#so i’ve. literally for several years just been rotating these guys in my head

[ghoulfr13nd]

i took my sweet time listening to ur oc playlists, and i've been taking notes during! so my thoughts are kind of chaotic fgsgdfj

hmmmm Ves seems/want to seem like the type that is reserved and very badboy/girl-ish outside to someone that doesn't know them well but has a burning fire inside, is rebelious and seems devoted/attached to someone to a fault? maybe Ves is someone that'd love to cut people off from their life, to isolate, but emotionally can't?? they're a little self-destructive and are not very comfortable with themselves? they're someone stuck in the past maybe? maaaybe they had a rough break-up? they have terrible relationship with their parents and troubling past?

Mac seems to have very strong personality, is dominant and overwhelming, unbashed and confident, not open to genuine connection often, a life of the party. they're lived through a bad/abusive reletionship and that's partly why they can be so flippant to their partner(s), because they don't know how to take good ones? ("Good Ones" and "bury a friend" seems to be especially suggesting this in my eyes fdgj) they also seem very sensual, vindictive, they seem dangerous to people around + themselves? but maybe that's the persona they're projecting, hiding their hurt and softer side under? all this solemn classical and instrumental in the middle of mostly pop songs gives me such vibes? maybe they think they're broken and beyond repair? lost all trust, changes lovers like gloves (hey that kinda rhymes!), overachiever, they know what they want and they will get it no matter what. maybe adrenaline junkie? attention seeker?

mac and ves both seem to not be doing too well 😔 bpd feels in both these playlists are strong to me ;v; (hope it's not weird to say? fsdhkf)

also both playlists start with Until It Doesn't Hurt hmmmm! and both have all the good girls go to hell HMMMM

LINSEY WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM NO 10-12 YEAR OLD'S PLAYLIST SHOULD BE LIKE THAT chough let's just say after seeing their age and then listening to their playlist i got whiplash ;v; i got a lot of melancholy in this one! what happened to their parents! im scared!

(if something seems like a conclusion from a left field pls don't worry my brain just sometimes makes the weirdest connections fgsdj)

anyway! was able to nail at least one thing??? (im curious to hear about these ocs btw listening to their playlists made me attached xd)

music anon 🎶

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO IM FUCKING SHOOK DUDE YOU?? ARE SO CORRECT??? ABOUT ALL OF IT????

uhhh i’m unsure if you meant borderline personality disorder or bipolar disorder but i’ve recently been diagnosed with the latter and i’ve had these guys for a while so i wouldnt be surprised if some of that slipped in ;-;

i’ve been really critical of my playlists and sort of unsure if they convey the right vibes and this has confirmed for me that they absolutely do 🥹 i’m so happy you are so so right

Ves is a half demon and on a physiological level, she has a lot more demon qualities than human. Her dad was human and just doesn’t live as long as demons do, and so he died from old age when she was still pretty young by demon standards. Her mom remarried to THE big bad demon King Of Hell himself, and I haven’t decided yet if I think he’s a good stepdad or not, but it doesn’t really matter. neither of her parental figures can relate to her because her heart is so very human. shes pretty lonely and my concept for her is that she runs away from Hell and starts spending time on Earth, driving her dad’s old car around. she slips in and out of clubs and is generally pretty closed off, she doesn’t have a very clear self-image.

she also likes to dress up and make Linsey dress up so they can go to church and steal from the collection plate to go buy snacks from the gas station fjsjdjdj

Mac is an angel! Specifically, she is the angel sent to smite people. Except, what actually determines whether someone is to be smited? Is this right? Is this holy? It must be. It is her job to do it. And she does it so, so well. She refuses to think too hard about these questions. She has been ordered to hurt someone she cared about and she did it and has been struggling with the internal conflict of it ever since (read: hundreds of years). she blocks most of that out and takes on this dominant, in your face, larger than life personality. when she’s not on a job, she definitely likes to live on the edge. she’s immortal, but she can still get hurt, and that thrills her. when she finds out there’s a demon from Hell crawling around, she’s given an order to take her out. But that turns out to be a lot harder than she expects. (they are GAY they are IN LOVE)

somewhere along the way, they meet Linsey. its been a while since i’ve thought about her lore, but she’s my baby and I love her. something does happen to her parents (i havent decided if its her or not lol). Ves finds her at some point wandering on the side of the road and Linsey stabs her. Ves is like. damn nice try kid. I’m immortal though lol. and takes her to get wendy’s. Linsey hasn’t had a very good childhood, and like Ves, doesn’t have a very strong sense of self.

the story I would like to have for them is about these twenty-somethings trying to find themselves and what they want, while clumsily trying to take care of this kid, and all of them learning about what it means to be alive.

I don’t have any art of Mac but here’s two (2) Ves’s and a Linsey and another character I do not have a playlist for and haven’t done much with in a while. (These are both older pieces and the first Ves is from when I initially created her when I was much younger and imagined her under 21 — shes aged with me fhskdj)

These are both done by my wonderful and dear friend @/kitochi @/kitochiart who is a fantastic artist that mainly posts about their starwars ocs fjskfjdj.

I do have some personal (not very good) doodles of them as well (and some lovely physical art my friends have sent me in the mail!!!) but I’d have to go dig em up. let me know if you’re interested though and i will!

i hope you like them i totally get they’re not for everybody…. i’ve never posted them before bc i’m worried people wont like them. they’re meant to be sort of problematic and so. yknow. shrug.

anyway. yeah. idk how to end this. i feel shy. sorry again for not responding sooner i straight up didnt know i had asks:((( yours are not the only ones i’ve found sitting in my inbox fkskdjdksk

i hope you’re doing well!!! thank you SO SO MUCH for listening to my playlists and telling me what you think. it means the world to me and it makes me so happy that you do and that you’ve shared your thoughts with me. thank you.

[flicklikesstuff]

okay but what if we get silvie seeing that ominous creepy side of Rick when he talks about the coliseum?

what if we see real time just how dangerous a person who had to fight for their life every day can be? What if he’s protecting his friends from someone trying to hurt them and he slips back into that fight mode. And Molly and Silvie have to stop him from causing severe bodily harm to someone.

I think that when in the coliseum, based on how he talked about it, he still had to kill people, those who wouldn’t become friends. I feel like when it comes down to it he can be downright terrifying if he wants to be, he just never is because he genuinely just wants to be friends with people. Either because it’s a defense mechanism of self preservation or knowing that the more friends he has the more likely he’ll be able to keep them safe.

or we just see Rick put someone in a chokehold really easily and it freaks the others out just a little. I just think it be neat, he has such wildly different personalities for different situations, he’s so great

Oh-

Ohohohohoho~

Anon, you mind reader. How did you know that Rick’s backstory has been rotating a bunch in my head too? Now you’ve just sent me on a full-on ramble I want to let out about this guy.

I hope you know what you’ve just pushed me to do :3

(Btw, Prison of Plastic spoilers ⚠️)

I’ve always interpreted Rick’s pushiness about making friends comes from a raw feeling of wanting to survive. After all, his powers and proficiency rely on the friends he does have and it drops down whenever his friend count drops as well.

And the arena’s a terribly cruel place where the weakest ones eventually die at some point. And I think Rick’s fully aware of that. He knows his survival is determined by his ability to fight, and how can he do that without friends? I think that’s why he’s so pushy and insistent to make friends with people he just met immediately. It must feel so daunting to literally have 0 proficiency in a very new place nonetheless. So vulnerable too…

But aside from his epithet powers, I’m sure Rick can improvise as well if his proficiency is indeed low at the moment. I won’t be surprised if he’s efficient in targeting fatal areas or even use sorcery to take down threats out of defence.

(Rick doesn’t strike me as a malicious guy. I feel like he kills in the arena only when necessary to live.)

I agree with you, Anon. He could absolutely fold someone if he needs to, but I doubt that would be his first choice. Rick did escape the colosseum for a chance at a better start, so I think he’d be a lot more reserved in committing bloodshed and rather try to be more friendly to everyone he meets to build up his strength again. If he could, I feel like he’d much rather keep from making enemies. (Unless….. time calls. He’s shown to be open to the option in the POP!book)

That doesn’t mean his traumatic experiences from the colosseum don’t seep out to be observed by others though. No one else knows about his past other than Molly but uhhhhh…. questionable stuff happens y’know?

(Remember how Rick first sees Lorelai and his instinctive reaction is to yell “WITCH-!” and shoot at her? What if that’s just his reflex from years of fighting and killing other witches and wizards?)

(He already freaks the others out a lot in many diff ways, lol)

Btw Anon, sorry for not drawing Rick unhinged with someone in a chokehold like you requested, I didn’t have the motivation or time for a full action scene drawing. 😅 But if you really want me to, just send me another ask and I’ll find some time for it :))

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I’ve started reading the Mark Watson novel Eleven. I’m not far into yet, so can’t comment much. But I have one comment, and I don’t know how to say it without having connotations either way. I think this statement on its own will sometimes read as a negative thing and sometimes read as a positive thing, and I don’t fully mean it as either. I don’t mean it at all as a negative thing. I mean it… about 30% as a positive thing about 70% as a value-neutral statement, I think. About 70/30. It’s just a thing about the writing style that’s in my head as I read it. Anyway, the statement is: Wow, you can really tell with almost every word and formatting choice that this guy went to Cambridge.

I’m really looking forward to my next week of Britcom. I have the Mark Watson novel and the Frankie Boyle novel, both of which I’ve been saving for several weeks because I’d been doing an in-person work placement that had a lot of commuting, and I didn’t want to get really sucked into a book and have to read it in really short increments around that. I’m now finished that, will hopefully go back to that sort of schedule at some point (hopefully because, you know, financial stability is actually slightly more important than having enough time to read novels by my favourite comedians), but in the meantime I can go back to the fairly light work on which I’ve been coasting for some time.

So I have those books. I have two more files from my Daniel Kitson treasure trove that I’m trying not to talk about on here because those things aren’t supposed to be public, but Jesus Christ, it’s killing me. In every sense of the word except the single most literal one. I’m going to try to save the last two for at least a couple more days.

I’ve gotten to 2020 in the Daniel Kitson radio shows, and I have two sets of those, one from April and one from August. 2018 and 2019 were good, but I think it says something about me that the moment he started the 2020 one, I thought, “Oh yeah, this is better.” He was in his house instead of the studio where he’d recorded in the previous years, because the world had only just ended (like I said, April 2020). It’s quieter and rougher, not that it was the model of polished radio before. But before, he sounded like he was playing up how unpolished it was because that was his thing, while in 2020 he sounds like he doesn’t have to.

I also like that he’s dropped the rule he had in 2018 and 2019, of not repeating songs he’d played before. That led to him playing a lot of stuff he’d never heard before, which he clearly enjoyed, and as he kept reminding us, he wasn’t getting paid so it was actually fine for him to play stuff purely to entertain himself. But the new stuff that he’d find the day before he played it tended to be more experimental and eclectic. He’s dropped it for 2020, I guess because the fucking world’s ended so who cares if a song gets repeated? That has him playing a few more things that have stayed in his rotation for some actual time, and it turns out that those things reach that status for a reason. That reason being because they’re better than whatever he’s happened to find the day before. By the way, I’ve now got a playlist of all the songs I’ve discovered from his radio shows that I liked enough to add to my own collection, which I’ve put on Google Drive in the unlikely event that anyone is interested in that.

I mean, I’m not surprised that I like him more in 2020, because his show Dot Dot Dot, which is entirely a summary of his 2020, is the one that absolutely messed me up. I mean they’ve all done that, as I’ve said. But that one hit in a few specific ways that were, frankly, terrible. Terrible in the moment, at least. Brought up stuff that I’d been intentionally forgetting because ignoring it was the only way to have decent surface-level interactions with the people I care about, and that show reminded me of all of it and made me decide that actually engaging and talking to people about it might be necessary for getting back into the world. Which… I mean I can’t say it’s worked 100%. But I feel like I’ve gotten slightly more of my life back now than I had when I first watched Dot Dot Dot in June, and the fact that I watched that show and realized what some of the barriers were is a small fraction of why that’s happened. No need to go into details, at the time that I watched it I filled eight pages in a Word document about it and made one of the longest and most rambly and personal posts I’ve ever put on here. Fortunately I put it behind a cut and labeled it as “this is eight pages about a Daniel Kitson show”, so I’m pretty sure no one read it and I can maintain some level of esteem around here.

All his shows have messed me up, but Dot Dot Dot is one of the only ones that’s crossed the line that I told myself I wouldn’t let any of them do, which is make me cry. I said that when I started on this stuff – okay, I guess I’m giving in to agreeing with all those people who think this Daniel Kitson guy is some sort of magical genius who weaves breathtakingly beautiful webs of human experience. I resisted for a while, but I guess I’m one of those people now. But I refuse to let any of them make me cry.

I would argue that before this week, Dot Dot Dot is the only show that properly broke that. It was actually one of two, but the other shouldn’t count. The other was A Story for Christmas, and one only got me at the very end, and that was because it suddenly threw in one very specific thing that was the same as something I’d dealt with when a friend of mine died last year. So I wasn’t really crying about the show, I was crying about my friend who died, and I’ve done that plenty. Never said I wouldn’t do that.

It doesn’t matter now anyway, because yesterday I listened to Mouse, and now Dot Dot Dot is one of three Daniel Kitson shows that’s had me end up with tears in my eyes. So much for that.

Anyway. What was I talking about? Right, November is set to be a good month of British comedy. I’m not surprised that I enjoy hearing Daniel Kitson go darker in 2020, because I’m basically hearing him live out the story that he summarized in Dot Dot Dot in December. I have these books and these audio files, and all those other radio shows and podcasts that are on pause for the moment, and this season of Taskmaster is really good, and New World Order’s back, and Nish has recorded Your Power Your Control so that’ll get released someday, and hopefully with all these fucking comedy shows on the horizon I can avoid having any more of them make me cry. Though to be honest, one of the files in my folder of my favourite songs from Kitson’s radio shows had me damn close to tears in the break room at work (and by that, I mean the small empty room where I took my breaks to get a break from people) when I first heard it, so we’ll see how that goes.

[backtobackbakubabe]

Speak Easy Part 11

Dabi x Reader , Bakugo x Reader

Words : 4125

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together.

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

****************************************************************

The longer you sat in the car the more uncomfortable you got. You knew you looked like a mess, and by the way Dabi was trying really hard not to look at you, it must be really bad.

“I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure you have… doesn’t make me okay with it.”

You would have rolled your eyes if you didn’t think the action would hurt your head. “I’m fine. You’ve literally stabbed and drowned me before.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “How long are you going to throw that in my face? They were both in your best interest and I’m done apologizing for them.”

His anxiety and anger were written all over his features from his tense shoulders to his cold stare at the road in front of him. You reached over to run your fingers through his hair, knowing the simple action would help ease his nerves. However, your sore muscles and possibly bruised ribs throbbed in pain and made you hiss through your teeth and your hand ended up gripping his elbow instead.

“What was that about being fine?” His tone wasn’t as antagonistic as you had thought it would be. Instead it sounded a little distressed.

It finally clicked why he was so upset. He had told you before you left that he would keep you safe. In his head he failed. You knew he had a rough time coping with failure thanks to Endeavor’s less than ideal parenting. Dabi can pretend that his childhood doesn’t affect him anymore all he likes, but you saw through it.

“None of this was your fault. You know that, right?”

The car remained silent as he continued to stare ahead.

“I’m serious. I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. If anything, it’s my fault. I let go of your hand after you asked me more than once not to. I froze when he attacked me.” Now you were just working yourself up. “And holy shit was I rusty with my quirk. Like I may as well have not used it at all. He was able to shake out of my word binding like it was nothing.”

Back in your prime you would have been able to take a guy like that down with little to no effort. You looked down to your scraped hands and knees. Felt the pain in your ribs with every breath you took. And you knew there was a decent chance you had a concussion. “How did I manage to slip this far?”

Now it was his turn to reach out and put his hand on your thigh. It was almost humorous how quickly he could shift moods when he thought you needed him. “Just a small hiccup. It was your first real fight in years. That guy was a trained assassin, and you still managed to incapacitate him. Next time you won’t hesitate. We’ll work on it at home, if it makes you feel better.”

You intertwined your fingers with his and nodded. “I think I’d like that.”

The rest of the car ride was quiet as you both let yourself stew in your own thoughts. Your thoughts were a dangerous place to be. Not only where you having a minor melt down about your recent fight, but you were still trying to cope with the fact you just watched Dabi murder someone.

As a hero that was something that was a massive taboo. You only did it if you absolutely had to and even then, you were still scrutinized. The man was paralyzed and couldn’t mood. You could have called one of the guys to come pick him up. Dabi insisted that if you let them put the man in prison, it would just be handing him over to the same people who were looking for you. Right now, no one knows that you’re with Dabi. That kind of information would be invaluable to both heroes and villains who were currently looking for you.

There was a sick feeling of despair that was settling in your stomach as you started to realize that Dabi might have been right. You didn’t want to accept it though. Your whole life you were trained to value human life, even if that life belonged to a bad person. But at this point you couldn’t figure out how much of your life as a hero was even real. How much you still agreed with. You were finding it was hard to even differentiate who was bad and who was good. It was enough to make your head spin.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head on the cold glass window as the spinning only seemed to increase.

“Hey… Hey don’t do that. Keep your eyes open and stay awake. You probably have a concussion.”

“If I keep my eyes open, I’m going to throw up. My head is spinning.” You put your head in your hands and rubbed your temples.

“Okay… so you definitely have a concussion. Hold on we’re almost home.” You didn’t open your eyes, but you could feel the car pick up speed. For a while the only sound in the car was the low hum of the engine as Dabi sped home. He knew it’d be easier to calm down once you were safe within it’s walls.

Before long the car slowed down as it approached the garage. You kept your eyes closed as you listened to Dabi’s quick steps around the car. He opened your door gently to keep you from falling out of the car. You heard his breath catch and you wondered if you really looked that bad.

“Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” Out of instinct, you reached your arms up to him just like you did when he carried you everywhere. Without a moment’s hesitation he slotted his arms under your knees and behind your back and pulled you out of the car. It sent jolts of pain through your ribs, but you bit your lip to keep yourself from making a sound.

The trip from the garage to the bathroom was shorter than you would have liked. You were enjoying the feeling being caged in his strong arms, snuggling into his warm chest. He gently set you on the toilet, brushing some hair away from you face, careful to avoid any area that might be bruised or bleeding. “I’m going to turn the water on, but real quick, while the water heats up I’m going to go get the groceries out of the car.”

If your eyes were open, you would be narrowing them at him right now. “…You’re worried about the ice cream aren’t you?”

There was a moment of silence that just confirmed it. “Shut up…Don’t pretend you wouldn’t be sad if you couldn’t have ice cream after the shitty day you’ve had.”

You snorted, “I’d rather have a shot… but I have a feeling you won’t let me because of the whole mild head injury thing…. So…” You opened your eyes and waved towards the bathroom door. “Go get it before it melts. I can take it from here.”

He sprinted out of the bathroom yelling “Don’t fucking move until I get back!” as he left. He said not to move, but you could at least try to start undressing yourself. That shouldn’t be too hard.

You started with your shoes. Easy enough, just kicked them right off with no problem. Now it’s time for your dress. That was a whole different story. You tried several times, but you couldn’t seem to be able to pull past your chest without some part of you hurting.

You desperately wanted to get undressed and into the shower yourself. There was probably some part of you that was still feeling a little defeated and insecure after your fight. You had this weird need to prove you could do it by yourself even though realistically you couldn’t, and not only that you didn’t have too.

You knew Dabi would help, hell he would probably be pissed if you tried to do this without him. Just as much as you wanted to do this alone, he wanted to take care of you probably even more. He was also still feeling the sting of perceived failure. So, what were you going to do?

You surprised even yourself when you sighed and leaned back deciding to wait for Dabi. Logically you knew the only you were going to do this without hurting yourself further was to let him help. It was what was physically best for you. It also would help him get over his own pity party, so in a way it was what was best for him too.

“Oh wow… you actually listened.” Dabi was back and making his way towards you with a first aid kit that looked like it had seen some shit.

“Not on purpose. I tried to get my dress off… but it just hurt, so I gave up and decided I’d wait for you to do it for me.”

He placed the kit on the counter and squatted between your legs. “I’m about to say something that I know you’ll think is sarcastic, but I promise it’s not… Thank you for giving up.” He gently pulled the hem of your dress up until he could pull it over your front. If he was affected by the fact that you were sitting in front of him in only a pair of underwear, then he didn’t show it.

He quietly appraised your injuries with a serious face. “Other than your head and your ribs does anything stand out at overly painful? Can you rotate and bend all of your joints?”

One by one you checked your wrists, shoulders, ankles, knees, and lastly your neck. “I think they’re all fine. Sore in some spots, but nothing too bad.”

He nodded as he started to clean the dried blood off of your forehead. “You have a lot of scrapes, but those will be fine. I just want to get this nasty cut on your forehead cleaned up.” He bit his lip, “I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m supposed to do for your ribs though… or what you’re supposed to do for concussions.”

You winced as he pressed a little too hard onto the gash in your forehead, “It’s fine… that’s what Google’s for right?”

He apparently didn’t think that was very funny. He just grunted as he continued his dabbing. When he considered himself done, he put a bandage over it. “I was kinda hoping you could show off your surgical staple skills. We could be twins.”

“That’s not funny.” His blue eyes fixed on you, you could see something cracking in them. “Okay maybe it’s a little funny… I might laugh about it tomorrow… but right now… not funny.”

He reached a hand into the shower to test the temperature. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up. We just need to try and keep your bandage dry, if that’s even possible.”

He was helping you stand up to get into the shower, but you stopped him right before you got in. “I’m sorry… I feel like ever since I got here all you’ve done nothing but take care of me.” You took a step into the shower. “I promise I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

He quickly stripped out of his clothes and got in behind you. “Stop with that shit. It’s like I said earlier today, just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to.” His fingers started massaging into your sore muscles in your back, “I promise I don’t mind. I know you’re a big girl, I know you’re capable, but you’re also mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

His fingers moved to base of you scalp and started rubbing firm circles, and you practically purred at the action. It felt so damn good. He leaned over your shoulder and pressed a kiss just below your ear. “I know you got a little beat up today, and I know you’re a little disappointed, but at the end of the day you’re the one who walked away. I’m still proud of you. You fought hard against someone who has been trained to kill top ranked heroes. Next time I’m sure you won’t even need me.” He kissed your shoulder and his hands ghosted around to your hips. His fingers so soft you almost couldn’t feel them. “I’m going to start training with you.” His fingers brushed up your sides, his thumbs brushing the sides of your breasts. “We’re going to turn you into someone they wouldn’t dare fuck with again.”

His hands heated up slightly as they very gently hovered over your ribs. The warmth felt great against your aching bones. You closed your eyes and leaned back against him and let him take his time rinsing all the blood and dirt from your body. Every once in a while, his hands would linger, rubbing small circles or massaging your sore muscles.

When he turned the water off it felt like it had been hours since you stepped in and your limbs felt like jelly.

That’s how you ended up wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, lying on Dabi’s chest with his arms around you. You don’t know when you drifted off but thankfully there were no bad memories waiting for you when you did. You slept deeply and soundly, making up for the restless sleep you had last night. When your little mid-day nap ended you woke up still feeling sore, but well rested.

You stretched the best you could, before blinking your eyes open. You had expected to see Dabi curled up next to you, but was surprised to find an empty bed.

He better not have snuck out again to track people down. You weren’t in any shape to take care of him if he came back hurt again.

Something felt weird as you sat up, there was a weird pressure on your neck, almost like you were wearing a heavy necklace. Your fingers flew up to find a collar and your eyes immediately welled with tears as the memory of have having the medical collar on in the lab pushed to the front of your brain. Your fingers dug into it trying to rip it off, but you couldn’t. In your panic your nails dug into the skin of your neck. There was no latch that you could find, and it was leading to a gnawing fear in the pit of your stomach. “DABI!!”

Your voice sounded hysterical and terrified even to you. But you couldn’t help it.

The door to his room slammed open a few seconds later as he ran inside. His eyes assessed the situation and settled on the source of your panic. His hands replaced yours pulling your nails away from your neck. “Hey shhh, calm down. You’re safe. Just breath.”

You tried to do what he said, but your breathing was getting tighter. “I-I need it off! I cant- I cant breath!” You felt a tear slip down your cheek. “Please! Dabi get it off of me!”

His hands came up to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “No… no you are stronger than this. It’s just a glorified necklace. It can’t hurt you. Look at me y/n!” Your eyes met his cool blue ones. “It’s just a pretty collar for my pretty girl. I told you earlier today if you let go of my hand again, I’d put you in a collar. You did, and it ended up in you almost getting kidnapped.” His thumb rubbed your cheek, soaking up some stray tears you weren’t aware you had shed. “I don’t make idle threats… and besides if you let me show you, I think you’ll actually like it.”

Your breathing slowly started to even out as your eyes started to look more focused. “Good girl. See there’s no danger here.”

When you felt yourself come back to reality you slapped his chest. “Asshole! You had to have known that wasn’t going to go well! You should have asked first!”

He grabbed your hand before you could slap him again. “I mentioned it earlier and you didn’t say anything. If anything, you looked turned on… so sue me.” He took your hand and led you over to the bathroom.

He placed you in front of him so you could see. It was a pretty shade of pink with a metal heart looped in the front. From the heart hung a tiny Sakura flower. It really was pretty.

“It’s not just a fashion statement okay, it’s functional. Consider it support gear. It has a chip in it that can only be tracked if you turn it on and only by people that have the code. Don’t worry it’s currently turned off.” He pointed to a little metal button on the side. “There’s another button over here that lets you record something and then play it back louder so it reaches more people. It also acts like a communication device. You can connect with me, Minimight, Squirt, and the angry Pomeranian. It’s voice activated.” He tapped the button and held it down until you heard a beeping noise. “Call backup plan.”

You heard a ringing before an angry Katsuki answered the phone. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Hey! Lose the tude it’s just me!”

Before he could answer you, Dabi cut him off. “It’s her new com device. Save it.” Then he clicked the button ending the call.

He looked smug. You’d have to figure out how to reprogram the names later. “It also can track your vitals, but before you give me the look I know you’re going to give me. It only sends updates to the people you have programmed into it, and only if it registers that you are in critical or life-threatening conditions.”

Your fingers came up and touched the flower that dangled from it. “Ok… but how do I take it off?”

Happy you were warming up to the idea of it, “Voice command. Just push the button and say ‘naked’ and the latch will open. You can also say ‘attack’ and some pretty little spikes come out, keeping anyone from putting their hands around your neck. Pretty cool right?”

You sighed, “I can admit it’s cool… but can you please admit you should have asked first? I had to wear a collar for years in the lab… it’s what kept me under their control.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the way you looked in the mirror. Totally naked other than the collar. His eyes looked practically feral. “I regret that it scared you. But I warned you and you didn’t tell me it was a limit. That is due to a lack of communication on your side.” His hands slid around to your front pulling your back against him so you could feel how hard he was through his pants. “God you look so fucking hot. Bruises and all.”

He began to grind against your ass, and you found yourself leaning over the sink and pushing back into him. You knew you were already wet, and you needed some friction to relieve the ache between your legs.

“Oh fuuuuck baby girl. You want it? You want me to bend you over this counter and take you?”

You whined and pushed back into him harder, “Please… but- but.” You groaned as his hand came up to tweak your nipple.

“What was that? Come on use your words.”

You arched your back, pushing your breast further into his hand. “Be gentle...”

His lips found your neck, “Of course baby. I’m not a monster.”

You felt him push his shorts down to his ankles and moments later you felt the head of his cock teasing your entrance. “You’re already so god damn wet.” He pushed into you slowly. Almost too slowly. It took everything in you not to shove yourself back onto him. You had asked him to be gentle, and that’s what he was trying to do.

You let out a moan of relief when he was fully inside you. His chest pressed tightly against your back his hands reaching out to yours and lacing your fingers together.

It was slow, it was slow and sweet. You thought at first it would drive you crazy, but you were eventually overwhelmed at the intimacy of it all. He wasn’t just fucking you. He wasn’t just chasing his own high. He was gentle, and loving, and every stroke felt like a promise. His lips were kissing every part of you he could reach. Your temple, your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.

“So perfect.” He groaned at the effort it took to keep his hips from picking up their pace. “Such a perfect girl for me. So fucking pretty and strong. Ahhhh” His hips stuttered just slightly. “Fuck baby, you have no idea what you do to me.”

You tried to control it, but it was almost impossible. Your quirk activated. Your feelings spilled over through your touch. His gasp got stuck in his throat. “I’m sorry I can’t control it right now. I just feel – ah- so fucking good.”

You were both sweaty messes at this point, practically glued together. “Shit don’t apologize. It’s crazy how much I love that. I love making you feel good, show me how good I make you feel.”

You hummed at the pleasure that was singing in your veins. You were so close and Dabi could feel it. Both through your quirk and the way your walls started to flutter around him. You were about to beg for him to let you come when a beeping sound came from your collar making him slow down nearly to a stop. “Fuck.. no no no. I was so close, please.”

Dabi chuckled. “Someone’s calling you, say hello.” Your eyes bulged open as he hit the button to answer the call.

“Uh.. hello?”

“Y/n? What the fuck was that earlier? Did staple dick get you a phone?” This was not good. You looked at Dabi’s devilish grin in the mirror as he slowly started thrusting into you again as he mouthed, ‘talk to him’

You bit a moan back absolutely mortified. “Hey Kats. Something like that.” Dabi’s hand wrapped your long hair around his hand and pulled to make you look at him through the mirror. His pace picking up. You could hear your breath begin to sound labored and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he pieced it together. “Now’s not the best time, can I call you later?”

“Y/n… are you okay? You sound like you’re out of breath?”

You coughed in an attempt to cover up one of your moans, “I’m fine, just tired. Dabi and I are… training.”

There was a beat of silence on his end as Dabi continued his hard, slow thrusts into you. “Training my ass. Call me when you guys are done fucking… The mic on whatever you’re using is really good. I’ve already heard more than I want too.”

You went to hit the button to end the call but Dabi grabbed your hand and put it back on the counter preventing it. “Ah- Sorry Kat-SUKI!” Dabi pinched your clit with his other hand causing you to moan in response. Your face turned a dark shade of red at the fact that Katsuki had just heard that.

“Dabi… I know you’re listening and you’re a fucking asshole.” You sighed in relief when you heard the sound signaling that he had hung up.

Dabi started laughing loudly as picked up his pace just slightly. “Teach him to want what’s mine.”

You felt tears start to leak from the corners of your eyes as your orgasm built to its breaking point. “DABI! I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum. AH!”

You felt your orgasm rip though you and it was intense. Dabi cooed praises in your ear that you couldn’t quite hear as he continued to ride you though it. “Good giiiiiirl!”

“I’m close doll, where do you want it?”

Your eyes almost rolled back, “Inside. Cum inside me please.”

“My baby girl want’s my cum. Of course, she does. What my girl want’s she gets!” He slammed into you a few more times before you felt his hot ropes coating your insides. “Gonna bread my pretty girl one of these days. Gonna put a fucking baby in you.”

He collapsed but managed to keep his weight off of you. After a few moments of the both of you panting he sat up, pulled out of you and kissed the back of your neck. “God I love this collar.”

************

Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe@unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602@pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop@bakubby99

[pascalpanic]

Blood, Sweat, and Tears (Javier Peña x f!Reader)- Chapter Nine

Summary: Javier struggles in the hospital, but some of the symptoms are more somatic than physiological. He’s released, and the two of you have your first official date.

W/C: 4.2k (it just keeps getting longer... chapter 10 is 6k+)

Warnings: language, mentions of injuries, Javier used to be an asshole but he’s baby now, some innuendo/sexual flirting, brief mentions of food and alcohol

A/N: This chapter was actually hard to write! I had clear visions for 8 and 10 but didn’t have one for nine. Nevertheless, I really liked the way this turned out! I’ll post some sappy shit with chapter 10 but please know I love u all for reading and sticking around- it makes my little heart so happy that u guys love these two like I do <3

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Sleep is not easy when you have a massive stab wound in your abdomen. Javier hardly slept to begin with, but this makes it even harder. You tried offering sedatives but he harshly refused. You ordered dark and quiet for his room, but his sleep schedule was so helter-skelter before the accident that it was of no use to even try to fix it now. He can’t adapt when he’s not even in his own bed, he argues with you. Too damn bad, you tell him in return.

The only time Javier could sleep, it seems, is with you in the room. Specifically, in his arms.

It’s not that he thinks he’s unsafe. Hell, a hospital is the safest place he can be. It’s not that he fears passing in his sleep; he knows he won’t bleed out at this point. No, he just can’t sleep unless he has the comfort of a warm body wrapped up next to him. Specifically, the woman he loves.

You stand in the doorway with your hands on your hips. “Javier. I’m working.”

“This is specialized therapy for a patient,” he offers, persuasive as ever.

“I can and will get the opiates,” you threaten. “You can’t stay awake forever, and we both know that.”

“Ángel. I just… need the security.” He looks desperate. His eyes are tired. He’s slept very little in the past few days, leaving him agitated and restless. “The only time I’ve slept well in here was when you were with me.”

You pout a little. It’s adorable, you must admit, and most of all, it’s true. You and other nurses have been catering to him around the clock, since he only sleeps an hour here or there.

Sighing, you look at him. Your eyes are tired too. You’ve slept only when he sleeps, which is barely anything. You’re working on the floor or in his room with him. “Let me go talk with Connie, cariño. I’ll see what I can do.”

You walk into the break room with tired eyes. “Listen, ladies.” Both Connie and Lorena are sitting at a table, eating something. “Javier isn’t sleeping. He asked for me to stay in there with him to get some rest. It’s the only way it’s helped so far. Would you two cover my rotation? Just for tonight?”

Lorena’s large eyes sadden, and she nods. “Por supuesto. Anything you need, love.”

Connie’s not as enthused, but she nods. “You’re lucky this floor is dead empty.” It’s all too easy to imagine this was happening to Steve instead of Javi. That’s what makes her cave.

You sigh in relief. You take a quick shower then return to Javier’s room in a pair of clean scrubs. He smiles a little. “Hey.”

“Hi. You hungry?” You ask, walking to his bedside and taking his hand.

He shakes his head. “Just tired.”

You smile softly. “Well, you’re in luck. Connie and Lorena are angels.”

“No, you’re my angel,” he says with a teasing smile on his face.

“Well they’re mine. You’re the devil on my shoulder,” you laugh quietly and sit on the edge of his bed. He chuckles and pulls you into him, and you snuggle in against him, your eyes slipping shut. He murmurs affirmations of his love for you into your hair as he falls asleep.

And that’s how Javier sleeps for the next few nights. Bits and pieces during the day, but only restfully when you’re in his arms.

The rest of Javier’s stay in the hospital is uneventful. He’s a model patient for you and the other women. He apologizes to Lorena for his outburst under the influence too.

“Ángel,” Javier calls as you try to leave the bed and takes your hand.

“Yeah, cariño?” You ask and sit on the edge of his bed, pushing his dark hair from his forehead. The name makes him feel warm and tingly inside. Pet names from women who mean it are all too rare to him.

“I… should tell you about Lorraine.”

“You don’t have to, Javi,” you shake your head and cup his face softly.

“No, I really should,” he protests, and you nod.

“She was my high school sweetheart. We both went to college and came back and fell in love again.” You nod along to the story, watching his facial expressions. He looks far away, like his mind is back in Laredo. “We were engaged. I proposed and everything, did the whole damn thing.”

“What happened?” You ask softly.

His eyes don’t meet yours. “I got cold feet. I… left her at the altar,” he admits. He’s terrified you’ll run out the door now. It’s not an easy decision, to run away from a life you’re about to lead. It’s even worse when you know what that whole church, full of people, will think. But he did it anyway, and he’s scared you’ll never look at him the same way.

You swallow hard. It’s not what you’re expecting him to say, but you have to admit that it does sound in-character for the man. “And how long ago was that, Javi?”

He looks back up at you. “Jesus. 15 years now maybe.”

You nod, giving him a gentle smile. “Time changes people. You know that. I know that. Your past is the past, love.” You press a brief and sweet kiss to his lips. “I love you, Javier. Don’t you ever forget it.”

You stand and leave his room.

Goddamn, Javier thinks. You really are an angel. You must be, to have that response to what he just told you.

Several days after the injury, Javier is discharged from the hospital.

Despite his rage and arguing, the embassy refused to clear Javier for work. He was to be placed on a brief leave to heal and return when he was up to walking on his own again, without some kind of balance or assistance. Steve agreed to bring Javier some things to work on every night after returning from the office. Javier is already a restless man, and neither you nor the Murphys want to find out what happens when he’s bored all day, his best friend and his girlfriend both too busy to be around. Besides, a deep dive into some cases couldn’t hurt, he argues, and Steve relents. You and Connie take on the responsibility of checking up on him at least once a day- usually her more so than you, due to the fact that she lived directly above him- and of running any errands he may need, for things like food or medication.

As you wheel Javier from his hospital room out to the Murphys’ car, you realize you don’t have his phone number, nor does he have yours. You stop the wheelchair in the hallway and grab a pen from a nearby table. “I know it’s kind of unprofessional to give a patient my phone number,” you chuckle and squat to his seated height, “but I really think you’re cute,” you flirt as you write your phone number on his hand with a permanent marker.

You hand him the pen and Javier grins, his neatly-trimmed mustache (courtesy of Steve’s steady hands) moving with his cheeks. “You’re lucky that I think you’re cute too or I’d be telling your supervisors,” he laughs and steals a kiss before writing his phone number down on the back of your skin.

“It’s kind of weird,” you admit as the thick felt tip brushes against your skin, “that I’ve told you I love you and I don’t even know your phone number.”

Javier chuckles and caps the pen. He holds up your hand and raises an eyebrow. “Now you do.”

-

Three days pass, and Connie gives you updates on his condition whenever she sees you. He’s still in a lot of pain, but he’s lucky he was strong beforehand. You know that for a fact, and it hurts your heart to picture those beautiful abs you caught a glimpse of not too long ago marred by a scar he’ll surely have.

As you get home from a shift, you sigh and plop down on the couch. It’s late, you notice, but you miss Javier. Knowing him, he’s probably awake; you’re sure his sleep schedule is still as terrible as it was before the hospital. You grab the phone from the end table next to your spot, dialing his number and waiting.

Javier picks up on the second ring. Of course he’s awake. “Peña,” a gruff voice answers. It makes you smile. For a second, you want to just continue on without him knowing it’s you, want to observe how he acts when he’s with others. He’s different around you, you know that, and it’s adorable, you have to admit. “Hello?” he asks, annoyed.

“Hi,” you laugh softly through the phone. “It’s me. Sorry, I just got distracted. You sound sexy when your voice is like that,” you tease him.

There’s a smile in his voice when he responds. “Not a problem. How are you, hermosa?” he asks.

“I should be asking you that, Superman,” you laugh softly, leaning back against the couch. His voice instantly puts you at ease.

Javier laughs too. “Superman?”

“Big, strong. My protector.”

“Says the one who literally saved my life.”

“Who’s to say that cold wouldn’t have killed me if you didn’t take me to that diner?”

“Me.”

“I’m the nurse here.”

“And I’m Superman, apparently.” You laugh at that, wanting to reach through the phone line and kiss him then and there. “I’m no Superman, hermosa. I do bad things.”

“We all do, Javi.”

“Not as bad as me.”

“Gotta do bad things to catch bad people. You told me that. Are you trying to be this difficult, or does it just come naturally to you?” You ask sarcastically, smiling into the phone.

“I’m just telling you I’m not actually a good guy,” Javier says, his slight frustration evident.

“I was never under the impression you were. Is this you trying to push me away?” You ask, knowing that’s not the answer but hoping it’ll put some sense into him.

“No, no, cariño, I just-”

“Good, because we’re having our first official date tomorrow night. Okay?”

Javier chuckles a little at that. “I’m homebound. I appreciate the offer, but-”

“Oh no, Superman. I’m coming to you,” you tell him, curling up into a ball and grinning. “I’m getting takeout and wine- or whiskey, if you’d prefer- and we’re having a date night at your place. What do you want for dinner? You’ve got to be craving something.”

This takes Javier aback. This certainly wasn’t something he expected you to say when you picked up. “Uh… no. Nothing comes to mind. And I’m more of a whiskey guy, but wine sounds more romantic, I suppose.”

“Then I’ll pick up something that goes well with wine,” you say with a nod, beaming. “And I’m going to be tired after my shift, so you better be in the mood to cuddle.”

A laugh rings through the phone. “Of course you want to cuddle.”

“Says the one who asked me to snuggle him to sleep.”

“Hey, I almost bled out.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one who asked.”

You’re both quiet for a moment. “Javi?”

“Yes, hermosa?”

Your voice is quiet and shy when you finally speak again. “Are you my boyfriend now?”

He grins, even though you can’t see it. “I don’t see why not.”

“Well, I like that, but we haven’t even had our first date.”

You can feel Javier rolls his eyes through the phone, but he’s clearly smiling when he speaks again. “Wouldn’t you consider that morning at the diner our first date?” He asks you, his face lighting up at the memory of it.

“No,” you shake your head. “I think we need to say it’s officially a date before it happens, then it can be a date.”

“I’m not going to be a very interesting date. I do have a large stab wound in my abs right now.”

“Don’t question my taste in men, Peña.”

“Trust me, I’m not. Do you want to dress up nice?” he asks. “A pretend night out?”

You grin at that. “That sounds wonderful,” you nod and rest your head on the pillows behind you, looking dreamily up at the ceiling.

“Better yet, I’ll cook for you.”

“Why do I have a feeling your cooking features microwave cuisine?”

“First of all, that’s not fully true,” he laughs. “And second of all, at least let me pay for dinner.”

“Giving up that easily? Superman may have to have his title revoked.”

“No, you were just right. I’m not a great cook; takeout would be the best bet.”

“I’ll pay and you can pay me back by looking cute for me.”

“Is this how women feel when men are demeaning?” He teases.

“You got it,” you groan.

Javier sighs. “Don’t know how you do it. How was your day?” he asks, leaning back on his own couch, slipping a hand in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Long. My back hurts,” you admit, hugging the pillow to your chest. “The hospital is much more boring when I don’t get to sneak kisses from a hot patient.”

“I would assume so.”

“Got anything interesting in those case files?”

“I think Steve pulled out a box from ‘79 and handed it over just to appease me. It’s a pain in the ass.”

“You’re supposed to be on leave. Do leave things.”

“Like what? You’re gone all day, so is Steve. There are my two options.”

“Javi,” you coo softly. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“No, you are! You don’t even know what to do with your life. When was your last day off that you didn’t spend nursing a hangover?” There’s a beat of silence. “Exactly. Watch some telenovelas, read a book, pick up a hobby.”

“I have hobbies,” he pouts.

“Besides drinking, smoking, and fucking. I know your reputation,” you tease.

He’s silent and shy when his voice returns. “Did you-“

“I’ve known that the whole time, Superman. You think Connie didn’t spill everything the first time I asked her about you?” You chuckle softly. “No, I know about you. I don’t mind at all. It’s kinda hot,” you tease.

“Hey now, don’t start what you can’t finish. I’m not gonna be in shape for anything for a while.”

You bite your lip, deciding between flirting back harder or leaving it alone. You decide to leave it. “I’m not,” you chuckle. “I just think everything about you is attractive.”

“Even my giant stab wound?”

“Especially. If that’s what it took for you to admit you love me,” you laugh softly, and you hear him laughing on the other end.

“You should get some sleep, cariño,” Javi says in a softening voice. “It’s late, and you said your back hurts.”

“I will. I just… couldn’t sleep without knowing how you’re doing. I’m glad it’s good.” You smile softly at the way his voice sounds through the phone. “I’ll be looking forward to tomorrow night all day at work.”

“And I’ll be looking forward to it here.”

“Goodnight Javi,” you tell him. “I love you.”

“Goodnight, hermosa,” he tells you in return. “I love you too.” He hangs up quickly after saying that, before he can change his mind and stay on the phone with you for hours more.

-

As you leave the hospital the next day, your best friend’s voice rings out after you. “Use a condom!” Lorena shouts before falling into a fit of giggles.

“You’re the worst.”

“No, an unplanned pregnancy would be the worst,” she teases and nudges your side. “Be safe!”

“Fuck you,” you mutter to her in English, but there’s a smile on your face as you leave the hospital.

“No, fuck Javi instead!”

“Goddamnit, Lori!”

The walk home is uneventful, as normal, but the sun is just about to start setting over Bogotá. It’s beautiful, you think to yourself, and you admire the skyline as you walk back to your apartment.

Once you get inside, you head to your bathroom and sigh as you look in the mirror. You’re tired, it’s evident, but your eyes hold your excitement. Turning on a cassette player in your living room, you dance and sing along to it in the bathroom as you do your makeup and style your hair. Both are simply done, but make you feel a little more confident, a little more elegant for your night in with Javier.

You dance along to the music and make your way into your bedroom. You change out of your scrubs and into the outfit you chose last night, in a rush of excitement after talking with Javier on the phone. It’s your favorite dress you wear when you’re going out, not that it’s often, one that makes you feel fantastic about yourself. You look in the mirror and have to admit, you look damn good.

After you twirl in the mirror a little, you pick up the phone and dial Javier.

The familiar greeting fills your ears. “Peña.”

“Hey, Javi,” you practically sing. “I’m leaving my place now, I’ll pick up the food and be over. Leave the door unlocked, that way you don’t have to get up and let me in, okay?”

Javier chuckles. “Yes ma’am. I’ll see you then.”

He hangs up and you grab your purse and a jacket, wrapping it tight around yourself as you leave your apartment building and head out to a nearby restaurant.

After the food is ready, you carry it in one hand, smiling to yourself as you walk the rest of the way to Javier’s. It’s closer than you ever knew, and it makes you smile even wider knowing that there’s only ever a short distance between you and him. The sun is now setting, casting everything in a warm glow.

Once you reach his apartment, you get hit by a wave of nerves. Impulsively, you climb the extra stairs and knock on the Murphys’ front door.

No response comes, surprisingly. Rather than continuing to knock, you get your courage up and go back downstairs, knocking on Javier’s door and letting yourself in.

Javier is at his kitchen table already, which is nicely set and even has a candle burning on top of it. He looks up when he hears you and smiles, and you immediately smile back. He’s wearing a long-sleeved, nice shirt and a tie, the shirt cuffed to his elbows. His hair, which has been messy nearly every time you’ve seen him, is neatly styled too. He looks professional, and it makes you giggle a little.

He takes a second to take in the sight of you too, his eyes raking all the way up your body until his eyes meet yours. “You look great, cariño,” he tells you with a little smirk, and you walk closer and set the food down on the table.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You look very formal.”

“This is what I wear to work,” he admits and tilts his head to the side.

“Then I’m going to have to come visit you at the embassy some time,” you tell him and kiss him on the lips, for the first real time since the hospital. There’s silence between the two of you and you can hear a rhythmic knocking noise coming from somewhere-

You break away and your eyes widen, giggling. There’s a loud creaking sound that accompanied the pounding. “Oh shit.”

“What is it?” Javi asks, but then the noise reaches his ears.

You have to cover your mouth to hold back a laugh. “I have to admit, I went upstairs to ask Connie for advice before I came down here… I guess I know why no one answered,” you snort before you hear a uniquely feminine groan, and both you and Javier start laughing uncontrollably, falling into each other.

You bury your face in his shoulder laughing, then quickly remove it, forgetting you were wearing makeup. “Oh god, do you have a radio or something we can turn on to cover that up?” You as him, still giggling.

“Yeah, come on,” he says and leans on you for balance as the two of you walk to his kitchen. There’s a radio on top of his fridge, and he turns it onto the American station in town. You smile at the memory of first meeting him while this was playing. Some slow jam from a few years ago is on, and Javier cranks the dial to adjust the volume until you can no longer hear the Murphys and their activity upstairs.

The sun shines its last rays into the kitchen, casting an orange glow over both you and Javi. He looks down at you and swears he can see exactly what he’s feeling reflected in your eyes. Your eyes hold such kindness and depth and unconditional regard for him, and it makes him want to gather you in his arms and never let you go again, never let either of you ever leave this apartment and this moment. Javier has never been one for words, choosing mainly to express his feelings through the patterns of his hips against a woman’s, but he tries in this moment, just for you. “You… have gorgeous eyes,” he tells you softly, and you giggle and shyly look away. “Really,” he says, catching your chin in his hand and bringing your face back to look at him. “So beautiful. All of you, especially tonight.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, gazing up into those big brown eyes and kissing him quickly. “Care to dance?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Javi chuckles a little and puts his arms around your waist in return. “Why not?” He asks, sneaking another gentle kiss before swaying the two of you around his kitchen. You rest your head in the curve of his neck and he smiles at the feeling, pressing a kiss to your head. He’s not a great singer, he knows that, but he mumble-sings the lyrics to you. You can feel his chest vibrate from his voice, and you sigh, pressing a kiss into his skin before resting your head on his shoulder again.

The song ends a few moments later and there’s a bit of dead air on the radio. No sound comes from upstairs and you lift your head, laughing a little. “Well, now that that’s all done… shall we eat?” You ask, and Javier nods, sneaking one last kiss from your lips.

The night ends with you and Javier cuddled on the couch. It’s late, and you’re watching his VHS tapes of old American movies. You’re snuggled into his side when he nudges your face with his neck. “Aren’t you uncomfortable in your dress?” He asks.

“What, are you trying to get me naked?” You tease quietly.

“No. Just want you comfy,” he murmurs, half asleep. You have to admit you’re tired too. “I have a proposal.”

“Yes I’ll marry you,” you laugh jokingly.

“Not like that,” he rolls his eyes. “Help me to my bed. You can wear some of my clothes. Sleep here tonight.”

You smile a little. “Is this your way of saying you can’t sleep without me anymore?”

“Sleeping alone is shitty once I got a taste of you,” he says with a charming smile.

“Alright Romeo,” you tease and kiss his lips gently. “I like that idea though. Let’s do it.” You stand from his arms, offering him a hand. He takes it and stands with a groan.

You help Javier to his bedroom, holding him up as a crutch and a balance. Javier’s tie was long discarded, after the two of you ate dinner. He strips the dress shirt and pants from his body, leaving him in just his boxers and a plain white shirt. He heads to his dresser and pulls out a large t-shirt for you.

You take it from him and kiss his cheek. He closes his eyes as you unzip your dress. “You’re allowed to look,” you murmur teasingly next to his ear. His eyes fly open and watch you hungrily, the way you’re exposed in just a bra and panties.

“Mi ángel,” he mumbles, his hands on your sides. He looks down at your body before finding your eyes again and smiling softly. He kisses you gently. “I know I have a bad reputation. You know I love you for more than your body, right?”

You nod, your arms around his neck. “Of course I do, Javi. We haven’t even fucked yet.”

He nods. “Just… checking.” This is all so new for him, and you can tell. You kiss him tenderly for a moment before pulling on the big t-shirt and flopping on his bed.

“Now get in here and cuddle me, Superman.”

“Of course, cariño,” he laughs, sliding under the covers and kissing the side of your face.

-

translations:

por supuesto- of course

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hey taglist, come get y’all juice

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[psychedellic-phase]

Blind Date

((gif by moi))

A/N: This is the first smut I’ve ever tried to write sooo let me know how it is!

word count: 3.6 k

tw: smut, swallowing, plain ol’ sex with a plot

masterlist

Spencer spun around lazily in his desk chair, flipping through a case file when Derek walked up to him.

“Pretty boy! Just who I was looking for!”

Spencer looked up from the folder at Derek and groaned internally, “What’s up?”

Derek half sat on the edge of the desk, barely containing his excitement as his leg bounced.

“How would you like to go out tonight on a date?”

Spencer scrunched up his eyebrows, a vague look of confusion painting his face. He was waiting for the punch like of this joke, or prank or whatever it was Morgan was trying to pull.

“A date?”

“Yep, a date.”

“With who?” Spencer dropped the file on his desk, crossing his hands across his chest and looking up at Derek. A date? He hadn’t even talked to a girl since Maeve. How was he supposed to go on a date?

“This nurse Savannah works with, (Y/N), I think you guys would be a great pair.”

So this wasn’t just another prank. Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hands.

“I don’t know, I haven’t, since—“

Derek cut him off, “I know, but it’s been three years Reid. She’d want you to move on.”

Spencer thought about it for a moment. It had crossed his mind recently that he needed to get back out there if he wanted any chance at a family in the future. He came to terms with Maeve’s loss a while ago, but it still felt like he would be cheating on her if he even looked at another woman.

“Look, kid, I think this one could really be worth it. She’s funny, kind, super smart and outgoing, I think you’d make a good match. I wouldn’t even bring it up to you if I didn’t.” Derek looked sincere, his eyebrows furrowed with worry.

Spencer thought for a moment and nodded, a sudden feeling of confidence coming over him, “Yeah, yeah okay I’ll go.”

What’s the worst that could happen? She could hate him and end up being a crazy killer? The odds were slim.

“Really?” Derek’s eyes were wide.

“Yeah, if she agrees to it why not?”

Derek slapped the desk and then squeezed Spencer’s shoulders, “Savannah and I will pick you up at 7, loverboy.”

“You and Savann–“ Spencer cut himself off, “Wait it’s a double date?”

Derek shrugged, “Yeah, that way if it goes South we can swoop in. But don’t worry. This date is not going downhill, not on my watch.”

Spencer just laughed lightly and tucked his overgrown hair behind his ear. A slight pang of guilt and dread formed in his stomach but he did his best to ignore it. Maybe this would be good for him? He hoped it was.

————

“No,” you said to Savannah over the nurse’s station.

She was trying to set you up, yet again, on another blind date. She was your best friend and you loved her, but she couldn’t let it go. She was constantly trying to matchmake for you, especially since she met Derek. You always told her she got the last decent guy, to which she’d roll her eyes and say, ‘Your guy is out there!’ You didn’t think that was true anymore.

“Y/N! C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

You rolled your eyes, skimming another patient file, “That’s what you said about Dylan. And Brian. And Craig. And they were not fun Sav!”

You started walking down the hallway and she followed you, shoes squeaking, “This one is different though.”

You stopped and made eye contact with her. She looked hopeful, genuine, sincere. Part of you wanted to say yes, but after several disaster dates with the disaster men that she sent your way you were very doubtful.

“You also said Scott was ‘different’ and he ended up still living in his mother’s basement.”

Savannah laughed and shook her head, “Okay, I was wrong about Scott. But I mean it. Spencer’s special!”

“He’s special?” You sounded bored.

“Yes! He works with Derek. The nerdy kid, remember?”

You vaguely remembered her meeting some of his coworkers and nodded, “Yeah he’s like a genius or whatever?”

“Yes him!”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin over zealously and then finally said, “Nope,” popping the ‘p’. You started down the hall way again, her still following you. She always was persistent, and even a little stubborn.

“Y/N, listen to me. Spencer is like 6’1, smart, lanky, kinda awkward but sweet, nerdy, brown shaggy hair; he’s literally your exact type.”

You sighed, she was right. That is your exact type. If you could build-a-man like build-a-bear, Spencer Reid is who you’d make. Savannah did always prefer the more masculine men like Derek, whereas you had a tendency to go for guys who looked like they ran on coffee and adderall and had sensitive eyes.

“Derek and I will be there too, double date style, just in case you guys need a little nudge.”

“But Sav—“

“Nope, no buts. You’re coming. This is a good one, Y/N. I can feel it.”

“But what about work? What if we get called or they do or?”

You were rambling looking for an excuse not to go. You had no good reason to say no, you were just tired of one too many bad dates.

“Work is NOT getting in the way this time! I’ll see you at 7,” she cooed, waving as she slipped into a patient room.

Maybe she was right, maybe he would be special?

————

So that’s how you ended up sitting across from Spencer Reid in the booth of a diner at 7 pm on a Thursday night.

“I swear I reserved the restaurant for tonight!” Derek said, Savannah on his arm as you all walked a few blocks to the diner. They were Barbie and Ken, just hotter. You and Spencer walked side by side, about a foot between you.

When you had arrived at the fancy restaurant at 6:45 the hostess informed you all that Derek had reserved a table for a Thursday three months from now. The backup plan was the 24-hour diner you and Savannah hit many times post shift.

Spencer sat across from you, folding open the massive menu to find something he’d like. He was exactly how you remembered him: wickedly smart and devilishly handsome.

A dangerous combination.

“So Y/N, Spencer’s from Las Vegas,” Savannah started, not to subtly nudging you under the table with her leg.

“Really? That’s nice, I love Vegas,” You said and Spencer nodded slightly in response, “You’ve been?”

You nodded, “Yeah, for a few girls trips.”

He just nodded and let the conversation die. You felt a little defeated. Was this guy that bad at dates? Or did he just not like you?

True to her word, Savannah stepped in again.

“Today Y/N had a patient throw ice chips at her.”

“What’d you do to make them do that?” Derek said, peeking over the massive menu at you.

You laughed, “That’s not even the worst thing that’s happened.”

“What rotation are you on right now?” Spencer asked you and ordered a Shirley temple. What kind of guy orders a Shirley temple? This guy. This impossibly cute guy, who probably didn’t want you.

“Labor and delivery, so I’ve had many things thrown at me, been called many names,” You laughed and he smiled back.

“I can only imagine.”

“Pretty boy here has actually delivered a baby before,” Derek chimed in.

You stifled a laugh, “Really? Is that so?”

Spencer’s cheeks turned a light pink, “Yeah, actually, and it was not what I expected.”

“Well what did you expect?”

He smirked, “I read all the manuals, I didn’t expect rose petals and magic but that much fluid? Where does it all even come from?”

You and Savannah chuckled, “Squeamish Dr. Reid?”

“Surprisingly, birth is harder to see than some of the dead bodies we get.”

“Hey hey, no dead body and grossness talk at dinner. I’m trying to eat here,” Derek said as the food arrived.

Spencer put his hands up in defeat, “No more dead body talk, I promise.”

You did the same, “No more birth talk, promise!”

You all started to eat, and of course you and Spencer reached for the ketchup at the same time, bumping fingers, like in those teen movies.

“I’m sorry, ladies first,” he said. You grabbed the bottle and squeezed ketchup all over your french fries.

Savannah cringed, “She doesn’t put ketchup on the side of her fries to dip like a normal person, she squeezes it all over top like a psychopath.”

You feigned insult and lightly hit her arm, “Hey! Don’t call me a psychopath in front of all the FBI agents!”

“For what it’s worth, Y/N, you definitely aren’t a psychopath,” Spencer said, offering you a shy smile, “I know psychopaths.”

“Thank you Dr. Reid,” you blushed and he took the ketchup from you, squirting it all over his fries just like you did.

“See! I’m not crazy! He did it too!”

“Probably because you’re both psychopaths,” Savannah giggled and the four of you laughed.

You reached over and took a fry from Spencer’s plate and then you both were finally comfortable. You looked at Savannah once and gave her a thumbs up; she was right, this was a good one.

The rest of the night was perfect. You and Spencer joked and laughed and learned about each other, by the end of the night you almost forgot Derek and Savannah were even there. The two of you were in your own little world, and it was amazing. You would’ve stayed out forever if they would’ve let you.

“We can all hitch a cab?” Derek said as you all stood on the corner. It was cold out and Spencer had so kindly given you his suit jacket. It smelled like fancy cologne, how much more attractive could he be?

You looked at Spencer, and he looked at you, and in that moment you made a decision. You were not going home without this man tonight.

“Actually, I live a few blocks that way,” You said, pointing in the opposite direction, the oversized jacket flopping as you did so, “I’m good to walk home.”

“Would you like some company?” Spencer said, his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. He rocked back and forth on his heels.

“I’d love some.”

Derek and Savannah gave each other a knowing look and bid you farewell. Spencer offered his arm and you grabbed it, leading him to your apartment.

As you walked he pointed out sights and told you the history of the landmarks you were passing.

“The Washington Monument was completed in two phases, a private one from 1848 to 1854 and then a public one from 1876 to 1884.”

“Have you ever been up in it?” You asked, stopping to stare up at the huge monument.

“No, have you?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I have.”

“Maybe you can take me up next time,” he stammered out, blushing and squeezing your arm tight.

You smiled, blush creeping up your face as well at the thought of a “next time.”

“Yeah, I’d love to, and then I’ll show you the best bakery in DC. I’m a sucker for an eclair.”

You released your arm from the crook of his elbow and grabbed his hand. He grabbed yours back, looking down at you in his jacket in the moonlight. His eyes were shiny and the brown was dark, almost black. His tongue darted in and out of his mouth and he bit on his lip ever so slightly.

You wanted to kiss him. Scratch that. You needed to kiss him. You stopped again and he turned to face you. Just as you went up on your tippy toes to kiss him, he knelt down to your level and connected your lips.

It was a short, sweet, innocent kiss that made butterflies erupt in your stomach, and other places. When you separated you were both grinning ear to ear.

The rest of the walk was hand in hand, him rubbing his thumb over your knuckles and you both talking. When you arrived at the front door, you both paused.

“Well, this is me,” You said and started to unlock the door. He stayed a few steps down, just smiling at you.

“Do you want my—should I give you my phone number?” He said, his voice laced with doubt.

You smiled and turned, “Actually...”

His face fell, a sad expression covering the smile he had moments ago.

“Oh, it’s okay I understand, I-I thought we were having a good time is all,” he mumbled out, rubbing his arms because he was freezing and you still had on his jacket.

“I was going to say would you like to come in?” You said, feeling just as awkward as he did.

His eyes widened, “Uh- do I want to come in?” Even he knew what that was insinuating.

You suddenly felt embarrassed, like you had misread the entire situation, “I mean, only if you want to?”

He regained his confidence a little, “Yeah. Yeah, I want to.” And he followed you inside.

You slid off his suit jacket and laid it nicely over a chair, “Can I get you a drink?”

He nodded, “Water’s fine.”

As you went to the kitchen to find him a glass of water, he made himself at home on the couch. You could’ve sworn you heard him mumbling to himself, but shrugged it off. You sat next to him and placed the two glasses of water on the coffee table.

You turned to him, “So—“

To your surprise, he immediately kissed you again, this time with less innocence and much longer. You kissed back, nipping slightly at his lower lip. The kiss got more and more intense, your tongue moving between his slightly chapped lips. His hands found a home on your hip bones, using his thumbs to rub small circles there. When you separated you both had to take a few slow breaths.

“Sorry, I don’t usually do this on a first date,” you mumbled, scooting closer to him so your thighs were touching.

He grabbed a stray piece of your hair and tucked it behind your ear, “I don’t usually do this at all.”

His hand went to cup your face and he was kissing you again. This time, you leaned back so he could hover over you, his tie laying over your chest.

His hands were on either side of you, and your fingers were running through his messy brown hair. You tugged slightly at the root, making him moan and open his mouth even more to you.

Slowly you reached down to fumble with his tie, his hand reached up to stop you.

“Patience,” he mumbled into your lips before kissing down your cheek and across your jaw. Each kiss sent jolts through your body, making the peach fuzz on your neck stand up. You put your hands back where they were in his hair, and one of his hands stayed next to you, supporting him, and the other landed on your hip. His lips found a spot just under your ear, and he sucked on it slightly making you moan and shut your eyes.

“The ears are a neglected erogenous zone,” he said against your skin before nipping and biting at the lobe.

“I-I like it,” you breathed out as you reached back for his tie and undid it, tossing it somewhere across from the couch.

“Should we take this somewhere else?”

You nodded, and in one motion he picked you up bridal style. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and giggled as you led him to your bedroom. He laid you on your bed gently.

You scooted up to the pillows and propped yourself up on your elbows, “Lose the shirt, Dr. Reid.”

He raised and eyebrow at you but did what you asked and soon his dress shirt and undershirt were on the floor. He was slim but covered in muscle. You bit your lip at the thought how scratch marks would look down his back.

“It’s rude to stare,” he joked, and another redhot flush graced your cheeks.

You absentmindedly rubbed your legs together in anticipation as he began to undo his belt. You felt like it was only fair that you undressed too, so you took off your dress and laid out in your bra and underwear.

When he returned to hovering over you he smiled, sloppy kisses running from your lips and down your neck. You silently cursed yourself for not wearing nicer undergarments, but Spencer didn’t seem to mind as he palmed your breasts over your beige bra. You moaned into the skin of his shoulder and started to kiss and suck there. Your hands scratched down is back, leaving red lines in their wake. He grabbed your bra straps and pulled them off your shoulders, pulling the bra down to expose you to him.

With a sharp intake of breath, his mouth was around one of your nipples, sucking on it and twisting it between his lips. His free hand came up to pinch the other bud, making you moan loudly again. You arched your back to meet him, and his hand left your chest to force you back down.

You whimpered as you felt him hard and hot against your thigh. Then he switched sides, wanting to give you equal attention. He stayed there until you begged him to stop.

“S-Spencer,” you said between breathy moans, “Just fuck me already.”

He pulled back and blew on your chest lightly, sending shivers down your spine and wetness to your center.

He stopped and looked at you, his eyes warm and full of concern, “Are you sure?”

You writhed underneath him, “Yes, I’m sure. I’m clean. I’m protected. Please. I need you.”

He completely removed your bra and underwear now, leaving you naked beneath him. You pulled his boxers down slightly, so he could spring out. You pumped him a few times and ran the tip across your entrance, making both of you groan. He kissed you kindly, like he had in front of the washington monument, and then slid inside of you.

You groaned at the feeling, clutching the sheets beside you as he let you adjust.

“Okay?” He whispered and you nodded.

“Do something Spencer, please.”

And with that he began thrusting in and out of you slowly, stopping when he bottomed out. You wrapped your thighs around his waist and pulled him in closer to you while your hands tugged at his hair. The sounds falling from both of you were obscene and delicious. It was hard to tell where he started and you ended.

“Fuck,” he groaned, falling from his hands to his elbows over you. Your chests touched and he stuck his thumb in your mouth. You instinctively sucked in it and he took it between your thighs to start stroking figure-eights on your clit. You groaned and arched into him.

“Don’t stop,” You mumbled, kissing whatever skin your mouth could reach.

“I’m close,” he whispered, sweat dripping off his forehead and onto you but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the way he was winding you up with his fingers, getting you closer and closer to the edge. You stared up at him, his hair stuck to his forehead and his eyebrows furrowed. You made eye contact and he caught your lips in a lusty kiss.

“Wait for me,” you ordered, scratching more lines down his back as your orgasm took over. Your vision went black, your whole body tensing as you pulsed around him.

He rode your high with you while chasing his own.

“Where can I?”

“My mouth,” you said, as he pulled out and put his tip between your lips. You used your hands and mouth to finish him before he came.

The two of you flopped on the bed panting, then started laughing. You turned to lay your head on his chest, “I’m glad I went out tonight.”

He pulled you close to him, so your head was just above his pounding heart, “So am I.” And he kissed your forehead.

You snuck out of his arms to get cleaned up and returned to your spot on his chest. There he stroked your back lightly until you both fell asleep.

————

The next morning you were turned away from Spencer, your butts touching slightly making you chuckle. You looked over at him and he was still soundly sleeping, looking even more adorable than he had the night before, if that was even possible.

You looked for your phone and saw two missed calls from Savannah. You called her back.

“Hey,” you whispered so you wouldn’t wake Spencer.

“Sooo what’d you think? What’d you guys do? Did you....”

You rolled your eyes, “It was a great night Savannah.”

She squealed on the other side, “YES! I knew it. You owe me $15!” She called to Derek, who was no doubt listening on the other end. You had to stifle a laugh.

“So there’s a second date in your future? I don’t have to keep setting you up?”

You looked over at Spencer, his hair falling in angelic waves around his face. You admired the lips you had grown to know last night and couldn’t wait to feel them again.

“No more setting me up,” You whispered, “And you were right Sav, this one is special.”

You couldn’t tell but Spencer was awake, his mouth turning up into a smile as he overheard your conversation. When you hung up he stretched as if he has just woken up.

“Hey,” he said, voice raspy and groggy.

“Hey,” you placed a peck on his lips.

“How about breakfast is date number two?”

[myhauntedsalem]

30 Doctors, Nurses and Paramedics Describe their Most Disturbing Medical Stories

1. The Guessing Game

“I work as an ICU nurse. A mid-20s female came in with some serious cardiac abnormalities and then went into respiratory distress. Never had any medical history at all. We had to put her on the ventilator, but she was on just enough sedation to keep her lucid. She could nod/shake her head yes and no appropriately to questions.

One night, the patient in the room next to hers died, but the body was still in the room about to be taken to the morgue. The female patient’s door was closed with curtains drawn, so she couldn’t have seen what was going on next door. When I went in to check on her, she had a look of sheer panic on her face, trembling. I asked her a series of questions to see if she was cold/hot/in pain/etc. and she denied all. I asked her if she saw something—she started to aggressively nod her head YES. She wasn’t on any drugs that would make her hallucinate. I went on to get details on what this thing looked like. After playing 20 questions I got this: a man, pale white, left arm missing, heavy, bald, standing still, behind me. This was the man who had just died next door.

I spent the rest of the night consoling her.” – whites42

2. Life After Death

“When I was on an ER rotation during med school we got a call about a 23-year-old woman who was shot in the head, and who was already completely gone, but was reportedly five months pregnant so they were doing CPR until they got her to the hospital to see if the baby was viable. They got her to the ER and did an ultrasound and turned out the baby was full-term so they did a C-section in like under a minute and got the baby out.

I don’t think it’s so incredibly uncommon but it was pretty surreal to see a baby delivered from a dead person with their brain exposed and she was pretty close to the same age I was at the time.” – bluegraypurple

3. The Last Goodbye

“When I was a student, I got called in on a stroke patient. She had coded and they were doing CPR. They worked for 45 minutes, but she died. They cleaned her up, and called on the family to say goodbye, but by that time the family left. She had been both brain dead and without a pulse for more than 45 minutes. Blood had filled her brain, and she was completely grey and started to smell. Suddenly, she sat up, and called for her family. The nurses rushed to get monitors and equipment back on her. They started working on her again, she stabilized, said goodbye to her family, and promptly died a second time.” – simplesimon6262

4. Miracle Man

“When I was in trauma surgery in upstate by, got a notification about a man who was shot 3 times in the head. He comes in, literally one eye hanging out of the socket, blood everywhere, and he’s slumped forward. Apparently, he was shot in the temple, exited out his right eye socket, in the nose exited from the roof of the mouth, and In the cheek one with exit from the side of the head.

At this point, I’m thinking they just brought him in so we can pronounce him in the ER because he looked dead. I go to examine him and tilt his head back, and he says ‘Yoooo be gentle!’ I jump back and scream like a little boy, as did everyone in the room. Literally, the bullets missed his brain in every single shot.” – Noimnotonacid

5. Bleeding

“One of the aides I work with said she was doing postmortem care on a patient who had been on many, many anticoagulants before death. She said when they turned her on her side she started bleeding out of every orifice—eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. She said her and the nurse went home and had nightmares for a week.” – sparklingbluelight

6. The Haunted Hospital

“My town has two really old hospitals. One no longer functions overnight, and the stories are unsettling. No one cleans the old ER alone because all the lights and call bells go off. On other floors, there’s a kid with his ball, a lady in a white dress, etc. A coworker was cleaning an entire floor utterly solo (the norm) and bounced between rooms because the cleaning solution stays wet for a few minutes. Upon returning to a freshly wiped bed, hand prints were clearly visible.” – Sapphire_Starr

7. Eyeless

“I used to do home care for an elderly lady with learning disabilities and no eyes (they were removed due to a congenital condition). She was lovely but prone to wandering around her flat at night in total silence, which led to several horrifying situations where I left my room at 2 am only to encounter her standing silently in the hallway, turning her eyeless face towards me.” – NovelistResearcher

8. Lonely

“One call that will always haunt me was on an unresponsive female at around three in the morning. We get there and do some pointless CPR along with the fire department… She had been dead for a while; no shock-able rhythm, and clear rigor mortis. The most disturbing part was that the original caller was her 11-year-old daughter, who had just spent three days with her mother’s corpse and called 9-1-1 because she was ‘lonely’. It also didn’t help that the victim was completely naked when we arrived.” – CupofJoe776

9. Clear Waters

“I have quite a few stories, most of them are hilarious and then there are those you never want to think about. What fucked me up the most was when I saw how eyes change at the moment of death. Imagine you are looking at clear water but that clear water changes to foggy in an instant. In my 8 years here I’ve only seen this once, and I’ve personally seen well over 250 dead or dying people.” – ImCuden

10. Night Lights

“I work nights in a long-term care facility as a nurse’s assistant. I have two men under my care and both of them are unable to use their call lights. They have severe dementia and debilitating Parkinson’s disease but still, their lights are looped around their bed rail. One night their light came on and I went to answer it already confused and creeped out. I turned it off and left the room. Before I could get two doors up the light came back on. I went in there and both lights were unplugged from the wall and thrown under their beds. I fished them out, plugged them back in and left.

I’ve seen shadows standing over the dying and felt a tap on my shoulder while doing chest compression’s so I knew that lady had passed.” – beeoakly

11. Holding Hands

“I’ve had a couple of weird calls. One was a major MVA-head on many, many years ago when we played M.E. as well. We had 2 DOA (husband and spouse) that were killed instantly in a head-on collision. They had a 12-year-old daughter that was in between them and they actually took the impact, saving her life.

While en route, we noticed the husband’s arm had come loose so I went back to re-strap it. As I was doing that, the wife’s arm suddenly fell out as well, and her hand fell into her husband’s. My boss was watching in the rearview mirror and helped clear the way as I ran back into the front. It spooked both of us. Apparently, the couple (mid 30’s), had just found out he was cancer free after his last treatment.” – Anonymous

12. Last Meal

“I had an old lady come in by ambulance, near death. She was a DNR (do-not-resuscitate), so we weren’t going to do much for her. She didn’t have any family that we could find. The hospital was full, so we had to keep her in the ER for the night.

Again, she was near death. When you’ve seen enough people die, there’s no mistaking it, and she was almost there. Barely responsive; pale, cool, breaths were really irregular, heart rate was up and down, too. We just turned the lights down and kept an eye on her monitor, basically waiting for her to die.

About an hour later, she’s standing at the door of her room. She’d gotten up and put on all her clothes. We were all like, ‘WTF?’ One of the nurses went to check on her, and she said she was hungry. Not knowing really what to make of things, we got her a chair, a bedside table, and went to the cafeteria and got her a tray of food.

She sat there, ate all her food, talked with the staff a little. After about an hour, she told her nurse that she was tired and wanted to lie back down. We helped her back into bed, and within 30 minutes she was dead.” – Anonymous

13. “Don’t Let me go Back there”

“When my mom worked as an E.R. nurse a guy came in from a car accident and was losing blood. In the midst of resuscitation, the man jolts awake and screams ‘Don’t let me go back there! Please, please, please don’t let me go back!’ A few seconds later they lost him.” – JeremyHowell

14. The Rusty Old Saw

“This woman was clearly struggling mentally. She went into her basement and started sawing at her wrists horizontally with a rusty hacksaw, bleeds a good amount, and then starts walking around the house. She wasn’t dying quick enough, so she sat down in a chair in the middle of the living room, and started going at her wrists again, this time with a pair of scissors.

I was the second person inside the house. It looked like a massacre. We searched the house top to bottom, fully expecting to find multiple dead bodies in there. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life. Every single room had a trail of blood in it.

The woman was found on a chair in the living room. Rigor mortis had contorted her body into a really strange, unnatural pose, and her face was haunting. Literally the stuff of nightmares. Her wrists had huge chunks of skin/veins/muscle missing from them. Saying she slit her wrists is inaccurate. She ripped them to pieces.” – anoncop1

15. Visitors

“I work a stroke/telemetry floor on the bought shift. Most of our patients are elderly. Apparently, there are two things that patients see before they pass away. Some will say that two men are walking in their rooms and telling them to get ready to leave. The patient will call and tell us that these men are big and abrasive in their demeanor. They are either terrified or annoyed when they see the two men. The other thing they will see is a little boy who will go into their rooms and try to wake them up. The boy is usually loud and runs around their rooms. The patients will call and ask who’s letting children just run around late night. Several nights or even that same shift we’re coding or cleaning the patient for the funeral home to pick up.” – pokfynder

16. The Handsome Man in Black

“I used to work in a skilled nursing facility, usually assigned to the Alzheimer’s ward. One night I’m in the linen room stocking my cart, and I heard someone shuffle up behind me, then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and there was no one else in the room. The door was still shut too.

Another lady started to complain that a man was coming into her room at night (again, Alzheimer’s so I didn’t think much of it) so to reassure her, I told her I’d check on her throughout the night. She complained of this man for every night for two more weeks when I asked her to describe him to me.

‘He’s real handsome, and wears a black suit. Oh. He’s right behind you now, honey.’

That freaked me the f*ck out. Of course, there was no one behind me. She died the next night in her sleep.” – Anonymous

17. The Blender

“We got a call for a male in his early 30s with ‘heavy groin trauma’ (exact words of the dispatcher). We roll up lights and sirens and the guy is waiting for us on the front step with a towel over his crotch. We barely come to a stop and the guy is already running towards the rig holding this towel. I asked him what was wrong and he moved the towel and this guy’s dick was just barely hanging on. Apparently, he had ‘lady problems’ so he decided to fornicate with the food mixer he had in his kitchen and accidentally turned it on.” – YayShinny

18. The Charred Skin

“Motorcycle driver, accident, third-degree burns, arrived DOA. Had to transfer him from ambulance gurney to ER bed. As we were moving him with a transfer sheet, the liquefied/cooked subcutaneous fat caused the charred skin on his back to separate and his body slipped onto the floor (despite several of us trying to ‘catch’ him).” – Doc-in-a-box

19. Dead Man Moaning

“Worked security through college at a local hospital. The only ‘creepy’ thing I remember is when a dead man moaned. One of my duties was to help wheel patients who had expired down to the in-house morgue. Once we were wheeling an older man from the ER down and halfway down the hallway he let out this low moan. I started to panic, thinking that he was coming back to life but the RN explained to me (newbie) that sometimes the air in the lungs doesn’t come out until sometime later or is delayed for a bit.” – ill_do_it-later

20. Otherworldly Screams

“I have had fellow coworkers swear that strange things have occurred in the ER. Two people that I work with were charting at the nurse’s station when they both heard a scream followed by incoherent words come from one of our open bays. There were three patients in the room and they denied screaming or hearing anything. I have also had fellow coworkers talk about hearing strange voices especially after really bad codes and one person states she felt someone grabbing her shoulder after the doc pronounced a trauma code. These are all respectable people and I do not think they would lie.” – Anonymous

21. Blank Stare

“We got a call to go out to a scene for an elderly woman with chest pains. I arrive at the house, front door is open. We knock, hear the old woman calling out from the back ‘I’m in the back room’ in a very monotone and calm voice. My partner and I go to the back of the house looking for this woman, and that’s when we smelled it. Nothing prepares you for the smell of rotting corpse. I’ve smelled it a dozen times, and it never gets any less disturbing. We radio for police and ALS backup as we move through the house.

We opened the door to the master bedroom, and there is our patient. She is approximately 80, and she is staring at the master bathroom with these cold, dead eyes. She never once looked at us as we approached her and began talking to her. I got to the bedside and got in front of her gaze, and she just looked right through me. I turned around to see what she could possibly be looking at, and there was the source of my smell.

A man, about the same age as my patient, is on the floor with very little left of his head still attached to his body. A shotgun lay on the floor next to him, and most of his head was strewn about the walls and bathroom counter. We loaded the woman up in the ambulance, and our police backup pulled up.

I don’t think that woman blinked once the entire time she was in our care.” – TheFilthiest

22. “Bill’s Here”

“I’m an RN and while I was a student I was caring for a lady who had an end-stage renal failure, had a DNAR (do not attempt resuscitation) and was shutting down. We were having a little chat when she stopped, looked over my shoulder and said ‘Bill’s here love, I’ve got to go,’ and swiftly stopped breathing. Read her old notes and Bill was her deceased husband.” – Jesspandapants

23. The Body on the Floor

“The call was for an older woman, lying in bed. When we get there, the smell is horrendous of a dead body. There are millions of flies everywhere and a little old lady in lying in the bed, alive. About five feet away, there is a body covered up by a sheet. The lady was a dementia patient, and her husband (the deceased) was the primary caregiver. Based on the number of flies and state of decomposition, the police estimated the guy had been dead for about three weeks. The woman must have been getting some food out of the refrigerator, but it was totally empty by the time we arrived.

The creepiest part happened on the way to the hospital with the woman, she said, ‘I hope that nice man on the floor is OK’.” – Tools4toys

24. The Fallen Cross

“I responded to a call where a janitor was dusting quite a large stone cross in the middle of a church. He had been up on a ladder cleaning, when he slipped off, and proceeded to try to hold onto the cross to keep from falling. Unfortunately, the weight of the 200-pound man was too much to support. The cross fell towards him, landing on his left arm, with a part of the horizontal stone of the cross, pushing his muscles and tendons out of his wrist like a squeezed toothpaste tube. Then the cross fell completely on him splattering his brain across the floor. Quite disturbing, and definitely the most horrific and gore filled call I had ever witnessed.” – UpboatOarKnotUpboat

25. The Headless Nurse

“I used to work in St Barts Hospital in London, which in parts is over 1,000 years old. One of the buildings had 2 floors (with massively high ceilings), and so the floors were taken out and rearranged to make into 5 floors. The nurses working night shift would often tell us of the ghost of a night nurse who wandered silently doing her ’rounds’ at night—but due to the new floors, only her head would be visible drifting down the ward.” – jenthejedi

26. Monsters

“I was still a nursing student at the time, but this was from when I had my psychiatric clinical placement in my 3rd year.

I was assigned to a young male patient with schizophrenia. He had been a voluntary admission because he heard voices telling him to hurt people around him, and he admitted himself because he was afraid of actually going through with it.

Anyway, I went into the room alone, as usual, and did the usual introduction and asking how he was doing. He was at a desk drawing creepy, hideous monsters—each monster had its own page, and there had to be at least half a dozen of these pages scattered around him. I asked him what they were. He answered that those were the monsters he saw. They were the monsters that whispered to him and told him to hurt people and do awful things. Guarded, I asked him, ‘Are they telling you to hurt me?’

He answered, ‘Yes.’

I didn’t stay very long in that room.” – duckface08

27. The Man in Black

“People turn batshit crazy and creepy as hell when they get really sick. There’s even a term called ICU psychosis…and trust me, it’s real. Anyway, the creepiest that takes the cake for me is this (am an ICU nurse, btw): Had a patient who was admitted for overdose. Very long history of mental health problems. She was thrashing around in bed, very combative, kicking people’s asses for days, totally incoherent.

Well, the night I had her, she started making decent sense, but still not oriented at all. She was extremely paranoid and kept talking about the man in black in the corner. I’d hear her talking to him and screaming, all night long. So I’d go in there and try to calm her down, but you could see the fear in her eyes. she was talking other nonsense about how she was in space and shit, and with certain patients, you try to redirect their ‘reality,’ but what I did didn’t help. She said ‘that man in black! Don’t you see him!’ and pointed to the corner. I said ‘there’s nobody here.’ I stepped in the corner she was pointing to and waved my hands around. While I’m waving my hands around in the air, she had the most horrifically terrified look on her face that actually scared the shit out of me, like I had just assaulted the man in black. I said ‘see, there’s nobody here’ and she said in a matter-of-factly that’s what you think.’ I promptly got the fu*k out of there.” – HeatherTakasaki

28. Eyes Wide Open

“I work in palliative. Most deaths I’ve seen have been more or less peaceful, though the ones that are not, stick with you. One guy was silently screaming through his last few hours of life. Another guy (who up until this point had been unresponsive) reached up and grabbed me when we attempted to lower his bed to turn him.

One time while doing post-mortem care I walked into the room and thought ‘that’s weird, how come nobody has closed his eyes yet?’ He had that movie-perfect dead look, with pale blue staring eyes and slack jaw and greyish, waxy skin. I closed his eyes and started the care, and when I looked again those eyes, still staring at me, were slowly opening, one slightly slower than the other. He groaned when we turned him to wash his back and his hand managed to clamp onto the bed rail and we had to pry it off. When we finally got him onto his back again, there was a foul-smelling, oily black, viscous liquid on the pillowcase. I cleaned his mouth again thinking it must have come from there, but his mouth and nose were clean. The best I could figure the stuff had come from his eye. I couldn’t wait to get that bag zipped up.” – draakons_pryde

29. Crawling up the Hallway

“I used to work as an STNA in a nursing home. Worked third shift throughout university. During the night we turned half the lights off so it was darker for the evening and didn’t get a lot of light in the residents’ rooms. We had one resident who was younger (70s) and was mostly in for mental reasons. She had long, dark hair and was very thin.

I was sitting at the nurse’s station at the top of the hall and heard a call light go off. I stood up, looked down the dark hall, and on all fours—straight out of The Ring—this resident was crawling up the hall toward me. The other STNA had forgotten to put the bed rail up and the resident was VERY good at climbing out of bed.

Needless to say, I needed some new britches and my heart was racing a mile a minute.” – blameitonthewookie

30. Heaven

“Had a young woman in full liver failure. She was orange in color and she was still conscious. She asked me what I thought it would be like to die. I told her I didn’t know but I hoped it wouldn’t be painful. She then asked me if I thought I would go to heaven. I told her that I believed I would. She asked me if I thought she would go to heaven, and I told her I wasn’t able to answer that question.

She then told me ‘I am going to heaven and I know it,’ and I asked her how she knew that and she told me something that I will never ever forget. She told me ‘I know I am because that man over there told me so.’ I asked what man and she said the man sitting on the end of the bench. I asked her what he looked like and she said ‘he looks just like the Jesus on the windows of my church.’

Well, to tell you I was pretty well affected by that statement. She then went on to say ‘And he says that you are going to go to heaven too.’

We then prayed and I will never forget that interaction between the two of us. About a week later she passed away. I hope she made it to heaven.” – Anonymous

[sinagrace]

Iceman’s been back on my mind lately. It started with the internet rumor that Shia Labeouf was being considered to play the role of Bobby Drake in a Marvel Cinematic Universe version of the X-Men. My DMs and @Mentions on social media were a mixture of intense reaction and then asking my take on who would make a great Bobby Drake (for the record: in my head I always saw him as a younger Antoni Porowski with a theater background, ‘cuz playing the funny guy with a vulnerable streak requires serious acting shops). My mind went back to the time of BC, when I was doing a lot of touring, and answering this very question because of my work on the Iceman book at Marvel. One thing led to another, and I decided to take a trip further down memory lane to look at my favorite volume of the series: Amazing Friends. Now, I know I’ve spent equal amounts of time publicly stating what a gift working on Iceman was, while also calling out the challenges that came with the experience, but the third volume really was a pure blessing. I was able to take every valuable lesson I learned as a writer, and apply it to telling a story that would be interesting to one person: Me. I’ve been a lifelong X-Men fan, I live and breathe comics, so my own expectations for a return to the series seemed like the only ones to really worry about meeting/ surpassing. The first two volumes had been so bogged down by rotating editors, complex continuity, company-wide events, multiple artists… The third volume was my chance to focus on what an Iceman series was outside of so much context. All that mattered was challenging myself to do an X-Men story that focused on the aspects of the franchise I felt were valuable and relevant, meaning: excuses to have Emma Frost be an asshole and finding an opportunity to make fun of Kitty Pryde’s haircut. Before moving on from Marvel, Axel Alonso made time to call me for a pep talk about the series. I wanted to get the series extended, and he wanted to help me succeed with the ten issues he could commit to. First, he offered an eleventh issue to give me more time on the stands. He took a look at everything I had planned, and basically told me to restructure with an eye for ramping up the pace. My writing background comes from prose and essays/ think pieces… both of which are methodical and provide some allowance from the reader to really take your time and set up the world before diving into the meat. That’s not the case with comics. You gotta work fast. Especially in today’s market, there is less and less room for a retailer to say, “give it two volumes, because shit starts really coming together by the third trade.” That was literally my speech for hooking people on such iconic series as Invincible, Fables, and Strangers in Paradise. Nowadays, every single issue is not a brick to be laid down as foundation so much as a bullet in your gun. Conflicting imagery, but that’s the point. Axel told me to think about the Big Moments in my life and sort out how to inject the mutant metaphor into it and make the most compelling comic book story I could. This was epic advice that I took with me into the new arc, but I struggled a bit with what could be bigger than the “coming out” storyline in volume one. Love was off the table because I wanted to keep Bobby single and ready to mingle. Death was off the table too, because my editor felt like we’d done enough with Bobby’s parents in the first two volumes. Upon looking at my own life, and considering the stuff me and my friends were dealing with, I landed on something a bit more reflective than LIFE or DEATH. I wanted to focus on that moment when a gay guy looks outside of himself and realizes the folks around him may not have it so easy. After everything we’ve been dealing with this summer, Iceman’s “big issue” of the arc feels oddly prescient. Bobby Drake had to reconcile his accidental complicit role in keeping the Morlocks down, and he has to investigate new approaches to being a better ally to those who don’t want to or can’t live under the protection of the X-Men. I used the Morlocks to allegorically speak to the issues that the trans/ NB community face today. Considering that trans folks are facing higher rates of homelessness and murder than other members of the LGBTQIA+ community, all I needed to do was find a perfect villain to treat the Morlocks as “lesser-than.” Cue Mister Sinister, who I wrote as particularly Darwinist with a major flair for interactive theater. While Amazing Friends definitely is the most fun I’ve had working on the book, it was also full of the heaviest shit I’ve written about. I’m so grateful that my editor let me use Emma Frost for a story about the trauma of gay conversion therapy with her brother Christian, but I’m still annoyed he wouldn’t let me put her in a sickening Givenchy outfit for her reveal. Similarly, creating the Madin character required that I chat with several mental healthcare professionals and members of the NB community to respectfully portray them as a resilient and fleshed out hero. I included personal lessons that I learned from years of the therapy (the sandcastle / sea image, a Jay Edidin fave moment). My editor and I weren’t always aligned, but we definitely were on each other’s side. He understood what I was trying to do and asked questions when something flew over his head, and he even had the good instincts to stop me from going too heavy handed with the ending. My original idea for the arc’s finale was to have Bobby become permanently scarred in his fight with Sinister, where he’d have a cool ice gash running across his face or something, a la Squall from Final Fantasy 8. The goal was to show Iceman stripping himself of his ability to pass as non-mutant to save the Morlocks, but the Mutant Pride fight scene being a stand-in for the Stonewall Riots kind of already made enough of a statement. Plus, no one in editorial wanted to deal with remembering to track his scar in other books. At first I tried to balk at his point of view, but when I looked over my original notes for the series, the point was to focus on optimism and hope. Giving Bobby a permanent scar and emphasizing the notion of sacrifice was too bleak a message for a series wherein the hero carbo-loads hoagies while riding an ice scooter and mutant drag queens emcee local festivals. Of course, the crowning achievement of the series… my mutant drag queen :) I’ve witnessed a lot when it comes to the world of pop culture and myth-making, and I 100% believe that you can’t plan the success of something. I’ve seen bands forced into breaking up because labels spend six figures failing at making listeners connect with an album. I witnessed firsthand how The Walking Dead was built from relatively humble beginnings as a buzzy cable drama into a literal international phenomenon over the course of its first three seasons. Everyone hopes for the best, but you never know how something will land with audiences. When the Shade character took off, I was truly astounded. Things I posted on Instagram while half-asleep became official quotes on major news sites. Queens and cosplayers were interpreting her like Margot Robbie had unveiled a new Harley Quinn lewk. The impact was so legit and immediate that we had to jump in and give Shade a proper Marvel hero alias, to truly welcome her into the X-Men canon. Hence the name change to Darkveil. (Funny story: I tried to fight hard for Madame X as an alias, but CB didn’t want another Agent X / “X-Name” character. Three months later, Madonna announced the Madame X album. Phew!) There was a time where I felt uncertain that the folks in charge at Marvel would bring Darkveil into any stories outside of the ones I wrote. My understanding was that Hickman was like the Cylons and had A Plan-- one that didn’t include her character. I made peace with my contribution to the Marvel Universe being contained, but then someone on social media pointed out that Darkveil showed up in an issue of Marvel Voices. After breaking down and reading Hickman’s House of X, I saw that his Plan was one of endless possibilities, and that he was moving EVERY character into new and dynamic places. I have hope now that he sees the possibilities with Darkveil, and takes advantage of her and all of her many body pouches. Amazing Friends really is my favorite thing I’ve done for the Big Two. I made a lifelong friend out of artist Nate Stockman (DC, please hire us for a Plasticman book), and I got to run a victory lap with the most encouraging and supportive readers out there. It was worth every dreadful conversation, every shitty thing a person said to me online, and all of the fun nonsense that goes into being creative for a living. Being stuck at home in quarantine has given me a lot of time to reflect on the gift that my career to date has been, and I feel so grateful to be where I am today. Other people may groan when they have to talk about something they’ve moved on from, but not me. I made people happier, I got to work with my favorite characters at Marvel, and and I'll say it again: it’s a frickin’ gift to make people move from your work. So, I will engage every tweet or message asking me my thoughts about who should play Bobby Drake in the Marvel Cinematic Universe… I’ll just never have a good answer.

[geekgirles]

Una rosa es una rosa

In all honesty, this one-shot is an excuse to describe an outfit I came up with for Poppy, but hey, it got me to write something, didn’t it? XD

Special thanks to my lovelies @foxlanaeshrek and @tipolover22. You guys rock! And because you do, this one-shot is set on the Rock!Branch AU.

Read on AO3

With the Skulls and Roses Ball fast approaching, Branch asks Poppy to go with him as his date. However, an unfortunate comment sets Poppy out to prove to her boyfriend she can be the last thing she expected she'd want to emulate: a Rock troll.

Ever since the different tribes of trolls had been reunited and agreed to coexist once again, many changes were made to Troll Village. It had been decided the home of the Pop trolls would take in the rest of the kingdoms, because it was the one that held the most chances for other trolls to make a home of their own, adapting the landscape to their particular needs. And it had the sweetest acoustics by far, too.

Now that all tribes lived together, the leaders had agreed on creating spaces where all trolls could enjoy each other’s company at the same time as any individual kingdom could gather to speak about issues that concerned their kind specifically.

One of such places being a grand pod, known as the Conference-pod, that was built the closest to the centre of the village as possible. It was of every hue that was once represented by the six strings that used to hold each realm’s music. The top was electric blue, representing the techno string; its bottom was a golden yellow, that of the classical string; rotating around the spacious place were purple swirls and warm orange rope-like shapes, symbolising the funk and country strings, respectively; and finally, in the very middle of the pod, where the entrance was, zig-zagged blood red shapes intertwined themselves with bright pink hearts and flowers, a reflection of the rock and pop strings.

Said pod served as a ballroom and an assembly room. In there the trolls would celebrate any party in need of an indoor space, as well as the leaders meet to discuss different ways of ensuring a better collaboration and coexistence between their people. Even so, the place served another purpose, any king or queen (mayor and conductor in the Country and Classical trolls’ case) could request to use the pod in order to hold a party or meeting exclusively for their kind.

Being that last purpose the reason why it was currently being occupied by the Rock trolls, Queen Barb currently addressing her subjects, “As you know, our annual Skulls and Roses Ball is in two days’ time. I doubt I need to remind you it’s our most, if not only, formal event.” She said as she looked at her people. “I’ve already asked Queen Poppy if we can use the pod for it and she gave me the green light, so dudes”, she leaned in closer from the podium she was standing, “we’ve got a lot to do!”

After a minute or two she gestured for her trolls to calm down after the uproar that came when she shared the news, “Captain Branch here will read you the memo. They’re all yours, Branch.”

“Thank you, your rockness,” he thanked her as he took the place she’d previously been in, “As the queen just explained, the Skulls and Roses Ball is a formal event. That means the requirements for it are: we must all look our best, we must bring plus ones with us ‒if somebody can’t bring a plus one, either because they’re in a poly or just can’t find anyone to go with; we must be informed ahead of time‒, and absolutely, under no circumstances must we trash the place. Did I make myself clear?”

He narrowed his eyes at the lack of response from his comrades and repeated himself, louder, “I said, are we clear?!” Immediately, a chorus of agreements and clapping hands came, satisfying him. “That will be all. Dismissed; we have much to do.”

As the Rock trolls retreated, Branch stayed behind to clean up the pod. In doing so, he was approached by the queen of rock, a knowing smirk placed on her lips, “So…,” she began playfully, “are you bringing Poppy as your date, Branch?”

“That is correct, my Queen,” he turned back to face her, then his expression became worried. “Why, is there a problem with my decision, your Rolling Highness?” Branch feared not being able to have Poppy accompany him to the ball. He was well aware his relationship with the pink queen ‒the pink queen of Pop, to be precise‒ was something unheard of, even from back when the trolls still lived together the first time. But he simply couldn’t take anybody else as his date to the event; she was his one and only and he would not accept anyone but her.

“No, no. It’s cool, dude”, the redhead replied, motioning with her hand to ease his concerns, “Popcorn is pretty hard-core once you get to know her.” She smirked at him, which he answered with a smirk of his own. It was true, Poppy could be a force to be reckoned with if pushed too far; outright terrifying. He loved her so much. “But,” that made him worried, “you should really let her know she can’t come in her usual pop fashion.” Barb was now looking at him, her expression serious. “This is a rock formal event, Branch, she must look the part.”

The Captain nodded, “I will make sure she knows, your rockness.”

After the Rock Queen took her leave Branch was sure to follow, he had to find Poppy.

..........................................................................................................................

Poppy could barely contain her excitement the moment her charming boyfriend handed her an invitation ‒scrapbooked by him, might I add‒ to invite her to an upcoming rock event as his date. That would be their first appearance as an official couple! She really wanted to sing as loudly as she could to express her excitement right now. But, figuring there were still things they had to talk about, she did the next best thing; she tackled Branch to the ground in a hug.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” She practically yelled, “Yes, Branch! Of course I’ll be your date!”

After allowing himself to relish the attention his beautiful ladylove was giving him, he reluctantly broke the hug, “Poppy, angel, there’s something I should tell you.”

She looked at him with a furrowed brow. Seriousness wasn’t really the mood she’d thought he’d be in after inviting her to a party. “Okay…,” she said, feeling a little uneasy, “What’s up?”

Branch took a deep breath, “You see, the Skulls and Roses Ball is a huge deal for us Rock trolls. It is literally the only day of the year where we are expected to behave and follow certain rules.” His nervous gaze found her confused one, her nodding head encouraging him to continue. “This is the first time ever a troll that worships a different type of music will be attending, so I need you to be in your best behaviour.”

Wording his thoughts like that had been a mistake, he could tell from the queen’s narrowing eyes. “What do you mean by ‘my best behaviour’?” she air-quoted.

“I need you to look and act like a poised, elegant rock troll.” He explained, hoping he didn’t screw up. “I know it’ll probably be difficult-“

“Why would it be difficult?” She cut him off, crossing her arms. She had a feeling she knew where he was going, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“W-well… Y-you k-know… Be-because…”, Ugh, how did she manage to make him lose his usual level head?! In twenty years nobody had ever managed to make him lose his level head!

Then again, he had never met anyone as unique, inspiring, and incredible as Poppy… Oh, Rock. He really did have it bad.

“No, Branch, I’m afraid I do not know. Please, enlighten me…” she challenged.

“W-well, because…” he averted his eyes from her as he uttered the words that were sure to cause him several nights away from his pink, sweetly scented Eden, “…you’re a Pop troll.”

At the confirmation of her suspicions, something stirred inside Poppy. The same kind of resolve that only awakened when her people had truly needed it. But this time it was mixed, once again, with the desire to prove herself… And a hint of smugness.

And so, with a new purpose, she slowly got closer to her tattooed beau, a fire in her pink irises that, hadn’t it been for the fact that he was now slightly disturbed by the heat of its fury, under any other circumstances the Captain of the Rock trolls would have found insanely hot. Without a warning, she quickly pecked him on the lips before whispering, “Challenge accepted.”

As the retreating form of the Pop Queen was finally far enough, Branch let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“…What was that about?”

..........................................................................................................................

Poppy had been pacing and ranting inside the Fashionistas’ pod-shop for twenty minutes. Any troll from another land would be at a loss at what to do with the agitated ball of pink fury, but the twins, having been close friends with the queen since childhood, knew just exactly what was troubling her.

“So Branch invited you to Rock troll party-“, Satin started.

“-But he doesn’t actually think you can pull it off?” Chenille finished.

“Yes!” Poppy threw her arms at her sides, exasperated with her boyfriend. “I can’t believe him! We’ve been together for months and he still doesn’t trust me when it comes to his people and their customs! Like, what gives?!”

The twins exchanged a look. As siblings that were literally bound to each other, they knew of unsaid things, hidden behind bickering, better than anyone. “Poppy, hon.” Satin called her as Chenille put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

When their friend was finally looking at them, the blue sister began to explain, “We don’t think Branch doesn’t trust you.”

“Really?” Poppy asked, incredulous.

“Really.” The pink twin assured her with a soft smile.

“Then why doesn’t he think I can actually behave like a ‘poised, elegant Rock troll’?” She rolled her eyes as she did a half-hearted impression of her boyfriend’s voice.

“It’s probably not that he doesn’t think you can’t behave like one of his kind-,” Chenille tried to reason.

“-But more like he’s trying to protect you from them.” Satin added.

“What?”

“You know how we trolls can be, Poppy”, Satin shrugged, “We get very defensive of the things we care about.”

“So Branch probably fears his people will give you a hard time if you don’t act like them on such a special occasion.” Chenille smiled at her, reassuringly.

The royal troll’s eyes widened. It all made so much more sense now! Of course her romantic, thoughtful, and caring boyfriend would never think anything but highly of her! He just had a hard time delivering harsh things gently due to his upbringing. Sometimes even to her. He’d explained himself before.

“I want to make things right.” She spoke up. “I want to make Branch see I can handle myself so he doesn’t worry to death for my sake.” Poppy suddenly felt very small under the amused smirks and knowing eyes of the twins. She knew they saw right through her… “And… I also want… to… make his jaw… drop… when he sees me.” She admitted quietly, a blush spreading over her already pink cheeks.

The Fashion Twins simply giggled. Those two were adorable!

“Luckily for you-,“ Satin began to speak.

“-We happen to have the perfect idea in mind for your outfit.” Chenille completed the sentence as she showed Poppy a very peculiar flower. A flower Poppy knew all too well but had never given much thought. After all, it wasn’t the kind of flower a Pop troll would have a soft spot for.

“A-are you sure?”

“Positive.” They answered in sync. “Besides, it sure is perfect if what you’re aiming for is something that helps you erase your pop vibes temporarily. It does symbolise death, hatred, farewells, and tragic romance… It’s sure to grant you the darker side that is so characteristic of Rock trolls, since it’s a stark contrast to your usual, well, you.”

Poppy didn’t know which twin had said it, but she didn’t care. She had the perfect chance to become a poised, elegant rock troll and she sure as Hair was going to use it.

.............................................................................................................................

Branch had been waiting anxiously at the entrance of the Conference-pod for the last ten minutes. Despite their disagreement, Poppy had sent him a card saying she’d be there at 7:00PM. And yet, it was already 7:10PM and she was nowhere in sight.

He couldn’t help but think back on their “argument”. Ugh, if only he’d been better at choosing his words! How he was simultaneously able to smooth talk his girlfriend until he swept her off her feet and speak to her with his foot in his mouth was beyond him! But alas, it was a power he had been both blessed and cursed with, apparently.

He was also feeling very curious regarding her outfit of choice. Even if he knew for a fact Pop trolls had their own formal events, a part of him still worried about his queen’s (the one by choice, not the one he’d sworn to serve because he was her Captain) choice.

He, himself, never really lost sleep when it came to his own clothing. He was dressed smartly; wearing a buttoned-up white shirt, a black tuxedo and a navy blue tie and waistband to match his dark hair, which was carefully combed back, giving him a refined presence. Even if his attire was appropriate for the occasion, his mind was still going back to Poppy’s.

Just what would she be wearing?

“Branch, over here!”

As he turned his head to the sound of his name, he could feel his eyes widening like saucers, his rocker heart skipping a beat, his jaw hanging right open... And he was pretty sure he’d stopped breathing, too.

It was so strange. The female in front of him looked so much like Poppy. Her skin was the same pink he’d compared to the sunset’s hue dozens of times. Her magenta eyes still sparkled with the same sense of wonder and excitement Poppy’s always reflected. Her glittery freckles shimmered when the light hit them just right… And yet, the troll before him looked nothing like his sweet, happy angel of morning.

The pink troll before him had a certain feeling of mystery and danger to her. Her beauty screamed enchantress, siren, goddess of the night! …Of course it was Poppy, Poppy always looked like a goddess! He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Her magenta hair was reminiscent of a bud that was yet to bloom, with both the strands at the top of her mane and framing her face shaped after two perfectly round spirals. But what really caught his eye, though, wasn’t the extra softness it seemed to radiate, but the single black streak that went across his mate’s silky locks. A black highlight he’d only ever seen once before; when she was (seemingly) turned into a Rock troll.

Glinting in the night almost as much as her rosy gaze, three silver earrings gave the pink troll a bit of a wilder look. Two of them adorning her right ear, and one on her left. The smoky eyeshadow she wore made her eyes resemble two magenta lights in a fog of mystery. A spiked choker covered her neck, forcing his mind to daydream with the thought of marking it with a love bite.

The masterpiece she was using as dress was black and strapless, it hugged her body perfectly; the bodice accentuating her curves in such a manner that it reminded him of a corset. And the skirt, the long, filmy skirt, had a cut on both sides of it; teasing Branch with the sight of Poppy’s long, perfect legs. From closer inspection, the unusually smooth texture of the dress reminded him of a flower’s petals, rather than fabric. And yet, its rose-like velvety feel gave it a quality no other silk could amount to achieve. It was almost as if Poppy had picked rose petals and woven them together to create such garment.

That’s when it clicked. The dress was inspired after a black rose.

What really sold the look, however, were the twin armlets she wore, alongside her headband. The bracelets, made out of obsidian, were crafted in the form of vines with thorns. And, in contrast to the Pop Queen’s usual style, the headband followed a simple design; a halo of silver decorated by three black roses.

He gulped.

From the corner of his eyes he could see Riff arriving with his own date. At the sight of his Captain, he subtly motioned to the corner of his mouth. Following the movement with his own hand he realised what the drummer was referring to, he discreetly wiped the drool falling out of his open mouth.

A triumphant grin made its way to Poppy’s lips. Judging by the look on her boyfriend’s face ‒and his jaw, which was barely avoiding touching the floor‒, she’d succeeded. She looked like a classy Rock troll. Still, even if it was just to tease him, she asked, “So? How do I look?”

Breaking out of his stupor, Branch lightly shook his head before speaking up, “Poppy you… Rock, I don’t know what to say!”

She giggled, “Tell me, do I look like the perfect Rock troll now?” She wanted to sound confident, but a part of her still feared not meeting her boyfriend’s expectations, making her direct her eyes to the floor, only looking up at Branch ever so slightly.

His heart sunk at the insecurity hidden behind her melodic voice, “Poppy,” gently grabbing her chin, he directed her eyes to his before continuing, “you’ll always be perfect for me.”

A soft smile appeared on her lips at the clever reference of the beautiful ballad Branch once serenaded her with to express the depth of his feelings for her. He truly had the soul of a poet.

He then offered her his arm, “Shall we, my lady?”

“Branch, before we go in, I wanted to tell you something.” She watched as he turned, fully facing her now with his icy blue peepers. She had his full attention. “I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows knotted in confusion, “You’re sorry? What are you sorry for, Pops? I’m the one who doubted you!”

“No, you didn’t.” She said with finality. “I now know you weren’t doubting my blending in with your people, you were worried they wouldn’t be pleased with my ensemble and give me a hard time for it.” She sighed. “You were just trying to protect me.”

She really did get it. Sometimes he wondered if this selfless creature could read him like an open book. As a matter of fact, that didn’t sound so bad. “Yes, you’re right. That’s what got me worried, but still, Poppy, I should’ve voiced it differently.” He let out a humourless chuckle, “Looking back, no wonder you thought I was underestimating you for being a Pop troll. So,” he shrugged after holding her hands, “I’m sorry too.”

After a minute of silence, he asked, “Does this mean the gates to Heaven won’t be closing on me?”

Poppy snorted at that, “No, they won’t. ‘Sides, it’s not like you don’t have the key to them anyways…” She replied in a sultry voice.

Smiling widely at each other, no more words needed to be said. So, instead, they just closed the distance with a soft kiss before settling in an embrace.

Poppy was the first to break the silence, “Branch, I love you. And it means so much to me that you worry about my wellbeing so much, really, it does; but I don’t want you to have a heart attack every single time I find myself in a difficult situation. I swear, I can take care of myself; I did save my people from the bergens, after all.” She winked at him.

The blue troll chuckled, “Yes, you do.” He then offered her his arm again, “Now, shall we join the others, my rose?”

She took it, “Well of course! But tell me, Branch, do you really think I’ll be fine at the ball?”

He gently kissed her nose, a stark contrast to the roughness he treated almost everyone else with, “Believe me, they’re fools if they can’t see you’re the most tender flower in the rose bush.”

[inkedtoast]

TF2 x Male!Reader (Chapter 2)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of weapons

When I come to, a large jolt causes me to hit my head against something cold and hard.

“OW, FUCK!”, It just slips out of my mouth. The moment it does, I clamp my hands over my mouth. I instantly realize I don’t know where I am, other than in the back of a moving van. A clinking noise emanates from my wrists as I move them around. I look down. Handcuffs. I have handcuffs on my wrists. A loud, metallic shhhff noise and a flash of bright light, and suddenly there’s a voice talking at me.

“Oh hey! Are you awake now?”, It’s the same voice as the person who… Who shot me with a damn tranquilizer! I squirm back as much as I can (not much, only a couple feet) and yell. My back hits a wall in the van with a soft thmp.

“You shot me!” I shout accusingly.

“With a tranquilizer! Don’t be a baby,” She points out. I see her hand wave as she talks. The van swerves a little.

“That doesn’t make it better!? In fact that makes it worse! You’ve shot, drugged, and kidnapped a grown man”

“That’s literally my job, kid. Kidnapping, maiming, hiding bodies, cleaning up messes… You name it. I get told what to do and I do it. Cut and dry.” By the tone of her voice, it sounds like she's been stuck doing that job for years. I realize with a startle that it’s possible she’ll be hiding my body…

“Uhhm… So.. Do I get to know whether I’ll be dying today? Or is that uh.. Classified or whatever?” I fiddle with my handcuffs as I ask, rotating my hands back and forth, then look up to see the side of her face is turned towards the little window that’s letting us talk. After a moment she turns away. Silence. Well, I don’t like that…. I see her moving to close the little window, but I don’t want her to.

“Wait!”, I say. She stops moving. “Uhh… Can I have some water? I don’t see my backpack in here. Oh shit, where’s my backpack? Is it back at the bar?” The lady starts laughing.

“You have an interesting list of priorities. You’re in a moving van, with a lady who shot you, and have no idea where in the fresh hell you’re going… And you’re worried about your backpack?”

“My water bottle is in my backpack..” I huff. The woman sighs at me.

“I’ve got it right here,” I hear her pat her hand against something and figure that it was my backpack. I feel a little relief. Then I feel alarm again.

“Wait, hang on, nothing in there is wet right? I have a phone and a sketchbook in there."

“Again, interesting priorities, kid…,” She opens and shuffles stuff around in my backpack. “It’s all good, nothing is wet. Anyway, here’s your water bottle,” She shoves it through the window to me, but due to it being made of metal, it clatters very loudly to the floor of the van. I wince at the sudden noise but manage to keep it from rolling away from me. After taking a very long drink from it, I settle against the wall of the van and sigh. Lovely… I’ve been kidnapped by some random lady, I have an awful headache, and I”ve got no idea if I’m gonna die or where I’m going. Although, it could be worse… I could have a gun held against my head right now, or be in the middle of being tortured.

I get lost in my thoughts for, apparently, quite a while because the next thing I know, I feel the van slowing and hear the woman shuffling around in the front. A few minutes later, the van gets really dark, like we’ve pulled into a garage or a tunnel. I can hear people talking outside and metal hitting metal. A door opens and closes, and then the door to the back of the van slides up, a burst of light blinding me while I get dragged out by someone. Once my eyes adjust, I see a couple people wearing different kinds of red uniforms along with the woman wearing a purple dress. The person who’s holding me, quite tightly, by my arm is a tall, lanky fella with shades and some kind of akubra hat. I look around and see where the noises of clanking metal are coming from. A stocky man is working on some kind of tech, soldering and hammering away at it. Another, very tall and bulky man is across the way cleaning a very heavy looking gun. Him and the other man with the hammer are passing comments at each other. The purple-wearing woman waves me and the tall guy holding my arm over.

“Where the hell am I now?” I ask her. She gives me a pointed look. She reaches for my hands and unlocks the handcuffs from my wrists.

“No more questions. Just.. Be quiet until I say you can talk,” She looks at a clipboard and walks away, the man pushing me along lightly. I want to protest and say I can walk by myself, but the kukuri at his side makes me think twice about that. We walk through several hallways until stopping in an area that looks almost like a hospital ward.

“Now, I’m gonna warn you, he can be pretty…. Odd. He also might try to put baboon uteruses in you, but we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it. Just sit still and don’t upset his birds,” With that, her and the man who was my temporary chaperone leave me there. I look around, very, extremely confused before a set of doors crash open.

“Ahhhh! There you are, hello! I’ve been expecting you!” A tall, and actually kinda attractive, man with a heavy German accent rushes out to greet me. He’s fairly tall, with dark, short semi-slicked back hair, round glasses and is dressed in a large white coat with dark trousers. A red and yellow symbol of a medical cross are embroidered on both shoulders.

“Uh--,” I open my mouth to speak, but the man shushes me.

“Ah ah, first things first,” He has a slightly crazed look in his eye. “Your examination!”

Next thing I know I’m seated on a red cot with several machines hooked up to various limbs. Different beeps fill the otherwise empty ward as the man, who seems to be a doctor, keeps an eye on the machines. I catch him looking at me with curiosity a few times. My face burns when at one point he smiles at me. I may have been kidnapped and then unwillingly hooked up to machines, but I will not deny that this guy is cute… Wait, what the fuck. What’s wrong with me? I have been kidnapped. I should be scared out of mind!

I start thinking about how no one has actually harmed me. Well.. Aside from the tranquilizer. But still. I was allowed water, I didn’t have a gun to my head and I wasn’t beaten up or tortured. Maybe these people don’t have it after me.

I feel a gloved hand on my face and realize the doctor was trying to get my attention. His face is extremely close to mine and I bat him away with my hands.

“Ah! Don’t get that close without buying me drink first,” I joke. The man apologizes and removes his hand, but still maintains the same distance. I hear some odd cooing noises and look up to see a line of doves perched on a rail. That’s kinda unsanitary…

After a few minutes of checking my vitals, and prodding around in seemingly unnecessary places, the doctor stepped back and clapped his hands.

“I am perfectly happy to say you are in good shape! Perhaps a bit overweight but.. Otherwise, you are a fine and functioning specimen of a human male!” He puts away some items and sets down a clipboard on which he was scribbling notes on this whole time. I get up and walk towards the doors before stopping.

“Uhh, hey, what’s your name? You never said,” I ask. The doctor looks at me, his eyes darkening for a split second.

“Here we have no names. We have buried them, for we have no use of them. We simply use the name of our class. In my case I am the medic, so you will call me Medic,” He promptly picks up a few jars full of… organs and walks away, “Have a good evening!”

I stand there, a tad bewildered, before heading out of the ward. I wander the hallways for a while before hearing the sounds of people talking. I follow the carrying voices until I find myself in what appears to be a kitchen-dining room area. There are several people spread across the room in chairs. All of them are wearing different red-themed uniforms, just like the people I saw when I first got here. They stop talking once they notice me. A beat of silence passes as I shuffle on my feet awkwardly before opening my mouth.

“Uh, hi…? Who the hell are all of you?”

[doberbutts]

This is something that’s just been pinging around in my head as I continue to focus all my energy into keeping a certain chihuahua puppy alive, that’s been bothering me but I haven’t had a chance to actually put into words.

And that’s how it really, really bugs me how hypocritical and up-their-own-ass some rescues and the “adopt don’t shop” crowd can be.

As many of you guys are aware, my whole life I have been dedicated to rescue. I helped my vet run a feral cat rescue for years, personally finding, catching, and retrieving cats from all manner of situations even before I was 15. My very first dog training apprenticeship was with a shar pei rescue to help rehabilitate some of their tougher cases. I ran fundraisers and gathered donations for the local shelter in my hometown, even was part of the process to turn it from a “kill” shelter to a “no kill” shelter. I adopted many animals from them in the past, encouraged my friends and family to do the same. I’ve done transportation runs and overnight stays with doberman rescues, I’m part of a drive with another city’s animal control to provide insulated dog houses to outdoor dogs in this very cold climate, I knock my work donations out of the park when it comes to our rescue partners and their fundraisers. Most of my clients are rescue dogs. Even my first doberman was a rescue. Even my new chihuahua is a rescue.

So you can’t say I haven’t done anything to try and solve the rescue problem.

Additionally I’m a home with a fenced yard, a lot of dog experience, only adults in the house, we all work rotating schedules so someone is always home with the dogs, fantastic relationship with the vet, everyone’s vaccinated, several of us are working professionals in the dog world itself, we train and groom our dogs, our neighbors have nothing but good things to say about our dogs, many of the dogs here are titled in some venue, none of our dogs are obese or absolute brats, many of the dogs go to work with us meaning they’re not even being left alone in the house on the off chance no one’s home that day, and we all have fantastic references regarding the quality of care we provide our dogs. We research everything from food to training methods to the kind of material our collars are made out of.

Sounds like a good, responsible home, right?

Except roughly two months ago when I was putting out feelers to adopt a chihuahua, I was denied because these things cancel all the rest out:

Intact (non-breeding) (male) dogs in the house (when trying to rescue a neutered male)

Rental (despite the fact that we own dogs and our landlord gives zero shits)

Big dogs in the house (despite the fact that there are also little dogs)

Dog allergies in the house (everyone is allergic to dogs and everyone also owns dogs and manages their allergies with meds)

We’re young and might want children and then what will happen to the dog? (literally, that was a reason I was given. I’m almost 30 and my current partner who’s the same age knows I absolutely refuse to have biological children or to raise an infant, two roommates are similarly child-free by choice, and two roommates literally can’t have children so...)

Young people don’t have good jobs and so can’t afford vet bills (*hard staring at Tiki’s $1k in vet bills and growing* *hard staring at the $1.5k I spent in a single weekend when Creed decided to go anaphylactic from a bee sting* *hard staring at the $7k spent to save a beloved family dog from bloat and then she died from complications anyway*)

Being the person that I am, I check petfinder regularly to tell clients about dogs if they mention they’re looking to add another to their household, and almost every single one of the dogs I was denied adoption are still in rescue. One was adopted.

Not to mention these dogs are $5-700 and are imported from southern states and out of country which does make me a little peeved that these particular rescues are also harping on about pet overpopulation when clearly there’s not that big of a problem here or else they’d source their dogs locally.

There were some rescues willing to adopt to me, but simply didn’t have dogs that would be a good fit (and one that adopted out a dog I wanted but I was last in line for so w/e). This is not a condemnation of all rescues for sure. But it’s sad to see these rescue ads begging people to adopt these dogs, and then have those same rescues turning away good adopters because of a frankly bullshit list of criteria.

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (22/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Everyone take a moment to check out the INCREDIBLE drawing that @carpedzem​ did that was inspired by this story. It can be found | Here | and deserves all of the likes and reblogs for bringing the Killian in this story to life! 

Have a good weekend! ❤️

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ @youraverageshipper​

-/-

“You haven’t updated your Instagram account in weeks.”

Ariel says this as they sit in the hotel restaurant with their plates full of salad, grilled chicken, and rice. Killian’s been eating like shit lately, and as good as it feels in the moment, he can tell that it affects him and the way that he functions on a daily basis. So he’s been eating the same thing for every meal for the past week, but since they’re on the road where he doesn’t have constant access to a fridge and stove, he’s had to get a little creative in obtaining his food. Ariel is pretty much an expert at finding whatever it is that he wants when he wants it, and he cannot thank her enough for it.

Stabbing a piece of chicken, Killian lifts his fork to his mouth and takes a bite while he taps his passcode into his phone to see if Ariel’s statement is actually true. He really wouldn’t know, but it looks like he has several photos from the last few weeks on there.

“You can very clearly see all of these photos, A. Why are you so big on my social media presence lately?”

“These are all professional  photos,” Ariel sighs, an emphasis on professional, and she pushes his phone back toward him. “You need more personal photos. You look like a baseball player.”

“I am a baseball player.”

She waves him away. “You know what I mean.”

Killian arches a brow and scoops up some of his rice. “I really don’t, love.”

Ariel rolls his eyes, and he settles a little further in his booth, his eyes glancing around to the people sitting around them in the restaurant. It’s not very crowded, just a few people here and there, but that’s par for the course considering it’s tentwo in the morningafternoon on a Wednesday. Not a lot of people are chilling in a hotel restaurant in Boston when there are approximately fifty-two other things they could be doing within a five-foot radius. And that’s only the tourists.

And he’s pretty sure that everyone in here can hear his conversation, is probably judging them for the particular subject of it, but he knows that no one cares.

He certainly doesn’t, but if A cares, he should for her.

“People like a little personality,” Ariel explains, ripping up a bit of her napkin. “I know we’ve talked about this before, Killian. You’ve got to show a little personality outside of baseball. I’m not saying put your diary on there, but post a picture with someone outside of baseball.” “Literally, everyone in my life is involved in baseball in some way.”

“Okay, true,” Ariel laughs. “It’s the same for me, so I get it. Still, though, think about it.”

Killian hums noncommittedly, pushing his rice around before looking up at Ariel and wondering why the hell she’s looking at him like she’s holding all of the secrets of the world in that mind of hers.

“Did you really ask to meet me because we needed to talk about my Instagram feed?”

“I mean, obviously not,” she huffs. “I had a few work things to talk about with you, but I’ve also missed you. I feel like it’s been so long since we all spent time together with you guys not in uniform. It’s got to have been months, and I miss it.”

His heart swells and breaks all at once while his head tilts to the side to look at Ariel, eyes glancing up and down over her as he studies her. “You okay, A?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Ariel.”

“Killian.”

“Ariel, I am here to talk if you’re upset about something, and, literally, say the word and I will get all of us together to do something. We’re here for five days before we’re back in New York for a week. I know we’re in the crazy part of the season where it feels like we can’t breathe, but I promise there’s time for us all to spend time together.”

Her eyes glance down at her food, and she swishes her water around in the glass before taking a long, slow sip that he knows is to take up time.

“I really am fine,” she promises. “I’m just a little stressed with it all, and I feel like I need some time with all of you guys and Belle and, um, Emma too. I’m trying to make contract negotiations for Eric, which has involved us talking about a lot of future stuff that I wasn’t quite ready to talk about yet.”

“Babies?”

“Ding, ding, ding,” she laughs, even if it’s kind of pathetic. “I mean, I want kids. I do. I want them with Eric especially.”

“Well, I’d be a little concerned if you didn’t want them with your husband.”

She flicks a piece of lettuce at him. “Shut up.”

“Never.”

“Why do I love you?”

“I literally have no idea,” Killian teases, reaching over the table to grab Ariel’s hand so that he can squeeze it to reassure her. “Go on, A. I’m listening.”

“I just – it’s hard, you know? Obviously, Eric and I are financially secure right now, but you can’t plan life when that’s exactly what we’re trying to do. Because what happens if Eric gets traded somewhere else? We have to uproot everything, and having kids will complicate that. And we have to have a plan for Eric after he retires. Like, I have a pretty nice job because of all of you, but he’s going to need to have something to do. It’s just…it’s a lot on my plate when I’m already balancing so much. I mean, haven’t you thought about all of that?”

Damn.

Like, damn.

No, he hasn’t thought of any of that. Not at all. Well, that’s a lie, but it’s a small lie, a white one really. When he was out after the accident, his future was always on his mind, but it was never any concrete thoughts. It was always depressing ones about him never being able to play again, about him having no discernable skills outside of a sport, and about him wondering if he was going to fall into women and bars once more simply because things weren’t going his way. It was never a concrete answer about what he’s legitimately going to do after baseball. Money isn’t really his concern as long as he handles it all correctly, but how will he spend his days? What will he be passionate about?

Is Emma going to be by his side through all of it?

Woah.

Okay.

That’s not at all where he thought his mind was headed, but his brain apparently had a much different roadmap than he thought. Killian loves Emma, undoubtedly, and he does want his future to involve her, but it’s like Ariel said…they can’t plan life.

And he doesn’t know what Emma’s plans are.

Realistically, too, Killian isn’t exactly sure what he wants out of life, and he already knows that he most likely won’t have a career as long as a lot of other guys in the league. They haven’t had broken arms and rotator cuff tears that still bother him like he has.

Fuck.

This is not how his morning is supposed to be going, and the way that his heart is hammering in his chest is far worse now than it will ever be when he gets out on the mound tonight.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Killian squeezes Ariel’s hand again. “It’s hard to think about, A, but you guys will figure it out. I don’t think life can ever really be planned. I sure as hell have planned none of mine, and if I didn’t have you, I think it’d be a much bigger mess.”

Ariel’s cheeks flame up to be the same color of her hair, but she smiles at him anyways. “You’re right. You would be a mess without me and everyone else. I am the glue that holds you together.”

“You and a couple other people which means you are all very weak glue to need that many people to hold me together or I’m just that resistant.”

“The second option.”

“You’re going to be okay, A. You and Eric are solid. And if or when you do have that baby, no matter what city you’re in, I’m going to be there to be that kid’s favorite person in the world.”

“Please,” Ariel laughs even as water fills her eyes, “no one could ever compare to me. I’m definitely going to be my kid’s favorite person.”

“Whatever you have to say to make yourself sleep at night.”

-/-

Killian gets booed when he steps out onto the field, and he can’t imagine a more fitting welcome in Boston since that is what usually happens.

But then it continues past that first moment.

And he very much deserves it for how he’s pitching, though that booing is probably from the Yankees fans and not Boston natives. His arm is stiff, a bit of pain running through it, and he’s too stubborn to ask to be relieved early or to admit that he’s in pain. He tries to convince himself that it’s all exaggerated, that he’s simply been in a negative headspace all day since eating lunch with Ariel and all of the heaviness that was in that conversation, but he knows that it’s not exaggerated. Killian knows that his shoulder is bothering him, his mind is bothering him, and nothing is going to get him out of this foul mood.

Especially not when Al pulls him after the third inning once again and yells at him to get his shit together. Will does too, and even if it’s in his joking tone, Killian doesn’t take it that way. He doesn’t take any of it as a joke.

Who the hell cares about what he’s going to do after baseball if he can’t even figure out what he’s doing right now?

And in all of his anger, in all of his frustration at himself and at his team, the thing he hates himself for the most is brushing off Emma when she asks for an interview. He mutters a no under his breath and keeps walking down the hallway back to the locker room so that he can take a shower and get a massage.

She’s the woman who he loves more than anything or anyone else, which he didn’t even realize until right now, and he just blew her off when she was simply trying to do her job.

He’s such an asshole.

They lose 3-17.

-/-

Elsa: Are you okay?

Elsa: Killian.

Elsa: I know you’ve checked your phone. The game ended three hours ago. Five hours ago for you.

Elsa: I’m going to start calling you and won’t stop if you don’t text me back within the next five minutes.

Killian sighs and rolls over on his hotel mattress, phone still in hand, and sends Elsa a text back because he really does not want to talk on the phone right now.

Killian: Yes, Els?

He expects the bubbles to pop up to tell him that she’s texting back, but they don’t. Instead her face pops up, a picture of she and the girls from Christmas last year, and he wonders if she was ever not going to call him. The answer is most definitely no since he’s been ignoring her – and everyone else – all evening. Eventually someone was going to call him out on his shit.

Sighing again, he hits answer and presses the speaker button as Elsa’s voice comes through the phone.

“Why are you ignoring everyone?”

“I’m talking to you.”

“Only because I just promised to harass you until you did. Seriously, Killian. Your brother and I have been calling you all afternoon, and you’ve ignored us. And when I texted Emma, she said that you were ignoring her too.”

“Bloody hell,” Killian grumbles aloud, sitting up in bed and moving his arm so that he’s not pressing down on it so as to agitate it more. “You texted Emma?”

“Um, yeah?” Elsa questions, the hesitation obvious in her voice. “She’s your girlfriend. She was at the game. I kind of figured she was with you, but apparently the two of you haven’t talked either. What the hell is wrong with you that you’re not even talking to Emma?”

Well, he’s an asshole for one. He’s also never told Emma about his shoulder injury and the full extent of the accident. He doesn’t want to. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, but he doesn’t want Emma to know about it. Not now. As irrational as he knows that it is, she might think less of him. And maybe just maybe, if he doesn’t tell more people, the problem will somehow go away.

This is all becoming more irrational by the second, but it’s fine. Everything is going to be fine. That was such a dark place in his life, one he doesn’t want to keep repeating and reliving even if Emma already knows parts of it, and he has no idea how he’d even talk to her right now since she’s very obviously, and rightfully so, pissed at him.

It’s all so easy to mess everything up in the blink of an eye.

“She’s likely pissed at me since I brushed her off for an interview. I didn’t even say hi or smile at her or find her afterwards. So, I didn’t text her, and she hasn’t texted me. I don’t know…she’s upset with me, right?”

“She’s concerned about you,” Elsa breathes out, and from the lack of noise around her, Killian imagines that she must have locked herself in the study so that no one bothers her. “Killian, Emma loves you. Anyone with eyes can see that, and you guys are a team. Granted, you’re a brand new team, but you’re a team. You have to work together and share stuff like this.”

“I know that, Els.”

“Then why isn’t she with you right now?”

“Because my shoulder feels like shit today, and she doesn’t know anything about the accident besides the broken bone.”

Silence fills the air around him after he says the words, and it’s exacerbated by the fact that Elsa isn’t saying anything on the other line. The only sounds are the sounds of his television playing some kind of celebrity gossip show. How out of touch is he if he doesn’t even know the name of the show?

Why would it even matter to him?

“Killian,” Elsa whispers, and he’s so damn tired of hearing people say his name in sympathy today, “you haven’t told her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t told anyone else, Els. Eight people on this earth know about it, and I don’t even know how I would tell her. I don’t want her to look at me out of pity. I don’t…my life has had some pretty shitty periods, and that was one of them. Emma didn’t honestly know me then. She didn’t know how fucked up that I was, and even if I’ve told her about Milah and all of the women after Milah and – I’ve told her a lot, and at some point, she’s going to flip out on how messed up I am.”

“First of all,” she starts, not even allowing him to take a breath or truly think about everything that he just said, “you are not messed up. You, even with all of your privileges now, have had some really hard times in your life. You lost your mom at a really young age and had a pretty shitty dad who took advantage of you and your talents. And then you had a really big love kind of blow up in your face, as well as everything that came after that, and just as you were getting over that, the accident happened.”

“It’s even more depressing if you say it all in a list like that.”

“But,” Elsa continues, “you got through all of that. Are you still struggling with it? Absolutely. But it hasn’t kept you from continuing to live your dream even though things are frustrating. It hasn’t kept you from finding a really great girl in Emma. You’re okay, you know that? And we all love you so much that I don’t think I can even express it with words.”

Killian smiles to himself and twists in his bed, a bit of water coating his eyes, but he blinks the tears away and runs his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath. “I love you guys too.”

“Good. Now text your girlfriend and think about telling her some of this stuff that you’re carrying around on your shoulders.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“A little.”

“You have no shame.”

“I know. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Will do.���

The line goes silent, for real this time, and Killian slams his eyes shut simply so he can have a moment to breathe. Today has been a lot for him, and he knows that Elsa is right about everything. He does. But he’s not quite ready to be that open with Emma. He will be. He does actually want her to know about everything even if he thinks it’ll make her run for the hills, but he’s not ready. And he tells himself that it’s fine. Emma has her own hang-ups, her own past, and not everything has to be shared right away.

They have time.

And his arm may very well start feeling better soon, and his freak out will all be for naught.

Killian: Can I come up to your room?

Emma: Ruby and Graham are in here.

Killian: I don’t care if you don’t.

Emma: 514.

Rolling off the bed, Killian bends down to his suitcase to grab a shirt, not caring which one, and tugs it down on over his head and shoulders before grabbing his phone and wallet to walk up to Emma’s room. He’s not even wearing any shoes, just socks, but he doesn’t notice this until he’s looking around the hallway to make sure no one is around and then quietly knocking on the door.

Graham opens it, a smile on his face, and for some reason it makes Killian think that maybe Emma isn’t as pissed at him as his mind has convinced himself that she is.

“Hey, come on in,” Graham says, opening the door a little wider and letting Killian inside. “I’m sorry about the game.”

“I’m sorry that you used vacation days to see us all play like shit.”

“Yeah, well,” Graham laughs, “at least I’m not at work.”

“This is true.”

Killian takes another step in the room and sees Emma sitting on her bed dressed in a pair of shorts and his old Vandy sweatshirt. He’s going to have to get something else because she’s going to wear that thing until it is nothing but threads. Ruby is sitting next to her, laptops on both of their laps, and he imagines that they’re simply working. Or, at least, he hopes.

“Hey,” Killian greets, crossing his arms over his chest.

Emma looks up at him, a slight smile on her face, and his chest practically heaves. They’re not even in a fight. Why does he feel like they are?

“Hey,” she says. “I’ve got to finish up this article, okay? And I have a little bit of prep work to do for tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Swan, that’s fine.”

“It’s only going to take her thirty minutes,” Ruby starts, slamming her laptop shut, “and then she’s going to yell at you for how pissed she is at you for completely ignoring her today.”

“Hey,” Emma gasps, reaching her hand back to slap Ruby, “you weren’t supposed to say anything.”

“Well, I knew you weren’t going to.”

“I was.”

“You’re a liar.”

“I was going to talk to him.”

“No, no you weren’t. You two are ridiculous. It’s not that hard to talk to each other.”

“Sweetheart,” Graham sighs, tilting his head to the side, “why don’t you let them deal with their issues on their own? I think they can handle it.”

“You know Emma almost as well as I do, so you know that’s not true.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans, sinking down further on the bed, “this is why I should have left the two of you in New York.”

“Technically,” Ruby laughs, “David sent me because this is a big game, and he didn’t want you to produce on your own.”

“Yeah, well, I should have convinced him to let you stay, and then we definitely could have left Graham behind.”

“Hey,” Graham scoffs, and Kilian can’t help but laugh. He’s only spent a little bit of time with the three of them all together, but they obviously get along great. Ruby is definitely an acquired taste, but Graham kind of evens things out. “I am on vacation. I don’t need to be berated.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma huffs, rubbing the palms of her heels under her eyes. “I’m just a little stressed.”

“Do you want me to go get you a cup of coffee, love?”

Emma glances over to him and shakes her head from side to side. “No. I’ve had enough caffeine today. Thank you, though.”

Silence falls between all of them, only the hum of the air-conditioning remaining, but Killian’s gaze stays on Emma even when she goes back to typing on her laptop.

“Ruby, let’s go out to dinner,” Graham suggests, walking over to the bed and beginning to pack up her stuff. “We’ll all have to do something together tomorrow night, yeah?”

“That sounds great, Graham,” Emma promises. “There’s a seafood place down by the harbor that I want to go to.”

Killian watches as Ruby and Graham collect their things and leave, saying their goodbyes to both he and Emma, and it’s not awkward until the hotel door slams shut behind them and he’s left with just Emma.

When was the last time he felt awkward around Emma?

Probably during his interview back in March. That was a lifetime ago.

“I had a shitty day,” Killian blurts out, walking over to the desk that’s next to Emma’s bed and sitting down on the edge of it so that he’s not talking to her from across the room. “That’s not an excuse. God, love,” he huffs, running his hands through his hair, “I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s mine. I’m sorry that I brushed you off, that I barely acknowledged you at the stadium, and that I didn’t text you while I’m here.”

Emma’s nails clack against the keyboard, and he swears every letter is being burned into his skin for how anxious he feels until she’s closing her laptop and placing it next to her on the bed, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“Why have you had a shitty day? Just because you played poorly? Because I’ve seen you play poorly before, and it’s never resulted in you ignoring me while I’m trying to do my job. I get that reporters suck and that you have to talk to a million of them. And I don’t expect special treatment because I’m your girlfriend, but you can’t just brush me off like that and then basically be a ghost for hours after that. I mean, you weren’t even answering your family’s calls, Killian.”

How is he a functioning human being? How? How does he even have people who love him?

Killian’s got answers to all of her questions, to every single one, but he doesn’t know how to say them without talking about his arm and that’s…that’s not going to happen today when he needs more time to accept it all himself.

Emma will understand. When the time comes, she will.

“I’m an asshole, Swan. I am. I know you probably think I’m great with expressing my emotions because I usually am with you, but sometimes I still struggle with it. I had a day where nothing seemed to go right, and instead of seeking out the help of people who care about me, I isolated myself. It’s not right. I know it’s not, but it’s a pattern that I fall back into time and time again.”

Green eyes glance over him, studying him, and he feels her everywhere, like she’s able to peer deep into his soul and see all of the things he’s hiding from her.

Or the one thing.

It’s just one thing

And it can’t be that big of a deal. It’s not. He’ll tell her. Later. Tonight is not the right time.

“You’re not an asshole,” Emma sighs, flattening her lips. “I know I call you an ass all of the time, but I don’t mean it. I just – you had a bad day. I get that. I have bad days all the time, but, and at least I think I’m right about this even though Neal and Walsh never did this with me, when you have a shitty day, you’re supposed to share it with me, come to me, lean on me. If you need time to yourself, fine. Take it. That’s probably a good thing, but I don’t want to do this if every time things don’t go your way I’m pushed away.”

“Did you rehearse that?”

“Does it sound like it?”

“A little bit,” Killian chuckles as he scratches behind his ear. “If only because everything you just told me not to do is everything that I know you have a history of doing.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a hypocrite.” Emma lets her legs fall against the mattress before standing up and stepping into his space so that she’s standing between his thighs with her hands on his shoulders, nails curling into his t-shirt. “Obviously, we both have our own issues, but let’s try to be better, yeah? And if all else fails when it comes to talking, I’m a really good person to eat junk food with and possibly get a little drunk even if those are terrible coping mechanisms.”

He huffs, his hands finding her hips so that he can tug her closer. “I’m on a diet, actually.”

Emma’s nose scrunches up in that way that he loves before she’s dipping her head down and softly, thoroughly moving her lips over his in the way that he’s been craving all day. He hasn’t seen her  today, only those few seconds after he got pulled out of the game, and he had no idea just how much he missed being able to feel her against him, to be able to smell the scent of her shampoo, until right at this moment.

“I know,” she says when they pull back from each other even if he doesn’t let his grip on her hips go. “We’ve been eating like crap lately.”

“I’m trying to rectify that. I know you are too.”

“Actually, Ruby and I signed up for another Pilates class at home, so I’ve been working my ass off to still eat my onion rings. Literally.”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Killian moves his hand back to squeeze her ass, reveling in the way that Emma rolls her eyes. “I like this ass too much.”

“Well, consider it some kind of punishment for being a broody ass today if my butt happens to get smaller.” She smiles at him before kissing his forehead in a move so gentle that he wonders how in the world this woman has so many wonderful facets. “Now, do me a favor and find something to watch while I finish up my assignment, okay? I have to talk about everything you guys did wrong today.”

“Just punch me in the gut why don’t you.”

“I try. C’mon, twenty-nine. I think we both deserve a relaxing night.”

“Yeah, Swan, me too.”

They don’t get drunk and eat junk food, but once Emma finishes her work a little under twenty minutes later, she turns her laptop off as well as turning off the hotel room lights, and crawls under the covers with him so that her feet are tucked into his calves. Killian loves that she does that, that she feels comfortable doing that, and it brings him comfort even if her feet are far too cold. Seriously, it’s like she sticks them in the freezer before she gets in bed.

As if that would be possible.

Emma absentmindedly playing with his chain and his mother’s ring is something he’s also grown used to recently, something that brings him peace, and Killian continues to trace words of affection into the skin of her back as the night goes on. They don’t talk much, just a few exchanges of words about Emma’s day, her plans and schedule for tomorrow, and she drags just that little bit more information out of him. It’s still not everything, was never going to be everything, but it’s a start.

And his shoulder doesn’t bother him nearly as badly when Emma is sitting beneath it with her head on his chest laughing at his truly terrible Arnold Schwarzenegger impression. He’s usually much better with accents, but this one is apparently too much for Emma to handle.

Weirdly, though, or maybe not so much, all of his concerns that sparked after his conversation with Ariel this afternoon fade away with each passing second. Killian’s got no clue what’s going to happen or if things are going to work out, but at the end of the day, all he wants is for Emma to laugh with him and kiss his collarbone before she falls asleep.

[coll2mitts]

#88 Tommy (1975)

The Who’s well-loved 1969 rock opera album Tommy has been adapted for the screen, and is almost the furthest thing from a feel-good picture that you can get.  Who knew that the sound of childhood trauma could be so goddamn catchy?

When I was a young girl, my father would play the album Tommy, he really liked the band.  Tommy was one of those albums I played on repeat when I was elementary school-aged.  My dad had copied the album to a cassette, and me and my yellow Walkman would head to the bus stop every morning blasting “The Acid Queen”.  I’ve mentioned before I was an obnoxious kid, and one memory that has unfortunately stuck with me for like 25 years is this guy on the bus asking my sister to tell me to stop singing out loud to “Pinball Wizard” because it was annoying.  I sunk into my seat as if he had punched me straight in the gut.

Being young, my understanding of the plot was pretty basic, and oh boy, the movie translation of this was um... I was not prepared for the ride I had boarded.   Even as someone who is unbelievably familiar with the source material, this was a rough watch.

Tommy begins during World War 2, and England is getting bombed by Nazis.  Tommy’s mom and dad are on their honeymoon, and when they return, Tommy’s father is sent off to war and is presumably killed in action.  Tommy is born on V.E. Day and never knows his biological father.  His mother (Ann-Margret) hooks up with a dude she met on vacation, Uncle Frank, and when Tommy’s father returns unannounced 6 years later, her lover kills him by hitting him with a lamp.  Dude lived through a plane crash, and its the bedside lamp that finally gets him.  Tommy witnesses the murder, and Uncle Frank and his mom plead with him not to tell anybody.  The trauma of this event triggers psychosomatic deafness and blindness in Tommy.  His parents are understandably concerned about him, even though they are the whole reason this happened in the first place.

His mom is weirdly fixated with his salvation, and takes Tommy to church to see if a supremely uncharismatic Eric Clapton and statue of Marilyn Monroe can heal him.  The congregation, in a very classy move that is not at all disparaging to Marilyn Monroe’s legacy, downs alcohol and prescription medication as communion.  The healing goes about as well as expected.

After this, his Uncle Frank takes Tommy to a prostitute, who drugs and presumably rapes him, thinking it might snap him out of it.  When that doesn’t work, his parents then leave him with one babysitter that beats and tortures him, and another that sexually molests him, so... fun times.  My notes perfectly illustrate how glad I was to watch this series of events unfold.

Realizing Tommy can entertain himself just by looking in a mirror, his parents get loaded on the couch, leaving him alone to wander out of the house.  He stumbles upon a pinball machine in a junkyard.  His parents discover he’s really fucking good at it, and introduce him into the very financially lucrative world of pinball competitions.

My favorite scene in this movie is watching Elton John play a keyboard attached to a pinball machine while wearing the largest shoes I’ve ever seen on a human.  They hinder his movement so much he can only point with his left arm over and over again to show his enthusiasm.  When Tommy wins the Pinball championship, a pack of Waldos haul away Elton’s defeated body.

Now that Tommy’s family is rolling in dough, his parents buy a mansion and a yacht, and Ann-Margret tries to bury her guilt surrounding Tommy’s condition through retail therapy, and literally smothering her grief with chocolate pudding.

I swear to god, Ann-Margret is the only person who actually knew what kind of movie she was filming.  She’s crazed, dramatic, and her voice is so fucking awesome (unlike some of the other actors they cast...).  Still, the disservice of making her swim in a sea of baked beans... which, FUN FACT: sent her into the ER because part of the broken champagne bottle rocketed out of the television when they were pelting bubbles at her and cut her hand large enough that she needed 27 stitches to close it.  She came back to film the next day because she is a fucking queen.

Tommy’s parents take him to Jack Nicholson putting on an haughty accent to see if he can fix Tommy, and all he succeeds in doing is putting the moves on Ann-Margret.  She takes Tommy back to the house and dances him into the mirror, which sets him free to swim and run shirtless across the country without shoes on.

It’s around this point of the movie that I realize Ann-Margret and I have *a thing* for young Roger Daltrey, and I don’t know what to do with this knowledge.

Seriously, she’s only like 3 years older than him and she’s supposed to be playing his mother.  The film industry is so fucked up.

Tommy tells his mother than she needs to relinquish all her material possessions, baptizes her in the ocean, and forms his own pinball-based religion.  His followers treat him like a messiah, looking for him to provide the path to salvation.  He invites them onto his compound, puts his child molester Uncle Ernie in charge of a bunch of children, and Uncle Frank in charge of recruitment and merchandising. 

His campers are fairly pissed they’re being milked for every dime they have, but Tommy is all, “I haven’t handed out my syllabus yet, wait until you hear what the curriculum is going to be!”  When they discover it’s about turning off all distractions and only playing pinball, his congregation are all like, “Fuck that!” and riot, murdering both of Tommy’s parents.  Now that his oppressors are dead, Tommy is truly free.  He runs through literal fire, jumps into a lake in jeans, and climbs a slippery waterfall AND a mountain in bare feet, making me wonder what kind of insurance they had on this picture that they allowed Roger Daltrey to do all of that and hang glide into a sea of bikers. The 1970s were an unencumbered time.

I watched several interviews with Peter Townshend to understand where the idea of this rock opera came about, and holy shit, this story is just based in his own traumatic childhood experiences.  From his perspective, after WW2, the people in England who had lived with the constant fear of sudden death internalized all of their associated trauma.  They had children they weren’t emotionally equip to parent, leaving them to be vulnerable to people who wanted to exploit them.

Tommy’s constant plea in the movie was to be seen and heard by those who were supposed to protect and care for him, only for them to be ignorant to the affect their negligence was having on him.  Tommy tries to save other broken people who need to feel safe, only for them to revolt, take the only family he’s ever known away from him, and abandon him.  This is an unbelievably depressing movie, and the fact it resonated with so many people, I just... I don’t know how to process that, because it’s heartbreaking.

So, yeah, this movie is weird as shit, but it does try to impart that people who are exposed to repeated stressful events will only hurt themselves and those around them if they try to repress those experiences.  I’m not sure the movie effectively communicated what The Who was trying to convey in the original album, however.  I think the message is overshadowed by the strong aesthetic.  

I suffered with intense anxiety as a child (still do, although I have mechanisms now as an adult to help manage it) and my parents didn’t know what the fuck to do with me.  I would say 90% of the time they’d treat my anxiety like I was personally trying to inconvenience them, and the other 10% they’d make fun of me for it.  So there I’d be, trying to hide my anxiety attacks and feeling like I was going to die (or if I was lucky, just vomit) because they’d get angry or tell me to suck it up if they knew what was going on.  I did not have a happy childhood.  I, like Tommy, just wanted them to understand me and show any amount of compassion.  However, watching this movie, I somehow did not find myself relating to his story at all.  I was too distracted by Marilyn Monroe-dressed nuns, a 2-story tall Elton John, child abuse and molestation played off as a joke, and Ann-Margret drowning in bean syrup that I completely missed the intention.  I also think 1970s religious movements had a tendency to be rather exploitative, and I have listened to far too many My Favorite Murders to not see Tommy’s fans and think, “You’re in a cult, call your dad.”  It’s hard to be automatically empathetic to the abused when they lead others to be victimized by their abusers.

I would 1000% recommend Tommy the album.  This movie is worth a watch if you like The Who, but even as someone who loves the original music, I’m probably not going to put it in my constant rotation.

That concludes rock band movie musical week!  The orchestra nerd inside of me is excited to move on to Carmen Jones next.

[smokeybrand]

The King of Iron Fist

I don’t talk about this much but i am a massive. massive fan of fighting games. I’ve been playing these things for decades, since all the way back in ‘92 with the release of the original Mortal Kombat. Watching the growth, decline, and then resurgence of the fighting game community has been a goddamn treat for me. Admittedly, i suck at the Capcom titles. Absolutely terrible. I do okay with the Rival Schools franchise, but outside of that, straight up balls, man. Never my forte. I’m pretty good with the original MK trilogy, the sprite based one, but absolutely awful with Deadly Alliance through Deception. I hated the fighting styles in those games. They were so goddamn awful, it was sickening. I do okay with the MKIX, MKX, and MKXI titles, though. They feel like the old games which lends itself to my old timey skill set. That said, my strength lies with the two Namco headliners; Tekken and Soul Calibur.

I mastered every Tekken title through 7, though, admittedly, I'm not so godly in the newest release, just great. Personally. For me, Tekken 5: Dark Resurrection is the title I'm best with. I love that game, man. I can use literally everyone in the roster to perfection. All of their moves. All of their ten-hits. I maxed out my rank in the Ghost Battles with several of the characters and ranked in the top-10, worldwide, leader boards when it was first released. I was feeling a bit nostalgic and wanted to revisit my favorite fighting franchise, giving a little love to my favorite fighters, kind of like how i did with my Persona 5 mains. They are ranked, top to bottom, in order of my skill with them. I even threw in the rank i reached in their respective Tekken games, just for good measure. Since 6 is the last one i really spent any time with and there might be a few characters introduced in 7 or, like, the Tag titles that I'm pretty good with but don’t really have a correlation in rank, I'll have to approximate my skill with a Tekken 6 rank, just to keep things equal.

Emilie De Rochefort - Tekken 5 Dark - Tekken God

Lili is my main from 5 onward. Her speed, power, and cross-ups are ridiculous. There is a fluidity to her style that makes for an amazing number of possibilities. All of those flips, somersaults, and hopping knee pokes make for a varying arsenal of devastating stuns. If you can time your attacks right, you can string one, long ass, chain of hits that will deplete an enemy with a perfect within seconds. Her strength carried over into Tekken 6, easily winning me over in that title, too. I haven’t played much of 7 but what i did get into, Lili feels a little nerfed. She just feels a bit slower than she should. That’s not a problem or whatever, but it is kind of annoying that have to have so many gaps in my assault.

Hwoarang - Tekken 3 - Tekken God

Hwoarang was my main for years. He was the very first character that i mastered in any Tekken title. See, my older brother would come over with his PlayStation and commence to beat my ass in Tekken 3 for hours. One day, he told me to actually get good and lent me his Sony for a week. Welp, i did just that. I got good. Real f*cking good. Hwoarang uses Tae Kwon Do, which is dope because it’s easy to combo with, but this dude’s strength is in his juggle potential. His kicks lack the power of his master, Baek Doo San, but they come out faster and in more numbers. Within that week, i was able to string together a flurry of devastating kicks that not even my bog brother could counter. Twenty-three years later, he still hasn’t beat me in a single game. If Lili isn’t available, Hwoarang is my guy. Even so, i am probably equally skilled with both, i just prefer the stylish flourish my darling Emilie has with her style.

Steve Fox - Tekken 4 - Tekken God

Steve was a quandary when he first released. Dude has no kicks and it was ridiculous to see in a game with such an expansive roster of fighters like Tekken, especially in the fourth iteration. His addition was ridiculous to me. And then i tried him. My, god, was his speed stupid. See, in a fighter like this, speed kills. If you can bust a quick combo, maybe juggle a cat, you can destroy an opponent in seconds. That’s why i love Lili. That’s why i love Hwoarang. Steve Fox has that same potential but it’s different. You can’t launch characters too easily but you can juggle the f*ck out of them if they end up airborne. Steve has a lot of weapons to f*ck you up in a near infinite juggle if you’re not careful and i know all of them. Interestingly enough, he’s gotten better with age. I prefer his 5 version but 6 and 7 are pretty beefy, too.

Kazuya Mishima - Tekken - Tekken Lord

Kazuya is my power hitter. I’m a speed guy, admittedly. I love the juggle. I love the chains. I love the artistry in forging a string of consecutive, devastating, combo hits. The issue is, there are motherf*ckers like Paul Phoenix who can punch a planet into retrograde in this game. Now, against a computer, I'm fine with my main three Tekken Gods. I’ll dog walk a computer, no matter how high the difficulty. Once you’ve beaten Jinpachi on the highest setting in Tekken 5, you are ready for anything. However, against a real person who knows how to used a power character like the f*cking bears or goddamn Jack? Nah. If they’re good with that heavy-hitter, i have to bring in my own and Kazuya is that ringer. Dude’s probably the second strongest character in the the game after his pops, Heihachi Mishima. The difference? Kazuya’s cross ups are f*cking ridiculous. All of that twirling and over head kicks make for some confusing hurt when you know how to execute.

Eliza - Tekken 7 - Tekken Lord

Eliza was an interesting character for me to pick up. I was curious about her so i bought that money pit Tekken Revolution or whatever. I hated that game so much but i played enough Eliza to fell borderline conceited in my ability. Imagine my elation when my darling drowsy vampire made her cannon appearance in Tekken 7. Again, i didn’t play much, but i did find that my Revolution skills translated well and i was even able to pick up a few new tricks. Eliza, admittedly, is super wonky to master, she’s similar to Alisa Bosconovitch that way, but her mix ups are superb. If you put in the time, Eliza is a very rewarding character to play.

Marshall Law - Tekken - Tekken Lord

The elder Law is my guy. I’m a sucker for a Bruce Lee facsimile and Marshall is one of the best out there. He has a good mix of speed and power but it’s his mix ups that endear him to my heart. That and i learned how to play with him because Forest Law, Lee’s son, was the character my brother beat my ass so handily with for months in Tekken 3. I learned Forest out of spite but, when his pops returned in 4, i made sure it master that version, as well. Over time, i grew to love playing with Marshall. He has a very unique, very acrobatic and showy style, like his real life inspiration.

Jun Kazama - Tekken - Tekken Lord

Jun ain’t no joke. That Kazama style martial art is something nasty. I could have probably put Asuka here, i am about as good with her as i am Jun considering how similar their styles are, but i have to give respect to the original tooth fairy. Jun Kazama is a f*cking problem, man, She’s deceptively powerful but quick with those hands. The way her blows flow make for some unwieldy mix ups and stupid juggle stuns. I hated fighting her in 2. I hated fighting her even more in the Tag titles. But i love fighting WITH her, especially if you can master that funky timing she has.

Lee Chaolan - Tekken 4 - Tekken Lord

Lee is bit of a detraction form my usual fighting fare. He’s kind of a gag character. A little effeminate and a little cruel, Lee’s kicks are the real deal. This cat send those footsy out at blinding speed and you know how much i love my speed. The thing is, he lacks the power of, say, Hwoarang, Baek, or Bruce. I actually picked up Lee n 4, then Violet, on a whim because i thought it would be funny to beat someone with a character i had n idea how to play. After that first round, though, i was on it. I knew Lee was something special and spent the rest of the night with his pokey kicks and flying drop kicks. It was f*cking incredible. I couldn’t believe i slept on such an amazing character for so long. I went back to Tekken 2 and spent weeks with the character just to get a proper feel with I'm from start to finish. Now, he’s one that’s in my rotation. When I'm feeling flamboyant.

Devil Kazuya - Tekken 2 - Dragon Lord

I picked up Devil Kazuya way back in Tekken 2 because i liked the design. Also, the face laser. That sh*t was stupid. As time went on, and the games advanced, i always went back to Tekken 2 in an effort to hone my skills with the original Devil. To my surprise, when Tekken 7 dropped, Devil Kazuya was playable once again and my skills translated perfectly. Due has a few new tricks and i immediately ate those f*cker up but it felt so good taking to the air once more. It sucks he only has two, official, appearances but this is one of those cats that i played a lot with in the Tag titles. Like, SO much. Devi was my second choice after Hwoarang in the original Tekken Tag and, like, my fourth in Tekken Tag 2. Obviously, I'm just as good with Angel, too. I mean, they’re the same f*cking character so i better be!

Anna Williams - Tekken 2 - Dragon Lord

Oh, the Williams sisters. Similar to the case of Jun and Asuka, I'm probably equally as good with both the Williams but Anna is my preferred character. I just like her design better. That and her deceptive ass sexuality. Anna is gorgeous but she will f*ck you the f*ck up. The Williams sisters are power characters and you can’t tell me otherwise. These chicks will ruin your life as a fast as Paul Phoenix if you’re facing off against someone who knows how to use them. I know how to use them very well. Again, Anna over Nina, but I'll mess you up regardless.

Zafina - Tekken 6 - Dragon Lord

Zafina was a surprise. Her style is all over the place. I read somewhere it was designed after a snake or something. That sh*t is fitting because she is a slippery motherf*cker, man. Zafina took me a while to master, kind of like Eliza, but once you understand her strengths, this chick can be a proper powerhouse. She’s quick, juggles well, but pokes like a f*cking champ. If your poke game is strong with her, there’s a good chance you can stun lock an opponent into a perfect or two.

Devil Jin - Tekken 5 - Dragon Lord

Admittedly, i wanted to put Jin from Tekken 3 on this list. His mixture of Kazama and Mishima style martial arts is mad potent. I love the way dude plays. It’s like fighting with Jun and Kazuya at the same time. However, with the release of Tekken 4, Jin unlearned literally everything about the Mishima style and decided to master normal karate. That sh*t was whack, man. I mean, it was fine, i learned the new Jin fine, but it was MY Jin. That said, my Jin was in the game, only he took the form of a devil. Devil Jin is f*cking ridiculous. I understood a lot of his abilities because of my mastery of Devil Kazuya but, with the addition of the Kazama style martial arts, Devil Jin was a f*cking beast in that game. He’s kind of a beast in every game he makes an appearance. between the two, i prefer Devil Kazuya, but I'll wreck a guy with Jin if necessary.

Bryan Fury - Tekken Tag Tournament - Dragon Lord

I love Bryan Fury. The design, the inspiration, the brutal fighting style, that ridiculously evil laugh; Dude is just amazing. I got pretty good with Bruce Irvin in Tekken 2 so when he wasn’t around in Tekken 3, i was a little bummed. It took awhile for me to pick of Fury, actually i first really got into the character in Tag. I fooled around with him in 3, sure, but that was after i was surprised by how effortlessly powerful he was in Tag. Dude ain’t Bruce, but he’s still pretty dope.

Honorable Mentions: Unknown, Armor King, Ling Xiaoyu, Alisa Bosconovitch, Heihachi Mishima, Bruce Irvin, Kazumi Mishima, Miguel Caballero Rojo, Josie Rizal, Eddy Gordo

[bondsmagii]

What’s the scariest paranormal thing that happened to you (that you’re comfortable sharing)? You’re such a great story teller and in this awful month of August spooky vibes are the most bone-deep.

I have a few, but my usual go-to actually has an ask regarding it waiting in my inbox, so when it spits out of my queue you’ll see it anyway! two for the price of one. anyway, for this one I’ll go for another terrifying experience that I haven’t told as often and it still honest to god creeps me out.

in my third year of university, I lived in campus accommodation. the building was pretty creepy-looking as it was: it was quite literally modelled on the buildings of a nearby prison, and said buildings looked like Khrushchev-era Soviet housing. it was split into a bunch of flats, each housing five people in single rooms, a full bathroom, a half-bathroom, and a living room/kitchen area. my room was at the very end of the hall, and the living room door was on the other end, facing the front door. there were no windows in the central hallway, and shortly after I moved in there was a chair just randomly in the middle of the hallway that nobody could account for; it soon vanished just as inexplicably. (this was not too surprising and certainly not as creepy as the place I lived in my fourth year, where I opened my bedroom door after hearing a strange tapping on it, and saw a single red balloon floating down the hallway. I immediately shut the door.)

anyway. this is where we set our scene. at the time of this encounter I had been living there for maybe three months or so; it was the middle of winter and very dark and cold. our flat was on the fourth floor and filled with ill-fitting windows and therefore the wind simply ripped through it, and as a result we spent all of our time in our rooms with the windows duct-taped up. despite the nasty weather, I was and still remain a) a night owl and b) very restless, so I would frequently go out and walk around campus at night in the howling wind, because hey, if I’m going to get murdered by a supernatural entity, I might as well make sure the atmosphere is worthy. my campus was excellent for such things, and my usual walk took me along the foot of a mountain, along the top of a slope looking down onto a loch, and around a castle before heading home. 

up until recently, this walk had been uneventful. that had gradually begun to change, and frequently on my way back, I would feel as though I were being followed. it started as a minorly uncomfortable feeling which didn’t really bother me, because I’m quite used to the paranormal and it takes a lot to unnerve me, but soon it began to grow into something unnerving enough that I would sometimes skip out on my walk, and other times when I braved it I would end up running the rest of the way home. there was a security door at the bottom of the staircase leading to my flat, and usually once I got inside and slammed it shut, I would feel better. one night, this was not the case. the feeling of being watched had been the worst yet, and I had actually felt in danger as I had run home. I got through the security door and slammed it shut, but this time it wouldn’t lock. I tried for several seconds, but the lock just would not twist. I gave up and sprinted up several flights of stairs to my flat, and miraculously the front door still locked. I slammed it closed and locked it before backing up to the living room door; seconds later, something slammed itself against the front door and snarled. I could feel something out there. there were several seconds of nothing, and then the presence abruptly vanished.

alright. a little creepy. not the worst thing I’ve ever experienced but what the fuck, you know? I skip out on my walks for a while, and about a week or so later I’m in the kitchen making coffee at 3am, because that’s how I roll. as mentioned, the living room/kitchen door is opposite the front door. there is a wall separating the living room from the kitchen, but an open archway rather than a door. I cannot see the living room door from the kitchen, and said door has a small window in the top which looks out onto the front door. there is no direct line of sight from the hallway to the kitchen, yet as I make my coffee, I can feel something watching me. something is very much staring at me, and it is coming from the hallway right outside the living room door.

now, momma didn’t raise a coward but she did raise a fool. I decide to go and look. I go to the archway and put my head out. the living room door is about three feet from me. and in the window I can see a head. it is very much at first glance a fully-formed head, but it’s not attached to anything. it’s floating there, kind of rotating on the air slightly. the face is that of an old man and he doesn’t seem to have much hair. his mouth is open and moving slightly as though he’s trying to talk. as it rotates around, I see that the freakiest part of this already very freaky apparition is the fact that his neck and half of his face isn’t actually whole. instead it flakes away from him in tatters, kind of like torn fabric. it is, by far, the creepiest apparition I have seen. I’m not entirely sure what to do, because usually I would see something like this and assume it was a residual haunting and therefore not sentient, or it was sentient but not malicious. such a thing would ordinarily make me think that the spirit wanted help, but there was the small issue of the absolute malice coming off this guy. I mean, for a solid forty seconds or so I was rooted to the spot, unable to move because I was convinced if I did, the thing would come through the door and fuck me up. gradually the disembodied head faded away, and I grabbed my coffee and quickly went out into the hall. no sooner had I done so did something throw itself against the front door again, with serious force.

something about all the doors in our flat: they’re all heavy-duty fire doors (aside from, ironically, the one leading to the living room/kitchen). they are super heavy and slam closed on their own, and it’s impossible to knock on them loudly because it hurts a lot. if my housemates or I wanted to knock on one another’s door, the only way we could make a noise loud enough to get attention from inside the room and not break our knuckles was to kick our shoed feet against the bottom of the door (which made a rattling thud) or slap our open palm against it. the front door was made out of this same serious knuckle-destroying material, and whatever was out there was going absolutely ham. the bang was defeaning. the door was literally jumping in its frame. it happened three times -- bang, bang, BANG -- and then the door went still. somehow I managed not to spill my coffee. I stood there, staring at the door, and I once again I was aware that something was standing on the other side. I had had quite enough by that point, so I hauled ass to my room -- which was, as you recall, at the very end of the long, dark hallway (complete with one ominously flickering light shining out from the bathroom). I get to my room and shut and lock the door.

for a moment everything is fine, and then as I step towards my desk -- bang, bang, BANG. those same bangs, on my bedroom door. once again it’s shaking in its frame, and then stops. there’s silence. said silence stretches on for some time, and then I hear a door open. my housemate in the room directly across from me calls out into the hallway what we’re all thinking: “what the fuck was that?”

we all open our doors and confer. it turned out my housemates all heard it too, and understandably were too scared to check what it was. I don’t tell them about the disembodied head, but I do tell them about the weird presence outside the door -- a presence which two of my four housemates have also felt. we theorise for a bit and crack a few jokes to calm down, and then we all go back to bed or, in my case, fucking around online. the next morning (I’m still awake, of course) my housemate across the hall gets up and slaps on my door, and when I open it he points out several deep gouges in the door that were definitely not there when I came back from the kitchen that night. they’re deep, too, and once again, these doors were made strong enough that I’m sure their only purpose in life was to break bones. we could not for the life of us work out what had caused it.

the presence remained by the front door for several nights, until I put salt down across the threshold and also across the doorways of all the bedrooms in the house. the presence vanished from the front door then, but was still felt outside the security door -- which was never fixed, because whenever the lock was replaced it broke again pretty much immediately. I never got chased home again, nor did I see the old man in the hallway either... but that was because I stopped going out of my bedroom during the hour between 3 and 4am, and kept strictly to that rule for the rest of the time I lived there.

[measuringspoon2]

hello i know we’re all doing these

but here are my (finally collected) thoughts about man in glass part one

also, one (1) completely out of context, no-spoilers exchange between @ashellthatsang​ and i listening for the first time

okay, WOW. god BLESS kabert for giving us a high budget fanfiction for season 3

let’s start at the beginning. where the hell is the penumbra??? it sounds like the hotel, but it’s not very long, the music is slightly different, and there’s rain. i’m subscribing to the boat theory, personally

peter perspective

only one juno monologue (which we find out is not actually a monologue) makes me kind of sad. especially after my series relisten, hearing so much juno and especially so much juno growth.... i really love him and i miss hearing his thoughts. however, hearing peter? SO good. i suspect we’ll be sticking with peter throughout the season (though i’m not really sure) because, and especially in season 2, the heavy focus was on juno’s growth through juno’s perspective. the writers kept peter away until this was complete because he needed to confront trauma and learn to be good to his loved ones (see: his relationship with rita) before introducing that knot of distrust and betrayal. now, peter’s arc is going to be his trust issues, so surrounding him with one major source of said issues and with five other new people he is expected to rely on (which is why i expect the heavy emphasis was put on buddy’s buddy system). i think peter may even be more of a main character, however, i like the idea posited by several people that it’ll be rotating perspectives and it could go either way.

peter is obviously a super unreliable narrator. just as one example, he starts by saying he doesn’t bear juno ill will and then continues, throughout the episode, to display his total bitterness and hurt through callous #burns. another interesting thing about the peter primary perspective is his references to mag (and his emulation of mag’s voice), whom we’ve only seen through JUNO’S eyes. everything we know about mag and peter is basically secondhand. it’s deeply jarring as we delve into peter’s perspective to see many, many new layers to him that were unexpected and far different from the man we saw in season one.

also, is it just me, or is noah’s voice way deeper this time?????

juno and jupeter:

i MISSED juno. i know that i listened to the opening of the episode in the trailer, but hearing it for REAL made me tear up hardcore, especially as it was followed by the peter slap in the face.

juno. my favorite. i love him for choking on his coffee three (3) times. so much. i love his insistence on his conditions being upheld. i love him for wearing a dress and six inch heels and F L I R T I N G with probably one of the best minor characters ever. i love him for genuinely being super competent but like... not as a thief lmao, but like--he did do what peter told him to do, sorry peter u asked for this bud & also his voice breaking and getting incredibly indignant--sorry, “livid” per peter’s word--when juno is flirting with nova was..... perfect. absolutely perfect. thank you kabert for literally making my entire year

i was hoping for some sort of coldly professional, distant peter. now i am SO on board with this complete role reversal from train from nowhere--juno’s total mistrust in peter and reluctance to follow him or do anything he’s asked has been flipped on it’s head. “in our line of work, trust is not optional” comes to mind. now peter refuses to trust him. what i love even more is the thing that remained constant--the occasional moments of truce when they really ARE working together. peter giving juno a gun to shoot bad guys from the ruby 7 and the repoire they had there--”well DONE detective!” “yeah, it wasn’t half bad, was it? i don’t think engstrom’s goons liked it though!”--and this time things like juno describing nova’s disappearance and nureyev’s reluctant concession to it being spot on, or their agreement over how good nova’s new haircut looks. the bickering though--”and ohhh, but it shows” yes peter i totally believe that you bear juno no ill will--“because we’re both clearly distracted” “well maybe we wouldn’t be if one of us wasn’t so distract-ING” peter, you are the very picture of forgiveness 

crime family

interesting dynamics i am EXTREMELY excited to see: juno and vespa, MORE juno and rita (now with updated Healthiness!) buddy and juno (because i loved their different brands of quick wit matched together) actually seeing more buddy, juno, and jet, jet and rita (fuck yeah), rita and PETER, peter and jet..... yeah. yeah. so excited. 

hoping to see more buddy/vespa development and relationship honestly, and so happy to see buddy again because i adore her. buddy’s insistence on Crime Family versus peter’s violent desire to work Alone Alone Alone will be so much fun as it comes to head.

that’s all i got folks. i’ve listened to this episode four times and haven’t stopped thinking about it since over twelve hours ago.