#rather than an intense impulse they couldn't ignore

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Remember this post where someone asked whether Mammon's prefered magic style was "lightning" and I compiled all the canon times where Mammon was associated with fire?

Remember how in this post I spoke about how intensely supportive Mammon & MC are of each others' plans/ideas?

Remember how canonically Mammon was willing to join MC if they turned evil because "my place of belonging is beside you"?

Remember how Mammon has called MC his "partner" or "partner in crime" at least thrice now?

Remember how (depending on the players' choices) between 1 event & the main storyline MC has nearly (purposefully) set 3 different people on fire? (Little D No. 2, human who kidnapped Diavolo & tried to shoot Belphie, Mephisto) with absolutely zero (0) regret

Anyway,

canon(?)

Fire Demon! Mammon & Arsonist! MC

aka Lucifer's worst nightmare

[superpussyking]

OK SO

Reasons I think jolias is autism: the official list: by superpussyking:

Need for routine and sameness:

-He's overly reliant on scheduling and needs everything to be planned out before taking action

-Struggles to make quick impulsive decisions (related to the scheduling thing)

○Literally panic killed leitner because of this

○That scene when he complains he couldn't get anything better to fuck up Martin's idea of Jon.

•I know the point is that Martin's view of Jon is very skewed and therefore hard to break but like- He has a giant evil eyeball, if he could change plans on the spot this wouldn't be a problem.

-Gets very locked into what he's doing and struggles to switch tasks

○The gang making all of their plans when he's scheduling because it'll be difficult for him to stop what he's doing to check on them

-He's been doing the same job for 200 years with like, no complaints.

-(edit) he's had the same haircut for long enough that it is noticeably old fashioned!

○ see mag 192. Rosie mentions that his old-fashioned haircut doesn't fit this young persons face.

Special intrests:

-He's had the same intense intrest with the supernatural and occult for 200 years. Sir that's not being devoted to your patron thats an autism diagnosis.

○On that note, literally devoted his life to it.

- Is a known collector of things and information and information on things.

Social difficulties and masking:

-He gets so much joy role-playing as a normal ish guy in uppermannagment

-actively makes a game out of masking

○Has fun seeing how far he can push the persona. See Jon's birthday tape.

-overall gamifies socializing

○his relationship with Peter. Literally built weird games with the gambling and power play.

○ It's easy to see him only socializing for a purpose.

-He makes scripts for social interactions

○See every time he's psychologically tortured someone. He always mentions he had it prepared.

○It's implied he does this in more casual settings. Using the eye to get information so he can adjust his persona for the person.

•I just know he giggles and twirls his hair like "tehehe the web loves me"

-Has strained relationships

○Is either uninterested in making friends or can't. Either way we don't hear anything about any personal, non business related, contact he could have with anyone but the lukas' (and even then-)

•also only "friends" with the other autisic coded villian, Peter.

○All of Jonahs OGs boyfriends left him (the ones that didn't die anyway) for getting a little too weird. Literally never made a friend after that. If that isn't evidence for strained relationships idk what is.

-Prefers to do things alone unless it's necessary

-Been described as generally off-putting

-Makes too much eye contact

○see Rosie/og Elias' interviews

-Overly formal but also has his employees call him by his first name

○I think it's more of a power play, but I also think it has to do with an autistic way of interpreting power structures.

○A lot of the rules he sets are more focused on function rather than form. It doesn't matter how something gets done just that it happens. I think this is common for autistic people, considering we tend to do things in strange ways to achieve what other people do.

-People watching is like his whole thing. Every autisic person I know likes people watching

-Dry and inappropriate humor

○See every episode he's in.

○ "You won't be able to claim your expenses if you die." Comedy king.

-Ambiguous sexuality

○This is a headcannon- but you can't deny this man is queer coded.

•I think the spillover behaviors from his og time period makes him a specific kind of gender queer that I can not explain just trust me (or feel free to ignore this)

○Autistic people tend to be more likely to be some flavor of queer and a lot of us fall into the ambiguous spaces

Sensory issues? Possible but unlikely:

-Distaste for the corruption could be interpreted as sensory thing

-I don't think there's any really evidence for sensory issues. He just seems like the type of dude to need all of his shirts to be the exact same or he'd implode.

I wouldn't be surprised if he had them and just masked really heavily though.

Stimming? Yeah I think he could stim a little. As a treat:

-Examples of vocal stims when he refers to people by titles instead of their names

○When Basira asks why he says "Honesty, I just like the way it sounds." Ok 🤨

○Someone in the comments of the og post pointed out the "knock knock"s he does and I think you're so right. Kissing you on the lips. He can torment Jon with his childhood door trauma and make a funny little sound? Genius.

-Could interpret the way he likes to speak and formulate his sentences as a type of stimming as well

○I love talking in riddle-like or overly formal ways. It makes me giggle. For him especially since part of the fun is seeing how far he can push the persona.

-Could also interpret using his powers as a type stim because it feeds his special intrest, or that they might provide him with some other type of sensation that he likes

○You could also interpret making too much eye contact as a type of stimming

○Also he's just a freak

- Overall not much here- if he stims it's likely subtle ones. If he does happen to have obvious stims they'd be hidden.

Over all, I think he's autistic and it was never caught because he's high preforming. He actively enjoyes masking becase thats a part of the social game for him. People like that are usually unrecognized and difficult to diagnose. (Unless you're an autistic freak like me who has a weird hyperfixaion 😎)

Like- this person gets it.

Also he was born before autism was a word that existed. I think that would definitely have something to do with his self perception and why it's not something he'd accept or think is possible for him.

I personally think he's convinced he's neurotypical and if anyone ever told him to his face "I think your autistic" he would crumble into a little puddle.

I tried my best to leave out headcannons (or mark them as headcannon) in this list, but some of them are very intertwined with how I see the character. So it's tricky to pluck out. There's overall little information about his outside life (if he has one) so we can't be too sure.

Exept I'm lying yes I can he's autistic.

I'm just saying Elias Bouchard is autisic but it gets overlooked because a lot of his autisic traits overlap with his evil ones. Also he actively enjoys masking

I made a comprehensive list for every reason I think Elias is autisic and I think that alone should get me an autism diagnosis but that's asides the point. I'm gonna post it later after I clean it up a bit

[yniswaifu]

1. Asahi

Asahi truly thought that you were a blessing in disguise for him. And you thought the same for your boyfriend. But not for the usual reasons that people would imagine – rather it was more because you were a hairstylist and your boyfriend had the hair on which you could try out your skills, plus take care of it. As for Asahi, not a day goes by when he has bad hair. He remembered how during his high school days, Kiyoko had commented on the tight bun he would make that can result in a receding hairline, but now that he has you – he doesn't have to worry much about that. For his hair, you were always there.

Of course, you being a hairstylist and Asahi having beautiful hair was a mere coincidence. You guys actually gelled pretty well with each other. The relationship started with just as a customer and his stylist – to friends – to finally a couple. Asahi thought you were cool, and you thought that he was cute. Like a gentle giant.

One fine day, your boyfriend was waiting for you in front of the café where you guys usually hung out. Both of you were pretty busy with work, so you hardly had any time to meet. Today was the day where you both were free. So you decided to meet.

You spotted Asahi from the other side of the road and gulped. You were nervous. You had changed your look, and you weren't sure how he would react. Would he be disappointed? Angry? Although Asahi wasn't one with a bad case of temper or mood swings – your decision was both impulsive and drastic. So anything was possible.

As soon as the traffic light turned red, you started walking, your steps a bit sluggish. You wanted to take your time. You wanted to appear okay and normal in front of your man.

You were closing in on Asahi when he saw you. There was a big smile on his face, eyes crinkling on the sides. Mentally you sobbed at how he adorable he looked. He looked so pure. He was so pure. There's no way he would react negatively to your choice.

"Hey baby." Ashai greeted you, giving you a small peck on the cheek.

You smiled, and replied in a soft voice. Both of you entered the café and sat in the corner of the place. It was a casual date, nothing serious. So the both of you had dressed up in jeans and hoodies. Asahi had a denim over his hoodie. That's all.

You raked your fingers through your hair from time to time, and flinched at the texture. Asahi was ignorant to it all. After ordering, both of you settled down for a chill chat.

"um, Asahi..." you interrupted in the middle, fiddling with your fingers.

Immediately Asahi went into a worrying mode. He was a worrywat in general, and you were used to it. It's not something he could change about it. Although the intensity and frequency of his anxious nature had toned down quite a lot.

He held your hands in his, eyebrows scrunched in worry. "what's up? You good?"

You nod, biting your lip. You weren't sure how to break it to him. You had never worried about things like this before. But something was stopping you this time.

"I...I hope you won't be mad at me."

Asahi was stunned. Him? Mad at you? You were his angel. He could never be mad at you.

He releases a sigh, and brings your hands closer to his lips. "you can tell me. I won't be angry."

The conviction and assurance in his tone gave you confidence. Prying your hands away, you lift them to your hair.

And take off the wig.

There it was. A shiny and bald y/n sitting with her head down in front of Asahi.

He couldn't comprehend at first. But as the scene in front of him became clearer to his brain, it dawned to him. You had shaved your head.

Asahi wasn't sure what to say. He was surprised alright. But more than that, he was confused. You took pride in not just taking care of his hair, but your too. He could never forget how you used to look forward to the weekend haircare session both of you had. How you would work so hard to make the best out of your client's hair. You loved hair.

"you look good." he finally said.

You look up, your own confusion surfacing. Did he just say what you think he said?

"huh?"

Asahi smiles, a soft smile. "you look pretty."

Your lower lip wobbled. Suddenly you overcame with emotions. You don't know why.

Sniffing slightly, you chuckle. You were being silly. "thank you honey."

Asahi smiles and takes your hand in his and squeezed them. "hair or no hair. I love you."

Oh, how much more sweet he can be? How much more will he make you feel like you're on cloud nine?

"I have a reason for doing this you know."

Tilting his head, he smiles. "and what would that be?"

"one of my oldest clients, mrs(insert name), was recently diagnosed with cancer."

Asahi stopped smiling the moment he heard that. You had always talked about this particular client. Both of you had shared a great friendship. And this news must have been heartbreaking for you.

"sweetie, I'm so sorry." he tries consoling you.

You nod, tears pooling in your eyes. You look up to stop crying, as you recall the day you came to know about this. She was a great lady, and she didn't deserve this. But the disease doesn't knock on the door before entering. It just does.

"she asked me to shave off her head. I couldn't help but ask her."

Asahi gets up from his seat across you and comes to sit beside you. He wraps one arm around you as you continued. "I couldn't let her be alone in this. So I shaved mine too."

Thankfully, there was a rush in the café. The crowd and the noise drowned your cries and you two were able to be converse easily.

Light sniffs escaped your throat. You remembered how much you cried when mrs(insert name) told you about her condition. In the spur of the moment, you took the trimmer and started shaving off your head as well. You couldn't understand what you were doing unless you saw your client crying at your sight. Then you realised what you did. But you didn't regret it.

Asahi was rubbing light circles on your back as he calmed you down. His large body emitted warmth that you desperately wanted at the time. You were so glad to have a man like Asahi by your side.

"shhh...it's okay. Hair...it's meaningless in front of someone's life. This just proves that you aren't just beautiful outside, but even your heart is beautiful. To let go of something they love so easily? Not everyone can do it."

Your boyfriend's words hit you like a train. But in a good way. You were too busy thinking how he would react, but never took into consideration his understanding nature. This made you sure that if there's someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, it's this man.

Meanwhile in Asahi's mind, he was already planning his wedding with the beautiful person beside him. You were gem that he will not find anywhere else. So there's no reason to waste time.

The whole time I wrote this - I was like 🥺🥺🥺.

Mans is the man that I want for myself. Where do I get an Asahi? Only in my dreams I guess 😭. I personally love this piece. It's adorable.

[Not proofread.]

[troublesometrollhunters]

Zouxie (Zoe X Douxie)

Merry Christmas and Happy Secret Santa to a fellow T.O.A fan! For you @dreamsarelikedragonflies!!! You asked for any Wizards content particularly Zouxie or Jlaire so I wrote a little Zouxie Snow fluff thing and made a fun asesthtic for our favourite punk wizards! :D

~~~

 Douxies breathing was heavy as he rushed through the woods cutting through them to get to the park. Leaves brushed past him smacking his face as roots snagged at his shoes tripping him as he ran forward. His breathing came out in deep huffs as he raced to where he was heading.

  Archie who'd been on his shoulder had hoped off after the ravenette hadn't been careful and he'd gotten a faceful of leaves. The familiar was now flying next to his charge, avoiding difficult obstacles the forest provided as he weaved around the trees and low hanging branches. Douxie cursed at his own impulsiveness speeding up. She was gonna lose her cool one of these days and it was going to cost him his relationship. Archie seemed to always be warning him about how if he kept diving headfirst into danger especially on date night it was gonna bite him. Sadly the dragon was right as always.

   After closing down the café something had caught his eye and he had to investigate. Well together, Archie and him had found a growing nest of shadow mephits. They'd blasted the poor creatures apart, sending the whole nest back to the netherworld but it took way longer than expected. And now, now Douxie feared something far scarier. 

 He was late. He was late. He was late. He was late again and Zoe was going to kill him. Bursting out of the woods stumbling through a bush he catches himself. Dirt and leaves covered his hoodie making him hiss. Archie landed on his shoulder licking his hair grooming him and Douxie had no doubt that twigs were stuck in his ponytail. Sighing as Archie tried to clean him up he didn't care about appearances. It's not like Zoe did either, at the moment he was way more concerned with the time than his disheveled looks. Still heaving out air trying to catch his breath he paused to look around the clearing. Unable to speak full sentences yet he snaps his fingers pointing up.

 "Archie..." Douxie begs his friend and the dragon nods launching himself off the wizards shoulder. Looking around frantically for his pink haired girlfriend Archie soars above the trees searching for her as well. Distracted with finding her he didn't hear the footsteps sneaking up behind him. Stiffening as he feels a hard smack and muttering an owww, he turns quickly and sees her. It was Zoe.

  Relief crosses his features as he does his best to catch his breath so he can muster an apology. Opening his mouth she holds out a hand as she frowns at him. Her fingers are warm and looking at Zoe a spark of electricity zapped over his lips making him blush. He smiles but she's not in the mood. 

 "You're late." She states putting a hand on her hip and glaring up at him. Douxie chuckles nervously before swallowing at the intense look. He was happy Zoe hadn't gone home even if she was mad at him. If she'd left before he got to explain she'd be pissed for days. If he could get a word in hopefully she'd rage but then probably forgive him by tomorrow. The second option was more appealing but from the look on her face explaining could make the situation so much worse. Trying to think of what to say Douxie scratches the back of his head fishing out a stick from his ponytail. He tosses it aside and meeting Zoes burning blue eyes he blushes. 

 "I'm here now?" He asks with a playful laugh trying to lighten the mood but Zoe looks unamused. She flicks a leaf out of his hair and raises a brow scanning his messy form. "I can explain." He states defensively as he holds up his hands smiling at her.

 She rolls her eyes uninterested and begins walking away arms crossed.

 "Wait! Wait!" Douxie begs following closely behind as Zoe starts stalking away. 

 "Your burger was getting cold and I got hungry so I ate it." Zoe says pausing to vent her frustration. He notices a crumpled up bag sticking out of the nearby bin and sighs. He had a feeling she had waited way longer than usual if she dug into his food. Or maybe him being late made her spiteful so she tore into the burger trying to calm down. They weren't always the best at talking things out but they were working on it and honestly anything from her was a relief at the moment. As she huffed at him facing away from him arms crossed he signs. 

 "Zoe... Snow?" Douxies about to explain himself. Plead his case that a hoard of shadow mephits had jumped out at him after his shift and distracted him from coming but he noticed white flakes falling from the sky. As they landed the stark white against Zoes pink hair couldn't be ignored. What was snow doing in California? It was chilly sure but it wasn't even cold enough for his breath to show. How was there snow? 

 "What are you blubbering on about?" Zoe demands turning to yell at him some more. Her blue eyes flash pink as she glares at him about to give Douxie an earful but his own green brown eyes are soft as he steps closer. Zoes breath catches in her throat as Douxie stops in front of her. She looks up at him flustered before he reaches out. He brushes something out of Zoe's hair, his brows furrowed. Her flustered expression changes to shock, her eyes widening as she sees white flakes on his fingers before they melt away. 

 "... Snow?" She mumbles. Looking up the wizards noticed the night sky had become much darker as gray clouds rolled in. They'd been so distracted talking to each other they hadn't even noticed. It seemed someone had been messing around with weather spells, this couldn't be a natural snow storm. Not in the climate or this time of year.  

 "Well love we can argue later I think we have more pressing issues to deal with." Douxie states seeing that the flakes were getting thicker as the snowfall became heavier. The storm was fast approaching and there was a dark presence in the air. Hands glowing Douxie nudges Zoe behind him worried as Archie flies down. 

 per the dragon had perched on a nearby tree to give them some privacy but the snow brought him back. 

 "Yeah that's a no brainer fuzzbuckets. Now why the heck is there about to be a freak blizzard in California?" Zoe questions nose crinkling as she turns towards the storm clouds. She never really liked cold weather.

   The snow becomes heavier and soon the wind follows blowing endless white their way. Zoe shivers not dressed for this but Douxies attention shifts from her as Archie hisses lowly. His familiar had never liked snow either but seeing it was magically summoned and probably deadly put the dragon more on edge. 

 "What is it Arch?" Douxie asks softly. Archies claws dig into Douxies jacket as he tenses. He takes a deep sniff of the air before beginning to morph into a much bigger form, clinging tightly to Douxie. His hackles raise as he begins to hiss lowly tail swinging back and forth in aggression as his eyes narrow.

 "Ice giants." He growls.

 "Ice giants? Here?" Zoe questions unsure. Maybe it was just a freak snow spell?

 Suddenly a blue foot comes crashing down from behind a building rattling shop windows and making cars shake before their alarms go off. A creature of ice and snow it stood thirteen feet tall with a tattered kilt to cover it's blue tinted legs and a long icicle club.

 "Here." Archie responds hissing low in his throat. Everyone pauses watching as the ice giants begin to multiple as they walk towards them. At least the creatures were mostly away from people and in an open clearing, if they made a plan together they could take them down without causing too much damage.

 "Okay Zoe we need-" Douxie starts but she's not listening. 

 "Well let's do this!" Charging excited for a fight, electricity explodes from Zoe's hands as she shoots an ice giant in its chest. The pink lightning that explodes from her fingertips gives the park a bright glow before it zaps the giant making it crumble harmlessly into snow. Douxie shakes his head forcing himself to stop watching his girlfriend as another monster attacks and he follows Zoes lead.

 "Be careful love!" He calls worried but Zoe was doing just fine melting and exploding the giants. Snow rained down around her bouncing pink light off her face as she shot her magic. The beasts crumpled before her and Douxie was starstruck by her power and brute determination.  

 As he stares at Zoe enamoured Archie swipes at his face.

 "Pay attention to the battle Hisirdoux!" He scolds and Douxie nods. As Archie spits a fireball Douxie amplifies the spells power, melting several of the giants. Standing back to back with Zoe her hands glow pink as his burn blue. He looks at the frost creatures that were slowly surrounding them. 

 "Who could've sent them?" Archie asks as Douxie blasts one of them back. Zoe shrugs, zapping another giant that got too close. Icy wind blew back her hair and she hissed sniffling at the cold. 

 "Maybe they're lost?" Zoe asks before she gives Douxie a sharp shove and dodges a giant club. Douxie smiles at her happy for the save but Zoe ignores him. She shoots electricity at the ice monster that had tried to squish her and it becomes a flurry of snow as she breathes in. Taking that as a hint to find out what's happening and keep fighting rather than apologizing Douxoe noticed the creatures looked similar to golems which might explain why they collapsed into snow once struck. They didn't seem like snow spirits but rather controlled creatures. 

 "Maybe but it's more likely they were summoned!" Douxie responds. He taps his bracelet searching for another powerful fire rune hoping to burn them all down and be done with it. "Besides Ice giants don't like leaving their territory! Someone must of brought them here!" Well that's what he assumed at least. Last time he fought Ice Giants he was in Sweden a couple hundred years ago looking for some ancient texts. As far as he knew Ice giants never came out this far and they didn't just dissolve away like this.

 "DUCK!" Snapping back to attention Douxie huffs as he sees the crater that was almost him. Looking at Zoe wanting to apologize first for missing their date and now this mess she's already on the other side of the battle field trying to lead the ice creatures into the forest away from all the easily damaged park and innocent street shops. 

 "Zoe I-" He calls but she's only focused in the fight. 

 "Hisirdoux!" Archie calls and Douxie turns eyes wide. Bringing up his arms to defend himself unable to cast a shield in time, the hairs on his arms stand up. 

 "HEY! ONLY I GET TO HURT HIM!" 

A pink blast of 1000 volts of electricity were shot over Douxies head directly at the ice giants heart. The magic made contact and it exploded into a million pieces sending ice and snow everywhere. 

 "Thanks Zoe-" Douxie says smiling but Zoe isn't having it as she cuts him off. 

 "DON'T BE A DUMMY FOCUS ON THE FIGHT!" She orders before turning and facing the Giants that were slowly cornering her. Douxie nods. He turns towards his own foes and the fight goes on. 

~~~

About an hour later and they had won. The last few flakes of snow fluttered around them as the ice giants began to melt away. They didn't know who sent these creatures but they were taking care of themselves and nothing seemed to be amiss. Panting heavily Douxie smiled at Zoe who'd saved his ass during that fight more than once. 

 "I'd just like-" He starts wanting to apologize for all of this but Zoe wasn't having it. He guess he deserved the cold shoulder all things considered.

 "Hey dork?" Turning to face Zoe she grabbed his hoodie before pulling him into a kiss. Melting into it, like the snow was doing around them he leaned in cupping Zoes face. She smiles eyes tinged pink like her cheeks from the overuse of magic. Closing his eyes humming happily as he continues Zoe pulls away breathless. Laughing softly she leans into his chest hugging him tight and Douxie tucks her head under his chin as they take a moment to breathe.

  Pulling away far too quickly for Douxie's taste she smiles walking back towards the town. He blinks as he realizes the kiss was a distraction and she'd snagged his hoodie. "You're buying the burgers this time! I'm starving thanks to that little squable." She states taking out his wallet from his jacket pocket. Douxie shakes his head following after his mischievous girlfriend who'd seemed to forgiven him.

   Archie purrs looking up at Zoe and Zoe smiles scooping the familiar into her arms and cooing. "And your getting a treat for Archie too." She adds nuzzling the cat. Archie makes pleased sounds and curls up in her arms adoringly. Douxie chuckles smiling at Zoe as he follows her.

 "Deal. Oh and Zoe?" Zoe hums in response and Douxie steals a quick kiss on her cheek. "Love ya." He states before running off to where the burger shack was. 

 "WHY YOU LITTLE!" Chuckling as he keeps running he smiles, frostbitten but happy. He loved her more than she'd ever know. 

[misskittysmagicportal]

I’m A Creep

Fandom: The Messenger Jack x Rin Davies

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: suicide discussion, oral sex, penetration, mention of masturbation, angsty whomp because OOOOF is Jack a Whomp!character

Note: The events of this fic contain spoilers for those of you who havent seen The Messenger.  It takes place after the end of the movie.  Read at your own risk if you haven’t seen it!  If you want it’s free on Tubi :)

Present Day:

Jack stood beside Rin in the dead of night watching her sleep for just a moment. Only a moment because she roused the instant she sensed him breathe. Sitting up, she quickly reached inside the nightstand. He knew her routine, Rin was impulsive about making sure her leather motorcycle gloves were on before she let him in.

Jack wordlessly pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his sweatpants and boxers. 

Rin lifted her covers and opened her legs to him. Obliging, Jack lowered himself onto her showering her neck with kisses. His tongue and lips trailing down along her collarbone, erection hard against her thigh. A hand found its way under Rin’s t-shirt and over a naked breast where he pinched at a nipple. 

“Jack,” she was breathless. “Stop. Don't touch my skin, please.”

Jack pushed himself up by the arms, “How is this enjoyable to you, duck?” A northern term of endearment. “My thighs ah touchin’ you aren't they?” The moonlight caught his eyes as he teased her with the head of his cock. “What about this, inside you?” Suggestively whispered. 

Rin moaned but held her cool. “It’s not the same. Like you said, that's inside. It's just my.. skin. From my..” her voice trailed off. 

“Would it be so bad? I just want to feel you under me without fuckkin clothes.” Jack took a chance and kissed her. Tongue pushing inside of Rin, but she stiffened. “Sweetheart,” now he whispered, just his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Please, love, just touch me”

--------

Several Weeks Before:

Rin sat alone at a center table in the middle of the visitation room.  This wasn’t her first rodeo, probably won’t be her last.  She flexed her hands outwards the leather of her gloves cracking and flexing in a satisfying manner.  No one was going to come and see her. Besides, the solitude allowed her to quietly spy on all the other nutters around the room.

Just to her left Rin noticed a pretty redheaded woman and her son as they sat across from probably the most attractive guy ever in an institution.  There was a tenseness to the way he sat, shoulders hunched and hands between his legs.  His hair unruly and a blank stare that wasn’t really focusing on- she came to realize-  his sister and nephew.  Rin knew him from group therapy where he was equally quiet, eyes glassy from a psych med cocktail.  The majority of his speaking hours tucked away in that overbearing therapist’s office.  

“Jack, will you please just look at me?” his sister, Emma tried her best to reach out to her brother. “I.. I think Martin and I made a mistake.” 

Jack only stared straight ahead between Emma and his nephew, Billy. The preteen looked uncomfortable and scared as his mother nudged him softly. “It's ok. Billy tell Uncle Jack.” 

“I did, Mom” , his voice quiet. “I'm supposed to say no. That you should get me help before it's too late.”  Rin watched as Billy folded his arms and laid his head down. “Only I can't. It's all night and day, Jack. I can't sleep because they don't have you.” 

“Best leave him here with me then, Emma.” It was the first time anyone heard Jack speak in weeks. His sister had a posh accent, so Rin was surprised when Yorkshire dripped from his lips. “For good, right?” 

“That's not fair. You are sick, Jack.  You weren't caring for yourself. You.. you got too involved with that murder. You were hurting yourself,” Emma struggled with tears. “I want to take you home.”

“Oh like I'm some kind of fookin dog? Emma you and Martin made it clear I belong here. She's right, maybe it was all dad. That's traumatic you know.” 

“You deserve someplace warm! A home. Please, Jack. I found this in your things.” She slid a newspaper clipping towards her brother. “That's the boy who drowned. Why.. why didn't you tell me?” 

“Loads of kids drown in pools,” Jack stated bluntly with a shrug. “Why should your pool be any different?” 

“I never said it was our pool.” 

“I recognized the address in the article”

“Jack, it's from two years ago.” 

“I got lucky. Ah we doon here? I have walls to stare at. Here Billy you can have this back,” from between his knees he produced a glass paperweight with a scorpion inside. “Tell all ya mates Crazy Uncle Jack sends his loov” 

Jack tried to stand but Emma grabbed his arm. This was Rin’s cue to swoop in. She swiftly moved from her table to theirs. 

“JACKIE!’ I've been looking for you everywhere!” His eyes panicking in her direction. “I'm Wren,” she took her glove off and reached a scarred hand in Emma's direction. “But my brother couldn't say it so you can call me Rin” She smiled brightly. 

Emma tentatively shook Rin’s hand, smiling in turn.  Rin took a moment as her mind’s eye zoned in on what was inside of Jack’s sister.  It was a loneliness, a desperation to take care of her little brother but protect her son from the same fate.  But most importantly Rin felt a small tingling of warmth from somewhere deep inside of Emma’s heart.  It was white and pure and instantly recognizable as hope.  Even though it was tiny it was growing and starting to spread, and Rin knew Emma was eager to share that with her brother.

“Wow,” Rin blurted, “I wish my brother was as invested in me as you are.  You’re a good person, Emma.  Trust me,” she winked.  “Woman’s intuition.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and studied the crazed looking woman standing between her and Jack.  The scars on Rin’s hand raised some alarms, but Emma ignored them.  She omitted a relief and let go, “Well thank you.  Can you talk some sense into my brother?”

Moments later, with the visitors gone, Rin sat down in Emma’s place.  “Thank you is a start,” she teased Jack. 

He rolled his eyes and slowly turned in her direction to face her dead on.  The intensity of his eyes took Rin by surprise.  “Thank you,” the sarcasm poured like a waterfall.

Rin took off her other glove.  “Now, Mr-”

“Jack is fine.”

“Jack.  Tell me,” Rin feigned a German accent, “Und why do zey sink you are crazy.”   

He blinked slowly.

“You got sectioned.  What bullshit excuse did they force you to believe?  Because it seems like Lovely Emma is desperate to get you out, and we know how hard that is.”

Jack took an impossibly deep breath, “Schizo-effective disorder with some dissociation, post traumatic stress disorder, non-suicidal self injury disorder and depression.”

“Fuck me, that's a trail mix of bonkers. Now ask me” 

Jack closed his eyes. They were shut for so long that Rin was certain he had fallen asleep having given in to his meds. His hunched, thin body sort of folded a bit in on itself. A moment of possible self-soothing when he started to sway. 

“Jack?” Rin's tone fell quietly with concern. She poke his arm carefully avoiding touching the skin. “Darling what cocktail did these quacks put you on.” She was an expert after all these years; if the drugs were working, no way would he be this much of a zombie.

Green blank eyes hidden behind enviable eyelashes attempted to focus “Seroquel. Clozapine?” His words start to slur a bit. “Fine. How fucking barmy are you?”

“Well,”  the young woman softened, “I have suicidal ideations with self-injury tendencies myself, severe clinical depression, a bit of the old borderline personality disorder and wait for it..”  she practically whispered a few inches from Jack’s face, “total emotional attachment to partners.”  

The skin around Jack’s eyes crinkled as he squinted just enough to indicate his hazed brain was trying to process everything Rin just unloaded. His lips parted to speak but he paused resulting in a gobsmacked expression.  “You’re barking.”

“Says the sexy scarecrow with journo clippings of dead boys.”  Rin pursed her lips and crossed her arms, “Why are you really in here Jack.”

“I’m fucking mad.” It was matter of fact.

“To quote the Cheshire Cat, we’re all mad here, love.  Look at me,” she held her hands aloft to display gnarled and prominent scars covering both hands in their entirety.  “I developed a gift or two by primary school.  See I can touch a person, and I know what they are feeling.  Except it.. It goes deeper than that.  I can PICTURE their true selves.  It’s a bit overstimulating, but no one can lie to me.  Not really.  Doesn’t do much for my sex life.  Or lack of one really.  Honestly, you put a cock in your mouth only to find out the guy you’re with is fantasizing about slitting your throat and wanking in your blood.”

Jack shook his head, “Jesus christ.”

“Well yes! My parents were religious zealots, right?  They got wind of my gifts.  Tried to use me in the church, but I rebelled.  Long story short, darling Mumsy and Papa decided if they may be stuck my hands in boiling grease I wouldn’t be able to use it anymore.  It’s not in my hands though.  It’s in my skin,” Rin smiled almost pleasantly. “Sometimes I get a bit over the edge.  I stop shielding myself from the pure air around folks, I suffocate in it.  Then,” now she held out her wrists, “I have my little accidents.”

Jack’s mouth hung agape.  His brows furrowed in confusion, “You are off you’re fucking nut.”

“That’s all relative.  Now, you can tell me why they REALLY sectioned you.  What power or ability are they masquerading as mental illness, or I can find out my way.”  Rin shrugged. 

“Why the fuck do you care?  I’m sleeping at night.  I have food and a bed and a shower.”

“Und electro-shock zerapy, und coma inducing psychopharmaceuticals, und most importantly you has lost your voice und a chance to harness your ability correctly.”  that mock German accent again.  “You shouldn’t be here, Jack.  Emma certainly doesn’t think so, and neither do I.  You’re special.  Or that bitch shrink wouldn’t have made you the living dead.”

Jack snorted followed by a rather loud.  “Just fuck off. Fuck off.  Fuck off.  FUCK OFF!” he screamed in Rin’s face.  Not once did she flinch, arms crossed again in a challenge. Disgusted by her, Jack kept bellowing his words thick with anger and cotton from the meds, “I DON'T BELONG OUT THERE EITHER!  I DON'T BELONG IN HERE!  I DON’T FUCKING BELONG ANYWHERE. HE’S DEAD.  SHE’S DEAD.  EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE OF THE CUNTS IS DEAD!  DEAD DEAD DYING!  JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” 

He shot up out of the chair to leave, but Rin caught his large hand.  Skin to skin, hands so small together they barely covered just his one.  Instantly her body stiffened as she gasped for air.  Tears immediately stung her eyes as she crammed them shut.  There in her mind was just a large body of water.  Ocean waves crashed overhead as she sank far below the surface.  Dark, cold, horrifying that sensation of being drowned.  Rin choked on the last bit of oxygen in her lungs and started to suffocate.  The hand she held brought her mind’s eye around to opening under the water to see Jack floating near-motionless in front of her.  It took all of her strength to push against the tide towards him where she held his face in her hands.  Death and decay flashed above them, the dead peering down from boats just waiting for Jack to return to the surface.

Rin strained to convey that tiny bit of hope Emma had passed along to her earlier as she pressed her forehead into Jack’s in the icy deep.  There was no reason in particular that she was drawn to him.  Not in the hospital or here trying to save him from drowning slowly. Was he attractive, undoubtedly, but that wasn’t all or it. Maybe it was now that she knew he was a messenger, a harbinger of death.  That was itself a form of an empathic gift.  Or it was just compassion. 

Suddenly Jack’s eyes burst open.  In that languid way your body moves underwater, he pushed her away.  His arms and legs thrashed around in a panic as if he only just realized he was allowing this place to kill him.  There was an instant loss, and Rin’s inner self slammed into a brick wall.  The physical Jack had severed the connection between her body and his.  To resurface that suddenly forced Rin gulping in blessed oxygen that she never really lost.  It was an illusion, where the two of them had been.  He really had shoved her back though, she realized that now.  Storming out of the visitation center, Jack left Rin alone to cry.

--------

Several days later

Rin lounged against the wall outside of Jack’s room with her gloves firmly in place.  Patients weren’t SUPPOSED to fraternize outside of the common rooms, but Rin had been here a few times before.  She knew which orderlies and nurses to finess, and which to avoid.  In this case Jerry was the giant, affable St Bernard of a man that kept watch in this particular hallway.

“Wren back so soon?” he teased. “What are you doing hanging around the human handbook for the recently deceased?” 

“Delightful, Jer.  How is he?  I mean really.” Rin hooked her thumb in the direction of the room.

“Easiest patient I’ve dealt with on account of he rarely speaks, pops his meds and keeps to himself.  Gave us a bit of a row when he first got here, but I like the guy.  I don’t know what to believe though.  His sister’s been sniffing around administratives.”  The orderly shrugged his massive shoulders.  “Heard you took quite the piss on visitation day.”

“I didn’t take the piss!” 

“Did ya do your handsy thing,” Jerry made jazz hands.

Rin’s eyes almost rolled back in her head, but suddenly there was a figure in the doorway which caused her to jump.  “How about we don’t talk about the nutter like he isn’t 10 feet away and only 27 years old?” Jack insisted.  His arms crossed and shoulders sagged in their usual way.  

“Can we talk?”  

Before Jack could truly answer, Rin had already pushed past him and sat down on his bed.  His mouth hung somewhat agape before he eventually joined her.  Jack attempted to sit close, just for some human contact, but the young woman beside him shied away.

“Right,” a retort.  “You’ve started being just as bloody fucking annoying as they were.”

Startled, “Who?”

“You know those.. Schizo delusions I’m here for.”

“The dead?”

Jack’s green eyes narrowed and Rin knew there was a sarcastic remark just sitting there waiting to be released.  Instead he curled his posture as if he was trying to fold in on himself.  Make himself smaller, less noticeable.  “Dissociations sparked by my father’s suicide.”

“Psycho babble bullshit jargon.  Congratulations, you’ve become a parrot.”  Rin waved her hand, “Jack has anyone ever-.”  There was a hesitation.  

“Has anyone ever what? Go on, enlighten me then”

Rin started stripping her gloves off but thought better of it.  A sense of foreboding, of drowning and clutching her chest for hair flashed across her mind.  The loneliness emanated from Jack without her touch. That empathic conduction of her skin.  Reaching instead to place the soft leather against his cheek, her thumb brushed his bottom lip.  Her eyes searched for him in that moment where time stood still before a mouth replaced a thumb.  

To not only Rin’s surprise but his own, Jack didn’t recoil.  His body relaxed as instinct took hold. There was a fervor in hands that got tangled up in hair.  Tongues fought each other as arms made their way around bodies in an embrace.  They held one another tight, the desperation apparent.  

The spell broke when Jack laid Rin down on the bed and let his warm mouth trail down her neck. He was awkward and hungry like a teenager.  He fumbled around her chest to attempt massaging her breast. 

A snort came from Rin simply to hide the panic of rushing water when Jack’s lips came into contact with her skin.  Maybe hers found it easier to beg off that inner eye from opening, but now she didn’t have a choice.  They weren’t as deep with the surface just rippling only a few inches away.  

Before she started to lose oxygen again, Rin began to squirm.  “ Stop.  Please?”

Jack sat up and faced forward as if nothing had transpired.  His cheeks flushed and a hand tugged at his tee-shirt embarrassingly then stuffed between his legs. He blinked a few times as he breathing calmed. 

“I only came to ask you if anyone had ever shown you affection.  Held you.  Emma.. Emma”  Rin inhaled deeply as she forced Jack to hold her glove hand.  “I know she sort of longs to hug you.”  Back on his cheek to make him look at her. “Obviously I got my answer,” she laughed. 

Jack silently replied by pushing his forehead into Rin's.  They laid down again this time with their heads on his pillow legs and arms tangled up in each other. Jack nuzzled the edge of his nose into the skin behind her ear; her breath caught. Then the couple seemingly melted together.

“Jack you seem less-” fingers twisted up in his curls.

“Like a walking coma patient?” hand gripped the thick of her thigh.  Then reaching a shelf above Rin Jack seized one of those creepy glass paperweights housing a floating tarantula. Turning it over underneath to show a tiny white envelope. “I started hiding my meds. Pass them along to my sister when she visits.”

Just under the surface of the water, still struggling for air exploded before Rin's eyes. Perhaps she had passed something between Emma and Jack. Was it her own faith that was transmitted to him? That first touch that woke him up after all this time. 

The next few weeks became a game of trial and error. Of how little or much Rin and Jack could consume of each other.  Kissing was no longer an issue once the meds began to wear off, lips and tongues and mouths. It felt more like standing ankle deep in a bathtub. Warm and comforting; it was Jack that was overpowering.  

Eager to make up for a very long very lost amount of time. He stumbled along Rin's body uneasily because of how little clothing she removed at first. Not that he was in a rush to reveal what was underneath his oversized shirt and sweatpants. He wasn’t the one recoiling when the stimulation overwhelmed.  

“I'll take off my shirt. Touch me here, but where the fabric of my bra is. Tease the nipple with just your fingertips. No that's.. maybe under? Touch them. Oh God. Now your mouth. Right there.  Are you.. you took your shirt off too?” (She marveled at how defined, muscular Jack's body seemed despite his slight stature)   

Jack took initiative now and slid his fingers inside of Rin. He pumped them a few times guided by her ``Oh.. maybe you can touch me.. Do you feel.. It’s like a bud or a kernel.. Here let me.. It’s just right.. OH GOD.  Right like.. ”   And she would ride his hand and fingers that circled that bud.  

Rin would cry out in surprise.  Her body exploded in ecstasy. They weren't drowning anymore. Just swimming, bobbed under the water and surface. It was the sense-memory of suffocating, coupled with the dazzling pleasure of Jack's warm tongue as it teased her nipples, his strong fingers teasing her clit at the same time. His hot skin meshed with hers washed out by fear.  She apologized as they scrambled to arrange themselves. 

“Don't think I'm going anywhere for quite some time, my love.”  His words changed with the possessive my in lieu of the once meaningless sentiment. He would steal a chaste kiss from Rin whose cheeks flushed to match his own as he made that familiar adjustment between his legs.  In the future, Rin would come to him without a bra but reluctant to take her shirt off when Jack kept on never minding.

Jerry became an ally of sorts. He always had been on Rin's side after she read him her second section. It wasn't difficult to get him to believe in Jack's abilities. Staff has whispered down the corridors that Jack had suddenly found himself aware of a suicide attempt.  That dead reporter Emma mentioned, his fiancé had taken more pills than Rin ever fathomed any number of her attempts. (She had a flare for dramatics: slit wrists) Jerry mentioned Jack had a tantrum the likes of a toddler screaming the name Sarah whatever over and over, pounding his fists into his head to make whatever haunted him. Sure enough, this Sarah was found nearly having bled out and foaming at the mouth. 

“How would he even fucking know, poppet? Not unless Jack really was chatting up her dead fiancé “ As if that was all he needed, Jerry turned his back and caused distractions all the nights the Empath and her Beautiful Broken Man longed to be together.

It was stunning the way Jack learned to manipulate the system.  Only Rin, and reluctantly Jerry, knew he pocketed his meds.  Safely tucked away in those ugly arachnid globes in the pockets or purse of Billy and Emma.  He started talking more in group therapy and far less in private sessions.  Engaged in conversations with his sister and nephew, true ones that resulted in a simple smile or a laugh free from a facetious tone.  To the staff and doctors those fucking psychopharmeceuticals worked.  To Jack’s sister and nephew and whatever Rin was to him, there was a slowly lifting weight making the air around him lighter. Yet Rin kept her hands to herself.

More trial and error.  In the midst of fervent kisses, Rin took Jack in her hand.  A stroke or two was all she got in before he spasmed and came.  The mortification that flashed in his eyes as he curled in a fetal position between her and the wall while she whispered reassurances in his ear.  Touching him, caressing him and eventually taking him into her mouth became easier and longer with practice and patience.  

They laughed into each other’s mouths before Rin let her tongue trail down over his stomach. Anxiously Jack took off his pants and boxers, lying backwards.  He held the back of her head, moaned and twisted as she licked and sucked on him. His hips bucked and thrust upwards.  

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

Present Day, Again

“Would it be so bad? I just want to feel you under me without fuckin clothes.” Jack took a chance and kissed Rin. Tongue pushed inside of her, but she stiffened. “Sweetheart,” now he whispered,  just his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Please, love, just touch me?”

Rin took a moment to think.  He wasn’t drowning anymore.  She could push that old feeling out of her third eye and bury herself in new ones.  She took a hold of her shirt and tossed it on the floor.  She took the erection that twiced against her thigh and held it just outside of her pulsating and ready sex.  With hands that sunk into her vunerable skin, Jack buried himself inside of her. 

That fire from Emma all that time ago poured from Jack’s body into hers.  It pushed back the water as he pumped rhythmically into Rin.  Building into a frenzy quickly, his pelvis crashed into hers before she could really come around to what was happening.  It briefly conquered the fears from before; caused hot tears to spring to her eyes that flowed uncontrolled down her cheeks.

In his fervor, Jack noticed and bent to kiss them away.  The gesture she had made that first time, a thumb brushed across her cheek and lower lip as he slowed his pace. Wren,” he took to calling her that tentatively.  “What is it?”

Before she could answer, Jack became distracted by something in the corner of the room.  Eyes passed between Rin and whatever it was that she couldn’t fathom or see.  She took his chin and focused it on her as they crashed together and apart again in another wave of building friction. It was too late though, he had abruptly pulled out and away from her. 

“NO!  STOP!  LEAVE ME ALONE!  CAN’T I HAVE ONE MOMENT OF FUCKING HAPPINESS WITHOUT ONE OF YOU LOOMING OVER ME LIKE A FUCKING PERV.”  He used fists to beat out a rhythm on his temples as he scurried to the corner of his bed with knees up to his chest.  

In the frenzy, Rin had been knocked to the floor.  Jerry had rushed in, he was never too far away just in case.  In a whirlwind, he picked Rin up with one hand and with the other attempted to intervene between Jack's fists and his head.  What could either of them do?  If attention was drawn to the room, surely the doctors would realize Jack had gone unmedicated for weeks.  Jerry’s eyes wide gestured towards Rin’s hands.  She shook her head, but Jack carried on.  

“Go on Jenny Wren, there has to be something your hands can do.  I’ll lose my job and you’ll be separated.  They’ll put him back in the Zoo.”  He was already yanking her arms forward and trying to remove her gloves before she could consent.

Rin knew The Zoo. It being rooms that could be monitored with two way mirrors.  You got a bed and a blanket.  They controlled when the lights came on and when they turned them off.  No privilege, no real structure.  They fed you, bathed you, and gave you “playtime” when they said.  No matter how you suffered from mental illness no one deserved that. She would never forgive herself.

“JERRY LET ME DO IT MYSELF!”  Rin bellowed if only to out yell Jack and his fit.  “Make her go away!  LEAVE ME ALONE” he cried underneath her.  Her hands free, she flexed them a few times before joining Jack on the bed.  She clutched his forearms and struggled to get a grip enough to pull them away from self-harm.  “JACK!  YOU HAVE GOT TO FUCKING STOP, MY DARLING.”  She slid her hands over his temples before he could punch them anymore.  She used the heels of her palms and pressed.  

It was immediate, the way her mind opened to him.  This time he was floating along the tide in a boat surrounded by what Rin could only guess were dead people.  They grabbed and tugged on Jack’s clothes.   Rin sat on the other side from him between two oars; she used one to swat at the ghosts who tried to pull them back in.  But there, walking along the surface, was a beautiful young woman.  Blonde hair flowed in waves down her back.  Sarah.

“You said we would be together, Jack.”  She was angry.  “That’s what you told him when he warned you I overdosed.  I survived that attempt, but not the second one.  Where is he Jack?  Why isn’t he here waiting for me?”

Jack stood up and the boat began to dangerously rock. Rin took his hand and he squeezed it in return.  He bellowed at the dead woman, “YOU SURVIVED AND HE MOVED ON.  I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU BEING FUCKING STUPID, SARAH.  WHAT I TOLD YOU WAS MEANT TO EASE YOUR GUILT.  HE LOVED YOU.  YOU WERE SO LOVED.  HE DIDN’T CARE ABOUT YOUR MISTAKES.  YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME ALONE.  ALL OF YOU.  I’M FUCKING DONE.  MOVE ON.  GO SOMEWHERE ELSE.  I CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE OF MY KIND.  AND FUCK OFF BILLY TOO, MATE.”

“Jack?”  Rin spoke softly.  The hands gripped her tight in place of him.  They started to pull her in with him because he was useless now.  He stood up to them for possibly the first time in twenty years.  They would take her instead then.  

Jack seized Rin’s body before she could go over in his place.  He held her fast and tight and shielded her from them.  “NO.  You don’t fucking get ANYONE I love.  Not Billy.  Not Emma.  Not Martin.  No Wren or Rin.  AND YOU DON’T FUCKING GET ME ANYMORE.”  He took the oar up in his free hand and swung it around the bodies in the water.  He jabbed it forward like a sword at Sarah still pacing the side of the boat.  “GO, SARAH.  HE’S WAITING FOR YOU.  I PROMISE THIS TIME”  Jack insisted and pleaded.

Then it was so silent it deafened both Jack and Rin as they clung to one another in the boat.  In a flash and explosion, they separated and landed back on the bed in the room in an institution.  Jerry panted and pawed at the two of them dazed and uncertain.  Jack blinked a handful of times with no recollection of what just took place in his head and Rin’s.  They never knew or remembered Rin had learned.

Jack scoured the room for any sign of Sarah or anyone else.  He rubbed his eyes a few times then sighed heavily.  “I.. I want to go back to my room now.”  It was matter of fact.  

Jerry nodded and helped him back into his clothes.  Jack stumbled a bit but managed to kiss Rin sweetly before being led away and down the hall.  Rin knew Jerry would probably give him something to help him sleep at least for the night and probably into tomorrow.  She was afraid Jack had woken up a second time.  Not just from his nightmare of the last twenty years, but whatever happened between them.  It was a price she had to pay sometimes when she helped.  There was something Rin longed to say earlier.  What made her cry was an ember somewhere deep inside of Jack that he had never experienced before.  For the first time in his life, he had hope.

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes : Reloaded

They're on a mission, chasing a lead in hopes of locating where The Shadow Company is situated.

Table of Contents

Previous Chapter : Vlad the Janitor

Chapter 20 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

forgive the piccrew

Undying Admiration

Francine "France" Winters

Safe house 110197, Brazil

"Look at them two, you think we could do that too?" Soap asked France. They were both seated on Soap's side of the floor, the soft foam caught their asses as they crossed their legs while Soap spun around a water bottle.

"You and me? Sing and Dance? Never in a million years!" She denied looking at the poor guy's attempt to actually get her to like him. She thinks he already knew that she's already falling for him since day one. But she wanted to focus on other things at hand rather than distract herself with romance. Maybe if this was all over and he's still there, he'll finally get the answer he's looking for.

"Why not? I'm kinda okay with singing." He grinned. Francine giggled. Sure he is, his overconfidence was getting attractive for her. If they weren't soldiers in a war, they'd probably be making out again. What happened back at the Gulag was an impulse, she never saw it coming as she almost lost hope for his absence.

"Why don't you like… sing for me?" She dared her eyes stared intensely into Soap's eye-catching baby blue orbs. She made a mental note that staring for more than five seconds in those were already dangerous, so she always breaks it before the fifth.

"Why do you do that?" He asked, his voice was giving her ears a good time. Yes. She's falling for him. It felt like everything he does is attractive, but she shouldn't be too quick, life has taught her that the faster she falls in love, the faster they leave. So she had to test the guy's patience.

"Do what?" she asked as if she didn't know what he meant.

"Look me in the eyes then immediately break it as soon as I stare long enough…" His eyes squinted towards her as she evaded eye contact.

"I don't do that." She easily shrugged it off and got up.

"Well, good night. John. We have an early mission tomorrow." She got up as Soap trailed his eyes on her, the look of admiration was painted all across his face.

"Can you not look at me like that?!" She pleaded as her cheeks blushed. Her boyish appeal on the force always repelled attention and now this guy was admiring her for who she is and she felt happy.

"I won't do it if I get a good night's kiss." he pouted his wonderful lips. Lips she actually really wanted to taste again.

"Good Night John." She said as she closed the men's bedroom door and went to her bed.

~

When Price told her about a small recon mission, she never knew it was this small. The team only consisted of her and Ghost riding a rental truck to a village which was a few kilometers away from their safe house. The point person was an alleged nephew of a soldier that currently works for Shepherd. It was almost a dead lead but the intel being accessible enough was sort of worth it.

Rule of engagement is "Don't".

The village would most likely be unarmed, unprotected and peaceful. But Price advised to keep a side arm in case things go awry. It was a good call, and France noted to herself that she won't ever fire a shot for this mission as to not raise any sort of attention in addition to what Shepherd already gave them.

"Looks like it's time to go." Soap muttered as Ghost passed through them looking prepared.

Soap nodded goodbye to the man but he just continued walking.

"Maybe he had earphones on." he muttered as he pouted his lips. France softly reached for his cheek and shoved it sideways.

"In your dreams." She laughed as she waved goodbye.

"Every night." He winked as France made an almost disgusted face and followed Ghost. She was lucky enough that she quickly moved that Soap won't see her blushing cheeks.

France hoisted herself on the shotgun of the car and smiled at her partner, who looked serious. Without his mask, he was your average tough british soldier, and he looked like he wasn't in for some small talk while driving. France respected his privacy and trailed her eyes elsewhere, looking at the lush greenery and muddy tracks of tropical Brazil.

France wasn't a fan of quiet road trips, she tried humming to tunes from her playlist as the loud revving of the rental jeep overpowered her voice.

"Are you usually this quiet?" France asked, trying to break the silence between them.

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?" He replied, his eyes trailed on the road as it hit a bump. France actually felt shocked toward his reply and she started to worry about what she did wrong.

"You know you could always say no to Price's orders instead of regretting and wishing Roach would be here instead of me." She pouted, crossing her arms.

"Well that wasn't my case but now that you said it, maybe I should've asked for Roach instead!" He yelled. France couldn't help but shed a tear. She actually had no idea towards his hostility and the thought of not knowing any reason made her mad.

"Wow. Okay." she squirmed and unbuckled her seatbelt causing Ghost to slow down his driving.

"Where are you going? The village is still far from here!" he asked, France never bothered to talk to him as she simply walked away from the path.

Ghost immediately left the vehicle and followed her, catching her so she won't escape and run away.

"Why are you not replying?!" He asked, gripping her hands, restricting her movement. France used her strength to break free of his slightly weak grip and turned to him.

"You see now how it feels? To ignore someone without knowing why?!" She raised her voice. This seemed to make sense to Simon as he actually looked like he's sorry.

"I… " he sighed and looked at her, his eyes were lost and sad.

"I can't talk to you anymore… because I like you… but you've already set your eyes on someone else… so I just had to ignore you hoping that it'll make it less painful." he muttered. Complete silence filled the air.

France didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say. It may be true that she already had eyes on a certain Scottish cutie, but telling him the truth all over again would leave such mental scars.

It took her long enough to say something that Ghost already invited her back to the car, and her silence may leave no meaning, but to Ghost it meant a lot, at least he knew that he no longer had a chance on her and would finally move on.

The village was like any other typical village, the elder's house would always be on the highest point and the two opted to ask the village elder first to gather clues.

One clue led to another as they visited each house looking for one Fabian Alvarez, a nephew of an alleged Shadow Company soldier. Only a few were able to speak fluent english and they decided to help, until such time that Fabian decided to show up.

He looked like a five year old kid, holding a rubber ball and he looked at France and Ghost awkwardly before hiding back into his house. Fabian was far too young to know about his uncle's whereabouts and the lead went cold once again.

The ride home was quiet. France didn't want to say anything as she can't. Her heart was like inside a washing machine, swirling around as she thought of how Ghost liked her while she's clearly liking someone else. It must've been hella awkward and painful to see on a daily basis. She felt that once, when her best friend got together with her high school crush and continued to stay together up to this day… She knew how he felt.

~

The moment they got back, she was actually greeted by Soap, who already had his hands wide open for a hug. As usual, France would ignore his gesture and it now felt that she was already helping out Ghost from the pain. But now, she's the one feeling restricted.

It pained her to not get near Soap and he's already starting to notice the indifference. She was actually surprised when he cornered her, just as soon as she stepped out of the shower.

Her cheeks flushed as the idea of her, only wrapped with a towel, stood in front of Soap. She felt really vulnerable in this position.

"What happened out there?" he looked angry but the tone of his voice sounded concerned.

"Nothing, it's just … A dead lead. A waste of time." She replied as she attempted to cross over him.

"And how does that warrant an indifferent approach toward me?" he quickly moved to block her again. She sighed at her actions. He was right. He didn't deserve this treatment, he needed to learn something about the truth.

"We had a little fight with your friend over there…" She muttered, her voice was low enough so he couldn't hear.

"Who, Ghost?" he inched his face closer and his face lit up like a curious bystander who overhears conversations on a daily basis.

"Yeah… It was an unpleasant exchange." She said vaguely.

"Well, it'll all be resolved soon. I guess you're too carried away that you didn't want to talk to me as well…" he chuckled and scratched the back of his head. That gesture always made France happy, he may not notice it but she loves the way his muscles twitch when he scratches his nape. She found it satisfying and hot.

"Yeah… I'll go change." She said, as she frowned as soon as they parted. She knew she had to tell him the specific reason and the events that occured today, but she felt that it would create a domino effect that would lead the team to be uncooperative.

During bedtime, Alex requested France to swap sleeping spaces, meaning that she had to lie down beside Soap. She couldn't find the courage to say no as it might ruin the reunion they both longed for after a very long time.

France swung the door open and found out that they were already asleep, except for Ghost who was once again missing. She used this opportunity to actually wake Soap up and let him be aware that she'll be sleeping beside him. She planned to make both men comfortable by spacing herself between them, by only showing affection to Soap while Ghost's not around, until such time that Ghost would accept the inevitable truth.

"John." She whispered, as Soap lazily opened his eyes and reached out for her, wrapping her in his arms.

"I really like you. A lot. I hope you'll be patient enough for me." She whispered again. She knew he wouldn't hear it but the idea of her actually expressing her thoughts to him, put her at ease, as she slowly closed her eyes and drifted to sleep, wrapped by the arms of the man whom she really admired.

Next Chapter : If I Remember Correctly

Notification Squad my Beloved

@ricinbach @whimsywispsblog @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @beemybee

[dailyhowl]

I was commenting about this earlier. John seemed to be really to dark triad personalities. He wasn't going to settle for some dull nice person like Cynthia or May. That bored the living daylights out of him. He wanted a partner who mentally and physically stimulated him, someone able to handle his mercurial character and take care of him without being a doormat. That is, well, Paul. Since he couldn't get what he wanted, he settled for the second best thing. Charismatic oddballs with a dangerous edge, who would lovebomb him with all kinds of attention and then stab him in the back. It is no wonder he was dominated by the three headed monster of Yoko Ono, Allen Klein and Phil Spector in the 1970s. The three of them flirted their way into John's heart, courted him like a fair maiden but once they got where they wanted to be, they left him out in the cold. And in a perverse way, John seemed to relish in that. He was basically a mix of Heathcliff and Severin from Venus in Furs. And like in any Byronic hero worth his salt, it was exactly this conflict that made John so compelling to millions, including myself. This is why I despise the whitewashing of his life by the Lennon Estate Gestapo. To be honest, a lot is said about Albert Goldman but there isn't a single author who captured the darkest corners of John's personality like him.

Very interesting thoughts! And I wonder how much of this attraction to something more intense was fuelled by trauma? In other words, could John have managed those impulses or was it simply an immovable aspect to him? I lean towards the former. In looking for a partner that could stimulate him constantly and not eventually end up boring him, he found people who were destined to end up hurting and disappointing him, while exacerbating his worst qualities and whims. It’s something that could soothe him only for so long before all the negative outcomes became too much to ignore. John also liked to (or rather, felt like he had to) test people, and if they failed/left he could think to himself “Ah, I was right! I’m glad I kept myself safe!”, because no one can pass that sort of test time after time after time for years and years without breaking. People with anxiety can and often do become kind of addicted to that feeling, that “relief” knowing they saved themselves from something “dangerous”. And for people with certain attachment styles like John had, this becomes more and more important. He finds his “answer” in someone else, time goes on, John realises he’s made a mistake in trusting them, he cuts it off before they can do more damage, and he can present himself as the one who had control all along. He’s soothed, at least, on the surface. And more so because he’s leapt into the boat of someone new who will definitely be the one to protect and nature him. The cycle repeats itself for every significant person in John’s life. 

I think Cynthia was someone who stimulated him mentally and physically for a long time, but it fizzled out when their lives and values became so completely different, and there was no going back. I don’t think she would have babied him the way he might have wanted in his most vulnerable state. I can see why people think would she was a doormat, but really, I think she was stronger and more individual than so many people give her credit for. Her priority was her son, though, and keeping him safe and cared for was all she cared about. If that meant shifting things around so John could live how he chose to (affairs, drugs, etc) because Julian would have had his father present most of the time and been safe ... well that’s what she felt she had to do. It’s different when there’s a child involved, and when John said that he and Cynthia would have “made it” if things had gone slower between them, I think he knew the sacrifices they both had to make along the way of their marriage had cost them a better relationship that could have lasted. 

[frankiefellinlove]

This is it! The whole article where John Landau writes that Bruce “is the future of rock n roll”. Long but so worth the read, to see that quote in context.

GROWING YOUNG WITH ROCK AND ROLL

By Jon Landau

The Real Paper

May 22, 1974📷

It's four in the morning and raining. I'm 27 today, feeling old, listening to my records, and remembering that things were diffferent a decade ago. In 1964, I was a freshman at Brandeis University, playing guitar and banjo five hours a day, listening to records most of the rest of the time, jamming with friends during the late-night hours, working out the harmonies to Beach Boys' and Beatles' songs.

Real Paper soul writer Russell Gersten was my best friend and we would run through the 45s everyday: Dionne Warwick's "Walk On By" and "Anyone Who Had A Heart," the Drifters' "Up On the Roof," Jackie Ross' "Selfish One," the Marvellettes' "Too Many Fish in the Sea," and the one that no one ever forgets, Martha Reeves and the Vandellas' "Heat Wave." Later that year a special woman named Tamar turned me onto Wilson Pickett's "Midnight Hour" and Otis Redding's "Respect," and then came the soul. Meanwhile, I still went to bed to the sounds of the Byrds' "Mr. Tambourine Man" and later "Younger than Yesterday," still one of my favorite good-night albums. I woke up to Having a Rave-Up with the Yardbirds instead of coffee. And for a change of pace, there was always bluegrass: The Stanley Brothers, Bill Monroe, and Jimmy Martin.

Through college, I consumed sound as if it were the staff of life. Others enjoyed drugs, school, travel, adventure. I just liked music: listening to it, playing it, talking about it. If some followed the inspiration of acid, or Zen, or dropping out, I followed the spirit of rock'n'roll.

Individual songs often achieved the status of sacraments. One September, I was driving through Waltham looking for a new apartment when the sound on the car radio stunned me. I pulled over to the side of the road, turned it up, demanded silence of my friends and two minutes and fifty-six second later knew that God had spoken to me through the Four Tops' "Reach Out, I'll Be There," a record that I will cherish for as long as [I] live.

During those often lonely years, music was my constant companion and the search for the new record was like a search for a new friend and new revelation. "Mystic Eyes" open mine to whole new vistas in white rock and roll and there were days when I couldn't go to sleep without hearing it a dozen times.

Whether it was a neurotic and manic approach to music, or just a religious one, or both, I don't really care. I only know that, then, as now, I'm grateful to the artists who gave the experience to me and hope that I can always respond to them.

The records were, of course, only part of it. In '65 and '66 I played in a band, the Jellyroll, that never made it. At the time I concluded that I was too much of a perfectionist to work with the other band members; in the end I realized I was too much of an autocrat, unable to relate to other people enough to share music with them.

Realizing that I wasn't destined to play in a band, I gravitated to rock criticism. Starting with a few wretched pieces in Broadside and then some amateurish but convincing reviews in the earliest Crawdaddy, I at least found a substitute outlet for my desire to express myself about rock: If I couldn't cope with playing, I may have done better writing about it.

But in those days, I didn't see myself as a critic -- the writing was just another extension of an all-encompassing obsession. It carried over to my love for live music, which I cared for even more than the records. I went to the Club 47 three times a week and then hunted down the rock shows -- which weren't so easy to find because they weren't all conveniently located at downtown theatres. I flipped for the Animals' two-hour show at Rindge Tech; the Rolling Stones, not just at Boston Garden, where they did the best half hour rock'n'roll set I had ever seen, but at Lynn Football Stadium, where they started a riot; Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels overcoming the worst of performing conditions at Watpole Skating Rink; and the Beatles at Suffolk Down, plainly audible, beatiful to look at, and confirmation that we -- and I -- existed as a special body of people who understood the power and the flory of rock'n'roll.

I lived those days with a sense of anticipation. I worked in Briggs & Briggs a few summers and would know when the next albums were coming. The disappointment when the new Stones was a day late, the exhilaration when Another Side of Bob Dylan showed up a week early. The thrill of turning on WBZ and hearing some strange sound, both beautiful and horrible, but that demanded to be heard again; it turned out to be "You've Lost That Loving Feeling," a record that stands just behind "Reach Out I'll Be There" as means of musical catharsis.

My temperament being what it is, I often enjoyed hating as much as loving. That San Francisco shit corrupted the purity of the rock that I lvoed and I could have led a crusade against it. The Moby Grape moved me, but those songs about White Rabbits and hippie love made me laugh when they didn't make me sick. I found more rock'n'roll in the dubbed-in hysteria on the Rolling Stones Got Live if You Want It than on most San Francisco albums combined.

For every moment I remember there are a dozen I've forgotten, but I feel like they are with me on a night like this, a permanent part of my consciousness, a feeling lost on my mind but never on my soul. And then there are those individual experiences so transcendent that I can remember them as if they happened yesterday: Sam and Dave at the Soul Together at Madison Square Garden in 1967: every gesture, every movement, the order of the songs. I would give anything to hear them sing "When Something's Wrong with My Baby" just the way they did it that night.

The obsessions with Otis Redding, Jerry Butler, and B.B. King came a little bit later; each occupied six months of my time, while I digested every nuance of every album. Like the Byrds, I turn to them today and still find, when I least expect it, something new, something deeply flet, something that speaks to me.

As I left college in 1969 and went into record production I started exhausting my seemingly insatiable appetite. I felt no less intensely than before about certain artists; I just felt that way about fewer of them. I not only became more discriminating but more indifferent. I found it especially hard to listen to new faces. I had accumulated enough musical experience to fall back on when I needed its companionship but during this period in my life I found I needed music less and people, whom I spend too much of my life ignoring, much more.

Today I listen to music with a certain measure of detachment. I'm a professional and I make my living commenting on it. There are months when I hate it, going through the routine just as a shoe salesman goes through his. I follow films with the passion that music once held for me. But in my own moments of greatest need, I never give up the search for sounds that can answer every impulse, consume all emotion, cleanse and purify -- all things that we have no right to expect from even the greatest works of art but which we can occasionally derive from them.

Still, today, if I hear a record I like it is no longer a signal for me to seek out every other that the artist has made. I take them as they come, love them, and leave them. Some have stuck -- a few that come quickly to mind are Neil Young's After the Goldrush, Stevie Wonder's Innervisions, Van Morrison's Tupelo Honey, James Taylor's records, Valerie Simpson's Exposed, Randy Newman's Sail Away, Exile on Main Street, Ry Cooder's records, and, very specially, the last three albums of Joni Mitchell -- but many more slip through the mind, making much fainter impressions than their counterparts of a decade ago.

But tonight there is someone I can write of the way I used to write, without reservations of any kind. Last Thursday, at the Harvard Square theatre, I saw my rock'n'roll past flash before my eyes. And I saw something else: I saw rock and roll future and its name is Bruce Springsteen. And on a night when I needed to feel young, he made me feel like I was hearing music for the very first time.

When his two-hour set ended I could only think, can anyone really be this good; can anyone say this much to me, can rock'n'roll still speak with this kind of power and glory? And then I felt the sores on my thighs where I had been pounding my hands in time for the entire concert and knew that the answer was yes.

Springsteen does it all. He is a rock'n'roll punk, a Latin street poet, a ballet dancer, an actor, a joker, bar band leader, hot-shit rhythm guitar player, extraordinary singer, and a truly great rock'n'roll composer. He leads a band like he has been doing it forever. I racked my brains but simply can't think of a white artist who does so many things so superbly. There is no one I would rather watch on a stage today. He opened with his fabulous party record "The E Street Shuffle" -- but he slowed it down so graphically that it seemed a new song and it worked as well as the old. He took his overpowering story of a suicide, "For You," and sang it with just piano accompaniment and a voice that rang out to the very last row of the Harvard Square theatre. He did three new songs, all of them street trash rockers, one even with a "Telstar" guitar introduction and an Eddie Cochran rhythm pattern. We missed hearing his "Four Winds Blow," done to a fare-thee-well at his sensational week-long gig at Charley's but "Rosalita" never sounded better and "Kitty's Back," one of the great contemporary shuffles, rocked me out of my chair, as I personally led the crowd to its feet and kept them there.

Bruce Springsteen is a wonder to look at. Skinny, dressed like a reject from Sha Na Na, he parades in front of his all-star rhythm band like a cross between Chuck Berry, early Bob Dylan, and Marlon Brando. Every gesture, every syllable adds something to his ultimate goal -- to liberate our spirit while he liberates his by baring his soul through his music. Many try, few succeed, none more than he today.

It's five o'clock now -- I write columns like this as fast as I can for fear I'll chicken out -- and I'm listening to "Kitty's Back." I do feel old but the record and my memory of the concert has made me feel a little younger. I still feel the spirit and it still moves me.

I bought a new home this week and upstairs in the bedroom is a sleeping beauty who understands only too well what I try to do with my records and typewriter. About rock'n'roll, the Lovin' Spoonful once sang, "I'll tell you about the magic that will free your soul/But it's like trying to tell a stranger about rock'n'roll." Last Thursday, I remembered that the magic still exists and as long as I write about rock, my mission is to tell a stranger about it -- just as long as I remember that I'm the stranger I'm writing for.

[katsukisbeatingheart]

adolebitque manet

breakups suck. and sometimes you just need to burn your ex's shit.

word count: 2573

ao3!

Ridiculous piece of crap.

You yanked the chain.

Pathetic promises.

You tore the letter.

And a long dead rose.

The stem twirled between your fingertips, and you didn't even flinch when a thorn along the spine left a gash in your index finger.

Typical.

It was however, enough for you to breathe deeply, and exhale—more over the case of everything they used to be.

Cheat.

Cheat. Cheat. Cheat. Cheat.

Liar.

Your bloody finger found the wasted tears before you did. Poetic, how they mixed and dripped over the broken pieces in front of you. A blood oath to break another blood oath.

How many years had you supported such a beguiling—bewitching feeling? All for naught, only to ruin by such a simple measure.

It wasn't simple though. It was so complicated, it was simple; and it was so simple, it was complicated.

You sneered at the contradiction of such a fact, of such a relationship.

You'd look back on this—hopefully in months time—and laugh at yourself for the dramatic wreck you came to be. Over one person.

One person, who had meant so much to you for so many years.

It had taken you weeks to even think about believing everything you saw to be true. It took another few to agonizingly collect each and every bit of each other, and begin destroying them.

You had strong encouragement from those closest to you, and they were very patient and kind with your struggling heart. Despite your best attempts to recoil, and pay for something you realized only you were probably invested in—they wouldn't let you.

Now here you were, in the middle of your apartment, ready to gather these things up and eviscerate them; but you couldn't do it alone.

The cardboard was flimsy, but it did the job. Sturdy enough to carry the weight of such useless trinkets with heavy price, you dumped and swept in each tiny, bloody bit as roughly as you could—quickly apologizing to the box, a reminder that it wasn't to blame.

You ghosted to your door, moving in a hollow effort to dispose of their evidence.

Softly cracking the door open and angling to look out into the hallway, you peered at your neighbor's doors; ears open, eyes wide for any sign of life.

Mina, Shoji, Tokoyami, Shinso, Izuku—

Your eyes flicked up.

Kirishima, Sero, and Denki are upstairs...

You had a wonderful, wonderful support system. The friends that lived in the same building, and the ones across town—but the more you sifted through your options, the more you couldn't bring yourself to bother any of them with this. No matter how small a request.

With the umpteenth sigh of the evening, your head lolled backward. Your eyes slid closed and your fingers rubbed at the ache settled in your neck. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, glancing down the right side of the hall.

There was only one more door facing opposite yours—at a diag to the fire escape window at the end of the hall, and you.

It was impulsive, and despite everything—your best option.

The two meter walk in your cement shoes felt like pouring a jar of molasses on a winter's day. Gathering courage to actually knock felt like pouring two jars of molasses on a winter's day.

It was inevitable, you decided—especially if he opened the door to step out only to find you standing there petrified in your own grief and nerves—and two gentle taps and a third slightly harsher, more desperate rap later, crimson red eyes glowered at you in annoyance.

"Oi. Do you know what fuckin' time it i—"

His abrasiveness grated to a humbling halt in the face of a wholy distraught you. He wasn't one to gossip, or even to put any stock into useless chatter of the sort; but even he knew you were keeping life together by pins and needles. And he didn't even need to have Ashido as a neighbor to know that, because he was looking at the tangled disaster right now.

Your shoulders shook, and the barely kept together bite of your lip with vacant eyes told him he needed to close his mouth and keep it that way.

He was generally coarse, brusque, and blunt—not stupid or blind.

You steeled your regard, holding a determined glint in your eye and a placating plead beneath it.

"Bakugo I need you to do me a favor."

"What is it."

"Burn this for me."

You held the box out between the two of you, handling it with a nauseating combination of disdain and care. Bakugo quickly brushed through the contents with a quickly baleful sweep of his eyes, and you were too numb to bother wondering why the hostility. It was enough you were baring such personal trinkets—yet thoroughly clichéd banalities—to someone of his caliber. You parts trusted him to suggest a certain modicum of consideration, and tiny parts trusted yourself to be too beaten down to care otherwise.

The regret at such irresolution toward your longtime neighbor and friend, ebbed away as he looked back up to you with a certain fire in his eyes. It warmed you abruptly in ways you didn't understand at all.

Bakugo jerked his head to the side, his body following along with it as he stepped aside to invite you in. You said nothing, catching your breath in a purposeful stride, ducking past his shoulder. You strode in confidently, but faltered not far from the doormat when you noticed how long it had been since you'd been there.

The lights were off, and the far wall—ceiling to floor sliding glass doors up one step, leading to a balcony looking over the other part of the city night lights—bled with the light of the moon, illuminating a living space shaped like yours, but not at all how you remembered it being from however long ago.

There were new pieces of furniture rearranged in a way that suggested the man was open to having guests—mostly Eijiro, Denki, Sero, and Mina, you figured. Matte black couch cushions, with silver finishings along the frame; a dark wooden circular dining table in front of the bar attached to the kitchen, right by the glass doors—a rather romantic placement, especially for him, you marvelled; deep brown cabinets with lighter hardwood doors, occupying the back right hand corner where the kitchen was.

You turned to glance at the potted plant and admired how generally... homey the place felt. Either Bakugo had been invaded by a homes and gardens magazine, or he had grown quite the honeyed eye.

Your admiration melted into remorse, quicker than the fondness came. You couldn't even remember how long it had been since you'd visited.

In hindsight, you immediately knew it was because you'd spent all of your time with...

I must've been a real shitty friend.

"What was that?"

His questions were coming out more as gruff statements, any inquisitiveness overrode by the demand for an answer. It almost made you smile, before, again, you remembered why you'd missed that so much.

You didn't even know you'd spoken aloud, and were too tired to avoid it now.

"I must've been terrible to you," you whispered.

You felt the air grow stale with awkward tension. Bakugo raised a hand to run through his hair, stopping at the base of his neck. He didn't know what to say.

But you did.

"I'm so sorry, Katsuki," you breathed. "I'm so sorry—I feel like I completely neglected you, and I'm only realizing this now, after I've come to you when I need something and I can't believe it's taken me this long to—to see that. You must feel so— so—"

Used. Ignored.

Cheated.

You clenched your fists, squeezing your eyes shut in suffocating reproach.

You turned to face him head on. You were going to deal with this with dignity—completely ready for the growling consequences and the scorching anger.

The thundering shouting.

Biting rejection.

Unadulterated hatred.

None of that came. Instead, Bakugo's eyes reflected with an intense sheen of pain—as if everything you left unsaid came swinging back to him in full force. Like he'd been repressing those exact accusations the entire time.

You wanted to scream. You wanted him to scream. You wanted somebody to scream.

It wasn't a scream, but his voice was indomitable enough to be.

"Let's fucking burn this thing."

Glass shattered, the dam broke, and you moaned once—exhaling a jagged breath of relief, anguish, and extreme adoration. The tears poured and you shoved them away with the palms of your hand, laughing and crying with a silent nod. Bakugo roughly pulled the box from your hands, stalking briskly toward the glass doors. He slammed them open, and you heard them rattle. You weren't afraid, though. He wasn't mad at you.

He dropped the container on the concrete floor with a harsh bang, and you didn't miss the crack of a frame breaking with a picture of you and them. You doubt he did either.

Bakugo held out his right hand—fingers down, palm up—to the box. You watched him with something in your heart, as he ignited. It was piercing, and brought back memories of special moves you worked on in high school. You'd seen him nearly blow his arm off trying to get this kind of precision, and now you'd see him on T.V., using it for hero work as if he'd been doing it since the day he was born. You remembered gushing about how amazing he was, every single time he managed to do something new.

Yes, Bakugo had used this move to best and save many people.

In an instant, flames shot straight for the box, and suddenly you were engulfed in light. Just like fireworks, the contents popped and crackled, and just like fireworks, you were completely mesmerized. The light from your little conflagration poured warmth over everything you could feel. You were positively glowing.

You bit back tears that no longer needed to be spent on the likes of them. You were the one who wasted away in the company of someone who never really cared about you.

Since then, you'd forgotten about the ones that really and truly did.

You looked to Bakugo, watching the shadows dance menacingly across his face. The ferocity, and damn near animalistic malice singed more than the fire he made did. Your eyes widened in surprise.

As if he felt you staring, he turned.

Fully.

Fully facing you with much softer eyes and an expression you knew that came from being a hero.

It was as if to say you're safe now.

You choked and let more tears fall, feeling a combination of cold and searing in light of the fire.

"Katsuki," you whispered.

For the first time in your life, you watched him hesitate. He stepped forward, looking so vulnerable as he tried to grasp for words. The space between you came to about a hand's length, and the heavy rise and fall of his chest vibrated along your skin. Bakugo's eyes clouded, and your mouth went dry with that feeling again.

"Marshmallows."

You blinked.

"...What?" You weren't sure you heard him right.

"Here," he began, taking your hand in his as he turned around and led you back inside. Bakugo didn't let go, until he set you at one of the barstools, to move past and dig through one of his upper cabinets. After a moment of shuffling, he pulled away to reveal a family sized bag of puffy white marshmallows, and a big bar of chocolate. He tossed the bag of sweets towards you, his mouth quirking into a little smirk.

The warmth you'd been feeling more and more since you'd got here exploded in your chest, and you felt it rise to your cheeks.

"And don't think I forgot—" Bakugo bent down and pulled open a bottom drawer. He fished something out that crinkled and reflected small bits of light, and smacked it on the bar countertop, right in front of you.

The childish squeal burst out before you could think.

"Cookies!"

Bakugo rolled his eyes and desperately tried to bury his bliss beneath an annoyed click of his tongue. He really missed you.

"What a fucking dork," he mumbled not-so-quietly under his breath. He could hide it all he wanted but you caught the smile in his voice anyway.

Bakugo's eyes glazed as he watched you giggle, and he—almost tentatively—grasped your hand again, uncharacteristic gentleness as he pulled you back outside.

You stared dazedly at yours in his—but mostly his—and wondered why the sudden touchiness.

In all honestly, Bakugo couldn't figure himself; but when he did pin the feeling—he might've just been scared to see you go again.

He handed you the collection of sweets, going to bring out chairs to sit on. You touched his shoulder and shook your head, grabbing a blanket you noticed stretched out along the balcony fence. You flicked it outward, laying it as close as possible to the fire—setting the chocolate, marshmallows, and cookies in the middle.

Looking up to meet his eyes, you patted the spot next to you. For the first time—in a long time—you watched Katsuki's cheeks flush. No matter how badly you wanted to be the one to do that to him, you convinced yourself that it was nothing but the cold of the night or the heat of the flames.

The boy dropped down beside you, holding out a skewer without making eye contact.

As a pair, you silently worked marshmallows onto the sticks, and held them over the fragments of your burning relationship.

"Hope we don't get poisoned or something, doing this," you broke the silence wryly, eyeing the disfigured picture frame and the horribly burnt photo inside of it.

"Not a bad way to go, really." Katsuki too, was looking at the fire, and you did your best to not linger on the implications behind that statement.

"Death by marshmallows," you tapped your chin thoughtfully, "I'll take it."

"That's not what I meant."

You looked away from your toasting sweet, and studied him with dinner-plate eyes. The curiosity and... desire, you figured, smoldered, and you were sure he stared back with intensity rivalling yours. The silence—besides the crackling of fire and melting of sour memories—pressed down on you and you were positive you could fall into him, and get lost and it would be okay—

"You're gonna burn your s'mores, dumbass," Katsuki whispered. You were sitting shoulder to shoulder. He smelled sweet.

The smile climbing its way to your face settled in under a slightly disbelieving laugh.

"Right."

Knees hugged to your chest, you drifted not too far from him, and focused on the flames.

"Hey, Katsuki?"

"Yeah?"

Inhaling with more than enough steadiness to still the ocean, you sighed, feeling more weightless than you'd felt in the last two months.

"Thank you."

With every second that burned by, you felt a sort of resolve subside and thicken—less like the cast iron chains that held you back hours and months ago, and more like a promise.

To yourself.

To him.

Bakugo Katsuki shrugged, and as he did so he moved the tiniest bit closer. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

"I'm just glad you're back."