#so i hope this bodes well for the both of us

[neo-shitty]

my bf bought us a copy of keep talking and nobody explodes and this could either end in divorce or the best date night ever.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Cramps

Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.

Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes

A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u

Bitchy. 

You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate. 

You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also  warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for. 

What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period. 

 Your cycle had  been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag. 

Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military. 

Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it. 

So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response. 

“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood. 

“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration. 

“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.” 

For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man. 

Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work. 

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband. 

“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending. 

“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee 

Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.  

You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie. 

“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!” 

At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath. 

“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-” 

“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.” 

“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door. 

“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway. 

But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it. 

You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood. 

Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.

Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear. 

Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants. 

Your period had come.  

In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie. 

“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ” 

It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply. 

“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.” 

Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first. 

“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.” 

You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply. 

“Thank you. You’re the best.” 

“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘” 

“Oh shut up, meanie.” 

“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙

“Love you too. 🤍” 

Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way. 

Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch. 

As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband. 

“Frankie? Babe, are you home?” 

Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest. 

You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace. 

“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you. 

“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-” 

“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse. 

“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem. 

“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.” 

“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.” 

“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”   

“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.

“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him. 

As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you. 

As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you. 

“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza. 

“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-” 

Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?” 

“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?” 

“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.” 

“I think I can make that happen.” 

About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest. 

“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy. 

Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth. 

“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you. 

“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core. 

“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you. 

“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices. 

Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period. 

But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man. 

“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths. 

“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.” 

Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds. 

With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt. 

“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot. 

Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool. 

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over. 

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue. 

Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name. 

“Frankie, holy fuck.” 

“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could. 

“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.” 

Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt. 

“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace. 

“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over. 

Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him. 

Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity. 

Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him. 

“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate. 

“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word. 

“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.” 

Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there. 

“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did. 

“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.” 

You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in. 

“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.” 

That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high. 

With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.  

“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss. 

“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss. 

“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight. 

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.” 

“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”

“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Taglist:

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @munson-hargrove-barnes86 @angel98624 @anoverwhelmingdin @pimosworld @nandan11 @iloveenya @survivingandenduring

[ceesimz]

Reverie - Part 2

Autistic Reader x Barça Femení - part one here

Hey, welcome back for part two :) Thank you so much for the love, this genuinely wouldn't have been posted had it not been for the reaction to the first. Again, more things I wanna mention before reading. This part includes the aftermath of a bad meltdown, but the actual meltdown part is not written in. This was a personal decision because quite honestly there is no way to sum that experience down into a few words, it's impossible. The best example I have seen of a meltdown in the media is the character of Quinni in Heartbreak High on Netflix, if you're interested then you should watch that scene in the first season. I hope you enjoy this second part, thank you for taking the time to read it, let me know what you think :)

Your first Champion’s League game for Barcelona, a group stage game against PSG at home, didn’t quite go as planned.

From the first minute of the game, things weren’t clicking out on the pitch for you. Passes to and from you weren’t connecting, you were losing duels you definitely shouldn’t and you were missing key, game-changing shots. 

Half-time came way too quickly, and to everybody’s frustration, the score was still 0-0. As everyone sat in the changing rooms receiving treatment or refreshing themselves with energy drinks and whatnot, the result wasn’t the thing at the forefront of Ingrid's mind. It was you. She could see defeat written all over you before the match had even concluded. It didn’t bode well what this game was doing to you. Before she could do anything, she was called away for a tactical discussion. Then the break was over and everybody was being ushered back to the pitch, and her opportunity was gone.

Rough challenges, an open goal miss, and a yellow card later, you were done for. Your streak was over, you knew what was coming and there was no way to avoid it.

Nobody heard from you for ten hours, nobody saw you at any point after the game, and quite frankly nobody knew where you were. Ingrid knew though. And if her gut feeling about what had happened was correct, she was going to need back up for this one. She hadn’t dealt with a situation like this for a while now, and she felt a little out of her depth.

“Why didn’t anybody stay with her last night?” Alexia asked with a deep-set frown, rushing to your flat alongside Mapi and Ingrid. “You guys live in the same complex as her, why didn’t you check up on her?”

“I don’t know, Alexia! If I could go back and change it, I would, I swear.” Ingrid replied desperately, looking through her keys to find the one to her old flat. 

“Hey, let’s not argue. She won’t be in any fit state to deal with that, we can hash it out later.” Mapi attempted to de-escalate the situation whilst taking the keys from her girlfriend's shaking hands and quietly unlocking the door.

The thing they'd all been worried about made its presence known immediately. Ingrid’s heart broke, and she’d never regretted a decision more in her life.

By the door, your bag had been thrown haphazardly towards the shoe rack, causing the contents of both items to be strewn across the entryway. As the trio stepped past the mess and entered the main room, their concern doubled. There seemed to be two smashed glasses in the kitchen, one of the framed prints from your lounge wall had fallen down, a plant had been knocked over, yet there was no sign of you. The curtains were drawn, the lights were off, and the flat was deathly silent.

“What do we do?” Alexia questioned quietly, afraid of shattering the calm that had seemingly settled after the storm, and unsure what the best way to go about this was. She'd never really experienced anything like this before, at least not to this degree.

“Can you two clean up a bit? She will be in bed, I should go to her first I think.” Ingrid decided as her eyes were glued to your closed bedroom door.

“Of course. If either of you need anything, princesa, just shout for us.” Mapi reminded her, knowing that whatever was in store for her behind your bedroom door could be mentally taxing for her too. She nodded, and at that left the two Spaniards to clean up as she went off to do some damage control.

What greeted her when she entered your room was a sight she hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since the several hour journeys the pair of you would make throughout Germany to meet up, not since national camps, not for years. 

Ingrid found you as a disfigured lump under the duvet, the only thing visible being your hair peeking out just slightly. Again, the lights were off and the curtains were drawn, but with it being morning there was enough daylight bleeding through the soft material to let her look around the room. Just like the rest of the flat, it was in a concerning state of disarray. That wasn't at the forefront of her mind though right now though.

“Elskling?” She called out softly, though got no response. Her only option was to step closer, around to the side of the bed you lay on to try and get your attention.

You were lay on your stomach, cheek smushed against the mattress, and most unnervingly of all, your eyes were open and staring straight ahead at the wall in front. The look on your face was hauntingly empty, yet agonised all in one.

“Hey.” Ingrid whispered, kneeling down before you, yet you didn't even acknowledge she was there. 

It was that moment that the defender noticed the tear tracks, the redness to your face, and the internal agony and undertones of fear present in your blood-shot eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat, broken at the sight of you, before gently placing her hand on your back atop the sheets.

“If you can hear me, min engel, just give me a tiny nod at least. That's all I ask.” The relief that flooded her when you did exactly what she said was immense, it filled her from head to toe, so grateful you were at least present in the room now. 

“Thank you, that's all I needed.” She smiled sadly, delicately pushing a few strands of hair out of your face. “I'm going to sit here with you for as long as you need. María and Alexia are here too but they won't come in unless you say otherwise, they are just cleaning up for you. I love you, søster, I am always going to love you no matter what.”

Her words, her compassionate and caring words, broke through the trance you'd been in ever since your explosive meltdown had ended however long ago. Ingrid's unconditional love that she consistently showed towards you made itself known yet again, it being quite possibly the one sole thing that could get through to you in this precarious moment. 

The taller woman panicked the moment she saw you tearing up again, worried that she had said the wrong thing, but then your arm reached out from under the covers and grasped desperately at the hand on your back.

“It's okay, it's okay. I've got you. I'm here, you're safe, and I've got you.” Her free hand came up to wipe the tears that fell silently, the repetitive movement of her thumb across your wet cheeks a comfort you clung onto. Meanwhile, the arm of hers you'd grabbed now had both your arms wrapped around it, eyes scrunched tightly shut to keep the tears at bay as much as possible. 

It wasn't possible though, they were coming out thick and fast with no way of stopping them.

“Let it out, snuppa, you will feel better.”

And let it out you did; all the anger you directed at yourself the second the final whistle blew the day before dissipated, and a fatalistic sadness washed over you. You don't know how long you spent sobbing into the mattress, all you knew was that Ingrid was there and she wasn't leaving. She repeated reassuring words over and over until they finally registered, eventually helping you to calm down.

All that was left was an exhausted, now mindless shell of you, stuttered breaths sounding through the quiet room every so often. Ingrid's hand was tracing light circles on the palm of yours, whilst she was quietly suffering through a numb arm that you held onto still.

“Have you had anything to eat or drink since yesterday?” Ingrid asked, her assumption confirmed by the slight shake of your head. “Can I leave for a few seconds to get you something, or shall I ask one of the girls to do it?”

“Stay.” You could barely get the single word out; your throat was already dry and hurting from the exertion it had experienced in the last twelve hours or so, nevermind the mental challenge it was to speak.

“Alright, I will stay. Is it okay if one of them comes in then?” Another tiny, barely noticeable nod. “I will text them, thank you.”

No more than a few silent minutes later, there was a polite knock on the door, shortly followed by Alexia walking in with a tray in her arms. On it was a glass of water, a variety of snacks, some electrolyte tablets and even a box of tissues. She had really thought of it all.

Alexia’s eyes glanced up to where you were, before turning back to Ingrid with a questioning look in her eyes. Ingrid only shook her head, and Alexia took that as her cue to leave. It was clear, from just one momentary glance, that Ingrid still had more progress to make with you, so Alexia quietly slipped straight back out of the room.

When Ingrid turned back to you, all she saw was the sixteen year old version of you, crying in a hotel room hours from home after being dropped to the bench for an upcoming match. She saw the seventeen year old inside of you, the one that had gotten way past drunk at a party and had collapsed into a blubbering, destroyed mess on your bed after near enough carrying you home. She saw you at twenty, breaking down when she revealed she was moving to Wolfsburg, fumbling through the congratulatory messages whilst trying to come to terms with the fact your best friend was moving to a whole different country, feeling like the world was collapsing around you. You, twenty-three, leaving your last national camp, physically and mentally ruined, unable to talk, body and mind exhausted after a night of tears, frustration, and a soul crushing amount of remorse at the decision you had no choice but to make.

Every version of yourself, past and present, was right there in front of her; every version needing the support she was giving. Every version was still alive in some way, they would never die. With this disorder, things don’t come and go, they’re always there, ready to be triggered at any given moment. She had seen this one and the others a handful of times before, but you’d have them with you for the rest of your life. Your own cross to bear, something she’d never come to experience or understand, but if she can carry the load with you then she’d give up everything else in her life to do so.

“Are you ready to sit up? Ale brought in some stuff for you.” She said, her hand resting on your cheek and caressing it lightly. 

You only shrugged, not quite ready to leave your space yet. If you moved now, you had to face the world again, had to recover from the night’s meltdown and move on. It was daunting, nothing short of terrifying, and the longer you could delay the process, the better.

“The three of us have cleared our day, should you need us. We’ll go at your pace, do things how you want. I’ll be right here.” 

You found solace in Ingrid’s company; having her here meant you could relax and focus on something else other than the noise in your head. Your thoughts were having a whale of a time up there, you couldn’t land on a single one as they were spiralling around too much to pick one out. It was exactly that - just noise. But then you’d avert your eyes slightly to the left and land on a certain dark-haired woman, and everything went silent. Knowing that Alexia and Mapi were just a few metres away behind the door might have made you panic, but you trusted them both and knew that they were equally concerned about you as Ingrid was. As Alexia had told you since one of the first times you spoke to her, she wanted to be a person you felt comfortable with to go to about any problems, and you did trust her. Mapi too, though she came as an unspoken package deal with Ingrid, whether she liked that or not.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, surprising yourself as much as you did Ingrid. She frowned at you, wondering why of all things you could say after the difficult time you’d had in the last day, you chose to apologise.

“Sorry about what? You don’t need to apologise for anything, elskling.” She told you, finally moving her dead arm to hold one of your hands and squeeze it comfortingly.

“Yesterday. The match. Me.” Talking was still hard, but the guilt was monumental.

“The result wasn’t your fault. That’s just how football is sometimes, but we didn’t lose and we still have more group stage games to go. The whole team was off, it wasn’t your fault.” Ingrid reminded you, her eyes wide as she tried to get the message through to you.

“Yellow card.”

“You did get a yellow card, but we all saw the replay afterwards and you got the ball. The referee got it wrong. You also scored our only goal of the game, engel, don’t forget that.” She shuffled a little closer on her knees, placing another kiss to your forehead.

“Suppose so.” You grumbled a minute later, Ingrid smiling in amusement.

“You did so.” She commented, thumb still stroking along the skin of your cheekbone. “Did you have a bad meltdown last night?”

“Mhm.” You hummed dejectedly, overcome with shame and embarrassment at now admitting it to someone. The evidence of it was all around, you knew the trio in your house had seen it all, but there was something gut-wrenching about admitting it aloud.

“Okay. We’ll pick up the pieces and put you back together, don’t worry.” Ingrid stated resolutely, like there was no other option.

With the next thing you said, someone might have to come along and piece Ingrid back together.

“Why do they have to happen, Ingrid? I hate them so fucking much.” 

All your vulnerabilities poured out in two short sentences. Twenty-six years later and the process of a meltdown never got any less demoralising.

“I know, I know.” She moved from her place on the floor and clambered onto the bed behind you, recognising that you had entered a head space where you’d feel comfortable with it now. You confirmed that for her by rolling onto your side, allowing her to shuffle up and hug you tightly back to her chest. “Hey, think of it this way. This is your first one since moving to Spain, that’s amazing! I’m so proud. You’ve handled everything so well, I bet younger you is so proud too.”

Progress wasn’t linear, and it didn’t have the same definition in this case as it did for the majority of the population. Progress meant learning about yourself, learning what harmed you and what you couldn’t deal with, so that you could come up with solutions. There wasn’t a way to grow comfortable with certain things, like restaurants for example, it was about realising what precautions had to be taken beforehand and what support you needed afterwards. Progress was being able to ask people for help, it was having the courage to say no to plans you wouldn’t be able to cope with, it was accepting that yes, you were different, but no, it didn’t make you any less worthy than the next person.

You had made progress, but not the textbook definition of it. Autism took everything about the allistic world and re-defined it for itself.

“Thank you.” You said, voice cracking a little as you did so, a slither of a smile on your face when Ingrid kissed the back of your neck. “Love you, Ingrid.”

The defender felt as if her heart had burst upon hearing those two words. But with the swell of joy that filled her chest, quickly came the crushing sense of regret from earlier.

“I love you too. I'm sorry for not being here last night. I could have helped, or just been with you, and I didn't. I'm sorry for that.” 

Her apology tugged at your heart; you didn't blame her, not one bit. 99% of the time, there was no stopping these things, no matter what you tried or who you were with.

“It's okay. Thank you for being here now.” 

Ingrid nestled in closer at that, and the strength of her hug was the exact kind of pressure needed for the remnants of the dark cloud that had hung over you for a while to finally drift away. The pair of you stayed that way for a while, both more than happy to relish in the peace that had settled, but when there are two antsy women only a few feet behind the door, a disruption is inevitable.

“Can they come in? They’re both worried and will just want to see you're okay.” Ingrid asked quietly after one of them had knocked on the door. You nodded sheepishly, so Ingrid called them in.

“How are things going in here?” Mapi asked carefully, smiling at her girlfriend who gave her a reassuring nod.

“Good. We’re doing okay now.” Ingrid answered honestly, feeling just as relieved as the two Spaniards at the door looked.

“You guys can come in instead of hanging around by the door.” You told them, Ingrid stifling her laughter behind you.

“You two look cosy. Let me join, I'm jealous.” Mapi grinned, dramatically diving onto the bed and sighing contently as she threw an arm around Ingrid's waist.

Alexia was still lingering awkwardly at the door as three of you lay in one double bed, thinking that she didn't want to intrude on a friendship that had been around far longer than she'd known you. But, as you had done for months now, you continued to surprise her.

“Come lay here, Ale.” You waved her over and pointed for her to lay beside the bed on the ground.

Ale. Sure, everybody called her that, but today was the first time you called her that.

She came over in a heartbeat, probably too eager, but she immediately got down and laid on her back beside you. You looked down at her with a shy smile, red eyes and all, and she returned it instantly with pink cheeks.

“Have you eaten yet?” She whispered, looking at the untouched tray of goods next to her. As you shook your head, she reached to grab the paper bag of bakery-bought cookies she had found in your kitchen and opened them, before taking one out and breaking a bit off to give to you. “Cookies for breakfast.”

“Cookies for breakfast.” You gladly took it and ate it, all whilst smiling down at the woman on the floor.

Alexia Putellas, your captain, a World Cup winner, voted best player in the world numerous times, laying on the floor of your apartment just for you. Playing for this team, in this city, was still such a perplexing situation, though fortunately for all the right reasons.

The rest of the day was spent with Mapi and Ingrid as you had told Alexia to go to her family dinner she had initially cancelled. She was reluctant to do so, but eventually she agreed and you were left with Ingrid and her hyperactive counterpart. They kept you distracted enough throughout the day, going for a walk with you, watching a movie with you, even inviting you back to their apartment for dinner where you spent the majority of the time with Bagheera on your lap. Mapi made digs at the fact her cat loved you more than her, and you just sat there with a grin on your face, knowing it was true and revelling in it. 

At the end of the night, you insisted on going back to your own flat after telling the pair of them you were tired of third-wheeling. With tight hugs from them both and one last gloat from you as Bagheera followed you to the door, you left them and made the very short journey back home. You had unknowingly left your phone there, and as you checked it for the first time in a couple hours, there was a surprise waiting for you on it.

Alexia: Would you like to get breakfast with me tomorrow? 

Alexia: I can meet you at your apartment and we can walk somewhere of your choice

Alexia: But if you don't want to, that’s okay!

Her nervousness radiated through the phone with her slight spam of texts, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearing it was. As if you could ever say no to that. Even if it was a last minute change of plan, all you were going to do tomorrow was maybe go on a run or go to the gym before staying home all day. This was a welcome surprise.

Sticking true to her word, she showed up at 9am on the dot. Anyone would assume it was the middle of winter in Norway with the way she was dressed, when it was just a rainy day in Barcelona. But she was there, a shy smile on her face that was very uncharacteristic for her as she handed you one of the two umbrellas she had in her hands.

“I do have my own umbrella here, Ale.” You teased her, though you took it and closed the door behind you. When you turned back, there was a red shade to her cheeks.

“Well, good morning to you too.” She grumbled, trying to act grumpy but the smile on her face forced its way through sooner than she wanted. As soon as it did, she drew you in for one of those hugs that you may or may not think about more often than you'd admit.

You both easily fell into step after that, heading towards a quiet little cafe you had frequented since your first week in Barcelona. It was a short walk from your apartment, but that didn’t stop the grumbled complaints from Alexia about the weather the whole way, though by the time you arrived you were quite sure she was doing it just to hear you laugh. Again, it surprised you just how naturally conversation flowed between you both. There was no awkwardness, no nerves, just unfiltered joy spilling from the both of you. It hit you then. You were just being yourself around her. And that’s why it felt so good.

There was no reason to mask around Alexia; you felt safe around her. You could do or say anything, and most likely she would just smile right back at you. She’d seen most versions of you by now, and yet here she still was, inviting you out for breakfast even if it did rain on her parade. She had seen you at your happiest in your first game for the team when she came sprinting over, leading the charge for her teammates to celebrate with you. She saw you yesterday morning after a night of horror, eyes red and puffy, wrapped up unmoving in bed, and she lay on the floor beside you still with a smile on her face. You had already let her in more than some of the people you were closest with back in Germany and her opinion never faltered. 

After finding a table, beside the window of course, Alexia went off to order for the pair of you. Though, when she came back, there was a surprise on your plate.

“Why’d you get me this?” You asked shyly.

“Because it is your… your comfort food, right? I thought you would like it.” She shrugged the gesture off, sitting down across from you like it was nothing. Like it didn’t mean everything to you. It wasn’t the cookie itself that had your heart racing, it was the thought behind it that topped your heart back up with the love it needed after the past thirty-six hours.

“They are, but you didn’t have to do this for me. Thank you.” You said, hiding your smile by taking a drink of the hot cocoa you had chosen.

“Eh, it’s nothing. Have you ever tried this?” She gestured to her choice of meal, one of her favourites. “Pa amb tomàquet.”

“I don’t like tomatoes.” 

“Oh no, cariño.” Alexia muttered after a few quiet moments, shaking her head and dropping her cutlery. “No, no, no.”

“What?” You said in amusement, entertained by her dramatics.

“You just stamped on my culture. You broke my heart.”

“I broke your heart, did I?” You said with a smirk. “You broke my heart when you complained about the rain the whole way here.”

“How can anyone like rain? It is sad and boring.” She argued in mock outrage, though of course she can’t last a second around you without smiling.

“The rain reminds me of home.” You revealed sheepishly. Alexia’s shoulders dropped and her face softened instantly. “Both Norway and Germany, actually.”

“No, I understand. I get it. I never thought about it like that but I understand.” She told you, watching as you nodded and looked out the window. “Do you get homesick?”

“Sometimes.” You admitted in a whisper a minute later, only to clear your throat and turn your attention back to your food and start eating.

“You… you never speak Norwegian with Ingrid.” She stated, though it was clearly more of a question.

“Uh, nope. I find it hard to learn new languages, so when I learnt English and moved to Germany, it was like it became my first language. I can speak Norwegian still, obviously, and I would love to learn Spanish and Catalan but it’s just really tiring switching between languages. Mentally tiring, that is. I never learnt German other than a few basic phrases. It’s just too much to process if that makes sense.” 

You stumbled your way through an explanation of a minor secret you’d been a little shameful of for a while now. It was common courtesy to learn and understand the language of a new country, as well as immersing yourself in that and the culture, but it was something you had always struggled with. Admitting that to someone like Alexia was slightly terrifying.

“That’s okay, a lot of people here speak English so you don’t need to worry about learning the languages. But if you ever want some lessons, if or when you are ready, I could help. Or Aitana, or Jana, or someone else.” 

It was suggestions like that, easy solutions that were offered with no second thought, that made Alexia so endearing.

There was one thought that was ever-present in the back of your mind though, it had been for a while, but the meltdown brought it on even stronger. Once the pair of you had finished your meals and were merely just enjoying each other’s company, it came out before you could stop it.

“Do you think I’m doing well here?”

Alexia paused for a moment to think carefully, before placing her cup down and smiling over at you.

“I do. You want to know what I think?” You nodded with no hesitation. “I remember watching you play against us in the Champion’s League last year, you really caused us a lot of problems. And then I heard the coaches say they were thinking of signing you, and I really wanted you to come because I know you would flourish here. Our play style suits you well, and you are an amazing striker. Your positioning, your creativity, awareness, you are a well-rounded attacker. And outside of the pitch, well… the team is much better off with you here.”

“What do you mean?” You said, almost in a whisper.

“You are just a happy person. The happiest person in the changing room. Any one of us could be having a bad day, but then you are there with your smile and your cheeriness and it really lifts us all up.”

Dumb-founded. That's all you felt in that moment. 

Perhaps your face may not show that considering there was a thoughtful frown on your face as you processed the words nobody had ever said to you before, but then the slight shock wore off and… nope, still dumb-founded.

“Really?” You had to double check, because is that honestly what other people thought of you?

“Yes. It's the truth. Ingrid said she has never seen you bond like this with a team before. Believe me when I say you fit in, everybody loves you. We can't imagine what it's like to not have you now.” 

Well. You just might have to start believing that. What choice were you left with otherwise?

—

Something snapped inside of you after that day. A new problem had formed, one you couldn’t have expected at all. Had you dealt with a similar situation in the past? Yes. But those were much more convenient occasions. This one couldn’t be more inconvenient if you tried.

You couldn’t talk to Mapi about it, or Ingrid, or Alexia. Definitely not Alexia. 

It’s just a crush. You could get over a crush. 

Of course you fall for the first person who showed you a bit of humanity. What’s not to like about Alexia?

She lets you ramble to her when you want to, she sits in silence with you when you need it. During briefings at training, she’ll hand over a pack of chewing gum as she knows it helps you to concentrate or, even in some situations outside of training, she takes her rings off and lets you wear them so you can fidget with them instead of your bad habits of skin picking. She’s seen you very close to your worst, and she’s seen you at your best. She gives you her sunglasses whenever a place is too bright, not just because of the sun as it can be any kind of light, and she lets you squeeze her hand to death during take-offs and landings on planes whilst travelling for away games.

Maybe, maybe, it was a tad more than a crush. It’s not your fault though! She chose to act this way, she had inserted herself right into your life the moment she met you, so… what else were you supposed to do?

Oh boy. 

“Frido! I need your help!” You said in an urgent, hushed whisper. The unsuspecting Swede was just walking to her car after training when you called her name from the window of your own vehicle.

“Everything okay?” She checked with a concerned scowl to her eyebrows, coming over in an instant.

“Yes! Well, no, but yes, but- just get in the car please.” 

With a humoured smile, Frido headed around to the passenger side and hopped in, turning to you with an open expression.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a bit agitated.” She probed once more. Being long-time friends with Ingrid meant you had obviously come to know Frido well too, and she was part of the group you found yourself in at Barcelona, with Aitana and Esmee also. Esmee was the person you sat with on the coach most of the time, you both gave each other the calmness needed after a game… but that was when you weren't with Alexia, of course.

“Yes, I am just screwed, Frido. So screwed.” You groaned, clutching the steering wheel tightly and dropping your forehead to rest on it.

“Why?” 

“I shouldn’t tell anyone but it’s going to explode out of me if I don't talk about it soon. And I can’t tell Ingrid or Mapi, so here we are.” Then you slumped back against your chair, a frustrated sigh leaving you as you crossed your arms.

“You can tell me anything, they don’t have to know. Getting it off your chest will help.” Frido smiled reassuringly at you. 

It probably wasn’t a good idea to tell anyone about it. Having someone else know made it a reality, for you right now it was just a thought, a daydream. But telling Frido would turn this stupid delusion into an actual, real problem rather than something you thought about at night. And during the day. Actually, most of the t- it doesn't matter. 

“You must never tell a soul, Frido.” You glared at her in warning, though you trusted her with your life. “And you can't make fun of me or laugh either. It's not funny.”

“Never, snuppa. I promise.” She swore.

Another sigh as your eyes flitted around anxiously, moving from the car beside you, to the sky, to the blonde waiting patiently for you to find the words you need. Maybe the world will be thrown upside down when you tell her, but it's either that or an implosion, so.

“I like Alexia. Really like her. And it's going to ruin my life.” 

It did not feel better saying it out loud.

“Why wou-”

“Because she is the captain! She’s the leader, everyone looks up to her, she's just being a human and now I have a crush on her! That's not fair on her! All she’s doing is just being nice to me, like everyone else on the team, and my stupid brain had to choose her. Of all people in the world, her! It's going to mess everything up, I've just found my place and I'm finally feeling somewhat comfortable here and then this happens and I just- I hate it!”

Your words shocked yourself, even. Apparently it was a much bigger problem than you initially thought. In reality, you should have picked up on that, relationships historically haven't gone well for you. 

Everybody says they don't care that you're autistic until your disability actually debilitates you. One glimpse of it and they’re gone. Then the world has the audacity to label you as someone who is ‘high-functioning’ with ‘low support needs’ just because you can get up in the morning and go to work. That doesn't mean you struggle any less, you’re not ‘mildly autistic’, those struggles are simply just internalised, therefore other people experience your autism mildly. If anything, they should be thanking you. Thanking you for making their life easier by making your own a million times harder.

Should Alexia ever see you during one of your meltdowns, she’d probably run for the hills. Quit her career, change her name, and flee to another country. That’s what most people did.

“Slow down, slow down. Come back to me, you are spiralling.” There were soft hands holding your own now, stopping you from palming them roughly against your arms, something you did in anxious moments like now. Movement helped you process things, it was no wonder you became a footballer.

“I don’t know what to do, Frido, it will ruin everythi-”

“Hey, be quiet for a moment.” She urged gently, and you turned to look at her with panic in your eyes. “This won’t ruin everything, that is just your anxiety talking. You’re allowed to have a crush on someone, skatt, you’re only human. It’s natural.”

“Yes, but it’s not the fact I have a crush, it’s who the crush is.”

“I know.” She paused for a second, figuring out the best way to help you around this. “When you talk to me, who do you see? Do you see Frido, your friend? Or do you see Fridolina Rolfö, the footballer?”

“I see Frido, my friend.” You answered skeptically.

“When you’re with Alexia, do you see her as Ale, your friend? Or do you see Alexia Putellas, your captain?” 

“She’s just Ale, but I don’t-”

“If you see Alexia like that normally, why are you picturing her differently in this case? As if she’s bigger than you and… unobtainable?”

Viewing it from another perspective definitely gave you some clarity. 

…But, after all, she is your captain?

“I don’t want to mess this opportunity up though. I was really worried I wouldn’t like it here, but now I do and I actually already love it more than Germany, but if I ever acted upon my feelings it could fuck it all up. I don’t know if I could handle that.” You said insecurely, chewing on your lower lip to keep the emotions at bay. 

When Frido had been silent for too long, you turned to look at her, only to find she was doing the same thing. As if she was deep in thought. Before you could coax whatever was clearly on the tip of her tongue out of her though, she was speaking.

“I know something that I shouldn’t. I’m going to tell you anyway because I think it will make you feel a lot better.” She began with a shy, yet excited expression to her features.

“What is it?” You prompted.

“Last week, in Seville. I was walking to my hotel room and… Mapi and Ale were ahead of me in the corridor. I don’t think they knew I was there, and I heard them having a conversation just like ours.”

Oh. Oh.

“How sure are you?” Your eyes searched her face, looking for even just an ounce of hesitation that would throw all this out the window for you. But it wasn’t there.

“I’m very sure, snuppa, I heard basically every word.” She said with an almost proud smile. “I don’t think you have to worry about anything. Sounds like Alexia feels the same as you do. And even if I hadn’t overheard that, it’s clear to a lot of us that Alexia felt that way anyway. Think of how much time she has spent with you since you joined. She doesn’t spend that much time with anyone on the team, to be honest.”

That caught your attention. Now that Frido mentions it, Alexia has spent a lot of time with you. There was that morning she took you out for breakfast, something you hadn't ever expected but after it, you wished it would happen every morning. She always chooses to sit next to you at any given point, whether that be in briefings or whilst travelling, as well as opting to partner up with you in training whenever the opportunity arises. She even took time out of her own evening to cook dinner for you and bring it to you once when you told her you had ran out of your meal prep. 

“I guess.” You mumbled with a frown.

“She’s just a girl after all. Like you.”

Once again, the world had decided to show you just how much your life can change with one single conversation.

—

Not that you acted upon anything, of course. Over a month passed by with things staying the same as they had been for a number of weeks before the revelation with Frido. Training, match, recovery day, repeat. Dinner at Ingrid and Mapi’s apartment every Thursday if the season schedule allowed it. Morning jogs on days-off, evenings spent basking in the golden glow of a Spanish sunset, some of the best you’d seen. There may have possibly been a few more breakfast outings with Alexia. And perhaps just one movie night. Or was it two? 

Regardless, the one good thing about having the natural ability to mask all the inner turmoil you had was being able to hide your feelings when you were around Alexia. On the other hand, your trait of analysing every detail of your life became a bit too exhausting. You were overthinking all of your actions - every word you said, the way you said it, what your hands were doing, what someone might interpret from your body language, every little thing you did kept you up at night. 

You definitely still liked her, that might… never go away. Those feelings only grew and weighed you down more and more, but you couldn’t distance yourself from her no matter how loud your mind screamed at you to do so. You liked her company, she ranked almost as high as Ingrid on your list of… list of what? People you liked? People you felt safe with? People you didn’t have to mask at all around? People you lov- too early.

There was just so much to think about, and so few solutions. There were literally two; you either tell her, or you pretend it never happened. What the hell were you meant to do with those options? Both were equally as terrifying. As if your fear of the future couldn’t get any deeper, you were now stood at a crossroads. Alexia could become the most important person in your life, or she could just become another person you leave behind in this free-for-all career. She could just slip into the past and become a distant memory. 

Massive leaps of faith still weren’t your thing. The fear of the unknown still ran rampant through your veins, and though you’d become a little more relaxed about certain things over the years, this was absolutely not one of those exceptions. The prospect of it all was just too overwhelming. Truthfully, you really didn’t think you could do this.

However, things all came to a head during the last training session of the year in December. Literally.

“Ale? Are you okay?” You asked in a strangled groan, one of your hands coming up to your head as you squinted through one eye to look for the woman you’d just clashed with.

“Oye, sit down. Ale is fine, you both hit heads though so you need to be checked for a concussion. Lay down.” Mapi demanded just as you got back up onto your knees. 

At that moment, you couldn’t have cared less about whether you had a concussion or not, all you cared for was that Alexia was okay. She was, maybe a black eye and a subsequent bruise to her ego, but she was fine. You had taken the brunt of it, straight to the temple.

You followed Mapi’s instruction and layed back down, your head already starting to throb quite a bit. Before you knew it, you were surrounded by some of the medical staff as they checked you over. Once they decided you were well enough to sit up, they urged you to do so as one of them came to cradle your neck to keep it steady. A bright light was flashed into your eyes, making you flinch, but they decided then that if you did have a concussion, it wasn’t too bad. The decision was made to take both you and Alexia inside as the rest of training went on, so the pair of you walked gingerly to the physio room. 

“You okay?” Alexia murmured quietly as you both trailed behind the physios a little. You ignored the way your heart fluttered when her hand found your forearm briefly, and instead blamed it on your head injury (though it may not be physically possible for those occurrences to be linked.)

“Mhm. Are you? I’m sorry that happened.” You replied. The collision was a bit hazy for you, you couldn’t exactly remember what had happened so if you were at fault, you had to make sure she knew it wasn’t purposeful. She had to know.

“No, no apologies, it’s just football. Happens all the time.” She reassured you, smiling comfortingly down at you as she held the door open for you.

In the room, the team ushered you both onto separate beds, forcing ice packs into your hands as they carried out more cautionary checks. And to add to the guilt you felt, they decided to rule you both out of the game tomorrow as a precaution. Your stomach dropped, dreading Alexia’s reaction. Everyone knew about her mentality, a missed game was a missed opportunity. You weren’t quite sure you could ever look her in the eye again.

The second the physios said you both could leave, you hopped off the bench and went to make a run for it. The sooner you could get home, the better. If you avoided the conversation, you could avoid the whole situation, and hide until the Winter break ended.

“Cariño, wait!” Alexia called out, managing to gently stop you by your wrist before you could flee. You didn’t put up much of a fight, you just sighed and lowered your head. Alexia gestured for the rest of the staff to leave the room for the time being, and that only made matters worse. Not only was she going to trap you in a conversation, there weren’t even any witnesses. “I just want to talk about something. Could you sit down?”

You had no choice but to entertain her.

Reluctantly, you sat back down on the physio bench you were on a moment ago, and copied Alexia’s position. Perched on the edge, legs hanging off the side, except your hands gripped the fabric of it quite a bit tighter.

“Sorry.” You whispered with a chagrined look to your face, eyes trained on the swing of your legs.

“What? Why?” Alexia asked. The confusion in her voice led you to look up at her with your own questioning glance.

“For getting us ruled out. We can’t play tomorrow now.” You told her, your eyes again looking anywhere in the room but at her. Then again, that always happened, no matter the occasion. 

“I told you that wasn’t your fault, you really don’t need to apologise. I’m not mad at you, so you don’t need to feel guilty or anything. We’re both okay, it’s just for our safety.” Alexia reminded softly, but with the head space you were in, you couldn’t believe her words just yet.

“What about the game though?” You uttered in a way akin to that of a down-trodden child, and Alexia could only smile in return at it.

“The team will handle it, they’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about anything, it’s all out of your control. Chin up.” Alexia said with a coy grin. 

She laughed freely when you physically tilted your head up and squeezed your eyes shut to give a cheesy smile, and the sound of it instantly calmed most of your worries. 

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” 

“Um, no, actually. There’s another thing.” She scratched the back of her neck nervously as she spoke, and just like that your anxiety came rushing back. “I just, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, so please tell me if I am because that’s not what I wan-”

Was she about to say it?

“Say it, Ale. Just say it.” You interrupted, because if she was going to say it, you needed it right now. You couldn’t wait a second longer.

“Right. Well…” There was a bright redness to her cheeks, not just from the head-to-head a while ago. “I, um, I… I like you. Really like you, actually. As in, I want to go on a date with you.” 

She actually said it.

“In a romantic way?” Your deadpan tone didn’t exactly help Alexia’s nerves in that moment.

“Uh, I’m not sure there’s any other kind of date, cariño, so yes, in a romantic way.” She laughed nervously. You were quiet for a few moments as you inwardly controlled your emotions so that you didn’t totally freak out in front of the woman who had just asked you on a date. 

You had to play it cool, right? That’s what everyone always said.

“Sure. When?”

It was comical, really. You’d waited this long for something to finally happen between you both, and now it seemed you couldn’t care any less. If Alexia could see into your brain right now though, it would be total chaos. Like a scene straight out of Inside Out.

“I guess now that we can’t play tomorrow and we are the only ones ruled out, we could go to the game together?” 

That was… actually a much better idea than you thought. Normally, people go on dates to the cinema or to restaurants or whatever other hellish activity neurotypicals chose to do. But a football game was common ground, something that the pair of you could talk about forever, and it was an environment that you were familiar with. That could absolutely work. A dream, actually. 

Still, you had to play it cool.

“But I’m already going to the game. And I would have to sit with you anyway. And all you would focus on is the game, it wouldn’t be much of a date.” You were teasing her at this point, whilst also worrying that perhaps you had taken it too far again, but Alexia understood you by now. She’d caught on, and this was her favourite version of you she had seen so far.

“Fine, it doesn’t have to be a date then! You could have just said no instead of breaking my heart!” She argued theatrically, a wave of euphoria rushing through her when you threw your head back and laughed. “How about we go out for food after, that can be our date? We can go to one of the markets and get dinner from a food truck and go on a walk, instead of a restaurant. Does that sound like a better date?”

“Yeah, but I was going to say yes to the football game anyway.” You shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, a hint of a smirk on your face as you stood up to put your ice pack away. Alexia watched you do so with a huge smile on her face at your antics. You turned back to her, a hand on your hip where you stood not too far away from her now. “Dinner still sounds good though.”

“You are so annoying.” Alexia hopped down off of the bench and wandered over to you with a shake of her head, throwing her own ice pack down next to yours. “You know that?”

“It’s a love language. Get used to it.” 

The midfielder chuckled under her breath. Secretly, she hoped she was able to get used to it.

“Wait, what do I have to wear tomorrow?” Your eyes suddenly went wide in panic, staring up at Alexia like she held all the answers in the world.

“Well, it is just a football game and a walk, so whatever you are comfy in. Why?” 

“Because it’s a date, I don’t know what you expect me to wear.” You fretted. It had been a long time since your last date. And this was quite possibly the most important one so far.

“I have no expectations, cariño, just make sure you’re warm and comfortable.” Alexia brushed it off like it was nothing, a notion that silenced all those doubts once again. She had a real habit of doing that.

“Okay.” You nodded. 

You realised your close proximity then, noticing you were both quite close. There was one thing that came to mind, but it was surely too early for that. No matter how much you wanted it. One step at a time. Instead, you shyly held your arms out and looked up at her.

She immediately knew what you were after, and who was she to deny you of that. You melted into her embrace the second she invited you in, finally being able to relish in the comfort her hugs brought without overthinking it.

“You are quite oblivious, you know?” Alexia stated with a smirk to break the silence. 

“Shut up, you’re ruining it.”

—

You couldn’t sleep that night, you were way too excited for your date. You were like a giddy kid at Christmas, the smile didn’t leave your face for more than a second. Ingrid came around that night with the intention of checking up on you, but she never could have predicted what information she was walking back to her apartment with. When she found out, she thought she was excited, but Mapi, well, she was on a whole other level. Long story short, Bagheera didn’t surface from under the sofa until the Spaniard had long gone to bed. 

The game kicked off at 2pm, meaning from the second you woke up at 7am sharp, you had way too much energy. Nervous energy. But there was one thing you noticed immediately. You didn’t feel scared, or anxious, or like you wanted to totally avoid the whole situation altogether. You were excited. You woke up feeling like a normal girl going on a date with someone they liked. 

It was new. Refreshing. You felt light, you can’t remember the last time you felt that way about something that would normally freak you the hell out. Spending time with Alexia didn’t feel like a chore, the way it did sometimes with anyone in your life. Rather than draining your social battery, it stayed at the same level with her. If you were feeling especially burnt out one day, it didn’t seem so sickening to have Alexia’s company there like it was with the thought of anyone else. Your mind was peacefully empty when with her, unlike the fast-paced monologue that ran pretty much all hours of the day, even when you were asleep. 

For once in your life, you were going to be optimistic. Because the woman you were meeting had never given you any reason to be otherwise.

So when she knocked on your apartment door, opting out of firing a text your way to say she had arrived, the surprise of not only her presence but the bouquet in her arms was met with a bright smile from yourself. You immediately took them from her and bounded towards the kitchen area to tuck them safely into a vase. Alexia gazed at you the whole time, feeling her own sense of disbelief at the situation she had found herself in. Never could she have imagined falling for you like she had when she met you for the first time six months ago, but she was happier than ever because of it.

There was a beaming smile of her own on her face, and her eyes crinkled with unfiltered joy when you leaned up to kiss her cheek quickly, before rushing around the flat to get everything you needed. Sunglasses, your coat to go over the matching jumper and joggers you were wearing (Alexia did tell you to dress comfortably, after all), and a cap for good measure. Between you both, there was a distinct difference between the amount of clothing layers, something that made you laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” Alexia grumbled, watching you adjust your hair in the mirror after putting your hat on, huffing when it wasn’t agreeing with you.

“You look like you’re dressed for a Norwegian winter. It’s ten degrees.”

“That is cold for me, cariño.” She chuckled, before moving to stand between you and the mirror, and helping you to sort your hair how you wanted it. You blushed and lowered your hands, looking up at her with a shy smile as she worked. “There. You look cute. Cosy.”

“Thank you.” You hummed, cheeks aching from the intensity of your smile when Alexia took hold of your hand and gave it a light squeeze. “You look… warm.”

“Enough with your teasing, let’s go.” Alexia tutted, though she kept your hand in hers as the pair of you left your apartment. It wasn’t until you got to the car that you both reluctantly let go, shooting each other a bashful look before getting into Alexia’s car.

When you arrived at the stadium, both of you spent some time with the team in the locker room, and Alexia addressed them all quickly before you left to find your seats. You had full faith in the team, it was luckily just a league game that most of the younger members of the team would be playing anyway. To be honest, you were quite thankful to not be playing, because it had given way for something better instead.

The majority of the game was spent by both of you talking endlessly about football, both tactical discussions about the game and personal stories for you both. For Alexia, she spoke about how she came to love it so much and how it took her family’s relationship and togetherness to a whole new level. For you, you told her how playing football was the only job you could see yourself succeeding in. The system was routine-based, your work attire was a jersey and shorts, and you were indulging in your special interest everyday of the week. It was an autistic’s person dream to be able to do that, something you were grateful for every time you stepped onto a football pitch. Any other work environment, and you might not have survived. 

Alexia hung onto every word you said, just as you did for her. Learning more about each other was something you both took great interest in, because every detail about your past was how you had become the people you were today. Maybe it was too early to class it as such, but falling in love was a phenomenon that people took for granted nowadays. It’s rare, it’s special, and it’s beautiful. Two people, from entirely different backgrounds, leading unique lives with respective struggles and wins the other hadn’t experienced, only to go on and share every high and low together. Yeah, pretty special in your book. 

With you both being in view of the stadium’s crowd, you were mindful of the watchful eyes around. There was one exception though; during the later stages of the game, the other team had quite a fierce counter attack, something that had both you and Alexia on the edges of your seat. Though, as they neared the goal, the match was the last thing on your mind when Alexia’s hand landed on your knee in anxious anticipation. That hand didn’t move, even when Cata saved the shot with ease. Instead, she just settled back into her seat and turned to you with a deep breath out, the tension leaving her. Then she noticed what she’d done, but before she could retract it, you simply gazed up at her and put your hand on top of hers. 

It remained that way until the whistle blew a few minutes later, when you stood up to make your way down to the rest of the team. You got onto the pitch, Alexia and yourself splitting ways to go and talk to your other teammates. Two familiar faces came bounding over to you and before they even spoke, you could tell what they were going to say just by the smiles tugging at their lips.

“How’s it going?” Mapi asked, poking you in the ribs.

“It’s not gone anywhere yet, we were more focused on the game. But it’s been nice, really nice. It doesn’t feel much different to the other times we’ve hung out, is that good or bad?” You replied with a nervous chuckle, and you got your answer in the form of an excited squeal from Ingrid.

“That’s a good thing! That’s what it was like on our first date, right María?” Mapi nodded enthusiastically, giving you a double thumbs up for extra emphasis. “See! I’m sure you’re doing great, skatt, and I am so happy for you.”

“Me too, preciosa, so happy. Think of the double dates!” Mapi shook your arm vigorously at that, the three of you laughing.

“Let me get through the first one, then I’ll think about it.” That sobered the pair of them up as they nodded in a calmer manner, before they both surged forward to wrap you up in a hug.

“Oh- she’s coming, incoming.” Mapi whispered, pulling away and spinning you around.

“Shall we go, cariño? It might be busy there, so the sooner the better.” 

Just like that, you were being whisked away back into Alexia’s car. She drove to the market, which was decorated for the festive seasons, something you gasped at in awe the second you saw it. Alexia fought off a smile at your reaction which she found much more endearing than she thought she would, and she instantly knew it was a good idea to bring you here. Though you were flying back to Norway in a few days’ time for Christmas back at home, she had a feeling you were a bit more homesick than you were letting on, considering the vast difference in the season between Spain and Norway. Her plan to bring you here, not only for a date, but to cheer you up a bit, was already proving to work.

For a couple hours, you went from stall to stall with a childlike wonder, dragging Alexia along behind you with a tight grip on her hand that you said was just because of the busyness of the area, but both of you revelled in it secretly. That became the truth when you were walking away from the market, slowly heading in the direction of Alexia’s car, until she took you in another direction. Turns out, she was leading you to a beautiful walled garden you had no idea even existed, but the second you saw it you fell in love. Even if it may not have been as stunning as it usually was in the summer, it was still more than enough to capture your attention. 

“This is amazing, Ale, how did you know this was here?” You wondered, head on a swivel looking at each tiny detail, as if there wasn’t enough time in the world to admire its beauty.

One day, in the future, Alexia will reveal that that’s how she feels about you. There are layers to you, and she fears she won’t have enough time in her life to uncover and explore each one. You hold beauty in your physical features, that was the first thing she noticed about you, but it’s the grace of your heart and how you proudly wear it on your sleeve that she adores the most. It's the sparkle in your eyes when you ramble about the things you love most, the unabashed care you treat everyone with, your humour that constantly keeps her on her toes, the purity of your soul and how you have enough unconditional love to give to nearly every being on the planet. There’s plenty to love about you, but that still doesn’t feel like enough for her.

“I have lived here for most of my life, preciosa, I know Barcelona like the back of my hand.” She said, and maybe if you weren’t so oblivious, you might have seen the adoration present in her gaze.

“So you’re saying you know more places like this? And you’ve kept them a secret all this time?”

“Yes, I will show you them all, don’t worry.” She chuckled, slowly walking over to where you were stuck staring at an abundance of pansies in one area of the garden. “Those are Alba’s favourite.” 

“This whole place is my favourite. I love it, thank you for taking me here.” You turned your attention from the flowers and back up to Alexia, who didn’t seem to take any interest in her surroundings. She was just smiling down at you. “What are you smiling at?” 

“Hmm?”

“You’re just standing there, smiling. You haven't even looked around yet. What are you smiling like that for?” You asked in utter confusion. She was genuinely just stood there, perfectly still, seemingly lost in her thoughts, with a soft smile on her face that’s directed solely at you. Instead of answering, she laughs, to your annoyance. 

“I’m just happy, cariño. Happy to be here with you, on a date.” She answered, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Oh. Okay.” You said, hoping the dim lighting from the street lamp wasn’t enough for Alexia to see the blush on your cheeks. “I’m really happy too. I can’t believe you like me.”

You didn’t really mean to say that, but the words tumbled out of you regardless.

“Why do you say that?” Alexia questioned with a frown, deftly taking hold of your hands.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, looking down as your feet fidgeted on the spot, kicking a stone away from underneath you. “I can be a lot, I guess.”

“Well, luckily for you, I have seen your ‘a lot’ and it’s enough for me. You don’t have to worry about that, I promise.” Alexia replied, earnesty clear in her voice. She leaned forward then, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Why do you put yourself down like that?”

“Because I want to be your girlfriend, but I want you to know what you’re getting into.” You told her, taking a slight step back. 

“Loving another human, that’s all I’m getting into.” She took a cautious step closer. “That little voice is taking over, cariño, take a breath with me and know that I’m not going anywhere.”

Trying to calm down is quite hard when there’s a beautiful woman in front of you being so kind that she makes your head spin. Or when she’s giving the softest forehead kisses in all of mankind and holding your hands with a delicateness you’ve never experienced. She’s not just holding your hands right now, she’s got your heart in the palm of her hands.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” You blurted out, sharply stepping back from her again. 

“I know. You are the strongest person I’ve met, and you are more than capable of taking care of yourself. But who’s to say you can’t have someone by your side anyway?” She smiled like it was nothing. As if her words weren’t everything you’d ever wanted to hear. “Are you scared of me leaving?”

“Yes.” You whispered quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat and growing the confidence to look back up into her eyes.

“I’ve learnt a lot about you these past few months. Not a thing I now know has deterred me from you. I don’t think anything could. All I ask is that you take a chance and let me show you how much I adore and admire you. The feelings, the worries and doubts you have, they go both ways, cariño. I am worried that I might not be good enough for you and that I am not what you need. I am scared that I will get things wrong, and that I-”

You had heard enough, she’d proved her point.

You leant up on the balls of your feet, and kissed her. And she returned it almost instantly. Her hands dropped yours and landed on your hips, steadying you on your tip-toes. Yours wrapped around her neck, drawing her somehow closer. And just like everything had been so far with Alexia, it was easy. It was everything you dreamed of and more. Here, somewhere in Barcelona, not only had you made a life for yourself in just six months, you’d gained a new addition to it too. 

Alexia had taught you a lot in the short time you had known her. But there was one thing that stood out to you; she had unknowingly taught you, just through her actions, that love is accommodation and consideration. It’s knowing what the other needs, and being there when they need it. It won’t be 50/50 everyday, in your case there will be times where it’s 90/10, and there will be occasions that are the same for Alexia. Your struggles don’t define you, and Alexia’s don’t define her. You’re worth it, just as much as she is. Just as much as everybody else.

Just because you’re stuck with a label for the rest of your life, a disability that beats you down when you want anything but that, those don’t mean that everything has to be hard. The truth is, when a genuine connection is found, things can be easy. They can be peaceful. With Alexia, you feel seen, as if you’re being mirrored back to yourself. Now, by loving the right person, you realise that other people shouldn’t always make you feel exhausted, they shouldn’t be the reason why you retreat back into yourself, and most importantly they shouldn't make you feel like you’re impossible to love. 

Life will continue to try and break you down, there’s not a soul on earth that can entirely protect you from that, but having Alexia by your side, just like she said, can lessen the burden. After all, a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved, and joy shared is joy doubled. You have to live, you have to feel,  you have to love, you have to take risks. Because if you hadn’t done that all along, where would you be now?

[helluvagyal]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐮𝐩

Starring: Adam, Vox and Alastor x gn!reader !

Content: MDNI, smau, cursing, derogatory name calling in both vox and adam's art (by them and you), alastor's part is in the format of him sending a letter. I named Alastor's shadow Facilier because I wanted to.

A/N: It was fun writing this tbh. @hellvcifer specially requested Adam and then I had them re-read some of his part to see if i got the characterization right.

ADAM

VOX

ALASTOR

An eggshell white envelope lands on the table in front of you. Looking up from your well kept copy of House of Leaves, you see Rosie is standing beside the bone carved table, her large eyes flitting expectantly between you and the mail obviously intended for you.

Closing the book with a sigh, you hand it to Rosie before picking up the letter and inspecting it; Your name is written on the front in loopy but neat handwriting and the back is sealed with red wax that's been stamped with Alastor's crest, a Whitetail Deer skull. You heat the letter opener over the candle flame beside you before sliding it under the seal to melt it. Once opened, you gently slide the parchment out but not yet unfolding it.

"Would you like me to stay?" Rosie rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, her smile softening when you nod gratefully.

"Yes, please." You watch as she folds her skirts before taking a seat in the armchair across from you.

You haven't heard a peep from Alastor since you two decided to end your relationship, and while amicable, you couldn't help but feel nervous about receiving a letter from him.

Hesitantly, you unfold the deer skin parchment and begin to quietly read to yourself.

My dear,

I have penned this letter numerous times, trying my hardest to get my thoughts out in a way the both of us will find acceptable. Firstly, I must apologize for being scarce, the hotel has been keeping me very busy recently as I decided that I needed to throw myself into work as a way to cope. I am well aware that at some point, we both wanted different things, to achieve individual goals that would not have bode well for us in the long run if we had decided to stay together.

Be that as it may, I would be lying if I had said that I had not grown fond of you and our tête-à-têtes. I did not think I would have enjoyed hunting together as a date night option but yet again, you have managed to make me eat my words, sha. Time apart has made me come to the realization that even though we are no longer in intimate relations, that does not mean I do not want you in my life.

My apologies again, as I know that by me avoiding you must have made you think the worst of me, I regret that moment of weakness on my part as I could have pictured the hurt you must have felt every time you hoped to see me but I did not show.

The chance to talk over tea and pastries at Rosie's would just be the bees knees, I so would like to issue these apologies again in person—but I just couldn't imagine writing this letter without doing it here first. According to Facilier, you seem to be looking well and it is not that I do not trust its judgement, I would just like to see you for myself.

I look forward to hearing from you again, sha.

Yours,

Alastor

© helluvagyal ‧ all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, translate, share, or copy my work.

[oxbellows]

Welcome Home! Nothing Weird Happened.

Written based on @emilybeemartin's spectacular Boromir Lives AU comics, with permission. I might write more, who knows.

My whole thought process here is this: if Boromir lives and makes it back to Minas Tirith, he is about to receive an absolutely ludicrous quantity of bad news. And I for one think it would be both plausible and hilarious for Pippin to be the one who ends up delivering that news. So here we are!

Trigger warnings for that whole pyre situation from Return of the King.

 It was fitting, to Boromir’s mind, that the battle for Minas Tirith should be decided by dead men. So many had died for the city of kings already, their blood seeping into her soil like rain. Why, then, should her fate rest solely in the hands of the living? An unnatural justice rang out in the clang of steel against phantom blades, heralding the return of a hope long since given up for lost. 

“None but the king of Gondor may command me,” the wraith hissed.

“You?” Boromir had roared. “You, Oathbreaker? I am the heir to the Stewards of Gondor. Generations of my kin have died for an empty throne. None but the king of Gondor may command ME. Here stands the king of Gondor before us, and you will suffer him as I have!”

And suffer him they did. Sickly green washed over the last armored oliphaunt as the dead claimed more souls for their own. Boromir pulled his eyes away from the spectacle and spun his sword in his hand, scanning the area around him for the next foe. He found none. Only the backs of retreating orcs, and weary Men attending to their fallen brothers. That and, out of the corner of his eye, the strangest possible trio of a Man, a Dwarf, and an Elf. Finding no enemy to engage, Boromir instead turned his step toward the strange trio to embrace his friends in the wake of victory. 

Aragorn, king of Gondor, did not appear especially regal at the moment. He was covered in grime and gore, surrounded by the corpses of orcs left to rot in the open field. Gimli’s sturdy metal armor was slick with blood, and it dripped steadily off the edge of the axe that he had slung over one shoulder. Legolas, of course, was only as disheveled as he might have been after a short run, clean of the muck that covered the rest of them. His hair still fell properly at his shoulder, what witchcraft did the Elf use to maintain it? 

Boromir could only imagine what he himself must look like. He knew that he was damp and smelled like death, which did not bode well for a lordly appearance. Nonetheless, even in all his heavy armor Boromir felt lighter than he had since childhood. The battle was over, fought now only by those straggling beasts that had not managed to escape the field on foot. Boromir was still, impossibly, alive, and so were his companions. So was his king. 

The enemy may yet prevail, but Gondor would not fall before the White Tree bloomed again. It was more than his grandfathers had ever dared to hope. 

“Is that blood in your hair or just its natural grease?” Boromir asked his king, sliding his sword back into its scabbard and stepping over the body of a fallen orc to approach him.

Aragorn laughed, raising one dirty hand to skim his fingertips over the top of his head. “I cannot say, Captain. I only know that in either case, I would wash it before I present myself to your lord father.”

Boromir clicked his tongue dismissively. “My lord father’s not the one we have to worry about. If my brother hears that I’ve brought Isildur’s heir home in such a state, he’ll throttle me.”

He almost continued speaking. He almost added, if he’s alive. Aragorn heard the unspoken caveat all the same. His dark eyes had a softness in them when he spoke.

“The battle is over, Captain of the White Tower,” Aragorn said. “We must turn our efforts now to the dead and wounded. May we not find you kin among them.”

If the taste of ash settled on the back of Boromir’s tongue, it could be attributed to the smell of Mordor’s filthy army laying dead at his feet, and not to the terrible image that flashed across his mind’s eye of Faramir’s bloodied and unblinking face.

“My father will be well,” Boromir asserted, determined not to speculate on his brother’s wellbeing. “He is past his time as a warrior. He will have commanded our troops from a place of safety within the walls.”

Aragorn inclined his head in assent. His hair really was a sight- black blood had matted chunks of it together, and where they stood now in the open field, with the sun just beginning to peek through the enemy’s unnatural bank of shadow, Boromir could see that his clothes were in much the same state. Perhaps this was why Aragorn so persistently favored black for his travel clothes. Were he wearing any other color, it would be obvious that he was as drenched in the blood of orcs as if he had bathed in it. 

A warrior of staggering skill was this king of Men, but he preferred not to proclaim his deadliness to the world. He tucked it away into shadow until such skill was needed. Perhaps one day Boromir might look upon this man that he called brother and not be humbled by the mere sight of him. 

Perhaps. 

“I will search with a sharp eye, then, for Captain Faramir,” Aragorn promised. 

Boromir closed the distance between them to grip Aragorn’s shoulder in thanks. Aragorn returned the gesture with ferocity, digging his fingers into the mail covering Boromir’s upper arm. Gimli thumped Boromir’s back in a heavy handed gesture of approval, and Legolas bowed his head with a coy smile. A river of unspoken words passed between the four of them, about great and important things like love and fear at the end of the world, and then they released each other. Aragorn turned his stride towards the Citadel to lend his knowledge of elvish medicine to the House of Healing. Legolas and Gimli set out together to help carry the wounded into the city for aid. Boromir made for the rocky outcrop at the city’s outermost wall, the one that archers favored for its vantage point. There he was sure he would find rangers, and hopefully news of Faramir.

The walk carried him past countless dead orcs and uruk-hai, but also more dead men and horses than Boromir had ever seen on a single field. For every pair of comrades he saw embrace in giddy relief, another wail of grief reached his ears from somewhere else. His mail grew heavier with every step he took.

Boromir had scarcely made it halfway to the archer’s outpost before he was stopped by the sound of his own name.

“Captain Boromir!” a familiar voice shouted. “You live!”

Boromir stopped and whirled about. There, about ten yards from Boromir, close enough to the outermost wall to be half-concealed in its shadow, crouched a man in a forest-green cloak. His hands still hovered over a fallen Gondorian soldier, as if he had frozen partway through checking for signs of life. Before the man in green rose to stand, he brushed a hand over the fallen one’s face, coaxing his eyes shut before stepping away. Boromir felt a dull pang of grief in his already overburdened heart at the confirmation that yet another of his countrymen was dead. He had no time to acknowledge that pain, though, as the man in green righted himself fully. The green cloak, brown leather vambraces, and longbow on his back all sparked immediate recognition. 

Boromir knew this man, had met him before, but his weary mind failed to provide a name for him. It hardly mattered. The uniform he wore told Boromir everything he needed to know. Faramir had been clad exactly the same, the last time Boromir had seen him. This was one of the rangers of Ithilien, his brother’s own company. Hope swelled painfully in his chest. He hastened his step towards the ranger.

The ranger rushed to meet him and performed a quick, obligatory salute when they were close enough to speak comfortably. “My lord,” he greeted, breathless. “Your father thought you dead, but we in Captain Faramir’s company held out hope.” A wide grin split across his face. “You cannot imagine how sorely you’ve been missed!”

Seeing his smile finally dragged the ranger’s name to the front of Boromir’s memory. “Anborn,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you alive and well. Tell me, what news do you have of my brother?”

 Anborn’s smile dropped, giving way to a look of naked concern as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “I have no news, my lord, none that is not two days old at least.”

 "Then give me the old news,” Boromir pressed, trying not to snap. 

Anborn grimaced and nodded. “My lord,” he said, haltingly, “The last time I saw your brother, my Captain, was on the day he rode out to reclaim Osgiliath with a company of forty mounted soldiers.”

Boromir could only stare for a long moment, turning over Anborn’s words in his head to try and make them comprehensible. No clarity came to him. “My brother is- in Osgiliath?”

Another grimace. “If he is still there, he is dead.” Boromir’s lungs constricted and froze. Anborn continued, “Osgiliath was overrun more than a week ago. I’ve heard rumors that Faramir made it back to the Citadel, but I cannot say any more than that without inventing rumors myself.”

“The Citadel,” Boromir repeated. He forced breath into his uncooperative lungs. He would go to the Citadel, and he would find Faramir there with their father, incoherent with frustration after arguing strategy with Denethor. He turned on his heel and started walking. Anborn said something as Boromir strode away, but he didn’t hear it properly over the ringing in his ears. 

What he had heard of Anborn’s words clamored in his mind- it sounded as if Faramir had taken a company of only forty men to reclaim an overrun city. That would be absurd, though. Faramir may be prone to bouts of melancholy and brooding, but he wasn’t suicidal. And even if he did, for some reason, decide to seek his own death, he would never bring any number of Gondor’s defenders with him to do it.

 Your father thought you dead.

 Boromir broke into a run.

Faramir didn’t hold sway over all their troops’ movements. Faramir wasn’t the Steward. 

 He was moving too slowly. Stumbling to a halt, Boromir grasped at the leather straps holding his pauldrons in place and did his best to unfasten them with numb fingers. Denethor had not been the same in recent years. The shadow in the east had darkened his thoughts, day by day, and set him talking as if the end were already here. His gray eyes had glinted in a way that Boromir scarcely recognized when he’d spoken of the One Ring. He’d never favored Faramir, never encouraged him the way he deserved, but the cruelty that had colored Denethor’s every interaction with his secondborn in the year or two before Boromir left shocked him. 

Boromir’s pauldrons landed on the ground in a heap, and now he doubled over to escape the shirt of mail. It was a difficult task without taking off his sword belt, but he managed. He needed to be faster, but he could not bear to go unarmed. The chain links poured gracelessly down over his head, yanking his hair as they went, and then he was free. Boromir took off running again, now unencumbered. 

 Faramir would never plan a suicide mission. 

 Would he accept one, though, if he was ordered?

Boromir’s feet touched white marble bricks for the first time in months that had felt like decades. He did not pause. Shouts followed him as he went, calling his name or exclaiming surprise. Arches and edifices flew by overhead. Rubble littered the street. He caught glances of bodies crushed under great stones. 

Boromir made it to the stairs. His weary legs burned and protested, but he dared not slow his descent. He needed to know where Faramir was, now. He needed to know what had happened in Osgiliath, before any more ideas had the chance to take root in his head. If he finished the line of thinking that Anborn’s news had set off-

 Boromir might kill his father with his bare hands.

So, he would not stop, and he would not think, until he found answers.

 He reached the top of the stairs. 

 A small group of guards, maybe five or six, clustered together at the Citadel gate, all spoke over each other in urgent tones. Boromir could not hear most of their words over his own ragged breath, but he caught a few. He heard “Mithrandir” and “Witch King” and “wood”, and then, “Denethor.” 

“Where?” Boromir barked. Every one of the men before him startled and turned to him with unabashed fear written across their faces.

If Boromir had looked a mess back on the fields, by now he must appear absolutely deranged. Half his armor gone, hair wild, white shirt drenched with sweat and blood- he could hardly blame the unsuspecting guards for the shock and confusion they displayed so brazenly at his question. Nor could he blame himself for the urge to grab the nearest one and shake him until he spoke sense.

Fortunately for all present, the guard furthest to the left, a man of slight and youthful stature underneath his plate armor, spoke up.

“The House of Stewards,” he said, voice trembling. He pointed in the right direction. “In the tombs. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.”

 Boromir ran like he had never done in his life. 

 For what possible reason would his father and brother be in the tombs in the midst of battle?

 He threw himself against the door to the tombs of his forefathers. They gave way with no resistance, and as he stumbled through the opening, he noted that the floor was dusted with splintered wood. This door had already been broken through. There he stopped short.

He could not, for the life of him, make sense of the scene before him.

 In the center of the foyer, directly on top of Húrin’s memorial etching, were the remains of- a bonfire? Heaps of ash and charred wood covered the usually immaculate white marble floor, built up into a high, still-smoldering mound in the chamber’s center. The air reeked of smoke. Neither Denethor nor Faramir were in sight, nor was anyone else. The tombs appeared deserted.

  “Faramir?” Boromir called warily. 

A clang of metal and the scuffle of unshod feet on stone answered his call, and then-

“Boromir!”

A small form collided hard with his midsection, forcing him to take a staggering step back. Small arms wrapped around him like a vice, a familiar vice, and Boromir abruptly realized that he was in the embrace of a hobbit.

“Pippin?” he demanded, aghast.

The young hobbit turned his face up to meet his gaze and a fresh wave of panic seized him. Pippin’s face was coated in ash and streaked with tears.

“Boromir!” Pippin cried again. “You have to help, Gandalf said that healers were coming but nobody came, there was screaming in the halls so I dragged him as far as I could but he’s heavy and I don’t know where Gandalf went and just- just- come here!” 

The hobbit released his iron grip around Boromir’s waist in favor of clutching one of his wrists and started hauling him off to one side of the room, into a corridor of mausoleums. There, poking out of the nearest alcove, Boromir spied the lower half of a single black boot. 

Pippin pulled him onward when his own pace faltered. With each step he could see more of the body that Pippin had apparently tried to drag to safety. A small, or rather, hobbit-sizedsword lay carelessly discarded on the floor beneath the alcove’s arching entrance where Pippin had dropped it. That would explain the clanging sound Boromir had heard just before being tackled, then. Which would mean that when he called out, Pippin had been guarding this archway with sword in hand. 

Pippin’s relentless tugging finally forced Boromir to where he could see the stricken man on the floor.

It was Faramir.

Of course it was Faramir. 

A rough, strangled sound echoed through the quiet tombs, and Boromir only realized a moment later that it had come from his own throat. Pippin darted from his side to kneel at his brother’s head, petting his hair and murmuring a soothing word. Faramir did not react in the slightest. He wasn’t dead; Boromir had seen enough dead men in his life to know with unfailing precision the difference between a dead body and a dying one.

No, his brother was not dead. He was only dying. 

Boromir dropped to his knees. 

In all this time that he had dreaded coming home and hearing that Faramir had fallen in battle, it had never occurred to Boromir that he might watch him die.

“He needs medicine,” Pippin pleaded, his little hand nestled in Faramir’s hair. Boromir now saw that the hobbit was dressed in the garb of the guards of Citadel, mail under a velvet tunic embroidered with the white tree. What had happened in his city? When had this barely-trained halfling become his brother’s last line of defense?

“Go,” Boromir rasped. He touched the hilt of his sword. “I will protect him now. Go to the House of Healing, down one level. Aragorn is there. He will listen to you.”

Without another word, Pippin took off at a sprint. Boromir and Faramir were left alone, together for the first time since Boromir had left for Rivendell. 

Boromir wanted to scream.

Instead, he maneuvered himself carefully to sit at his brother’s side. How Pippin had managed to stash Faramir away in this little nook, Boromir had no idea. He could only just find room for himself against the wall without jostling the motionless body beside him. He reached a tentative hand out to lay it on Faramir’s forehead. He paused before he touched skin, momentarily stunned by the radiating heat. When his fingers settled on his brother’s brow, it was like touching metal that had been left in the sun too long. Faramir burned. Boromir gently smoothed his hand over damp hair.

It wasn’t just Faramir’s hair that was damp, actually. It was everything on him. His short beard, the finely embroidered collar of his tunic, the silk of his sleeves. If his fever was so high, it was not so surprising to find him coated in sweat. The choice of clothes, though, was undeniably strange. There was no blood staining the fabric. Had he not been hurt in battle, then? Had he simply been taken by a violent illness? Was there a plague in the city? That might explain the lack of gore but not the presence of finery. Boromir had only ever seen Faramir wear this tunic for ceremonies. He wouldn’t have put it on before battle, and he would certainly have taken it off if he were falling ill. 

No, the only reasonable conclusion was that Faramir had not been the one to dress himself. A terrible, unspeakable suspicion wormed its way into his heart. 

Boromir almost regretted sending Pippin away without first asking him what had happened to create this bizarre tableau. Almost. His answers could wait until Faramir had been brought safely into the care of physicians. He lifted his hand to stroke Faramir’s hair again, but the slickness that clung to his palm bade him pause.

That wasn’t sweat in his brother’s hair, it was something else, something more viscous. Puzzled beyond words, Boromir brought his hand close to his face to inspect it. 

His palm was smeared with oil.

All at once, a dozen disparate fragments of information arranged themselves into nightmarish clarity.

Someone had dressed Faramir for a funeral. Someone had brought him into the place where the bones of their ancestors rested and covered him in oil. Someone had lit a bonfire in the center of the tombs. 

Not a bonfire. A pyre.

Someone had tried to burn his little brother alive.

 “No,” Boromir whispered, as if he could prevent his next thought from taking shape.

Only one person in Gondor could do any of this without being stopped.

In the tombs, the guard at the gate had said. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.

Boromir launched himself upright, out of the cramped alcove, and was sick all over the marble floor.

For the second time in a day, Pippin found himself running for someone else’s life. At least he didn’t have so far to go this time. He could not remember ever being so tired. It was also fortunate that he knew already where to find the House of Healing. Gandalf had insisted he memorize the route there as soon as he’d made his oath to Denethor, which was a bit insulting, to be honest, but turned out very useful in the end.

 The first time he’d entered the House, just a few days ago, he’d thought it was very full. Most of the rows of clean, simple cots had been occupied by rangers returning from outside the city. As he dashed through the sturdy oaken door now, though, he entered a different world entirely.

The cacophony of sound, smell and movement that surged up to meet him stopped Pippin in his tracks. The House of Healing was so crowded he could not see the far wall. He could barely see the nearest row of cots. Tall ladies rushed about in every direction, shouting orders to one another above a nauseating din of groans and cries. Pippin had been standing guard in a cloud of smoke for hours, and yet the onslaught of ugly and unfamiliar smells that accosted him here made him wish for the scent of smoke again.

His foray into the front lines of a battle had been terrifying. This place might be worse.

Boromir had said that Aragorn was here, though, and Pippin would walk headfirst into an army of orcs right now if it meant that Aragorn would help him. He never wanted to be in charge of anything, ever again, especially not trying to keep great lords and heroes alive. Aragorn was good at that sort of thing, he could take over now. Pippin took a deep breath and began forging a path through the chaos, calling Aragorn’s name as he went.

As he weaved his way through cots, ducking underneath outstretched arms and around long legs, Pippin heard questions following him that he had no desire to answer.

“How old is that boy? Who let a child in the guard?”

"Is that one of those halflings? The wizard’s pet or something?”

“Are you lost, little one?”

Some of these Men had the most terrible manners, clearly. Most of them were bleeding very badly, though, so Pippin could forgive them for their rudeness. He ignored them all and kept moving.

“Aragorn!” he shouted again.

A women that had been rushing by him paused for an instant to glare down at him. “Hush, you,” she scolded, in a voice that spoke of unquestionable authority. She wore a sort of veil with a nice brooch on it, so Pippin supposed she might be in charge here. “Lord Aragorn’s doing very important things right now and I’ll not have you disturbing him.”

Pippin’s heart jumped. “Where is he?” he asked.

The woman tsked and shook her head, making to continue along her original path. She held a bowl in her arms that Pippin was quite sure he did not want to see the inside of. Whatever it was sloshed unpleasantly when Pippin lurched after the women and grabbed a handful of her skirt to prevent her from leaving.

“The Steward has ordered me to fetch Aragorn! Show me where he is!” Pippin declared. He didn’t think it was a lie. Denethor was dead, so that made Boromir the Steward in his place, probably.

The woman gasped in surprise. “Lord Denethor lives?” she asked. “Wondrous news, we thought lord and son dead already.”

 Pippin avoided the question about Denethor by standing up as straight as he could. “Lord Faramir needs medicine,” he said imperiously. “He needs Aragorn’s skill. Take me to Aragorn.”

With a quick hand gesture to follow and not another word, the woman took off walking at a brisk stride deeper into the crowded hall. Pippin had to run to keep up with her. After what seemed like a dozen maneuvers around clumps of people and cots, a figure clad all in black finally came into view.

“Strider!” Pippin cried with relief. 

Aragon knelt at a young man’s bedside with a wet rag and bowl of water in his hands. He turned his face at once toward the sound of Pippin’s voice, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he did. Some of the panic that had been driving Pippin these last several hours faded away at the sight. If Aragorn was here, then surely things would get better now.

His relief faltered a bit when Pippin noticed that Aragorn was simply ­covered in blood- both red and black, and sweat, and grime that Pippin could not begin to identity. The Men gathered round him didn’t seem to mind Aragorn’s state, but then, most of them were splattered with blood as well, probably their own. Even Aragorn could not dispel the somber truth hanging in the air, that unimaginably many people had died today.

Faramir would join the dead soon if Pippin didn’t get a move on, so he marched past all those tall, bloodied Men to stand right at Aragorn’s side.

“Faramir’s dying,” he hissed, hoping he was quiet enough for none but Aragorn to hear. He didn’t especially want to deliver more bad news to the people in this room. “Boromir is with him, but he needs medicine, now.”

If Aragorn found this news distressing, he did not show it. He just nodded thoughtfully, and asked, “Can he walk?”

Pippin shook his head. Aragorn hummed an acknowledgment and rose to his feet. He handed the bowl and rag he’d been holding to another woman that Pippin hadn’t noticed before, murmuring something that sounded like instructions. He then spoke to the lady that had led Pippin, the one who seemed to be in charge.

“Ioreth,” he addressed her. “We have need of a stretcher.”

“It will be done,” she said, and turned on her heel to vanish back into the crowded hall.

Aragorn wiped his hands on his trousers to dry them. Pippin suspected he made them dirtier in the process. “Pippin,” Aragorn said. “Will you please lead me to Boromir and Faramir?”

“Yes, this way,” Pippin answered quickly. He was eager to be out of this terrifying place. He found it easier than before to navigate through the throng. He realized after a few moments of uninhibited movement that people were stepping aside to make way as soon as they saw Aragorn following him.

Had Aragorn already gotten around to being crowned while Pippin was busy? These people were certainly treating him like a king.

“Did you already become the King?” Pippin asked without thinking.

Aragorn chuckled dryly. “No, and I don’t think the lady healers would much care if I had. They care only that I know how to draw out the poison that covers many orcish blades, and that I’ve shared what I know.”

“Oh,” said Pippin, feeling queasy.

Finally, the door came into sight, and with a quick burst of speed, Pippin flung himself back into fresh air. Mostly fresh, anyway, permitting for some lingering smoke. The smell of blood and death that lingered in his nostrils seemed even more vile when contrasted against another, cleaner scent, and it made him gag. Aragorn placed a sympathetic hand between his shoulders.

“The battle to save the wounded is the hardest and the bloodiest,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in being shocked by it.”

Pippin couldn’t quite speak yet, so he bobbed his head in a jerky, shaking nod. He allowed himself two deep breaths before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Right. Faramir. Shot full of arrows and nearly burned to death, currently stashed in a mausoleum, actively perishing of fever. He had to bring Aragorn there, and then maybe he could sit down for a moment. He set off again at a jog.

Aragorn, being unfairly long-legged, could follow him with a brisk walk. Pippin was growing weary of these big people, he really was.

Back over the same cold marble stone he went, retracing his steps to the tombs. Two men carrying a stretcher had started following them at some point- Pippin hadn’t noticed exactly where they came from, but the stretcher they carried was already stained with red, so he suspected that they had been going back and forth from the House of Healing for a while already. Aragorn let there be silence between them for several yards, but began asking questions as soon as they crossed under a crumbling archway.

“What happened to Faramir to leave him needing medicine?”

“He was shot at least twice, I’m not sure when. Sometime yesterday.”

"Where has he been?”

“Well, he got shot when he was fighting in Osgiliath, and then the horse dragged him back, and that probably made it worse, actually, but then Denethor put him away someplace for a day or so and then brought him into the tombs and tried to burn him alive.”

Aragorn froze for a moment. “What?”

“Denethor lost his mind just before the battle started, he tried to burn Faramir alive on a pyre. And himself too, I think. He thought the world was ending.”

“Where is Denethor now?”

“He jumped off the wall.”

Aragorn took up walking again, now at a faster stride. “Boromir is with his brother now?”

"Yes,” Pippin confirmed, doing his best to keep up with Aragorn’s pace.

“Does he know what happened?”

That was a good question, actually. Had Pippin explained the situation at all? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember most of today, to be honest- it was all a blur of screams and fire.

He remembered the blinding panic he’d felt when heavy footsteps had entered the tombs. He remembered clutching his sword with sweaty hands and bracing himself to get torn to shreds by uruk-hai, and then abandoning his sword to hurl himself at Boromir once he’d heard the man’s voice. What had Boromir said, though? Anything? Had Pippin said anything?

He remembered Boromir dropping heavily onto his knees. The look on his face had been awful. He looked sad and scared and sick all at once. Pippin had never been sure what the word anguish meant, but he was sure now.

“I don’t think so,” Pippin finally answered.

 Aragorn muttered something to himself, a string of elvish words that Pippin had never heard before. It sounded like what Legolas said when he missed a shot, though, so Pippin could wager a guess at what it meant.

At last, they reached the door to the House of Stewards. Pippin darted through, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Aragorn was still following. Through the foyer, around the smoldering remains of the pyre, down the corridor on the right, and there they were. The lords of Gondor. Not quite as Pipping had left them.

Boromir had extracted Faramir from the alcove where Pippin had dragged him to lay his brother out in the open. The fine silk tunic Faramir had worn lay in oil-soaked shreds scattered about the floor, and the mail shirt he’d had on underneath was similarly cast aside, half-obscuring a puddle of vomit near the entry to the alcove. Pippin was sympathetic- being in this place made him want to retch, too.

Faramir lay on his side in his undershirt. The fabric had been white once, Pippin knew, but blood, oil and ash had colored it through. Boromir knelt at his back, holding him steady by the upper arm with one hand and gently tearing the cloth of the ruined shirt with the other. The cloth didn’t move the way it should when Boromir tugged it. It stuck stubbornly to Faramir’s scorched upper back and shoulder, like it had been glued there.

Pippin gasped in horror as the realization hit him. Boromir couldn’t get Faramir’s shirt off because it was stuck to his burnt skin, fused in place by the heat of the fire. Had his skin melted? Could skin melt? The thought alone sickened him.

Boromir must have heard Pippin gasp, because his head snapped up to fix the hobbit with a wild stare.

Pippin didn’t usually think of Boromir as frightening. Fearsome, of course, but not to his friends. Certainly never to Pippin.

He looked frightening now. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were tiny pinpoints. His lips were pulled back into an animalistic expression, somewhere between a grimace and a snarl, showing just a hint of teeth. His shoulders curled forward, hunching slightly over Faramir’s still form, and through his thin, damp shirt Pippin could see he was shaking with pent up energy.

When Pippin was younger, one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs had gone missing. They’d found the creature hiding under a shed, nursing a bleeding paw, growling and snapping at any hobbit that tried to approach. Boromir did not make a sound, but Pippin swore he could hear the same wounded dog’s growling all the same.

Pippin felt rather than heard Aragorn approaching from behind him, and it was a great relief when Boromir’s gaze flicked up off his face to fixate on Aragorn instead. With what seemed to be a tremendous effort, Boromir opened his mouth to speak.

“Where is Denethor?” he rasped, voice shaking.

Aragorn took a cautious step forward, moving in front of Pippin. He held his hands up, fingers splayed open, the way he did when trying to settle a spooked horse. “Boromir, my brother-” he began, voice soft and steady.

Boromir interrupted before he could take another step. “Tell me where my father is, Aragorn,” he croaked. “Tell me so I can find him and gut him.”

“He’s dead,” Pippin blurted. “He set himself on fire and then he went off the edge of the wall and died.”

Aragorn stiffened. Boromir’s jaw went slack. He heard gasps from the men carrying the stretcher behind him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken. Gandalf was always telling him something to that effect.

Boromir let out long, low groan and slumped in on himself, bowing his head so low his forehead grazed Faramir’s hair. He released the firm grip he’d been maintaining on his brother’s upper arm to grab fistfuls of his own hair instead.

Aragorn moved swiftly to kneel beside Boromir. He wrapped one arm around Boromir’s shoulders and pulled him into a lopsided embrace. Boromir went without protest, deflated and boneless against his king. Aragorn spoke to him, too softly for Pippin to hear, and coaxed him to shuffle backwards just a pace or two to create space at Faramir’s side. The two half-forgotten men with the stretcher between them seized their opportunity and swept in to gather Faramir up. Boromir twitched forward when they lifted his brother, but Aragorn held him back with a hand on his chest. With quick, synchronized steps, Faramir was taken out of the tombs.

Louder now, so Pippin could hear again, Aragorn spoke with real regret in his voice. “I must follow them. I promise I will give all the skill I have to make Lord Faramir well.”

“I’m coming,” Boromir stated.

Aragorn fixed him with a hard stare. “It will be ugly,” he warned. “I’ll have to cut the shirt off his back, and I expect much of his skin to come with it. If he wakes it will be to scream.”

“I know,” said Boromir.

“I would rather not find your blade shoved through my heart while I work.”

Boromir flushed. “I would not.”

Aragorn raised one eyebrow. “All the same, if you wish to follow, leave your sword at the door for my peace of mind.”

Boromir opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and simply bowed his head in assent. Aragorn hauled himself to his feet and offered Boromir a hand up, which Boromir accepted without hesitation.

“Can I help?” Pippin asked, surprising himself.

Aragorn eyed him up and down. One corner of his lips twitched upward. “Yes, Pippin, I think you can help us all very much by staying at Boromir’s side and keeping him calm. If you have any more news to deliver, however, perhaps you could share it beforewe enter the House of Healing?”

Pippin recognized the admonishment for what it was and ducked his head, chastened. On the other hand, now that he mentioned it-

“Gandalf’s staff is broken,” he announced.

Aragorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I see. Thank you, Pippin. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Very well. If you think of something, take Boromir out into the hall and tell him.” Aragorn turned to Boromir and spoke sternly. “Boromir, if Pippin takes you out into the hall, I forbid you to pick up your sword until we have had a chance to speak.”

Boromir huffed out something very close to a laugh. “Wise council, my king.”

[alcoholfreenayeon]

yow what abt twice mtls? confess first, fall in love, get jealous, fall out of love. great jeongyeon hc btw

Twice most to least likely: Get jealous

A/N: I feel some of these ended up sounding more yandere than jealous🙂‍↕️ but hopefully that’s just me😭hope you guys like it

Sana

She’s a huge flirt, she likes the way she can get people to be infatuated with her plus she likes to play hard to get.

Because of this she’s not used to people seeing her as a second choice so when she sees her partner having a good time with someone else when she’s available or even when she isn’t, it makes her feel strange.

It’s uncharted territory for her and she feels possessive immediately. After all what does the other person possess that Sana doesn’t. Why isn’t her partner yearning for her every moment instead of having a good time without her…

Nayeon

You’ll find Nayeon staring daggers at you with or without a polite smile. It’s really not a fun sight to witness because you just know you are in so much trouble later.

Nayeon feels very possessive of you. She’s someone who needs a lot of reassurance so you being clingy with anyone other than her doesn’t bode well with her.

Though she ends up feeling a bit silly after some time thinking for being so possessive she can’t help it, she wants you for herself and only herself.

Mina

Mina is a big introvert and she likes to stay indoors alot and keep to herself. But she knows she can’t really force you to do the same.

Nevertheless, she secretly wishes you would be that way. She’d prefer if she could have you all to herself. If it’s only you and her, all day everyday,

She feels sometimes she’s not good enough and that might make you drawn to others and hence gets her guard up immediately when she sees you being close with someone she doesn’t know.

Momo

You were happily chatting with your friend while waiting for Momo. You had known her for a long time, you didn’t take much notice of it when while laughing at a joke, she put her hand on your arm.

Soon enough, her instincts began to scream for danger and upon looking around, she spotted Momo a few meters away, glaring at both of you. “Is that your girlfriend?”…..

The journey back home was quiet. You realized how that might have looked out of context and were fearing Momo saw it differently. She was quiet though. “Everything ok baby?”, you ask her.

“Yes. But you need to sleep early and rest well”, she replies. “Huh? Why do I need extra rest?”, you question. “Well the couch isn’t very comfortable to sleep on is it”, she answers, unbothered, as she looks into the rearview mirror and applies her lipstick.

Chaeyoung

Chaeyoung and you were surprised to run into your ex at the mall. It was a bit awkward for the three of you but luckily there was no violence.

She hated how you and your ex became awkward because for her that meant you both saw each other and intentionally or unintentionally reflected back on the time you both were together.

She hated when while leaving, you both shared an inside joke which she didn’t know. Chaeyoung knew it’s just how these things go but that didn’t make her blood boil any less.

Tzuyu

Tzuyu is observant, she doesn’t always speak out, never mind her speaking her mind.

So when she was looking at your Instagram and spotted old posts of you and your ex, it just made her quite upset.

But she also knew it was the past yet she also thought you could have deleted it. After all wasn’t the ex was no longer part of your life.

Dahyun

Dahyun was watching you talk with the party’s host. It was normal. The two of you seemed to be getting along well.

She was standing a few feet away, getting something to drink when she suddenly heard the host make a suggestive flirty comment towards you. You didn’t realize it and just laughed along,

Dahyun though, gritted her teeth, it’s annoying that you always are so oblivious to these things. She’s gonna scold you for that later, as for the host…well, it’s a good thing her nails felt sharp right now.

Jihyo

Jihyo knows her worth and she knows you know it too. So she’s never really worried about someone else stealing you away.

But after watching some dramas, she got a bit influenced by them and began to worry that she didn’t like you as much as she thought or wanted because why wouldn’t she ever feel jealous. It was normal for couples to feel jealous at some point right?

And when she asked you to try and flirt with a cashier because she wanted to test something, you definitely felt it was a test. It took a lot of convincing from her and a promise that you wouldn’t get in trouble. Reluctantly you did it but when the cashier actually ended up giving you her number. Jihyo took your hand and dragged you out of the store without even buying anything. You were in big trouble.

Jeongyeon

Jeongyeon never has any real reason to doubt you. She knows you both love each other very much.

Of course, it’s inevitable that at some point either of you would get approached by someone else. It won’t be your or her fault if that happens.

But that’s easier to think when it hasn’t happened. When a fellow idol told Jeongyeon that she was lucky to have you and she should be careful you could get stolen. Though Jeongyeon was polite, her glare she ended up shooting at them later would have scared them silly.

[merbear25]

Growing up with them (Kid, Law, Buggy, Caesar)

There are so many avenues for this fun ‘what if’ scenario. It’s not possible to have befriended all of them, so why not add a few extra possibilities? They were your neighbor, so there were only a few ways your relationship could go.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, headcanons/scenarios, some fluff, ‘neighbor’s kid’ vibes, slightly humorous tone, AU territory so some speculation has been applied, spoilers for Dressrosa(?)

Kid: feral child, feral child! No one can tell me that he wasn’t the wildest child when he was growing up.

He was sucked into his hobbies involving building and metal. He loved roughhousing, backyard wrestling, cookouts, and swimming pools. Summer was his favorite season growing up because it gave him every excuse to do whatever he wanted, and no one had the right to tell him he shouldn’t.

Water soakers, playing ball in the house and inevitably breaking something, sharing scary stories around the campfire, and probably sent to summer camp so his parents could have a break: these are the vibes I get when I think of his childhood.

Being friends: you had to meet his freak because he wasn’t going to slow down.

He wanted to explore, so being the adventurous type would bode nicely for your friendship.

You’d spend some days down by the lake catching frogs only to set them free shortly after. He was very much interested in building all sorts of things, so you’d help him gather materials, which often left you venturing out to strange places.

He threw the classic “What are you? Chicken?” at you when you weren’t as gung-ho as he was about anything.

As reckless as he could be, he’d do well with a friend who could be the voice of reason, helping guide him when he was too in the zone to see the reality of the situation.

He’d argue with you, get mad even. This boy’s stubbornness wasn’t going to allow you to talk him out of something if he had his heart set on it. He was either going to listen to you or he was going to have to learn the hard way.

Hope you didn’t tell him “I told you” for your own sake.

This hot-headed boy could be a handful, making it hard to avoid arguments at times. Being of the same temperament would make blow-ups a recurring issue. 

That being said, you were still children and most likely got heated over things like “which character would win in a fight” or about who rightfully won your card game.

Even if he was always on the move and doing something, I could see him enjoying something calmer like catching fireflies. You could take the jars you captured them in to your secret hideout where you’d camp out for the night.

He played rough though, so if you ever agreed to wrestling, there was a slim chance of you making it out without some sort of injury.

Uninterested in you: you were a bore to him. There was no sugar coating it.

Even from the few interactions you had, those were enough for both of you to realize that you didn’t want to bother.

Having similar hobbies helps a lot when building friendships, especially when it comes to children. However, I can’t say that this would be the main reason for him not being friends with someone. I could see it being boiled down to more of a personality issue.

You couldn’t really find common ground, not that he was really looking for any.

He never got why you liked some of the things you did, and you felt the same about him.

You viewed the other as weird and tried your best to ignore each other. That was easier said than done with someone like him, though.

An enemy/competition: he’s competitive, he’s aggressive, and the fact that you were just as good if not better than him made his blood boil.

You pushed his buttons and even when he screamed at you, you kept pushing. But, he was going to show you that he was no one to mess with.

Using the knowledge he’d gained from tinkering with various objects, he set up a few pranks. Some were a tad cruel because he wanted to humiliate you. 

Even if you saw yourselves as enemies, he had mixed feelings when one of his pranks made you cry. Depending on a lot of factors, he may send you anonymous sweets (cookies, chocolate, or candies) to make you feel a smidge better.

When you were back on your feet, you both kept your competition under more control, though there were times you were both tempted to cross that line again.

Law: a tough cookie to crack and even more so after escaping from his home country. I tried to take into account his personality before and after that incident.

He was very determined academically, part of which was to make his parents proud but the other was from his own genuine interest. Dedicating time to studying, enjoying sitting outside while reading, and could get irritated easily when his routine was disrupted: he appreciated a sense of calmness and balance but still had moments when he’d lose his temper.

There weren’t many who went out of their way to befriend him because of his unique hobbies, so that made him more of a loner. That wasn’t anything to be sad about in his opinion. He enjoyed his alone time and the few people he hung around were cherished.

Being friends: you mostly likely approached him, to which he was standoffish for quite a while.

With all his staring at you, observing your habits and quirks, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being looked at under a microscope.

It was his way of building up the confidence to hold a decent conversation with you. Once getting a good enough read on you, he’d be much more open to chatting. You’d feel a little less like a stranger even before you began talking to each other.

Being attentive would be appreciated, but he wouldn’t really care too much if his friend was clumsy or careless from time to time. As long as you were kind-hearted, he could overlook those small flaws rather easily.

Although being a nerd wouldn’t be a necessity by any means, it would be fun for him to geek out with someone over Germa 66.

Let’s say you were a big fan of them like he was.

His eyes lit up when you first mentioned it and he ran to show you his favorite merchandise. You’d play with the action figures together, probably draw them while sitting quietly, and then ooh and aah over each other’s art saying what you liked most about their drawings.

Now, let’s say you weren’t a fan of them.

He wouldn’t bring them up unless you asked about it. Maybe you made a comment on one of his figurines, for example. Despite wanting to go on and on about them, he picked up on your body language and sensed it wasn’t your thing. That was fine with him, though. It wasn’t his only hobby, after all.

Even though he was far from the type to take risks and would most likely protest against any dangerous activities (i.e. baking and/or cooking without parental supervision), he really needed someone to push him out of his comfort zone. The little nudges from someone he came to trust were more helpful than he ever realized.

Neither friend nor foe: he was cautious of you for a little while, trying to gauge what your deal was before ultimately deciding he didn’t really want to engage with you.

Perhaps you were too brash for him. He wasn’t a scaredy cat, but he was extremely cautious, meaning being friends with someone who was too reckless would stress him out and probably make him feel like a babysitter.

You may be too quiet. He could be pretty quiet himself, but trying to befriend someone who was even more soft spoken could present some challenges.

Maybe you were far too unpredictable. He enjoyed order and normalcy, which would mean being around someone who spoke and/or acted before thinking would have him practically breaking out in hives.

At best, he avoided you and let you do whatever it was you were doing.

At worst, he shot glares at you whenever you crossed the line.

All in all, he tried not to involve himself in your life too much.

An enemy: there were so few people who lit a fire under him to be viewed as competition, so you most likely took the enemy title.

The easiest way to have made an enemy out of him would be upsetting his little sister. He was a protective big brother. They fought like any other siblings, sure, but he never tolerated others treating her like that.

He’d be on you like a hawk at that point. So much as breathe in the wrong direction and he’d be there to scare you straight.

Intimidation would be his strongest weapon—vaguely threatening you with his knowledge of human anatomy and the least frequented places where you lived.

If you just came after him and disregarded his sister, it’d take a bit longer for him to deem you as a full blown enemy. He’d simply hate you for the longest time until you just pushed a sore spot that sent him over the edge—giving you nightmares at the very least.

Buggy: How patient are you? Because he’d be throwing you curveballs no matter the relationship you two had.

He was known as the loud kid and class clown. He wanted so much attention which made it hard for others to ignore him. There were a lot of mixed feelings about him, especially in the neighborhood.

Was the kid who sent out invites to his birthday to every single kid in class, in the neighborhood, and at the corner store just to have a few show up to his party. He kept his head high, even if it was getting to him.

Being friends: it wasn’t hard getting him to talk to you. Hell, it wasn’t even that difficult to get him to hang out, but he was very wishy-washy with his interactions.

He never failed to put himself out there. You couldn’t help but think that was endearing.

I can’t necessarily see him having been partial to his friend being introverted, ambivert, or extroverted. A friend was a friend, and so long as they treated him well, that type of stuff wasn’t of any importance.

However, it would be a must for you to have a sense of humor. There was no way around that. He wanted to laugh and make you laugh, so someone who was the more serious type perhaps would have made things much too difficult.

Though he put up a good front, making people think he was some tough guy, he was super soft and squishy on the inside—really just needing someone to be vulnerable around. That was something he could find in you. Though it took what felt like ages to get to that point, it was all worth it.

Sleepovers were a massive thing for him. Your parents liked him, albeit thinking he was just a tad odd, but were happy that you had made a friend nonetheless.

There were tons of games you’d play together which tended to involve forts: pillow, blanket, and cardboard mostly. When you played pirates, he insisted on being the captain. Despite his confidence in leading you and your crew of stuffed animals, you ended up having to take control on most missions.

Even when you thought you were having a good time hanging out with him, he had a tendency to leave suddenly, most of the time making up an obvious lie. When you tried talking to him about it, he was often dismissive and just wanted to forget about it.

You weren’t sure how to take that. It kinda hurt. You quickly understood not to take those moments to heart and just boiled it down to Buggy just being Buggy. Even if that were the case, you hoped he would eventually lower those walls—one day.

Weird in between: You caught him peeking over your fence and popping back down. He wanted more friends, but he wasn’t confident.

He couldn’t gauge you, couldn’t figure out who you were exactly and the way you carried yourself made him want to keep his distance.

As hard it was for others to ignore him, it was almost just as difficult for him to do the same to them. He was always aware of everyone, or at the very least, he checked them out before deciding if they were worth the trouble.

Even if you were indifferent towards him, he’d try his darndest to get on your good side. If he didn’t care for you all that much, he’d wait to throw it in your face before you ever had the chance to humiliate him.

You didn’t know what his deal was, and to be fair he didn’t know what his was either which led to him being so hot and cold with you.

He tried just ignoring you, but when he heard you laughing and having a generally good time with the other kids, he couldn’t help himself. He was curious and eavesdropped on your conversations, wondering why he wasn’t a part of the fun.

Him needing to best you: maybe you didn’t hate each other. Perhaps at the most you strongly disliked the other. Either way he wanted to prove how much better he was.

Buggy was all over the place. He’d try insulting you, challenging you, but then if you took him up on it, he’d increase the gap between you.

He was never short of excuses as to why he couldn’t keep to his own challenges against you. When you eventually went home after realizing he wasn’t showing up yet again, he twisted it into making it seem like you chickened out.

It was hard for you to see him as an enemy because of how void of seriousness he was. He had days when he thought you were mortal enemies, followed by days he thought you were cool with him, but then right back to being wary of you.

Caesar: Hope that you are just as unhinged as he is, otherwise you were in for a rough childhood. His voice would carry through the streets, alerting the entire neighborhood that he was up to something—none of it good. 

Whenever you looked out your window or passed by his house, there would be smoke, sudden loud noises (mostly bangs and explosions), or possibly a strange faint odor that made you think twice before asking about.

Generally speaking, I imagine him having been far more reckless with experiments and even when regarding the manipulative side to his personality. Not necessarily feral but just more brash.

Being friends: you’d have to keep up with him otherwise he’d just think you were dragging him down.

Being adventurous would go a long way with him. He wouldn’t have much patience for someone being overly cautious to the point they were practically a scaredy cat. 

That being said, he’d need a friend who was the voice of reason during his more reckless moments. Sure, you got an eye roll and huff for “not being fun” but you gave a sense of balance.

You’d earn bonus points if you were just as into the macabre as he was—pushing the limits could get rather…messy, after all. You could be his assistant all you liked but being a partner in crime would be the cherry on top.

He’d never admit it, but he got scared easily. However, this was reserved for when he felt in danger.

If you were brave, he would hide behind you, putting his faith in you that you’d chase off whatever he was afraid of. If you weren’t brave, self-preservation would more than likely take over, and he’d shamelessly leave you behind—desperate to distance himself from the posing threat.

He’s competitive. He’s also a narcissist. Because of these qualities, I’d argue that being interested in science could go either in or against your favor. 

In your favor: you didn’t try to upstage him, especially if you turned out to be wrong because you’d just end up getting on his nerves in that case. Being into another field of science might make it a bit easier because he could feel like he out-shined you. Plus, it could be more fun pairing your expertise with his to create ungodly creations. If you were right about and/or better at something, you didn’t rub it in—you were humble even if he wasn’t. Otherwise his ego would take a few hits, making him pout and want to get back at you.

Against your favor: You were more clever in certain ways on top of being competitive. I think he’d enjoy some competition with a friend but only to an extent because eventually it’d turn into a rivalry. 

Everyone in the neighborhood would loathe you and forbid their children from interacting with you for a multitude of reasons: potential harm, corrupting their ‘little angels’, and you two being bad eggs to name a few.

Your parents would probably try forbidding you from hanging out with him, believing he was nothing but a bad influence on you. Although they may have had a point, that didn’t stop you.

And you are…?: you were just kinda there in a sense—not interesting enough for him to have engaged with or irritating enough to have humiliated.

Maybe there were times you tried talking to him but due to your approach, he deemed you as unworthy of his presence. 

Maybe he just didn’t like you for no reason in particular: being viewed as unspecial, one that blended too much into the crowd, and overall lackluster—not even being worthy of recognition as, well, anyone.

You kept your distance once you noticed others, whom he saw as mere pawns, had horrific “accidents”.

An enemy/competition: you rubbed him in all the wrong ways.

Whether you’d intended it or not, you wormed your way into his mind and refused to let go of the hold you had.

He had the same effect on you, making rivals of each other quickly and eventually full blown enemies.

The easiest way for you to have done this was either besting him at chemistry or generally being far too clever for your own good, making him feel shown up in one way or another.

He didn’t just want to be the best, he needed to be. Meeting someone who could beat him at his own game was infuriating and fueled his desire to tear you down. There were times when he succeeded, but there were also plenty when you were triumphant.

No matter how much you may have disliked or even hated each other, you gave the other the incentive to keep pushing and bettering yourselves like no one else had.

Thanks to your childhood rivalry and constant pushing, you both had unknowingly set the other up for success in their careers. I guess you should thank each other…not that you ever would, though.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

what do you think stalker!anis body count is?

i can’t work out if he’s had a “fuck everything that walks” phase or not

I’ve thought about this a lot actually, cause I’ve also had trouble deciding that lmao. I originally intended for stalker!ani to have BPD, but as he developed as a character I think antisocial personality disorder fits him much, much better. Both disorders experience hypersexuality.

In this essay I will…

Stalker!Anakin has never had a girlfriend before reader. Unfortunately he was painfully awkward and strange during his elementary school years:

Exhibit A: tying nettles together with worms (a beautiful bouquet if you ask me) and giving them to a girl he thought was pretty.

Exhibit B: staring and unapologetically eavesdropping on any conversation.

Exhibit C: starting conversations with “I am Anakin Skywalker, I am seven years old and I like to collect Hot Wheels. Do you like to collect Hot Wheels?” (Bc his therapist said he should try to be ‘relatable’ by finding people with similar interests. How is he expected to do that unless he systematically goes through his entire class list and initiates/interviews his classmates??)

Moving onto his middle school years were even worse bc he found out that girls are hot and hot girls make him horny. Everyone remembered him as the weird kid, told the other sixth graders and ruined his chances of winning people over with his new, carefully crafted personality/mask.

So when he asked his crush to the homecoming dance he bought real flowers (sans worms!!), and his mom helped him find a cute sign on Pinterest to copy… She refused the flowers and said “ew”, thinking there were prob bugs in it (she’d heard the gossip). Anakin unwrapped the flowers and shook them out to prove they were indeed wormless, made a joke and then the girl reconsidered her refusal and decided ‘hey maybe he’s not so bad, all kids are weird anyway so he’s probably fine now’.

Turns out he was in fact trying to be fine & normal. But ended up in a ‘Carrie at prom’ situation at the homecoming dance bc the guy who also liked Anakin’s date was there. Anakin ended up with a suspension and the other guy ended up with the girl.

Then the summer of 7th grade he wacked a grown man with a table.

That didn’t bode well for his highschool conquests of course! So he got his rocks off with the occasional use of the good ol’ ‘hide in the bushes with binoculars and hope Becky from Algebra changes in front of her window again’

Anakin got his first job at the Hot Topic when he was 17. This is where he tried out everything he’d learned over the years and he realized he was actually very decent at speaking to girls as long as he kept up his masked personality. Anakin stayed a virgin until a pretty girl with a nose ring (she worked at Claire’s, he was getting his ear pierced) complimented his Suicidal Tendencies t-shirt and he smooth talked his way into getting her in his car after his shift. Then… continued to do that for a while, strictly fucking. She thought it was strange that he never really wanted to talk before or after.

He was just trying to perfect his sex game and she was just a body. She wasn’t his dream gal, so she was perfect for making mistakes and learning from them. He didn’t have to worry about appearances or properly apologizing for accidentally not doing super great at something, he could just move on and keep going. After all, she was just a body to practice on.

Unfortunately for Anakin he had a brand new court appointed therapist at the time who didn’t think promiscuity was good for the healing and reconditioning process (it wasn’t).

So Anakin put a stop to fuckin’ the girl from Claire’s. He was very confused that she was so upset when he just completely ignored her. The next time they both worked, she waited at his truck like usual and he walked right past her and got in his truck, locked the door and backed out of the parking spot without waiting for her to move (she was fine just really mad).

Claire’s girl confronted him about it, thinking she’d done something to upset him and asked if that was his way of breaking up with her. Anakin’s like??? Break up?? We were never dating!!?? (This is how he found out that when you fuck someone weekly for over four months they will more than likely form an emotional attachment)

To avoid a repeat of that incident when he moved to the city for college (he dropped out obvi), he got a job as a bartender for the sole purpose of people watching for research and practicing being a normal dude. Being a normal dude includes learning how to pick up chicks, so I think he probably took a girl home once or twice a month just to keep sharp on his pretending and fucking skills so he’d be on his best game when he found the right girl.

So in conclusion, yes he did have a ‘fuck everything that walks’ phase. Just not for the sex. For research.

me reading the DSM-5 and diagnosing him. [im a doctor you can trust me]

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[msschemmenti]

the gentle giant 💬

the hinge stories installment

jemily x reader

a/n: thanks for the request, i hope this is enjoyable!

“so, spill. i didn’t gathering my favorite ladies here with a delectable spread of alcohol and snacks for us to bitch and moan about work all night.” garcia grinned from her seat on a beanbag chair. 

“oh yeah, if i recall correctly you two had your first third audition.” tara grinned into her glass, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. jj and emily fought hard to suppress their embarrassment. it wasn’t like it had been a secret, they’d made the account in this very living room about a month ago. both women were just hoping their drunken haze may have washed those details from everyone’s brains. 

“don’t call it that! that makes us sound gross.” emily huffed. 

“well, what would you prefer? third shopping?” tara continued to tease.

“no! that’s even worse.” jj grumbled, nailing tara’s head with a pillow. 

“fine fine fine, tell us about the date and maybe she’ll stop postulating.” garcia interrupted eagerly.

“okay, okay fine. we’ll talk. ground rules though. you’re not allowed to track, locate, or identify anyone in this story. you know what– no names. we’ll give them nicknames.” jj warned pointedly before finishing off her glass of wine and nodding for emily to start the story. 

“alright, so yes. we went on our first polyamorous date, with– what should we call her?” emily asked looking to jj for direction. 

“oh, let's call her the gentle giant.” jj grinned dreamily. 

“gentle giant? you went on a date with someone taller than you?” tara asked in disbelief. 

“yes. and let me just say– pleasantly surprised.” emily shrugged. “anyways, she sent us a like first with a comment on one of our prompts. our paris prompt. and after some weeks of talking, we were finally able to set up a date.” 

-

they’d agreed to meet at a gaming bar jj and emily had never been to. through all their hinge messages, all the proper plans were made and when they all got together 

“oh you’re much taller than i anticipated.” jj spoke, allowing her eyes to roam up the woman’s body. the woman pushed her glasses up her nose with a laugh before shoving her hands in her pocket. 

“well, thanks i guess.” she chuckled, eyeing emily and jj wearily. 

“oh don’t worry, it’s a compliment. why don’t we go in and get a table?” emily supplied, breaking the ice just a bit before all three women entered the bar. once drinks were retrieved and a table secured each woman took turns finding a game to play together.

-

“oh so we’re obviously going to this bar for the next after work drinks.” garcia interrupted.

“playing games and drinking? beating alves drunk, just moved to the top of my todo list.” tara grinned. 

“can we continue our story? preferably without interruptions?” emily asked pointedly. both tara and garcia mimed zipping their lips and jj picked up the story.

-

somehow the women found themselves standing in front of a basketball arcade game. the younger woman turned to face both emily and jj and there seemed to be a bit of mischief behind her eyes.  “for every shot we make, we get to ask a question. sound fair?” 

jj’s cheeks heated under the woman’s gaze and she looked over at emily expectantly, “deal– but jj is playing for the both of us. former athlete.” emily poked at her side. 

jj chuckled and rolled her eyes, “i don’t think me being a former athlete will help us here em.”

“oh really? what’d you play?” 

“soccer, high school and undergrad. so i’m not too sure how that bodes for us winning.”

“well anything is better than me.” emily shrugged and the two other women laughed before starting the game. 

at jj’s first bucket emily cheered, turning to question their date. “any hobbies or talents?” 

“i actually play a couple instruments. namely the drums and guitar. took me a bit of time with guitar but i’ve always been really good with my hands.” 

“yeah– i’m sure the fingerings came naturally to you.” emily spoke unconsciously watching the younger woman grip the basketball.

“oh, trust me. i know how to really work a guitar.” both jj and emily’s cheeks heated as they looked up at the woman and watched her sink a basket in easily. 

“i will reverse the question on you both, hobbies or talents?” 

“when we’re not traveling for work, i like running. and emily is really into reading.” jj supplied and readied for another shot, this one just missing the hoop. emily boo’ed and they all laughed good-naturedly before continuing the game. it wasn’t until both women focused on something other than their extremely attractive date’s physical prowess that they realized, she hadn’t missed a shot.

“um, are we just supposed to ignore the fact that you made every shot?” emily asked.

“no, i kinda played basketball for most of my life.” the woman shrugged with a cheeky smile. 

“oh so this was rigged?” jj grinned.

“guilty.”

“well next time you wanna get to know us, let us win huh?” emily grinned nudging the younger woman in the side ,flirtatiously. 

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

-

“we played a couple more games and got extremely distracted by her hands. and that was our first hinge date. very enjoyable for all parties.” jj shrugged with a smile.

“wow, so your first one was a hit. are you gonna see her again?” tara asked, lifting her glass in a cheers.

“are we going to meet her? indoctrinate her?” garcia questioned.

“woah, slow down. we’ve only hung out with her once– no need to do all of that. but we’ve discussed it and we wouldn’t be opposed to a second date.” emily shrugged noncommittally.

“i will find her. i will befriend her.” garcia vowed, causing everyone to laugh.

[another-lost-mc]

A Good Morning

LUCIFER x afab!Reader 1.3k words | NSFW | Some Sexual Content | Mostly Fluff and Silliness A/N: This is attempt #1 to cope with the release of Nightbringer. I woke up feeling very sad after playing through the first couple lessons last night, so I wrote this to cheer myself up. obey me! masterlist

When you wake up, there’s an arm thrown over your waist and warm breath ghosting across back of your neck. The sheets are silky and cool, and you’re enveloped in the comforting scent of him.

It’s still early in the morning and you stifle your yawn so you don't wake him. Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet, but it will soon. You stretch your arm so you can try to reach the D.D.D. on the nightstand, but he adjusts his position slightly and moves closer, trying to mold his body against yours.

“Too early,” the sleep-thickened voice rumbles behind you. “Go back to sleep.”

Lucifer never was a morning demon. You smile and keep trying to reach for your phone even as his grip on you tightens. “I was going to get up and make us some coffee.”

The demon behind you murmurs something indecipherable into your shoulder and says nothing else, his soft snores filling the empty silence.

You arch your back into a lazy stretch, but you bite your lip when your ass brushes against a familiar hardness. 

Perhaps this will wake him up.

You wiggle your hips and pretend to stretch again, making sure to grind with the slightest bit of pressure against his cock. He grunts, and you bat your eyelashes innocently over your shoulder when you feel his gaze on you.

His eyes are still a bit hazy, but specks of ruby-red glitter like jewels when they catch the candlelight in his room. “Do you think teasing me so early in the morning is wise?” he warns you, his voice thick with sleep as he nuzzles against your neck. His teeth nip the column of your throat and he hums when you tilt your head back to give him more room. He slides his hand across your belly and holds your hip, preventing you from grinding against him again.

It's amazing how quickly he catches onto your game and uses your own tricks against you. Your cheeks grow warm, but there’s a familiar sensation deep inside you that craves him now. You can’t help but glance at him over your shoulder and hope he knows what you’re silently asking for. Even after all this time together, you still get shy sometimes.

You can't see his face very well from this angle, but you glimpse the teasing tilt to his lips and know it doesn’t bode well for you. His fingers slide down your body and across the top of your thigh before he reaches the mound between your legs.

“Didn’t I satisfy you enough last night?” he murmurs before kissing your neck and nosing his way up to your jaw. He sucks the sensitive patch of skin under your ear and flicks the lobe with his tongue. He grins devilishly when you shudder in his arms.

Oh, he's definitely awake now.

“I always want you,” you whine softly, and maybe you wouldn’t be as honest - or sound so needy - if his hand wasn’t exploring you lazily, his long fingers teasing apart your folds and spreading the wet slick gathered between them. He circles your clit with feather-light pressure that’s nowhere near enough to satiate you, and you lean back against his chest in a silent plea for more.

You might’ve started this little game, but it feels like you’ve already lost and he's barely touched you. You squirm in his arms and try to coax his fingers where you want them, searching for even more delicious friction, but he keeps you still.

He’s teasing both of you when he starts grinding against you, his cock hard and heavy between your bodies. You manage to reach back behind you and grasp his cock clumsily in your palm, and you tighten your fist around him just enough to pump his cock. Your grip isn't perfect, but it works - his breath hitches, and there’s a familiar rumble deep in his chest. It's the calm before the storm.

You brush your thumb over the tip of his cock to smooth the fluid already gathering there, and it's like he's frozen in place when you bring your thumb to your mouth and suck it between those perfect lips of yours.

His dark eyes drink you in, and you raise an eyebrow as if to say, your turn. He doesn't move for a moment, but then the world seems to spin and suddenly you’re on your back. You’re caged underneath him, and there’s a canopy of darkness spreading behind him as his wings unfurl and snap open wide.

You can't see anything but him. There’s pools of black-red ink swirling in his eyes and any thoughts of going back to sleep have long since been forgotten. He’s settled comfortably between your thighs and he uses his hands to push them apart even wider, and he smirks when the tip of his cock nestles between your folds. He slides his cock against you, teasing your entrance before pulling back and savoring the moans that fall from your lips each time he does it.

You're soaking now and his cock glides smoothly in that warm, soft place that's his and his alone. You whimper when his cock catches on your clit and you're desperate for him, the same way he's hungry for you. You lift your legs around his waist to help guide him inside when he positions himself above you on his forearms–

The alarm on your D.D.D. starts blaring, some upbeat song from an anime you and Levi have been watching. The interruption catches you off-guard, and you both fumble awkwardly in surprise. He startles so badly he has to brace himself before he collapses on top of you, and your legs slide off his hips and fall limp onto the bed.

Lucifer drops his head against your shoulder and groans in frustration while you tilt your head back against the pillow and laugh. He can’t help the smile creeping onto his face at the ridiculousness of it all, and he chuckles quietly too. 

“I wanted to turn that off earlier, but someone wouldn’t let me,” you chide him teasingly when you run your hands through his hair. His horns and wings have vanished as quickly as they appeared, and if it weren’t for the sickeningly sweet hint of love in his eyes, you’d almost believe the glare he shoots you is serious.

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles before kissing your cheek and rolling off you now that the moment between you is over - for now.

He wants to be annoyed, but all he can feel is fondness when he watches you shuffle clumsily over to the side of the bed and reach for your phone. The awful racket ends abruptly, and you wave your phone triumphantly in the air like you’ve just won some epic battle. He’ll never understand how you can be so adorable doing the simplest things.

“You can make it up to me later,” you suggest with a smile, but then you squeak in surprise when his arms shoot towards you and he tries to grab your waist. You giggle and slide off the mattress, dancing away from his half-hearted attempt to pull you back to bed. 

It might not be the game you wanted to play with him this morning, but these silly moments are just as precious to you (and to him).

He sighs (loudly, and dramatically) when he rolls over and stands up. He slips on his housecoat and pads across the room to join you just as you put on a nightgown of your own. He kisses your forehead and pulls you into a hug, the last bit of intimacy you’ll be able to share together before his brothers and the rest of the world demand your attention. 

“So long as you promise to change that awful alarm music,” he suggests almost too casually, with a smile so fake it practically screams, or so help me, I’ll destroy that phone of yours myself.

Your response is one last kiss, your sweet smile pressed against his own, before you both begin preparations for the day ahead.

[queenendless]

😂Ticklish Remedy(Student!SatoSuguxStudent!Fem!Reader)😂

A/N: Sorry this took me so long to get out! I gotta write more JJK tk fics in the future. This one I rushed, it's true.

Content: Angst, hurt/comfort, more exposition than tickles but obvious tickles, mention of reader gaining seer vision cursed technique powers for possible future plot development, Shoko Ieiri cameo, and SatoSugu poly loving.

Credit for characters and art used goes to Gege sensei.

* Please DON'T plagarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC content. Reblog, like, and follow instead.

I hope you enjoy.

Why were you in such a pathetic mood?

Waking up from a messed up dream in a cold sweat?

Coming back from a mission where more damage than saving was done?

Or a hard downpour out of nowhere soaked you and would be around for the remainder of the evening?

All of the above.

In this life, you are the quiet, sweet protective being. But it takes certain things to set you off. All of the above, for instance.

Another big one would be the only friends turned found family you ever had and known getting harmed in any way, whether from slander from those foolish higher ups or certain corrupted humans you were obligated to save and not harm for retribution despite getting injured on the job because of them. Those indeed pissed you off.

That wasn't the case this time.

Nah, you're just having one of those days.

You had just left the shower, clad in a dry tee shirt and short shorts, going stomach first flopping on your dorm room bed in a downtrodden sense, when a loud knock on your door made you moan in refusal, smothering your face in your pillow.

"L/n? Sweetie? Y/n-chaaaaaan~?!"

Satoru's loud rambles; his voice always making you smile, now sounded irritating to you. "Go away." Your muffled yell made a new voice join in.

"Y/n? Honey? Are you alright?"

Suguru's concerned voice made you feel bad at behaving this way towards them when it wasn't their fault at all. "Not really."

"Excuse us. We're coming in." Suguru's warning was followed by your dorm room door sliding opening as their heads popped up through behind the door, your weak wave giving them the prompt to just come in.

They were both still in uniform but also in socks and slippers, as Satoru flopped down, jostling the bed, before spooning you from behind and Suguru sliding your door closed before sitting on the edge of the bed in front of you and held your hand in his; rubbing comforting circles on your knuckles with his thumb when he asked.

"How bad?"

Your hesitant sigh didn't bode well. "I was sent alone to exorcize a second-grade curse spirit after it ended several regulars working at a cemetery."

"Yaga-sensei told us." Suguru's pitying gaze made you whine weakly. "We're sorry we couldn't go with you."

Flashes of your nightmare from early morning resurfaced; your pinched expression being a sign of your discomfort. "The same nightmare happened again. Just … bloodied corpses … of those I care for …that shadowed, stitched forehead bastard's smile ... and I'm unable to move or scream or do anything …" Your voice wavered as your form trembled with a deep-rooted frustration and pain on this particular dilemma.

You still had no freaking idea who or what it was; human or cursed spirit, let alone why you kept having these dreams. A warning? Perhaps. You were slowly climbing up the ranks in terms of developing your Innate technique; as odd as it was in getting impactful visions followed by side effecting migraines. And this was yet another unknown future threat standing in your way.

"Plus I got rained down hard coming back here. So there." You pouted, taking Suguru's hand in your own, just to splat it over your face, amusing the latter despite the gloomy vibe.

"That bad, huh? God, quite the depressing mood bundle you are!" Satoru sighed loudly.

You jammed your thumb over your shoulder into Satoru's cheek, dryly retorting. "Obnoxious creep." You thrusted your pointer finger of the same hand forward in Suguru's face. "Weird bangs guy."

"Now sweetie, I know you're just saying those things because you're down in the dumps… but it still wounds me!" Satoru mockingly cried out, ruffling your hair, further driving the point of getting stabbed in the feels.

"Honey, you're wrong. About my bangs, I mean. Satoru … nah that's right on the mark." Geto poked your nose, smirking like the smart ass he is, rubbing salt in the wound.

"Hey!" Gojo flared up, dagger eyes on his bestie at the betrayal.

You snorted at their interaction. Satoru's face stubbornly set in a pouting expression, when the sound you just made gave him quite the amusing idea as he kissed your forehead down from up above you. "So, what you need right now is some serious cheering up, 101."

A twisted smile suddenly wormed up on his face. It makes your gut squirm with nerves.

"Suguru~" The sing-song tone to his name snatched the younger man's attention. "It seems our lovely girlfriend is too grumpy for our liking~!"

The same twisted feeling inside you doubled as Suguru smiled at you in the same manner.

"Yes … we should remedy that right away."

Able to read each other's thoughts down pat; synced as the best friends they are, meant they were both on board for their evil agenda.

"Uh, chotto matte," Your Nihongo Jouzu reflexes came spilling out as nervous giggles did as well, fidgeting as your attempts to get up and pull away from Satoru's hold were futile for his arms tightened around your waist and pulled quick enough to flush your back against his front. "Not that. Anything but that!"

"Y/n-chan … if you plead more, I'll consider it." Suguru calmly mused as he climbed up on your bed, trapping your legs in between his knees, coyly smiling. "Maybe~"

A squeal sprung free from your lips as the spider-like fingers of Satoru squeezed your sides before wriggling into your ribs. "I'd rather she beg. After all, she wants this so much~!" Satoru smugly taunted, that fat ass smirk plastered on his face when you jabbed your elbow hard in his side.

"Liar liar pants on fire – AAH~!" Your retort was cut off by your own shriek as Satoru's fingertips slithered around to deeply drag across your belly.

"Oh ho, you're gonna get it now!" Satoru's deepened tone spoke doom for you. Suguru's snickers only added to it.

Your spastic, laughing form was kicking, flailing, and bouncing to both their inner amusement and glee; the bed squeaking and the headboard hitting the wall many times in the process.

"Cootchie cootchie coo~!" Satoru's fingers slid through your shirt sleeves to pinch and wring the bare skin of your armpits.

"Tohohohohoru you ahahahahahass~!" You slam your shoulders into his in another attempt to push him off, but that lean skinny bode hid such strength beneath.

"Hey! I have a fine ass, I'll have you know!" Gojo's pursed lips were made to good use as he began doing raspberries from the crook of your neck to the base of it to under your ear, speaking in between every tingling blow. "Very. Fine. Indeed!" His snowy hair added to the ticklish sensation as his puffy locks brushed your cheek.

"You twohoohoo beheheheheter stahahahap or I swehehehear I'll – EEK~!" You squeaked harder as Suguru exchanges wiggling squeezes between your shaking kneecaps and your thighs. "Suhuhuhuhugu qu – quihihihit it~!!"

Geto snorted. "Jackass is more like it."

"Your face up my ass the other day spoke otherwise, if you recall~" Satoru's buzzing wet lips pulled from your neck to give bedroom eyes to Suguru.

Who returns the look, just as gluttonous for another go. "The face you made proves you enjoyed it just as much~"

Their raunchy talk was halted as a pillow got whacked in Suguru's face, followed by said pillow being thrown to Satoru's, who barely caught it in one hand. But that enough commotion lets you slip free from his loosened grasp.

Though the truth was he let you go free for now, laughing slowly at the look of sheer disbelief on his raven haired lover's face at what you just pulled, the more bangs loosely gracing his forehead from the commotion.

"Ooh, you're in trouble~!" Gojo singing spoke of doom.

Your panting, pink cheeked self could only have a moment's reprieve as chills raked your skin at the dark edge tainting Suguru's almond eyes. Unlike the smile in your nightmares, bearing callousness and insanity, Suguru's bore a more eerily calm smiling face.

"Indeed … it's on."

He dodged the kick to his face by your freed foot, toothily smiling as he caught your ankle, viewed your squirming foot with scrutinizing intrigue, before dragging his finger up and down your sole lightly enough to have you become a cute chortling mess.

Your other foot moved to kick his arm to free yourself when Gojo snatched it straight away, clicking his tongue to scold you. "Naughty, naughty~"

The two looming devils you love jumped you!

Shoko Ieiri, twirling her non lite cigarette between her fingers, jumped at the ear-piercing scream striking the air of the dorm, high tailing to the source as curiosity beckoned her.

Discovering the loud slamming ruckus jumbled in as well, it all is coming from your room followed by your jumbled cackling wordplay in the mix had her sliding the door open, her cigarette nearly slipping from her grasp at the sight she just witnessed.

You were flipped to lay on your stomach, laughing your sweaty red face off, as both those bastards each straddled a thigh of yours, with a footsie for each to tickle savagely.

"And this is why I stopped questioning why this is your norm now." Shoko shrugged.

"She whacked us with her pillow!" Suguru gruffly complained as his fingers wringed through your toes.

"Hilarious move on her part but she did wound my pride." Satoru's mirthful grin then drooped as his pride did deflate. "So, retribution!" Killing your restraint as he nibbled on your padded piggies.

"SHOHOHOHOHOHOHOKO~!!! MAHAHAHAHAHAKE THEHEHEHEHEHEM STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP~!!!"

Your flailing calves nearly whacking them were immediately taken care of as their forearms wrapped around them to hold them in place, their hands squeezing your ankles in their ironclad grip. Suguru nibbled and dragged his teeth and tongue down your wrinkled sole while Satoru's lips and tongue suckled and wriggled between your toes.

"PLEHEHEHEHEHESE HAHAHAHAHAHAVE MEHEHEHEHEHERCY~!!!"

"Yeah, as the resident healer of our group, I see the telltale signs she's gonna pass out at this rate." Shoko nearly toppled over you as your hands needed some support to dig and squeeze your fingers in something to keep your unhinged self-grounded.

Suguru hummed in contemplation. "Hmmm … while seeing and hearing our love in this state does please me greatly, this overall was supposed to cheer her up."

"Your cheering up brand is quite savage indeed." Shoko's apathetic tone made them both stifle a groan; Satoru's vibrating through your foot made you squeal louder, as he finally popped his mouth off your saliva covered minies.

"Alright, alright! We will," Satoru gave a big wet smooch to your topside. "I'd say we're even now."

Suguru kissed your other topside in the same manner, before their arms released your calves, moving off your thighs so they could lay your legs fully down on your rustled sheeted bed.

You breathed in and out your relief as tranquility came at last; giggles from ghost tickles slipping in, releasing your hold on Shoko's arm to fold yours and use them as your personal resting pillow. "Ah … f … freedom … thank you." You were now more exhausted but less depressing. Pro? Perhaps. For now, anyway.

"Y/n." You leaned your head into Satoru's smooth warm hand as he brushed your hair strands sticking to your forehead aside, rubbing your forehead before brushing your hair back in gentle motions, as he flopped down on his stomach on your right side, resting his cheek on his free forearm, the vibrant Six Eyes looking at you over his lowered shades, straightforward truth teeming in them. "In this life, you can't save everyone."

You frowned at that, blunt and to the point, when Suguru also flopped down the same way on your left side, his giant firm hand rubbing massaging circles on your back, surging with tender care, bringing blessed sighs out of you, as his eyes met yours next, teemed with solace. "Nor will the fear of the unknown go away just like that."

"We can't promise that nothing will happen to all of us later on down the line, either." Satoru's distaste for it showed.

"But we can promise that when they do, come what may, we'll give it our all." Suguru's empathy shined through in his beautiful almond eyes.

"We have to in order to be the strongest duo, after all." Satoru chuckled as his cheek nuzzled yours.

"Eh? And me?" You pouted.

"Then trio." Suguru pecked your lips just to see that smile of yours blossom.

"Ahem!" Shoko fake coughed, sitting against the front of the bed on the floor, plopping her head back, lips puckered and batting eyes at you all in fake sadness.

"Okay, squad then! Point being! Whatever comes our way, we face it together, as best we can. We are there for each other. None of us should be alone. Right?" Satoru's sincere toothy smile sealed the deal.

You sighed deeply. "Fine … but any more savage tickling cheering up schemes in the future are off the table! I swear to God –!"

"Hai hai." The duo agreed in unison as they each pressed a deep noisy smooch to your cheeks.

"Ehem." Shoko pointed at her own face, wanting smooches too. That brought laughs out of all three of you before you kissed her forehead, and the guys kissed her cheeks.

The downpour had finally ceased, and you fell asleep from the tiring experience that toppled the rest.

"Too precious for this kind of life, she is." Shoko smiled faintly as the guys kept their eyes on yourself, softly breathing, slowly lifting and lowering your slumbering self.

"Suguru? Those dreams of hers …"

"Premonitions, you mean?"

Satoru nodded. "It's been happening for weeks now."

"She could be a cursed Seer of sorts. See the future and all that." Shoko interjected.

"Her cursed energy has been increasing. Her output as well. Still … I say we keep close to her. Keep our guard up." Suguru suggested.

"And if Yaga-sensei sends her out solo tasking again?" Satoru dreaded that possible outcome.

"We should inform him of this. If a possible dire threat does arrive in our future, I'd suggest one of us go with her on missions just in case. We both can handle solo missions just fine."

"Then I call dibs~!"

Suguru's eyes narrowed intensely. "My idea, my dibs."

Satoru flared up. "Eh~?!"

Your groggy stirring mumbles alerted the bois to keep it down, your settling down leaving them puffing out their reliefs.

"Compromise then, Satoru~?"

Said man groaned. "You're lucky you're you."

Suguru chuckled at that before smooching his snowy haired lover over your resting head.

"Your throuple is a cursed miracle in and of itself, alright." Shoko murmured, toying with the cig between her lips.

Your throuple life story.

Cursed miracle indeed.

[starry-bi-sky]

sO i got to part two of the daniel jason todd fenton au :)

>:) word count 8k+

So, first, taglist for folks who asked for it: @blep-23 @mikyapixie @isnt-that-grape @randomenglishmajor @illryiannightmare @the-navistar-carol

SECOND: this part needs a trigger/content warning list: - CW Mild Swearing - CW Slight Psychological Horror - ^ CW mild depictions of being haunted by your own ghost/death flag and not realizing it (other people do though) - CW Brief Emetophobia (Danny throws up during a second nightmare) - CW Danny has nightmares of dying - except its of Jason Todd's warehouse death. It's not explicit but it's implied - TW Mild mentions of perceived Blood - TW Depictions of Corpses (first is non-descript, and then second one is slightly more descript but its not anything uh, super descriptive) - TW Mild description of burns (the descriptive part above) - TW Depictions of Panic Attacks (Danny's nightmares)

I mentioned that this au was inspired by a song lyric from Jann's 'Gladiator' here is that line:

I know your addiction's attention, Let's start a show Is it everything and more than you were hoping for? Show us something we ain't never seen before

The day after Danny meets himself, he's downstairs having breakfast in the dining room with the rest of the family, listening idly in on their conversations. Tim Drake is talking about something about Wayne Industries with Mr. Wayne - and wasn't that a startling surprise to learn the first time? - and Damian was slyly trying to feed Ace under the table. Duke Thomas was mid conversation with Cass, much of it audibly one-sided as Cass swaps between ASL and verbal speech.

(Danny comes across her a fair few amount of times in Wayne Manor. The first time was in the library. She hands him a book about planets, smiles, and walks away.)

(He hasn't talked much to Duke Thomas yet, but he plans to - he seems cool. They just haven't had the time to run into each other yet. Danny might just have to corner him, he thinks.)

And finally Dick Grayson on his left, his Dick Grayson, was talking away with the other Dick Grayson - who had stopped by from Bludhaven for the morning for his day off. He was a cop, ew. They were comparing lives, specifically college lives. There wasn’t much to talk about in their childhood, it seems. Danny was quietly listening in. 

(They both gave their Bruces headaches as children, apparently. Climbing the chandeliers and sliding down the staircase banisters. Flips and tricks only a child raised by the circus could do.) 

All-in-all, a very quiet morning, Danny thinks. That is, until the other Dick Grayson turns to him and goes; "I'm sure you've been asked already, but what do your parents do, Mini Jay?"

Danny squints at him, and releases his grip on his spoon to raise a pointed finger. "First off: only my Dick Grayson can call me Jay, you have your own." He says, slightly playful and nodding to Dick - oh that was going to get confusing, fast. He should come up with a nickname for one of them, probably - "And second: you're the second person to ask me that, actually. Jason - er, myself? - asked me yesterday. My parents are ectologists."

Apparently, mentioning that he met himself is a set of magic words, because the whole table stops what they're doing, and Danny's half-sinking back into his chair when all eyes turn to him in varying degrees of surprise. Dick - Richard, he’s going to call him Richard - looks at him with wide eyes and furrowed, confused brows. "You saw Jason?"

(Danny sends Bruce a confused look, but he's not paying attention - looking at everyone else with threaded eyebrows and a faint frown. Well, at least Danny isn't the only one confused by the reaction.)

(What a comfort.) 

"I guess that nickname is a dimensional constant." He mutters under his breath, and straightens up, eyeing the room warily. It... doesn't bode well to him that the Waynes were surprised by his other self's appearance -- was hisself estranged from the family?

...He hopes that doesn't happen in his world. Dick and Bruce may not be his adoptive family, but he likes them quite a lot. He wants to stay in contact with them when they get home.

"Yeah, he was in the library." He says, frowning at Richard Grayson. "He was sitting in my armchair." He supposes it was Jason's armchair first -- god, that was so weird to refer to himself in third person. "We talked for a little bit, and he asked me what my parents did. They're ectologists, by the way."

He turns to Mister Wayne and tilts his head, "Did you really not know that he was here?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. He wouldn't expect Richard to know, he doesn't live here. But Mister Wayne looks just as surprised, perhaps even a little remorseful.

(There’s a pit in his stomach that’s growing bigger.)

(His neck burns with a new pair of eyes, ones that he can’t see.) 

Mr. Wayne looks thoughtful for a moment, and then carefully, he goes; "Jason is rather... independent. He comes and goes from the manor when he feels like it." And the way he speaks sounds like he was choosing his words carefully. Danny suppresses the shiver of unease.

Something was not well in this house. Something unspoken was haunting the air. 

(Jason would know about hauntings, wouldn’t he?) 

He hopes history won't repeat itself, he likes Bruce quite a lot.

"...Alright," he says after a moment of silence, not hiding his wariness as he slowly turns back to Richard. His eyes flick towards Bruce, and then to Ricard. "Anyway, my parents are ectologists, as I've said for the third time now."

Richard, for his effort, takes the topic change easily, and his surprise shifts into one of curiosity - as does everyone else. (Did Danny really not mention what his parents did? Even Dick and Bruce look intrigued.) "That's... new." Richard says lightly, Danny commends him for the way he sounds non-judgmental. "What are ectologists?"

Danny quirks a dry half-smile, and deadpans; "Studiers of all things dead and afterlife."

...And there is that reaction again. A ripple of surprise and intrigue that spreads throughout the room as everyone looks at him, like a bunch of cats perking up their ears. 

On the other side of the table, Damian scoffs quietly, a sound much like the one Jason - the other one - did when Danny told him. Danny's eyes snap over to him in an instant, he stares at him, trying to study him. Why that reaction - again? 

He lets himself frown, briefly, before addressing Richard again. "Everyone just calls them ghost hunters, but the 'official' term is ectologists." He drawls, air-quoting the word 'official' with his fingers as he rolls his eyes. "They've been obsessed with ghosts since college. We even have a lab in the basement, and they keep liquid ectoplasm samples in the fridge."

Danny's been in the lab a handful of times, he and Jazz both have, either to clean it as part of their chores, or to listen to a lecture from their parents for their newest invention. The lab is cool, kinda, but Danny thinks it wouldn't look out of place in any evil lair of a Rogue with a doctorate. 

…He’s glad that the Fentons weren’t stationed in Gotham. They would have blown up a street. He’s surprised they haven’t already. 

"Ectoplasm?" Dick asks, leaning over to catch Danny's eye. Almost by instinct now Danny smiles at him, and then nods.

"Mom and dad say it's the stuff that makes ghosts." He explains, leaning back against his seat, his arms crossing. "It's invisible in its natural state, and it makes up everything. Kinda like the Force from Star Wars, or just, matter in general."

That cracks a few quiet, laugh-like sounds through the dining room. Danny halves a smile again, a swelling of pride in his chest that lingers for a moment. "My parents say that when ectoplasm condenses enough in one area, it can start taking on visible properties," he continues, "they say that ghosts are just the memories and emotions of a dying person or animal being imprinted on a concentration of ectoplasm, and that the ghost itself isn't actually the person or animal, just matter trying to mimic it."

Which Danny guesses makes sense, even if the way they talk about ghosts made him really uncomfortable. His parents insisted that ghosts weren't actually people, but he just couldn't shake the idea that they were. How close to ‘human’ does something get before they actually are? 

Well, no, that wasn’t fair. Superman wasn’t human, and yet everyone treated him like he was. Let him rephrase himself:

How human-like must something get before they are considered as such? Before they’re considered sapient and sentient, and real?  

"That's... quite interesting." Someone says, and Danny turns to see Bruce leaning his elbows against the table and putting his chin on threaded fingers. He looks genuinely engrossed in what Danny's said, and pride once again leaks into his heart. "You mentioned they kept ectoplasm in a liquified state in their... fridge?"

"Oh yeah," Danny says, putting his full attention to Bruce, "it's crazy. They keep little test tube racks in the freezer full of liquid ectoplasm, and it's this - uh - glowing, bright green stuff. It used to be the weirdest thing in the house."

(From his peripherals, Danny notices the room tense up again at his description — and he bites back the urge to slow his talking down and narrow his eyes. Suspicious. Suspicious. The Waynes weren’t scientists - why do they react to something like they are?)

(Nobody knows what ectoplasm is. To the scientific world, it's an unconfirmed theory of a state of matter. Why do the Waynes act like they know what it is?)

(Danny is not stupid. Even if his scientific family makes him feel like it, sometimes.) 

Bruce gives him this half-tilted, confused smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Used to be?"

Danny opens his mouth, the answer already on the tip of his tongue -- and then he freezes. His jaw clicks shut as he frowns. Should he say what his parents' latest pet project was? Surely, surely, it would be fine? Their inventions never work - and a life-sized portal is just another thing on his parents' crazy ideas list.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, chewing on the skin as he rolls the answer over in his head. ...Surely, it would be fine. His face turns in hesitance, and his shoulders scrunch and twist to his ears, like he's about to admit something that could get him grounded by his parents.

"They... may, or may not, be building an inter-dimensional portal in the basement?" His voice steadily pitches upward nervously the longer he speaks. By the time he finishes, his voice is close to a squeaky pitch.

There is a horrified silence that follows him, sitting in the air so still-like that Danny could hear the whoosh of a pin drop. He should have expected that, nervously surveying the ranging horrified expressions on the Wayne family's faces. "...I promise they're harmless... to the living." He hesitates, "Mostly."

Bruce stares at him for a long moment. "Mostly?" He repeats, his brows arched high and pinched together. Danny cringes back a little.

"Dad's a little clumsy, that's all." He says, shrugging with a helpless smile. It doesn't help, he thinks, and the silence is strangling. Sitting up, he's a little frantic to add; "I really, really, doubt it's going to work, Bruce. Their inventions never do. Mom and dad built a mini portal in college and it didn't work either!" There's a moment of silence following him, before he quietly adds, wincing, "It- it did hospitalize the guy who was helping them, though."

He only heard about that when he asked his parents about the portal - it was still in production when they picked him up. Jack Fenton claimed it was safe as safe could be - they’d make sure that the ‘college’ instance never happened again.

Bruce - both Bruces actually - looked vaguely ill at the thought. Mister Wayne’s face was blank, his face sunk into his folded hands, and Bruce’s stare burned into Danny, intense like concentrated fire. 

Danny for some reason - either through his panicked urge to make things better, or through temporary insanity - laughs forcibly. "The worst thing that could happen is that the portal could explode, but that never happens."

Next to him, Dick makes a stressed sound. "That's not better, Jay." He forces out. He looks even more horrified.

Danny sucks on his bottom lip for a long beat. Then lets out a breath.

"Yeah, I know." Danny sighs, deep and long while his shoulders slump. He watches the room for a moment, with their various stony-like expressions, and looks back at the very concerned-looking Bruce. "But Bruce, I swear it's fine. Nothing's gonna happen, please don't call the Justice League on my parents. They really are harmless."

Bruce looks conflicted.

"I was being dramatic when I said the portal could explode, it won't." He continues, giving Bruce what Jazz has called his 'cheating puppy eyes'. "My parents are eccentric about their line of work, but they understand lab safety. They'd never do anything to put me and Jazz in danger."

...Actively or on purpose, that is.

He and Bruce stare each other down. One second, two seconds; what feels like thirty seconds pass in silence before Bruce relents, sighing deeply and uncannily dad-like. He drags a hand down his face, and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "When we get back to our universe, you are giving me your phone number so you can contact me if anything happens."

Danny beams, nodding hurriedly. "Thank you, Buzz."

Bruce isn't able to hide his smile - small as it was - quickly enough. "You're welcome, Danny."

—-----

Danny has a nightmare that night. He doesn't remember most of it. There's a ticking sound, and high laughter, and there is a thumping heartbeat in his ears. Everything is dark and he is in agonizing pain.

He wakes up in paralyzing terror, a scream lodged in the back of his throat. His head pounds like a concussion and there is a shallowing ache in his ribs, like someone's kicked him, and kicked him, and kicked him until all air has been knocked from his lungs. He can't breathe.

Danny's hands scrabble for his throat, and even though he can hear himself gasping for air, it doesn't feel like he's taking any of it in. There is no relief in the action, no reassurance, and everything is so hot. He kicks at his blankets, his panic growing higher as they tangle around his legs.

He needs-

He needs--

He needs to move. He needs to get up. He needs to free himself. He needs to prove that he's not dying. He feels like he's dying. He feels like he's burning. There are tears swelling in his eyes as he finally gets the blankets off his feet, and he rolls - quite literally - out of bed.

He tries to catch himself, he does. But he doesn't. He hits the floor with a heavy thud and can hardly bring himself to care -- he catches himself on his elbows, and the sting it causes makes him feel worse. The air is knocked out of his chest again. 

The ground is cold though, blessedly cold. And before Danny can realize this, he lifts his head and, disoriented, looks for the door. It's too dark, it's too dark. His head swivels blindly in search of it. He needs to get out, he needs to escape. 

"Bruce." He croaks, still trying to force air down into his lungs. His call comes out raspy, weak, and hot tears blur his vision.

"Dick." He tries instead when a minute passes and no one comes, and he thinks he can finally start breathing. No one comes to find him - his voice is too quiet to wake anyone up. The tears in his eyes bubble and pop, and stream down his face.

He makes a distressed noise. "Jazz?" He whispers, his voice shaky and uneven with an encompassing want for his sister. It's nearly been a month since they got here. He wants Jazz.

No one hears him. He's alone.

God, he doesn't want to be alone. Please don't make him be alone.

Danny eventually gets himself calmed down. But he is curled up on the floor, trembling with the lingering traces of fear from whatever dream had woken up. His fingers dig painfully into his arms, leaving crescent-moon indents by his nails. The contents of the nightmare are already fading further into his mind, slipping out of his hands like water. Like ash.

He feels no need to chase after it.

The back of his shirt is damp with sweat, and in between the trembling he is also shivering, goosebumps lacing up his arms. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he stares with wide, crying eyes at the side of his bed. His breath comes out in short, shaky pants.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, trying to comprehend what happened as his mind still hangs onto the edge of the dreamworld. It feels like there is something in the room with him, crawling along the walls.

Danny forces himself to get up, and the sudden standing makes his vision blacken and swim as blood rushes to his head. He stumbles, slightly, and lurches halfway across the room for the light switch.

He squints as the room is drenched in light, chasing away the lingering paranoia in the back of his brain. He is still shaking. His head still hurts. He still looks, wide eyed, around the room for anything out of place.

There is none.

But he still feels unsafe. He needs- he needs to find someone, or go somewhere else. He grabs a firm pillow off the bed, and leaves.

(He ends up in the library alone. He turns on the lights and grabs a book Dick recommended to him, and he curls up tight in his armchair. He ends up falling asleep just as the sun is rising.)

(He doesn't tell anyone about the nightmare.)

-

Progress in getting the three of them back to their home dimension is slow. Dimension Hopping is a rare experience, and what update Bruce gets he relays back to Danny and Dick: they're trying to figure out a way to send them back safely, from the exact time they disappeared, and to find what dimension they're from. It's complicated magic.

It's been three weeks. 

Danny, for one, is getting homesick. He misses Jazz, Sam, and Tucker terribly, and his parents. Bruce and Dick are great, really, and Danny kinda wants to keep in touch with them after they return to their own world, but they aren't replacements of his sister and friends.

His nightmare from a few days ago still haunt his steps. He closes eyes, and that high-pitched laughter and blood-rushed pounding burns itself his ears and fills a level of unseen terror into his heart. Danny thinks that if he was hit with Scarecrow's fear gas, this is what it would feel like.

He tries to avoid falling asleep by reading in his room, by stargazing, but the place sets him on edge; an unsettling reminder of that nightmare. So he goes to the library when it gets too much, he's run into Bruce twice now doing it, and they both do reading.

Danny thinks Bruce can suspect something is up with him, but he doesn't want to tell him about that nightmare. Dick either, for that matter. He just wants to forget it.

They spend afternoons in the gym, they have it mostly to themselves - Tim Drake is at Wayne Industries, Damian Wayne is at school, so is Duke Thompson, and Cassandra Cain is... doing whatever she does during the day. Danny's not totally sure.

Dick in that time, tries showing Danny how to be more flexible. He says he's a fast learner, but Danny knows he's been slacking lately with his lack of sleep.

There isn't much they can do outside of the manor - Bruce and Dick can't go outside because they'll catch the attention of the paparazzi, and they are both significantly younger than their counterparts, and Danny isn't allowed out without a chaperone.

Which has its own unique set of problems because rumors could rapidly start if he's seen with any of the Waynes multiple times. The paparazzi aren’t dumb enough… okay, most — some — of them aren’t dumb enough to make a tabloid claiming there’s a new Wayne kid just because they see the Waynes interacting with one kid, one time. Multiple times however? That’s another story. And, he has the same issue as Bruce and Dick - he's a baby-faced Jason Todd. Who is Bruce Wayne's adoptive son in this world. He could be recognized. 

And how do you explain a tiny Jason Todd to a world where Jason Todd is a full grown man?

So all three of them are... stuck inside, so to speak. And making do with what they can. Danny spends most of his morning and early noon with Dick, and then they both separate after to have time to themselves before dinner.

Bruce is in one of the studies, doing... something. Danny's not sure and he keeps forgetting to ask.

--

Dick likes Danny - Jason? - Jay. Danny said that he can call him Jason, and he doesn't protest to being called Jay. 

Point is: he likes Jay. He's a delightful kid to be around; he's funny, and clever, even if he doesn't realize it himself. And Dick's a little upset that Jay isn't his brother in his world, he would've loved to have him around the manor. He probably would have visited more if he was around.

Something that he and Bruce were still slowly trying to fix...

He likes spending time with him - getting to teach him his acrobatic tricks was not something he expected, but he loves showing Jay how to do them. He thinks this is probably how Bruce felt when he was training Dick how to be Robin, all those years ago.

Speaking of which, Dick was still not over the Robin jacket that Jay wore. The origins of it weren't the best - Jay started wearing it to take back the insult the other kids at his school were throwing at him - but isn't that what part of what being Robin was about? 

Cheesy, he knows. But his point still stands.

He thinks that if he had to pass the Robin title down to anyone, it would be Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton. Or perhaps just Jason Fenton-Todd? Jay doesn’t seem all that attached to the name Danny. 

(“Mom and dad just started calling me it when they picked me up.” Danny — Jay shrugged when Dick asked him about it, the two of them swinging from bar to bar. “I wasn’t tellin’ ‘em my name at the time, so they gave me a new one.”) 

If he had met Jason before the Fentons had, Dick thinks maybe he would have adopted him instead. And what would that future look like? Would he have been able to, when he had to go to college and classes? Would he have been able to keep going out at night, and keep that secret to himself? 

He’ll never know, he supposes. 

“I think that’s it for today.” Dick says, swinging off the jungle gym and landing on the mats with a cat-like thump. Behind him, Jay groans, and drops with a less graceful thud as Dick stretches out his spine. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop of his back as he leans back. 

He turns, and sees Jay going for his water bottle. He looks tired — from what, Dick doesn’t know. But there are dark bags under his eyes and a sleep-distracted look on his face. He’s been distracted, and their lessons have been suffering from it. 

Dick wants to know what’s bothering him, but Jay hasn’t said anything, and Dick doesn’t know what he could say to make it better. 

“I can still keep going.” Jason insists, but he tiredly slumps over to grab his water, and straightens up sluggishly. It’s probably not a lie, but anything Dick shows him he doubts that Jay will retain it. “You don’t have to stop.”

“Oh but I want to.” Dick says, walking over to grab his own water. “I’m human too you know—” and Jay snorts at him with a grumbled ‘doubt it’. “—so I also need my breaks.” 

“With the way you can bend I really don’t think so.” Jason mutters, eyeing him up and down. Dick laughs quietly and takes a long sip of his water. “Seriously, circus boy, what do they feed you? Actually - what did they feed myself?”

Dick’s laughter doubles as Jay’s eyes grow wide and wild, his head shaking with spasming arms. “No, seriously! I don’t know if you’ve seen the other me yet, Dick, but he- he’s fucking huge!” He exclaims, and jumps as high as he can as his arms try to make a silhouette above his head. “I- I’m almost as big as Jack Fenton, and we’re not even biologically related! I don’t know where he got that much height to him, ‘cause- ‘cause Willis, that drunk bastard, was never that big!” 

Dick hasn’t seen the elusive other Jason Todd, and he’s been so curious about him. Both he and Bruce have — especially considering that everyone else doesn’t seem to want to tell them about him. He tried stopping his other self to ask about Jason Todd of his world, and his other self just said that he was his little brother and the second robin, and that he did a lot of his own stuff. 

It was a whole bunch of fucking nothing. And he and Bruce were growing suspicious about it. They hadn’t thought of it before because, well, they were busy adjusting to being in a new world and trying to figure out a way back. And then Jason was never really brought up, but neither was Dick Grayson unless Dick asked about it, and he didn’t think to ask about Jason Todd before.

It was all just strange.

But Jay’s exclamation over the size of himself distracts Dick long enough that he forces himself to put the mystery of Jason Todd on the backburner for now. “I’ll- I’ll have to see him for myself, Jaybird.” He says when his laughter subsides, and he straightens up. 

“Seriously,” Jay stresses, and he starts to make his way towards the gym door. “He’s fucking massive, Dick. Built like a brick shithouse.” 

Dick almost starts laughing again, “Where did you even learn that phrase?” 

Jay rolls his shoulders back and grins at him slyly, “I read.” He says, and it’s so clearly not how he learned that word that Dick barks out a laugh. 

They reach the door, and Jay holds the door open as Dick reaches for the light switch. He looks behind him, surveying the room quickly to make sure that there’s nothing they could have left on the floor, before turning off the lights.

Bright green eyes stare at him from the mirror. Right where Jay is standing. 

In an instant, the lights are back on. Dick’s heart has been kickstarted into fifth gear, suddenly and loudly racing in his chest as he darts his head around the room. It was only two seconds, perhaps only even one, but fear has been shot like an adrenaline needle into Dick’s veins. An inhuman, skyrocketing fear alike to Scarecrow’s fear gas. 

What was that?

What was that?

WHAT WAS THAT?  

But there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There is only Jason where the eyes were. 

From the mirror’s reflection, Jason turns his head — he hadn’t been looking at Dick, he hadn’t been looking at Dick — and stares up at him. There is confusion written on his face as he glances up at Dick, and then at the mirror. He meets his eyes - Jason’s blue, blue, not green, eyes — and Dick forces himself to look away from the mirror and down at Jay.

“What was that for?” Jay asks him, perfectly normal and perfectly confused. 

Dick feels like he just ran a marathon. He’s panting, he doesn’t know why, and he forces himself to sound like he wasn’t as he wets his lips and furrows his brows. “I thought I saw something.” He says, frowning. 

He didn’t think. He did. He did. 

What did he see? 

It was standing where Jay was. Those eyes. Those green-green eyes. It was where Jay was. He forces himself to shake his head, his frown deepening, unsettled. Jason peers around him as if to see what he had, and Dick puts a hand on his chest, stopping him. “It was nothing, let's go.” 

He turns Jay around, and ignores his bewildered look. That lighthearted mood he had earlier has plummeted, replaced with an eerie paranoia as he takes the door from Jason’s hand and flicks the lights back off. 

When he looks over his shoulder at the mirror, there’s nothing there. 

—------------

Danny has another nightmare. It’s the same one. It’s dark again. That high pitched laughter fills his ears. The ticking is louder, louder, louder. It’s counting down, but to what - he can’t see — he can’t see what it’s counting down to. 

There is still so much pain. His head hurts, his body hurts. He has a body now, he can remember he has a body. He’s in so much pain. He looks down at his hands and pooling around his knees is a bloody yellow cape, it’s torn and bloody and his hands are bloody and torn and he’s wearing green gloves. 

He wakes up just before the ticking stops. He doesn’t know how he knows that the ticking stops. 

Danny rolls over and hangs himself sideways off the bed, gasping for air that doesn’t come. He wants to scream again, to shriek with such terror that it sends everyone in the manor running into his room. He doesn’t, he can’t, he has no mouth and he must scream. 

Danny gasps for air instead, and then dry heaves until he throws up onto the floor. His head is spinning with the fadings of a dream-made concussion, again. His chest hurts deeper, more, it’s no longer shallow and as if someone was sitting on his chest, like someone had beat him in the stomach and chest and head.  

He feels like he’s choking. He is, he’s choking on what bile he can’t get out of his throat, and he forces himself to swallow it back down. He’s crying, he realizes, and dragging in air down into his lungs to the point it hurts. 

What is going on? He thinks through the haze in his mind. With what lucidity he has he brings a hand to his head to make sure he’s not bleeding. His palm swipes against sticky skin, and all that comes back is sweat. He’s not bleeding. He feels like he is. 

Make it stop. His inner mind wails as he finally, finally, starts to calm down again. He’s still crying. The tears burn down his cheeks, and he absently sticks out his tongue and licks the ones that gather at his lips away. He wipes at his face again, and when he looks at his hands, all he sees is skin.

He’s not wearing gloves. 

His hands reach for his back, and grasp his sweat-soaked shirt instead. He’s not wearing a cape. It soothes him, just a little bit. But not enough to keep him feeling safe. 

Danny peers over the side of the bed, and through his dark-adjusted eyes he sees the sitting puddle of throw-up on the floor. He cringes, sniffling. He can’t keep that there. He needs to — he needs to clean that up. 

Alfred must be sleeping by now — what time is it? He doesn’t know. He can’t wake him up. Where does Alfred keep the cleaning supplies? 

Danny throws his legs over the side — they’re not broken, he thinks dazedly — why would he think they’re broken? — and he stumbles to the door. He avoids, somehow, the sick.

(He passes by a mirrored vanity on his way to the door. He doesn’t see his reflection staring at him with green-green eyes. He doesn’t see those eyes following him.) 

He runs into Bruce in the hallway. He should have guessed it so. Danny freezes in his tracks, fear shooting up into his throat as Bruce turns towards him, already a smile pulling on the older man’s face. 

It drops immediately when he sees him. It twists down, and his face burrows into concern. “What’s wrong?” He asks, and Bruce is kneeling before him before Danny can blink. He looks worried. Danny must look awful then.

(He does. He looks pale as a ghost, and his face is splotchy red and shiny with tears.) 

Danny blinks at him numbly, trying to get his thoughts in order. Bruce’s hands are on his shoulders, Danny throws his hands over them, squeezing the knuckles and blinking widely. “I had-” he licks his lips, “a- uh, nightmare. And then I threw up.”

Fuck, he feels like a toddler. His eyes burn with embarrassed tears. He’s fucking thirteen. He’s not a baby. But he feels like a little kid going to their parent’s room. Bruce isn’t even his dad. He shouldn’t feel this way. 

But Bruce doesn’t make fun of him, or scold him, and Danny didn’t really expect him to, but the concern that melts over his face as his eyes soften makes him feel all warm and fuzzy anyways. “Okay,” Bruce says, expression softened but no less worried, and stands up. “Okay, we can go find Alfred then.” 

Danny’s lips press together, uneven and wobbling. “Please don’t.” He says before he can stop himself, and his voice cracks. He feels like such a baby. “I can clean it myself. We don’t have to wake him up.” 

“Do you even know where the cleaning supplies are, chum?” Bruce asks, and in the dark hallway he can see him raise an eyebrow. Danny’s lips press tighter together. He doesn’t. But he can find it. 

They wake up Alfred. Dany feels like shit the entire time. 

“I’m sorry.” He croaks as he follows Alfred and Bruce down the hallway with a mop and a bucket. He’s so embarrassed. He’s going to cry again, and he hates it. “I can do it, Mister Pennyworth. Please.” 

“You sound,” Mister Pennyworth starts, his voice soft, “just like young Master Jason when he started living here.” He turns to throw Danny an endeared smile, and Danny thinks it’s supposed to make him feel better. It does, a little bit, and it also makes him feel worse. 

“I am Jason.” He says, and tears spill down his face again. He is Jason. That’s his name. It’s not Danny, it never has been. The time he’s been here has slowly been pointing that out to him. He may be Fenton, but he’s not Danny. 

Alfred gets it all cleaned up, and Bruce sticks with him after he leaves. Danny’s grateful and resentful of it — hasn’t he embarrassed himself enough tonight? 

Bruce leads him to the library, a funny parallel to the first time. “We can ask Mister Wayne —” Bruce’s face scrunches up slightly, and Danny laughs under his breath. At least he’s not the only one still weirded out by it. “— about getting you a new room tomorrow.” 

Danny sniffs dryly, “How’d you know?” He didn’t think it was obvious that he didn’t want to go to sleep in his room. Bruce smiles knowingly at him, sadly, and they both sit down in the lounge chair next to the fireplace. It sits across from Danny’s armchair.

“I know a thing or two about nightmares.” He says softly.

Oh. 

Yeah.

That’s right. His parents. 

He probably had nightmares about that. 

Danny looks away from him, his eyes drop to his hands. His bare, non-bloody hands. He leans into Bruce’s side. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He mumbles. He doesn’t want to talk about dying. Or what he thought was dying.  

“And you don’t have to.” Bruce says, slinging one arm around him and slumping against the curve of the chair. Danny reluctantly follows his falling, and finds himself trapped between the back of the chair and Bruce’s side. His ear is pressed to Bruce’s heartbeat. “We can just sit here, and talk about something else.” 

Danny blinks at the empty fireplace. “Okay. Tell me about films again.” 

Bruce’s fingers dig gently into his hair, and scratch slowly against his scalp. “Okay, Danny.” 

Danny frowns. “And don’t call me Danny. It’s Jason.” 

He doesn’t look up to see Bruce’s smile, but he can hear it as the man thumbs over the shell of his ear. “Okay, Jason.” 

(Danny falls asleep halfway through Bruce’s telling of the history of the Grey Ghost. Bruce knows by the way his breathing slows into a steady rhythm and his eyes don’t open.) 

(He smiles for mite a moment, before it drops and his eyes turn to the bookshelf in the corner. Standing there is a small black figure, with two burning green eyes.) 

(They stare at each other for a long, long minute, Bruce’s heart rising slowly. The figure tilts its head, and disappears. Bruce doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.) 

—-------

Danny stares down Bruce. Bruce stares him down back. It’s morning. It’s breakfast. Everyone is at the table eating, and he and Bruce are having a silent staring contest. Danny has to ask Mister Wayne about moving to a new room, he thought he would be able to do so after breakfast. 

(Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to ask at all - why bother Mister Wayne about something he can get over?) 

(Bruce, apparently, wasn’t having it. With that stupid knowing look on his face.) 

But Bruce wants it to be now. Danny narrows his eyes at him, and Bruce raises an eyebrow back. Dick Grayson, his world, was going to notice soon. He was sitting next to Bruce this morning. That traitor. 

If you don’t do it, I will. Bruce’s face says. Bastard. Danny was going to take away his Jason rights.

Danny’s the first to relent, pressing his lips together into an annoyed, thin line, before he lets out a silent sigh and turns to Mister Wayne. “Mister Wayne?” He says, cringing slightly when Mister Wayne looks up at him - as with most of the room. 

“Yes, Danny?” 

He spares one last look at Bruce, who nods curtly at him, and Danny throws him one last annoyed look before turning back to Mister Wayne. “Would it, uh, be fine if I changed rooms?” He asks. 

Mister Wayne tilts his head, slightly, to the side with a look of interest. “You can, but what brought this up? Is everything okay?”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Danny was expecting that question. He glares at Bruce from the corner of his eye. And then smiles shakily at Mister Wayne. “Um, uh, yeah. Everything’s fine— it’s just, it’s stupid. Some, some stupid nightmares keeping me up.” 

Mister Wayne’s brows furrow, and Dick looks concerned from Danny’s peripherals. “It’s not stupid, you can change your room. I’m sorry you’ve been having nightmares.”

He doesn’t even ask what they’re about. Bruce didn’t either — he thinks he would’ve, maybe — but fuck, jeez. Danny laughs uncomfortably, scratching his jaw. “Yeah- um, thanks. It sucks.” He just barely stops himself from blurting out that he was dreaming that he was dying.

That was not a can he wanted to open. They would have questions, he knows they would, and he doesn’t want to think about it. The image of his bloody, torn hands are already seared into his mind. 

Everyone goes back to eating.

(Dick keeps looking up at him with a shadow of a frown on his face, like he’s keeping an eye on him. Quick enough that Danny doesn’t notice it. Bruce does, and watches his son from the corner of his eye.)

(Danny doesn’t see it, but his reflection turns its head. And peers around the back of its chair. Its eye burns green and it stares at Dick. The next time Dick looks up, it catches his eye.)

(He doesn’t straighten up, he forces himself not to react. He just keeps staring at it, his breath locked in his lungs, his limbs filling with a low, buzzing static. He doesn’t know what it is. It’s terrifying him.)

(The reflection doesn’t react to him, but its eyes seem to… glitch. And an eye appears next to it, and another one appears in a line. The pupils slowly turn to look… at Danny.)

(The window begins to crack.)

“JaSON!” Dick suddenly yells, standing up so abruptly that his chair falls back and slams against the ground with an echoing bang. Danny jerks back in surprise, and stares at Dick, who looks at him with equally wide eyes. 

Dick looks like he’s seen a ghost, his face pale as a sheet. He looks ill. He’s panting, there’s a sheen going over his forehead, like he’s just run a mile. But he’s gripping the table like he may just vault over it.

And everyone is looking at them both once again. Bruce looks incredibly concerned. 

“I— what?” Danny says, pushing his back into the chair as far as he could go. 

Dick blinks, and heaves a breath. Like whatever trance he was in was just… snapped out of. His brows furrow, and he moves, suddenly, peering over Danny like he’s trying to look around him. Left, right, and over, and then back again. 

“You—” he pauses, breathing in, “you looked like you were about to disappear.” 

Danny stares at him in disbelief. And he looks behind him, laughing nervously. There’s nothing there but his own reflection in the smooth glass window. “What- what kind of fucking—” he turns back around to look at Dick. “Why would you say that?” 

“There was something in the window.” Dick says immediately, and Danny is immediately rising to his feet and rushing around the table. Nope - nope, nope, fuck that. He’s by him and Bruce in an instant, as the other Waynes stand up and turn to the window as well.

Dick’s arms are around him the moment he’s within reach, tugging him into his side as one hand presses down against his chest, keeping him close. Dick hasn’t taken his eyes off the window, brows furrowed and serious. 

Everyone looks so serious. It’s freaking him out a little bit. 

“What was your nightmare about, Jay?” Dick asks when he finally tears his eyes away from the window and looks down at him. He’s got a protective hold on him, something so similar to Jazz whenever their parents set something on fire upstairs. 

Danny swallows dryly — does he have to say it? Saying it might bring him back to it, and he doesn’t want to go back to it. Twice was enough for him. “I was dying.” He admits anyways, and regrets it immediately when half a dozen heads all snap to look at him. 

In a panic, his mouth runs. “I was- I don’t remember anything- I just, it was dark and I was in pain and-” He presses his lips together, “I— I was in so much pain. There was this laughter—” Laughter. Familiar laughter now that he thinks about it. From the news. Danny’s lips curl downwards, and he whispers to himself, “Joker?”

“Joker?” Dick repeats, his voice hard. When Danny looks up, his face is unrecognizably stern. “You had a dream that the Joker was killing you?” 

“I— no— yes?” Frustration bleeds into his chest, fear pooling up his throat as the nightmare pulls on the edge of his memory. “I don’t fucking know. I didn’t see anything, all I heard was ticking and that stupid laughter. And I was bleeding, and I was wearing this yellow fucking cape, and- and I was dying.” 

He pulls himself away from Dick, his breathing picking up. “I just- I was— there was this ticking sound and I woke up before it stopped, and I- I don’t know why I knew it was about to stop — but I know that when the ticking stops something bad was going to happen— and it was just a nightmare.” 

Danny grits his teeth, and looks back up at Dick, forcing himself to calm down before he works himself into a panic. “It was just a fucking nightmare, Dick.” He says forcibly, and then he marches out of the room to the library. 

His appetite’s been ruined. 

—---------

Danny’s — Jason’s — asleep next to him. Bruce would think it was sweet if it weren’t for the fact that Jason’s been having nightmares about dying of all things. Nightmares that weren’t, he suspects, completely unfounded. 

His other self looked ill in the face as Jason marched out of the room that morning after Dick’s outburst. Outburst. That’s all he can think to call it even if it sounds juvenile. Like it was unfounded as Jason’s nightmare. 

His other self has been hiding something from him. Something about Jason Todd of this world, who he hasn’t seen at all since they arrived, but Danny — Jason — has. He would’ve thought the other Todd was a ghost if his other world’s… children… hadn’t confirmed seeing and knowing him recently. 

(That was something he still hasn’t fully comprehended. Children, plural? He adopts more after Dick? He has a biological son?) 

He’d be interrogating his other self on this if Jason wasn’t asleep next to him. It would be remarkably easy, as they were all sitting in the living room for the afternoon. All his other children were vigilantes, he wouldn’t need to keep pretenses.

But Jason is asleep next to him, and he doesn’t know. So he resolves to staring holes into his other self’s head, who was going through documents. A case, he bets. His other self doesn’t pay him any mind, but Bruce knows he knows that he’s staring at him. 

(“What have you been keeping from me?” He growls the moment Jason is out of the dining room, rising to his feet. The look on his other self meant that he knew something about those nightmares that Bruce didn’t. 

His other self looks at him, “Nothing that concerns your world.” He says, all of the kids looked tense as well, but now they were staring between the both of them like a fight would break out. 

“Bullshit.” Dick snaps before Bruce can speak, he walks around him and points an accusing finger at his other self. “You looked like you saw a ghost when Jaybird said he was dreaming of the Joker killing him. You know something.”

He did not tell them anything.) 

Whatever it was that his other self was hiding, Bruce would find out before they went back to their world. This concerned him, and it concerned Jason’s safety. If he wasn’t safe and his other self knew something about it, Bruce would be furious. 

Jason’s ragged gasp cut through the air like a knife, and Bruce’s gaze snapped down to his face as the boy’s eyes flew open and he jerked sharply. Jason’s hands were latched onto his shirt before Bruce could react, his nails dragging into his skin like he was trying to claw himself up.

It was another nightmare. Jason was clawing at him, trying to sit himself up while jagged, awful sounding gasps filled the air. He wasn’t looking at Bruce, he wasn’t looking at anything, his eyes glazed over like he was still trapped in the nightmare. 

Bruce wrapped his arms around the small boy and pulled them both down onto the ground, ignoring his other children standing up and looking at them until he had Jay in a cradle. 

The boy was still gasping for air, hyperventilating. His hands drop from Bruce’s shirt and scratch at his throat, his arms forming an ‘x’ while he tilts his head back and desperately tries to draw in oxygen. Bruce tilts his head back up with his hand, and leans him against his shoulder. 

“Breathe.” He murmurs, pushing damp black curls out of Jay’s face. It was a poor command - Jason’s eyes were squeezed shut and his face scrunched in pain, Bruce doesn’t think he can even hear him. “You’re safe.” 

“Bruce.” Dick hisses into his ear, and Bruce doesn’t look at him. He grunts to let his son know he heard him. “The mirror.” 

Bruce’s eyes fly up.

There was a floor length mirror sitting in front of the couch. A mirror that Bruce was conveniently, coincidentally, sitting in front of. A mirror that should have been working as all mirrors do. 

A mirror that, instead of showing Bruce his reflection back as he was, showed him in his Batman suit. Jason was in his arms, but in a torn, bloody uniform. A uniform that looked like a Robin suit. Jason - his Jason - wasn’t a Robin. But here he was, dressed as one, his black-yellow cape pooling beneath him and covered in blood. 

The Jason in the mirror, the Robin, wasn’t breathing. His head lolled over Bruce’s arm lifelessly. 

Bruce’s heart skids to a stop, and he looks back down. Jason was still breathing, his hyperventilating was beginning to slow, but he was breathing. The pained crease of his face was softening, even as his brows were still furrowed. 

When Bruce looks back up at the mirror, the reflection has changed. It wasn’t back to normal, Jason was just in a different suit. He was wearing a white hazmat suit now, and he was burned, horribly. The suit was melted to his skin in patches around his body in black, charred splotches, what wasn’t burned was torn, and the skin he could see was cauterized. The only part of him that was bleeding was his head, and it soaked his black hair red. What of his face he could see, there were bright green lightning figures going up his neck, burning the skin around where it glows. 

The mirror cracks down the middle, severing Jason from Bruce. 

He forces himself to look down, terrified to see the reflection a reality right in front of him. But Jason was alive, uninjured, and breathing quietly. Bruce presses two fingers to his throat, and feels a steady pulsepoint thumping against the pads of his fingers.

Jason’s eyes open and blue stares up at him.  

When Bruce looks up at the mirror, the reflection is back to normal.  

[matan4il]

Update post:

Yesterday, there were no less than two terrorist attacks against Israeli civilians, one in the morning, and one in the evening.

The first one happened in Beersheba, where the terrorist stabbed and injured two people before being neutralized. The terrorist was an Israeli Bedouin, who had been convicted of drug-related criminal charges. The prosecution asked for his arrest, but the court decided to be lenient, to aid in his rehabilitation, and instead only sentenced him to community service. He was due to start in two weeks, but instead he chose yesterday to attack innocent civilians.

The second terrorist attack took place in Gan Yavne. A Palestinian man, who used to have a work permit in Israel, but lost it and remained here illegally, carried out the attack. The Palestinian terrorist started stabbing people at a gym and then at a nearby cafe, wounding 3 people, all of them originally determined to be in serious condition, one is a teenager, the other two are reported to have life threatening head injuries. The terrorist was 19 years old, and he was neutralized at the scene. In investigating how he managed to stay inside Israel illegally after his work permit had expired, the police has arrested two people so far.

Israel has wrapped up its second operation at the Shifa hospital in Gaza City, with another soldier pronounced dead (20 years old Nada Cohen), bringing the IDF fatalities in the Gaza ground operation so far to 256, and the total number of killed Israeli soldiers in this war, including during the Hamas massacre (reminder that some of those soldiers were girls serving in non-combative posts, without combat training or even a weapon, and were slain while still in their pajamas) to 600.

The end of one operation in a Gaza hospital doesn't mean that's the end of Hamas abusing medical and humanitarian facilities, so there are and will be more such operations. That's why I'm also sharing this reminder that nothing is sacred or even just... off limits to Hamas, who moved kidnapped civilians in ambulances, as one of the released hostages testified.

I mentioned in a post expressing my frustration over foreigners' ignorance over the conflict, which doesn't stop them from acting like they know better than the people actually living it, the Hamas-Fatah "civil war," which erupted in 2007, when Hamas killed Fatah members in Gaza and took over the place. The two Palestinian factions have tried reconciliation several times over the years, but it never lasted long. Israel's war in Gaza against Hamas and its fellow terrorists organizations is not over yet, but already there's signs of that tension. This def bodes well for Palestinians if Hamas survives this war.

A city council meeting in California, which dealt with Holocaust remembrance, ended up being the scene of some despicable displays of antisemitism in its anti-Zionist form. IDK what was most distressing to hear about, the way they screamed "Lies! Lies!"' at a Holocaust survivor, or that they took and threw to the ground the phone of a Jewish man who came to speak about his grandma who had survived the Holocaust, or that they mocked a mother speaking of her child being harassed at school to the point he doesn't wanna be a Jew, because he doesn't want to be hated... Maybe that they made my friend, who attended the meeting, cry on what was supposed to be a very special day. I saw coverage on Israeli TV of the city council, which both told me how bad it was, if of all things, that's what they're talking about, and at the same time, it was nothing like hearing about it from her. So I'm glad that she shared some of her own impressions about this ugly demonstration of hatred (I'm also scheduling her post for a reblog). I just hope Jews all over the world know that we here in Israel care about you, we love you, we are standing by your side, and we wish we could do more for you. <3

Speaking of antisemitism, and an inability to recognize it as such, to call it out and condemn it, here's some recent examples from around the world. In Spain, the locals went out for an Easter drink, a tradition called, "to kill the Jews," but insisted it's not racist. Attacking and even killing Jews actually was customary in Europe on Christian holidays such as Christmas and Easter. In fact, this specific nickname is derived from those old attacks.

In London, a policeman insisted that swastikas being displayed at an anti-Israel protest were not antisemitic, and should be taken "in context," despite admitting that a symbol that's abusive or would cause public distress would fall under his jurisdiction to act against.

In the Netherlands, a single mom of a Jewish girl was attacked for the daughter's choices (she decided to move to Israel and has served in the Israeli army) both at home and at her workplace, a hospital. The mother was so rattled after the attack at her home, that she wouldn't stay there. A Jewish hotel owner offered her a free stay at his hotel. In an interview with an Israeli reporter, the mom said she's considering moving to Israel, too (source in Hebrew).

This is 32 years old Celine ben David Nagar.

She worked as an office manager at a law firm, was married to Iddo, and they had a 6 months old baby together. On Oct 7, Celine was on her way with a friend to the Nova music festival, but they never made it there. The Hamas rocket attack started first. For 10 days, she was considered missing, and it took a while, but eventually they found her body. While her fate was still unknown, two days after the massacre, Iddo went on TV and talked about the fact that Celine was still breastfeeding. Following the interview, hundreds of Israel women volunteered to donate their mother's milk to the little baby girl. At Celine's funeral, Iddo asked said goodbye to his wife, and asked hr to watch over him and little Eli from above.

May her memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[theonemeathead]

Sniper x Reader, "Quick Trip"

a sniper x reader smutfic! tw for afab anatomy, the implications of the word 'sheila'. enjoy!

August. One of the hottest months of the year, not to mention it was the hottest day in New Mexico yet. A ceasefire had been called until further notice, the temperature being down right deadly. There was no shade for miles, within the border of the Badlands.

Which just so happened to be where you lived. Your residence, currently, was Teufort's RED base. You had been on base for a couple of years now, you got along with everyone well enough; Some more than others.

Which leads you to the current situation.

You see, Sniper was about to leave on a joint-contract with Scout; Somewhere not nearly as blazing hot. And he was going to be gone for almost two weeks. Clearly, this didn't bode well with you as you stood, with crossed arms, in front of him. You had been begging him all day to let you tag along, but he refused, insistently.

"Mundy, this isn't fair! The AC in the base is broken, you gotta—!"

"I said no, sheila," he cut you off, his tone stern. Of course, you didn't take well to being talked over, especially by your boyfriend. You furrowed your brow, opening your mouth to speak, when you were interrupted, yet again.

"Sick! Ya coming with us?" Ah, Scout. His Boston accent never failed to amuse you, especially with the mischievous glint in his eyes whenever he spoke. He smiled wide, hopeful that you could maybe make the car ride a little less dull. Sniper usually wasn't one for small talk, you were lucky if you could even get a head nod out of him.

"No." "Yes!"

You and Sniper said in unison, he shot you a nasty side eye from behind his aviators. You never understood how Sniper was able to take the heat so easily. He was still wearing his full uniform, boots and all. You had half a mind not to strip naked with how unbearable the temperature was. However, still somewhat sane, decided against that and listened to your better judgement for once.

"Aw, c'mon, Snipes, let 'em tag along! At least they talk," Scout tried to reason, taking your side. Sniper sighed dramatically, grumbling something you couldn't quite understand. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at you.

"You're both insufferable. Get in." Your eyes lit up immediately. You had gotten your way, per usual. You clambered into the vehicle, sitting directly in the middle between the other two mercenaries. The black leather seats had definitely seen their fair share of wear and tear, various holes burned from dropped cigarettes, some exposed, yellow foam from the peeling material... But Sniper loved his van. In between your legs was the comically long stick-shift. The handle was slightly chipped away and the design faded from being used so often. Sniper refused to drive anything but manual, because it's 'the right way' he said. With a loud sigh, Sniper had pulled himself in on the driver's side, buckling his seat belt in one swift motion. He clicked the key forward in the ignition, the camper sputtering to life. It was definitely old and in desperate need of repair. The bushman reached forward for the gearshift, his rough hands accidentally brushing the top of your knee as he put the car into 1st gear. Normally, gestures such as this didn't get to you. But, something felt off about it this time.

The first 10 minutes of the car ride turned out to be a bust. Sniper was too focused on the road and Scout was knocked out, cold. The only sound was the distant crackling of the radio and the soft snores from your teammate. You had one exciting moment when Sniper went to shift to 3rd, his hand grazing your leg yet again. You shot him a quick glance, unsure if it was on purpose on not. Sniper wasn't one to tease. You leaned forward with a sigh, slightly turning the dial on the radio to the right. It was set on a classic rock station currently playing a song by Men At Work. You didn't know much about the band, besides the fact Sniper really liked them.

"I love this song." Sniper's gruff voice had come out slightly whispery. You squirmed a little in your seat. Did he always have this affect on you? His Aussie accent had rang through you ears. It was such a simple string of words, but coupled with the fleeting touches, it was... different. About an hour and a half into the car ride, Sniper made the executive decision to stop at a gas station a couple miles up the road. With Scout still asleep, Sniper pulled up to the pump, slamming the breaks to scare the sleeping Bostonion awake. With an abrupt 'oof', Scout was up and ready to fight immediately.

"What—! What is it?! What happened, are we dead??" He yelped, looking around frantically. Scout paused, huffing when he saw that you were all just in park. "You guys are freakin' assholes, I'm gonna go take a leak."

With the 3 of you filing out of Sniper's front seat, you watched as Scout stretched and walked towards the gas station itself. Behind you, Sniper had already unscrewed the gas cap, removing the nozzle and forcing it into the tank. With a simple 'click', diesel fluid immediately began pouring out. Sniper stared at it for a second before abruptly pulling on the handle of the side door of the van, exposing the inside to you. Confused, you looked up at him.

"I told ya I didn't want you coming on this trip, roo." His tone was dark, almost sadistic. Your brows pinned up, a bit of fear beginning to creep through your system. Sniper never took a tone with you. He turned to you, his eyes hidden behind his yellow-tinted aviators. You swallowed thickly, afraid of what was next. "Come here."

You obeyed, stepping closer to him timidly. Immediately, you were manhandled, almost thrown into the back of his camper van. You stared in surprise, yelping as he slammed the door closed behind the both of you. You didn't have time to react before he was on you, his mouth meeting yours. The kiss wasn't pretty or experienced as his teeth clacked against yours, his lips bruising and hungry. He must've been pent up, watching you flaunt yourself around in that low-cut tanktop and those too-short shorts. Just as fast as he had started, he had pulled away. The marksman looked you up and down, as if you were nothing but prey.

"This is the entire reason I didnt want'cha to come, darl'. Just can't keep my bloody hands off ya."

A flash of red was all you saw before you were flipped onto your stomach, Sniper using his long limbs to entangle your arms behind your back. He had you like a wrangled animal, trapped and helpless. He grunted quietly, cursing under his breath as he kept you pinned with one arm. He used his one free hand and made quick work of your bottoms, sliding them, along with your underwear, down to rest just below your ass. You jolted at the feeling of his caloused hand immediately delving into your folds, as if to relax you. A low whimper left your throat, the feeling of his long, thick fingers tracing themselves inside of you, curling to hit the right spot.

You didn't have much time, however, and Sniper knew this. He retracted his fingers, sucking whatever juices was on them off. The clinking of a belt, along with shuffling fabric excited you further. Although you couldn't look back, you could feel him start to guide his long length towards your aching hole. He slid into you, slowly. Sniper wasn't thick per se, but he was definitely long. The head of his cock practically kissed your insides in all the right places. With how wet you were, you didn't need much time to accommodate his size. Snapping his hips into your ass, you could feel every drag of his cock, every pulse and vein. His pace started off bruising, the hand keeping you pinned down began leaving crescent-shaped indents from his fingernails.

There was something primal about this. The heat had burned extra hot that day, and so did your lover, it seemed. He reached his free hand under you, beginning to rub sloppy circles on your clit. Shortly after, you eyes had screwed shut, a line of drool beginning to leak from your mouth. The campervan had rocked slightly with each thrust, your pants and pleas falling upon deaf ears as Sniper used your body. It wasn't long until you tried to warn him, maybe a little too late.

"Mick, I—!" Before you could continue, you had came, your own moan cutting you off. Sniper had a sick, twisted smile, letting go of your arms to focus fully on grabbing your hips. He had started slamming your overstimulated, quivering cunt back into him. It sent shocks through your body, the pleasure quickly turning to pain as it became too much

"Fuck, I love ya, roo. I'm gonna fill ya right up, make ya mine." His thrusts grew erratic, almost sloppy, as a string of curses and praise left his lips as he hilted himself fully inside of you. You heard a small groan, followed by some deep breaths as Sniper came inside of you. With a groan, he pulled out, his cock growing softer by the second. He yanked his pants up, buckling his belt back with extreme ease and skill. There was no time for aftercare. He helped you slide your clothes back up, your trembling thighs sending delight through him. He picked his slouch hat up from off the ground, dusting it off. He held a crooked smile as he placed it atop your head, the hat much too big for you. He had finished pumping gas, screwing the cap back on before leaning against the front of his Chevy.

"Where's Scout?"

"I paid him $20 to piss off somewhere for like half an hour. He'll be back soon, love."

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do Part 19

Chapter 15 when on Ao3, Masterpost WC: 2870 CW: WARNING THESE ARE SPOILERY Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Injury,

Danny knew he was smiling like a love sick fool when he pulled back from the kiss, but he really didn’t care. It was still far to nice to be able to kiss Jason whenever he wanted: like when Jason was picking him up for their date.

“So, where are we going and what’s with the backpack?” Jason asked as he handed over the spare helmet.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“Nope, you don’t get to know where we’re going,” Danny said.

The flat stare he got in response was pretty impressive on Jason’s part. “Fish, I’m the one driving.”

“That you are,” Danny agreed. While Danny didn’t exactly inherit his dad’s driving habits, it was still better that Jason was the one behind the wheel (or the handle bars in this case).

Jason waited a long beat before giving an exasperated sigh. “Then I need to know where we’re going.”

“Your helmet bluetooths to your phone, right? I’ll pull up the directions and press go. You just have to follow them.”

“The directions it gives for the city are shit.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll tell you the road we need to be on outside of the city and you can ignore it until then.”

“We’re leaving the city?” That seemed to get Jason’s interest at least.

“Yeah, so have a little sense of adventure and trust me, okay? I think you’ll like it.” Danny hoped Jason would like it. He couldn’t top the museum date, but he hoped this at least would still be a good one.

“Course I trust you, koi,” Jason said and followed up his words with a light kiss.

“Koi?”

“They’re good luck fish.”

“Oh, Ancients do you have the wrong person for that,” Danny said, laughing as he put on his helmet. “Now hand over your phone so I can get us going.”

“Bossy.”

“You like it,” Danny said as he pulled up the route to the small town.

“Damn right.”

-

The whole drive was a little magical, which Danny hoped boded well fro the rest of the date. The trees were in full fall color, the wind on the road wasn’t too cold yet, and, best of all, Danny got to spend it pressed up against Jason’s back.

There was no doubt that they were in the right place as soon as the passed the cheerfully painted wooden sign on the edge of town and the large banner next to it declaring it was the Fall Harvest Festival that weekend. The sign spanning the first set of streetlights in the old fashion downtown didn’t hurt either. Or all the stalls and people milling about. Or the smell of food.

“A harvest festival?” Jason asked, the words slightly distorted by the helmet.

“They have a market place set up and live music and food,” Danny explained quickly. Please, please like it. “But it’s really just good timing to make the trip worth it. Really we’re here for somewhere specific.”

“I don’t suppose I get to know what that is either?”

“Nope! I thought we’d grab lunch and something to drink first before we make our way there.” Please think the plan was okay.

“Something smells delicious, so I’m more than down for that,” Jason agreed easily, and Danny breathed a quiet sigh of relief. So far, so good.

Jason’s nose ended up leading them to cider, pulled pork sandwiches, and tornado potatoes- which were a spiraled monstrosity on a stick (as was only right for fair food). They were a little after lunch, which meant that they were able to find a place to eat at one of the many picnic tables set out across the town square.

Danny had to hand it to the town— it was nice. Sure, it was campy and the number of gourds used as decoration was little extreme, but it was all fit together in a way that was just the right level of quaint. Jason started them on an absurd game ‘tourist or resident’ as they ate. If they both agreed resident, they had to come up with what the person’s job or archetype in the town was.

It ended in a ten minute debate if one lady with truly impressive hair worked at the nail salon or florist.

“Receptionist at the law office,” the grey haired lady who had ended up sharing their table cut in.

Danny went beat red at having been caught out in their game.

“Guess or fact?” Jason asked, unbothered.

“Fact, sonny. I’ve been in this town for fifty-three years now, there ain’t nothing I don’t know,” she said with a proud sniff. “Good guess on the baker though, spot on where that one. Make sure you stop by that booth.”

“Will do, ma’am,” Jason said, balling up their trash to throw away.

Danny happily escaped the table with Jason.

“Ancients that was embarrassing.”

Jason had the audacity to just laugh. “Nah. She didn’t mind.”

“She’s going to tell everyone our guesses,” Danny said.

“So what? We didn’t say anything rude about anyone— well, other than that one set of clearly tourists who were being jerks so they deserved it. We’re just adding to the local flavor for this year.”

“If we go down in infamy and get blocked at the boarder next year, I’m blaming you.”

Jason just smiled softly at him. “Already planning for a next year?”

Danny floundered for a moment, opening and closing his mouth before he just shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Good, I like that. Now where’s next on our list?”

-

Next on their list turned out to be a bookstore. Not just a bookstore- one of those bookstores that had been in the same building for a century. Books were stacked on top of books, shelves formed a maze, organization was a myth: in short, it was a fire hazard and it was amazing.

Jason might have been a little in love.

“Wow.”

“Yeah?” Danny asked, shifting on his feet a little as he looked up at Jason from out under his bangs.

“Yeah, fish, this is great.”

Danny’s shoulders relaxed. “Good, then go look around and pick something out to take home, my treat.”

“I could be here for hours,” Jason warned, already starting down one of the narrow corridors.

“Then take hours,” Danny said, smiling indulgently as he followed him. “We just ate, the day is young. If I get done looking I’ll check out with anything I’ve found and just go read on a bench at the festival.”

“Text me if you do that?” Jason asked, tilting a book to see the title better.

“I will, promise, but right now I’ll stick with you.”

Jason reached out and squeezed Danny’s hand, taking them deeper into the shop. Danny followed along for about half an hour, Jason commenting to Danny on some of the things he was finding. He lost Danny what seemed to be the science section, of course, and continued to explore for almost another hour.

He really only stopped his exploring because he stumbled upon Danny in the back corner, curled up under a rosy light in an ancient armchair. Danny was completely engrossed in a book. Leaning against the bookcase, Jason took in the sight. There was a little, warmed part of him that almost ached at it. It was the sort of thing that he wanted to come home to.

After only a minute, Danny looked up, clearly feeling the eyes on him. Jason watched the smile bloom across Danny’s face.

“Hey,” Danny said quietly. “You look like you found quite a pile.”

“This?” Jason said, hefting the stack of books. “This is me being restrained.”

Danny laughed, uncurling and sliding off his seat before he grabbed another book from the end table beside him.

“You found some things also?” Jason asked as they walked towards the register.

“Yeah, a book on local ghost stories—” Jason couldn’t help the amused snort at that “—I know, I’m a walking cliché. And a journal of an inventor that I thought looked cool.”

“Ah, I see you’ve found your young man,” the elderly shopkeep said, putting down his own book. “Have you thought more about the astronomy book?”

“Oh, um, not today, I don’t have that much to spend,” Danny said, nearly mumbling the words.

Jason frowned a little. “I can get it for you, fish.”

“What, no! I’ve planned this date, I get to treat you,” Danny said.

“Alright,” Jason relented. “But only one of my books; you shouldn’t suffer because I’m a bibliophile.”

Danny narrowed his eyes at Jason for a moment before nodding. “Hum, fine, but not the cheapest ones.”

“I can settle on that,” Jason said with a little shrug.

While Danny was fishing his wallet out of his backpack, Jason caught the shopkeep’s eyes and mouthed at ‘Do you ship?’.

‘For your boy, I’ll make an exception’, the man wrote on the back of a business card that he tactfully slid over. Pleased, Jason subtly wrote out his address while the shop keep wrung them up, putting the astronomy book secretly on Jason’s bill. It did look like a lovely old book with the navy leather cover and gold foil. It could easily be a present for the holidays.

By the time they were back out out the street and walking through the market, Danny’s backpack hung heavy with the weight of the books, but he refused to let Jason carry it. Chivalry wasn’t dead, he insisted, which was ridiculous reason but Jason let him have it. The backpack filled up even more as they both bought a few things at the market to be presents (Jason thought Alfred would love the local tea blends especially).

More ciders and then hot chocolates were the drink of choice with dinner— potpie for Danny and fish cakes for Jason. As they ate a band set up in the pavilion in the middle of the square, playing with the setting sun. The light had just dipped below the horizon when Jason stood and offered Danny his hand.

“I will so step on your toes,” Danny warned, but he was smiling as he took Jason’s hand.

“That’s alright, I’ve got sturdy boots.”

They found a spot on the corner of the dance floor and Jason twirled Danny into his arms, earning a breathless little laugh for his efforts. It really was the perfect evening and a much needed break. Tomorrow he could get back to the city and being its protector and to the cases that were nagging at his mind, tonight was just about him and Danny and this odd little town.

-

Red Hood stumbled through the window of his safe house and hit the ground hard. The scream of pain choked off in the back of his throat as his body seized. Bloody fingers scrambled against the worn linoleum.

He needed to call someone. He wouldn’t make it if he didn’t call someone.

His comms were shorted out.

Something had had happened in the fight.

It had been the normal sort of trouble— a new shithead trying to bring new drug onto his streets. It should have been an easy bust. It had been an easy bust.

But then the feeling of burning had burst in Jason’s chest— a molten heat that he had felt so sure would consume him.

He had stumbled. It left an opening. Just enough space for a knife to catch him just wrong under the armpit. A bullet solved his immediate issues, but when Jason had tried his comms, there had only been static.

The staggering trip back to his closest safe house had been agonizing, but he needed to get to a working comm. He needed to get up and get to a working comm.

He got his arms under him. A scream of pain ripped from him as the twisting motion wrenched at the wound. Legs next. Push himself up.

Only a few feet to stagger.

Blood slicked fingers fumbled the comm. No no no— he couldn’t— Jason followed it to the ground as it dropped. He struggled to pick it up and activate it.

“Help.”

He couldn’t hear if anyone heard him. He didn’t even know what channel this comm was tuned to. Desperately, Jason ripped off his helmet and shoved the comm into his ear.

“Help.”

“Hood?”

Oh, it was Dick.

“Hood!?”

He sounded desperate.

Was he hurt? Someone was hurt. Jason had to…

“…help.”

-

Dick all but smashed through the window of the safe house. The only reason he didn’t break the glass was that if Jason was as hurt as Dick feared he was, Dick would need to be able to secure the safe house to treat Jason.

He was lucky that that the security was down.

He was terrified that the security was down.

Now worried of an ambush, Dick crept silently through the window. That was… that was a lot of blood.

“Jason, come on, please.” That was Fish’s voice.

Fish knew? Surely if Jason had told his boyfriend about the nightlife, he would have told Dick he had? What was…

Fish was cradling Jason to his chest, half propping him up. Blood pooled under them. Jason’s helmet was discarded to the side and his boyfriend had a tube of glowing green liquid lifted to Jason’s lips.

“Just drink up.”

Glowing green liquid.

“You’ll— you’ll be fine. Just drink up.”

Lazarus water.

“What the fuck are you doing to him?!?” Dick’s escrima sticks buzzed to life in his hands.

Fish’s head whipped towards him, color draining from his face. “It’s not— you have to let me—”

“Get the fuck away from him,” Dick growled, enunciating each word carefully.

The man slide his finger over the top of the tube, effectively capping it so not to spill. “Nightwing, he’s bleeding badly this can—”

Dick slid his foot forward just an inch, starting to shift his weight. “It can nothing. He would never want to use the Pit again!”

“It’s not— no, it’s not the Pit—”

He lunged.

The right stick hit, buzzing loudly on contact. The guy screamed at the impact, but held onto the vial of Lazarus water.

The guy’s other hand shot forward, Dick blocked with with his arm and twisted. His foot slipped— like stepping on wet sand. Dick contorted to compensate with his free hand.

His hand sunk into the floor.

Holy fuck—

Dick’s other hand was slammed down too, trapping it. No, no, no— Dick struggled against the floor that he was part sunk into, the cracking linoleum shifted slightly, but Dick was stuck.

“Oracle!”

Static answered him.

“What did you do to my comms,” Dick growled, watching as the guy pulled Jason back into his arms. Was this all a trap? Was Jason’s boyfriend sent by Talia or Ra’s and had just been binding his time? Was it all an act? Did the cheeky, laughing, bumbling man that Dick met last week not exist? Was the way that Danny looked at Jason a lie? “What did you do to Jason!?”

“I didn’t! I didn’t do anything, I found him like this,” he said. He used his thumb to part Jason’s lips.

“Stop it!”

He didn’t. He poured in that toxic, glowing green sludge down Jason’s throat, speaking softly in Jason’s ear the whole time.

Dick screamed and struggled against the floor. No, please no—

“…you can hate me. You can hate me and scream at me and hell, once Jason is stabilized I won’t try to stop you doing whatever you need to. But Jason is still bleeding out. The ectoshot will help, but it won’t fix it completely. I need you. I need you to help me sew up wherever he’s bleeding from and, I don’t know, get a transfusion going. I don’t know where things are in this place.” He looked up at Dick from under his bangs and Dick could see in the now glowing green eyes some of the same guy— the same fish that he had met last week. “Please, feel however you want about me, but help me save him. He needs both of us right now, okay?”

Dick didn’t know what to say; didn’t know if he was about to make a deal with the devil.

“Please. If I free you, will you help? Just— punch me after if you need to, just help me save him first.”

That devil was the only thing keeping Jason alive.

Why did it always end up like this for his brother?

“Let me up.” Fuck everything. “I promise, I won’t try anything until after Jason is safe.”

The guy studied him for a moment before nodding. He laid Jason down carefully and reached out to Dick. The buzzing tingled through Dick’s skin again and he was able to pull his hands and feet free of the floor, one at a time.

Dick really wanted punch the guy right then and there.

Jason was more important.

“Get Jason’s jacket off, I think it’s a torso wound— maybe his left arm,” he ordered instead as he moved to the fridge to get a blood bag to start it thawing. “Find it and put pressure on it.”

He could punch someone after Jason was saved.

-----

AN: You should never trust me when I have a character goes 'ah yes, I'll worry about that tomorrow'. But remember, if you pitchfork me, I can't write the rest of this~ I'll try to spare you all and have the next part next week if I can! It will go into how Danny was there too.

Special shout out to @mokulule for making it worse! Trapping Dick in the floor was her idea. As she pointed out- he'll have nightmares about this now. (So sorry Dick.)

But look how cute the first part of the chapter was! That's good, right? Stay delightful darlings, don't stab me!

Due to being shadow banned (likely from tagging) and the new post editor, I'm not longer tagging! Follow the link and subscribe to be notified instead!

[i-heart-hxh]

Do you know what Alluka's exact wording was when she promised she'd give Killua back to Gon? I've seen different translations of those lines and was wondering what was the most accurate (a lot of nuance gets lost in the English translation).

Hi! She said "しばらくの間独り占めしたらお兄ちゃん解放しますから

また遊んであげて下さいね.” (Shibaraku no aida hitorijimeshitara onii-chan kaihoushimasu kara. Mata asondeagete kudasai ne.)

This is essentially, "I'll release my big brother after I've had him all to myself for a while, so please play with him again later."

There is some very good insight into the exact wording/phrasing used in this post (that I link constantly, but it's really helpful). I was going to pull out an excerpt, but I think it's better to just read the whole post--it has a lot of pieces that all tie together, and pulling out parts of it doesn't allow for a full understanding.

But basically, she's saying that she's going to keep Killua to herself exclusively for a while, and then she'll release him back to Gon so they can play again. I think this statement bodes very well for Gon and Killua's relationship in the future, both because Alluka is saying that so directly and because Togashi chose to have her saying such a thing, as if telling the readers clearly, "Yeah, they'll get to be together again in a while, don't worry."

Though, I wonder what it will mean for Alluka when she does "release" him--what she'll do at that point, what that will mean for her. Of course, it's possible they'll just all stay together nonetheless, and I'd love to see that, but I almost wonder if Alluka knows something we don't about her situation with Nanika... It's a slightly ominous feeling I get with regards to Alluka and Nanika's future, but I could be overthinking it.

I hope that's helpful!

Also, here's the official translation just to compare with: