#that’s why it’s so important to me that she lets go of it and finds a place to belong and be happy

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 16

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

summary — he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart — and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

word count — 11.5 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance and alcohol abuse, dark and themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency, trauma, medical content and mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood. full trigger warnings available on the masterlist. reader discretion is advised.

previously — unable to watch satoru turn to his abusive family for help with naoya's massive lawsuit, you're heading to his party against satoru's wishes, hoping to find something, anything, that might help his situation. but what happens when satoru decides to crash the party? and what will you find in that locked room?

author's note — hello lovelies, welcome back !! this chapter picks up right where we left off, but through satoru's eyes this time. also important note: this chapter contains a brief mention of SA concerning a background event not related to any of our main characters. as always, please mind all trigger warnings. and now enjoy the chaos <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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I saw her the moment I stepped into that goddamn party, and everything inside me went still. 

Like that moment right before you drown, when the water first fills your lungs and the world goes quiet. Terrifying and so still.

She stood there under those cheap neon lights, looking scared and yet so beautiful—beautiful in that terrible way that makes you want to destroy something, that makes you want to tear it apart just to prove it's real.

Every fiber of my being screamed to go to her, to grab her and get her the hell out of here. Away from this place, away from him, away from all of it. 

But I couldn't move. Couldn't let the mask slip, not here, not with all these eyes on me. So I plastered on that easy smile and played the part of the mildly annoyed professor who just happened to crash a student party.

As if my skin wasn't crawling with the need to use again, veins begging for something—anything—to take the edge off. As if the mere sight of her didn't make me feel like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my fucking heart out, her next breath away from something I might regret.

She looked up at me with those pretty eyes of hers, and I saw the guilt there, swimming just beneath the surface. And for one horrible moment I thought, Good. Let it pull her under like it's pulling me. Let it fill her lungs the way fear is filling mine.

I almost hated her then — for lying to me again and again, for doing stupid things behind my back again and again, for making me feel this goddamn helpless again and again and again and fucking again.

But what lay beneath was worse. Because I knew why she was here. Always trying to save me, even if it meant throwing herself into the deep end, drowning right alongside me. And that's the worst kind of torture, isn't it? 

Watching the person you love cut themselves open on all your broken pieces, bleeding themselves dry, yet still reaching for more. And that thought made me want to scream.

"We'll talk about this later," I said, forcing that easy smile back onto my face though everything inside me was screaming to get her out of this goddamn house before she got herself into more trouble. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

I pushed past her, shoulder grazing hers, and I had to clench my fists to keep from turning back. Had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from saying something I couldn't take back. She had no idea what she did to me. Or maybe she did, and that was even worse.

Love and hate tangled together in my chest until I couldn't breathe. Because that's what she does to me — makes me feel everything at once, until I can't tell what's real anymore. Until I can't tell if I want to love her or ruin her. Until I can't remember which one would hurt more. Who I was before her. If I was anyone at all.

And it hit me then, as I left her standing there, all defiance and reckless stupidity and so unbearably precious it physically hurt—this must be what they mean when they say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Because I loved her so much it felt like hatred. Hated her so deeply it could only be love.

Always on the razor's edge. One wrong step, and we'd both bleed out. Maybe we already were.

When was the last time I even went to a party like this anyway? Years ago, probably. Back when I could still pretend I had my shit together. Before I understood what it meant to love someone so consuming that self-destruction became a form of worship.

I needed a drink. Maybe ten. Maybe something stronger. 

Bass thundered through the floorboards as I shouldered my way deeper into the house, some shitty pop track slamming in my skull. Or maybe that was just the rage still burning in my bloodstream.

Sweaty bodies pressed in on all sides, but I barely noticed, lost in the chaos raging in my head. Lost in the desperate need scratching at my throat to turn back, to find her, to make sure she hadn't slipped away like every other good thing in my life.

I ordered vodka. First sip burned, but not enough. Never enough to wash away the fear, to forget that she was here, in this house, with him. The same bastard who'd tried to—My grip tightened on the glass. Yeah. Definitely needed something stronger. Here's hoping these kids still remember how to party.

"Professor Gojo! No way!"

A group of my students appeared beside me at the bar, their faces flushed with alcohol. Aoi, of course—that kid was everywhere. And Miwa, looking starstruck as always. Just my fucking luck.

"Is this what you all do instead of studying for my exams?" I asked, letting that easy smile slide into place.

"Come on, Prof, we've been killing ourselves over your damned hard exams," Miwa chimed in, all bright eyes and alcohol courage. "We deserve a break."

I let myself slip into the familiar role. The cool professor. The guy everyone wants to hang with. It was easier than I expected, letting their drunken energy wash over me, cracking jokes, making them laugh. Almost enough to wash out the withdrawal that made it nearly impossible to think straight. Almost enough to forget why I was really here. Almost.

Aoi was rambling about something, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I turned slightly, catching her gaze across the room. She looked at me like she wanted to kill me. Funny, how we wanted the same thing sometimes.

My woman. My stubborn, reckless, absolutely infuriating woman. Even now, with me watching her from across the room, I could see that defiance bright in her eyes. Even now, even here, in defiance of everything I'd asked of her, she stood her ground. 

It was admirable, really. And sometimes, that very defiance made me want to break her. Perhaps only to prove I could. To prove she wasn't in control. Perhaps because I was terrified that I wasn't. That I never was.

It's terrifying how thin that line is.

"See? Fucking legend!" Aoi raised his beer, at something I said, I think. I can't remember. Something clever, probably. Something that fits the role. "To the coolest professor on campus!" 

I raised my glass, I think. I can't remember. And that's when I caught sight of them by the front entrance. Suguru walked up to her, still standing where I'd left her, and cradled her face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze. My god, could he be any more obvious about it?

I knew that look in his eyes. Had seen it countless times before, during all those long hours in the lab when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The way he'd lean in close to check her work, his hand lingering on her shoulder a moment too long. The way his eyes would follow her every move.

My best friend, in love with the love of my life. What a sick fucking joke.

He was examining her face now, probably making sure she was alright, being the good, caring friend he always was. His thumb brushed across her cheek, and something violent stirred in my gut. Because she didn't pull away. Of course she didn't. She never did, not with him.

They looked good together, standing there in the dim light. The brilliant researcher and his gifted student. No addiction between them. No sharp edges that sliced you open if you got too close. And I hated that.

I watched as she placed her hand over his, the gesture unbearably tender. Watched as he smiled down at her, that gentle smile he reserved only for her.

And just for a moment — one single, agonizing moment — I let myself picture a world where I hadn't reached her first. Where she'd chosen him instead. The better man. The one who'd never drag her down into his own personal hell.

The thoughts spiraled darker, louder, until I could barely breathe through the noise. Glass creaked under my grip. I needed a fucking pill. Needed something, anything, to make this stop. To make everything just fucking stop.

"Professor?" Miwa’s voice. "You okay?"

More students crowded the bar, blocking my view of them. One of them—what was his name? Third-year, not a complete idiot—shoved another beer into my hand. I chugged it in one long pull, their chatter fading to background noise.

"Well." That voice. That fucking voice. "Look who decided to crash my party after all."

I turned, meeting Naoya's scarred face with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Zenin. Quite the gathering you've got here."

"Indeed." He signaled the bartender. "I gotta say though, I'm surprised to see you here, Professor. Don't tell me you're playing chaperone tonight?"

His words stripped away any pretense. He knew. Of course he fucking knew why I was really here. Not that I'd been particularly subtle about it.

"Just felt like reliving my youth," I said, taking the drink he offered. Anything to keep my hands busy, to keep myself from finishing what I'd started with his face.

Zenin's smirk widened, the scars pulling his flesh into something even uglier. "Ah yes, the good old days. Back when teachers knew their place and didn't go around screwing their students."

The fake smile slid off my face, the glass creaking in my grip as I pictured how easily his windpipe would crumple under my hands. How satisfying it would be to watch that smirk disappear for good.

"Careful, Zenin. Your face is already fucked up enough as is. Would be a damn shame if something happened to what's left of it."

He laughed, the sound grating on my last nerve like nails on a chalkboard. "Always so protective. But tell me, Professor, does she know the real reason you're here? Does she know about the—"

"Enough," I bit out.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" His eyes flicked across the room, landing on her. The way he looked at her made my vision bleed red around the edges. "She really is something else, isn't she? Too bad I didn't get a chance to get her alone that night—"

My hand lashed out before I could think, fisting in his collar. The fabric bunched in my grip as I hauled him close enough to see my own fury reflected in his eyes. "You fucking—"

Then Suguru was there, his hand slamming down on the bar between us. Silent, steady—a wall between me and a one-way ticket to unemployment. He didn't say a word, just fixed me with that look. The one I'd explicitly asked for earlier. Stop me before I do something I'll regret.

Fuck, I was really starting to regret that request right about now.

Then I felt her—her touch impossibly gentle as she laid her hand on my bicep, the heat of her skin seeping through my shirt. She leaned in close, "Satoru, can we talk for a minute?"

Her soft plea sliced through the haze, and suddenly I became acutely aware of the deafening silence that had fallen over the room, of the countless eyes boring into us.

I uncurled my fingers from Naoya's collar one by one, even though everything in me screamed to finish what I'd started. To paint the walls with whatever was left of his face. But I couldn't. We both knew. So I stepped back and followed her.

─── ·✧· ───

She led me through the crowd, her fingers still wrapped so gently around my arm. We pushed our way past the prying eyes, down a hallway, until she found what looked like an empty office. Probably belonged to Naoya's father, judging by the dark wood and that rich people smell.

For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us willing to shatter the fragile silence. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, turning everything silver and strange, like we were underwater. Maybe we were. I wasn't sure anymore. Her hand slipped from my arm, and suddenly I felt cold.

I collapsed into the chair behind the desk, the leather groaning under my weight. She stood silhouetted at the window, arms wrapped tight around herself, and I had to look away. Had to focus on something else, because I knew one glance at those eyes and I'd break.

My fingers found the pill on their own. Out of habit, really. Without thinking, I snatched up the silver letter opener next to me and crushed the pill beneath it, watching the powder scatter across the polished wood like fresh snow. I bent down and let the burn fill my nose, sear through my brain, numbing everything in an instant. 

When I looked up, she was staring. Always fucking staring, with eyes that flayed me to the bone. And she did it so effortlessly. Saw through everyone around her with that unnerving precision. Or maybe she saw through everything so clearly because she looked for the very things she wanted to hide from others.

"That's new," she said. Not an accusation. I was glad it wasn't.

"It's faster."

I averted my gaze and sank deeper into the chair, letting my head fall back against the headrest as warmth flooded my veins and the ceiling blurred and shifted above me. And then everything went soft around the edges, like looking through frosted glass.

A long exhale escaped my lips. Finally—fucking finally—the constant noise in my head, all that shit I can't shut up—the love, the hate, the fucking terror of it all—it faded to a whisper. The world got a little quieter, a little less sharp. A little more bearable.

For one perfect moment, I could actually breathe. Could almost convince myself I was in control. That this wasn't killing me. That I could walk away if I had to. That I wasn't fucking terrified of losing her. Of becoming him. Of everything.

I groaned, fingers raking through my hair, pulling, needing the pain. My hands were shaking again. Or maybe they never stopped. I couldn't tell anymore.

"You're angry," she said.

"No shit. What gave it away?" I scrubbed my hands over my face. "You showing up here after I specifically fucking told you not to? Or me nearly rearranging Zenin's face again?"

"Satoru—"

"Don't." I squeezed my eyes shut, fingers yanking at my hair again, trembling worse now. From the drugs, the rage, the fear, who the fuck knew. It all bled together these days. "You have no idea what he'd do. If something happened—" I stopped. Couldn’t continue.

"I'm not alone," she said, like that made a difference. "Maki, Yuta, Toge—they're all with me. We're being careful."

"Careful?" I sat upright, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "There's nothing fucking careful about this! It's reckless! You shouldn't even be—"

"I'm doing this for you—"

"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't make this about me."

"But it is!" She stepped closer, eyes blazing. "What, you expect me to just stand by and watch? While you fall apart?"

"This isn't your problem to fix—"

"Like hell it isn't!" Another step. Her eyes seared into mine. "I can't fucking take it anymore. You're in this mess because of me. Because you protected me that night. So don't you dare tell me this isn't my problem to fix."

I stared at her, something in my chest fracturing. "You think that's why I'm doing this? Because I feel obligated?"

"I think you're trying to protect me, like you always do."

"Then don't make me protect you all the goddamn time!" I shoved up from the chair and braced my hands on the desk. "I beat him within an inch of his life that night. I would've killed him if—" My throat closed around the words. "And I'd do it again. In a fucking heartbeat. That's what scares the shit out of me. What I become when it comes to you."

She went still.

"And if he hurt you again," the words scraped out of me, "I—I don't know what I'd do. So please. Just please don't make me find out."

I said the words I'd been turning over in my head for what felt like eternity. Don't make me find out, don't put yourself in danger, don't break my fucking heart. Which really meant break me all you want, just don't leave. I wouldn't survive it.

Her gaze dropped briefly to my hands, and she said, "You done?" 

Her question threw me. Done? God, this infuriating woman. But then I followed her line of sight and saw my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists around the desk’s edge. I slowly released them, my knuckles cracking in the sudden stillness.

I slumped back into the chair, exhausted, defeated, throwing an arm over my eyes. "God, I fucking hate you." The way she stood there, unflinching, unafraid—it made me insane. "I hate that you make me feel like this—so fucking terrified all the time."

"You don't hate me," she said.

"Sometimes I'm not so sure anymore," I answered.

How does it never get easier, I wondered. Loving her. Needing her. It just cuts deeper, spreads further, until I'm drowning in the ache. Until I can't breathe without feeling it in my lungs. And yeah, I hate her for that sometimes.

I couldn't look at her. I knew she'd be there, unyielding, waiting, enduring everything I threw at her, as she always did. Never breaking. Maybe that's what I hated most.

"You're so fucking stupid," I breathed, but it came out wrong. Too soft. Too much like 'I love you'. Too much like 'Please don't leave.' 

"I think that's mutual." She crossed the room then and leaned against the desk, arms folded over her chest. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

I lowered my arm and looked at her. "No, you're not."

"I am sorry for worrying you," she tried again, and I almost believed her, wishing desperately that she'd never have to worry about anything the way I worry about her. "Go ahead, say it. Tell me how stupid I was to come here. I know you're dying to."

"Why would you think that?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. "Because it's true. I make the wrong choice every fucking time."

I watched her, this brilliant, stubborn woman that I love so much, beating herself up over choices that weren't really choices at all—just impossible situations with no right answers. Like there was ever a right answer. And sometimes she reminded me so much of myself. As if I hadn't spent years doing the same thing, and probably still do.

But seeing her do it—it was like staring into a mirror and seeing not just my reflection, but the reflection of everything I hated about myself.

"I think that's mutual," I echoed her words back to her.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed up from the chair, gripping the edge of the desk for a second. Then I reached for her, hands landing on her hips, tugging her close, needing her close. My lips ghosted over hers. Hesitant. Unsure. When she didn't pull away, I kissed her. My hand came up to cradle her face, thumb skimming her cheekbone as I deepened the kiss.

"Alright, what's the plan?" I murmured against her mouth.

She told me about the locked room upstairs and her plan to get it. So calm. She told it so calm. Like it was that simple. Like this wasn't the most insane thing I'd ever heard. But I knew she'd go through with it no matter what I said.

"You seriously think I'm gonna let you anywhere near him with alcohol involved?"

"No," she said. "I think you're going to help me."

"Times like this, I'm really feeling that age difference between us," I said, but we both heard the resignation in my voice. The moment I'd already lost this fight.

"So you'll help?" she asked, ignoring my comment.

Before she could celebrate her victory, I yanked her closer, fingers twisting in her hair. With a sharp tug, I forced her head back until she had no choice but to meet my gaze, her throat bared. Our eyes locked, and I saw the instant her breath hitched.

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"When we get home, you're gonna make it up to me for all the stress you've caused. Got it?"

"Is that really how you want to play this?"

"Oh, love, I think we're way past propriety at this point."

A shiver ran through her — one that made me almost smile. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips, could feel the way she melted into me despite herself. It almost made this whole mess worth it.

"Now then." I pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. "let's have some fun, shall we?"

─── ·✧· ───

So, here's the fun story about how I ended up playing beer pong with my arch-nemesis (besides Sukuna, that is) against my future lovely wife and some chemistry nerd who wouldn't shut up about covalent bonds. Not exactly the Saturday night I had in mind.

I mean, here I was, standing next to Naoya — yeah, the same guy whose face I'd rearranged a few months back — trying to aim at red plastic cups while you were absolutely wiping the floor with us. Turns out that whole '10 years of grief training in alcoholism over your dead father' wasn't just a cute phrase you threw around. Who would've thought?

But really, trying to out-drink an opioid addict? That's like challenging a fish to a swimming contest. Except the fish is in heavy withdrawal. So like, with no fin. Not my finest analogy. I blame the alcohol. What was my point again?

Anyway. Most annoying part? This chemistry department kid with these wide, bright eyes wouldn't stop talking to you about molecular structures. And you were actually entertaining him. At a party. About electron transfers. Of all the insufferable things.

"So if you consider the aromatic compounds—" he was saying, and I swear on my medical license, I didn't mean for the ball to hit him. And I definitely didn't mean for it to hit him that hard. Pure accident, really. 

The ball bounced off his shoulder, effectively shutting him up. They both turned to look at me. "Molecular restructuring in organic compounds? Really?" I shrugged. "At a party?"

She shot me that look. You know the one. The classic 'I-can't-believe-I'm-sleeping-with-this-idiot' glare. It's become quite familiar these days.

"Trouble in paradise?" Naoya said beside me, and I briefly considered rearranging his face again. For symmetry's sake, of course.

But then she bent over to pick up the ball, and suddenly organic chemistry was the furthest thing from my mind. I definitely shouldn't have let her leave the house in that skirt. Though knowing her, she probably wore it just to torture me. 

"Getting distracted, Professor?" she said, straightening up with that little smile that never fails to make me want to do wildly inappropriate things to her in very public places. She leaned across the table, deliberately tapping one of our cups with her finger, giving me her most innocent eyes. Because apparently, driving me insane was her new favorite pastime.

"Me?" I lifted the red cup she'd tapped to my lips, taking my sweet time with the drink, my eyes never leaving hers. "Never."

And somewhere in the haze of beer and the way she was looking at me, I tried to remember why the hell we were even here. Oh right—something about stealing keys. Real professional operation we've got going here. The medical board would be so proud. Their star surgeon, reduced to playing beer pong as a distraction tactic. 

Naoya's keys were right there on the table, practically screaming to be grabbed. But between her legs in that skirt and the way she kept biting her lip every time she lined up a shot, I found myself giving fewer and fewer shits about saving my career and more about how quickly I could get her alone. Priorities. I clearly had them. Alcohol might have scrambled them a bit, I guess.

I caught a glimpse of Suguru standing off to the side of the beer pong table. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting back and forth between me and her like he was watching the world's most stressful tennis match. I really owed him one for putting up with this shit.

Near the chemistry kid, a girl approached who looked a bit like Higurama's intern—though I wasn't entirely sure. She looked different, wearing makeup and dressed up. But that couldn't be her. She'd avoid places with flashing lights because of her epilepsy. I must be seeing things.

Then Naoya, because clearly this shitshow wasn't enough of a disaster already, decided to "level up the process." He snapped his fingers at a passing bartender, and before I could process what the fuck was happening, there was a tray of perfectly lined up tequila shots on the table. Complete with cinnamon and orange slices, because apparently, we're keeping it classy while trying to get my future wife drunk.

"New rule," Naoya announced, his scarred face pulling into what I can only assume was meant to be a grin. "Next shot I sink, you drink both. Beer and tequila."

I glanced over at her, my gut churning. Not from the alcohol—it'd take a hell of a lot more than this to get me there—but from the way she met Naoya's challenge with a nod. That stubborn tilt of her chin that always meant trouble. My palms started to sweat.

Of course, Naoya's ball dropped perfectly into her cup. Because the universe really does have a sick sense of humor.

Watching her reach for both drinks, I found myself wondering what the medical board would be more pissed about — me playing drinking games with students, screwing one of my students, or the fact that I was seriously considering murder. Again.

Then, by some physics-defying miracle or sheer dumb luck, the chemistry kid actually landed a shot. He looked as shocked as the rest of us when the ball plopped into Naoya's cup. But it was her next shot that really got my attention — perfect arc, clean landing, like she'd been doing this her whole damn life.

"Drink up, Professor," she said, but there was something different in her voice.

She reached for the tequila, and then—fuck me—propped one leg up on a nearby beer crate, the motion making her skirt ride up just enough to flash a strip of skin above her tights. Wait. Those weren't tights. Those were fucking stockings.

My brain short-circuited as I realized she'd been walking around all night in stockings. Actual stockings, with what I knew had to be a garter belt hidden under that criminally short skirt. The same spot where she was now deliberately sprinkling cinnamon.

The sight of that exposed sliver of skin between stocking and skirt made my blood boil. When the hell had she even bought those? Had she worn them just for tonight, knowing they'd make me lose my goddamn mind? Was she trying to get herself killed?

Because right now, watching her purposely dust cinnamon on that band of exposed skin, I wasn't sure if I wanted to murder her or fuck her. Probably both. My mouth went dry, and it had fuck-all to do with the alcohol.

"Well?" She tilted her head, all innocence except for that knowing look in her eyes. "Coming to get your tequila?" 

Like she had to ask twice. Yet I hesitated. With all these people watching? What was she playing at? It was reckless, careless, like she was deliberately trying to expose us. It was power play, a challenge. And I knew, that she knew, that I couldn't resist.

A slow smile spread across my face as I sank to one knee before her, the crowd fading into a blur of noise. All that mattered was her—the way her breath hitched as I gripped her calf, the way she tensed as she realized that I made a whole show for her (poor girl didn’t expect that now, did she?)—the feel of her skin on my tongue.

I took my sweet time with the cinnamon, letting my tongue glide over the exposed strip of flesh, feeling her shiver. My teeth grazed her skin, just enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips. If she wanted a show, I'd give her a show. And part of me wanted to shove that skirt higher, to chase that taste of salt and cinnamon further up her thigh until—

Focus. Fucking focus.

I straightened, stepping into her space. She held an orange slice in one hand, the shot glass in the other, and I couldn't help but notice how her pupils had blown wide, how her chest rose and fell just a little faster than normal.

I plucked the orange from her fingers with my teeth, my lips brushing her skin, then took the shot glass, using the movement to press closer, my mouth right by her ear, "What exactly is your plan here?"

"Create distraction," she breathed back.

God help me, but it was working. I was definitely distracted. Whole damn crowd was distracted. And watching her play this game—watching her play me—was probably the hottest and most infuriating thing I'd ever experienced. And I'm pretty sure everyone could see I was hard too.

"You're distracting the wrong audience," I whispered before knocking back the shot.

In the midst of trying to control my homicidal urges over those goddamn stockings, she caught my eye and subtly jerked her head. I turned, making it look like I was just checking something, and spotted them—Zenin, Okkotsu, and Inumaki hovering on the other side of the table behind Naoya, waiting for their chance. 

Right. The keys. The whole reason we were here. I almost forgot.

The game continued, the tension building with each shot. We were down to the last round — winner takes all. That's when she decided to really test my patience.

"Let's make this more interesting," she announced, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Losers jump in the pool." A pause, then because apparently she was hell-bent on giving me a coronary. "No clothes."

"You wouldn’t dare," Naoya scoffed.

"Try me," she replied. 

I shot her a warning look. She subtly chewed on her bottom lip, meeting my gaze with an unnerving calm, perhaps her way of saying everything's gonna be okay. It did little to ease the knot in my stomach.

One shot left. If she made this, Naoya and I would be stripping down for a midnight dip. If she missed—

I tried not to think about her in that pool. Tried not to think about those stockings getting soaked. Tried not to think about murdering every sorry bastard who might lay eyes on her. Either way, this woman was going to be the death of me. If I didn't kill her first.

Naoya landed his shot, fucking prick. I missed mine for obvious reasons. Chemistry kid missed too, leaving everything on her shoulders. The ball left her hand, arcing through the air in what felt like slow motion. It circled the rim, then rolled away.

The crowd went wild. Naoya's victory smirk made me want to punch his face in. I glanced over at her, wondering for a second if she'd missed on purpose. But there was no time for that.

"Well?" Naoya's voice. "I believe the losers owe us a show."

"The game wasn't exactly fair—" I started, but she cut me off.

"Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, Naoya?" She turned to him, her words sharp. "To see me undress without having to drug me first?"

The crowd went dead silent. Naoya's scarred face contorted into something ugly. "Watch your mouth, little girl. You're not as untouchable as you think."

"And you're pathetic," she spat back, then turned away from him. "At least I get to choose when I undress, right?”

She started walking toward the pool, each step deliberate, commanding. I followed, caught between pride and sheer terror at what she was about to do. At the edge, she turned back to me.

"Don't," I pleaded, but she was already reaching for the hem of her skirt. It fell, revealing the dark lace of her stockings. Then her top followed, and I stepped closer, trying to shield her from the leering eyes.

"This is insane." But my protest died as she stood there in only black lace, and then I saw them—the bruises from the fire still painted across her waist and ribs. Dark purple and yellow marks that hadn't yet faded, cruel reminder of how close I'd come to losing her.

The sight sobered me instantly. Something twisted in my chest, sharp and painful. The bruises I'd carefully tended to, the ones that still made her wince when I changed her bandages—on full display for this crowd of drunk idiots, turned into a spectacle.

"Please," I begged, my voice barely audible. "Don't do this."

She met my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I’d reached her. But then that smile—the one that sealed my fate—touched her lips. "Sorry, Professor," she whispered, and then she was gone, falling backward into the pool, taking a piece of me with her.

The splash echoed in my ears like a gunshot, and I was already shrugging off my jacket, ready to either dive in after her or use it to cover her when she surfaced. A cold, hard fury settled in my gut. Naoya was going to pay for this.

The crowd roared as she surfaced, her hair plastered to her face, water tracing the curves of her body beneath the soaked lace. Our eyes met across the distance, me standing at the pool's edge, and I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment. Something flickered across her face—regret maybe, or shame—before she looked away.

Hell broke loose. Bodies crashed into the water, sending waves across the pool. Even Naoya stripped off his shirt and dove in, reveling in the attention. The whole party seemed to shift to the pool in a matter of seconds — clothes flying, drinks splashing, the pristine water turning into a churning mess. 

Perfect distraction.

But I barely registered any of it, my world had narrowed to her. I watched as she climbed out, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the concrete, practically sprinting past me, her gaze fixed on the floor, while water dripped from her hair, her skin, the dark lace clinging to her form.

Behind her, the pool had turned into chaos — exactly what she'd planned, I realized. 

I gathered her clothes from where they'd fallen and followed her inside. I caught a glimpse of Okkotsu's quick movements near the discarded clothes by the pool. 

Well played.

─── ·✧· ───

Her dripping form drew curious eyes as we moved through the foyer. Each step felt like a penance—hers for the recklessness, mine for letting it happen. Heads turned, conversations died, the sudden silence punctuated only by the soft drip, drip, drip of water from her hair.

Kento’s face flashed past, but I barely registered him. No doubt he'd give me shit about it at the university later, like he didn't already know something was up with me and her.

I wrapped my jacket around her shivering shoulders, fighting the desperate urge to reach for the opioids hidden in my pocket. Withdrawal, guilt, and fury burned together in my veins, making me want to crawl out of my own skin. 

I stepped in front of her, partly to block all those eyes on her, partly to hide how bad my hands were shaking. None of it was worth it. Not the keys, not avoiding my parents, none of it. How did we end up here? How did I allow things to get to this point?

Upstairs, she dressed quickly, water still dripping from her hair, leaving damp patches on her clothes.

"Are you cold?" 

"I'm okay," she said, avoiding my gaze. 

She was shaking. I could see the goosebumps on her arms. "You're shivering," I said and reached for her, but she pulled away.

“I’m fine, really.”

Despite her words, I pulled her close. She didn't resist this time, tilting her face up to mine. Her eyes were bright, and for a second, I thought she might cry. The world could have been watching, for all I cared. If those tears fell, it would be my undoing.

And then I thought of everything she'd done, everything she'd had to do—for me. My twenty-four-year-old student, forced to protect me from my own damn parents, to beg for my own money. Because I’d hit a guy who tried to hurt her. Why was it all so fucked up?

The high was long gone, leaving this gaping hole. My limbs felt heavy, detached, like they belonged to a stranger, unable to reach out and fix what I’d broken. And we were so far from where we started.

"You're disappointed," she finally said. She wasn't asking.

"We should leave." Because I couldn't bear to watch her sacrifice one more piece of herself for me.

"You can leave."

Before I could say anything back, Zenin came bursting into our corner, Okkotsu and Inumaki right behind her, her eyes all lit up. "That was fucking insane!" she yelled, waving something around—Naoya's keys. "But it worked! I can't believe it actually—" She stopped short, finally noticing the tension between us.

The win felt empty. Yeah, we got what we came for. But what did it cost? Looking at her, still shivering a little in my jacket, I wasn't so sure it was worth it. I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I just kept watching her throw herself in the fire for me. 

Some professor I was. Some man I was.

Strange how winning can feel so much like losing, especially when you realize you're not the one paying the price.

─── ·✧· ───

I stayed outside Naoya's room, playing lookout. At least that's what I told them. Truth was, I couldn't stand being in there, couldn't bear being near her, watching her fight my battles while I was barely holding myself together.

The itch under my skin had spread, making my whole body crawl with invisible insects while she did the dirty work. Even after everything, she was still trying to save me. 

And I was still letting her.

I slid down the wall, my head hitting the floor. How did we end up here? What the fuck were we doing? What the fuck was I doing?

I'm thirty-five years old, for fuck's sake. Why was I acting like a goddamn teenager? I should've stopped her, shouldn't have let her leave the house to begin with, should've been the adult. But instead, I let it happen, standing by and watching where it led. Again.

This whole situation was insane. We were in too deep, and I knew it. But I couldn't seem to find my way out, couldn't seem to stop this trainwreck we were on. It was like I was watching it all happen from outside my own body, powerless to change course.

What kind of man was I? What kind of professor? I was supposed to be her mentor, her… something more. Instead, I was dragging her down with me.

I thought back to that night, the one that started it all. The night I found her in the lab, working late, hunched over her microscope. She looked up at me with those eyes, those damn eyes that seemed to see right through me. And I was lost. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should have walked away. But I didn't. I couldn't. Drawn in. Consumed.

And now, here we were. Trapped in this fucked-up situation of our own making. I wanted to blame her, to say it was all her fault for being so reckless, so damn stubborn. But I knew that wasn't true. I let this happen. I didn’t stop it. But why? 

I could replay the events in my mind, frame by frame, but the crucial moment, the point where I should have intervened, remained a blur. It was as if some part of me had wanted to see where this ended.

Music still drifted up from downstairs, the bass thumping through the walls. It felt wrong, out of place. Like we were in a different world, a fucked-up one, while everyone else was living their normal, happy lives.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, trying to pretend, just for a moment, that this wasn't happening. That we weren't here. That everything was okay. But it was happening. And I was in it, and I knew I couldn't hold my breath much longer.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Kept seeing things in the corners of my vision. Shadows that shouldn't move but did, faces that weren't faces at all. The wallpaper breathed. In and out. In and out. Like a lung.

Stop it. Just stop all of it. Make it stop. But it won't stop, can't stop, because she's in there right now, digging through his things, trying to save me save me save me why won't she just stop trying to save me?

Everything felt wrong, sick, twisted. Too bright and too dark all at once. My skin didn't fit right anymore. Nothing fit right anymore. God, I needed a goddamn fix.

A cough. I pressed my hand against my mouth. When I pulled it away, my palm was red. 

Huh. That's new. 

I stared at the blood, watching it pool in the lines of my hand. It looked wrong somehow, too dark, too thick. The longer I stared, the more it seemed to move strangely, crawling along the creases of my palm.

Was blood supposed to move like that? Like it was alive? Like it was trying to tell me something? I couldn't remember anymore. I couldn't remember a lot of things lately. The blood kept moving, kept spreading. 

Maybe this was it—maybe I was finally losing whatever scraps of sanity I had left, sitting here on a dirty floor watching my own blood drip down my palm.

A part of me wondered if he'd been right all along, that I was becoming him, the very thing I’d always feared. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be better, different. Not this—huddled on a filthy floor at a college party, watching my blood move as if in psychosis, while she risked everything for me. Again. 

The door handle turned. Shit. I wiped my palm against the dark carpet, smearing the blood into the fibers where it vanished like it was never there. I scrambled to my feet just as they emerged. She moved quickly, shoving something beneath the waistband of her skirt. Before I could speak, she grabbed my arm.

"Let's leave." There was something like panic in her voice. "I'll tell you outside."

I gripped her hand, my own pulse quickening, and we went downstairs and pushed through the mass of drunk students. But then the music cut abruptly, plunging us into a moment of strange silence before panicked voices filled the void. 

"What the hell—?" Okkotsu’s shout cut through the din from behind us.

Then I saw the flashing lights—red and blue strobing through the windows. Fuck. 

"Cops!" Someone shouted, and the whole house erupted into chaos as people scrambled in every direction.

"Everyone freeze!" A voice boomed through the foyer. "Nobody moves!"

We reached the entrance as two officers shouldered their way through the front door. The bigger one looked like he benched trucks for fun, taking up almost the entire doorframe as he planted himself there.

"Listen up!" he bellowed, one meaty hand resting on his belt. "Party's over. Nobody leaves until we check IDs."

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I felt her tense beside me, those things hidden in her waistband might as well have been burning her skin. I could practically feel her panic.

"Look, officers." I stepped forward, forcing my voice into something professional. "There seems to be some confusion—"

"No confusion here," Truck-Bencher cut me off, the scar on his lip twisting as he frowned. "Got noise complaints, reports of underage drinking. Everyone stays put."

"I'm faculty at the university. These are my students and they're all over twenty-one. You're wasting everyone's time—"

"Nobody leaves until we say so."

"You really want to process IDs for over two hundred students?"

"You telling me how to do my job?" He shifted closer, chest puffed out despite me having two inches on him.

Withdrawal crawled beneath my skin like insects, each bite feeding the rage that built vertebra by vertebra up my spine. "Depends. Are you actually doing it, or just power tripping?"

"Back the fuck up." His hand dropped to his belt. "Last chance."

I felt her fingers digging into my arm, trying to pull me back. But the rage was a living thing now, burning away anything resembling sense or restraint. "Or what?"

The punch came fast. I dropped, and heard the sickening crack of bone against flesh—not mine. Some poor student next to me. For a heartbeat, everything stopped. Then chaos.

Bodies everywhere. Screaming. Shoving. Radio static cutting through the roar. Her hand in mine as we pushed through the surge. Her friends somewhere behind. Everything blurred. I can't remember when she let go of my hand.

I just remember the scream. Different from the others. Then her voice, "Get her on the ground!" I shoved through the mass of bodies. Saw the girl on the floor. Ice flooded my veins.

I knew that face. Higurama's intern. My patient. My responsibility.

I dropped beside her, my hands shaking so violently I could barely feel them. Her eyes rolled back. Withdrawal made everything too sharp, too bright. I couldn't think. Couldn't—

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. It was her voice. Fingers gripped my arm. "Satoru, look at me." I met her eyes. Steady. Unnerving. "Focus."

Everything snapped back into place. My phone was in my hand before I realized I'd moved. "This is Dr. Gojo from Jujutsu Medical. Twenty-six-year-old female, epileptic, pre-seizure presentation. We need immediate assistance."

My voice was mechanical, professional. Inside, my mind screamed. Why was she here? Had she been drinking? Were her meds interacting with something? I should know this. Should be better than this. Should be fucking better. 

Nausea rose in my throat and I'd never felt more like a failure in my entire fucking life.

Behind us, the fight continued to rage. A man’s voice bellowed, trying to restore order. Then Suguru was there, kneeling beside her, his hands gentle as he cradled her head. He murmured something, soft and low. The tenderness in his movements caught me off guard. 

"The ambulance is taking too long." His voice cut through everything. Before I could process it, he had her in his arms, head protected against his chest and moved.

─── ·✧· ───

I can't remember how we got to the hospital.

Everything blurred into fragments. Flashing lights, squealing tires, the weight of everything crushing my chest. Each breath scraped like broken glass. My hands wouldn't stop shaking until I swallowed three pills. Maybe four. I lost count.

The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too harsh, making my skull feel like it was splitting open. I wanted to crack my head against the wall.

Some part of me was still moving, still speaking in that detached doctor voice — rattling off medical history, medications, possible interactions. Years of training overriding the screaming in my head. But they never trained us for this.

Never trained us for how guilt tastes like acid in your throat while watching your mistakes breathe shallowly on starched white sheets.

They taught us to make clean incisions, to suture arteries, to restart hearts. But not how your own heart would seize when you recognize the face on the floor. Not how your girlfriend’s hands would be steadier than your own worthless trembling ones as you fumbled for your phone, your throat closing around the words "this is my fault", "please" and "I'm sorry."

Didn’t prepare us for withdrawal turning your hands into treacherous strangers while someone seized at your feet. For the shame that festers in your gut as you come down, struggling to remember basic fucking dosages through the need scorching through your veins.

They never warned us how love would carve you open worse than any scalpel, making you both butcher and victim, instrument and incision. Never warned us about loving someone while you’re falling apart. How it feels like drowning in open air, your chest cracked wide and your beating heart wrenched out into daylight, desperate and terrified and somehow still pumping, still fighting, still so fucking afraid.

Higurama's intern lay still now, the steady drip of the IV marking time like a metronome in the silence. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, my mind replaying the medications, the dosages, searching for the mistake I must have made. There had to be one. There was always one.

Perhaps he was right about me after all. Funny how even now, even here, I could still hear his voice so clearly.

"You okay?"

She sat across from me, swallowed by my spare clothes—an old t-shirt and sweatpants that draped loosely on her frame, a blanket draped over her legs. Anything was better than those clothes from before, those fucking stockings I'd personally thrown in the trash.

"Satoru?" she tried again. "You okay?"

I couldn't bring myself to answer.

"Talk me through her meds again," she said, resting her head in her palm. Her eyes, piercing and unwavering, never left my face as she waited.

I rubbed my temples, trying to focus through the exhaustion. "Standard anticonvulsants. Levetiracetam, 500mg twice daily. Added phenytoin after the first seizure." I fell back into my chair, scrubbing my hand over my face. "She couldn't tolerate the Levetiracetam, so I switched to Topiramate, 500mg thrice daily."

She was quiet for a moment. "Side effects?"

"Minor. Tremor in her extremities sometimes, but nothing she couldn't handle. It was working." I paused. "It was supposed to be working."

"EEG results?"

"Showed mild abnormalities. Nothing that would explain a seizure this severe." I scrubbed at my face again, harder this time. "I should have seen it. Should have caught something."

"Satoru." Her voice held that gentle firmness I knew so well. "You did everything right."

"Then why did she seize?" I stood abruptly, the chair screeching against linoleum. I turned away, unable to bear her gentle gaze. Outside, dawn was breaking in shades of grey. No color, no warmth, just an endless stretch of concrete and clouded sky bleeding into each other. "If I did everything right, why is she lying here?"

"Because sometimes that's just how it goes. You know this better than anyone," she said. "Medicine isn't perfect. Neither are we."

My reflection stared back at me, ghostly and distorted in the glass. Dark circles, stubble, hair a fucking mess. A doctor coming down from a high while his patient lay in a hospital bed.

"I should have increased the dosage earlier. Run more tests. I should have—"

"Seen the future?"

"I should have been better."

"You are already the best," she said, but it felt like a lie to me. "But even the best can't control everything."

Higurama's intern stirred slightly in her sleep, and we both fell silent, the moment stretching taut between us. I dragged myself back to the chair, sinking down with my face in my hands.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she whispered, leaning forward to brush a stray strand of hair from the girl's forehead. "Sometimes life just happens, and all we can do is be there to pick up the pieces."

I wanted to believe her. God, how I wanted to. But the truth sat like stones in my stomach.

"I hate this," I whispered.

"I know."

Silence.

"Do you blame yourself?" she asked quietly.

"How can I not?"

Because it's stupid, you know this. I could feel them in my bones, the words forming on her lips before she could speak them. "How did that ever change anything?" I said before she could start.

She leaned back, the chair creaking slightly. "Do you think we are terrible people?" she asked, her voice so soft I almost missed it.

I turned to look at her then, really look at her. Even exhausted and worried, wearing my old clothes, she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Like a drug I couldn't quit, a high I'd chase until it killed me. 

And what did that say about either of us? That I wanted to crack her open, crawl inside her skin and nestle myself in her marrow? Wanted to consume her, devour her, until there was nothing left but the two of us, fused together in the most depraved way possible?

It was as if we were always meant to find each other. But it was a penance, for both of us.

"I think I am what I am because of you," I finally said.

And it was the truth. She'd molded me, shaped me, just as I'd shaped her. We'd ruined each other for anyone else, stripped away the innocence and left only the filth and grit behind.

Her hand fell from her face, her eyes meeting mine. "And I am what I am because of you."

"Does that scare you?"

"I think one gets used to it."

"Yeah," I said finally, my voice rough. "I guess you do get used to it. Until you don't."

She frowned, but before she could voice something, Suguru stepped inside. 

He said we should leave, and maybe that was for the better anyway, though I couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was an edge to his voice. Anger, perhaps. But I couldn't blame him. Not really.

I grabbed her things, my hand finding its familiar place at the small of her back as we headed for the door. Suguru's voice followed us down the corridor. "What did you find in Zenin's room anyway?" he asked, as if it were something to be discussed in the doorway.

I walked ahead.

I didn't need to hear again about the unconscious women on the Polaroids. 

─── ·✧· ───

Too quiet.

He was never this quiet.

"How bad is it?" I asked, perched on the edge of the exam bed where the paper sheet betrayed every nervous shift of my weight with stupid crinkles. Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the linoleum floor.

I'd coughed up blood again earlier this morning. More than last night. The metallic taste had filled my mouth before I even opened my eyes. I'd stumbled to the bathroom, careful not to wake her—she needed the rest after we spent the whole damn night at the police station.

I stared at the red running down the drain. Way more than there should be. I'd blamed it on stress and alcohol last time. But now? It meant my liver was probably failing faster than I'd thought. Coagulation system breaking down, blood vessels becoming fragile. Textbook end-stage.

I called him then. He was still at the hospital, had slept there while looking after Higurama's intern. His face had gone pale when he saw me walk in. Guess I looked as bad as I felt.

We ran tests. All of them. Blood work, chest X-rays, the works. And now here we are. I watched him reading what I assumed was my death sentence, waiting for him to finally look up, while the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds.

But he kept his eyes fixed on the test results, holding himself with the careful rigidity of someone handling explosives. Another bad sign.

"Suguru."

He exhaled slowly, finally meeting my gaze with eyes that said everything before his mouth could form the words. "You should have started treatment sooner. We talked about this months ago."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I tried to wave off his concern. "What do the results say?"

His fingers tightened on the papers until the corners creased. "Your liver enzymes are through the roof. AST over 1000, ALT even higher. Bilirubin's climbing while albumin's dropping. Your PT/INR values—" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. Not just damaged anymore—failing."

I let the clinical terms wash over me. The doctor in me understood the implications perfectly. The addict in me wanted to laugh at the irony.

"Well," I said, forcing lightness into my tone, "guess I should have listened to you sooner, huh?"

Suguru's expression hardened. "This isn't a joke. Without immediate intervention—" He caught himself, but I could read the rest in his eyes as clearly as any lab report.

Without immediate intervention, I was dying. Fitting, really. That my body would choose to betray me just when I'd finally found something worth living for.

"How's the withdrawal going?" Suguru asked, setting down the test results.

"Managing." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how even that simple movement felt like too much effort. "Reduced the hydromorphone gradually. Down to about 5mg now."

"Satoru." His voice carried that familiar note of frustration, the one I'd heard a thousand times before. "You need to stop completely. Not reduce—stop. Your liver can't handle any more strain."

"I'm trying," I snapped, then immediately regretted the harshness. "Sorry. I know you're trying to help."

Suguru pulled up a chair, sitting down with a heavy sigh. "We need to start treatment immediately. The protocol won't be pleasant—high-dose corticosteroids, immunosuppressants, possibly plasmapheresis if things get worse."

"Sounds fun."

"It'll be brutal," he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "The side effects alone—you'll need to be monitored constantly. Multiple blood draws daily, frequent imaging. And absolutely no narcotics—your liver won't survive it."

I absorbed this, the clinical reality of what lay ahead settling into my bones. "So basically, I get to feel like shit while you stick me with needles and watch me suffer."

"That's about right. But it's either that or start planning your funeral."

"At least you're honest." I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll admit you tonight, get you set up in a private room," Suguru said, already reaching for admission forms.

"Monday morning."

He looked up sharply. "What?"

"I have a family dinner on Sunday," I shrugged. "Can't skip it."

"Are you insane?" Suguru's voice rose to fill the small room. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. This isn't something you can postpone for a damn dinner party."

"Monday morning," I repeated firmly. "I gave my word I'd be there."

"Your word won't mean much if you're dead."

"I can manage two more days."

"No, you can't." Suguru slammed the test results down with enough force to make me flinch. Since when is he always so fucking tense? "Your numbers are critical. Every hour we delay treatment increases the risk of complete liver failure."

"Monday."

"For fuck's sake, Satoru—"

"I said Monday. I need to do this, Suguru. Please."

He stared at me for a long moment, jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. Finally, his shoulders slumped.

"Fine. Monday morning, first thing. But if you show any signs of deterioration—any at all—I'm admitting you immediately. And no alcohol at that dinner. Not a single drop."

"Deal."

"I mean it, Satoru."

"I know," I said, trying to inject some levity into the heavy atmosphere. "You can do all sorts of things to me on Monday. Not like I have much on my schedule anyway."

"So Yaga has exempted you?"

"Temporarily relieved of my teaching duties until further notice." I tried to keep my voice light, but the words still choked me. "Apparently, licking your student's leg in public view isn't considered acceptable behavior. Who knew?"

"Everyone would have known that."

"Most people were too drunk to remember anyway, or too busy dealing with the police raid afterwards to care." I shrugged. "Silver lining?"

"This isn't funny. Do you have any idea how serious this is? Your career—"

"My career?" I almost laughed. "In case you missed the memo, my liver's failing. I think my career concerns just got bumped down the priority list."

Suguru fell silent.

"Besides," I added, "maybe it's for the best. Can't exactly teach while going through treatment, can I?"

"Yaga doesn't know about your condition?"

"No, and he's not going to. As far as he's concerned, I'm just taking some time to... reassess my professional boundaries."

"And when he asks why you're not fighting this?"

I sighed. "Let him think what he wants. I've got bigger problems right now."

"Like a family dinner you're insisting on attending despite being on death's door?"

"Exactly." I flashed him a grin, this one a little more genuine despite everything. "See? You're getting it."

"You're impossible."

"That's why you love me."

"That's why I'm going to enjoy sticking you with needles on Monday."

"Kinky."

His expression sobered, eyes searching my face. "You should tell her."

The mere mention of her sent a knife twisting in my gut. "No."

"Satoru—"

"I said no. She has enough to deal with right now. This stays between us."

Suguru shook his head but didn't argue further. He knew me too well to waste his breath.

"I will," I added softly, more to convince myself than him. "When I'm a bit better."

"This will kill her."

"I know."

Silence.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed. "For being an asshole. For everything. And... thanks for coming to the party with me."

"You already apologized."

"I mean it." I met his gaze. "You've always been there, even when I didn't deserve it."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of the friendship we'd shared before everything got so complicated. Before I'd dragged us both into this mess.

"Just don't die on me," he said. "I've invested too much time in keeping your stupid ass alive."

I pushed off the bed, steadying myself against the sudden dizziness that threatened to knock me over. "See you Monday."

"You're a stubborn idiot," he called after me. I didn't disagree. 

I stopped at the door, turning back. "Hey, what's going on between you and Higurama's intern anyway?"

Suguru stiffened slightly. "Nothing. Just concerned since she's my patient now too."

I studied him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze shifted slightly left—his tell when he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Sure," I said, too exhausted to push it further. "See you Monday."

As I walked away, I wondered if he knew how obvious he was. Then again, who was I to judge? I was hardly an expert at handling matters of the heart.

─── ·✧· ───

I paused outside our apartment door, my hand trembling on the handle. Withdrawal clawed through me, a living thing twisting my gut. Each breath was a struggle, my lungs constricting as if they'd forgotten their purpose. Just breathe, idiot. In, out. You're almost there.

Relief flooded through me the moment I opened the door. Her shoes were there, neatly arranged next to my scattered ones. Her coat on the hook. She was home.

Strange how that simple fact could lift the weight crushing my chest, made breathing a fraction less painful. No matter how bad things were, coming home to her felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long.

Dog bounded up to greet me, tail whipping back and forth, before darting off toward the bedroom. Smart boy knew exactly where to find her. I kicked off my shoes, let my jacket fall where it would, and followed.

She was there, sprawled across our bed in a sea of papers, bathed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. The sight of her stole what little breath I had left. Hair messily pulled back, drowning in one of my old t-shirts, completely lost in whatever she was reading. Beautiful. It was a beauty that made my heart ache.

Without a word, I crawled onto the bed, dragging myself up until I could rest my head on her stomach. I paused, remembering the bruises on her midsection. But before I could pull back, she gently tugged me closer and I surrendered, resting my head against her warmth. 

I wrapped my arms around her waist and her fingers found my hair instantly, like they belonged there, gentle strokes that made my eyes flutter closed and I thought, this was home. This was peace. Even as my body screamed for relief, even as guilt gnawed at me, here with her, I could almost believe everything would be okay.

"What are you reading?" I mumbled against her shirt, already knowing the answer. Why did she still throw herself into this project? Did it even matter anymore? But I already knew that answer too. Distraction.

"Research papers. For our project." Her fingers never stopped their magic. "Everything okay at the hospital?" I wondered for a second how she knew where I went, but then she said, "Antiseptic smell."

Did I always smell like that? Like the harsh, sterile scent of the hospital? I hated it. Hated how it seemed to cling to my skin no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands raw. Hated the way it reminded me of sickness and death.

I hugged her tighter, breathing in her familiar scent as that was so unlike the clinical smell of the hospital as I crafted the lie. Yeah, everything's fine, I told her. Had to check on something with a patient. Normal stuff, nothing to worry about. Standard procedure.

But even as I spoke, the guilt in my stomach twisted. The truth was, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep going like this. I could feel myself slipping, losing my grip on the things that mattered most and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd even make it to the end.

If I'd be there to witness the results of our research, to stand by her side as we perhaps do something great. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the intrusive thoughts, focusing on the feel of her beneath me, the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Her fingers paused momentarily in my hair, and I knew she sensed something off. She always could read me too well. But then she resumed the gentle stroking.

"You'd tell me if something's wrong, right?"

"Of course," I whispered, another lie to add to the growing pile.

I tightened my arms around her waist, as if by holding her close enough, I could somehow make up for my betrayal. As if loving her fiercely enough could somehow balance out the pain I was about to cause her. Monday felt both too far away and not nearly far enough.

Desperate for a distraction, I asked about how it went at the police station. She said it was fine, her friends were with her as they'd needed to clarify their statements, she explained, her fingers still weaving through my hair. Everything had been too hazy right after the party.

She mentioned they needed me to verify my own statement again too. I bit back the urge to say that they'd likely have to come to my hospital bed for that. Instead, I just hummed in response. Whatever it took to make that little shit pay for what he'd done.

"He won't hurt anyone else," she added. "We'll make sure of it."

Something about her struck me as odd. How could she be so unaffected by everything that had happened? Like we didn’t just discover that Zenin Naoya was—

"You're so calm about it." 

"And what would you have me do?"

I didn’t know. Maybe I should be grateful that at least one of us could keep it together. 

I turned my head, pressing a kiss to her palm. I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her, how sorry I was for dragging her into this mess, how I feared the rumors that would follow her through university halls. How fucking terrified I was. How much I loved her. But it all just crowded in my throat, tangled with all the other truths I couldn't voice.

Instead, I just held her tighter. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For what?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Or lie again. I clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping me from falling apart, pressing my face into her stomach, trying to blur myself into her very being. "Satoru,” she winced, a small sound escaping her lips. "You're hurting me."

"Please," I pleaded, tears pricking at my eyes. “Just… bear it for a moment. Please.” But then, a sudden tickle rose in my throat, and I sat up abruptly, he movement sending the room spinning.

"You okay?" she asked, sitting up as well, her hand cradling her side.

"Yeah," I managed, before another cough clawed its way out. I stood, turning away from her, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. When I pulled it away, blood glistened on my palm.

"Satoru? You sure you're okay?"

"Everything's fine." I curled my fingers into a fist, watching red seep between my knuckles. "Just need some water."

I should call him again. Should probably head to the hospital right now. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to seek help, to stop this madness before it was too late. 

But Sunday's dinner loomed in my mind. One last chance to fix things with her, to make things right before everything inevitably crumbled around us. Just two more days. I just needed to hold on for two more days and then I could let the chips fall where they may.

Even as blood painted the back of my throat red, I clung to that desperate hope, that foolish notion that I could make this right. I knew I was being stupid. Reckless. Playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. 

But then again, what did it matter anyway?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — welcome back, i hope this wasn't too intense, even tho i went through all stages of grief writing this chapter, but i'm quite happy with how it turned out. hope you all survived seeing things through satoru's eyes once more. writing from his perspective is always both challenging and thrilling in some strange way.

quick note, as this is somehow not obvious to some people: i understand that this story deals with controversial topics and might not be everyone’s cup of tea but this is purely fictional work, and i'm just here to enjoy a stupid little hobby. i am not looking for criticism. if the story makes you uncomfortable, feel free to block me and move on.

for those following the spin-off: yes, this chapter runs parallel to remedies and reasons chapter 04 ! if you want to see how certain events played out from a different angle, definitely check out the suguru spin-off.

and i want to thank you all for your incredible support. your comments, messages, and theories continue to blow me away. seeing how deeply you connect with this story and catch all the little details i sprinkle throughout brings me so much joy. your thoughtful analyses and wild speculations make writing this stupid story so much fun !! :''))

also a massive thank you to @/nanamis-baker who beta reads all these chaotic chapters, listens to my rambling about plot points, and talks me down whenever i'm convinced everything i write is terrible <3

& second quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.

next chapter we'll be back to our regular pov as we deal with the aftermath of... well, all of this. until then, take care of yourselves ! and as always, thank you for joining me on this chaotic journey and being patient with my slow updates <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

tags — @browrm @panteramarron @starlightanyaaa

@myahfig4 @rosebluod @bloopsstuff @depressedemosantaclaus @nanamis-baker

@tofumiao @shoruio @s3vtrue @rosso-seta @bnha-free-writing

@chiyokoemilia @bonequinhagojo @janbannan @mikkmmmii @yeiena

@coeqi @faustina @glenkiller338 @yenmrtnz @buni-bunnydoll

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[thetadispatcher]

"Oh, right, three. I'm sorry." Peter had trouble keeping where most of the androids came from straight, but he tried his best as he didn't want to accidentally offend them. But that still didn't stop him from making mistakes on occasion that he felt he'd have to make up for, even if most of the androids understood that he was only human and an odd one at that.

"They're easier to care for as they need far less work. I can't say for sure if they deviate, but I'd have to say probably. It's just less noticeable as they still act like the animal they're based on. BeeBee is harmless though, sure she was aggressive to begin with, but that was just because Zlatko mutilated her and kept her locked up. She calmed down after I got her fixed back up, think she just needed proof I wasn't going to hurt her before she'd let her guard down." He didn't blame the URS12 for her initial aggression, she'd been through a very traumatic experience and was just acting accordingly as she didn't know he wasn't there to hurt her.

Peter brought his hand to his mouth, sticking two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp, short whistle. He knew G and BeeBee should be inside as Dan had likely taken Strasky for a walk around the property to calm him down, meaning Dan would take over watching for anything suspicious and G would take BeeBee inside for a break.

He lowered his hand as he heard the sound of claws rapidly clicking on the floor that were heading for the basement. He turned as BeeBee came to a halt in front of the room and sat down, chuffing and shaking her head. Peter motioned for her to enter the room as he knew she was waiting for permission. She quickly got up and jogged over to him, getting up on her hind legs as Daniel moved out of the way. She rubbed her nose against his as she made a purring sound, using her front legs to nudge him onto the ground, allowing her easier access to rub against him.

"They are furry, and BeeBee is just as fluffy as a polar bear should be. She usually is with G as he patrols the property, pretty good deterrent for anyone looking to cause trouble." Peter explained as he ruffled her neck. "She's not gonna hurt anyone unless given the command to do so, other then that she's a sweet heart." He gently coaxed her down so he could stand up again as Brent left the room to fetch more finished parts.

"Yeah, but don't point it out to them, they don't like that and I found that out the hard way." Not that it bothered him as he didn't get in trouble for the fight, the group had attacked him first and he had merely defended himself. He was just warned not to call out anymore protestors or acknowledge them if they tried to talk to him.

"Oh, nothing else. The computers should be it as we haven't come across any issues that can't be easily fixed." Sure they were still working on the space, but so far he couldn't name anything else that was obviously wrong that needed to be replaced.

"I don't, but I'm fine with it." He didn't understand why it was so important to the android, but he knew he needed to address Dan's overbearing protectiveness before it worsened.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't blame her if she still wanted nothing to do with me. I did threaten to kill her and jump off the roof with her, even held her out when the RK800 showed up to talk me down." Daniel wouldn't hold it against Emma if she never wanted to see him again after what he'd done to her. "And I find it interesting to deal with someone who's neurodivergent verses one that was perfectly normal." He didn't mind the change, in fact he found it to be a fun learning experience.

"He also really didn't want to be there as his goal was finding me, and being stuck on a rusty ship wasn't helping him accomplish that. And then to be dragged along occasionally or just hearing them planning something just added to his hatred of being there." Peter knew Dan understood it was best he hide as a deviant, but that didn't stop him from being upset about it.

"And finally reuniting with me and finding I lost an eye didn't do him any favors mentally. He deviated because he thought I was dead and had to find out if I was okay, so finding out I actually could've died well he was in the same city as me... Messed him up. I'm gonna see if we can fix that, he's getting very over protective because of that."

"There's three." the android corrected, "Three of us remain on the property."

"What's the point of android animals?" Rook asked, "Do they deviate too? Are they fuzzy at least? Can I pet BeeBee?"

"Rook."

"I want to pet a bear, Willow!"

Willow rolled her eyes, "Yes, the belief that the evil machines are stealing jobs is a myth that only serves the corporations. Unfortunately, most humans are too dense to understand they're considered on par with any other piece of equipment, thus are just as easily replaced by whatever is more cost effective."

So, trying to get the computers out of storage through semi legitimate means was most likely a lost cause. Willow resorted to sending a text instead. "Would you like to have everything delivered to this room?"

"I'm glad you understand now." It still didn't explain why Bishop specifically wanted his counterpart to fail, but that wasn't relevant to the android's argument as to why he felt the need to prevail.

It was a reasonable question, as far as he was concerned.

"Sometimes kids don't know better. Maybe she'll come around when she grows up and starts thinking with her brain." Rook told Daniel, "It's good that you found yourself new people to hang out with, even if one of them speaks in riddles— You've got something to add, Willow?"

"Oh, I was just thinking that Dan was right about most of Jericho's plans."

[rxmxa]

The Leo-Aquarius Axis Redefined pt. 2 ⚡ 🧪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Part One on the Leo-Aquarius Axis (Good to Read for Reference)

I was watching some intense video footage with my friend after something really brutal and chaotic happened in my neighborhood. Watching it alone was overwhelming because there was so much violence and chaos happening back to back. But then I re-watched it with my Aquarius stellium friend. And when I say stellium, I mean stellium. This girl is an Aquarius Sun, Mercury, Mars, Venus, Rising, with a Capricorn Moon and Uranus in the 10th house. She is genuinely the smartest person I know.

What I didn’t fully realize until that moment was just how good Aquarius energy is at processing information. Aquarius is an air sign, which means it thrives on mental challenges and intellectual stimulation. But it’s also fixed, which gives it a steady and sustained focus that doesn’t waver. Symbolically, Aquarius is the Water Bearer. It pours out knowledge, deep and distilled, offering it to the world. In moments of chaos, it feels like Aquarius processes everything at light speed, distills the important parts, and hands you the answers in such a breezy and nonchalant manner all like, “Oh, you didn’t notice that incredibly specific detail?”

While we were watching the footage, she kept pausing to point things out. She would say, “Look here, see his hand? Notice how he flinched.” Then she would rewind and say, “Listen again, did you hear what he said? He said ‘xyz.’” By the end of the night, mostly thanks to her, we had pieced together the timeline of what happened.

It was a heavy experience, but it also got me thinking about something I had written before about the Leo-Aquarius axis.

In that post, I said:

“If you are struggling to shine and develop your self-expression (Leo), look at the opposite of that (Aquarius), where you might need to release and let go of pressure. Especially internal pressure, since air sign energy is so connected to our thoughts and intellect. This sets the stage for success that feels aligned with your most genuine self.”

At the time, I was so focused on this idea of detachment leading to success that I wrote:

“The 11th house (Aquarius) rules your profits from your career, while the 5th house (Leo) rules your creativity and hobbies. Think about how many people have created art (5th house) without worrying about success or money, only to find widespread acclaim and rewards (11th house). In interviews, they always say, ‘I never imagined this would happen. I never imagined I would reach so many people.’ Why? Because they had detached. And that mindset can take you far.”

While that’s absolutely true, I realized I hadn’t fully considered the depth of this axis.

Aquarius isn’t just about letting go and hoping for the best. You don’t magically detach and suddenly see success show up in your Leo house.

Yes, you need to release expectations in your Aquarius house. But Aquarius isn’t about not caring. It’s about caring deeply for the process itself. It’s about learning for the sake of learning. Aquarius is the mad scientist energy, the inventor, the one who experiments and explores because it’s fascinating and because it feeds them.

Wherever Aquarius is in your chart, that’s where you need to step into that energy. It’s where you become the mad scientist, endlessly curious and driven to learn and discover. You absorb information, try new things, and gather knowledge for the sake of it. That process becomes the fuel that allows your Leo house to shine.

Aquarius prepares and strategizes, and Leo performs and shines. Success aligns when both energies are flowing together.

Aquarius builds the blueprint. It is the blueprint. Then Leo distributes it to the world. That’s where success or even monetization comes in. But it’s always at your pace, and always through doing what you love.

How I Applied This in My Own Life

This realization hit me on such a personal level because I have struggled with 6th house themes my entire life. My weight, my routines, building habits, staying consistent. etc. No matter how hard I tried to force structure into my day-to-day life, it just never clicked. I would start strong, burn out, and then spiral into frustration.

But when I stopped trying to force myself into systems that didn’t fit me and leaned into my Aquarius 12th house energy, everything shifted. I stopped seeing my habits as rigid checklists and started treating them like little experiments. I became curious, open to trial and error, and focused on the process instead of the outcome.

Suddenly, my 6th house started to thrive. My health (gut health, mental health, lost 15 pounds) improved, my daily routines felt sustainable (set boundaries at work), and consistency became something I didn’t have to force anymore. It became second nature to be this new version of me.

The Leo-Aquarius Axis Guide

If you’ve ever felt torn between wanting to shine like Leo and strategize like Aquarius, my guide will show you how to:

Identify your Aquarius Lab and your Leo Stage in your chart

Create a sustainable cycle of preparation (aqua) and performance (leo)

Use both energies to create confidence, clarity, and success

get the guide here: ✨ [Mastering the Leo-Aquarius Axis] ⚡ 🧪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Con mucho amor, Ramona 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

playing match-maker with professor!gojo satoru [prev]

Dr. Gojo Satoru added Prof. Shoko Ieiri to Cupids <3

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Sho where are you taking your lunch today? You: Eat with us in Gojo’s lab!

Prof . Getou Suguru emphasized your message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: …why? Dr. Gojo Satoru: colleague bonding time! Prof. Shoko Ieiri: what’s the catch? You: Why does there have to be a catch T-T Prof. Getou Suguru: Join us, and we’ll accompany you to that meditation class taught by the cute brunette you’ve been drooling over.

Dr. Gojo Satoru laughed at a message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: yeah alright

Shoko appears in the doorway of Gojo’s lab shortly after agreeing to join. Her white lab coat flutters as she strides in, a fitted blue shirt tucked into black pin-striped slacks. She plops her brown bag onto the table beside you, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder, and extracts a sandwich and an apple.

Across from you, Gojo sits perched at his desk, leaning back with his legs crossed atop the surface. His usual smug determination is evident, highlighted by his untouched strawberry cheesecake yogurt. His white turtleneck peeks above the collar of his lab coat, accentuating the icy hue of his hair and brows.

Unfortunately, spending so much time with Gojo means you are beginning to mirror him in subtle (and sometimes regrettable) ways. Today’s shared wavelength is your matching outfits—both of you in white turtlenecks and brown straight-leg slacks. Though, judging by the label on his, the price tags aren’t even close.

Getou, seated on a stool to your other side, shakes his salad container, the silver hem of his cardigan shimmering under the fluorescent light. A stray strand of hair falls across his face, and he tucks it behind his ear before turning to Shoko, who silently munches on her sandwich.

“So,” Getou begins, smirking, “we’re just going to ignore how quickly the promise of getting near your little hippie crush convinced you?”

Gojo snickers and Shoko shoots Getou a glare.

“She’s not a hippie,” Shoko retorts, wiping her mouth. “Meditation is a holistic approach with spiritual and health benefits. What do you guys even want from me? Gojo, you don’t eat lunch on campus—ever. The café staff down the road probably know you better than your students.”

You chime in. “Important business, Shoko. Gojo and I are working on a project requiring the intellectual brilliance of like-minded individuals.”

Getou nods solemnly. Shoko laughs.

“Thank god you entertain him,” she says. “Back when my pre-med lab was next to his, he wouldn’t stop dragging me into his ridiculous schemes. You’ve saved me countless headaches.”

Gojo grabs a stress ball from his desk and lobs it at her. Shoko deflects it with her elbow, the ball bouncing to the floor.

“You’re so mean,” Gojo pouts. “Anyway, you’re here to confirm my theory that first-years Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara are the ideal match.”

Shoko groans. “Of course I am. Let me guess—you two,” she points at you and Getou, “think Itadori and Fushiguro Megumi are a better match.”

You nod eagerly.

“Well,” she sighs, leaning back, “considering Gojo’s total lack of social awareness, I’d normally side with you two. But…Gojo, are you positive that you can concretely back your theory?”

Gojo stands, pacing dramatically. “Is an atom that’s lost its electron considered positive?”

“I think you’re saying yes?” you guess.

“Exactly!” Gojo snaps his fingers, grinning triumphantly.

Shoko, ever the pragmatist, pulls out her phone. “Fine. This semester, I’m teaching those three in Health & Wellness. Let me show you something.”

She scrolls through her phone and finally finds a video. “Yuji and Nobara worked together on a group project. Watch this.”

00:03 =⬤--------------------------- 01:17 

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻ 

[The video begins, revealing Yuji and Nobara squeezed together in the frame, their smiles radiant. Nobara playfully elbows Yuji, whose eyes widen in mock shock before he starts speaking.]

Yuji: “Hello, Sensei! Nobara and I finished the group assignment together and decided to try something totally out of our comfort zone. Actually, it’s something we’ve joked about before because it sounded ridiculous.”

[He stifles a laugh, running a hand through his pink hair, the short strands standing on end.]

Yuji: “We went to a local teaching farm and did… goat yoga. We’ve seen the posters on campus forever, so we thought, why not? It was a blast! The goats were fun, and hanging out with Nobara was great too!”

Nobara: “Yeah! Honestly, I was kind of nervous at first. It’s not easy convincing a goat to climb on your back during yoga poses. But once they did, their little hooves felt like a mini massage. Here—look!”

[She lifts a photo into the frame, holding it close to the camera. The image comes into focus: Yuji in a shaky downward dog pose on a yoga mat, Nobara beside him coaxing a tiny goat onto his back with a piece of hay. Nobara bursts out laughing and shakes the photo.] 

Nobara: “Haha! Right after this, the goat climbed off Yuji and—get this—it started peeing. Like, it barely missed his pants! He’s so lucky he didn’t get soaked.”

[Yuji yelps, shoving her shoulder while Nobara doubles over, her laughter echoing. Grinning through his embarrassment, Yuji snatches the camera, bringing it close to his face.]

Yuji: “Okay, Sensei, I’m cutting this off. Nobara’s having way too much fun at my expense. But yeah, aside from that one… incident, it was really fun. I’d totally do it again!”

[His hand covers the lens, and the screen fades to black.] 

01:17 =================⬤ 01:17

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

Shoko lowers her phone, pressing it to her lips as if lost in thought.

“Sorry, you two. After watching that again, I’m siding with Gojo on this. Look at them—they’re glowing. If someone made me laugh and smile like that, I’d be completely done for.”

Getou scoffs, muttering something about how that explains why Shoko’s “so giggly after meditation.”

You shush him, trying to keep things light.

“Alright, that makes it 2-3. But you know who else teaches those three? Professor Haibara. We have to ask him.”

Before long, Haibara Yu strolls into Gojo’s lab, looking as disheveled as ever. His charcoal slacks are slightly wrinkled, his pale pink shirt untucked, and his silver glasses sit crooked on his nose.

“You called—Oh! Everyone’s here! Hi!” he exclaims, spreading his arms wide in greeting.

Getou, ever efficient, disposes of his salad container and slings an arm over Haibara’s shoulder.

“Hey, Yu. Quick question: as their professor, do you think Yuji and Megumi would make a good match?”

Haibara blinks, caught off guard. “As in… romantically?”

When Getou nods, Haibara rubs the back of his neck, thinking.

“Well, they’re in my History of the Samurai class, and let me tell you, they’re my most enthusiastic students. On the first day, I asked what everyone already knew about samurai. Yuji and Megumi practically bolted to the board and started writing a list of skills they’ve practiced together.”

He grabs a marker and writes neatly on the whiteboard:

Samurai Fighting Basics – Megumi & Yuji

• Iaido: Drawing & Sheathing Iaitō • Kenjutsu: Bokken Stances & Striking • Kendo: Shinai Quick Attacks

“They even demonstrated some techniques right there in class,” Haibara says with a grin, his thick bangs falling into his eyes. “It’s obvious they’re close and share so many interests. Honestly, I ship it!”

The room erupts into chaos as everyone starts debating further. The argument rages on until Gojo’s next class begins trickling in, scattering the group with reluctant promises to continue later.

During your own lesson, as your students take turns popcorn-reading poetry, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Hey, I just remembered. We’re facilitating that student union meeting today. We can totally ask the upperclassmen for their opinions!

You sigh, typing back a quick response.

You: Fine. Get back to teaching, Gojo.

When you woke up this morning, you definitely didn’t expect to be holed up in an empty classroom, grilling the Student Union’s elite members one by one about your matchmaking drama. Yet here you are, derailing their bi-weekly brainstorming session for fund allocation. To justify your antics, you and Gojo promised them unwavering financial support—if they gave you honest answers.

First up is Vice-President Okkotsu Yuta, his usual warm demeanor making him an ideal candidate for candid feedback. Sitting across from him, you can’t help but notice how he smiles sheepishly, like he’s trying to soften whatever he’s about to say.

“This probably won’t help much,” Yuta begins, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m ninety percent sure Maki likes Nobara. I mean, I can really see it, so I propose… NobaMaki.”

You and Gojo exchange a look, equally unimpressed. Without a word, you call in the next person.

Secretary Inumaki Toge is next. Sassy and loyal, he takes his seat across from you with a raised brow, clearly amused by the situation. After you explain the debate, he listens intently before lifting his hands to sign his response.

“I don’t know about Megumi and Yuji,” Toge signs carefully, his fingers precise, “but if you’re suggesting Nobara and Maki, I’ve got news: I’ve heard Maki and Yuta are actually a thing.”

You freeze mid-follow-up, fumbling for the signs to convey “suggest” and “imply.” Gojo swoops in, translating seamlessly. Of course, he’s fluent—he picked up sign language quickly after the two of you agreed to learn for Toge’s sake.

“Well,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “That cleared up absolutely nothing.”

Finally, you summon President Zenin Maki. Confident and direct, she strides in with her arms crossed, rectangular glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights. Her thick lashes peek over the frames as she narrows her eyes at you.

“What now?” she snaps, cutting right to the chase. “Me and Yuta? Seriously? Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but since we’re dragging Yuta into this—Toge likes him. So there’s that.”

Maki turns on her heel and marches out, her ponytail swishing with every sharp step.

Gojo groans dramatically and leans his head on your shoulder, the soft tips of his snowy-white hair brushing your cheek.

“This is just getting more ridiculous,” he says, voice muffled against your arm. “Everyone’s in love with someone else. What the fuck?”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Careful not to disturb Gojo, who’s still sulking on your shoulder, you retrieve it.

Prof. Nanami Kento Can you return my projector tomorrow morning? I need it for my lesson. Thank you kindly. Also, I hear you and Gojo are still sniffing around where you don’t belong. Just a word of advice: being messy usually leads to more mess. Good luck cleaning it all up.

You sigh, sliding your phone back into your pocket. Nanami’s right, of course. But does that mean you’ll stop? Absolutely not.

insp by @r4yz-4u's comment !

[concreteangel92]

Thou Shalt Not Kill - Chapter 11

AU Noah Sebastian x female detective reader

18+

Summery: Reader is a detective and is assigned to a murder case which she soon connects with previous killings and figures out the religious affiliation, proving there is a new serial killer within the city. Reader soon becomes obsessed with the killers mind and methods and won’t rest until she figures out who the killer is. All while she gets used to working with her new partner on the case, detective Noah Davis

Warnings: talks of death, talks of killings/murder, use of religion, stockholm syndrome, bad language, mentions of alcohol consumption, and the address used in this I just copied and edited from goggle lol as I don’t know proper addresses in America 🤣

I’m so sorry it’s been 2 months! Life has been so hectic but this story is never far from my thoughts and I’m so ready to get back into it and get us to the end!! (although I will be sad when it’s over ahaha)

This chapter is a little bit of a filler, although it has some keys elements within, the next chapter however is where the story really starts to heat up again and I’m so excited to start that one 😏

Until then I hope you all enjoy!!

@l00na24 this chapter is definitely dedicated to you as I wouldn’t have thought to add the polaroids in if it wasn’t for you so thank you 🖤

Story Taglist: @lacy1986 @hayleylatour @thatchickwiththecamera @calleyx13 @english-fucker @malerieee @ithoughtbynowidfeelbetter @softvgold @lilhobgobbler @glccmreid @badomensls @madomens @loeytuan98 @iluvmewwwww75 @rosebushjhj @livingdeceasedgirl @lilrubles @samanthasgone @blackveilomens @hellayeahsworld @lookwhatitcost @doomhands-jr @nojoyontheburn @poisongirl616 @bakanerd @sacredthefran @flowery-mess @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @1toreyouapart @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @overmydeadbodysblog

Let me know if you wish to be added! This is separate to my permanent Noah taglist due to the content within the story!

Chapter Index Here

Masterlist

Your eyes fluttered open as the sunlight shines through the small window and warmed your face, the feeling of longing for the outside world washing over you briefly.

Your body felt sore but satisfied this morning and you turned over only to find you were alone.

Glancing around the room you saw his black jacket thrown over a chair so you knew he wasn’t far away.

You also saw his tshirt left on the ground and picked it up to pull it over your body, you pulled back the covers and noticed the finger shapes bruises over your hips, a sinful reminder of the night before.

How did you feel about it?

You weren’t completely sure, you had let yourself go for him, to him, willingly.

You slipped into his top, the bottom of it coming down to your thighs as you got out of bed.

Looking at his jacket lying there, the detective within you wouldn’t let you not go to it, just to have a peak, what was the worst you’d find?

You glanced at the door and heard nothing so you turned back and picked up his coat, feeling the weight of it in your hands.

You put your hands into one of the pockets to find it empty, the other pocket however held what appeared to be his wallet and his badge.

You glanced at the badge, a painful reminder of everything that has happened, before you put his jacket down and opened his wallet.

Mostly inside it was his cards, I.D, a small amount of cash and a few crumpled receipts tucked into the back.

You were about to put it back when something sticking out of the hidden slot caught your eye.

You pulled out first a piece of paper with an address hand written on it, Noah’s hand writing.

822 20th Street

Los Angeles

CA

90011

You knew the address was in a dodgy part of the city, not somewhere you’d want to be walking around alone at night but apart from that, it didn’t ring any other bells for you. Your curiosity of the significance of this address was burning inside your brain, why was this so important?

You put the paper back and saw there were some polaroid photos hidden behind it, you pulled out the small bundle and set the wallet down.

The photos made your chest feel heavy as the memories came flooding back.

Looking back at you was your own smiling face as you held a wine glass in front of you as if to hide, the next was one of you both together smiling at the camera and finally one of him on his own flipping the camera off with a cheeky smile.

That night seemed like a distant dream.

••••••••

FLASHBACK

Your giggle echoed around the room as Noah walked over with another glass of wine for you both and shut your laptop closed while you’d been looking over one of the case files.

“Hey! I was using that”

It was one of your many evening spent together after work, they were becoming a lot more regular these days, both of you enjoying the other’s company.

“Not anymore detective, no more work”

You smiled and took a sip of your wine as Noah sat himself next to you on the couch, his arm resting along the back of it behind your head.

“We have a killer to catch you know?”

Noah smiled.

“And we will, I have no doubt that with your intellectual capabilities we will solve this”

You blushed, his continuous praise always making your heart swell, no one had ever believed in you as much as your partner did.

“We will…together”

Noah smiled again and took a sip of his own drink.

“Hopefully before he kills again”

Noah nodded thoughtfully and hummed in response before he responded properly.

“We can’t be too hard on ourselves, he’s certainly not made it easy to catch him”

You laughed slightly.

“Or at all. No prints, no dna, no leads….bodies mounting up left, right and centre. I feel like I’m failing the victims families”

Noah shifted closer to you, the beautiful smell of his cologne invading your senses “That’s ridiculous, you’re doing everything you can and look at what it’s doing to you. You can’t be that critical”

You sighed and looked up at him.

“How are you so calm all the time? I wish I could be that way”

“Because I know that everything will work out how it’s supposed to, you’ll find out who he is, I just know it”

You smiled at his words and finished your glass of wine, reaching out to the table to grab the bottle and have a refill, the effects starting to make your brain feel lighter.

“How about some music?”

You reached for your remote and clicked the radio to life, the classic station immediately started to play which caused Noah to smile at you.

“I wasn’t aware you listened to classical music!”

You felt your cheeks go warm.

“It helps relax me sometimes”

The current song ended and you started to hear a beautiful melody with the piano being the main focus of the opening notes, it was a song you’d heard before but couldn’t place, until Noah spoke up.

“Primavera, this is a beautiful song”

You looked at him in shock.

“So you are no stranger yourself I see”

His smile grew as he took another sip.

“In Italian, primavera means "spring." This is a fitting title as its flowing verses are akin to the opening buds, glorious flowers, warm air and gentle breezes of spring…or that’s what I’ve read about it anyways”

His checks went pink slightly and you couldn’t help but be in awe of the man in front of you, he truly was like no one you’d ever known.

“Wow, that’s beautiful Noah”

You listened to the calming music and closed your eyes, letting the horrors of the world wash away.

“I didn’t know you had one of those?”

You opened your eyes again as you felt Noah get up and walked over to your shelves, tucked away was your old polaroid camera.

“Oh…I haven’t used that in ages”

Noah came and sat back down with it, looking it over.

“Does it still work?”

Before you could answer, Noah brought the camera up to take your picture, you laughed and held your wine glass in front of your face.

*click*

You heard the sound of the shutter of the camera going off and saw the flash behind your closed eyelids.

“Noah!”

He laughed and put the camera down as he pulled the photo out and gave it a shake.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist”

His smirk told you that he wasn’t sorry and was in fact, very pleased with himself which made you giggle again.

You glanced at the photo as Noah held it up for you both to look at.

“You look beautiful”

You shook your head and reached for the camera resting in his lap.

“Let’s see how you like it”

You quickly put the camera up, Noah gave a cheeky smile and held up his middle finger as you pressed the button down.

“Rude”

You both laughed as you looked at the new photo, putting it next to yours on the table.

“How about one together?”

You nodded and came in closer to him, you felt Noah wrap his strong arm around you and you leant back into his chest, feeling butterflies in your stomach as you did. You both smiled at the camera and held your position as the flash went off.

You slid back slightly once the photo was done, but Noah didn’t take his arm off your shoulders and he grabbed onto the photo and held it out in front of you.

“Cute”

You smiled and nodded, still hearing the enchanting melody of primavera as it played, you looked up at Noah and realised how close you actually were you felt his breath ghosting over your face.

You resisted the urge to lean forward and reminded yourself that you were work colleagues and partners and there was no time for anything else….no matter how badly you wanted it.

“This really is a beautiful song”

You broke the silence as you sat back and created space in between the two of you.

Noah finished his wine and smiled once again.

“It is. I’ll be sure to introduce you to more interesting things in the future”

••••••••

You could hear the sound of the piano keys in your mind as you relived that night.

You looked at the photos in your hand and noticed that there was an extra one, you pulled it out and gasped quietly.

Staring back at you was a photo of you sleeping soundly in your own bed, completely unaware of the intruder taking your picture.

A small chill ran down your spine. Noah had been in your apartment without your knowledge, that night you’d seen him walk out when you said goodbye but clearly he had returned.

“How many of these does he have?”

The sound of the door unlocking behind you made you jump and you spun round to see Noah’s gaze instantly on the photos in your hand, his expression turning dark.

“What are you doing angel? Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it was rude to go through someone’s possessions?”

You stepped back and he walked into the room, clearly not impressed by your snooping.

“I…erm…I wasn’t…”

Noah grabbed the photos out of your hand and casually glanced at them.

“I see you found my favourite one, you looked so beautiful while you were sleeping that I…couldn’t resist”

You stared up at him as he echoed his own words from that night, you weren’t sure what he was going to do next.

“Isn’t it rude to break in and take pictures of someone when they are asleep?”

Noah tilted his head at you and stepped forward and pressed his arms against the wall around your head. trapping you in and towering over your small frame.

“I didn’t break in angel, you left the door unlocked, very careless of you, anyone could walk in”

You took a breath, feeling the fear forming in the pit of your stomach, he was a sadistic killer first and foremost.

“I’m sorry Noah…I didn’t mean to pry”

Noah leaned in closer and then ran his hand over your cheek.

“I’ll forgive you angel, just never forget how much I’ve done for you, I’ve always been there for you haven’t I?”

You nodded at his words as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear.

“Especially at work, all the trouble you had there, no one believed in you did they?”

••••••••

FLASHBACK

You were walking down the hallway of your office at the station, a fresh hot coffee in your hands.

The excitement you felt was hard to ignore as you were up for a promotion at work, taking you from an officer up to a detective with your own office and team and you couldn’t be happier!

“I hope I’m making you proud dad”

You carried on to your sergeants office with a small smile on your face.

As you rounded the corner, you could hear a bunch of officers talking as they stood huddled together, not aware of your presence.

“Can you actually believe officer Y/L/N is getting the promotion?!”

“You know it’s only because of who her father was!”

You recognised the voice of officer Blake instantly, you two had never particularly got along but had no choice but to work along side each other.

“The sergeant must be mad, any one of us could have that detective position!”

You couldn’t listen anymore and held your head as high as you could and walked into view, tipping your head at them with a fake smile on your face.

“Morning gentlemen”

They all looked shocked and tried to act like they hadn’t just been slagging you off as you strolled past.

You made the point of waving at them once more before you headed towards your bosses office, hoping that you did get the promotion today, you’d worked so hard for it and it wasn’t just because of who your father was, you’d show them, you’d prove them all wrong!

••••••••

“But I always have, I have always seen your intelligence and your potential and how wasted you were in that station. They didn’t see you…but I do angel, I see exactly who you are”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp as his voice washed over you.

“I know…I know you’ve always believed in me Noah”

Noah leant his head down and brushed his lips against yours, you returned it, it was gentle, a very far contrast from his mood a few moments ago.

“You’re nearly ready baby, I know you are”

Your brows frowned.

“For what?”

Noah smirked and stood back from you.

“For the next step” he walked back towards the door without turning back as he said “Isaiah 41:10 - Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Bonus Chapter - crossover with Poltergeists by concretejunglefm

[chicgeekgirl89]

A/N: @lemonlyman-dotcom. My darling. I HAVE CONNED YOU!! This is like in the Hallmark movies when you find out he/she was really a prince(ss)/secret millionaire/the owner of the evil corporation all along. YOUR SECRET SANTA IS MEEEEEEEEE!!! The Christmas tree fic is a FAKE!! I pretended to moan and groan about how I couldn't get this fic written BUT REALLY I WAS DELIGHTEDLY CRAFTING IT FOR YOU THE WHOLE TIME!!! Oh the evil joy it brought me every time I posted a little snippet of complete malarky and you reblogged it MWAHAHAHA!! 😈 How did I do? Were you fooled by my outstanding acting? Hehe, I hope you were and that this is a complete surprise! I took your @tarlos-santa prompt idea about Owen and Carlos teaming up to get T.K. the perfect gift and ran with it. It's full of holiday shenanigans and little easter eggs for you, good luck finding them all! (Also I hope you like this badly photoshopped header, I am delighted by the low quality badness of it lol!)

Read on AO3

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Carlos freezes, his lips pressed against the soft skin that lies just below T.K.’s bellybutton. His left index finger is hooked into the elastic waistband of T.K.’s boxers and  he’s already pulled them down low enough to see the sharp jut of his husband’s hipbone. He lifts his head, slightly alarmed. “Am I sure I want to give my husband a pre-work blowjob? Well I was, but now I’m not.”

“No, not that. Please keep doing that,” T.K. says, shifting a little bit, his hands going up behind his head. “I meant are you sure you want to go Christmas shopping with my dad today?”

“Oh, that.” Carlos presses another kiss into him. “Why wouldn’t I want to go?”

“Because my dad is…a lot,” T.K. says, then sucks in a breath when Carlos scrapes his teeth over that sexy hipbone. “And he’s terrible at Christmas shopping.”

“I know,” Carlos mumbles against T.K.’s skin. “That’s why I’m going.”

A week ago Owen had given him a call and invited him out for lunch and Christmas shopping. Surprised, but also pleased, he’d readily agreed and they’d made plans to meet at a restaurant in The Domain and hit up some of the stores afterward. Owen had texted Carlos last night to remind him to wear comfortable, practical footwear and bring reusable bags. 

“Maybe,” he says, nipping at the sensitive skin in the crux of T.K.’s thigh so that he squirms, “if I go, you’ll actually get something you like this year.”

“You really think that you can convince my dad to buy something normal for Christmas?” T.K. scoffs. “Good luck.”

Carlos looks up at him again. “You underestimate the cow eyes?”

“You’re going to use the cow eyes on my dad?”

“If I have to.”

“You’re going to use the cow eyes on my dad to stop him from buying me a fifteen pound block of imported cheese from Italy because the salesman tells him it’s a good deal? Or a decorative, three foot tall, hand carved horse statue that he thinks matches the aesthetics of the loft? Or—“

“I will take care of it,” Carlos assures him.

“What if he—“

“T.K.!”

“What?”

“How about we stop talking about your dad while I’m trying to blow you?”

He tugs T.K.’s boxers down, freeing his morning wood and T.K. lets out a hiss as the cool air of the loft touches his skin along with Carlos’ fingers. “Okay, yeah,” he says, his voice tight with the beginnings of pleasure. “We can do that.”

Two hours later Carlos is showered and dressed and pulling into the parking lot on the north side of the Domain. He checks the mall map and heads toward Flower Child, a restaurant with great vegan options and fresh ingredients.

Owen is sitting at a table outside, a Yankees hat on his head, and he stands when Carlos gets close, excitement on his face. “Carlos, good to see you,” he says, pulling him in for a brief hug.

“Thank you for the invitation.” 

Owen looks at him sympathetically as they sit. “I know this year is going to be hard,” he says. “And I know Christmas shopping with me isn’t the same as doing it with your dad, but I want to help where I can.”

Carlos bites back a snort of laughter. He and his dad never once Christmas shopped together. His dad hated shopping. It’s very sweet that Owen—who loves shopping and would consider an afternoon at the mall with his son a highlight of his week—thinks Gabriel and Carlos would have enjoyed doing the same, but honestly the idea of trying to drag his dad around for hours buying presents is hilarious.

“That’s very thoughtful Owen, thank you,” Carlos says, hoping with all his might that his dad is watching down from somewhere and laughing too.

“I took the liberty of ordering us both their seasonal rose petal lemonade,” Owen says. “Have you had the Glow Bowl here? The shiitake combined with the sunflower sauce is di-vine.”

“That sounds good,” Carlos says, flipping the menu over to take a look.

“The last time I brought T.K. here he had the roasted beet and organic apple salad.”

“I think I remember that,” Carlos says with a smile. His father-in-law has a penchant for taking menu items very seriously, a fun quirk that has carried over to T.K. His husband gets very excited anytime they try a new restaurant. Although he usually ends up liking Carlos’ meal better than his own, stealing bites until Carlos offers to switch. 

He ends up ordering the Glow Bowl and Owen decides to go wild and try the Brussels sprouts and organic kale salad after some banter with their server. “So,” Owen says, taking a sip of his lemonade. “How’s the new job?”

“Not so new anymore,” Carlos says. It’s been almost eight months at this point, but he and Owen really haven’t spent any significant time together since he started with the Rangers outside of professional reasons. He’s barely had time for his husband let alone anyone else. “I feel like I’m starting to find my place though. It’s different from beat work.”

“I’d imagine so. The hat and the belts alone are quite the change,” Owen comments.

Carlos chuckles. “Yeah it’s definitely a look.”

“Well, it’s one you wear quite well. How’s your mom?”

His smile dims. “She’s okay. The holidays are hard. She and my dad had a lot of traditions. But my tías and my sisters have been around a lot, so that helps.”

“And she has a son who is carrying on his father’s legacy,” Owen says. “I’m sure that helps too.”

Carlos shrugs, letting his fingers hug the glass in front of him, the condensation making them slick. “I guess.”

“You are humble to a fault Carlos,” Owen says. “I’m sure both of your parents are proud of you. I know I am. The way you’ve handled things this last year is impressive.”

“It doesn’t feel impressive.” Vulnerability slips into his tone. It’s not something he allows often, but his father-in-law pulled him back from the edge of making one of the biggest, most irreparable mistakes of his life. He’s already seen Carlos at his worst; admitting that he’s been struggling won’t do any damage. “It feels like I’m barely keeping my head above water most days,” he admits.

“The first year of marriage is always challenging,” Owen tells him factually. “I would know, I’ve done it several times. You and T.K. have faced some unique circumstances that have made it even more difficult. But you’re still together, working on yourselves, your relationship, your careers. That is impressive. Don’t forget to let yourself celebrate it.”

“Thanks,” Carlos says, dropping his eyes as his cheeks flush. “That means a lot.”

“Good.” Owen taps the table, his face serious. “Now, let’s talk about T.K.’s birthday. I have some ideas.”

They eat and talk with companionable ease. Carlos steers Owen away from the idea of hiring a mariachi band and circus performers for the party, but does concede to hiring a DJ. They also decide to have it catered by Carlos and T.K.’s favorite taco truck; the one that makes homemade churros that are to die for.

When they finish eating they throw away their garbage and Owen looks at him with renewed vigor. “So,” he says, “where should we start?”

“Well I have a few ideas—” 

“So do I! Come on, let me show you!”

Carlos follows his father-in-law down the line of stores. Even though it’s seventy-five degrees outside the place feels festive. There are windows decked out with wreaths and snowmen and Christmas trees, and Mariah Carey is blasting over the speakers. Families walk by, some smiling, others arguing. There are little kids dressed in their holiday best, ready for family photos, and a few melting down over toys that Santa won’t be bringing for several more weeks.

They walk into a store selling fitness equipment and Owen gestures grandly to a large black tub. “An ice bath!”

Carlos tries to school his face into something neutral. “An ice bath?”

“They are all the rage in the health and fitness industry right now. They boost your metabolism, provide stress relief, reduce inflammation, and improve your mood.”

“Mhm,” Carlos says, fully aware of the ice bath craze, but seeing for the first time just how difficult it might be to sway his father-in-law away from some of his more zany gift ideas.

Owen’s face falls in a way that is so reminiscent of T.K.’s disappointed face that Carlos feels a pang of guilt. “You don’t like it.”

“No, I—it’s a great idea,” Carlos says. “I’m just…I’m not sure where we’d put it in the loft.” He tries to emphasize how small and unsuited the loft is to this kind of gift without saying it aloud.

“Ah!” Owen says. “That’s the thing! This one is completely collapsible. Store it in the closet until you want it and then inflate it with one of these pumps in less than twenty minutes.” He grabs one off the shelf and holds it up to show Carlos. “It’s a cinch!”

“It…yeah. Seems…easy,” Carlos says, wondering how the hell he’s going to steer this ship to something more appropriate for T.K.

“And,” Owen says, “it’s really two for the price of one. Because you both can use it. Not at the same time obviously, it’s a very small tub.”

“Right,” Carlos says.

Owen eyes him critically. “Hm…you don’t seem to love the idea.”

“Oh no, I mean, if you think T.K.—“

“No, no, I can see it in your eyes. This isn’t the one. Not to worry, I have other options.”

He marches down a few aisles, but before they can find whatever it is he’s got his mind on, a smiling employee blocks their path. “Hello gentlemen. Finding everything you need?” she asks.

“Ah, not quite yet,” Owen tells her. “We are shopping for my son. This is his husband, Carlos.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says and something in her eyes hooks onto them. “You know, I’m not sure what exactly you’re in the market for, but we are having a sale on our elite face shape massagers.”

“Face shape massager?” Carlos asks in confusion.

She whips out a white box with a circular shaped device on the inside. “Yes! This little piece of technology can help reduce the appearance of double chins and improve skin quality! Would you like to give it a try?”

“Um, no, that’s okay,” Carlos says. “You know I really think we need to be moving on, right Owen?”

“No, no!” Owen says. “Give it a try. It can’t hurt. We Strand men have strong jawlines and I’m sure T.K. would like to keep his intact as the years go by. Let’s see how it works.”

Before Carlos can protest further the woman is looping the device over his head, his jaw clamping shut at the pressure. She pushes a button and red light illuminates his skin while the entire thing begins to vibrate. “Can you feel how the photons lift and firm the skin?” she asks.

“Mhmm,” Carlos says, the sound vibrating along with the massager.

“That is incredible,” Owen says, taking a step closer so he can get a better look. “It has red and blue infra lights?”

“It does! And it works even better when combined with our Cleopatra LED Light Mask,” she says, showing them a plastic mask that would make even Hannibal Lecter flee in terror. Carlos can only imagine how T.K. would use that to torture him, leaning over him in the middle of the night, his face lit by the red glow of the lights…

Carlos rips the massager off his face and hands it back to the woman. “Thank you so much for your time, but I think we’re going to go a different direction.”

"I don’t know Carlos, these both seem very reasonably priced,” Owen says, checking out the tag.

“You know what, I actually think T.K. already has both of these,” Carlos says in desperation. He mentally casts around for a believable lie. “…Marjan got them for his birthday… last year.”

“Oh, well, in that case—“

“What about for you, sir?” the woman asks Owen, her skills at capturing her prey honed to perfection after years of retail work. “I can see you take excellent care of your skin. Your pores are nearly non-existent.”

Owen beams and fifteen minutes later they walk out the door with two bags of “me-gifts” for him to put under his own Christmas tree. “Are you sure you don’t want some of these under eye de-puffers?” Owen asks, “They come in a two-pack.”

“I’m good,” Carlos says. “Thank you though.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Will do.”

“Okay,” Owen claps his hands. “So we’ve struck out on T.K. so far, but I have another idea.”

“Great!” Carlos says.

Owen looks at him with great confidence. “A hat.”

“A hat?”

“A hat.”

Forty-five minutes later Carlos loses the hat battle and they leave a Western wear shop with a brown leather cowboy hat for T.K. that he is going to love, but will have no practical use for outside of their bedroom. Owen is thrilled that his son can now match with Carlos, and Carlos is just glad they got the brown one and not the shiny blue one with silver stars.

He offers to take their bags to the car since they’re starting to get in the way and he’s on his way back, trying to figure out how he’s going to convince his father-in-law to go to Dick’s Sporting Goods and buy some batting gloves that are actually on T.K.’s wish list. Owen will probably dislike this idea because it is both practical and reasonably priced.

Carlos is plotting his plan of attack when a hand reaches out and grabs him, jerking him behind a sign with a map of the mall on it. “Whoa, hey!” he says, before realizing it’s Owen who has latched onto his arm. “What’s going on?”

“Look. Over there.”

Carlos follows the line of his finger to a kiosk selling cellphone cases and accessories. “Owen, what am I looking at?”

“That guy.”

“The one that looks like Santa?” The jolly, bearded fellow is talking to the seller at the kiosk, smiling and laughing.

“And the other guy.”

A shifty looking man, younger than the bearded grandfatherly type who is talking to the salesperson, is lurking near the stand too. “Okay…” Carlos says.

“I’ve been following them since you left. I’m pretty sure they just shoplifted from Bath and Body Works. And it looks like they’re about to do it again. We need to stop them.”

“Owen, that’s a pretty serious accusation. Are you sure that’s really what you saw?”

“The jolly one was distracting the workers with his holiday charm and I’m pretty sure the shifty one put several hand sanitizers in his pockets.”

Carlos barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Pretty sure?”

“There was a stand of candles in the way, but I know I’m very sure he was shoving them in by the handfuls.”

“Then let’s go tell a mall security guard.”

“All they’re going to do is call APD. You can arrest them now and prevent more crime from happening before APD can even get here.”

“I can’t arrest them because you think you saw them do something,” Carlos says.

Owen sighs. “Just watch. You’ll see.”

As they watch the shifty guy moves away from the stand and slinks toward another store a little further down. Carlos relaxes his shoulders. “See? Nothing happening here. Let’s check out—“

He’s interrupted by a huge crash as an entire shelf of the cellphone kiosk hits the floor, sending things flying everywhere. Everyone in the area stops and stares as the kiosk worker reels backward and falls to the floor.

Owen and Carlos move simultaneously. “Whoa, easy there,” Owen says as the kiosk worker tries to sit up. “That was a nasty fall. Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” he says, wincing as he pushes himself upright. “I don’t know what happened.”

“It looks like someone removed the pins from this shelf,” Carlos says, examining it. 

“Removed the pins? Why would someone do that?”

“Could have been a prank of some kind,” Carlos says.

“Or it could have been someone trying to create a distraction,” Owen says, giving Carlos a meaningful look.

“A distraction?” The guy looks confused. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carlos tells him. “Here, we’ll help you clean this up.”

They spend a few minutes picking up cellphone bits and bobs and helping the guy get the shelf back into place. “Is that everything?” Owen asks.

The guy looks around. “Yeah. I think so. Thank you guys for your help, I’m sure you have other things to get back to.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot Owen shakes his head. “Told you. Shoplifters.”

“Owen…”

“I know, you think I’m crazy. But where are that Santa guy and his shifty elf helper now, huh? Did they stick around to help? No. I bet you that shifty guy loosened that shelf on purpose and then he and Santa grabbed things from one of these nearby stores while we were distracted.”

“Or,” Carlos says pragmatically, “the shelf was never installed correctly and fell on its own.” He smiles and nods toward the sporting goods store. “How do we feel about some batting gloves?”

Owen does buy the batting gloves, but Carlos suspects it’s only because he’s preoccupied with his fictional shoplifter case. He keeps looking around, trying to be casual about it, but failing miserably. Strand men are great at a lot of things; subtlety is not one of them.

“You’re still thinking about those guys, huh?” Carlos asks as they walk out of Dick’s Sporting Goods.

“I know in my gut that they’re up to no good, Carlos,” Owen says. “You see a lot of shady people in my line of work.”

“More than in mine?” Carlos asks skeptically.

“Okay, fair point. But are you really telling me you don’t think they looked a little suspicious?”

Carlos mentally reviews what he saw earlier. “They definitely looked like they could be trouble. But we have no proof. Unless we see something else, there’s nothing we can do.”

“I’m so glad you agree,” Owen says. “I think it’s time for further investigation.”

Carlos stops walking, his brow furrowing in surprise. “Further investigation?”

“Come on. We’re making a little detour. I hope you know what you want for Christmas.”

Carlos follows him toward the center of the mall where a giant Christmas display has been set up and fake snow flurries from the sky. There’s a large gingerbread cottage, fake reindeer, a candy-cane lined path, mounds of cotton acting as the only snowfall Texas will see this year, and the centerpiece of it all is a gigantic throne upon which sits a jolly Santa who is holding two screaming toddlers while an elf attempts to get a picture worthy of a Christmas card. 

“Owen, what are we doing here?” Carlos asks. Two men hanging around a kid-friendly area sans children is not a good look.

“I heard that Santa guy talking earlier. He doesn’t just look like Santa, he is one of the mall Santas. The scrawny guy is an elf. And I know where their green room is.” He takes a look around and then ducks under one of the candy cane striped ribbons that line the area to keep pedestrians out. “Follow my lead,” he says and then drops out of sight into a mound of cotton snow.

“Owen!” Carlos hisses, dropping to his own knees instinctually so that both of them are now hidden in the piles of fluff. “Owen what are you doing?”

“Investigating. This way,” Owen whispers over his shoulder, beckoning Carlos forward. 

He really has no choice. Owen is going to do this whether Carlos follows him or not. So Carlos crawls on his hands and knees after his father-in-law, past reindeer legs and lollipop stems, until they reach the base of the gingerbread house. 

Owen points silently toward a cutout window and, like something out of a cheesy, 90’s Christmas film, they both rise up underneath it, trying to listen and peek over the sill without being seen. 

Sure enough the Santa look alike and his scrawny elf partner are both inside. “Ugh. Only like fifteen hand sanitizers and a couple hand lotions,” the scrawny guy says, shoving merchandise into a large blue duffle bag. “Got some decent jewelry from Kendra Scott while everyone was distracted with that cell phone kiosk though.”

“I told you. We have to keep it small. Otherwise people will get suspicious. Besides, we got that laptop last week and all those clothes from Anthropologie. Those are worth a lot on resale.” Santa takes a sip from his coffee cup. “I made almost ten grand off a mall in El Paso last year. Trust me. This’ll be worth it if we can make it a couple more weeks.”

“It had better be. This elf costume itches,” the scrawny guy retorts, reaching for a red and green costume hanging from a hook on the wall.

Owen motions to Carlos and they crawl back out toward the regular part of the mall. “There you have it,” Owens says as they stand. “Proof. Let’s bust in there and arrest them.”

“You aren’t authorized to arrest anyone. And I’m off duty,” Carlos says. “There are lots of bystanders around. This isn’t a violent crime. We need to call it in first.”

“Okay, so call away.”

“I will,” Carlos says. “Keep an eye on them, let me know if they go anywhere.”

“You got it,” Owen says.

Carlos sends a mental apology to his dad. He’d been really annoyed all those times Gabriel had gotten caught up in one of Owen Strand’s schemes. But now he can see that it’s a very slippery slope and once you start sliding you can’t stop.

He places a call, explains the situation and confirms that officers will be arriving shortly. Relieved that this is almost over, he turns back to tell Owen they need to stick around until APD arrives, but Owen has vanished

Frantically Carlos scans the area, his eyes landing in horror on the line of children and parents waiting eagerly to meet Santa. Sometime in the last ten minutes their suspects have taken center stage, Santa on his throne and Scrawny taking photos. Owen is up next in line, the woman behind him eyeing him suspiciously as she holds tightly to the hand of an eager little boy in a sweater with a T-Rex wearing reindeer antlers on its head. 

Before Carlos can even move, Scrawny, now dressed in full red and green elf regalia, calls Owen forward and he marches up toward Santa’s throne. “Oh no,” Carlos whispers under his breath as he jogs over to the line. “Excuse me,” he says, trying to push toward the front.

“Hey! No cutting! Get in the back!” an irate father yells.

Another elf with a headset puts both hands out to stop Carlos from moving further. “Sir! Sir! You have to wait at the end of the line!” 

“This is official Texas Ranger business,” Carlos tells her, his heart pounding as he watches Owen step right up to their suspects.

“Right, sure it is,” she scoffs.”

“Buddy, what do you want?” Santa asks, suspicion in his voice, despite the smile on his face.

“Owen, stop!” Carlos calls desperately, pushing past the headset elf who immediately begins calling for security.

Either Owen doesn’t hear or he doesn’t care, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd. “What I want to know is, why you think it’s acceptable to use the good name of Santa Claus for criminal activity,” he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Santa tells him. “Ho, ho, ho, is this some kind of joke?”

“It most certainly is not a joke,” Owen says. “Santa is supposed to give gifts away, not steal them for himself.”

“Okay, get out of here,” Scrawny the elf says, marching toward him.

“I will not get out of here,” Owen says hotly. “The two of you are robbing the stores of this mall and I won’t stand for it. Not at Christmas.”

“Buddy, you knock it off right now,” Santa says, his twinkly persona dropping away as he gets to his feet.

“You don’t deserve to wear this suit,” Owen tells him, poking a finger at his chest. “We have evidence of what you’ve done. Let’s not make a scene in front of all these families. The respectable thing to do here is to calmly turn yourselves over to the authorities.”

Owen is right. That would be the respectable thing to do. But this is not a respectable Santa. 

Instead, he runs. And Owen goes after him.

“Owen! Wait!” Carlos yells, vaulting a gumdrop fence to try and get closer.

It’s too late. Owen takes a flying leap and tackles Santa into a snowbank, knocking a fake reindeer’s head off in the process as the crowd around the display gasps in shock and Run, Run Rudolph begins to blast over the speakers.

“Stop! Texas Ranger!” Carlos yells, and then ducks as Scrawny grabs a giant candy cane and swings it at his head. 

Carlos catches the candy cane in both hands and grabs on tightly. “Drop it!” he orders. 

Scrawny refuses to let go and they wrestle over it for a minute until Carlos manages to rip it out of his hands, chucking it to the side. “Get on your knees,” he says, but Scrawny is scrappy. He lunges forward and catches Carlos around the middle, sending both of them sprawling onto the floor.

Carlos grunts as he lands flat on his back, the air immediately knocked from his lungs. Scrawny takes advantage of that to deliver a devastating blow to his jaw that sends pain exploding through Carlos’ face. 

On instinct more than skill he manages to hook a leg around Scrawny and roll them both over, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the floor. “Stop moving,” he orders between gritted teeth. “Turn over.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Scrawny yells.

“Yeah well, you can tell the officers all about that when they get here,” Carlos huffs out, shoving the man onto his front and pinning his hands behind his back. 

His assailant subdued, he looks up and find that Owen has Santa in a headlock. “Get off of me!” Santa yells.

“You, are a very bad Santa,” Owen says breathlessly as blood pools in a cut on his lip and a black eye begins blooming around his eye socket.

“He’s hurting Santa!” The yell of a small child catches Carlos’ attention and his face heats as he realizes how many onlookers are gaping at them, cellphones taking video that is likely going to break the internet at some point later today.

“Owen let him go!” Carlos calls as mall security appears in the distance, one of them cruising in on a Segway that has been decorated in red and green tinsel garland.

Owen releases Santa, both of them doubling over in pain as Carlos pulls Scrawny to his feet. The Segway security guard skids to a stop and approaches him warily. “I’m Carlos Reyes, a Major with the Texas Rangers,” Carlos tells him. “These two have been stealing from stores in the mall all day. I have APD on the way.”

“We’ve been getting reports of items missing,” the officer says. “Didn’t ever think it would be Santa and his elf though.”

“Do you have somewhere to hold these two until they get here?” Carlos asks.

“Yes, sir.”

Carlos hands off Scrawny as another two guards grab Santa and plop him down into the back of a golf cart, securing his hands with zip ties.

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks Owen. It’s hard to get the words out, his jaw aching more and more with each syllable as it begins to swell.

“He got a couple good shots in,” Owen says, swiping at the blood on his lip. “I’ve had worse though.”

“You should have let me handle it,” Carlos says.

“Sorry Carlos, I know you’re good. But you’re not good enough to take on Santa and his elf,” Owen tells him. 

Someone from mall security gets them ice and then APD finally shows up. Carlos has just finished giving his statement to an officer when EMS arrives. He groans when he sees who it is. “We’re in trouble.”

Owen follows his gaze and winces. “Oh yeah. We are.”

Tommy, Nancy, and T.K. are moving toward them and Carlos can spot the exact moment they get close enough to realize who they’re going to be helping today because all three of them freeze on the spot. T.K.’s eyes go wide and then a mixture of worry and fury crosses his face as he picks up the pace and beats his partner and his boss to their sides.

“What happened?” he demands, kneeling down and putting a hand on Carlos’ thigh.

“There was a situation that needed to be dealt with and we handled it,” Owen says and T.K. shoots him a look of fury. 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means Santa was up to no good and we stopped it,” Carlos says, suddenly feeling very tired. 

T.K. opens his mouth, but Tommy and Nancy reach them at that point and they have their own questions. “Well this is a bit of a surprise,” Tommy says, reaching for the ice that Owen is holding on his eye. “What on earth have you two been up to today?”

“Yeah Captain Strand, I thought you had worked through the anger issues,” Nancy says, attaching a pulse oximeter to Carlos’ index finger.

“This wasn’t anger. This was holiday related justice,” Owen says primly.

“More like holiday related shenanigans,” T.K. mutters under his breath, but the concerned eyes he shoots at Carlos and the steady rubbing of his hand up and down Carlos’ thigh for comfort bely that his anger is really just worry.

“Okay, both of you, tell us what hurts,” Tommy commands.

In the end they get taken to the hospital for x-rays. Owen is pronounced fine, no damage done to his eye socket, although he’ll have one hell of a black eye, and Carlos’ jaw isn’t broken, but it is badly bruised. Scrawny really packed a punch. He’s relieved when he’s finally back home in bed, T.K. fussing over the comforter and the ice pack he’s holding to his face.

“Is the ice too cold?” T.K. asks. “Are you hungry? Of course you’re hungry, it’s like eight o’clock. I’m going to make you some soup.”

Carlos has a feeling he won’t be eating solids for several days, and soup does sound good; lunch with Owen feels like weeks ago at this point. But he catches T.K.’s hand and tugs him down onto the bed instead. “In a minute,” Carlos says. “Sit with me for a bit first.”

T.K. perches on the edge a frown on his face as he brushes a hand through Carlos’ curls. “I shouldn’t have let you go with my dad today. I knew something like this would happen.”

“How could you possibly have known something like this would happen?” Carlos asks, cracking an incredulous smile and then wincing when it sends throbs of pain through his face.

“Because that’s how it always is with my dad. If there’s trouble, he’s going to find it. He’s almost gotten us killed twice. He went undercover with a white nationalist group. He bought a horse and kept it at the firehouse for weeks. It’s like he literally can’t help himself.”

“He did the right thing today though,” Carlos says. “Those guys had stolen thousands of dollars worth of stuff from the shops in the mall.”

“I know, but I wish you hadn’t been in the middle of it,” T.K. grumbles, his hand coming up to gently cup Carlos’ bruised jaw. “Did you get any shopping done? Or did you spend the entire time playing detective?”

“Oh we got some shopping done,” Carlos says. “And I tried. I really tried babe. But your dad is…”

“Stubborn? Difficult? Unpredictable?”

Carlos nods. “All of those things.”

“So? What should I look forward to getting for Christmas this year?”

“How do you feel about hats…?”

[swagbonkoperaweasel]

SONIC 3 POST CREDITS THOUGHTS

Spoilers obviously…

So as we now know, Metal and Amy are confirmed for Sonic 4. As an Amy fan, I am thrilled that we FINALLY get to have her in the movies, albeit rather late into the movie franchise. I wanted to talk a little bit about what we are seeing in this scene, as well as some of my hopes for Amy Rose’s movie portrayal.

As we can see, Amy’s combat seems like it will be different from her game self. Whereas game Amy uses her hammer and relies on her physical strength to defeat enemies, it seems like movie Amy will have some extra abilities with her hammer. In a way it seems to work like Thor’s hammer, where she can use it as a projectile against multiple enemies and summon it back.

Amy’s origin is that she uses her tarot cards and they basically tell her she will meet Sonic. This was something about her that had kind of been forgotten with Sega, up until recently. In Frontiers, Sonic make a few references to Amy and her fortune cards, and Amy actually uses them in the DLC. Some of her attacks also involve the cards.

It seems like in her portrayal, she will probably have some sort of magic, as we can see she appears to be able to float (or maybe she just jumped but it looks like floating to me). She very clearly has some combat experience and it’s interesting that the first time we see her, it’s a lot like Tails where it seems like she’s specifically trying to find Sonic. My prediction is that she will probably explain that she used her cards to find him, which is a nod to Sonic CD.

In terms of her seemingly having some sort of magical powers, I kind of have mixed feelings on that. I feel like part of what made Amy special is that she never really had special abilities the way others in the main cast do, but yet she’s still able to hold her own and be a hero in her own way. She’s also extroverted and kind hearted, which is why she’s able to so easily make friends and connect with others. I’m honestly scared that they’ll tone down those parts of her character just to make her more visibly “flashy.”

Her design is kind of perfect imo. At least, her face and hammer is. Im hoping she’ll have a similar outfit to her modern one under the cloak. It looks like they actually took a lot of Amy fans headcanons about her appearing in the cloak and decided to actually make that a reality. I’m sure the original fan who came up with that is gonna freak out when they see this.

As happy as I am for her appearance, I can’t help but feel very nervous for how her personality will be, especially when she has a reputation of being butchered. I really hope they don’t go the route of “girl character is stronger than the boy characters,” as that imo is actually more offensive than progressive. I am a woman btw so I think I’m allowed to have this opinion lol. A female character doesn’t have to be this overpowered character that is stronger than her male counterparts to be strong. I feel suggesting otherwise only implies that girls/women can only be alongside boys/men if they can prove to be better than them. That is simply not true. They can be equals. They can be strong in their own way. Amy does not have to prove anything to the Wachowski boys or to the audience. She is canonically strong and can fight. She is bubbly, she is kind, she is a romantic, she can be hotheaded, she is girly, and she is STRONG. All those things can and SHOULD coexist in her character. I don’t need her to be mellowed out into a stereotypical “I’m a girlboss who doesn’t need help from men” character. Amy’s crush on Sonic is important to her character because it shows that love is not a weakness, it can be a strength just as much as anything else.

My biggest ask for her character is to just LET AMY ROSE BE AMY ROSE.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Remembrance of Things Past: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fearing for your life

Summary: Someone leaves an unmarked package by your door that sends you into a spiral of fear. Meanwhile, the team joins forces with Virginia police on a case Rossi was on decades earlier, one that he will have to go back into in order to figure out the one that's staring at him in the face.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

The detective pulls up the email he got on the big computer and plays the message his daughter left for him before she died.

"Mom, Dad, this is Heather. When you get this message, I'll probably be dead. Tomorrow you're going to find me," she starts crying, "and when you do, please know that I... I enjoyed it."

"I enjoyed it. That's his signature. It's him," Rossi says.

"Agent Rossi, I need to give the press a statement."

"Not yet."

"It's already leaked out that this is the Butcher and his son."

"Fix your faucet and tell your men to be quiet," Rossi glares.

"Look, people are scared. This guy has spent a decade terrorizing this area—"

"You think I don't know that?" Rossi cuts him off.

The Detective sighs and leaves the room to do what Rossi told him to do.

"We need to figure out why he's back, like BTK or the Grim Sleeper. Let's go over victimology one more time," Hotch says.

"He kills blondes who are living on their own. He takes them from public places with some form of ruse. He's reenacting his last kill for what reason?"

"Maybe there's something symbolic about the last kill. Let's hear her call again."

"Maybe we should take a look at the victims that didn't call anybody. There were thirteen recording messages and five documented conversations with loved ones," Spencer suggests. "There were twenty kills. Two victims didn't call anyone."

"I just assumed those victims couldn't reach anyone," Rossi frowns.

"Let's pull the files of the victims that didn't leave a message. Reid might be onto something."

It doesn't take long for Penelope to pull all the files from the archives before sending them over. Detective Green has hard copies that the previous officers left behind, and he brings those boxes in for everyone to look through as well.

"So, Sylvia was the Butcher's first kill. Karen was his eighth. Why weren't they forced to make phone calls?"

"Sylvia was his first kill. He was building up his confidence. Then, he thinks to himself, how can I hurt the most people? I'll have them make calls."

"Six women after that made the phone calls. Why did he stop at Karen?" Hotch looks at the desk phone that is still connected to Penelope. "Garcia, what are Karen's parents' names?"

"George and Claire Bachner died in a car accident when Karen was nineteen."

"My notes say Karen had a husband named Lee Mullens," Rossi says. "He didn't receive a call. When I interviewed him at the station, he said he didn't have an answering machine."

"Do they have a child?"

"Negative," Penelope answers.

"Wait a minute. They had a son. I wrote it down." Rossi flips through his own notes. "Colby."

"Garcia, run Karen's maiden name. Bachner."

It doesn't take her even a minute to pull up the information.

"Oh! There it is! Karen had a son, Colby Bachner, born at Johnson Memorial in Bristol, Virginia."

"Was the father there to sign the birth certificate?" Hotch asks.

"Yes. His name was... Lee Mullens. Oh. Karen had Colby two years before she and Lee were married."

"Are the father or son still in the area?"

"Yeah. Lee and Colby live at 1844 Shadow Wood Lane which is six miles from where the victims were dumped."

"So, maybe Karen never made a phone call because the most important person in her life was already in the room with her--her son," you theorize.

"Oh, hell no. They're licensed electricians," Penelope gasps.

"Let's go."

You leave the police station and head to the Butcher's house where it's unusually quiet. Derek and Emily head around back with some officers where an RV sits, and you approach the front of the house with Rossi. You look at the attic window and narrow your eyes in suspicion. You tap Rossi's shoulders and point to the window with a nod. He understands that you're saying that someone is up there whether that be the Butcher himself or his son.

You follow Hotch and Rossi inside the house with officers right behind you. You come around the corner and see someone standing on the stairs holding a picture in his hands. He's an older gentleman and looks harmless but you can feel twenty victims' energies all over the man. This is the Butcher.

"FBI. Don't move," Hotch says.

"Put your hands in the air!"

"What are you doing here?" Lee asks. "Why are you here? My son isn't here."

"You're under arrest for the murders of Chloe Moore, Reilly Gold, and Sylvia Marks," Rossi glares and moves closer to Lee.

"I don't know them. Please, I need to call someone."

"You can call from the station."

"Rossi, wait," you say.

Right as Rossi touches the bottom stair, the older man looks down nervously at his pelvis. Wetness spreads from the middle of his pants toward the ground. He's peeing himself. This man... something isn't right. You can't bring him in when he's like this so Rossi opts to keep him in the living room after getting him a fresh change of pants to wear. The rest of the team searches the house but his son isn't there.

The only thing that will incriminate them is a shallow grave in the front of the house with a woman's body in it. Whoever dug it didn't care about keeping her well hidden. He just wanted her out of sight. The thing that Rossi was hoping for was Lee's twenty victims being here but besides the woman in the front lawn, no other person has been here in a long time.

When they've killed, they did it somewhere else.

"We checked the house. There's no torture chamber and no son. There's a fresh grave in the backyard, and Colby left a note saying he was going to find a prize," Emily says.

"Garcia, check Mullens' records and see if he owns any other property. Check under the son's name, employment records, and anything else you can find," Hotch says to her over the phone.

"Got it."

"Guys. I think I found something," Spencer says from the kitchen.

"Morgan, let's get all the police cars out of the neighborhood in case the son comes back."

Derek leaves and you walk to the kitchen with Hotch and Rossi.

"Everything in the house is labeled. I found Donepezil and flashcards in the medicine cabinet."

"Donepezil? Doesn't that treat Alzheimer's?"

"It's a cholinesterase inhibitor. It improves acetylcholine either by increasing levels in the brain or enhancing nerve cells' response to it."

"So, this guy gets to forget while the family has to live with this forever?" Rossi asks and scoffs.

"Alzheimer's affects short-term memory before it affects long-term. That explains the scripted phone calls and the dump sites."

"It also explains why he started up again," you say. "He's repeating his last kill because he can't remember it. He's killed for over ten years. He probably remembers the earliest victims."

Derek walks back into the kitchen.

"What did you find?"

"He's got slides of all the prior abduction sites."

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Hotch asks Rossi.

"I've got this."

Rossi walks into the living room while you stand in the archway and watch them.

"We met twenty years ago. Do you remember that, Mullens? You played the grieving husband. I was a young FBI Agent." Rossi shows him pictures of his earlier victims. "Do you remember these women?"

"I don't know them."

"Of course, you do. You wouldn't have forgotten them yet. Tell me, where is your son? Where is he taking your next victim? To a friend's place? To an abandoned house?"

"I rewired this house."

"Did he help you with that? Or did you do that on your own? Like you did... all of these?"

Rossi takes out some more pictures and places them on the table.

"Are those your trophies?" Lee asks.

"What do you know about trophies?"

"I like trophies. It proves you won something."

"You're not gonna win today," Rossi glares.

"I'm scared."

"You don't have a right to be scared. Those women were scared. Now, where's your son?" Lee doesn't answer. "It must be hard to lose your mind. You start forgetting how to feed yourself. Soon you're stinking up your pants and wearing diapers."

"I ain't wearing no diaper," Lee growls.

"You peed into your boxers ten minutes ago. You need them now. So, how did you get your son to do all this? Did you get him to help you to kill your wife?"

"Karen left us."

"No, that's what you convinced him. You killed her when she figured you out. You took her to a chamber, the same place you took Heather Langley, Kara Kirkland, and Sylvia Marks."

"Sylvia's a pretty name," Lee chuckles.

"She graduated from Georgetown. She wanted to be a chemist, but you burned her so bad that her family couldn't recognize her. How did you do that? Did you use a fire poker or a curling iron? Something you made? Something you bought?"

"When she saw the Lexwell, her eyes went so wide, she scared me half to death," Lee smiles at the memory.

"Find out what that is," Hotch says to the team having heard the same thing you did.

You step off to the side and call Penelope.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I heard what happened this morning."

"Oh, yeah, that. We'll talk about it later, okay? Listen, I need something. What can you tell me about the name Lexwell?"

"Lexwell is a camera manufacturer based out of New York. They've been around since the forties."

You walk to the team who are huddled together and put Penelope on speakerphone.

"Have they always produced photography equipment?"

"Back in the day, they made electroshock therapy equipment."

"That's the unknown object penetrating our victims," you say.

"Garcia, what mental hospitals in Virginia use ECT machines?"

"Five hospitals use Lexwell equipment. Of those five, three have been torn down and two are still in operation."

"Cross-check that list of hospitals against Mullens' electrical business client list."

"Yeah, I'm already doing that. Mullens wired some buildings at the Oakton Center back in the eighties."

"Do you know that place?" Derek asks the detective.

"It's a former mental institution on eighty-six acres."

"He's right. Two of the buildings are still in operation. The rest of the place is abandoned."

"Thanks, baby girl."

Hotch knocks on the wall which catches Rossi's attention, and the older agent leaves the living room.

"Where are you going?" Lee asks.

You don't waste time getting to the abandoned hospital. The closer you get to it, the more you see wisps of energy dancing in front of the hospital.

"He already has another victim. I can see her energy."

"Find her," Rossi urges.

He doesn't hesitate to follow you as you run through the hospital grounds with urgency. You pass by building after building until you get to the back of the property where five buildings stand. You pause and look around the place and that's when you spot it. Blue energy seeps up from one of the sewer gates by the first building.

"She's in the basement of that one," you point.

Hotch and Rossi are first to get down there while the rest follow suit. You peer around their shoulders to see a blonde woman on some medical table with black tape over her naked chest. Colby is pacing next to the table with a knife in his hand. He is beyond stressed, unable to live up to his father's expectations.

"Colby." The young man snaps his head up and places the knife to the woman's throat when he sees the FBI. "Put the knife down."

"I'll kill her."

"The killing is done."

"Please help me," the woman cries.

"This is not your fault, Colby. Your father got you into this."

"No, you don't know my dad!"

"We know you're losing him, Colby. This isn't going to help you or him."

"He's getting better."

"No, he isn't." You push past them and take the center position. Colby's wide eyes land on yours but you don't move any closer to him. "I know that scares you because you already lost your mother."

"She left us!" he screams at you.

"Your father killed her."

Colby shakes his head as tears roll down his cheeks.

"No, no, no. You're wrong!"

"You were ten. He strapped her to this table. Your father brought her here. You might have been in the car or upstairs. You blocked it out because I know you love him. You love him and you didn't want to see what he is truly capable of. He's supposed to be your dad. He's supposed to love you and care for you." Colby is full-on crying now but he still has the knife to her throat. "He most likely knocked your mother out at home and brought her here."

"No, I helped him bring the only woman here from that house."

"That was your mother, Colby."

"No, she left us," his voice breaks.

"Every one of your father's victims made a call except for your mother because she laid on this table and said goodbye to you right here."

"No, she's not dead," he cries. "She left us. She... She left us!"

"You don't want to hurt her, Colby. You never wanted to hurt any of them."

Colby sobs as he tosses the knife away from the woman. Rossi and Hotch immediately handcuff him while Derek and Emily help the woman who is also crying. The woman is brought to the paramedics once they come and the detective brings Colby back to the station to start the process of his arrest. You stand off to the side with your arms crossed over each other. Spencer, Derek, and Emily join your side and watch the paramedics do their job.

"You know, parents are supposed to protect their children. They're supposed to love them and keep them safe," you say.

"Well, sometimes they don't get the memo," Emily responds.

******

Frank leans back in his chair with his feet up on the dollar store fold-up table he got yesterday. The phone is pressed to his ear since he's talking to his wife while keeping a close eye on the cameras he installed in your apartment. You and Spencer are going about your nightly routine, nothing major happening here.

What he did to you sent you into a paralyzing fear so much so that you started looking for a camera to put on the outside of your apartment. It's a good thing he already planted the ones inside your place. You say you have this magical gift that can tell you anything you want to know so why can't you figure out who he is? When will you? Will you ever? As much as he cherishes you, you're becoming too much of a liability to keep in his life. He should have gotten rid of you when he was supposed to but you were and always will be his favorite toy. He must play with you one last time before taking you out.

"You should have been there, Clarissa. She went crying to Daddy about the fake bomb I put in front of her door. You should have seen the look on her face. She was so scared," he laughs. "Even racked with fear, she still looked... so cute."

"Please be careful, Frank. You're playing with fire."

"I'm only getting started," he smirks.

"When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not; but my faculties are decaying now, and soon I shall be so I cannot remember any but the latter. It is sad to go to pieces like this, but we all have to do it." – Mark Twain

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[spotsandsocks]

Oh hi!

For my wintery ask to you, I'm sending 🎅🏽 and marshmallow. :)

Hellooooo! Thanks for sending a stocking ask. One ficlet for marshmallow. 570 words . Hope you like it 😊

His phone is ringing which considering the time is enough to make Buck’s heart rate spike. It’s way past the acceptable time for calling without an important reason. Grabbing his phone and seeing Maddies face and name lit u does nothing to calm him down. It’s way past eleven. What's happened?

He answers the phone intent on finding out “what’s wrong?”

“Elves! Stupid things. I hate them.”

It’s not anything close to what he was expecting. At least it’s not an emergency or a disaster which considering thier lives is more than possible.”

“Ok and why do we hate elves at” he checks the time “11.23 at night?”

“Because I forgot about them tonight and Howie’s on an extra shift tonight and I have not idea what to do with the damn things! I need help! You're my help!”

Maddie sounds at the end of her tether, hardly surprising the holidays are stressful, there’s a lot to do and the elves are, he knows from Chimney a major source of stress. He makes a mental note to not start any elf shenanigans when he has kids,

‘“Ok… what have you done already?”

“Everything! Stupid things, maybe they can have an accident tonight…”

“Maybe not, let’s not traumatise Jee ok Mads.”

“They deserve it, they could get locked out or get flushed down the toilet, the oven…”

“Maddie!” He stops her, almost shocked at the level of homicidal rage she has towards the naughty Christmas elves Jee loves to see every morning. “Flour footprints?”

“Basic, did it week one.”

“Drawing on the fruit?

“Done it.”

“Using the pans as drums?”

“Fun but done it.”

“Playing cards?”

“Boring!”

“Top of Christmas tree? Melted ice cream? Stuck to the ceiling? Grated carrot?”

“Buck, you’re meant to be helping me. I’ve done all that, it’s almost Christmas Eve, I’ve got to get creative now!”

Ok… um what have you got in the cupboards?

Almost at once he can hear cupboard doors opening and closing.

“There’s nothing useful! What am I going to do?”

“We’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

With his sister calling out things from her cupboards he tries to think of Christmasy things. Cookies, mistletoe, snow, stockings, trees, presents, baubles… one of his ideas comes back to him; snow.

“Maddie, you got any marshmallows?”

“Umm… yeah, why?”

“Big ones or small?”

“Both.”

Hoping this idea goes down better than the others he takes a breath.

“Ok, build a snowhouse out of the big ones and then use the others for snow and make a snow angel shape with the elf.”

He waits hopefully. There’s silence on the other end of the phone, then a sigh of relief followed by his sister's voice.

“That’s brilliant. Buck you’re a genius! I love you.”

Then she hangs up. About 15 minutes later he gets a picture of the elves doing exactly what he suggested, it looks good if he does say so himself.

Maddie sends a text that says thank you and heart emojis that make him smile.

The next one she sends doesn’t. It says; great job tonight so you can help again tomorrow.

Looks like Maddie’s elf problem is his too now, but then what’s family for if not to put mischievous elves into situations together. He opens a new browser page on his phone and types ‘elf on a shelf ideas’… who needs sleep when there are nieces to keep happy.

[thesugarchanotaku]

Let's talk about Octavia

With the newest helluvaboss episode out and season two cming to an end there was a lot of discussion about Octavio even before the epsiode dropped. That's why i decided to look at her a little more in depth. Spoiler ahead (duh)

My realtionship with Octavia is kinda rookie. I love this asexual queen as much as her dad but find myself a little annoyed at her behaviour sometimes. Let's recap what we know about her.

Octavia is a royal teen, deeply loved by her father, troubled by the divorce of her parents and 17 years old. But if we look past the more obvious characteristics there is a lot going on in subtext.

Octavia is oblivious: Octavia grew up quite sheltered and as much as it is understanable (since they tried to assissinate stolas at loo loo land) that she is well protected the problem is that she has little to no clue about the outside world. Much like her father in the recent episode she is seen being scared of the world in seeing stars. She is THAT unaware that she was walking around without a disguise in broad daylight.

Octavia loves her father: So you might ask where the problem is for that point. She sees Stolas as JUST her father. She fails to see Stolas as a person with needs, wants, dreams and wishes. We have to point out that Octavia is never seen with any other people despite her parents (not counting loona in seeing stars). So it's save To assume that she is quite isolated and ultimately fixated to on her parents.

Octavia lacks comparission: As we grow up we compare. We always do. It helps us to decern right from wrong. The outside world helps us contextualize. Octavia probably never had that. Growing up with mostly her parents she has no other love relationships to look at and compare. Therefore she might not see Stella as an evil person like we do. For us the audiance it is hard to understand why she always puts her mother next to her while talking to Stolas and about the broken "family". But forOctavia Stella is an integral part of her life. (As a mother should be) She has no chance to see the behaviour of her mother as toxic and harmful, because that is how her mother ALWAYS was. Its the only thing Via knows. She cant understand why her father was "fine" with the antics of her mother until a certain point and "suddenly" isnt anymore.

Octavia is a child: That point kinda put me at odds a long time. My parents divorced when i was 12 and I could understand the situation better than her. Octavia is nearly an adult. Most children her age don't want to be that close to their parents, they want to be free, start their own live. Octavia doesn't. She clings to memories, to promises her father made to her and she just feel so so SO young. She tries to be that edgy teen but she feels way more like a child. Which isnt exactly bad but plays a huge part in her character.

Octavia and Stolas

The relationship of father and daugther hit a fallout and it was important that it happened because both characters need to GROW up.

While Stolas never had the chance to grow into his very own charcater due to the fact that his life was planned out for him, he tried to shelter Via from the same fate by protecting her and sacrificing for her. He did basically the other extreme of what he experienced.

Stolas slowly grows into himself, making decisions for himself and realizes that while having the freedom to make decisions for yourself is great, the consequences are yours to bear too. And he just realized how overwhelming these consequences can be in the recent epsiode.

Via on the other hand still needs to grow up. The fallout with her father is over due because stolas isnt JUST her father. She tries to remind him of his role on every step he takes further to himself - his true self.

Octavia needs to finally learn about the world, how healthy relationships look like, and what her father truly did for her. Right now she is angry and dissapointed and from her perspective she has every right to be but she lacks the understanding for her own father. It shows how little she truly knows about the relationship of her parents. She need to question why her father took pills rather than judging him for it. She needs to ask why her mother is so degrading towards him rather than accepting it as a given. She needs to see the true intentions of her uncle and mother rather than overlooking it.

and there clearly is hope. She protected her dad, still called him dad and i belive that if both of them grow and want to mame an effort it can work out. If Via learns more about her parents and the world - if she manages to grow up both father and daughter can grow into a healthy relationship. And if it takes a bruning bridge for now, than so be it but I'm certain that they will find each other again sooner or later.

[futuremrscameron]

academic rival pogue!reader

content warnings: micro aggressions, child endangerment (obx plot), past drug use, rivals to lovers, light misogyny

academic rivals with pope. she’s one of the few people that can really piss him off.

on an academic scholarship at kildare academy and gets harassed for it

“you know it’s really just charity they’re doing letting you come here. they need at least one pogue to make them look diverse.”

bethany leans against her locker across the hallway glancing over every so often barely trying to be subtle about who

“wow that’s a big word for you. you learn that on sesame street?”

“bitch.”

“see you later bethany.”

she and pope push each other to be better and keep each other on their toes. she helps him out with clues from the pogues’ treasure hunts before she knows what’s going on

“i mean what else could it mean.”

“did you never take english lit? the curtains are blue for a reason pope.”

“oh that’s so helpful thank you for your input.”

“did you try looking in a

the only girl in a house full of boys (her father and twin brother)

pope’s complete opposite in every way but academically, she parties, smokes, drinks, and on occasion does coke

“yo rafe!”

“matilda.”

“fuck off.”

“ooh that’s no way to talk to someone that wants something from me.”

hates that pope uses his intelligence to help the pogues with their schemes, she sees it as a waste and thinks he should invest all his brain power into his academics

she definitely fell first. didn’t know how to handle her feelings so she was nicer to him and he was a little scared. why was his rival suddenly being nice to him?

he realized he liked her after she hugged him when he returned to outer banks in s3

“for a genius you sure act like an idiot. do you know how many assignments you missed? don’t scare me like that again asshole.”

“you were worried?”

“no shit heyward.”

“do you like me?”

“wasn’t it obvious?”

gathers homework for pope when he’s absent and drops it off

“i brought your homework.”

“isn’t kildare county high an hour away from kook academy?”

“just take it heyward.”

pope doesn’t realize she likes him until she tells him how much she missed him during his time on poguelandia

study dates at each other’s house that usually turns into making out

the heywards love her, think she’s a good influence on pope unlike his hooligan friends (little do they know)

academic rival!pogue helps pope study for his GED and apply to colleges in and out of state

she’s worried that pope won’t want her when she tells him she’s not a virgin

does not get along with jj but knows how important they both are to him so she would never make him choose

graduates top of her class at kildare county academy

loves cleo. she thinks jj is scum and the other pogues are idiots but cleo? she’s an angel. she’s a thief? who cares. she’s killed people? good for her. she truly believes cleo can do no wrong and might have a tiny crush on her

worries about long distance dating when she goes to brown but is reassured by pope constantly keeping in touch whether it be through phone calls, texts, or actual handwritten letters

very possessive but pope finds it hot

could’ve solved half of the pogues’ problems if they came to her

[iheartbookbran]

There’s something about Rhaenyra’s epithet being the Black Queen and how the color black is often associated with mourning and grief. Because Rhaenyra’s story really starts with the death of her mother, and that’s a grief that she carries onto her adulthood. But it goes deeper than that, we’re told how many children Aemma lost during her marriage to Viserys, and Rhaenyra, though just a child herself at the time, had to experience the loss of her siblings alongside her mother, never being enough for her father because she wasn’t a son. Then she finally becomes the heir, but not in time to save her mother, and the grief never really leaves her. She loses Harwin (and at least in the book, Laena). She learns about the usurpation of her throne at the same time that she learns about the death of her father. She loses her only daughter.

She watches her sons leave her one by one until only one is left.

How could she ever be anything other than the Black Queen?

[camellcat]

first xander brought her back with human breath and determination... then willow with supernatural power and love.... smth smth two halves to keep their third in balance from drifting too far into either side and losing herself.....

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 7 thoughts

hmm. hmm. that is the sound if me pondering what i just watched.

(i understand that this episode was an analysis into mulder's self-destructive behaviors when faced with overwhelming grief, but. that does not mean i enjoyed vampire hookup time)

well. we shall start from the top!

i read that it was an episode about vampires which i thought was a weird narrative choice because. hello. scully still gone??? but then i remembered that i too ignored the main quest in skyrim to hunt some vampires and that i had no place to judge

(granted, my main quest wasn't finding scully though. might have given that a bit more priority than saving the whole world. because she IS my whole world)

we open with a guy that looks like joe biden meeting with an attractive young woman. they're making out in a hot tub and we just know someone is gonna get slurped upon. and woe, it be upon us! double vampire attack.

back in DC, mulder gets his old office back! it's covered in plastic. he takes some of it off. he adjusts his calendar from may to november, so we see how much time he and scully had been assigned to other tasks, which also has me wondering how she managed to get a new house that quick.

(also, this calendar is... scantily clad women posing next to tools such as hammers and saws. was this allowed? was this acceptable? was it normal? were the 90's a lawless wasteland and mulder an irreparable freak?)

well. scully is an x file now, and he puts her glasses and id into an evidence bag and closes the filing cabinet which was sooooo evil. but he can't bring himself to put her necklace away. oh man. oh he's gotta have it in case he finds her. he has to hold her close. i'm Fine this is Fine.

so. he goes out to california to deal with the joe biden looking fellow being murdered. and he is not wanted on the crime scene. we know this because someone greets him by saying "nobody called the bureau" and he says "well, they should have" and lifts up the tape to let himself in. because one thing about him is that he's gonna let himself into a place he isn't wanted.

he sees the writing of a bible verse in blood on the wall and says something about their grasp of biblical knowledge being "feeble and literal" and i was like okayyy need to have a theological discussion with him

he then scares the other guy who originally wanted to kick him out by reciting a LARGE amount of facts related to similar cases and it's very much giving photographic memory. got me thinking, have we ever seen this man forget something? (directions don't count. they're confusing. but everything else sticks in that man's brain)

he just needs one thing: a phone book. which he uses to call a blood bank and ask about a new guy. who must be the vampire who did this!

so he rolls up to the blood bank and i'm over here struggling because i do Not Do Blood, and i knew at this point this was gonna be a tough watch, but i didn't anticipate the non-blood related reasons why this would be true

anyway he's sniffing around the blood bank and he hears some slurping and wouldn't you know, this dude is tearing into a bag of the red stuff like it's a capri sun. somehow he gets him into custody, where the dude refuses to talk because the lights are on, and mulder comes in with a lamp he put a red filter over, because he was prepared for vampire interrogation.

the vampire is going on about how what he did isn't murder because it's not like animals hunting prey is murder which is. not the greatest approach in terms of legal defense. mulder tells the guard that the guy is delusional and it's best to play along, and he believed this to be true... until he, quite literally, burned to a crisp in the sunlight. and died.

he's talking to the coroner and rattling off a bunch of vampire facts and says he didn't believe in vampires which is so funny to me because like. why is that where you draw the line, my friend. not at bigfoot and definitely not at aliens. but man. vampires are just too out there for spooky mulder. until now!

the coroner has a very funny line: "you are really upsetting me... on several levels" which seems to be the general effect fox mulder has on people. and also because i felt the same way about his dumbass actions during this episode.

coroner finds a stamp on the dead body's hand, which seems to come from a nightclub. so naturally our fbi agent ends up there.

you often see posts saying that "(insert character here) should be at the club". i fear that this is not the case for fox mulder, but it's possible that it's his suit and tie that are throwing me off. he just doesn't seem like he belongs there. i ask myself, where should he be instead? perhaps some sort of star wars convention would suit him better. a book signing with some author he likes. idk, an interior decorating festival. not here.

i shall use my verbatim words to walk you through the next scene:

"pause. he's talking to a woman who was looking into a compact without a mirror. so. vampire suspect. and now why are they getting so close together. and getting a drink. okay now they're leaving to a new spot together? AFTER she admits to vampirism"

(here she did some stuff that required me to look away from my screen due to my Weak Constitution. but also it would have felt necessary to look away anyway because it was getting... charged)

she tries to get him to... suck on her finger... but he won't do it because aids. which is fair. i think that's a smart move, actually. it's just that getting flirty with a vampire he knows was involved with a ton of killings was such a stupid move, i don't know why it's now the braincells start to kick in.

that kills the vibe, though, so she gets another guy to take his place and things escalate.

mulder pulls in at a restaurant called ra. nice! the sun god! and he is... through a window, witnessing some more slurping action. he seems to want to intervene and save this poor soul being feasted upon...

but the poor soul is no poor soul at all! he comes out and decks mulder, and delivers this line with stunning conviction: "i don't know who you are, freak, but we're two consenting adults" and with this, he is forced to flee.

and yeah. it made me laugh. my expectations for the genre were subverted. he signed up for that shit! what he did not sign up for, however, was the next part, where he was killed by the other vampires.

cut to investigating the crime scene. mulder has brought along a forensic dentist, which is a job i had no idea you could go into. he needs to see about those bites, which are very human.

next they go to vampire woman's house. it's a very nice place. mulder... opens her oven. and sees a loaf of bread in there. and i'm thinking, man, i hope this doesn't go where i think it's going. baked goods... ovens... i never want a vampire pregnancy arc. but he cracks open the loaf and something red spills out and somehow, this to him means that she is gone and isn't coming back. he can read the signs of the bread. so add that to his resume. what did the bread tell you, my liege?

he seems to have stayed in her house, however, because he's there when she's back, and says he knows she was using the bread as a charm to ward off evil. because apparently that's an eastern european thing, blood bread to warn off evil. sound off if any eastern europeans in the chat wanna confirm or deny.

anyway. he's IN this woman he thinks is a vampire's HOUSE? what the hell. mulder seriously i need you to stop and think. like you should have stopped and done some thinking a while ago. honestly i'm not mad i'm just disappointed. and he's like "i want to save you come with me before they kill you" ohhh big tough man needs to save her huh. make him feel good inside. huh. certainly no ulterior motive here...

she's monologing about her horrible childhood and how sweet blood tastes. um girl. don't lie to him like that. i have busted my lip open before that stuff does NOT taste sweet and dangerous. it's like a penny with rust that you found in a parking lot.

it seems her vampiric origin story, if to be believed, is that things simply got too kinky. which is a new take on the genre.

(it's also about being caught in an abusive relationship and the damage that inflicts, but it seems abusive boyfriend came into vampirism at his kinky parties and things escalated from there. which. well. it blew the eyebrows clean off my head, to be fair)

at this point we see that he is WEARING SCULLY'S NECKLACE? he says something like "it's from someone i lost" and she says that she "hopes he finds her"

i did not like the undertones here and certainly not the overtones. because i knew where this was going. he was shaving in her bathroom. and let me tell you something: there is only ever a shaving scene in media because the writer needs a way to get some blood out of someone's body and into the real world. and man. i knew it was coming.

but what i didn't see coming was her SHAVING HIM??? girl. i am uncomfy. and she does, of course, cut him, and then they kiss. aggressively. terribly aggressively. can anyone answer what was going on in a satisfactory manner?

but the gag is: the original vampire- who burnt to a crisp in the jail cell, and was the abusive ex she spoke of- HE'S WATCHING THEM THROUGH THE WINDOW!

he breaks in and taunts the vampire woman about how he had to "wait for her to finish" and i was like cool. thank you SO much for that mental image i'm super happy with it. i definitely don't feel like i need a shower. but then he's going on about how he can't be killed.

here, at the tail end of the episode, we learn the rules of vampirism in this world: a vampire cannot be killed by a non-vampire. and a non-vampire BECOMES a vampire by consuming the blood of a believer and also taking a life. it is only here we realize that this woman is not an actual vampire yet, she just appropriates their culture by drinking blood unnecessarily.

mulder's still sleeping in her bed and she's like "you need to leave" and she stabs the wall to make her evil ex think she's killing him. but when they go to break out, mulder ties him up quite handily and he gets in the car to escape with vampire woman. until ANOTHER vampire woman jumps on the hood of their car. and main vampire woman knocks her out for a bit by running into her with said car, which is super effective.

mulder's leaving the place in shambles, his shirt still unbuttoned, wandering down the side of the hill. back at the house, now that we know the vampire rules, main vampire woman says she can finally kill the evil vampire ex. and he's like how!! you haven't had the blood of a believer or taken a life. so. she licks the blood off her hands (unclear if it's hers or mulders tbh) and says she'll take her own life. and drops a match after pouring gasoline.

so. that brings that to an end. and shabby looking mulder sits on a hill as he learns all four in the house died.

the episode ends with him playing with scully's necklace. which i don't even sort of feel like unpacking right now but maybe another time.

probably not, though, because i just didn't like this episode. and yeah, a lot of it comes down to me not wanting to see mulder hook up with people who aren't scully. can you blame me? is it so wrong to have preferences in this world?

but also, narrative wise- do you honestly see the guy fucking off to cali while scully's still missing to deal with an unrelated problem instead of devoting every hour of his life to finding her, like we saw him do in the last episode? you expect me to think he just puts it off for a lil while? the guy who, just last episode, pulled his gun on the ski lift operator to get to the top where she might be a little faster, and then choked his one and only suspect out of fury? you're thinking this is the guy that's gonna go soak up some west coast rays?

and yeah, he was obviously not himself through the episode- very cold and analytical- but c'mon. we all want to bang a vampire. he's not special. i just personally wouldn't do that if my friend were gone. like how is that gonna help the situation. be so for real. time and place!

and also the whole only learning the rules of being a vampire about 5 minutes before they need it to be plot relevant. that annoyed me too.

overall, mulder, like i said, i'm not mad, just disappointed.

let me know what you thought on this episode- i try to not be a hater, but i also understand that hating in small doses can be good for the soul. if it's a widely beloathed episode i'll feel better in my judgement as i join a long tradition of haters who have come before me.

[spacedlexi]

speaking of fucked up overly hated female twdg characters i find it Super Interesting how people will say carver was the best villain in the whole series, but when lilly is literally just a successful carver (iron fist leader of a community turning children into soldiers) suddenly shes a bad/lame villain for some reason 🤔

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

i spent all morning looking for the cheapest ways to get to venice next monday and i feel like i've cracked the code or something i think i got it