.

“There wasn’t much I could do to make you entirely better,” he whispers, pride in his tone “but I could do all of this to make it a little easier.”

A wet giggle escapes you, tears welling in your eyes. You were so miserable then, so numb to everything but him. Nothing mattered to you, but you remember thinking everyday that eventually he wouldn’t want to do this anymore. He’d get tired of fighting to get you out of bed everyday, he’d get tired of sitting with you and counting to a minute while you brushed your teeth, of laying extra towels on the bathroom floor when you showered because you were scared to close the curtain but water would run everywhere.

Yet this whole time, he wasn’t. He spent months watching over you like a hawk, making lists of how he could get you to smile, and even now he sounds happy telling you about it. Like the memories of all this work is a fond thought to him.

“I love your Mario voice,” you giggle, locking his phone. If you read any more of his little notes you’re gonna start crying, for real. “And when I’d play Mario kart as Yoshi and you’d do his little noise.”

Nico moves his phone to the nightstand, grabbing your thigh and hauling you into his lap. He’s smiling when you look at him, cheeks visibly rosy even in the dark. “Yoshi noise,” he reminisces, “was number 15. I’d practice it all the time so that when I did it, it was perfect.”

You try to picture him in the shower, making food, cleaning the apartment, all those moments when you were sleeping or reading and he had time to himself, muttering the little frog noise under his breath, eyebrows pinched together in concentration.

“You’re the most perfect person, ya know that?”

Nico blinks, a little taken aback by the passionate sentiment but he shrugs and smiles, like it’s no big deal. “I just- I wanted you to know I love you. Even if you had a hard time realizing it then.”

You realize it now, how your mourning brain had fogged up all your emotions then, to point that you were so scared of losing of Nico, when in reality there was never a chance of that happening.

You don’t even know what to say, not that you could if you tried, because that bubble of emotion is sitting heavy in your chest. And you’re unsure of how to burst it, of what words would come out.

Nico must know though, because he takes ahold of the back of your neck, soft and gentle, just like he’s always been. “Let’s go for a drive,” he suggests, squeezing just once.

“M’supposed to be doing things that make you feel better, not the other way around.”

He pats your thigh, nudging you to get up. “This makes me better, you letting me taking care of you…I like knowing you trust me like that. It feels-I don’t know but it’s nice.”

‘Never a kid to him, never a son, never a man. Never enough, I guess’. His words from earlier, becoming even clearer now. He was never trusted to be more than just an heir to Rino, to have more responsibilities. Which is why now, as his own grown adult, Nico feels safe when he’s in charge. And he’s good at it, thrives at calling the shots.

“Ok,” you agree, and you let him guide you up from the bed and into the closet. You let him gather one of his sweaters and some leggings, snow boots and warm layers for you to wear. You let him take care of you, knowing that the both of you are safe with each other.

~~~~

The car inches forward, Nico slow and deliberate as he navigates up the steep roads of the mountains. His song plays over the Bluetooth connection, that one from the bar that he sings all the time and even though you can’t fully remember the translation, it makes you smile knowing it’s a love song.

You take a sip of the hot cocoa filled thermos, sucking in a wince when it burns your bottom lip…again.

“Stop,” Nico laughs, tangling his hand in yours after you returned the drink to the cup holder. “Let it cool down.”

“I thought it was!”

He huffs, squeezing your fingers playfully. “You said that five minutes ago too.” The song switches to something instrumental, the car steadily climbs the mountains, and the snow outside begins to brighten.

It’s all so beautiful, the evergreens bending and swooping under puffs of snow. The baby blue rising over the peaks, making them glow in a softened light.

“I know why you left here,” you say, gazing out the passenger window in awe “but it must be so hard to walk away from something so beautiful.”

Nico makes a thoughtful hum, turning the car off the main road and onto a snow packed one. The view gets even better, and you can’t take your eyes off the landscape.

“It was,” he agrees quietly, “but I found prettier things at home in Jersey.” You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, warming your cheeks and neck until you’re sure they’re flush.

“Timo is very pretty,” you reply weakly, clearing your throat to get rid of the jumble of words still caught in your throat.

Nico rolls his eyes, lips curled in amusement as he pulls to the side of the road. It’s a clearing coveted in snow, messed of boot prints marring it but not taking away from its beautiful landscape.

The sun is continuing to rise, blue turning to purple over the mountain tops, the snow brightening even more. You didn’t bring the clothes to go out and run through it, but you’re itching to get out of the car and snap a photo.

Maybe you could even get Nico to take a quick selfie with you, smiling cheeks pressed together with the open valley and mountains behind you.

“What are we doing here?”

Nico lowers the music, stretching out in his seat and gazing out the front windshield with a satisfied little smirk on his face. “Perfect spot to watch the sunrise,” he explains, nodding out to the view “when the sun hits the mountain tops, everything glows.”

You can picture it, the orange and pink glow, reflecting off big fluffy clouds and snowcapped trees, the last few stars twinkling in the brightening sky.

“Can we get out?”

Batting your eyelashes at him, you pull your best puppy dog face. Not that it’s needed, Nico is already looking at you like he’d give you the sun and the stars.

No hesitancy, he’s laughs. “Yeah, course.” Tugging the hood of your jacket up, you pull the laces tight to protect your neck. Then you’re gathering your phone, tucking it into your pocket and soaking up the last bit of heater before getting out.

“Kay,” you grin “let’s go.”

The air is an icy bite, stings your cheeks and makes your eyes water. You shiver, curling into Nico’s jacket further as you slam the car door shut and kick through the snow. He’s barely getting out of the car by the time you’ve rounded the front, messy hair shifting in the wind now that he’s abandoned his hat somewhere in the car.

“Nico,” you scold, shifting on your feet to generate a little body heat “your ears!”’

He shoves through the calf high piles of snow, hands tucked into his pockets and shoulders hunched, but his face is bright. A toothy smile and pink cheeks, dimples accentuating each side.

God, he’s so handsome. You swallow down the lump of words clawing to get out, reminding yourself that he always has a plan and intention. He’ll say them, he knows what he’s doing. And you trust him.

“Nothing like frozen ear drums to wake you up in the morning.” He jokes, and you step into him, humming at how warm he is even through the wind and layers. You stay huddled together for a few moments, Nico’s nose pressed into the top of your head.

The sun continues to rise, speeding towards the mountains tops and everything grows lighter and lighter. Mountains turn purple and pink, clouds bursting orange and yellow, edging out the dark hues of dawn. Once it all turns gold you pull away from him, the chill even worse after getting used to being tucked into his side.

Slipping your phone out of your pocket, you step closer to the clearing and pull up your camera. You snap a couple photos of the sun rising, tree tops peaking into the edge of the frame. The snow crunches under Nico’s boots behind you, and you’re reminded to get a picture with him.

“Nico,” you sing out, innocently, examining the photos you took as you turn to him. He makes a noise like he’s listening, and you lock your phone. “Can we-“

Everything freezes. The wind stops blowing, the sun halts its ascent, your fingers lock around your phone in a death grip. He’s kneeling, Nico is kneeling in the deep and powdery snow, his frozen fingers locked around a familiar black box.

You must look shocked or surprised or whatever that hot feeling bubbling in your gut is because Nico laughs, just one wobbling little chuckle. Hastily, you shove your phone in your pocket, but then you have no idea what do with your frozen fingers.

“Y/n,” Nico says, like he knows your brain is going a mile a minute “baby.” It’s like he’s calling you, voice a siren song that digs into the nerve endings of your brain and it makes all that noise fade away.

Instinctively, you drop to your knees with him, cushioned by the snow and the double layer of leggings and jeans. He holds out his hand to you, the one not holding the little black box, and you take it between both of yours, warming his fingers between your palms.

“You have completely turned my life upside down, ya know that? Or I don’t know, maybe you turned it right side up because now that I know what it’s like to love you, to have you, I don’t know how I ever lived before.

“Everything feels right when I’m with you, like every moment before us was just steering me to you. You match me, stride for stride. You’re the perfect amount of calm where I’m crazy, of smart where I’m stupid, of solid when I’m impulsive.

“You’ve learned and accepted my lifestyle as if it were second knowledge. You’ve taken my boys and made them your own. You’ve taken me and taught me what it means to actually love and be loved. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to show you the same. My darling love, you’ve been a Hischier for a while now, but what do you say we make it official? Will you please marry me?”

The snow has seeped through your pants, soaked into the soft skin of your knees and shins but it doesn’t matter. Maybe you’re numb from the cold, but either way you can’t even feel it. Not with Nico in front of you, eyes wide and glossy with love as he releases your hand to snap open the box.

And there, tucked between two pillowy cushions is the ring you only heard about in passing. It’s not the beautiful and intricate green emerald one from his mother, but instead one of his own design.

A thin gold band, shiny and sleek. A large, round diamond sits in the center, sparkling in the morning sunlight. But the most beautiful part is the tiny pearls beside it, wrapped around the diamond in a delicate band.

Pearls, traditional and elegant and significant for the lifestyle Nico and you live. A diamond, new and modern but just as beautiful. The best of both worlds.

“Yes,” you cry, a wet laugh bubbling out of you. “Of course I’ll marry you, Schao.”

He’s sniffling when he pulls the ring out of the box, taking your freezing and trembling hand in his steady one. The ring slips effortlessly over your knuckle, settling onto your left hand like it’s always belonged there.

“It’s perfect Nico,” you murmur, swiping at your wet cheeks. He licks his lips, nodding in agreement as he delicately runs his thumb over the diamond.

“Yeah it is,” he looks at you, lashes dark and clumped together with tears, his nose and cheeks rosy. “Come here, you’re fucking freezing.”

You’re practically jumping him, arms around his neck and you crash into him so hard he stumbles back into the snow. It’s so fucking cold, wetting his hair and stinging your hands but it doesn’t stop you from smothering him in kisses.

All along his cold cheek bones, on the tip of his glowing nose, on the dimple of his chin, and then finally his lips, chapped from the wind and tears. You hold his face and he holds you, numb hands cherishing each other like the precious gems on your ring.

“I love you,” you whisper into his lips, eyes fluttering open. “You have no idea how hard I’ve been fighting all day to not ask you first.”

He giggles, pecking at your mouth once more. “Yeah?” He kisses you again. “Is that why you went quiet on me?”

You nod, just barely because you don’t really want to stop kissing him. Pushing his hair off his forehead, you kiss between his eyebrows.

“I love you too baby.” He holds the back of your neck, the hoodie protecting you from his frigid fingers. “So fucking much.”

Then he squeezes, just once and you melt back into him, stealing his lips for more kisses. Frostbite be damned.

At least for the moment because after a bit you can feel him shivering, and your hands are so cold they feel like they’re burn off.

“Let’s go warm up,” he pants, breathless and beautiful when you sit up. You climb up from his lap, cheeks aching from smiling and he follows suit, groaning as he digs himself out from the snow angel he’s unintentionally made.

You both dart back to the car, boots crunching and joints protesting but the blast of heat that engulfs you once you get in is so worth it. Tugging off your hood, it takes some wiggling and shuffling but you kick off your boots and wet jeans too, tossing them to the backseat.

Nico reaches for the dash, grabbing for his phone and you realize where his hat from earlier went. He’s balled it up on the dash, phone propped up on it and his camera open and recording the scene in front of you.

He willingly froze his head off in favor of capturing your engagement.

“Well aren’t you a doll,” you tease, making him chuckle bashfully. He tugs his beanie back over his head, tossing his own wet jacket into the backseat.

“For photos,” he reasons, handing you his phone “think one of you tackling me would look real nice over our bed.”

That makes you laugh, setting his phone in your lap while you up the heat on the seat warmers and fish the thermos of hot coco out from the cup holder. Nico’s rubbing his hands together, trying to get them warm while you take a drink.

Perfect temperature. Almost like he planned it to be ready for when you’d get back in the car.

Suspiciously, you eye him and hand over the thermos. All he does is grin though, taking his own drink and winking at you playfully.

Either he’s really lucky, or he’s one smooth fucker.

“Come on, show me the video already!” He laughs when you’ve just been staring at him. Scoffing, you pick the phone up and lean over the console.

“Can I kiss my fiancé first or is that against the rules?”

It’s almost dizzying how struck and lovesick he looks after hearing that. Like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear that name fall from your lips.

~~~~

The bedroom door clicks softly behind Nico, overly cautious to not disturb the boys still sleeping in the other rooms. You drop the pile of wet and soggy clothes off to the side, biting your lip when Nico takes a hold of your hip. He’s gentle when he turns you, crowding you into the door. His palm comes up to cradle you jaw, thumbing at your bottom lip until you release it from between your teeth.

“Hi,” you whisper, the words settling into the stillness around you two. Nico’s eyes crinkle, gaze warm as it washes over you.

“Hey,” he replies, just as quiet. His lips ghost against yours, soft and hot compared to the kisses you shared in the snow. “Can I get you out of those wet clothes?”

You belly swoops pleasantly. “Yes please.”

Boyishly, he chuckles and presses his hand into your face, tilting your chin until he can peck your forehead. “Me too?”

Your smile grows. “Yes please.”

Squeezing your hip, his hands find the edge of his hoodie on your body, dragging it up your body and over your head. It gets tossed to the side with the other wet clothes. Then he’s taking a hold of your long sleeve and doing the same.

Back and forth it goes, you repeating the motions on him, and then him on you until every piece of clothing has been thrown carelessly to the floor. Your mouth finds his, cradling the back of his neck and you walk him back towards the bed.

As if expecting the move, Nico’s arms find your waist, hauling you up until your toes can’t touch the floor. Helpless, you wrap your legs around him, clinging to his shoulders.

He pulls back to see where he’s walking, fingers rubbing circles in your lower back and you lay your head on his shoulder, lazily mouthing at the juncture of his throat and collarbone.

Nico tosses you to the mattress, your body sinking into fluffy duvet and pillows with a shocked yelp. Standing before you, a hand on his hip and the most beautiful you’ve ever seen, Nico grabs at your thigh.

“My first time,” he says thoughtfully, “m’so nervous.”

He knees his way onto the mattress, your thighs spreading to accommodate his frame. “This is not your first time,” you laugh, goosebumps rising on your skin as he drags his palm up the inside of your thigh.

“S’my first time with my fiancée,” he retorts cheekily, pressing his chest to yours. Then he’s pressing his mouth to yours, teasingly licking at the seam of your lips, slow and tenderly, taking his time.

After all, what’s the rush when you get him for the rest of your life.

~~~~

The house is still quiet when you and Nico tiptoe down the stairs, your left hand intertwined with his and he absentmindedly swipes his ring finger into the band on yours.

It’s cute, you think, how obsessed with it he is. Not that you blame him, you never want to take your eyes off it. It’s beautiful and all you can think about is how Nico picked it for you, that he found it with the intention of knowing that it represents you and him forever.

Nico can feel you watching him, knows by the way you stumble into his side and he has to guide you through the living room. His lips quirk up into an amused smile, gaze flicker to meet yours as you cross into the kitchen and you giggle.

Wordlessly, he stops and wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into him. Rising to your toes, you sweetly kiss at the corner of his mouth. Nico’s hand finds your ass, pressing you even closer to him and you make a move for his lips-

“Whoa PG in the kitchen please.”

Nico and you jolt simultaneously, your hand briefly squeezing his as you instinctively move behind him. He’s seemed to have the same reaction, turning as if he were going to shield you before freezing.

“Holy fuck Timo,” Nico gasps, his hold on you easing up “when the fuck did you get here?”

You sigh in relief, relaxing into Nico’s shoulder and trying to calm your racing heart. Apparently this trip has made you more jumpy than you’ve ever been, not that it’s not justified. You were kidnapped, choked, knocked on conscious, and slapped all within few weeks.

“Like ten minutes ago, why are you acting like I pulled gun on you-what the hell happened to you?”

Timo gapes when you look at him, dropping his half eaten toast to the counter and rushing towards you. He basically shoves Nico off of you to take a hold of your face.

“Long story,” you mutter, batting him away “we’ll tell you later when we go to finish the job.”

Nico takes ahold of your hand again, squeezing reassuringly. You can’t help it, you attach to him like two magnet ends, body and mind and soul aching to hold him.

“Are we gonna have to kill anyone again?” Timo frowns, “Because I just got the stains out of my pants.”

You look up at Nico, waiting for his lead. His lips purse, head tilting to the side like he’s thinking about it. “Nah probably not.” Timo slumps in relief. “Now tell us what happened with Amelia?”

Your friend’s whole demeanor perks up at that, blue eyes brightening and eyes crinkling with a huge smile. “We talked for hours,” he gushes, moving back around the counter for his toaster. “About everything! She talked about the shows she’s skated in and her lessons. And I told her about Jersey and the Devs, how big it’s all gotten.

“She wasn’t even freaked out either when I gave her like details on what we do. If anything, she was proud. She kept saying that she knew me and Nico would be big one day.”

He pauses, inhaling three large bites of toast. Crumbs scatter to the plate and countertop. “Timo, that’s great!” You encourage, but he’s not done. Holding up a finger as he chews and swallows.

“So she decided we’d give it a shot, yeah? Not dive head first like you psychos but we’re gonna do long distance and she’ll come visit more, feel it out? But I have a really good feeling about it.”

You’re already overly tender heart swells, and for the first time in a while, everything feels almost perfect. Timo is finally back with the girl he loves after years of enduring an ocean between them. You and Nico are getting married. You’re going home, back to Jersey and Moose and the house that will now have a roof over two Hischier heads.

“Timo, man congrats.” Nico says, awe in his voice. He must be realizing it too, soaking in the moment of things feeling right again.

We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.

Nico lets go of you in favor of wrapping Timo in a hug so tight it looks bone crushing. Timo chuckles, his grin mirroring Nico’s and they affectionately pat at each other’s chest. “Timo and Amelia, back together. Just like ol’ times.”

“That makes us sound like we’re forty.”

They giggle like school girls, your chest aching at the sight of the man you love with his oldest friend, still acting like they haven’t aged a day since turning 15.

“Will you quiet down,” Jack grumbles, annoyed and half asleep as him and the other boys shuffle into the kitchen. They’re still in their pajamas, bed head and pillow creases on their cheeks. Mercer looks at you, blinking a few times like he’s trying to make himself alert.

“Timo sounds like a fucking goal horn,” Luke adds, equally as grumpy as his brother. It must be a Hughes thing, their repulsion to the mornings.

“And all Nico does is giggle,” Jack glares at him, blue eyes glossy and swollen with exhaustion. He shoulders past Timo and Nico, heading straight for the coffee pot.

Nico looks to you, rolling his eyes but before you can even react back Mercer is there, large and gangly torso blocking your view. Confused, you look up at him curiously.

“Good morning Dawson,” you greet, but he just frowns, looking you up and down. You don’t miss the way he lingers on your busted lip, lips pouting. But then his gaze dips lower, trailing over where your arms are crossed and to your hands.

His gaze shoots up to yours, eyebrows raised in shock and something else. Maybe he’s…impressed? Like he thought Nico and you were gonna keep putting it off or something. Though you suppose he has taking into account that they’ve been telling him since Philly to put a ring on you.

“Nice ring,” he murmurs, voice scratchy and a toothless grin rises on his face. The kitchen goes silent, not even the quiet puff of breathes breaking the silence. Two heads peek over his shoulders, Luke and Alex looking at you expectantly.

“What ring?”

“You guys got married without us?”

Bashfully, you giggle, rolling your eyes at their dramatics. “No just engaged.” You dismiss, waving them off.

The kitchen erupts, a coffee cup clattering to the counter top as Jack and Timo leap to crowd in with the other three. They’re all jeering and shouting things at you, grabbing for your left hand and you laugh. Helpless to their excitement, you let them tug you around and show off the ring.

“I never would’ve guessed you be the first to get married,” Timo teases, whipping around the engulf Nico in a big hug again. Over the top of Luke’s tangled curls you catch Nico’s blush, the big toothy smile on his face. Until you’re being squashed into four pairs of arms.

Like a bunch of children on the playground, you and the boys all squeal and hop around in a jumbled group hug, the only thing keeping you from being bumped over is them.

“Part the Red Sea, please!” Timo shoves them apart, making a gap between Mercer and Alex wide enough to squish Nico in. You happily accept his open arms, let him wrap them around your waist and tuck his face into your neck. The group hug closes up, everyone squeezing you tight.

Giggling, you stroke through Nico’s bed head and he smacks sweet kisses to the side of your neck. You close your eyes, soak in the warm words and arms of those you love. Of your boys.

~~~~

Nico fiddles with his hair in the mirror, tucking it behind his ears and then tilting his head, bottom lip between his teeth as he examines it. Then he untucks it, shaking it out with his fingers and starting again.

“Baby,” you cap the perfume you were rolling onto your wrists. He hums in acknowledgment. “Are you ok? You seem nervous.”

He stops, gaze flickering to meet yours through the reflection. You’re taken back to all those weeks ago when he was first asking you to come to Switzerland, how he was fidgety and wide eyed all night. Did he have all this planned then? A proposal? Or did it just look out that way?

“Yeah,” he croaks, swallowing roughly. “I’m-I am nervous. I mean I’m ok but yeah.”

Placing your perfume on the counter, you slide over to him. Nico turns, propping himself up against the bathroom counter and you step between his parted legs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your hand trails up his chest, stroking over the soft fabric of knitted sweater. He looks so snuggly, so sweet you want to wrap him in your arms.

Nico grabs at your hip, eyebrows pinching in pain as he sorts through his worries and thoughts. “I don’t know what’ll happen,” he says carefully “I hate that, not knowing. Especially when it comes to you.”

You smile, thumb fondly tracing over the lines of his throat. His five o’clock shadow scratches at the pad of your finger. “It always works out Nico,” you assure “we can’t know everything, but we’re always prepared, right?”

A grateful smile curls his lips for a moment, but his eyes blink at you sadly. “What if they knew?” He asks “what if they were all in on it? This whole time, after I trusted them? I’ll do it, but I don’t want to have to say goodbye again.”

That empty throbbing feeling from this morning returns, clanging painfully against your ribs and heart. Nico didn’t get to say goodbye to his father, didn’t get to talk to him at all. You took over, you took that goodbye from him without even realizing how it could hurt him.

“Nico,” you sigh, guilty “I should’ve talked to you about Rino before I did anything. Dragging Mercer in there all guns a blazing and forcing him from your life…I mean you didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

You think about that day in the hospital when Nico left. You knew exactly what he was doing, where he was going. It broke your heart that he lied right to your face in front of all his family. It hurt you that he was making decisions for you.

And yet, you did the same. Maybe the circumstances weren’t exactly similar, but you didn’t even hint to him about Rino. No, you sent him out on a day with the boys while you destroyed the sliver of a relationship he might have had with his father.

Nico’s watching you curiously, eyes boring into yours. You wonder what he’s looking for, what he thinks you’re holding back or shielding from that apology maybe. What intention is he looking for?

“I get it,” you add “how you felt with Lena. I didn’t even really think. I was just so mad that he could do that to you, that he’d hurt you like that and I reacted. I wanted to protect you, but I shouldn’t have done it like that.”

He looks pained almost, like your words crawled down his throat and into his gut, twisting and knotting everything up. But he also looks…angry. Eyebrows scrunched and gaze dark, his jaw ticking.

“When are you gonna get it?” He asks, not mean but frustrated. His grip on your hips tightens, dragging you closer to him. “What happened, all this stuff wasn’t done to me. It was done to you, they hurt you.

“I don’t care if it was done to get to me, it actually, physically hurt you. So you don’t have to apologize for what they did, for taking Mercer and confronting Rino. Anyone that would lay a finger on you isn’t my friend or family.

“You are. You’re my family baby, and that’s all I care about.”

Maybe it’s the emotions of the day. Between his proposal, Timo getting together with Amelia, the boys loving on you too, and now this? Or maybe it’s just the fact that the sweetest, most understanding and loving man in the world chooses everyday to love you. Whatever it is, you sniffle back tears, blinking wetly at Nico.

One of his large hands cups your face, thumb gently wiping under your teary eyes. He eyes you lovingly, gaze warm and comforting and for some reason that makes you cry more.

“Eesh,” he laughs, tucking your face into his chest. “Why are you crying baby?”

“I don’t know!” You cry , hiding in the comfort of his embrace. His chest rumbles with laughter, lips smiling against the top of your head and he nuzzles into you.

“Ok.”

After a moment you’ve stopped sniffling, Nico wiping at your cheeks and eyes with the sleeves of his sweater. “Pretty,” he murmurs, a sweet grin dimpling his cheeks. Blushing, you press a kiss to his chin.

“I think everything with your family will work out exactly how it’s supposed to,” you assure him, heart fluttering in your chest when he reaches for your left hand. His gaze sparkles as he examines your ring, thumbing over your knuckle thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” he agrees “I just…I don’t know. I really hope Katja wasn’t apart of it. I thought everything was fine after she came to check on you.”

You hum, unsure of what to say. You can’t guarantee Katja wasn’t a part of it. You also can’t guarantee that she wasn’t. If it were you and Nico, he’d never keep you in the dark about a deal like that. He’d have you right next to him the whole time, through planning, preparing, and even execution.

But Katja and Rino aren’t like you and Nico.

He presses a kiss to the palm of your hand, long eyelashes fluttering as he does so and you think of the day Katja took you for a drive. Rino excluded her from everything, she had no say over what the business did. And you could tell she hated it, especially by the way she lit up when she realized Nico treats you as an equal in the Devs family.

Startled, you look up at Nico with wide eyes. His eyebrows furrow, grip on your hands tightening. “What? What is it?”

“She knew,” you say, “Katja knew. But she wasn’t in on it.”

Her threats in the car, her insisting you weren’t safe with Nico weren’t threats at all. She wasn’t condemning you and Nico for having a life in Jersey, she was warning you. Rino’s plan for his kids, Nico’s stubbornness and ability to push back against his family. Rino’s loathing of insubordination, especially his youngest sons.

He didn’t agree with how Nico rebranded his life and was running the Devs. Katja was warning you that Rino was taking action against Nico.

“Nico she was warning me. She was trying to save us.”

#nico hischier #mob boss nico hischier #new jersey devils #nj devils #fluff #him and i #nico hischer x reader #New Jersey devils mob au

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yandere-daydreams · 3 days ago

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ohhhh but the things that wouldn't hurt a doll but would hurt a person... when they actually have you sometimes their practice isn't perfect, the hold on your throat staying for a little too long, bruises from tight ropes and grips, holding you under the water before remembering you need to breath between rinses.... but it's also just so cute to watch you struggle, pathetic and dripping and clinging to them... it's the closest to affection you've given them since being brought home ehehehe ><

but seriously... imagine being kidnapped and when you wake up the first thing you see is a little doll of yourself... how do you even react to that T°T

tw - kidnapping, physical/emotional abuse, and disturbing themes.

actually anon you're so right,,, they've spent so many months preparing for this, so many hours practicing how exactly they'll take care of you, but there are a lot of things a doll can't do that a human can and, more pressingly, a lot of things a doll can do that a human can't. dolls don't cry and scream and beg to be let go. dolls don't complain about hunger and exhaustion and being left in a cold, dark basement for all the many hours they can't be there to tend to you. dolls don't while about being played with - even when their owners get a little too rough and forget that throats aren't quite as sturdy as they ought to be. it's a little funny, how much time you spend with teary eyes and a sniffle in your voice. somehow, you're closer to a baby doll than your porcelain replacement.

it's not all bad, though. dolls can't speak or sing or say their owners' names, either. dolls can't beg to be forgiven after violating a simple rule for the thousandth time, nor can they squeak out adorable little apologies as they're forced over the knee of someone with something other than air and stuffing in their skull. dolls can't cry and cuddling against their owners' sides in that post-punishment haze, begging in that whimpering little voice not to be put back in your dollhouse. it might've been a little irrational, in hindsight, trying to treat a doll so much like a person, justifying the oversights in their regiment as lapses in judgement or steps along a greater learning curve. it was always a little silly to try and personify an inanimate object, to treat a doll like it was any kind of replacement for you.

they always should've been trying to treat you a little more like a doll.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #personal #anon ask

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sunnywalnut · 2 days ago

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I also would like to add as someone who takes medication- ask other people if it seems like your meds are working.

Especially if you take antipsychotics/stimulant drugs.

A lot of meds do have side effects that can be pretty mean. Or not work at all. But they also could just be working so good that you don't notice because you're so used to struggling that getting used to a new normal is ALSO a struggle.

"but why would you stop taking meds if they're working?" We're human. If something worked, and has worked for a while, we don't think "oh goodness I should keep doing this even though there's no increase of Good just to make sure the Bad doesn't come back!"

We think "damn this thing really isn't working the same as it once did. Idk if it works anymore. Maybe I should stop"

And to that I tell you WAIT!!

Talk to your roommates, your friends, your family. Ask them if they remember how you were struggling before your medication. Ask them if it seems like you're struggling still or what symptoms might look like they're starting to show up again.

"but how would they know what goes on in my brain?" Ohoho my friend that's the wonderful part! Mental health HAS PHYSICAL SIGNS!!

Forgetfulness can show up as losing your keys or phone even though they're in the same chair beside you.

Clustered brainspace/"confused thoughts"/brain static can look like struggling to do house chores or having to tear things apart in order to sort through them correctly or even changing tasks seven different times even though they don't make sense to anyone including you.

Depression or problems with executive function can look like not being able to take a shower even when you sit still for half an hour obsessing and feeling guilty about it.

And of course this is only three examples. There's so much more that could happen and show up in different ways(which I absolutely encourage people to add on their own) but please. Before you decide to go off your meds, go through the process of figuring out if they ACTUALLY don't work

Lest you turn out like me, three years of no meds on a steady decline.

Thank you.

Local PSA: invisible disability does NOT mean you can live your life like a "normal person" invisible disability meant that if a stranger looks at you in public they wouldn't know what's going on.

Like if a wheelchair user were to decide to run into a corner store to grab a candy bar because they know that their legs can last that long without, the cashier wouldn't know.

Or someone with "mild" scoliosis walking upright through their shoulder leans slightly to the left. Maybe they just have bad posture. The lady in the next isle thinks to herself.

The person with EDS or POTS or whatever sort of condition wearing compression gloves out and about. Perhaps it's a fashion statement?

Or what about the people with intestinal issues? They can look like "normal people" too.

You never know what someone is going through.

You never know what they might need to survive or if they're on the edge of a flare up or even if they are currently going through one just by one look.

I think both disabled and non disabled need to realize this. You're not "no longer disabled" because you can "live without" disability aids. They're there to help you. To make your life easier. If living without a cane is going to make it more likely you'll fall over and hurt yourself, use the cane.

If you need to sit down to do dishes or cut vegetables because you need to save your legs for taking out the trash, sit down.

If you need a shower chair because you don't know if you'll pass out, use the shower chair.

People are going to judge you regardless for multiple reasons out of your control.

I'd rather they judge you while you're being safe.

You don't need to struggle to be "normal."

You can just be you.

However that looks for you.

Use your disability aids.

#important psa #this has been a psa #psa #actually mentally ill #mental health #mental illness #mental illness is a bitch #but that doesn't mean that it isn't important #end the stigma

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trippinsorrows · 2 days ago

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midnight sun

authors note: don't ask. don't ask. don't ask.

words: 1.8k

warnings: angst, domestic violence

song inspo: 'faithfully' by journey

And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair Two strangers learn to fall in love again I get the joy of rediscovering you

Pressure.

A constant, almost soothing, irreparable thing. A loyal companion that hasn’t escaped nor forsaken him for as long as he can remember. The perpetual weight of responsibility that was assigned to him the day he entered this world, and something that will remain with him until the day he leaves it.

Whenever the fuck that’ll be.

At this rate and with his luck, not for a very long time.

“Did you know that the average person has four bad days per month?” An overheard question. Something Roman has to scoff at. Whatever sample that was used that produced such a statistic had to have been the fucking soccer and yoga moms. The ones who consider Starbucks being out of fucking pumpkin spice the definition of a bad day. “Adults also apparently smile 15 to 20 times per day.”

Another random fact that’s overheard, except it’s something that Roman realizes is much closer than he initially realized. The proximity does not align with something that’s in earshot. More so something that’s right in front of him.

“I don’t know if I—if I really believe all that, but—”

With a heavy sigh, he lifts his head, ready to lay into the poor, unsuspecting soul. “Why are you fucking talking to—”

Two abrupt stops. Two interruptions. Two complete collisions.

A second round.

Years. Almost twenty, and yet the instant his eyes lock with hers, he knows, and judging by the way she drops the notepad in her hand, she knows, too.

It’s been some time since he’s felt so thoroughly shaken, but that’s exactly what he feels in this moment.

“Solana?”

Not that there was any doubt before, but the tiny gasp that leaves her mouth is all the confirmation he needs that this is most definitely her.

Her eyes. So big, brown, and inquisitive. Once filled with an abundance of hurt and pain, an ideal match with his all that time ago, is no longer the same. Something different. There’s some trace of happiness. Yet, there’s something almost disingenuous about it. Like, it’s a poor attempt at camouflaging what was felt so long ago.

What might still be felt.

“Roman….”

His jaw clenches. It’s been so long since he’s heard his name leave the mouth of someone like her. Soft. Innocent. Kind.

None of those non-physical things about her have changed. He can tell that even in this brief, unexpected interaction.

Naturally, his eyes move over her, noticing her hair is no longer long and cascading down her back. It’s short, barely brushing past her shoulders. Lighter. It suits her.

Her body is filled out, shapely, womanly, heavy in the desired areas. And the minute her mouth curls into an almost hesitant smile, he finds himself pleased that that has remained unchanged.

She always had such a soothing, beautiful smile.

“I—what—what are you doing here?”

A good fucking question considering he has a million and other things on his to-do list and not one of them includes sitting in this random coffee shop he drove past on his aimless drive.

“I mean,” she laughs nervously, hand to her face, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that’s—that’s a silly question. You don’t have to answer—”

“I was driving and saw it. Wanted coffee.” Not necessarily a lie. He does now want coffee but not necessarily when he chose to park his Maserati and enter into the quiet, almost wholesome shop. “You work here.” A statement. Not a question.

Nodding, he’s much more pleased than he should be to see her smile grow. “Well, technically, I—I own it, but—”

“You own this place?” To anyone else, it’s perhaps a silly thing to “ask” given she just said as such, but for him, for them, it's so much more.

Her smile is bright, a light that contrasts the still unhealed bruises on her face as she shares with much more hope and optimism than anyone in their situation should have, “I want to own a coffee shop some day.” Looking over at him, consciously or unconsciously scooting closer, she challenges, “guess what I’m gonna name it?”

A bitter scoff leaves his mouth. He rolls his eyes but still gives it a go. “Sunshine’s place or some shit like that?”

Her giggle is a respite from the heaviness of the past two weeks. The only escape he’s found in this hell hole. And not just the facility.

“No. I’m gonna name it—”

“Dulce’s…..” Roman pulls himself from a memory buried so deep, he doesn’t know how he was able to retrieve it. “You always said…..”

“Yeah…..” she answers in a low voice, pushing back some of her hair, a nervous habit he sees still exists. But, it’s not the habit he’s focused on. It’s the diamond on her finger.

An engagement ring.

“You’re engaged.” Another assessment. One that shouldn’t stir up whatever the fuck is brewing within him.

For a second, she looks like it’s a surprise to her as well. And, he sees it, catches the brief glimpse of an attempted escape.

That sadness. A feeling that doesn’t quite escape a person, not to the extent she felt.

That they both felt.

Still feels, clearly.

For her, at least.

Maybe.

“Y—yes. Ummm—”

“Solana.”

Another voice introduced to the conversation. Male. Gruff. Infuriating. Roman cuts his eyes to the out of shape man who looks like a recovering alcoholic and someone who doesn’t need to be talking or even around her.

“Cody’s waiting.”

Cody?

But, Roman doesn’t have time to think too much about that ugly ass name. His focus is back on Solana, Solana who has suddenly shifted from slightly timid to downright terrified. She’s grasping at the material of her apron. “But, I—I thought he said I could work all day tod—”

“Plans changed.” A rude, coarse interruption that has Roman’s jaw ticking. Just who the fuck is this man and why does he think he can talk to Solana like that?

“Don’t you see we’re in the middle of a fucking conversation?” A much too late entrance into whatever this is, but an arrival nonetheless. “Leave.”

For some reason, it seems the man only now decided to pay attention to just who she was speaking to, a recognition that has his eyes widened as he turns back to Solana, poorly whispering, “do you know who the fuck this is?”

“Kevin, please. I’ll—I’ll be out in a minute.” It ticks him the fuck off that she’s practically begging this motherfucker, a man who Roman doesn’t even know but would love to put a bullet in.

Just might after today.

Kevin scoffs and shakes his head. “Your mistake.”

He says nothing else, turning to walk away, Roman standing to possibly commit murder when Solana moves her hand in front of him, as if trying to stop him.

“It’s—it’s fine. My—my fiancé is here.”

Roman looks down at her, still completely unnerved by her complete shift in demeanor. Her fear is practically palpable.

“Solana….” He sees her eyes shut as her name leaves his mouth. “What’s going o—”

“It—it was good to see you, Roman,” she cuts him off, forcing a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “But, I—I have to go.” And it’s as she turns to walk away, he makes the mistake of grabbing her wrist. Instant regret fills him when she jumps but something else as well.

Suspicion.

Solana has always been jumpy. He’s known that from the day they met at that god-awful place so many years ago. But something about the fear that courses through her, is stamped on her voice, feels….different.

He drops his hand, stating in a low voice. “Give me your phone.”

Her eyes widen. “Roman—”

“Please.” A word no one on this goddamn earth could torture out of him, but something that so easily rolls off his tongue for her.

Obviously confused, her expression remains torn even as she reaches in the pocket of her apron, pulling out and unlocking her phone. He takes it from her, ignoring that strange feeling when their hands touch.

Moving fast and thinking quick, he programs his number, choosing an unsuspecting name, one he knows she and only she will recognize.

Handing it back to her, he instructs, “you need anything, you call me.” It’s not preferred. What he’d prefer is to walk outside and snap that Kevin and this Cody person, if he’s outside too, necks. Would prefer to tell her to just stay with him. But, it’s too much. Much too much given how long it’s been.

And yet, they seem so easily falling back into routine.

She’s still visibly nervous, holding her phone in her hand instead of placing it back in the apron. Another pained smile followed up with, “goodbye, Roman.”

He doesn’t say it back, almost refuses to. Just watches as she moves to the back of the shop, coming out a few minutes later, apron discarded, purse on her shoulder, nearly rushing out without sparing him a glance even if his gaze never leaves her.

Solana is only able to barely slide into the back of the SUV, the door held open by an irritated Kevin when she’s yanked by her hair.

Piercing blue eyes stare down at her, his other hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly but not enough to completely restrict speech.

“Where the fuck were you?!”

His voice is harsh and angry, as is the look in his eyes. She opens her mouth to try to respond when he instead smashes her head into the window. She winces but refuses to cry out in pain even when his fist collides with her jaw. Her eyes clench shut, Solana already tasting the blood forming in her mouth.

“When I tell you to come, you fucking come, you understand me?!” He shouts, once again grabbing a fistful of her hair.

Nodding helplessly, she forces out an answer, ignoring the blood leaking out the corner of her mouth. “Y—yes, sir.”

He scoffs, a cruel, wicked smile on his face as he takes pride in his work. In her terror. “Pathetic,” he hisses, shoving her away. Solana moves as far into the corner as she can, forever grateful when he pulls out his phone and initiates a phone call like nothing happened.

It’s stupid and risky and something she most definitely shouldn't be doing, but Solana can’t stop herself from also pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts, moving to the R’s only to find nothing there.

There’s an emptiness that accompanies that realization that makes no sense. A sadness that fills her at the thought that he didn’t, but…..the look on his face, so handsome and strong, the fact that he even asked….he had to.

So, she continues to scroll, carefully assessing for each stored contact, stopping when she sees it. Emotion fills her for a completely different reason, reading the single word that carries such weight and meaning.

Journey

#roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fanfiction #arisnotebook

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alelathedragon · 2 days ago

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Kramzzles many names

🌌What is a Galaxy without the planets and Stars which reside inside it? He wants to be a safe space for all children who are in a bad place physically and mentally- somewhere they can rely on, Grow, Be loved, Have a chance in this cruel world. He may be the grand holder of life but said life doesn't think of him much as they do themselves, they explore his domain but always eventually leave always welcomed back for if they return. To even himself, he is not the most important aspect of this relationship... He only wants to hold up his precious Stars

🐾🐾 It's simply an old legend to scare kids into being good, not real! Yet for some reason the neighborhood bully has gotten a change of attitude... It's subtle but they are trying to be kinder and open up, they don't fully remember why... Things just seem to be getting better in their life....

Another odd instance, your childhood friends' life seems to be getting awkwardly worse- they're pushing through it the best they can but it's almost like fate is TRYING to help them but doesn't know how...it's all too freaky

TW: Blood -black and white but i still warn

[Data corrupted-Can't find reasoning]

*malicious laughter echoes around the area as glowing eyes duck behind a tree barely in your view.... You feel like....

You...REALLY....don't want to know something.....*

#art #artwork #traditional art #mr puzzles #smg4 mr puzzles #kramzzles #krampus puzzles #many names #tw: blood #tv head #smg4 au #freaky #au #shhhhhh 🤫

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local-extraterrestrial · 3 days ago

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This this this THIS.

I see everything you're saying, but I'm particularly caught up on his leg. I wrote a whole-ass analysis on this at some point but I've lost it somewhere in the depths of my notes. Alas. Either way: I refuse to believe this man would ever be able to walk properly, let alone this soon.

In the impact frame of his leg breaking we can clearly see that this is not just a complete breakage of both his tibia and fibula (bones in the lower leg, connecting the knee to the ankle), but also likely a compound fracture.

[A compound fracture (also known as an “open fracture”) is a bone fracture that is accompanied by breaks in the skin, causing the broken ends of bone to come into contact with the outside environment.]

While we don't see either of the bones strictly sticking out of his leg (which I like to joke is because they would've had to add a gore warning if they did that), we do see the bones pushing at the muscle and skin of his calf, definitely causing a degree of muscle damage that would take a long time to heal. Another thing that points me in the direction of a compound fracture is the fact we later see he has an open wound on roughly the spot where the bone would've pieced the skin. But that is just guess work.

And even then, we see he has to manually realign the bones. Which, in case you don't know, is something you should never do with a complete or compound fracture. But he doesn't exactly have a choice, does he? This kind of fracture requires surgery and literal metal rods and plates to align and stabilise the bone. And this is two of them. (Also one thing that haunts my nightmares is the fact that to set a fracture that bad without any sort of surgery, he likely would've had to pull the bones apart before pushing them back together. Geez, my own leg hurts just thinking about it.)

Meaning, the bones are definitely misaligned and would under no circumstances heal right.

And to make matters worse, the impact frame also shows us that the bones also splintered upon impact, likely made even worse by him having to so indelicately realign the bone. Which not only means that the pieces missing would've made the recovery process even longer, but that those splinters are likely still in his leg. As in, in there. In the muscle. Shrapnel-style. Making every single movement of the muscles EXCRUCIATING. That's literally a bunch of small knives in his muscles. Horrible. And that might have contributed to the infection we see developing. His muscles and tendons are no doubt fucked to hell and back.

Add to all that the fact that, due to the placement and cause of the break, this might've also messed up his knee, likely a displacement of the patella (kneecap). Messed up shit, really.

In conclusion, Jayce Talis shouldn't have been able to walk with any semblance of a normal gait, even with the brace. This man needs a doctor ASAP. And physical therapy.

Also on the note of PTSD, the incident with the blizzard definitely caused a lot of trauma. I like to think that cold temperatures tend to trigger him so he really doesn't like winter.

And my personal headcanon is that the whole Arcane glitching thing leaves him with migrane-like symptoms and a general sensitivity to magic and shit like that.

Overall, OP your brain is magnificent. Hope you get all the writing and/or art inspiration you ever wish for.

Smth smth i need more fics/discussion about disabled Jayce. I'm high on the disabled jayce cocain, im sorry

I know this man had diarrhea for days because he was eating fucking radioactive salamanders (that I don't think he even cooked properly) and drinking unclean water. His guts are fucked. He must've drastically lost weight, as well as having hair loss and early grey hair. He has ptsd. Smell of a raw meat OR rot just sends him into panic. NOT TO MENTION THAT HE ALREADY MOST SURELY HAD PTSD FOR NEARLY DYING IN A BLIZZARD AND THINKING THAT HIS MOM DIED SO I BET HE ALSO HAS A SEASONAL DEPRESSION. Light sensitivity... Twiches... Chronic pain....

And imagine Viktor WHO LITERALLY KNOWS WHAT IT'S LIKE TO SUDDENLY FIND YOURSELF IN THE MIDDLE OF A RAPID HEALTH DECLINE trying to just... be there. Tell him what he himself needed to hear all these years. Helps him to adjust to a new reality of not being able... well generally not being able bodied anymore

I want to explode them both.

#arcane #jayce talis #jayvik #tw medical discussion #tw injury #reblog #keep in mind I'm not a medical professional #I'm just a nerd with a hyperfixation and knee problems

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thezombieprostitute · 1 day ago

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Tech Tuesday: Secret Santa

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: secret santa but somehow nobody picked me

A/N2: I hope you don't mind, I'm kinda gonna cheat again because I really like doing the full cast of characters in the same prompt. But I'm going to cheat even further by going with "Each of the Tech Tuesday cast as your Secret Santa".

Bucky Barnes

Bucky is far more observant than people think. You might think he's the type to get you a random gift from the thrift shop but no. He gets you something he knows you'll like. Something that requires thought.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Curtis Everett

Gift cards are Curtis's go-to for these things. He already knows more about the people in the department than he cares to know. If he's got your name for Secret Santa, you're getting a gift card to a popular place. If he knows anything about you, you're getting a gift card for a place you've mentioned.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Geralt (of Rivia)

Bemoans the fact that Secret Santa even exists. He only participates because he knows it's important to others. He doesn't bother looking at the price cap because whatever he gets you is going to be something he made himself. Most likely something small you can use as decoration. Curtis still has the kikimora figurine on his desk.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

God (the bounty hunter)

Also hates the fact that this is something that happens. But where Geralt makes his gift, God goes ahead and buys you something he likes. Complete with a gift receipt.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Jake Jensen

Let's face it, it's Sunshine who's making you whatever gift Jake gets you. But neither you nor Sunshine are gonna complain. Jake's the one everyone wants as their Secret Santa because you'll get some really amazing homemade thing(s).

One year Steve got a few dozen Christmas cookies. He promised himself he'd just eat one or two and share the rest. He'd eaten over half of them by the time he left for home!

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Johnny Storm

Johnny definitely got a last minute big bag of candy for you. And, really, he got it for himself since he knows you keep a bag of that exact candy to bribe him to leave you alone when he gets to talking.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Jonathan Pine

Honestly, he might be the reason there's a price cap on the gifts. It's not that he'd buy a lot of things for you, rather he'd find one item, that would be an incredibly great gift, and not even look at the cost. It's not that he's rich, per say. He just takes his gift giving a little seriously and wants to put the recipient ahead of the price. Also, do him a favor and help make sure Rose doesn't see how much he spent on her?

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Lloyd Hansen

He ain't doing this bullshit game. It's for small-minded peons who---wait? Maestro wants him to partake? UGH! FINE! But she owes him.

Most likely to gift you something that just takes up space. Like a paperweight that caught his eye.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Mike

He's getting you swag from his college (that he gets for free). In his defense, he's a college student. In your defense, his family is rich. Really he's about as bad as Johnny.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Ransom Drysdale

Before Bubbles came along, Ransom was a lot like Curtis in terms of gift giving. You get a gift card to place you maybe like.

After he and Bubbles become friends, though, he asks for her help in getting something. He regrets it soon after because he's inundated with questions about his recipient that he doesn't have answers to. He didn't realize how much thought could go into gift giving. But, with Bubbles' help, you'll get a good gift.

And now Ransom knows how to get Bubbles a good gift.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Steve Rogers

You're getting something handmade. Probably a small painting of something you like. Not a lot of people know Steve's got skills with physical media and he's happy to surprise them. Syverson still has the portrait of Lily hanging in his office.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Syverson

Like Bucky, Syverson is a better gift giver than people think. There's a reason he's such a good manager for his department. He knows what his people like, dislike, or need in order to get their work done. It might more on the practical side of things, but it'll be something you actually like and use.

🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️🎁❄️

Walter Marshall

He's very much another "gift cards" kind of guy. The primary difference between him and Curtis is that Walter prefers to get you a card from a local business as opposed to a national/international corporation.

He actually prefers to get Bucky's name because he knows the coffee shop Bucky frequents is nearby and he can grab the gift card on his way into work.

Tagging:

@alicedopey; @changenameno; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @kingliam2019; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @stellar-solar-flare; @thiquefunlover63

#navy and roo's sleepover #tech tuesday #bucky barnes #Curtis Everett #geralt of rivia #god the bounty hunter #Jake Jensen #lloyd hansen #Johnny Storm #Jonathan pine #hellraiser!mike #ransom drysdale #steve rogers #captain syverson #Syverson #Walter Marshall

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familiarscars · 1 day ago

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Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 24

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

NOAH

"It's important to stay well-hydrated, eat properly, and maintain a good sleep routine. It’s not like this feeling will disappear overnight, but a lifestyle more focused on your well-being might help…”

My attention was fixed on the hourglass on his desk, the sand sliding down into the lower compartment at a slow rhythm. If I said I was paying attention to anything, I’d be lying. Ever since I walked into this room, I’d been high on intravenous medication and completely oblivious to what was happening around me, slouched in a position in this chair that would surely give me a backache once I returned to my senses.

I didn’t know it was possible to feel even more apathetic.

“I can refer you to regular sessions with a professional—what do you think?” he pressed, trying to regain my attention again. “Your tests didn’t reveal anything I should worry about, but if these symptoms persist, it would be wise to seek a second opinion. It could help, considering your physical reactions are becoming increasingly severe.”

I let out a scoffing laugh without looking at him.

“Do you think I’m losing my mind?”

“I think your body is sending signals that it needs care. That’s common when patients are going through difficult times or even under pressure.” The deeper he delved into the topic, the more nausea churned in my stomach. I sighed as though trying to reclaim air in a near reflux. “Have you experienced anything like that? Feeling trapped in a state of excessive melancholy that seems to take longer to pass with each episode?”

Absolute silence.

“Do you think I’m planning to kill myself?” I asked with irony. “My contract doesn’t allow that.”

“I think it would be wise to take some time off to rest.”

I had a flight with the band in two hours, two festivals over the span of a week in different countries. Resting was only an option in my dreams—and even then, there was a risk I’d be working in them.

“Can I ask you something?” I finally shifted my attention from the hourglass to the man in a lab coat with graying hair behind the desk.

“Of course, Noah.”

“The girl who brought me here—she’s still in the hospital?” I asked carefully, biting down on my lower lip.

The doctor looked at me for a few seconds as if reading my microexpressions or whatever the hell I carried in my eyes. I felt a faint discomfort, but it wasn’t greater than the curiosity clawing at the inside of my skin.

“I can’t say for sure, Noah, but there’s a girl listed as your contact in your file. I’m just not sure if it’s the same person we’re talking about.”

I hated how my body reacted immediately, as though erasing the entire conversation about the studio and clinging solely to the fact that she might still be here—with me. Nothing else seemed to matter, none of the other things I was feeling, because somehow, she managed to give me the false sense that my heart was at peace again.

Like at the studio, when the touch of her hand silenced the chaos in my mind, even if it was just a fleeting truce, since everything came back threefold the moment she moved away.

I must have been losing my mind. I no longer had any awareness of my actions or control over them. I couldn’t filter my feelings, making them even more confusing each time I smothered them with some new, unrestrained emotion.

As I exited the consultation room, I saw nothing but other patients waiting to be seen. Gradually, I let my shoulders drop while I walked, scanning the reception area with slow steps when I didn’t see any sign of her around. What passed through my head wasn’t disappointment—certainly not.

A sudden jolt from physical contact made me turn sharply, my brow furrowing as I saw a girl greeting me with a hug I didn’t reciprocate, keeping my arms stiff at my sides. I blinked a few times before looking down and seeing the fiery red hair on top of her head.

“Scarlet?” I asked, confused.

“When I returned to the observation room, they told me you had woken up and gone to see the doctor. How are you feeling?” she asked sweetly, frowning as I moved her away from me by grabbing her arm.

“What are you doing here?”

“Are you disoriented from the meds? I received you at the hospital on behalf of the record label’s team and have been accompanying you ever since, silly!”

“But…”

Had I been mixing things up? As far as I remembered, it wasn’t Scarlet who had been with me when I arrived here or when the medication knocked me out. But was I coherent enough to argue? My head was beginning to throb again, and my thoughts were as tangled as the sequence of events.

I definitely didn’t remember this particular cut.

“How about lunch? There’s a restaurant nearby that—”

“I just want to go home.” I interrupted while craning my neck to look around.

“Alright, I’ll drive you!” she replied with unshakable enthusiasm, and I let out a deep sigh.

“Isn’t there anyone else who can do that?”

“Noah, you don’t have to be so hard on me, okay? I know you’d rather have someone else in my place, but there’s not much I can do if she didn’t want it that way!” Scarlet’s tone was almost offended as she shrugged. “Let me help you—I promise that’s all I want.”

Meeting her bright green eyes as she fluttered her long lashes, I just turned around and started walking toward the exit. Scarlet sighed in satisfaction behind me, following like a duckling trailing after its mother.

On the way to the car, I tried to pull as much as I could from my worn-out mind, demanding myself to recall the route from the studio and my time in the hospital, but it felt as though a gaping hole had formed in my memory.

“I have good news for you!” she said, tapping her fingertips together as she closed the driver’s door.

“I don’t like people beating around the bush. Be direct.”

“Well…” Scarlet cleared her throat awkwardly. “Bryan has to miss the band’s trips this week, and I’ll be replacing him as the photographer. Isn’t that amazing?”

I was still searching for the “good” part of the news.

“Since when do you need to take band photography jobs?” I asked, perplexed, shifting my gaze to her. “That makes no sense when you make triple the amount from a single modeling gig.”

“I haven’t had as many jobs lately. This opportunity came up, and since you guys already know me from photographing the band’s collection, I took it!”

“Does everyone know about this already?”

"I thought I only owed explanations to you."

"I'm not a solo artist, and changes need to go through everyone in the band first!" I tried to moderate my tone as I turned back to the dashboard.

"Well, my hiring was cleared by Gerard, and now you're being informed about it. I don’t think anyone else is left on my list." She concluded with conviction after adjusting the rearview mirror to see her own reflection.

The girl lowered her sunglasses and started the car, keeping a moderate speed and playing some generic pop music that scratched at my ears.

I was about to open the door and throw myself onto the road at any moment.

At home, I barely had time to sit and breathe before being bombarded with calls and messages about being late to the airport. Moving at the slow pace I was still processing things, I threw a few pieces of clothing into a backpack and called a taxi to meet up with the band as quickly as possible.

"Hey, man! How are you feeling?" Folio greeted me at the entrance with a light slap on my arm.

"I'm fine," I replied, forcing some enthusiasm into my voice as I followed him. "You seem excited to travel."

"And when am I not?" he said as if it were obvious, raising his hands in the air. "I thought we were all eager to get back on stage after some time."

"You're right..." I felt like I couldn’t say the same. "I am, too."

In the boarding line, I bit the inside of my lips as soon as her perfume arrived first in the air, infecting everything in the blink of an eye as if it wanted to suffocate me. From the corner of my eye, I saw her stop behind me, wearing sunglasses and focused on a piece of paper she was holding, her long black-painted nails adorned with rings she rarely took off.

"What are you doing here?" I heard her voice and turned to see she was speaking to Scarlet, who had taken a spot behind her.

"Didn't Noah tell you?" the red-haired girl replied with raised eyebrows. "I'll be accompanying the band as a photographer."

"No, Noah didn’t tell us..." She smiled slowly and turned to look straight at me. Every word she spoke to Scarlet didn’t require the slightest eye contact—she directed her harsh words while fixing me with a furious glare. "I didn’t know he was hiring just anyone to keep his girlfriend around."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, lowering my voice as if each word pierced my brain, my headache still relentless.

"Listen here, girl, you respect me because I am not just anyone!"

She laughed, covering her mouth with trembling fingers before recomposing herself and gliding her lipstick-coated lips together.

"Thank you so much for the info, sweetheart! Good luck keeping an eye on him backstage."

Like a furious storm, she delivered her acidic words while brushing past me, heading toward our friends up ahead.

"I find her so rude," Scarlet muttered with a dissatisfied grunt. "No wonder if she's high, acting so full of herself."

"Why don’t you just shut up?" I snapped, cutting her words short with a cold sideways glare. "If you found a way to insert yourself into the band through work, then do it. Pretend the rumors about my personality are true—don’t talk to me, don’t sit next to me, don’t ask me for anything, and definitely don’t meddle in my life. I sincerely hope I don’t have to hear your voice until the plane lands, or I’ll ship you off to an island in New Zealand."

"But Noah—"

Before Scarlet could say anything else, I turned my back on her and followed the rest of the team. Fortunately, I was so exhausted that the rest of the trip seemed to promise immediate sleep.

On the plane, however, my mood worsened even more when I realized I’d been assigned the worst seat possible: right behind Ruffilo and the others, who were laughing loudly and joking incessantly with her.

Ruffilo’s loud laugh cut through the air, and something inside me pulsed with growing irritation.

"Could you all keep it down?" I snapped, sharp enough to silence them. "I’m trying to sleep."

"Sorry, Noah..." Ruffilo apologized, pulling an exaggerated pout. "We were just trying to distract her."

I rolled my eyes. "Her fear of flying will only ease if you let her sit by the window. Acting like clowns won’t help. Now stop bothering me."

An awkward silence settled momentarily, soon replaced by careful movement in the aisle. She swapped seats, taking the one by the window. The light filtering through the clouds bathed her face with a softness that, against my will, held my attention for a few seconds longer than it should have.

Her expression was tense, her brow furrowed, almost in agony over something as she looked outside, her delicate fingers tapping quickly against the seat’s side. Her scent lingered in the air—subtle, but impossible to ignore.

I caught myself inhaling deeply, without realizing it, before quickly averting my gaze and leaning my head against the headrest, trying to ignore the silent chaos she caused in me.

The landing was turbulent, both literally and emotionally, as I still struggled to fall asleep. The uncomfortable silence during the remainder of the flight was replaced by the team’s bustle during disembarkation, everyone busy gathering their belongings. I, on the other hand, kept my distance from Scarlet, even when she was just a few steps behind me.

We arrived at the hotel, unfortunately crowded with other teams and bands participating in the festival. The marble lobby reflected the golden light of the chandelier, creating an environment that felt suffocating after such an exhausting day.

Ruffilo led the small line at the reception desk, collecting room keys and handing them out. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until Scarlet cleared her throat loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.

"And my room?" Scarlet asked, crossing her arms, visibly annoyed.

Ruffilo hesitated, glancing at the receptionist before turning back to her. "You… didn’t book a room?"

She rolled her eyes. "I thought someone on the team would do that for me."

My patience, already frayed, was about to snap. "And no one thought to tell you that you needed to handle it yourself?"

"Don’t start, Noah," she shot back, her cheeks tinged slightly pink but her tone sharp. "I can stay in your room."

The suggestion—or rather, demand—made my head turn in her direction so fast I felt tension in my neck. "Absolutely not," I replied, my voice firm as contained thunder.

Scarlet raised an eyebrow, defiant. "Oh, what's the problem? I'm not asking for much."

"It's not happening," I emphasized, gesturing toward the group. "Why don't you share a room with the only other woman here?"

The suggestion was logical but caused a pause in the room. Scarlet looked at me as if I had just gravely insulted her, while the girl chewing gum and inspecting her nails smirked faintly, almost imperceptibly.

"Great idea," she said with false cheerfulness, a lightness that contrasted with the tension in the air. "I don't mind sharing a room with you, Redhead."

Scarlet turned to her, clearly indignant. "You must be joking."

"She's not," I interrupted, more firmly than I intended. "Problem solved."

Scarlet huffed, shooting a final look of displeasure before grabbing her things. I watched her walk away, the sound of her footsteps echoing on the marble as she reluctantly departed.

"Did I mention how much I love your grouchy old-man spirit today?" Ruffilo commented under his breath, barely holding back a laugh. "It's rarely this entertaining."

"I just want to figure out what the hell that girl is doing," I muttered, cutting off the joke as I grabbed my key and headed for the elevator.

"Replacing Bryan, right?"

"That's what it seems…"

But I had a feeling Scarlet's presence was more than just coincidence.

After settling into my room, an uneasiness began to consume me. The hotel was too dull, and the day's tension lingered in my head like an endless echo. I decided to head out in search of something to eat—anything to get me out of that oppressive atmosphere.

I called a taxi, and as I waited at the entrance, the cold night air brought momentary relief. As soon as the car arrived, I opened the door and got in, giving the driver an address I vaguely remembered seeing in a travel magazine. Before the taxi could leave, the opposite door suddenly opened, and a familiar figure climbed in without hesitation.

"Of course," I muttered, already exasperated as she settled in beside me with a mischievous smile.

"How lucky for me," she said, feigning enthusiasm. "Sharing a taxi with the devil himself."

"Seriously? Can't you take another one?" I asked, already considering opening the door and getting out.

"I'm already here; there's no way I'm letting a ride pass by," she retorted, fixing her hair as if that would end the argument. “Besides, I’m looking for a place to eat. What a coincidence, huh? Hey, where's Scarlet?"

"Perfect," I muttered sarcastically, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window, trying to ignore her.

The ride was silent—on my part, at least. She seemed quite pleased to tease me with remarks about the city, the driver, and even how I always seemed grumpy.

When we finally arrived at the address, I got out quickly, eager to rid myself of her. But, unsurprisingly, she followed right behind me, the sound of her boots echoing on the sidewalk.

"Why are you getting out?" I asked, turning to face her.

"Because I decided to eat at the same place as you," she replied with a challenging smile.

I rolled my eyes and started walking, but soon noticed something strange. The address I had chosen… didn't seem right. There was no restaurant in sight, just old buildings and poorly lit streets.

"Are you sure this is the place?" she asked, glancing around with raised eyebrows.

"Of course I am," I lied, though the discomfort was evident in my voice.

"Oh, then where's the restaurant, genius?" She crossed her arms, tilting her head at me with a look of fake patience.

"Maybe it's around the corner," I replied, pointing randomly and starting to walk, even though I wasn’t certain.

"Or maybe you just have no idea what you're doing," she quipped, following me.

"You didn’t have to come," I shot back, spinning on my heel to face her.

"And you didn’t have to get us lost," she countered with a shrug.

The argument escalated quickly. Our voices echoed through the deserted streets as we argued about whose fault it was—mine, for choosing an address without checking, or hers, for insisting on tagging along.

"You think you know everything, don't you?" she exclaimed, shaking her head.

"And you think you have the right to meddle in everything," I retorted, pointing at her.

She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a distant sound—something metallic, like a gate slamming shut. We both fell silent immediately, the atmosphere now much quieter and stranger than before.

"Great," she muttered, glancing around again. "Now we're lost on an empty street and probably about to get mugged."

"If you’d stop complaining for a second, maybe we could find the place," I replied, trying to ignore the growing unease inside me.

But deep down, I knew she was right. The night was only getting worse.

The sky began to shift slowly, the bluish tones giving way to a deep orange that soon turned into an oppressive darkness. What once looked like deserted streets now carried an unsettling aura. The buildings and sidewalks disappeared, replaced by empty lots and sparse trees. The silence was broken only by the sound of our footsteps, which seemed louder with every second.

"What’s the matter, Noah? Afraid of the dark?" she teased, wiggling her fingers, though her voice trembled slightly, betraying her growing discomfort.

"Stop being pathetic!" I snapped, forcing sarcasm to mask the anxiety creeping over me.

The real trouble came when my phone vibrated one last time before dying completely.

"Perfect," I muttered, holding the lifeless device in my hand.

She glanced at her own phone and made a face, letting out a dry laugh. "Mine’s almost dead too. We’re out of GPS, no taxi, and no idea where we are."

"Oh, so you’re just now realizing this was a terrible idea?"

"You brought me here!" she shot back, arms crossed like she owned the moral high ground.

The argument continued as we walked, but the energy was draining along with the daylight. The jokes and taunts gave way to irritated grumbles and, eventually, to an uncomfortable silence. The cold began to set in, making her rub her arms and mutter something about how much of a waste of time this all was.

That was when we spotted a structure in the distance, partially hidden by the trees.

“Is that a house?” she asked, her voice tinged with doubt.

“Sort of,” I replied, eyeing the weathered, timeworn structure. It was small, with cracked walls and windows boarded up with planks.

It looked like it had been abandoned for years, but at least it offered shelter.

“I can’t believe I’m going in there,” I said, taking a step back.

“Great. Stay out here and see how much you like the freezing wind,” she shot back before pushing open the slightly ajar door.

The inside was no more inviting than the outside. The wooden floor creaked with every step, and the smell of mildew and dust filled my lungs. There were only two rooms: one that seemed to be the main living area and another that might have been a bedroom. Unlike me, she was enthralled, poking around at everything from the walls to the furniture and even amusing herself by sniffing the abandoned food in the fridge.

I hated how she could turn any situation into a joke.

“Do you think it’s safe?” I asked, following her hesitantly.

“No idea. But it’s better than staying outside.”

I scoffed, glancing around with disdain.

“So, what now? Are we setting up camp here and waiting for sunrise?”

“Maybe. Did you bring a tent? Because there’s only one bed, and I’m not sleeping with you, Mr. I-Snore-All-Night.”

“Funny,” I said mockingly, throwing a dusty pillow at her. “I don’t snore anymore.”

The tension between us kept building, every word dripping with irritation and exhaustion. My heart was pounding harder—not just because of the situation, but because of her presence, so close yet so infuriating.

“I feel like you planned this just to get some alone time with me!” she accused, her eyes gleaming with anger. “At the very least, I expected a less exotic location.”

“Disappearing your body behind this house at sunrise is still an option.”

“I definitely deserve more than being dumped in the middle of nowhere!” she declared haughtily.

“I can’t believe I have to spend the night under the same roof as you! I’d have preferred being mugged outside.”

“Then go back out there, Superman!”

Our bickering echoed off the empty walls, the anger making the discomfort almost palpable. Yet, in the midst of our insults, a sound from outside cut through the tension.

A low rustling, like leaves being stepped on.

We both fell silent immediately, our eyes darting toward the open door. The air grew heavier, and for the first time since we left the hotel, I felt something close to genuine fear.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, her voice finally stripped of sarcasm.

“Yes,” I replied, my gaze fixed on the darkness outside.

Something was out there.

And, for the first time that night, our argument ceased to matter.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ; @just-randomm-stuff

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baronessvonglitter · 1 day ago

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Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 4

Rom Con AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader

Word count: 2,759

Summary: You and Dave naturally become closer in a friendship comprised of two lonely people.

WARNINGS: Rated T. No smut, but there is brief mention of a fantasy (nothing described). Dave is a capital S - Simp! No physical infidelity but definitely an emotional affair. Fluff. Idiots falling in love and they don't even know it yet. No use of y/n.

Author's note: I wanted to give these two some more time together to let their romance blossom. They keep going on dates that are not dates but are totally dates. I want to thank everyone who's shown love for this lil series of mine, which is honestly such a surprise because I wrote it thinking people would pan it. I will strive to keep bringing y'all some rom com goodness 🩷

Series Masterlist

Out of sight, out of mind. But even when you're not in sight, you're still on Dave's mind.

He starts his morning early, a brisk run through the park, a shower, selecting a suit for that day, rifling through the abundance of ties he has on a spinning rack in the walk-in close he shares with Carol.

Nine times out of ten she disapproves, making a face when he comes down, swiftly putting down her tea so she can remove whatever color or print has offended her eyes and telling him which one to wear. Though he's a lawyer he's not going to argue with his wife. He goes upstairs and switches it out for the one Carol wants.

Breakfast is usually had on the go, but he makes sure the girls get to school with something nutritious in their bellies, walking them to the school doors and kissing the tops of their heads before they disappear inside. He's aware of the looks some of the mothers and even the teachers give him, and he gives a friendly wave or smile to each, but he's not thinking about their smiles and sultry 'good morning' greetings.

He thinks about you more often than he should, considering you're no longer his client. But he appreciates that you promote his services on the corkboard near the register at your bakery.

A smile stays on his face all day when you send over a thank-you gift of an assortment of bagels and muffins, complete with flavored cream cheese, butter, and jam. It's the most thoughtful thing anyone's done for him in a long time, made concrete when he spots a special blueberry muffin in a separate pastry box from the others, with a little note tucked inside:

I can't thank you enough, Dave. I'll always appreciate what you've done for me. Your name is signed on the bottom.

There's a slight scent on the paper, probably the perfume on your wrist that rubbed off as you wrote the note. He presses it to his lips just briefly.

He goes to your cafe every morning, heart racing, gut twisting with anticipation of seeing you. He subtly checks himself in the window before going in, making sure his hair looks okay and his tie is straight.

On the days he doesn't see you there, disappointment sits heavy in his chest, similar to a kind of heartbreak, as he orders his coffee and heads across the street to work.

He tries not to look overeager when he does see you behind the counter, though he feels the blood rush to his face (and even lower, if he's honest). Sure, he's found other women attractive, but he hasn't had a crush since high school.

And that's just what this is - a crush.

You're beautiful and kind and funny and smart. And single.

And he's married.

Still, it's not a crime to get a coffee and a raspberry danish just because the owner is a stunning and sweet former client.

You greet him with a smile that's different from others, special, set aside, more genuine. And he returns that smile. You've stopped insisting he doesn't need to pay, and take his credit card with a little smirk as you spy him putting money in the tip jar.

"What? Business is obviously terrible," he returns your smirk, glancing back at the line that's formed, that forms every day in fact. You haven't had a bad business day in awhile, and he's happy to be a small part of your patronage.

Every day is too much, right? It's not like you have much time to chat anyway. A quick hello, do anything fun over the weekend, hope you have a good day.

He makes the choice to go just three days a week. He's worried he might come off as a stalker, some deranged guy wanting your attention because you're single now. On the days he doesn't come to your cafe he stays at the office, puts his coffee order in with a group DoorDashing from Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts, and it never tastes the same as yours.

It doesn't help that you're suddenly gone for a week. Then two. The last time you'd been absent was right after your breakup with that asshole Javier, and he worries about you. In between meetings and consultations, he finds your file with your phone number, but thinks twice about calling or texting you.

The next time he's at the cafe he casually asks the young man at the register, "Hey, I haven't seen the big boss in awhile," and the cashier tells him your on a vacation with your family.

He's grateful you're okay, and glad you're enjoying yourself after all you've been through so far. But it doesn't really ease the ache that gnaws at him like a fresh bruise that has yet to turn an odd color.

It takes him completely by surprise when, the next time he does see you, you pull him aside to show him your photos from the cruise you took with your parents and siblings, turquoise-polished thumb swiping gracefully over photos of you with your family posing in front of a huge cruise ship; some scenery shots of the ocean and pink sands of the Bahamas; and others of you hanging out on the pool deck sipping a fruity orange drink, a beatific smile on your lips. Dave gives a small cough when he sees one of you in your swimsuit, obviously just a selfie and not meant to be seen by him. He blushes as you click out of the photos.

"Sorry, I guess I just wanted to tell someone how it went," you tell him, putting your phone away.

"Don't be sorry. Looks like you had fun."

"I was a little seasick the first few days. It was awful," you laugh.

"I know how you feel. My wife and I took the kids on one of those Disney cruises last year, and I'd never been happier to set foot on dry land."

He asks you more about the sights, the beaches, the restaurants. There's nothing better than the smile that lights up your face as you talk about your experiences, and he hangs onto every word.

Suddenly there's a buzzing in his pocket. He reaches quickly for his phone and learns he's late for a meeting with a new client. He curses quietly. "I have to go," he apologizes. "We should catch up later."

"Lunch tomorrow?" It's hard for him to ignore the hopefulness in your voice, the notes of which sing straight into his heart.

"Tomorrow," he nods and smiles, heading out.

It's just supposed to be one lunch. Just two people who know each other and get along well. Just friends, but even Dave doesn't dare to let his mind venture too far into any further possibilities because of the fact that you're vulnerable.

Dave wants to feel guilty for monopolizing your free time, especially considering the way he feels about you. But then one lunch turns into two, and then three. and it becomes the most natural thing in the world to meet with you for an hour or so during the day. There's a significance in carving out time for each other that neither of you mention as an easy, genuine affinity blooms between you.

He's never texted another woman simply because he wants to. Everything has been business related, but he catches the way his heart skips a beat when he receives a text from you. Due to the nature of his work he keeps some privacy by only showing your name and not the message itself on his home screen. It's usually something related to your plans:

I heard that new sandwich place is really good. We should lunch there soon.

I'm trying out a new muffin recipe. Stop by tomorrow and tell me what you think.

They're featuring Monet at the museum this week and I'd love to get you in for free again!

It's not a date, but quite reminiscent of one when he does meet you on the front steps of the museum. His hand naturally rests on the small of your back, a gesture born of protectiveness and intimacy. You don't smell of roses this time, but something softer, sweeter, indefinably you. Dressed all in pink, from the casual long sleeve shirt and sequined skirt to the flowers you're idly twirling in your fingers, you look like a dream.

He never feels at peace unless he's in your presence, a fact which he tries like hell not to think about. You're not even trying to be alluring, and that's the hard part. If you'd make a move he'd politely sidestep it (or at least he tells himself he would) but you're just friendly, approachable, sweet.

You watch the art and Dave watches you. Your profile, the way your eyes squint slightly when you're really trying to see the details of the paintings, the quick pink tongue that peeks out to wet your lips now and then. And when you catch him staring at you, you have the audacity to smile, give him a playful shove. It could be your slight warning, your reminder that he's married and you're friends. But he doesn't mind the contact, as brief as it is.

As he walks you to your car it starts pouring down rain. Sans umbrella, he whisks you under the nearest canopy to wait out the sudden shower.

"How did you know I wanted to see a movie?" you tease him, and he looks up to see you're taking shelter under a marquee heralding classic films.

"Shall we?" he asks, and after purchasing two tickets you find your way inside. The theater is cozy and warm as The Apartment plays onscreen. Your fingers touch while you share the popcorn bucket, and he chuckles when you get brain freeze from your cherry icee.

"Are you okay?" he asks, slipping his arm around your shoulders. It's an involuntary act that doesn't register until he feels the warmth of your body under his touch and he tenses around you for a moment.

He's tempted to leave it there for the rest of the movie, but he knows how it would sound if someone saw him here with you and it got back to Carol. He could probably talk his way out of it if she ever questioned him, but he also knows she's so preoccupied with her own life that she'd be completely oblivious if he were to bring you home and do ungentlemanly things to you in front of her.

"What does she do?" you ask as you're sharing a post-movie snack at the cafe. It's near closing time and you've whipped up Monte Cristo sandwiches and hot herbal tea. ("I just love tea after a good rain," you'd told him, and he stashed away that little fact in his ever-growing file of you in his brain.)

"Carol's a hospital director at Mercy Memorial," he says, hoping that saying her name out loud will ward off the thoughts he's having about you.

"That sounds pretty important. A lawyer and a hospital director.." you sip your drink, letting the heat from the cup warm your hands.

"She likes taking charge and making decisions," he shrugs. "I guess you could say it suits her."

You'd brought her up simply because you felt you needed to. Spending all this extra time with someone whose wife you weren't even acquainted with was starting to feel like a secret you could never spill. You thought about all the women you know Javier had been involved with, knowing he was taken. Did they ever stop and think about you and how their actions would hurt you?

Then again, you doubt any of Javier's whores had daydreamed over Monet paintings with him, or shared a laugh over an old black and white film. They likely never ran through rain sprinkles or cooked a late night meal together.

But it doesn't necessarily make you innocent.

"What would she say about us.. hanging out?"

Dave really thinks about the question. "I don't know, " he says at last. "She might not even care."

"Don't say that," you tell him immediately. "She's been with you for so long. She obviously loves you and the girls." When Dave goes quiet over this, you fill the silence before it can become awkward. "Sorry.. I didn't mean to put a damper on our day."

Our day. Dave has to smile at the comforting sound those words have."I'm sorry," he says. "I wish I knew what was going on in Carol's head. It sometimes feels like we're in a chess match and she's playing by a different set of rules that's never existed before."

You lean forward in your seat, listening.

"She's a control freak," he says at last. "She works too much and criticizes people for what they lack. I proposed to her when I was in law school and she refused, saying she wanted to be engaged to an actual attorney. She wouldn't say yes until I passed the bar."

That should have been the first red flag, he knows that now. But he was young and in love. Carol had first dated Dave's college roommate before things went sour with them. Now he knows she just wanted to marry status.

"She hated that I changed fields. Criminal law is where most of us can make a name for ourselves, but I wanted something else. She gave me the cold shoulder for three weeks when I switched to family law." He chuckles at it now, but at the time he felt like nothing he could do was ever good enough for her. Any time he was happy she seemed to be the opposite.

"And then the kids came and every perspective I had changed. Children can bring a couple together. But more often they split you apart."

"Alice and Molly are great," you tell him, sensing he needs some positive reassurance. "They're such sweet kids."

Dave agrees smiling. "And how are you doing? How's living on your own for the first time?"

A dry, bitter chuckle leaves you. "I'm considering getting a cat. But I know I'd pick up stray after stray.. I'm continually one cat away from being the Crazy Lonely Cat Woman."

"You should get a dog," he says.

"Do you have one?"

He shakes his head. "Can't. Carol's allergic."

"Then I'll definitely get one. We'll pick out a dog together and I'll keep it at my place, and you can come and visit whenever you want."

"That actually sounds like a nice idea.."

"What kind of dog should we get? A nice golden retriever? Labradoodle? Shiba Inu?"

"I'm pretty sure that last one's made up," he smirks. And yet it feels so normal, discussing something so domestic with you, and the thought of sharing any kind of space with you sets a new beat to his heart, as if redirecting and resetting it.

Later after you've closed up he walks you to your car. There's a chill in the air and you've rolled your sleeves down. You've put the pink flowers you had from earlier that day in your purse. When you release them they fill the air between you with their fragrance. "Give these to Carol," you tell him, hating to waste the last of their beauty forgotten on your dashboard.

"And, do me another favor, Dave?" He turns back to you when you call out.

You smile, holding his gaze a little longer. "Wear blue more often. It brings out your eyes.."

Carol doesn't come home until after Dave is already awake. She either ignores or doesn't notice the flowers he left on her pillow, and it pleases him to have a reminder of you in his own bed, as if you've already made your mark on something so intimate.

Later when he comes downstairs in a navy suit and royal blue tie, he ignores Carol's critical stare as he grabs an apple from the counter.

"Darling, change something about that suit. You look like you're going to a wedding."

He shakes his head, enjoying the look on his wife's face when he refuses to comply. "I like it. Blue's my color."

"At least get that ridiculous wilted flower out of your pocket."

He pats the pink bloom you gave him the night before, a small symbol of his insubordination and leaves without saying anything, pulling out his phone to text you good morning.

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647 @milla-frenchy

@everybodylovedcontractors @misstokyo7love @ppascalq

@almostempty

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just-sg · 7 hours ago

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And if "just ignore them and write it anyway" doesn't overcome the anxiety, here's alternate advice:

Remember that these are opinions, and it is perfectly reasonable to consider others' opinions, but if you ask enough people, there WILL be mutually exclusive opinions out there. You CANNOT please everyone, as in it is literally physically not possible, you have slightly higher odds of your molecules lining up exactly the right way to jump through a solid wall. There is not a single decision you can ever make that will avoid the chance of someone not liking it; if enough people see your work, someone WILL have an issue with something, which means you don't have to worry about "what if". Might someone misunderstand? Might someone find it annoying or boring or upsetting? Immutably, yes; if the answer is ever no it just means not enough people have seen it yet. So stop trying to do the impossible!

And once you've got that part, think about what you can control. Look at the opinions you're worried about and actually break them down. Why does dirtysocks574774757 hate that trope?

If it's "overdone", is that actually a problem? Is it popular because many people enjoy it? Is it a little cliche, but something you personally enjoy seeing in other words even knowing that it is? Or if the problem with "overdone" is that it's overshadowing other good options, does anything else appeal to you? Is there a way you can add a unique twist to the trope, keeping what you like while also making it stand out and having all the more fun with it?

If it's "unrealistic", are you trying to be realistic? Is this an escapist fantasy or personal venting where making things better/cooler/gritter/edgier/whatever than real life is part of the point? Is pushing this idea harmful, and if so, what about it is the problem? Is there a way to address that part without avoiding everything even slightly adjacent to the trope with a 40 foot pole?

Remember that no one's opinion is objective law. Even if something is overdone to a point of becoming a stereotype, as long as that stereotype isn't spreading harmful misinformation or actively shitting on people, it doesn't mean you have to avoid anything that even might look close as much as possible at all costs, it means be careful.

Ex: Your gay character can be flamboyant, I promise; the problem isn't camp gays existing, it's when the one (1) gay character or couple in a series is always Like That and little if anything else. So just don't do that part! Remember context, too. It's very different having a whole group who all act a certain way vs a group where only one/some do, ya know? I know this post was more about pet peeves and stuff but I'm saying, if even stuff that can be genuinely bad doesn't have to always be, then you also definitely shouldn't be stressing harmless fun tropes.

Above all else: remember it's better to do something right than to do nothing wrong. There is no amount of effort you could put in to make your work appeal to everyone, but the closer you get to making it tolerable to everyone (still impossible to achieve fully), the less likely you are to appeal to much of anyone. So don't worry yourself to death (or worse, to a point of never making anything) avoiding everything that might be offputting. Instead, when you find yourself worried about a potential issue, examine it, weigh your options, and make a conscious choice about if you want to keep, alter, or scrap it. As long as you're being mindful about your decisions rather than just throwing things in with no regard, you should be FINE.

People relate to messy complex characters, and what one person finds "unrealistic" could just be a thing they don't get, but that makes someone else feel incredibly seen and validated. People like stupid indulgent fantasies! And if you need proof people will actively seek out and enjoy reading the same shit over and over, look no farther than "Coffee Shop AU" or "Only One Bed".

In the end, there's little more powerful than passion from a creator. Write what you like, write what you'd want to read, make the points you want to make. There will always be people who just don't like the things you like, and no amount of trying to water yourself down for them will make them anything more than tolerant. So write for you and the people who do like what you like, and put your whole body into it. Someone will always hate it and someone will always enjoy it, and the more you write something you enjoy, the more likely it is that the people who do like it will really, really like it. Don't hold yourself back!

hey, writers. especially neurodivergent writers with anxiety or OCD.

if you see one of those writing advice posts that is literally just, ‘these tropes suck’, ‘this story idea sucks’, ‘this sucks’, ‘that sucks’, ‘all of this is horrible’.. don’t dwell on it.

these are just random people on the internet, okay? they’re just acting like they know everything and that their personal preferences are universal.

you don’t have to listen to them, write whatever you want, regardless of if dirtysocks574774757 on Tumblr/Pinterest doesn’t like it.

(ahem, if a user by the name of dirtysocks574774757 from Tumblr or Pinterest actually does see this.. sorry 😅 i’m sure you understand)

#this is long #but man one of my best friends has OCD and I've spent years now watching how often he'll send me like #one (1) Twitter Post and start panicking that he's doing something Wrong and needs to make huge changes #>:( So I've gotten used to shaking him like. NO. Listen. You can TAKE THIS UNDER ADVISEMENT without drastically rerouting all of everything #also maybe that person is stupid did you consider that #xD But yeah I know at least for him 'just ignore it' would NOT work so we go the long way.#'You don't have to 100% embrace OR 100% ignore. Just spin it around and weigh your options. And IF you make changes they can be minor.'#'There are basically always more options than All or Nothing.'#writing advice

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 3 days ago

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It’s incredibly brave of Blake to take a stand and make all this public. Or rather, that she bided her time, let the process do its thing, and seemingly compiled such a strong case against Justin Baldoni and basically let him and his team hang themselves with their own hubris. And like many others have said, the fact that she was arguably the most powerful person in that production and he and his team thought they could treat her the way they did and subsequently handily “bury her” speaks volumes on the rampant misogyny in the industry, and about how if it was this bad *for her*, imagine how bad is must be for people who don’t have the protection of her level of fame and wealth and privilege.

It’s so weird because obviously I like I think many of us knew things were bad during the movie’s press tour; with the whole cast unfollowing him, everyone distancing themselves from him, the comments, etc., I figured something happened along “creative differences” and that he was evidently not well-liked, but I never imagined it was this insidious or conspiratorial. How could one B-list one-time CW actor cause that much damage on a set? Well, it turns out, extremely easily. Because systems are in place to protect these men, no matter how privileged on paper the women around them are. The depths to which this team sought to ruin her, as an assault on all fronts, is truly Machiavellian.

Blake was “lucky” because she had people who believed her and had the resources and access to protect herself and advocate for change on her set, but she should never have had to protect herself like this in the first place. She went through traumatic incidents at the hands of these men, ones that had tangible consequences on both her mental and physical health and that of her child. And again: if this is how awful the experience was for her at the top of the call sheet, how many other people on this set and others suffer in silence too? How much do these ill-intended people in positions of power get away with that never get brought to light?

I find myself so rattled by this, even though on paper, I shouldn’t be. But it’s just like… We hear about the Harvey Weinsteins and Johnny Depps of the world, the industry titans who prey on people with less power all over the place. Yet for every Harvey Weinstein there’s a Justin Baldoni, just Some Dude who thinks by virtue of their privilege can act with impunity. (And yes, I know the man was a ��successful” actor, but he wasn’t Ryan Reynolds-level successful. And I’m not saying success = permission to act this way, I’m saying the abusers are painted as these nearly godlike levels of fame and power, and the reality is that literally anyone can be an abuser and turn a situation into an unsafe power dynamic.)

And not to bring Taylor into it and make everything about her, but I also can’t help but think about the 2016 of it all, let alone situations she’d been in long before that. And how so many things happened to her: the revenge porn music video, the phone call, the smear campaign deliberately orchestrated by the Kardashians, Kanye’s link to Scooter, the internet harassment, etc. The difference was that everything was an onslaught, and Taylor didn’t have the public support or sadly, the evidence, to back up her experience. How different could things have gone if she’d been able to speak up? If she’d been able to counteract the obvious lies? Been able to call out the music video for what it was? She couldn’t for a million reasons, and we now have a glimpse into how traumatic that forced silence was for her. One of the differences between Taylor’s experience then and Blake’s now is that in some ways, folks are smarter about how social media is manipulated (but in others, they’re also much, much more gullible). Taylor had the entire media it seemed out to get her; Blake seemed to be following suit, until her own actions proved the lies incontrovertible so that she couldn’t be silenced.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, except: it doesn’t matter if you’re one of the most famous people in the world, like Taylor was then and exponentially more so now. It doesn’t matter if you’re an industry veteran like Blake, with a husband who’s one of the most recognizable and powerful figures in the industry himself. Predators will prey on people they want to conquer and put in their place, and they will think they can do so without consequence. The cruelty, as always, is the point.

#and i say this as someone who never cared one way or another for Blake before any of this #(meaning I’m not a fan so I didn’t know anything about this movie until the ‘drama’ started hitting the press)#and re: Taylor: the parallels to 2016 and Kim ye/scooter struck me #but there are also parallels to what happened in 2023 with my #*mh #and 2009 with JM #these men are all the same #they get off on putting women in their place and conquering them #the overt sexualization is there to demean them and lord their perceived power over them #it’s about humiliation it’s about control it’s about misogyny it’s about—

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wren-kitchens · 2 days ago

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i guess i’m human no more

4732 words

joel is extremely used to the vast amount of feathers he finds in their bed (and his mouth) every morning—going so far as to know which yellow feather is from jimmy's wings or grian's (jimmy's have more brown hues in). joel essentially knows their wings off by heart, and has been teased endlessly after that one time he accidentally revealed this fact to grian. despite all this, there's- there is a bit of a situation. it's- there's a new colour feather.

good LORD this has taken me a while to finish. judas had the incredible idea of watchers/listeners being contagious to people they're emotionally close to in MAY and here I am in december only just finishing the oneshot for it

I did in fact go wild with this one. there are many headcanons and so much bad boys because I love them

CW: body horror, gore

there are too many feathers in their bed.

this is extremely ordinary—in fact, joel would be concerned if there were a normal amount of feathers in their bed, because it would mean that jimmy and grian had just been laying completely still. after sleeping in the same bed as them for a week or so, joel has learnt that this seems to be physically impossible for either of them to do. every single morning, joel has woken up with jimmy and grian sprawled in increasingly unlikely positions on top of him and each other (which is kind of sweet), and at least three feathers in his mouth (which is kind of gross).

that's not even to mention how many feathers they shed when they stretch their wings out. honestly, joel wonders if he should just attach a bin bag to their wings and see just how many feathers they can amass in a single day; it'd be an interesting experiment. although, the most they shed is when they're preening, which- okay, he can no longer get annoyed with them when they leave the piles of fluff on the floor—not since they let him help. now he knows how loopy they get, joel understands why they'd forget to tidy up.

(joel wouldn’t admit this at gunpoint, but he's never felt so.. okay- it's- it will sound silly, but so trusted, than when jimmy suggested joel help, and grian agreed. there are very few things so intimate than preening, as joel has learnt, and the idea that they would ask him for help with something that personal makes his head spin.)

all of this to say, joel is extremely used to the vast amount of feathers he finds in their bed (and his mouth) every morning—going so far as to know which yellow feather is from jimmy's wings or grian's (jimmy's have more brown hues in). joel essentially knows their wings off by heart, and has been teased endlessly after that one time he accidentally revealed this fact to grian.

despite all this, there's- there is a bit of a situation. it's- there's a new colour feather.

it doesn’t sound that weird, but- no one else on the server has wings with the pattern on the feathers joel has started finding, so there's no way it just rubbed off someone else and fell off here. it's a kind of orangey-beige, with dark brown marking; something joel knows is not a pattern on anyone else's wings on this server. it could be a weird glitch, if grian or jimmy have different markings on another server, and at some point their wings lagged or something. yeah, that makes sense.

so much sense, in fact, that joel didn't bother telling grian or jimmy about it—which apparently was about to bite him in the ass.

if joel has to spend one more second trying to be diplomatic with scott, whilst being shot looks that very plainly tell him to chill out, he's going to stab someone. especially as martyn and grian are clearly arguing about something or other in the most roundabout way possible, and jimmy keeps backing grian up. joel has no idea what either of them are actually arguing about, and apparently neither does scott, which is only some consolation. also- not necessarily related to this situation, but joel must have slept funny or something, because his back has been aching all day, which is not adding very much to this experience.

"look- I don’t want you to be my ally any more than you want to be mine," joel says, thoroughly exasperated. "but you and your allies seem to be fundamentally immortal in these games."

scott raises an amused eyebrow, clearly entertained by joel's attempts at formality. dickhead. "so, you’re trying to profit off my skill?"

joel scoffs, stretching his neck in the hopes of lessening some of the pain in his back. "you say that like it's a bad thing. you know, I-"

"no- you’re being ridiculous!" martyn interrupts, half shouting and apparently unaware of the commotion he’s causing. "it's downright irresponsible-"

"and what do you think you’re doing?" grian's wings have puffed up in anger. "you realise that out of everyone you could turn-"

"which is exactly why i’m not going to." martyn insists. joel has no idea what either of them are talking about, but it's better than arguing with scott.

jimmy barks a laugh. "there are more than one reasons you’re wrong there-"

"you can’t talk!" martyn jabs a finger at him. "how would you know-"

"how would I know?" jimmy says, voice slipping from indignation to anger. "how would- do you remember, martyn, who turned me?"

joel's back gives a sharp stab of pain, and he winces at it. maybe he pulled a muscle or something when he was swimming up the side of the mansion with building materials.

scott looks at him. "what are you doing?"

"you- what?" joel glares back instinctively, which scott apparently finds funny. "i’m not doing anything?"

"if you say so." scott turns back to the argument.

joel scoffs, folding his arms- and instantly regrets it as a spasm shoots up his back. void- what did he do to himself? it seems like it's getting worse as the day goes on, which does not happen with muscle strains- as far as he remembers, anyway. scott glances at him again, and joel pretends he hasn't noticed.

" -hen you should know better." martyn's voice is cold, but there's something like regret lacing his tone. joel feels like he’s missed at least five chapters- what are they on about? "you know the risks-"

"you know the risks firsthand, martyn." grian steps forward. "and do you truly think They will take kindly-"

"of course They won't, but it's not going to happen." martyn hisses.

whatever joel has managed to do to himself seems to be worsening by the second- demonstrated by the pounding behind his eyes that seems to have materialised out of nowhere. cool- great, this is exactly what he needs right now: more pain. he closes his eyes for a moment, in the hope that the lack of light might alleviate the throbbing pain. it does not help at all—in fact, it just makes him feel a little unstable, since he can no longer see where he’s stood.

he's- wait, what- did joel open his eyes and not notice? that- no, that's definitely- what the fuck? is the game glitching, or is-

"joel?" scott's voice is uncomfortably close to his ear, and joel's eyes snap open (how the fuck could he still see). "are- what-" (why does scott look scared.)

"you- that's not normal." joel's voice sounds so far away from his body. does he have double vision?

pearl looks over at bigb from where she's been laying upside-down against the wall. she says something that looks like, "I have an idea." but no sound comes out.

maybe he just needs to lie down- it's probably fine. it's just- he has some kind of fever- he just needs to have a nap.

grian is too busy trying to stop both himself and jimmy from attacking martyn to notice that anything is wrong.

someone grabs his arm-

joel lists sideways, and scott manages to catch him on instinct before he completely topples over. his eyes- they've definitely not always been purple.

grian looks over, panic rising in his chest like bile as he realises the worst has happened-

"can- is there-" joel's breath is coming far too quickly- is he even breathing anymore? "I don't-"

someone is grabbing his shoulders, and there are too many faces to even- decipher who it is. he might be on the floor- there's something that could be grass under his hands, and someone is talking- who is talking? joel doesn’t want- he doesn’t like any of this. can he go home?

his mind swims, bursts of colour and movement flashing before him, gone before he even has time to understand what they are. head pounding, faces blur his vision- some he recognises, some he can't even begin to process if they are actually faces by the time they've vanished. people are shouting what might be his name and everything is- there's too much- there's way too much-

amidst the chaos, there's a gentle pressure against his forehead, and all of a sudden-

"I- grian?" joel is- he’s looking at grian. he’s only looking at grian.

grian's eyes are fading from purple back to black, and he looks so worried, joel is almost embarrassed. "i’m- void, i’m so sorry."

joel's chest is tight with fear, and now he isn't dealing with- whatever just happened, he realises that his back has begun to hurt a lot more than it already was. "what- what the fuck was that."

"it- that was my fault." grian drops his hands from joel's shoulders, and joel immediately misses the warmth, but he’s too focused on how guilty grian looks right now. "i’m- I was reckless- I knew what might happen, but I-"

"what happened?" joel says, almost exasperated. his back is killing him, and he doesn't know what's going on, and he just wants to go back to the mansion and curl up in their bed. "I don't- I don't care whose fault it is, I just- what was that?"

grian looks like he might cry, and that might just be the worst part of all of this. "you- so. you know what I am, right?"

"I- yeah?" joel remembers suddenly that scott and martyn are still here. "I- I know."

"well, that- if I get.. too close to someone, they-" grian's breath catches in his throat, and he coughs. joel wants to hug him, but- even the thought of lifting his arms that high makes his stomach turn. why does everything hurt so much? "it. it happens to them, too."

joel stares for a second, brain sluggish against the pain and overwhelm as he tries to understand what grian actually means. it takes a moment, but it begins to dawn on him. "you're saying- no, that wasn't-" he looks over at jimmy, half expecting to find him grinning. he is more solemn than joel has ever seen him. "that can't be- possible, I don't-"

"what did you see?" jimmy asks, and this is ludicrous, but-

"pearl and bigb." joel's head feels foggy, his spine burning at his flesh. "I- me, but, from scott's point of view. and my eyes were- wrong, I don't-" he takes a breath. "why did you not tell me?"

"selfishness, mostly." grian says softly. "there's no excuse."

"what- I just don't-" joel's breath is starting to feel laboured again as he tries to concentrate on his words and not how it feels as if his back is being sliced open. "why does it hurt?" his voice slips into something so vulnerable, joel is almost thankful that he’s too distracted to care that scott is right behind him.

for the first time, confusion flits across grian's expression, coupled with a concerning amount of panic. "I- hurt? what hurts?"

before joel can remember how to string the words together, scott is saying, "I- joel, take your jacket off."

grian looks as confused as joel feels, but scott sounds weirdly serious and joel is in too much pain to argue. "it- I can’t. it hurts to move."

"what's going on?" jimmy says, closer than he was a second ago.

"I would have thought you'd know." scott is saying, and joel is about to accept his fate and hit him when he finishes- "he’s growing wings."

there's a moment in which all joel can think is that he probably should have mentioned those feathers he kept finding in their bed, until there's a resounding squawk of- "what?"

"makes sense." joel grits out, if only because the juxtaposition is funny. if joel can’t commit to the bit in any situation, who even is he? "don't- don't suppose you have potions?"

"martyn, can you grab a golden apple?" scott says, stepping in front of joel—who is not happy that his best bet right now is scott smajor. he’s not so stubborn as to not accept his help though. "grian, help him take the jacket off. cut it off if needs-"

"you are- you are not ruining my jacket." joel manages to look up in order to glare at scott, but he falters as he takes in how concerned scott's expression is. scott notices him looking, and his face turns blank.

"fine- take the jacket off then, or it will get ruined." scott scoffs, turning away to watch martyn grab the apple.

"can you- are you gonna explain what is going on?" grian says, somewhat more desperate than joel thinks he meant to sound. "how is- why is this-"

a spasm of pain wracks joel's body, and he suppresses a scream as he falls forward on his arms, shaking a little. his breathing is heavy again- he just wants it to be over.

"if I die," joel manages, head swimming. "will- can I just-" he can’t muster up the energy to finish the sentence, but the desperation in it seems to be conveyed. can it just be over?

"I don’t know." scott says, and despite it all, the helplessness in his voice brings joel some sense of vindication. so he doesn’t know everything.

"okay, i’m- i’m gonna take your jacket off." grian says, more panicked than joel knows he wants to sound. "can you- is that possible?"

joel lets grian move around him, barely lifting each arm as grian guides the sleeve of the jacket off his shoulders. as soon as the first sleeve comes off, joel finds himself relaxing ever so slightly at the lack of pressure against his spine. he should probably make that vest bigger.

"why- why is this-" joel can barely manage half of that sentence before the pain becomes too much, but scott seems to understand what he was trying to ask.

"i don't- i’m not sure." scott says, more panicked than joel thinks he’s heard him in a long while. "I just- this kind of thing happened to me in double life, but I still don't understand-"

"oh void." grian says suddenly, and joel has to resist the impulse to turn his head. "I thought i’d- it shouldn't be possible anymore-"

"what shouldn't be possible?" jimmy says, with a sense of urgency joel has never heard from him before.

grian hesitates for a moment, and joel recognises it—grian always does this when he's about to say something either bizarre or embarrassing. or both, more often than not. "the game- it thinks we're soulbound."

there's a pause as everyone seems to process this ridiculous information, before jimmy says, "it- but why does it hurt? tango grew wings in double life, and he didn't even notice until his shirt got torn."

"there's- it's a.. thing." grian audibly winces as he speaks, as if he knows exactly how terrible whatever he’s going to say will sound and is preemptively apologetic. of course. "the closer soulmates are—like, emotionally close, I mean—the less painful it is- and vice versa. but- the game thinks we're soulmates, which. I assume is- is 'cause we're close. so since we're not actually soulbound-"

"it thinks that must be distance." scott realises. joel is gonna murder someone once he regains the use of his body.

joel groans, dropping his head to the ground in exhausted exasperation. "why's everything so.. weirdwith you?" he manages.

"i’m so sorry." grian says, voice quiet enough that joel thinks only he was meant to hear it.

joel is about to tell him not to worry about it when a kind of pain he’s never felt before in his life shoots through his back- and the ripping of flesh is all he can hear, a scream forcing its way from his mouth- primeval and torturous. he’s never felt pain before- he’s never felt death before- there can be nothing worse than this.

it feels like years until joel realises that he is beginning to see shapes again, that there are other noises in the world other than his own whimpers of agony, that the terrible tearing is not all he can feel anymore. there's something that feels like a viscous kind of liquid against his skin, and a sickly sweet smell that he can’t quite name. healing potion, joel recognises as the pain begins to lessen.

after a long moment, joel finds himself able to push himself into a sitting position- and almost falls backwards as newfound weight pulls him down again. jimmy is in front of him all of a sudden, catching his shoulders and wiping something wet off his face. it could be tears, or blood, or potion—joel has no idea.

"you- you with us?" jimmy asks, a scared-looking smile on his face, as if trying to reassure joel of something he can't bring himself to trust. "you’re not- you’re feeling better?"

joel nods, suddenly exhausted and more thankful than he realised for the warmth of jimmy's hands against his arms. "you- you guys are such nerds."

jimmy grins, looking ridiculously relieved at being insulted, and there's a soft laugh from next to him that sounds like grian. "yeah?" jimmy says. "how's that?"

"not- not sure if I misheard, but." joel takes a breath, and jimmy squeezes his arm gently. "'think you care about me so much that the game thinks we're soulmates. and you- you turned me into a watcher, or something." joel manages a grin.

"yeah. you heard right." jimmy says, and there's a rush of affection in joel's chest. "I- do you want to lie down or something, 'cause you look like you’re about to pass out."

joel answers by shuffling slowly forwards and falling onto jimmy—far too tired and in far too much pain to let the embarrassment stop him. jimmy gives a slight gasp of worry, before wrapping his arms around joel's waist, lower than joel expected him to. it takes a second for him to remember that- he has wings now, which are probably in the way of normal hugs. jimmy presses a kiss into joel's hair, and he makes a soft sound of content.

"sorry I took so long." martyn's voice comes from somewhere behind him, more nervous than joel thinks he’s heard him in a while. man, he should grow wings more often if it makes everyone this scared. how's that for a trap? "we didn’t- I wasn't sure you’d be able to eat the apple-"

martyn's explanation is reduced to white noise in joel's ears, and- void, he’s tired. jimmy's heartbeat is audible from where joel is leant against him, and he can almost feel the way his own heart stutters to catch up; he wonders if grian's heart is at the same pace, with whatever this bizarre game has done to deign them unofficial soulmates. he wishes he had enough energy to pull grian into their hug and see for himself if their hearts all beat in unison now.

something occurs to him all of a sudden, and joel closes his eyes. he isn’t sure- and now probably is the worst time to try this kind of thing out, when he has no idea how any of it works, but maybe he can.. do something with this whole watcher thing.

joel feels as if he’s trying to use a muscle that doesn’t exist—like some kind of phantom limb—but after a moment, grian's face comes into view. it's easier than he thought it'd be. almost like controlling a timelapse drone, but with your mind, and also the video is directly transmitted into your brain. it's pretty cool.

there's a stab of regret as joel stops congratulating himself on such a good job, and actually takes in the amount of guilt etched into every line of grian's face. his stomach drops as he turns (kind of? he sorta- uh. hard to explain, actually) and sees that jimmy is wearing a painfully similar expression. almost scared to see, joel looks at martyn and scott, and is at least vaguely reassured to see that they just look worried. frankly, if joel ever saw scott looking guilty because of joel, he'd have to end his own series.

"it- it's not your fault y'know." joel manages—more of a mumble than anything else, but grian and jimmy both seem to know he’s talking to them. "'s kinda cool. I should probably thank you."

grian is looking at him- or, maybe his.. watcher drone? either way, he seems to know he’s being looked at. "I am sorry, either way." he says, but he doesn’t look as devastated as he did a moment ago. "I didn’t- I should have told you what could happen."

joel snorts. "if you thought I was about to turn down cool powers and wings, you don’t know me well enough." he finds that it's getting somehow easier to speak, despite being exhausted, and he remembers the healing potion still travelling through his veins. he never thought he'd be this thankful for martyn- probably ever.

grian smiles, and it feels as if a knot in joel's chest has dissipated. "you’re definitely getting the hang of it."

jimmy hums in agreement. "it's not called a drone though." he says, and it very suddenly occurs to joel what a listener must be able to do. "I- did you not already know?"

"how was I meant to?" joel huffs, watching with slight embarrassment as jimmy smiles at it. "you’re a secretive lot."

"so- and I hate to disrupt this," scott suddenly says, and joel suppresses an instinctive groan. "but do you need any more help?"

there's a mischievous kind of look that flashes across grian's face, if only for a second, and joel can't help but feel reassured by the fact that he's getting back to normal. "well- we could use a couple allies?"

scott sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can’t really turn you down now, can I?" he says, and there's a weird kind of tone that makes joel wonder if he’s actually as annoyed as he’s putting on.

"I just grew wings." joel mumbles, unintentionally quiet but apparently effectively sympathetic, as even martyn seems to be swayed. look at him go. "'can’t just.. throw us to the wolves now."

scott rubs his face with a hand, clearly throughly exasperated at how easily he has been won over. "yeah- okay, fine. we can be allies."

"thanks." jimmy grins a little, and joel watches as scott softens ever so slightly at it.

joel opens his eyes, and he’s once again staring into the coral reef, facing away from everyone else. jimmy's hand is in his hair, and his back is only aching now. he’s a little worried to move, in case it all starts feeling abysmal again, but he can hardly spend the rest of his 24 hours on the mean gills' bridge.

"I could carry you." jimmy suggests, and joel makes a noise of concern—thinking about how precarious they've made their base. "that's- yeah, that's a good point."

"could you try to stand?" grian says tentatively. his voice sounds closer than it was a moment ago, and there's a hand on joel's shoulder that has to be grian's. "the pain shouldn't get too much worse, since the potion has actually fixed a lot of the wounds."

joel wonders if grian can read minds too, or if he just knows what joel would be thinking. he doesn’t think he can read minds, which suggests that- maybe grian just knows him that well. it's a nice thought.

he pushes himself slightly more upward, regretful as he leaves the warmth of jimmy's embrace- and immediately begins to fall backwards again, once again completely forgetting how unbalanced he is now. both jimmy and grian make noises of panic before joel catches himself before he topples all the way over, and he can’t help grinning despite the twinge of pain the sudden movement shoots through his back- and wings, which is a bizarre feeling.

"I might need some help not falling over." joel grins, as grian stands up and lends him a hand. "but it doesn’t hurt that much anymore."

"that's good." grian says, a wave of relief overtaking his expression. joel squeezes his hand, and grian smiles.

jimmy is at his side before joel realises. "maybe we avoid bread bridge for a bit." he says, and joel snorts.

the journey back to the mansion is not nearly as perilous as joel had worried it'd be, considering that it's day and anyone they bumped into seemed to notice the dried blood accompanying the very large wings on joel's back and presumably decided that trying to kill them now would just be rude. the downright murderous looks from both jimmy and grian when someone came a little too close with a weapon, or made just a bit too serious of a threat probably also helped.

instead of attempt to swim with the unfamiliar weight of his newgrown wings, joel elects to pillar up instead. jimmy and grian hover next to him, climbing onto trees and swimming up the water in some attempt to provide a safety net if he falls. admittedly, it's quite sweet- not that he's about to tell them that. he instead settles on insisting that he knows how to pillar up, and praying to every deity that might exist for him not to fall off immediately.

luckily, no one falls or dies or whatever, and they all make it to the top of the mansion in one piece. joel is prepared to pass out in their bed as soon as he reaches it, but he doesn’t really want his bad boys to worry even more at his exhaustion.

as if reading his mind- oh. he forgot- yeah, he can actually do that, can't he? it- anyway, jimmy plops himself down, and gestures for grian and joel to join him—which joel happily obliges. grian almost hesitates, but joel drags him along, and grian doesn't even bother protesting.

joel lays next to jimmy, and grian—who followed quickly after him—pulls him into a hug. huffing softly, joel hugs back. "it's okay." he mumbles into grian's shoulder. "I promise- i'd say something if it weren't."

"I know." grian half-whispers, clearly fighting tears. "i’m- I just can’t get over- I did this to you."

joel swallows more emotion than he expected. "yeah. but- it's- it's 'cause you care. it's not- I can’t hate that." grian makes a little noise that could be a suppressed sob.

"thank you." joel can barely make it out, but he can’t help but blink back tears at the honesty in it- from grian, of all people, that means a lot.

his wings are still sore, and moving them sends an ache down his back, but joel finds himself wanting to wrap them around grian. "I just- I also- y’know. care." joel says, kind of hoping it's too muffled for either grian or jimmy to hear. "it's- I like having.. I don’t know, a piece of you guys with me."

grian sniffles, holding joel tighter. "I- dude, you’re- you’re gonna make me cry."

"join the club." joel huffs a laugh, eyes burning. he buries his face in grian's jumper in the hopes that it'll wipe away any tears that come.

there's a very quiet clearing of someone's throat next to them—unmistakably jimmy. joel doesn’t even need to look up to know he’s also trying not to start crying, and he blindly reaches out a hand until he finds jimmy's shirt and pulls him towards them both. grian catches on, shifting a little to make room for their bad boy.

"I- I didn’t wanna ruin the moment." jimmy is saying as both grian and joel drag him into the hug.

joel can't help smiling as he feels jimmy wrap his arms around him, which- it's embarrassing, but weirdly, he doesn’t even care. "as if either of you could ruin anything." he scoffs, almost to himself.

there's a kiss pressed into his hair, and grian laughs as joel rolls his eyes (if only to disguise how much he appreciates it). "bad boys for life, right?"

jimmy mhms along as joel grins, "bad boys for life."

#the title is maybe a bit on the nose but I was struggling with song lyrics and monster by dodie is one of my favourites #gore #body horror #how else do you tag growing wings very violently #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #grian #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #bad boys #the bad boys #limited life smp #the end may be a bit weird but honestly idec it's been 7 months #wren writes #trafficblr #trafficfic

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imadhatt3r · 2 days ago

Text

There's a sort of small personal story arc happening in Koujaku's route that I haven't seen talked about much, and it is one relating to Aoba's struggles with his masculinity and his perception as a man by others.

This story arc heavily deals with cultural gender norms and expectations, and so I will be working with them; This doesn't reflect my personal view on gender roles and expectations in real life. This is also not for or against any headcanons regarding any character's gender- I have no opinions on them or problems with people seeing any character as trans.

Okay, without further ado:

The moment where Koujaku and Aoba canonically meet for the first time happens during their childhood. Aoba was bullied by other children for his long hair and for "looking like a girl". Koujaku stepped in to protect him, thinking that Aoba's a girl, and was allegedly suprised when Aoba turned out to be a boy, but his attitude towards Aoba never changed.

This event clearly had a big influence on Aoba, on how he views himself, Koujaku, and how he thinks Koujaku views him. When we first meet Koujaku in-game, he is seen defending himself from a woman's overly protective boyfriend and being a charmer to her in turn when she apologizes for his behavior. It's established that Koujaku has a lot of female admirers, and a bit later it's revealed that he attracts a lot of men too, but moreso as a kind of role model/aspirational figure- that's why benishigure exists in the first place.

Aoba is shown to be annoyed or downright kinda scared of Koujaku's fans; Of course, it makes sense- Aoba is shown to be a private person that dislikes attention, but I believe that there is a second layer to all that- jealousy.

Aoba identifies as a man in-game and asserts it multiple times. He is aware of his gender. Koujaku is shown to be both flirty and chivalrous towards women around him- he spends time with them, initiates physical contact, compliments them etc. Aoba is always annoyed whenever he sees Koujaku doing that, but his reasons aren't fully clear- it seems like he feels like Koujaku's behavior is, in some way, fake, or that he just dislikes PDA in general. Aoba isn't jealous of the female attention Koujaku gets- he doesn't want to be in his place, because, as we established, he doesn't like being the center of attention. This isn't a dick measuring contest with Aoba being salty that he's coming up short.

Aoba is jealous of the women. He's the one who wants Koujaku to flirt with him, touch him, be chivalrous to him, protect him, but he believes that it will never happen, because Koujaku only acts this way towards women. Men want to be him, women want to be with him, but Aoba is neither; He's not a man who wants to be him, nor is he a woman who wants to be with him- there's not a place he can comfortably occupy, in his mind.

Mind you, I don't believe that he is aware of his feelings- hence his clusterfuck of an attempt to make Koujaku's flirting with women a bad thing. It's not coherent, it doesn't really make any internal sense, because Aoba has no idea he's even trying to lead himself away from something.

In the good ending, Koujaku briefly mentions that he thinks Aoba sleeps in so much because he wants to get his attention, and I can 100% see it as being true- Aoba doesn't know how to get Koujaku to treat him like he does women around him, so he chooses more covert ways to get that desired attention and care.

I also see Aoba's haircut to be symbolic/meaningful of his relation to his masculinity being percieved by others. Aoba's hair was the reason why he and Koujaku met as kids and established their friendship and later relationship. When they were cut, Aoba started to look more conventionally "masculine", and yet the haircut is also, in a way, representative of the beginning of his and Koujaku's relationship. It's because Koujaku doesn't care that Aoba is a man- hell, in the CD drama, he even admits that he's straight up attracted to Aoba's masculinity. If Koujaku liked Aoba BECAUSE he saw him as female-like, wouldn't he want to keep his hair long/feminine?

This is kinda explored in various extra material like the summer side story and valentine's day story- Aoba seems to believe that while Koujaku is with him out of love/attraction, he's being treated more as a novelty, a "girl-boy" that's going to be replaced by an "actual woman" one day. He's afraid that the chocolates he made for Koujaku for valentine's day will be seen as "gross", and he expects to see a mountain of chocolate given to Koujaku by women when he comes to his apartment. In the summer story, he expects Koujaku to deny their relationship when they're being harassed by drunk benishigure, and that he will be left behind when Koujaku is approached by female admirers. This never happens- Koujaku actually reassures Aoba that he's never going anywhere, and that Aoba has nothing to worry about. This is framed as Aoba being simply jealous, but I think that there is enough evidence to imply that his gender has a lot to do with it. We don’t know how would he react if Koujaku was approached by a man, but it's mentioned multiple times that it's seeing and thinking of Koujaku being surrounded by women gets Aoba down especially hard.

I feel like it's also important to look into the bad ending for Koujaku's route too, because if you look at it through that lense, you can see some interesting stuff. First and foremost, Shiroba is dressed in a sexualized version of the miko garb (miko are shinto shrine maidens, and they are exclusively women) that includes stockings, and his hair is just as long, if not longer, than Aoba's. He also has red tassels in his hair, right behind his ears, which sort of look like earrings. In short, it would almost appear like Shiroba is trying to look more "feminine" in order to appeal more to the way he percieved Koujaku's tastes- after all, Shiroba/Desire is all of Aoba's impulses, thoughts, and desires taken to the extreme. Aoba thought that Koujaku likes women and femininity, so Shiroba WILL make himself look as feminine as he can to make Koujaku like him more.

There's also the fact that, compared to their good end sex scene, Shiroba is much more... Placid. In the good end, Aoba speaks, he laughs, he laughs AT Koujaku, he tries to turn his head away but agrees to look at Koujaku in the end; He is an active participant who is willing to laugh at his partner (in a way) and make demands. In contrast, Shiroba mostly goes with what Koujaku wants to do; He participates to a degree, sure, but he allows Koujaku to bite him, lick his blood, and fuck him pretty violently without any sort of resistance. This might be a stretch, but it can be seen as Shiroba trying to play a more "feminine" role- which means being passive, allowing your (male) partner to do whatever he wants to do with you (even when it's painful or uncomfortable), and let him essentially use you as a receptacle of his emotions and bodily fluids.

This is a very narrow understand of conventional gender roles, but given that Shiroba is a being of extremes, it makes sense for him to see his own gender and dynamic with Koujaku as that simple and two-dimensional. This whole ending is all about misunderstood intentions/desires, so Shiroba is doing all he can to embody the most extreme conventional femininity in an attempt to appeal to Koujaku, while not having a clue that Koujaku was actually attracted to Aoba's masculinity.

The funniest part of it all is that Koujaku is actually a pretty feminine man himself; His very design blends masculine and feminine elements, which @asarigg points it out in her excellent essay on Koujaku, (among plenty other things), and the way he acts mixes masculinity and femininity too. However, Aoba either doesn't see it, or he treats Koujaku as a "special case"; It's probably the most clear in the scene in the CD drama where Aoba says that hairpins "usually" look bad on men (after Koujaku asked him if he'd like to wear one), but that Koujaku makes it work. The whole plotline/emotional core of this route centers on Aoba relying on his simplified image of Koujaku when it comes to how he thinks about him, only to be proven dead wrong and forced to confront how multi-layered of a person Koujaku is- to reject the image he made of him in his head as a child and make a new, more nuanced one as an adult.

When Aoba was a kid, he saw Koujaku as his hero, someone who protected him, watched over him; He was kind of his masculine ideal, someone he wanted to be when he'll be older. Now that they're adults, Aoba still sees Koujaku as someone hyper-masculine, whose feminine traits and behaviors are glossed over because Koujaku is "allowed to" be feminine a bit. The sad thing is that a lot of Koujaku's masculinity is kind of a ruse that was taken on as a defense mechanic, learned back when Koujaku was living in an abusive household, when he was a victim of abuse, saw abuse inflicted onto his mother, and was possibly forced to perform violence to some degree as means of "education" (things like learning to fight hand-to-hand or swordfighting).

Koujaku can fight because he tried to fight his abusive father and was trained to kill in the future, once he takes over the criminal empire. He flirts with women to fill the void he feels due to his rock bottom self-esteem and because he doesn't want to see women sad or mistreated after what he saw his mother go through. Koujaku's persona is carefully build and maintained, because all masculinity (or gender in general) is performed- this is what people around him expected him to be, that's what he was taught to be, and so he performs, even if it twists him up inside (we know he bottles up any negative emotions and doesn't share his struggles and trauma with anyone, which is also a part of toxic masculinity). It also seems like he's often out drinking with someone and he's a smoker- that's more of a theory, but people often find brief respite from their stress/unadressed emotions in substances, and while people of all genders do it, there seems to be a bigger social acceptance for men to indulge in order to "deal" with their problems and avoid showing "weakness" for just a bit longer.

The good thing is that Koujaku seems quite comfortable in his femininity. He loves his (stereotypically feminine) job, he remains kind and gentle to those who need it, he respects women around him and treats them well (even if that relationship is far from ideal of course), he's always considerate and caring towards Aoba, etc. It's interesting that despite liking and being attracted to Aoba's masculinity, he encourages him to branch out and seemingly embrace his own femininity more (he tells him he'd look nice in a hairpin, or that he'd love him no matter how he'd look like). I wonder if Koujaku found some kind of respite in his femininity back when he lived in his father's house and was potentially held to strict masculine gender roles enforced through violence.

It feels like one of these things that Aoba needs time to process and accept; In a couple years, he'll be doing deliveries with the most complex braid with flamboyant decorations and the most bitching eyeliner ever performed on Japanese soil.

#dmmd #dramatical murder #aoba seragaki #koujaku #kouao #hatter blathers #hatter writes meta #i BET i forgot about something lmao #if ill remember anything/come up with something ill add it #theyre so androgynous.... like if a man and woman had a baby <333333 #and everything about conventional masculinity is a prison but thats nothing new lol #also read that koujaku essay you will NOT regret it

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