#the unfamiliarity and such but there’s something going on something will happen

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter ten ♡

Summary: You open the door to Joel, preparing yourself to hear what he has to say. WC: 9.9k A/N: Helloooooo! Wishing you all happy holidays! I hope your holiday season was wonderful, and that you enjoy reading this part. Be patient <3 I def enjoyed writing it lol Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! love u all

“I... I know you probably don't wanna see me,” he said, his voice low, almost strained, his eyes dark and heavy with something blue, looking at you with controlled desperation. “But I... I... can we talk? Please?”

Your eyes blinked rapidly, lashes brushing against your skin in quick, involuntary flutters. Joel caught the movement immediately. Of course he did. He noticed everything about you, even now, even after everything. It was obvious he had startled you, but whether that made him feel vindicated or more like an intruder, he couldn’t tell.

The week had been hell. He had been hell. Work was relentless, a grind of demands and decisions that seemed designed to erode what little patience he had left. Coming home wasn’t much better—Sarah’s teenage tolerance for him was wearing thin, and he knew it. Her exasperated sighs, her eyerolls, the way she barely looked up when he walked in the door.

The last time you’d spoken, your voice had been steady, measured, almost clinical, which somehow made it worse. “I think you should go,” you’d said, calm and certain, slicing through the rising heat of his anger like a blade. “I just... I just need some time.”

Anger had only been the surface. Underneath, he was wrecked. Broken in a way that felt unfamiliar, even compared to the times he thought he’d been hurt before. While you spoke, his mind had fixated on Travis—his stupid smirking face, the condescending edge to his voice. It was all Joel could see, all he could hear, drowning out everything else.

He’d slammed the door of his house that day and told himself he was done. He wasn’t going to call, wasn’t going to show up, wasn’t going to see you again. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He told himself he was done. Done with you, done with all of it.

You won’t see her again. You don’t want to see her again. The resolve felt like armor at first, solid and impenetrable. But later, as he sat in the dark of his room, it hollowed out, echoing back every memory of you he couldn’t seem to let go of.

And now here he was, standing in front of you, stripped of any armor he thought he had. He told himself he looked calm, his posture straight, his face neutral. But his hands betrayed him, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt, his fingers curling and uncurling like they didn’t know what else to do.

“Joel,” you said finally, and it wasn’t anger in your voice. He heard that right away, though what it was instead, he couldn’t quite name. “Need somethin'?”

The coldness of your tone startled him more than he wanted to admit. Not anger. Indifference. He recognized it only because it was unfamiliar coming from you.

“Yeah,” he said, too quickly, the word tumbling out before he had time to second-guess it. “Yes. I... I need to talk to you. Please, can we talk?”

“What do you wanna talk about?”

Your question was measured, but it wasn’t an invitation. He felt his lips twitch into an awkward half-smile, the kind you used to find endearing in its clumsiness. Now it only seemed to widen the space between you. You both knew the answer; you were just making him say it.

“About everything,” he said, stepping closer without thinking. The movement was automatic, but the way you took a step back wasn’t. It hit him like a sudden ache, sharp and lingering. “My birthday. What happened after. Travis. Everything I said to you, everything I did.”

“I don’t wanna fight, Joel.”

“Neither do I,” he said quickly, his voice soft. “I ain't here to fight. I swear. Please, just... give me a minute. If you don’t wanna hear me after this, I’ll—” He hesitated, his throat tight. “I’ll respect that.”

Your head tilted slightly, a small, almost imperceptible motion. “You’ll leave me alone?”

The words landed hard. He felt it, like a stone dropping into his chest.

“If that’s what you want,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, his gaze locked on yours. “If that’s what you really want, then yeah. I’ll leave you alone.”

You shifted to the side, a subtle movement that opened a narrow space between your body and the doorframe. Joel hesitated for just a moment before stepping through, his eyes flicking to your face as his arm brushed lightly against yours. The contact was fleeting, accidental, but it sent a strange charge through him that he couldn’t quite ignore.

As he walked past, he inhaled deeply, letting the scent of your home wash over him. It was grounding, like stepping into a memory he hadn’t realized he was carrying. The air was thick with the comforting notes he associated with you—freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint, clean sweetness of the textile spray you spritzed religiously on the couch cushions. Beneath that lingered the softer, subtler scents: the warm floral of your fabric softener, the trace of your favorite perfume still clinging to your skin, and something else he couldn’t quite name but had always recognized as distinctly you.

It was the same scent that used to cling to his shirt after one of your hugs, when his nose would inevitably dip into the curve of your neck without thinking. The thought of it now hit him like a whisper of nostalgia, equal parts tender and bittersweet.

Joel’s gaze swept the living room as he entered, and he paused, taking in the familiar organized chaos. Two mugs, each half-full, sat abandoned on the coffee table. Next to them lay the crinkled remnants of half-finished snacks. Soft blankets were strewn across the couch, their folds still marked with the shapes of bodies that had recently lounged there. Two candles flickered on the mantel, filling the air with the warm, tropical scent of coconut and vanilla. On the floor, two pairs of slippers rested haphazardly, as if their owners had kicked them off mid-laughter.

The first pair was purple, dotted with little blue hearts—Cassie’s, he assumed. The other pair he recognized instantly. The white pom-pom slippers, soft and well-loved, and he could still picture the Christmas he’d given them to you. You’d hurt your foot a week earlier, and he’d insisted you needed something sturdy to wear around the house. At the time, you’d rolled your eyes at the practicality of the gift but had smiled when you slipped them on anyway. After that, he gave you his other gift: the complete box set of Nightmare on Elm Street. 

Now, seeing them here, Joel felt a tightness in his chest, a painful warmth that spread through him as he took in the scene. This mess, this lived-in disarray, was evidence of you. Evidence of life. And he missed it.

For weeks now, his own home had been the opposite—too quiet, too clean. No lingering smells of scented candles, no forgotten mugs on the table. Sarah had been retreating to her room more and more, and the spaces she used to fill with her presence now felt hollow. The house smelled of little more than coffee, and the silence stretched long and thin, oppressive in its stillness.

“Have a seat,” you said, your voice cutting through his thoughts. “Want some coffee? Cassie made a pot before she left.”

Joel didn’t want a tidy house. He didn’t want a quiet living room. He didn’t want the emptiness that had taken root in his home.

He wanted noise. He wanted laughter echoing through the halls, the kind that erupted out of nowhere and carried long after the joke had ended. He wanted his living room cluttered with the evidence of conversations and evenings spent together. He wanted his house to smell like candles, fresh bread from the oven—burnt edges and all—and your perfume lingering in the air. He wanted the warmth of Sarah and Tommy and you, all of you there together, filling the house with life again.

“Sure,” he replied, watching as you moved past him toward the kitchen. His eyes followed the curve of your shoulder, the way the light caught in your hair, until you disappeared through the door.

He sat down on the couch, his hands resting on his thighs as his gaze landed on the coffee table. A book lay there, its spine tilted just enough for him to read the title: Jane Eyre. His fingers reached for it instinctively, brushing over the cover as memories flickered to life. Two years ago, you had insisted he watch the movie with you. He’d been indifferent at first, grumbling about how slow it was, but by the end, he’d found himself blinking furiously, swiping at the tears that kept slipping past his guard. You and Sarah hadn’t let him live it down, teasing him gently once the lights came back on.

A quiet laugh nearly escaped him at the memory, but it faded as you reappeared, two mugs balanced carefully in your hands. You set them down on the table and took the seat across from him.

Joel reached for his mug immediately, grateful for something to do with his hands. He lifted it to his lips, the warmth spreading through his palms as he took a sip. The coffee was strong and slightly sweet, the taste familiar and comforting. But as he lowered the cup, he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting back to you, watching as you settled in place.

You sat next to him, the cushion between you a quiet, unspoken boundary neither of you seemed willing to cross. Your arms rested on your lap, fingers absently tracing patterns on your knee, while your eyes fixed on him—watching, waiting. He wasn’t looking at you, not yet. His gaze was locked on the mug in his hands, the coffee inside long forgotten, as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to this conversation.

The silence stretched, uncomfortable and taut, until finally, he broke it.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what to say to you,” he began, his voice steady but low. He didn’t look up, still focused on the mug. “How to say it, what order to put it in so I wouldn’t just… trip over myself and make it worse.”

You said nothing, your eyes trailing across his profile, noting the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows.

“And even after all that thinkin', there doesn’t seem to be an ideal way to do this,” he continued, his fingers tightening around the ceramic. “But I think… I think the first thing I gotta say is that I’m sorry.” He paused, swallowed, then lifted his eyes to yours. They were heavy with something raw. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze, refusing to give him an inch.

“What’s everything?”

You already knew. Of course, you knew. But you needed him to say it, needed to hear the words from his mouth.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “For not being enough. For not living up to what you needed. For being a coward.” His voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on. “I’ve been afraid—terrified, actually—and I hate myself for it.”

Your tone was sharper than you intended. “Afraid of what?”

“Of making a mistake. Of ruining things.” His gaze dropped back to his hands, his lower lip trembling in a way that made something inside you twist painfully.

“You already ruined things, Joel. You already blew it.”

At that, he looked up, his face pale, his expression something close to stricken.

“I know,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “I know I did. But… I was hurt.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You were hurt?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rising just a touch, a hint of frustration there. “Last time we talked, at my place, we said things… things that stuck in my head and twisted ‘round ‘til I couldn’t think straight. And then Travis—he blindsided me. He said things I wasn’t ready to hear, and before I knew it, I was just… angry. Angry and too stubborn to think if any of it even made sense.”

“You could have asked me about it,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your voice tight with restrained anger. “It would have been that simple. All you had to do was ask.”

Joel shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable.

“You say it like it’s easy. Like it’s that black and white. But it wasn’t. I couldn’t think straight. My head was full of these awful, painful thoughts, and I didn’t know if I could face the answer. I didn’t know if I wanted to face it. What if you told me it was true?”

“What if I told you it was true?” you repeated, incredulous, your voice sharp enough to make him flinch. “Joel, it’s me. Not some stranger off the street. It’s me. Why is it so fucking hard for you to talk to me?”

“'Cause it’s you!” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he finally set the mug down, turning fully toward you. “You’re not just anyone, don’t you get that? You’ve never been just anyone. You’re you, and that’s why it scared me so much. That’s why it’s always scared me.”

You stared at him, your hand brushing against your neck as you tried to process his words.

“What does that even mean?” you asked, your voice quiet but loaded with frustration. “I’m me, but you treat me like I’m a stranger. You accuse me of things I would never do. How does that make sense?”

“It doesn't make sense, I know,” he said, his voice soft now, filled with remorse. “I know, and I’m sorry. I should have—”

You cut him off, leaning closer, your tone sharp and unforgiving.

“I talked to Travis, Joel. He told me everything. He told me what he said to you—that he implied we’d slept together that night.” Your voice faltered for a moment, but you steadied it. “And it was a lie. He lied to you. And you didn’t even stop to think. You didn’t come to me. You just believed him.”

“I know,” he said again, his voice a little stronger this time, though his eyes dropped to the floor. “I know it was a lie. I know that now.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “How?”

He met your eyes, and for the first time that evening, there was something solid in his expression, something that felt like conviction.

“Travis confessed to me. Earlier today.”

You blinked, stunned, the words hitting you like a physical blow.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you talking about?”

“He came to my house this morning.” He paused, glancing at his hands like they might steady him. “When I saw him, I wanted to beat him to a pulp. I thought about it—what it’d feel like, what it’d fix. But he looked… pathetic. Like a wet dog. And I don’t know why, but I listened to him.” He exhaled sharply, his fingers curling into a fist on his thigh. “He confessed everything. Said it was all a lie. That he was angry that night, that he wanted to hurt me, hurt you, us. And that he was sorry.”

That morning, before Joel had even finished his first cup of coffee, the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all Travis, who stood on the porch looking like he’d rehearsed this moment a dozen times but still wasn’t ready. There was a tension to his posture—hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders squared but uneven, like he couldn’t decide between defiance and regret.

Joel opened the door without a word, his eyes narrowing slightly, the kind of look that made most people hesitate. But Travis didn’t flinch. He cleared his throat, glanced briefly over Joel’s shoulder as though confirming they were alone, and began. His confession was brief but clear.

Joel stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his silence heavy and deliberate. Anger started to build in him, slow and deliberate, like water simmering in a pot. If he’d been alone, he might’ve said something sharp or done something rash—just enough to make Travis rethink ever stepping foot here again. But Sarah was at the dining table, half-hidden behind a glass of orange juice, listening to every word. It was too early in the day for things to escalate, and besides, Joel knew better.

“I don’t know you, Joel,” he said, voice low but firm. He kept his gaze on Joel, unblinking, but his body angled slightly away, as if ready to retreat if things got ugly. “And I don’t claim to know the whole story between you two. Don’t know all the details, don’t pretend to.” He exhaled sharply, a trace of frustration slipping through. “But I know enough to say this—she doesn’t deserve what you’ve done to her. Not a damn bit of it.”

Joel’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening, but he stayed silent, his arms crossed in front of him like a barrier.

Travis shifted again, this time squaring his shoulders, his voice growing firmer.

“Whether you deserve her or not... that ain’t my call to make.” He shook his head, almost as if he pitied Joel. “But, just be enough. Stop lookin’ for ways to screw it up. Fix it. Make it right.”

The last words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. Travis glanced back at Joel one final time before stepping off the porch, his body already half-turned away, as if to signal the conversation was over.

Joel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He stayed there, rooted to the spot, as Travis turned and walked away without looking back. When the door finally closed, Joel exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair before heading back to the kitchen.

Sarah was seated at the table, her cereal soggy in its bowl, her chin propped up on one hand as she watched him. Her expression was impossible to read at first—calm, maybe even detached—but there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, the kind that always made Joel brace himself.

He dropped into the chair across from her, rubbing a hand across his face.

“So,” she began, her voice light but measured, “are you gonna tell me what that was about, or should I start guessing? Because I can go wild with it if you want.”

Joel looked at her, his mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile despite himself. “You don’t need to guess anything, Sarah. Eat your breakfast.”

She raised an eyebrow, letting the silence hang for a beat. Then she switched tactics.

"You have the afternoon off today, don't you?”

"Yeah."

“Can I spend the afternoon with Irina?” she asked then, her tone casual, like the question had been waiting for its moment to pounce. 

Joel eyed her suspiciously, leaning back in his chair. “Why do I get the feeling this is part of a larger plan?”

“Because it is,” Sarah said brightly, sitting up straighter. “But also because you’re smart, and I’m obviously your favorite child, so you’re always on high alert.”

Joel snorted. “You’re my only child.”

“Exactly,” she said, pointing at him with her spoon. “See how much you have to lose if you say no?”

“Fine,” Joel said, shaking his head. “But be home for dinner.”

“Can I stay over?” she asked immediately, her tone hopeful but strategic, like she was carefully laying pieces on a chessboard.

“Sarah—”

“Tomorrow’s saturday,” she interrupted, grinning now. “And besides, you could use some alone time. Don’t you think? You know, kick back, put your feet up, maybe even watch a movie. Something fun, preferably. You’ve been way too broody lately—it’s not good for your skin.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “My skin is fine, thank you very much.”

“I’m just saying,” she said, widening her eyes for emphasis. “Take a self-care moment. Relax. Settle your affairs. And let’s be honest—at some point, you’re gonna have to get used to me bein’ gone. In a few years, I’ll be outta the house anyway. Might as well start now.”

Joel chuckled low in his chest, shaking his head. “You’re thirteen, sweetheart. You’re not leavin’ anytime soon.”

“Thirteen and a half,” she corrected. “Which means I’m practically halfway to twenty. Time flies, man. Better get used to it.”

He shook his head, a smile breaking through despite his best efforts.

Joel shook his head, letting out a quiet chuckle.  “ Come back for dinner,” he said firmly. “And finish your breakfast, smartass. We’re running late.”

Relief fluttered through you, but it didn’t stay long enough to root itself. Instead, anger rose, sharp and unyielding, burning through your chest like fire.  

“So that’s why you’re here,” you said, your voice cutting through the air between you. “Because Travis decided to clear his conscience? What if he hadn’t? What then, Joel? Would you have hated me for the rest of your life without even asking me about it?”  

“No,” he said quickly, his posture straightening as if bracing for impact. “Of course not. I wanted to come and talk to you before—”  

“How can I be sure of that?” you interrupted, leaning forward slightly, your voice cold and unwavering.  

His face shifted, his desperation barely masked. His eyes moved over your features, searching for something—an opening, a shred of forgiveness, anything to grasp onto. It was the look of someone teetering on the edge of losing what mattered most. And seeing him like that, so vulnerable and raw, sent a sharp pang through your chest.  

But you didn’t move. You didn’t let him off that easily.  

Joel sighed heavily, the sound thick with frustration and resignation. He looked back down at his hands, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the conversation was pressing him into the couch. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. You watched him wrestle with his thoughts, his jaw tightening and loosening, his fingers twitching slightly.  

Finally, he opened his mouth, but no words came. He shut it again, his brow furrowing, his expression pained. He looked like he was trying to pull something out of himself that refused to surface. Then, with a deep breath, he ran a hand over his forehead, his fingers brushing through his hair before he finally lifted his gaze to meet yours again.  

His cheeks were flushed, the color spreading to his neck, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter but startlingly clear.  

“You could do the worst atrocities in the world to me, and I’d still come crawling back to you,” he said, his words landing heavily in the space between you.  

You blinked, stunned, your anger momentarily eclipsed by his confession.  

“I’d take it all,” he continued, his voice steady despite the emotion rippling just beneath the surface. “Every insult, every blow. At first, I’d probably bark back—like some angry dog—but it wouldn’t matter. I’d still come back to you. Over and over again. Until you decided I wasn’t worth the effort anymore. And even then…” His voice faltered slightly, his eyes darkening as he leaned closer to you. “Even then, I’d wait. I’d wait for you like some stupid, loyal, domesticated animal.”  

His hand fell lightly onto your knee, the weight of it grounding and electric all at once. His face was closer now, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin.  

You stared at him, speechless, his words circling in your mind, unfamiliar and disarming. You had never heard him talk like this before, never heard him articulate his feelings with such painful honesty.  

Confusion flickered across your face, your brows knitting together as you tried to process what he’d said. But before you could respond, Joel pulled his hand back, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he was reluctant to let go.  

He sat back, his hand running along his jawline, his thumb brushing against his stubble in an attempt to soothe himself. His eyes shifted away from you, staring somewhere into the distance as he collected himself.  

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant, but still carrying the weight of everything he hadn’t said yet. His eyes stayed fixed on some invisible point in front of him, his expression thoughtful and distant.  

“I’m a lucky man,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching in a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Though for a long time, I thought life had it out for me.”  

The confession lingered in the room for a moment before he continued, his voice lower now, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to you.  

“When I was a teenager, I had all these goals, y'know? Dreams that seemed so big and endless back then. And then every single one of 'em became impossible the moment Amelia told me she was pregnant.” He laughed softly, though it wasn’t a happy sound. It carried the weight of years gone by, of opportunities lost. “It took me a while to make peace with that. To accept that everything I thought my life would be was just… gone. My responsibilities changed overnight, and I wasn’t ready. Not even close.”  

You stayed quiet, your gaze fixed on him as he spoke, unwilling to break the flow of his words.  

“It was hard,” he admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture of discomfort. “Harder than I could’ve imagined. But then Sarah was born.” His voice softened when he said her name, a reverence in the way he spoke of her. “And everything changed. Suddenly, none of it mattered anymore—not the dreams I lost, not the plans I’d made. Because I had her. She was all I needed to be happy, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.”  

There was a pause, a stillness that filled the space as he collected his thoughts. His hands, resting on his knees, clasped together tightly, his knuckles turning white.  

“And then Amelia left,” he said, his voice dropping lower, his jaw tightening as though the memory itself was still too sharp. “When she walked away, I thought I wouldn’t survive it. I wanted to die. The only thing that kept me going was Sarah. She was my strength, my reason to keep breathing. And Tommy,” he added with a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “even if he gave me more headaches than I could count.”  

His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Those years were… suffocating. I was drowning, trying to stay afloat for Sarah’s sake. I worked every hour I could, even when it wasn’t enough. And I tried so damn hard to keep her from noticing. She was just a baby, too little to understand, but I noticed. I noticed every empty space, every moment we didn’t have what we should’ve.”  

Joel paused, his fingers fiddling with an invisible thread on his jeans, his voice turning steadier as he continued.  

“Everything I did was for her,” he said, his tone resolute. “Everything I still do is for her. I didn’t care if I wore the same worn-out shoes for years, as long as she had everything she needed. I didn’t care about working overtime, as long as she had a good christmas, with all the things she’d ever dreamed of.”  

A soft smile crept onto his face, faint but genuine. “And then things got better. I started making more money. I was able to move us into a nicer place, give her her own room with everything she wanted—books, toys, a million stuffed animals. Seeing her happy was all I needed. Nothing else mattered. My own dreams, my own goals—they didn’t even exist anymore. I didn’t have room for them. All I cared about was her.”  

He exhaled shakily, his hands now clenched together, his shoulders slightly hunched as if carrying a weight he hadn’t quite managed to set down.  

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. His words settled into you, heavy and aching. Your throat tightened, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. You knew Joel was a good father—better than most. But hearing him lay it bare like this, recounting the sacrifices he made and the pain he endured, broke something inside you.  

He looked down, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“I had no desires of my own,” he admitted, his words halting, “until I met you.”  

Your breath hitched at his confession, your gaze dropping to your hands, folded tightly in your lap.  

Joel shifted in his seat, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours. He was waiting, searching your face for a reaction. When you finally looked up, your vision blurred, a single tear slipping down your cheek.  

“And then you moved in next to me,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “And I became the luckiest man in the world. Because that night, on your birthday, I saw it. I felt it, clear as day, in your eyes.” His voice wavered slightly. “Did you feel it too?”  

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”  

Joel’s gaze flickered between yours, searching, probing for even the faintest shadow of doubt. But he found none. Your answer had left no room for uncertainty, and the truth of it settled visibly in his chest. For a moment, his eyes dropped to his hands, fidgeting restlessly in his lap. The reprieve was brief; his gaze snapped back to yours almost immediately, as if afraid to lose the fragile connection.  

“You took me completely by surprise,” he began, his voice low and unsteady. “I had this quiet, organized life. Everything was in its place, everything predictable. And then you came along, and suddenly I was thinking about futures I’d never allowed myself to imagine before. Futures where my purpose wasn’t just being a dad, where there was… more.”

His lips pressed together, and he glanced past your shoulder, unable to hold your gaze for long under the weight of his admission. “I tried to act on it. I wanted to. I told myself I’d tell you how I felt, ask you out properly, but I was terrified. You were such an easy part of our lives, mine and Sarah’s, that the idea of risking that, of losing you…” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as though frustrated with himself. “I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t.”  

His eyes returned to you, a mixture of resignation and determination clouding their depths. “So I swallowed it all. All these years, I’ve done everything I could to be the friend you deserved. To not let my feelings interfere. But if I’m being honest…” He paused, his jaw tightening as though bracing for impact. “I’d take anything from you. I’d come back to you every fucking time, no matter what. Because the thought of living without you—” He stopped abruptly, his voice catching in his throat.  

Joel exhaled sharply, attempting to recover, and then a faint, self-deprecating humor colored his expression.

“I know how pathetic I sound right now,” he said, his voice lighter but no less sincere. “I don’t care.”  

“Yeah, Joel, that’s pretty damn pathetic,” you replied, your lips curving into a soft, fleeting smile. There wasn’t much humor in it, but it was enough to ease some of the tension between you.  

Joel chuckled faintly, shaking his head as though chastising himself. He glanced down at the floor, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I know,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’ve been feeling pretty pathetic lately.”  

“Me too,” you admitted quietly, your voice tinged with an exhaustion that mirrored his.  

Silence stretched between you, not awkward but weighted. Joel’s hands stilled, resting loosely against his knees, though you could tell he was still grappling with everything he’d laid bare. You studied him in that moment—every slight movement, every shift in his expression—trying to parse the tangle of thoughts in your own mind.  

For Joel, the quiet was a reminder of how vulnerable he’d been. He could feel a knot tightening in his stomach, a lump rising in his throat that he fought to suppress. The fear of baring himself so fully gnawed at him, but it didn’t terrify him as much as losing you did.  

“I don’t regret that night,” he said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, though his eyes remained fixed on the floor. “But I hate how it happened. I hate that our first night together came out of a fight. A fight where I was…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Terrible to you. That’s not how it should have been.”  

“Oh, God. Stop that,” you cut in sharply, your tone carrying the faintest edge of irritation. You leaned forward, placing your hand firmly on his knee. “I’m tired of hearing you say the same thing over and over. Things are the way they are. Nothing more.”  

His head snapped toward you, his brows knitting together in confusion and disbelief. His lips parted, as if he wanted to argue, but no words came immediately.  

“I get it, okay?” he said eventually, his voice quieter but no less intense. “But I fucking blew it. Look where we are now. Years of keeping my feelings bottled up—for what?”  

You shook your head and pulled your hand away from his knee, covering your face as frustration bubbled to the surface. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your cheeks felt hot, and bitterness churned in your chest.

“Why are you so uncomfortable with the idea of being more than my friend?” you asked, your voice trembling, broken and laced with helplessness. “If we had never argued, we never would have slept together, and then what? You would have spent your whole life being just that—my friend?”

Joel’s face contorted, a mix of anguish and confusion. “It’s not that, I... I...” He faltered, his words tumbling over themselves as his gaze flickered between his hands and your face, desperate to find the right thing to say. “Relationships are complicated, you know that. No matter how hard you try, sometimes things just... break. Feelings get messy, people hurt each other, and then it’s over. And after that? You’re left with the wreckage, picking up the pieces, trying to put them back together, and... starting over. And I want to be wi—”

“I’m not Amelia!”

Your voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp and unrelenting. Joel froze. His body went still, his eyes wide as he watched you rise from your seat, your palms pressing against your face to catch the tears that spilled freely now. A sob broke through your chest, raw and guttural, shaking your whole body.

Joel stood abruptly, closing the space between you with long, purposeful strides. He reached out, his large hands settling gently on your shoulders, trying to ground you, to pull you closer to him. But you resisted, your body tense and unyielding beneath his touch.

You dragged your hands down from your face, revealing tear-streaked cheeks and an expression so pained that Joel felt an ache bloom in his chest. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, as he took in the sight of you.

“Why do you have to make everything harder?” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of desperation. Your words fell between you, sharp and piercing. “I know what happened to you was horrible, Joel. I know. I can’t imagine how alone you must have felt. It hurts—God, it hurts—to think of you going through that. I wish I could go back in time and change it, spare you all that suffering, but I can’t.”

Your voice broke again, and you shook your head, gripping his arms tightly as if trying to anchor yourself. “I can’t change it, and neither can you.”

“I know, baby,” Joel said softly, his voice almost breaking. “I don’t—”

“No!” you interrupted, your hands squeezing his arms harder. “You know nothing! You don’t listen to me. You’re scared—this, us, it terrifies you because it makes you feel weak and vulnerable, and you hate that. I know you do, because I know you. I know you like the back of my hand, just like I know myself."

Your voice rose, thick with emotion, trembling but unwavering. “You’ve spent years building everything you have, brick by brick, because you know how fragile it all is. You know how quickly it can fall apart. And yes, it’s true—that’s life. That’s how it works.”

Joel tried to interrupt, but you pressed on, your words pouring out like a dam had broken. “But I’m not Amelia, Joel. I’m not going to leave when things get hard. I’m not going to disappear. Just look at me—look at me right now. This has been hell since your birthday, absolute hell, and yet I’m still here. I’m standing in front of you, listening to you, when maybe—probably—you don’t even fucking deserve it.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and his hands slipped from your shoulders to your elbows, holding onto you as if afraid you might disappear. His eyes glistened, his lips slightly parted as he took in your words. For a moment, the room was silent except for the uneven sounds of your breathing.

“I know,” Joel said abruptly, his words choking out in a way that made his chest tighten, like he was barely able to get them out at all. “I’ve been a coward all this time, but—”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me the same thing again,” you cut him off, shaking your head in frustration, taking a small step back, your space suddenly feeling more necessary than ever. “Yeah, real—”

“Can you stop interrupting me and just listen?” he snapped, his voice sharp, the calm restraint in it fraying just a little as he stepped closer, his hands landing gently on your shoulders, grounding himself in the movement.

He stared down at your feet, his gaze lingering there, not meeting your eyes, the words heavy in the space between you. In that moment, he felt desperate, like the situation was slipping through his fingers again, but somehow, there was a strange sense of vulnerability in his posture, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff with nowhere to go but forward.

His hands fell away from your shoulders, but he didn’t move, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours, his gaze unwavering and intense. It felt like there were a thousand unsaid things in the air, and still, he said nothing for a long beat, his mouth opening, then closing again as if he couldn’t quite gather the words.

“Everything you said is true,” he started, his voice quieter now, but carrying a weight in it that felt both final and irreversible. “And everything I told you is true. And I don’t care, not anymore. I’m done with it.” He moved his hand across the space between you, as though trying to sweep away the past, drawing an invisible line through the tension that had hung over both of you for too long.

You let out a slow breath, the question hanging in the air before you could voice it. “And what does that even mean?”

“It means that I want you, that I love you,” Joel started, his voice breaking slightly on the words, the confession so raw it felt like it was tearing him open from the inside. “That I need you. That I can’t… I can't help but resent a life without you.” He took a shuddering breath, his eyes burning, not quite able to meet yours. “I always thought I was fine on my own. I’ve been alone most of my life, you know that. I never needed anyone. I never thought I was missing anything, never felt incomplete. I felt perfectly fine alone.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, were now trembling, fingers curling and uncurling as if trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep himself from shattering.  

“And then I met you,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was afraid to say the words aloud. “And I realized how empty I’d been. How much I’d been missing. How full I felt when I was with you.” He paused, his face contorting as if the weight of his own words was too much to carry. “And then I screwed up. I messed it all up.” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “And no, I’m not that cold. I’m not some heartless bastard. I need you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything. And I can’t—” He stopped, his breath catching in his throat, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven gasps as he struggled to control the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.  

His eyes closed for a moment, as though he could hide from the truth for just a second longer, but when they opened again, they were full of something that felt like desperation. “I can’t live another day knowing you’re just next door, and you’re uncomfortable because of what I did. Because of what I let happen. Because of how I failed you.” His voice cracked on the last word, and it was like a knife to your chest, hearing the hurt in him, seeing how much it was tearing him apart to even say it.  

“I know I probably don't deserve you,” he whispered, each word like a burden he couldn’t bear. “I know that. And if you decide not to choose me, I’ll understand. I’ll walk away. I’ll stay away. I promise you, I won’t bother you again. But if you… if you just let me, one last time...” He faltered, his voice breaking as he looked at you, his eyes dark with pain and regret. “If you let me prove to you, show you, how much I love you... the way you deserve to be loved, if you let me do it for the first time...” He shook his head, his voice catching again, barely a whisper now. “I promise I’ll never disappoint you again. I swear it.”  

There was nothing left in his voice now but the ragged edges of a man who had bled himself dry in front of you.

“Joel—” you started, but before you could finish, he cut you off, his voice calm but firm, like a man who had already said too much but was determined to say it all.

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not finished.” His voice held an edge of something deeper now, like he had reached the point of no return. “You have to understand what I’m telling you. When I told you about Amelia, when I told you how much of a coward I’ve been, when I told you about how you changed my life, when I told you I was afraid—what I meant is, that’s why it cost me so much to do all this. But now? Now, it’s all insignificant. All of it. Compared to this. Compared to you.”

Your breath caught as his words settled in the space between you, and you could feel your eyes widen, your body stiffening with an ache you couldn’t place. You watched him, his expression flickering—his eyebrows tense, his lips parted with an unreadable intensity, his eyes dark and glistening, glossed with the unmistakable trace of tears. Your stomach twisted at the sight of them, the tears there but barely contained, and you realized how long it had been since you had seen him like this. Vulnerable. So impossibly vulnerable.

He leaned in slightly, his hands rising to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing the damp skin of your cheeks, as if he could steady you both with his touch.

“I love you,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I always have. From the moment I saw you, I loved everything about you. Everything. The way you are. The sound of your voice. The way your face lights up when you smile. The way you move, the way you think, the way you feel. I want it all, I want it all with you. Please.”

The words hit you like a slow wave, gentle but relentless, and before you could stop them, the tears you had been fighting to keep in check broke free. They streamed down your face, hot and heavy, staining your flushed cheeks. Joel’s hands were gentle as they wiped them away, his touch tender, almost reverent as his calloused fingers traced the outline of your skin. He stared at you, as if trying to read the language of your eyes, but there was something in them he couldn’t name. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t anger. It was something similar to doubt. Uncertainty, maybe. Something that he couldn’t fix with a touch or a word, but something that still held him captive.

“I would kneel in front of you,” he said, his voice soft but laden with a kind of desperate affection, “and beg all night if you asked me to, sunshine.”

His words had the air of a joke, but the way his lips curled into a smile—slow and warm—made something inside you tighten. Something inside you broke just a little, and you smiled in return, the gesture pulling at the corners of your mouth. The smile felt unfamiliar, like it had been so long since you had smiled for him. Really smiled, without hesitation. And when you did, the effect on him was immediate, like a light suddenly flicking on in a room that had been dark for far too long.

Joel’s breath caught at the sight of it. He looked at you as though he had been waiting for that exact moment, for that exact smile, for weeks. The smile he had missed more than he could admit.

With a quiet, almost embarrassed chuckle, he pulled his hands from your face, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You stared at him, confused, as he slowly began to lower himself onto one knee, the movement slow, deliberate, as though he was going to ask something, something monumental and beg. But before he could finish the motion, you instinctively reached for him, hands gripping his sides, pulling him back up with a soft laugh.

“Joel, please,” you laughed, the sound light and disbelieving, as if you couldn’t quite believe what was happening. But in your chest, you felt a soft pressure—the weight of everything he had just said, everything he had just given to you. 

Standing before you, Joel didn’t give you a second to pull away, his hands moving with certainty, cupping your face with a tenderness that seemed almost fragile, as if he was afraid of breaking something. His fingers gently traced the contours of your skin, his gaze unwavering, like he was memorizing every detail of your face. 

“I fucking love you,” he whispered, his voice rough, the words heavy with an urgency that seemed to echo in the stillness between you. Before you could react, his lips were on yours—soft, tentative at first, like he was testing the waters, and then more sure, more insistent, as he kissed you again, and then again, and again, and again. Each kiss was brief, a fleeting press of his soft lips against yours, but each one held a weight, a quiet desperation that was impossible to ignore.

Your hands rested on his chest, the steady beat of his heart under your palms grounding you in that moment, pulling you closer into the warmth of his embrace. You could feel the tension in him, the way his body seemed to pulse with need, and you knew—without a doubt—that he was hanging on to every second, waiting for you to say something. 

"I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out involuntarily, caught somewhere between a confession and a plea. Your lips were mere inches from his as you spoke, your breath mingling with his in the small space between your mouths. As he kissed the corner of your lips, you felt the tremble in his kiss, the way his entire body seemed to respond to the simplicity of those three words. 

Joel’s lips curved into a smile against yours, and he pulled back, just enough to watch your face. His eyes searched yours, like he was trying to memorize something invisible, something that only the two of you could understand.

“I love you too, Joel,” you said again, your voice low but steady, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing grounding you. “And I’m sorry. Truly. If I hurt you—if anything I did made you feel that way—it was never intentional. I need you to know that. Nothing that happened with Travis was ever about trying to hurt you. I’d never do that.” You paused, your fingers tightening slightly. “But I get it. I shouldn’t have let it get so messy, not after what happened between us.”

Joel tilted his head, his gaze softening even further.

“We handled this a little badly, didn’t we?” he said, his voice edged with a hint of humor, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and bright at the same time, his pupils blown wide like he was looking straight at the moon.

You nodded, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “I think that’s putting it lightly.”

His smile turned rueful, almost sheepish. “I’m sorry—for all of it. I mean it. Please, forgive me.”

Your hands slid upward, fingers tracing the line of his collar, then moving to the soft skin behind his ears, the place where his hair curled just slightly above his nape.

“I forgive you,” you murmured. “It’s okay. I understand. And I love you.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his—just the barest touch—before pulling back again, almost abruptly. Joel didn’t move, his eyes flicking between yours like he was searching for something more in your expression. Your fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck, anchoring you both.

“But if you ever do something like that again,” you said, your voice soft but firm, “if you ever run away from me again, Joel Miller, I swear to fucking God—”

He shook his head quickly, cutting you off. “I won’t. I promise.”

You studied him for a moment, your eyes narrowing slightly, measuring the weight of his words. Then, as if deciding you’d had enough distance, you closed the space between you in one swift motion, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his mouth back to yours.

This time, there was no hesitation. No shyness. No lingering doubt. Just heat and certainty, the kind that made the room feel smaller, the air heavier. Joel’s arms circled your waist, pulling you flush against him until there wasn’t a millimeter of space left.

When you finally broke the kiss, his lips left yours with a soft, audible sound, one that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. You hovered for a second before kissing him again, this time opening your mouth, your tongue grazing his bottom lip. He groaned softly, a sound that vibrated from his chest to your mouth, and you smiled against him.

Somewhere in the distance, a shrill sound broke through the haze. His phone. It rang once, then twice, before falling silent again. Joel didn’t so much as flinch.

You pulled back, slightly breathless, your hands cradling the sides of his face. His lips were pink, puffy, his cheeks still flushed. His hair was mussed from your fingers, and his eyes—those impossibly dark eyes—looked at you like you were something sacred.

That man was yours.

“Cassie will be back any second,” you whispered, your fingers brushing through the locks that had fallen over his forehead.

Joel hummed, leaning in to press his lips against your neck, his mustache tickling your skin in a way that made you laugh involuntarily.

“I doubt it,” he murmured, his breath warm against you. “But we could go to my place if you wanna keep talkin'. Sarah won’t be back till dinner.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his teeth grazed your neck, gentle but deliberate, sending a ripple of warmth through you that stole whatever you were about to say.

“Talk,” you managed, half a laugh, half a protest, as his lips pressed against the spot again, and the world outside the two of you felt very far away. 

“I wanna take my time with you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he kissed a slow, soft trail up to your jaw. “I wanna do things right, without arguments or interruptions.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the weight of his intention, and for a moment, it felt like everything outside of this room was suspended. Time wasn’t rushing forward anymore—it was just the two of you, existing in this space, in this perfect, quiet moment.

But just as the last word left his lips, the ringing of his phone sliced through the air, sharp and unwelcome. Joel froze for a beat, the smile on his face faltering slightly. He pulled away, reluctantly, the distance between you growing just enough for him to glance at the phone screen.

“Convenient,” he muttered, his voice holding a note of dry humor, but the amusement quickly faded as he saw the caller ID. His brow furrowed, and he answered with a steadying breath, bringing the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

You watched him, the way his posture stiffened, his focus sharpening as he listened. His brows furrowed deeply, his eyes narrowing. Your hand, which had been resting on his chest, stilled as you saw the shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw.

He stepped back slightly, as if distancing himself from the moment, his hand gripping the phone tighter as his voice lowered, more urgent now. “Which hospital?” he asked, his words clipped. “Okay, okay, I’m on my way. Tell her I’m on my way—tell her not to be scared...”

You took a step forward, instinctively, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Joel...”

His eyes flicked to you, a flicker of panic crossing his features, but he quickly masked it. He stood straighter, listening intently, his body still but tense. “I... uh,” he hesitated, his gaze meeting yours, the weight of the moment sinking in. “I’ll be right there.”

The words hung in the air, and just as quickly as the connection was made, it was severed. He snapped the phone shut, his breath shaky as he shoved it into his pocket. His face had gone pale, the usual warmth drained from his expression.

“Irina’s mother is at the hospital with Sarah,” he said, his voice thick with worry. He ran a hand through his hair, the movement absent, almost frantic, as he turned toward the door, his steps hurried. You followed him, your heart now thumping in your chest, your mind spinning with the new reality of the situation.

“What happened?” The question left your mouth, but it felt cold, distant, as if the words hadn’t quite reached you. Your heart raced, the quiet stillness in your chest now replaced by a frantic pulse. “Is she okay?”

“She fell out of the treehouse,” he said, his voice breaking for a moment as he spoke, a touch of guilt in his words. “I... I...” He trailed off, unsure of what to say, his words tangled in the chaos of his thoughts.

Without another word, you grabbed your coat from the rack by the door, your fingers shaking as you pulled it on. Without thinking, you moved toward him, your hand pressing gently but firmly against his lower back, urging him forward.

“Come on,” you said, the urgency in your voice pulling him out of his fog. “I’ll drive.”

[kiwriteswords]

Maybe some already together hotch and reader parenting Jack?

Heartstrings Attached [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: this was fun and really nothing like I have written before! I was re-watching The Nanny pilot where Maggie has her first kiss and Mr. Sheffield's reaction made me wonder how Hotch would react to Jack dating!

Tags/Warnings: established relationship, family vibes, mentions of Haley's death, Teenage Jack Hotchner, Jack's first kiss, Jack's first crush, Jack's first heartbreak, Sad Hotch Hours, Missing Haley Hotchner Hours, hurt/comfort, Jack preferring Reader over Hotch, angsty Jack, No mention of if Reader is BAU or not, future fic, fluffy fluff fluff

Summary: Navigating parenthood is hard enough, but add in teenage love and angst, and Hotch was in for it--grateful to have you at his side, he struggles when Jack prefers your comfort to his own.

In the Hotchner household, evenings typically unfolded with a quiet kind of routine, the kind that comes with the stability of an established relationship and shared space. But tonight, as Aaron Hotchner watched Jack, now a teenager taller than himself, pacing back and forth in your living room, he sensed a disruption to your usual peace.

Jack had always been an anxious kid--much of that hung on Aaron’s shoulders, from all that his job took from and brought into Jack’s life. 

"You seem... preoccupied," Aaron remarked, his voice calm as he set aside the case file he'd been reading. Jack stopped pacing and glanced at his father, then at you, who were curled up on the other end of the couch with a book in hand.

"It's nothing," Jack muttered, clearly wrestling with whether to share more. You looked over at Aaron, giving him a subtle nod, an unspoken signal between the two of you that said, 'Give him a minute.'

After a brief pause, Jack sighed and turned towards you, his expression torn between embarrassment and the trust he'd come to place in you over the years. "Actually, I... there's this girl at school."

You set your book down, your full attention on Jack. "Oh? What about her?" you asked gently.

Jack blushed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he mumbled, "I kinda like her. A lot. And I think she might like me too, but I don’t know what to do about it."

Aaron observed the exchange, feeling a twinge of something unfamiliar. Jealousy? No, it was more akin to inadequacy. Here was his son, coming to you with matters he was too embarrassed to discuss with his own father. But watching the ease with which Jack confided in you softened any hard feelings; if anything, it filled him with gratitude.

"What do you like about her?" you inquired, your voice laced with interest and devoid of any judgment.

"She's funny, and she likes a lot of the stuff I do. And she’s really smart," Jack explained, his eyes lighting up as he spoke.

"That sounds wonderful, Jack," you responded, smiling encouragingly. "Have you guys talked much?"

"Yeah, at lunch and stuff. I just... don't know if I should tell her how I feel, or even how to do that," Jack confessed, looking towards his father now.

Aaron cleared his throat, feeling suddenly on the spot. "Well, Jack, the truth is, being honest about your feelings is usually the best approach. It’s not easy, but it’s straightforward. Just... be yourself," Aaron advised, trying to recall how he’d navigated his own youthful crushes, which felt like a lifetime ago.

"You think I should just tell her?" Jack asked, his tone a mix of hope and nerves.

"I do," Aaron said, nodding. "But maybe you could start by asking her to hang out, just the two of you. See how it goes from there."

Jack considered this for a moment, then turned to you. "What do you think?"

"I agree with your dad," you said, your gaze soft yet earnest. "And whatever happens, we're here for you. It's okay to be nervous, and it's okay if things don't go exactly how you plan. What's important is that you're honest and respectful."

Jack nodded, taking in the advice from both of you. "Thanks," he said, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier anxious demeanor. "I think I’ll ask her to the movies this weekend."

"That sounds like a great idea," you encouraged, and Aaron couldn’t help but smile at the warm, supportive dynamic that had blossomed between you and Jack. It wasn’t the traditional picture of a family, perhaps, but it was yours, and it was filled with love and understanding.

Later that evening, as Jack headed upstairs, Aaron lingered behind with you, his expression thoughtful. "Thank you," he murmured, reaching for your hand. "For being here, for being you. For making things like this easier for him... and for me."

You squeezed his hand, leaning into him slightly. "We’re a team, Aaron. And I love being a part of this family."

He nodded, the weight of his earlier feelings of inadequacy lifting in the comfort of your presence. In this household, amidst the quiet routines and the occasional teenage turmoil, Aaron found not just solace but a deep, enduring partnership. And as he looked at you, he knew with certainty that together, there was nothing you couldn't handle.

Aaron Hotchner watched his son, Jack, meticulously adjust his collar for the third time in the mirror. The teenager's movements were stiff, each motion betraying a level of tension that Aaron knew all too well—it was a mirror to his own.

"You look great, Jack. She's going to think so, too," Aaron commented, attempting a reassuring tone as he leaned against the doorway of Jack’s room.

Jack met his father's gaze in the mirror, his eyes flashing briefly with a familiar intensity. "What if I don’t even know what to say? What if—"

"Jack," Aaron interjected, a bit more sharply than intended, "you've prepared enough. Overthinking it won't help."

The words were meant to steady, but they landed like a challenge. Jack turned abruptly, his expression hardening. "You don’t understand. It’s easy for you to say—"

Aaron felt a prickle of irritation. "Jack, I’m trying to help you. There’s no reason to—"

"Yeah, by telling me I’m overthinking? Thanks a lot," Jack snapped, his tone biting, and stormed past Aaron towards the stairs.

You appeared at the bottom of the staircase, having caught the tail end of the exchange. Your expression was one of concern mixed with calm. "Everything okay?" you asked, looking from Jack’s retreating back to Aaron’s tight expression.

Aaron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He’s just nervous," he muttered, following you and Jack to the car.

The ride to the movie theater was tense, the air thick with unspoken apologies and frustrations. Aaron drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, while you sat beside him, offering a gentle presence. In the backseat, Jack was silent, lost in his own whirlwind of teenage angst.

When you arrived at the theater, Jack unbuckled his seatbelt and paused, his hand on the door. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before turning slightly. "Sorry for snapping, Dad. I’m just... really nervous."

Aaron nodded, a mixture of relief and concern in his eyes. "It’s okay, Jack. Just be yourself, she’ll see how great you are."

Jack managed a small, grateful smile before stepping out of the car and into the evening crowd. As he walked away, Aaron watched him go, a pang of helplessness touching his heart. It wasn’t just about tonight; it was the creeping realization of how much he would have to learn to navigate as Jack grew up.

You reached over, touching Aaron’s arm. "He’s going to be fine," you murmured. "And so are you."

Aaron let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "It never gets easier, does it? Letting them face things on their own."

You shook your head, your smile gentle. "No, but we do get better at trusting them to handle it. And Jack knows he has us to come back to, no matter how it goes."

Aaron glanced at you, the steady assurance in your voice grounding him. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," he admitted, the weight of his role as a single parent momentarily overwhelming.

"You’d do just fine," you assured him, squeezing his arm. "But you don’t have to. We’re in this together, remember?"

He smiled then, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Together," he echoed, feeling the truth of that word deep in his bones.

As you and Aaron drove back home, the earlier tension melted away, replaced by a comfortable silence that spoke of shared burdens and joint victories. In that moment, Aaron knew that whatever challenges lay ahead with Jack, or with anything else, they were surmountable—as long as you were there beside him.

When Aaron and you arrived at the theater to pick up Jack, the sight of him waiting by the curb instantly signaled a change. There was a lightness in his step, a barely contained energy that was unusual for the typically composed teenager.

Jack slid into the backseat, a faint, almost secretive smile playing at the corners of his lips. He said nothing as Aaron pulled away from the curb, glancing occasionally in the rearview mirror at his son. Jack’s eyes were bright, his usual tension nowhere to be seen, replaced by an excited glimmer that Aaron had rarely witnessed.

The car was quiet, the silence stretching as Aaron and you exchanged knowing looks. Both of you could sense the bubbling enthusiasm Jack was struggling to contain, yet neither of you wanted to press him, giving him the space to share in his own time.

Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer and always more attuned to breaking the ice, you turned slightly in your seat to face Jack. “So? How was the movie?” you asked, your voice casual but tinged with an undercurrent of excitement for him.

Jack’s response was immediate, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It was awesome! We...” He paused, a flush spreading across his cheeks, and then he burst out with it. “We kissed! It was my first kiss.”

Aaron’s eyes met Jack’s in the rearview mirror, a smile breaking across his face at his son's joyous exclamation. The car filled with a warm, buoyant energy, the kind that comes from witnessing a milestone in someone you love dearly.

“That’s great, Jack!” you exclaimed, your delight evident. “How do you feel?”

Jack laughed, a sound of pure happiness. “I like her so much. She’s amazing. And the kiss was... it was perfect, I think. I mean, I don’t really have anything to compare it to, but...” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged, almost sheepishly.

Aaron listened, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and a poignant touch of sadness at the reminders of his own first experiences with love. “It sounds like you had a really good time,” he said, his tone supportive. “I’m happy for you, Jack.”

“Thanks, Dad. And thank you,” Jack added, looking at you. “For the advice and... just for being there.”

You nodded, your expression soft. “Anytime, Jack. We’re both so happy it went well.”

The rest of the drive home was filled with Jack sharing more details about the evening—the movie they’d barely watched, the nervous moments leading up to the kiss, and his plans to see her again. Aaron drove, listening and occasionally glancing back at Jack, who seemed to grow with each word he spoke.

When you all arrived home, Jack bounded out of the car with a quick, “Thanks for the ride!” before heading inside, no doubt eager to relive the evening in his mind.

Aaron turned to you, his eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions. “He’s growing up fast,” he murmured, the reality hitting him anew.

You reached over, taking his hand. “He is. But he’s growing up well, Aaron. That’s all we can ask for.”

Aaron squeezed your hand in response, the solidity of your presence grounding him. “Yes, that’s all we can ask for,” he agreed, the pride evident in his voice. As you headed into the house together, Aaron felt a profound gratitude for the family you had become, imperfections and all, bound together by moments of simple, shared joy like tonight.

Over dinner, Jack's enthusiasm was infectious. As he detailed his plans to woo his new crush with flowers and romantic gestures straight out of the movies, Aaron couldn't help but share amused, knowing glances with you across the table. Every so often, Jack would catch them mid-glance and roll his eyes, a grin unable to hide his embarrassment.

"You think I'm being too cheesy, don't you?" Jack asked a playful accusation in his tone.

"Not at all," you replied, smiling warmly at him. "It's sweet. It's nice to see someone still believes in doing romantic things. Flowers are always a good idea."

Aaron nodded in agreement, watching as Jack considered your advice. "Just make sure you pick ones she likes," he added. "It shows you pay attention."

Jack nodded enthusiastically, absorbing every piece of advice like a sponge. "I’ll find out what her favorites are," he resolved.

The conversation lingered on lighter topics as you finished eating, but the warmth of family and shared understanding lingered in the air.

Later that night, as Aaron and you were getting ready for bed, the atmosphere shifted to a quieter, more reflective mood. You turned to Aaron as he was folding his clothes, a soft smile playing on your lips. "You know, Jack is a lot like you," you mused. "Even as a teenager, he’s got your sweetness. And he gets this giddy excitement about someone he cares about—just like you."

Aaron met your gaze in the mirror, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Was I that obvious?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Completely," you teased gently, stepping closer. "I still remember our early days. Despite your stoic exterior, you had this way of showing your excitement that was... really endearing."

He turned to face you fully, his expression softening. "I guess some things don’t change," he admitted, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I still feel that way, you know. Every day with you."

Your eyes lit up at his words, and you leaned into his touch. "And I love that about you, Aaron. It’s the little things you do, the way you show you care. It’s never lost on me."

The conversation lingered in the air, settling warmly around them like a blanket. It reminded Aaron of how much he still wanted to make you feel special, how even the simplest gestures could speak volumes.

"Jack gave me a good reminder; I think I’ll buy you flowers tomorrow," Aaron declared softly, more to himself than to you.

You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with affection. "I’d like that," you said. 

As you finished getting ready for bed, the connection between them felt as fresh and exciting as it did in the early days of your relationship, a testament to the enduring nature of deep, genuine love.

It wasn’t long until the atmosphere of the Hotchner household shifted dramatically one afternoon when Jack burst through the front door, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a storm of teenage angst. He rushed past Aaron and you, not stopping to greet or even acknowledge either of you, his footsteps thundering up the stairs. Moments later, his bedroom door slammed shut with a force that echoed down the hallway.

You and Aaron exchanged a look of concern, both sensing the gravity of whatever had upset Jack so deeply. Aaron's jaw set in a familiar, determined line as he made his way to Jack's room, knocking softly despite the previous display of anger.

"Jack, can we talk?" Aaron called through the door, his voice calm but firm.

There was a tense pause, then a muffled, "Go away," from inside.

Aaron opened the door anyway, stepping into Jack’s room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. "Jack, whatever it is, I’m here to help," Aaron offered, trying to bridge the gap with understanding.

Jack looked up, his eyes red and his expression one of raw, unguarded pain. "You wouldn’t understand," he snapped, his words laced with frustration. "You met Mom in school and then found Y/N so easily after Mom passed. You’ve never had your heart broken like this."

The comment stung, bringing with it a flood of memories—of Haley, of loss, of the deepest kind of heartbreak Aaron had ever known. But he had to laugh internally at the irony; Jack had no idea what real heartbreak was, yet his feelings were valid in their own teenage context.

"Jack, I may not understand exactly what you're feeling right now, but I’ve experienced loss, more than just once. I can try to help," Aaron said, his voice even despite the emotional undercurrent.

Aaron looked around his son’s room--oh, how it had changed so much over the last few years. The legos and drawings now replaced with soccer trophies and posters.

"It’s not the same!" Jack retorted, his anger flaring again. "You don’t get it. She said she just wants to be friends, after everything... after the kiss. I thought... I don’t know what I thought."

Aaron sat down beside him, trying to close the distance. "It’s tough, feeling like you’ve been pushed aside," he offered. "But it doesn’t diminish what you felt, or what you meant to each other."

Jack shook his head, the rejection too fresh, too raw. "Just leave, Dad. Please," he murmured, not meeting Aaron's eyes.

Respecting his son’s request, Aaron stood and left the room, the door closing softly behind him this time. He returned downstairs, where you were waiting, having sensed that the conversation might not have gone smoothly.

Aaron relayed the interaction to you, his features tight with concern and helplessness. "He’s really hurting," Aaron confessed, the weight of his role as a father feeling particularly heavy.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him. "You did what you could. He just needs some time," you reassured him, your voice soothing. "Heartbreak is a part of growing up, as hard as it is to watch. He'll learn from this, with us to support him."

Aaron nodded, leaning into your embrace, grateful for your presence and perspective. "It’s just hard, seeing him go through it," he admitted. "Makes me wish I could shield him from all the pain."

"But then he wouldn’t really grow, would he?" you pointed out gently. "All we can do is be here when he’s ready to talk, ready to heal."

"Right," Aaron agreed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Thank you," he added, the gratitude in his voice reflecting more than just thanks for this moment—it was for every moment you stood by him, helping him navigate the complexities of fatherhood and life itself. Together, you would be ready for when Jack decided to open up, ready to guide him through the pain toward healing.

Later that evening, as Aaron sat in the living room thumbing through an old case file, he couldn't shake the image of Jack’s hurt expression. He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Looking up, he saw Jack hesitating at the foot of the staircase, his eyes darting between Aaron and the hallway where you were.

"Dad, can I talk to Y/N?" Jack asked quietly, his voice revealing his vulnerability.

Aaron felt a pang in his chest, torn between relief that Jack was seeking comfort and a sting of jealousy that it wasn’t from him. He thought of Haley, of how things might have been different if she were here, but then he looked at you, emerging from the hallway behind Jack, and his heart filled with gratitude. You had become an integral part of their lives, filling spaces he hadn't known were empty.

"Of course, Jack," Aaron replied, managing a supportive smile as he watched you approach, your presence reassuring and steady.

You gave Aaron a gentle look that seemed to understand his mixed emotions before turning your attention to Jack. "Let’s talk, okay?" you said softly, guiding Jack back to his room for privacy.

Left alone with his thoughts, Aaron reflected on his journey—the loss of Haley, the challenges of single parenthood, and the unexpected blessing of finding love again with you. It was a complex tapestry of grief and new beginnings.

When you and Jack reappeared a while later, there was a noticeable shift in Jack’s demeanor. He seemed calmer, more composed, and he walked straight up to Aaron.

"I’m sorry for pushing you away earlier, Dad. I didn’t mean to," Jack apologized, his eyes earnest.

Aaron stood, setting aside the file, and pulled Jack into a hug. "It’s okay, Jack. I understand. It’s not easy, and I’m here whenever you need to talk, okay?"

Jack nodded, returning the embrace. "Thanks, Dad."

As they settled onto the couch, Aaron next to you and Jack opposite, the atmosphere was lighter. Aaron felt the need to address the earlier tension and offer some fatherly advice.

"Jack, life... it throws a lot at us. Heartbreak, loss—it’s all part of it. But so is happiness and love," Aaron began, his eyes flicking to you, then back to Jack. "You have plenty of time to find your happy ending. And sometimes, it happens when you least expect it."

He reached over, taking your hand in his, a silent testament to his words.

Jack smiled, a touch of red coloring his cheeks as he understood the implication. "I guess you’re right. I’ve got time."

"And remember, no matter what, you’re never alone," you added, squeezing Aaron’s hand. "We’re both here for you, always."

The rest of the evening passed with a new sense of understanding and closeness among you all. Aaron felt a deep sense of peace as he looked at you and Jack--his family. At this moment, he knew that despite the trials and the losses, you had found a way to build something enduring and real. And for Aaron, you were indeed his happy ending, the unexpected joy that had come from a time of great loss.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[danacaptus]

Neglectful but clingy nagi?!?

neglectful nagi, fem reader

Nagi who ignores reader all the day and then calls her just to cuddle

Nagi who gets annoyed when reader doesn't wants to cuddle:(

His eyes were glued to the screen as he played, his headphones blasting at full volume. His eyelids were getting heavy, and the game was starting to feel boring so after winning the match, he logged out and stood up from his chair. His body moved automatically, ready to plop onto the bed, but he stopped when something felt… off—like he didn’t want to lay down in that lonely, cold bed. It was an unfamiliar feeling, like something was missing.

He tried hard to figure it out—well, as hard as Nagi could force himself to think—until it finally hit him. You, obviously! He needed to cuddle with his little girlfriend to sleep comfortably. But where were you? You were usually already in bed by the time he finished gaming. What a hassle... He sighed; now he had to go look for you when all he wanted was to sleep.

Dragging his feet, Nagi stepped out of your shared bedroom and found you on the couch, watching some random Netflix series. He stood there quietly, expecting you to notice him. Surely you’d realize he was done gaming and ready to sleep. But you barely glanced at him before turning your attention back to the TV, ignoring his presence. That was weird. Normally, you’d be the one eagerly dragging him to bed. But well, if subtlety didn’t work, he’d just have to be direct.

“Let’s go to sleep,”

You didn’t respond, and the room was filled with the voices from the TV. That was even weirder. You were always the talkative one.

“Hey—”

“This is the best part! I’ll go in a bit,” you interrupted, eyes still glued to the screen. He blinked, surprised by your response but mostly annoyed. He was tired, and you preferred to watch some stupid show? What a hassle. Sighing, he sat down next to you on the couch. Fine, he’d wait. Well, Technically he was waiting, But expecting patience was exaggerating, patience wasn’t exactly Nagi’s thing. He kept nudging you, mumbling for you to come to bed, but you didn’t seem to hear him—or worse, you were ignoring him.

Nagi was a man of few words, few expressions, and very little energy. You weren't hearing? What a hassle; usually, you’d jump up and follow him to bed without hesitation. But this situation isn't difficult to solve! Sneakily, he grabbed the TV remote that was sitting next to you and, without warning, turned the TV off.

“Hey!” Your head snapped toward him as the screen went black during the most exciting moment (well, at least for you that was exciting). “Why did you do that?!”

You reached for the remote, but he held it out of your grasp. Ignoring your protests. “stop being a hassle, that show’s boring. Let’s go to bed.”

He grabbed your wrist—not tightly, but firmly enough to keep you from escaping and started dragging you off the couch. “Nagi! Turn it back on! It was the best part!” you whined, struggling against him even when you knew it was pointless; you knew your fate, your giant, sleepy boyfriend crushing you in bed. You groaned as he pulled you into the bedroom, tossing you onto the bed like a pillow before crawling on top of you. His head rested on your chest, arms wrapped securely around you.

“Such a hassle,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

You sighed, reluctantly accepting your fate, though your mind was still so busy replaying what had just happened in the series that you barely noticed when Nagi whispered “Goodnight,” or that you didn’t hug him back, so he cracked one eye open, staring at you. What were you doing? Where was the usual response? The cuddle? He groaned.

“Hey. Say it back.” He took your hand, placing it on his head, and wrapped your other arm around him

“What?” you asked, blinking down at him. “I said goodnight,” he repeated, voice muffled against your chest.

You would be lying if you said that finally cuddling with him after he ignored you the whole day didn't make you even a little bit happy, but you couldn’t help scoffing. “You ignored me all day, and now you’re forcing me to cuddle-”

“Say it.”

“…Ugh, goodnight,” you finally muttered, closing your eyes.

Nagi hummed in satisfaction, finally comfortable enough to drift off to sleep, while you were left scheming how soon you could finish your series tomorrow.

Dividers by @lil-liaa , @bernardsbendystraws

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x fem!reader

contents: fluff and sweetness. pre-relationship. more than friends but less than lovers trope. many shared little moments with sylus that make it special 🤍

⭒ It becomes second nature for Sylus to carry your purse on his shoulder when you both have an outing and he follows you around like an obedient puppy as you shop from one clothing rack to another. Sometimes he gets distracted on his phone whilst glancing up at you every now and then that he doesn’t realize you both are in the men’s section. A rather adorable pondering expression on your face as you hold a shirt up to his chest—“I think this would suit you nicely.” No second opinion is needed and he collects the item from you for purchasing because if you say so then he believes it.

⭒ When Sylus somehow finds himself a passenger because maybe you wanted to test drive his car that easily has 1600hp—he’s thoroughly amused as you feel out the dynamics of the vehicle. More so when you accidentally step on the brakes a little too hard, as you are unfamiliar with the sensitivity of the pedals. In a show of panic, you throw your arm across his chest to brace for the sudden jolt which earns you a teasing remark followed by a playful quip back at him. However, there’s a subtle smile on his lips as you continue down the road because your first instinct is to save him.

⭒ You and Sylus have a casual routine with Friday nights being reserved for the both of you. When you’d normally grab takeout during the busy working week, you opt for a simple home-cooked meal to unwind and enjoy a leisurely evening. Before you can even register the force of habit, you’re pulling out two plates to set the table and like clockwork Sylus appears at your apartment door. A little bag of your favorite pastries to finish off the meal with something sweet because he learned you couldn’t go without it. Funny how he knows these things about you, and how you knew to grab his favorite cheese pancakes on the way home for appetizers.

⭒ The crow twins deliver you something on behalf of Sylus and he receives a little treat from you every other time this happens. You’d pack a small box of savory/sweet baked goods that you made earlier in the day to return his thoughtful gesture. However, at your words Luke and Kieran assumed a surprise wouldn’t be missed if their boss doesn’t know about it. Fast forward to those two apologetic boys surrounded by a swirling red and kneeling before their boss under his menacing stare because those cream puffs should've been handed to him directly. After hearing about this, you made certain to pack enough for the three of them next time.

⭒ Napping at someone else’s home other than your own feels like uncharted territory because sleeping anywhere but your warm and familiar bed places you in a vulnerable position. Even though Sylus has given you permission to make yourself comfortable at his estate several times, the safest place you feel is beside him with your head lulling against his shoulder when you’re running on a few hours of sleep. He’s the picture of comfort with a fleeting kiss to your head and draping his coat over you, and he may even find his cheek pressed against you to catch some shut-eye himself.

⭒ There’s something to be said about Sylus being led by you—he secretly loves surrendering himself to your every whim and that includes you tugging him by the hand and steering him toward the direction of cute ducklings paddle their way into the waters with a splash. Your elated reaction and innocent sparkle is all very endearing to him and he takes a moment to savor it before shifting his gaze to the small animals. “Now, aren’t you glad we decided to have this stroll after all?” You offer him your response and his heart warms when he realizes that you still haven’t let go of his hand.

[julia4today]

shunned (tf141 x fem!reader)

part one

walking up the powdery mountain with the rest of the team is something of a torture device. it's times like these, when you can't feel your legs and your vision splinters between areas of the forest, you reconsider your choice of becoming a part of this team. the particles of snow pound against your face, your eyelashes become coated in the fragile flakes, and blinking only serves to hurt you. your brain begs you to stop and the dryness of your eyes calls out for hydration. unfortunately, you ran out of water an hour ago and if you did happen to have some, you're sure it would've been frozen solid.

your legs begin to slow, you steadily begin to drop out of formation, beginning to trudge along simon instead. you feel his large hand on your back, managing to propel you forward so you don't drop behind him and get lost in the flurry white of the freezing blizzard.

"your trousers weighing you down there girl?" he still manages to get out a distinct chuckle, despite his mask being covered from the whiteout.

"fuck you, riley," you say trying to push against the weight of the pounding snow. while irritated at his snide remark, you can't help but be thankful for the small push his consistent hand is giving you. allowing you to use what little strength you have left.

the blistering winds make it harder for you to hear the faint words of ghost. but you manage to slightly make out the sound of him communicating over his radio.

"cap, how much longer until our destination? ladies in the field can't keep up. over"

it was a shallow dig at you, not unfamiliar, but certainly not welcome. although the misogyny stung in a deep part of you, you were thankful for him asking. your own radio crackles to life, a recognition that it wasn't simon asking the question for himself.

"we still have a couple miles to go. hold out. over."

quick, concise, to the point. that is how you would describe captain price, your current commanding officer. while your body was screaming for a rest, you would never hear the end of it if you were to give out so, despite all better judgement, you reluctantly reply, "wilco."

digging deep and pushing through had never been an issue for you. that's probably one of the reasons you even joined the military in the first place, it's something you've always been good at. but right now, you could fall face first in the snow, laying there for the rest of the mission, and perhaps that would be more appealing than this.

"keep up slug," you hear murmured behind you obviously by none other than ghost.

slug, a derogatory nickname which, also happens to be your callsign. fucking great. it was given to you in your rookie days by much more sexist men. calling you slug because a. you were "slow" and b. resembled a slug during "that time of the month," assholes.

"shut up." you bite back. soon you begin to pick up the pace. your cheeks and ears warm from fury and your legs get the message.

maybe mental strength doesn't help you push through, but spite definitely does.

perhaps hours of trudging to through the icy abyss has made your body numb to the burn it now feels as you begin to pull ahead of your fellow team members. in front of johnny and kyle, but never in front of price.

"aye lass, ye're helding oot on us wi yer strength," johnny remarks. his thick scottish accent cutting through the lashing of harsh air against your ears. while already originally hard to make out, the lapping of wind makes it so much harder. so like most things he says, you ignore him and continue to drag yourself through the wintery mountain range.

it could've been hours or pure minutes of walking before your gaze is peeled away from the garish snow. a hand placed on your shoulder stopping you, your head moved to face your captain. you look up with an exhausted expression, everything in your body screaming for respite.

price turns to face the rest of the boys.

"alright, men-" his eyes glance to you awkwardly "er, um. ahem. team. we've reached our first shelter for the night. a mountain hut. i am sure you're all familiar. but we've reached enemy territory, so, tonight we are rotating watch."

he moves his hands from your shoulder so he can unlatch the door and file in the squad. in a respectful world it'd go you first, then everybody else. but you are quickly shouldered out of the way, left in the swing of the door.

"a'll geyt the feer goin'" soap announces, immediately tearing off his gloves and shoving his backpack to the ground.

"gonna put those boyscout badges to work?" kyle retorts, chuckling as he peels off his icy scarf. one which was originally red in color, now a sheer white. he finds purchase one of the four wooden chairs that surround the old molding table.

the entire cabin reeks of mildew and rot. looking around from the door you can immediately spot the decaying boards beneath simons feet and the decomposing beams dangling above the hatted price.

you grumble in frustration and begin to remove the equipment that surround and insulate your body.

a familiar paw rests atop your shoulder, forcefully turning your body as the big large figure stoops down to your shoulder. "gonna make us a meal, slug?" the venomous words slip off his tongue. another unwanted jab at the fact that you are a woman.

"no, i'm not gonna make you a fucking meal, simon." the cabin quiets. your voice had come out louder than intended, but every time since joining the task force the men expect you to clean, cook, polish, and dust, like you're some sort of maid.

"easy slug," a deep voice sounds beside you. your eyes meet the soft contact of john price. "i am sure he did not mean to offend you. so why don't you back off a little, hm?" it's almost impossible to not be soothed by his fatherly voice. "besides, you're on a team. just because you're a woman doesn't mean you get to slack off." there it is.

while on the surface, he may seem like one of the better ones. no passes at you, no eyes roaming your body, no inappropriate hands. but every once in a while his true colors show. that he thinks less of you because you are a woman.

"whatever." your gaze breaks away, his nurturing demeanor no longer tricking your brain into calm. your, now, slightly less icy hands move to unlace your boots. socks wet and toes freezing.

the atmosphere of the decaying shed lightens mildly as johnny begins his rants. loud and mainly incoherent, he sings his thoughts. with no filter and no manner. price melts some snow near the fire and divvy it between the soldiers. water used to rehydrate themselves and the food packed in their bags.

the men gather around the table, quickly filling all four chairs. not a thought left to you. instead, you leave yourself the far end of a corroded couch to eat your meal. the springs sticking into your thighs and torn fabric an ardent reminder to who you aren't and why you are not at that table.

————

okay ! this is a lot of preamble to the rest of the fic but nonetheless i hope you enjoy it !! and yes i promise to actually do a part two

and yes, i’m sure you can tell, it isn’t proof read. (sorry)

[pinkxpantha]

New Years Resolutions

-Lyney x GN!Reader

#: synopsis- Lyney has a massive crush on you, and decides he needs you by his side before the year ends

#: cw- 1.9k words, you/they pronouns, lyney is kinda oblivious, kiss scene (brief) Lynette and Freminet mentioned, confession, ect ect I'm so tired 😭

Lyney is confident, charismatic and so many other positive adjectives according to himself and others. Yet why does it feel as though none of that matters when it comes to you?

You weren't some important figure, realistically, you didn't stand out from most crowds.

But why do you have to be so.. you?? Lyney isn't the type to get so overwhelmed when he sees someone smile that his heart stills in his chest. So unusually that the first time it happened he thought he was on death's doorstep.

And of course, it just had to be you to cause this feeling in him.

"ney--"

You always sparked such an unfamiliar experience in him. The novelties of life always had a touch of 'you' in them.

"Lyne--"

How could he ever dare to dream of a new day without you in it?

"Lyney, wake up."

"[Name]--" He quickly cut himself off at the sight of his sister deadpanning. She looked so done with him, and that was kind of warranted.

He cleared his throat, "Er-- Lynette." Lyney rubbed the sleep off his eyes as he looked up at her.

"This is starting to get concerning." She spoke, her voice as monotonous as always. He didn't miss the edge of worry in her tone.

His hands kneaded into the plush of the couch that he somehow fell asleep on.

"Lynette, that's a stretch. I know calling you-" "And freminet." "... and freminet by the wrong name on accident is annoying but it's nothing to be concerned about." He waved his hand in a placating gesture.

"I still recognize my wonderful sister and enthusiastic brother." Lyney nodded.

"Enthusiastic?" Lynette echoed, her arms folded into each other.

"You should see him ramble about some of the things he's found on his diving trips."

Lynette nodded in thought, "I see it, but that's not what i'm talking about."

What? That's the only unusual thing he's done recently. What is she talking about?

"--your painful crush on [Name]."

Oh.

That... makes a lot more sense.

"I know i'm not the best person to give you advice on this manner-- but you need to do something about it. We can see how much it's been affecting you--"

"Lynette, I appreciate your concern but i'm fine." He assured. It wasn't like Lyney was steeped in longing. You were just--- ugh. So many things reminded him of you. Could you really blame him when your absence felt like his oxygen was being deprived?

"You say that but how much longer are you going to wait?" Lynette said, her words pointedly accusing.

"..?"

"Are you going to wait for them to make the first move or until these feelings of yours bubble over?"

Lyney hesitated. Lynette's words seemed so direct, as though she was confronting a part of himself he hid under layers and layers of facades and empty promises.

"What are you so scared of?"

He doesn't want to lose you. A world where everything reminds him of a faded memory-- one he could never hope to experience again would feel like torture.

But this anemoia of what it feels like to wrap his hand around yours could become something real if he just made a move.

Lyney didn't need to say anything for his sister to understand what he was thinking. As if each thought was paved into the muscles of his forehead, and his act of stoicism only made the words more legible for her to read off him.

"Reach out, Lyney." She advised.

Lyney was many things, a fool might be one of them. He had a golden opportunity, and he'd be an absolute moron to ignore it.

Lyney has scrolled through way to many websites in the past twelve hours. He hopes nobody finds his search history in the moments of desperation he held.

Wikihow articles be damned--- he was going into the new years with you by his side.

How many romance related searches has he looked for? Good question, anyways. He would have to put is faith in those cookie-filled sites even as desperate as he was he wouldn't put any faith into Instagram, TikTok or god forbid Reddit.

Not to mention the hour he spent just rewriting one text.

'hey [name] r you doing anything for new years?'

'wanna celebrate new years w/ us?'

'pls come over I cant do this anhmore'

'are you doing anything? I want to spend new years with you'

Shit, he didn't mean to press send. He quickly went to delete the message only to see you just happened to read it at the same time.

So the world really does hate me.

'a and with freminet and Lynette too of course!! 11!'

Lyney quickly typed out that second message. He groaned, flinging his phone onto his bed, his head now stuffed in between the pillows cushioning the head.

Even as he felt the vibration of his phone from his embarrassed position on the bed, he made no movement to check.

Fear of rejection? No, this would kill him.

Maybe he was being dramatic-- yet he typed each letter with the yearning of a thousand starving lions, and like felt you would see how down bad he was through the screen.

Though when he eventually had to check his phone (because unfortunately he can't ignore everything) his siblings heard his cry of joy.

You agreed!

A few more texts were sent coordinating where you were going to meet up.

So there he was, right at the shore of one of the nearby beaches.

The dusky night made the sand look dark, almost muddy if not for the faint illumination of the stars. His siblings were already with him. Lynette preferring to rest by the car as to not feel the grains of sand somehow slipping under her feet. Freminet moving just where the sand and water met, his ankles getting splashed occasionally.

And then he saw you, dressed a lot warmer than he was, a scarf wrapped around your neck. Even in the shroud of darkness the first thing he saw were your eyes. The starlight glimmer made them shine so beautifully.

"You look like you're going to freeze."

A voice he recognized so well, too familiar to his heart.

"Hey [Nam]--" He cut himself off, fabric swiftly wrapped around his neck. He didn't even notice how cold it was until you made him feel so much warmer.

"There, you should stop shivering soon." You were so close to him-- he realized you were right, his hands were trembling at his sides.

Thank archons it's nighttime. He would hate to have you see how flustered he was, he could feel his face grow hot, and not from the scarf.

Get a grip!

He tried not to focus on the proximity of your faces, but he couldn't help it. You backed away from him with a chuckle, your head turned towards the ocean stretched out ahead.

"Thanks," he said, his gaze completely locked onto you. "I wasn't that cold." The breeze of night brushed against your face.

You turned back to face him.

"Hah, sure. I'll agree with that for now." You grinned

He blinked.

Why were you smiling like that? Your lips stretched to the risen corners of your mouth, the corners of your eyes crinkled just the slightest.

Curse all those sources saying to "Be confident" that might work for him if it was anybody else he was talking to.

"Are you cold?" Good save, Lyney. good save.

You shrugged, "I'll be fine."

"We could start a fire or something." He offered, only partially joking.

You let out a few breathy laughs, "once a pyromaniac, always a pyromaniac."

You both kept talking, walking along the beach, right next to each other. If you bothered to pay attention, you might've seen freminet and Lynette distance themselves as the clock ticked closer to twelve.

It wasn't long before you both were secluded, the only other person was each other.

Lyney checked his phone, '11:55' it read.

"Only five more minutes before the new years." He smiled as he spoke, his steps halting in the sand. The footprints you and he made all lead up to this right?

"You excited?"

He nodded, "I guess." Lyney took a deep breath, his priorities solely focused on you. You stopped next to him, moving in front just so you could see his face.

"What's on your new years resolution?" He asked. His hands stuffed in his pocket. His fingers traces barely around the edge of the paper.

"Probably just the usual, I haven't given much thought to it." You said, your hands rubbed against one another. "You?"

He hesitated-- no, he didn't have time to hesitate.

"I want to spend more time with my family,"

Freminet and Lynette came to mind, their faces were plastered all over his life, he'd be damned if they weren't there.

"I want to experience new things."

He thought of you, the warmth you brought into his life. His instincts craved the comforting heat of safety, of home. Each new thing he could cup in his hands always had that warmth since you taught him to appreciate these minuscule things.

"And.. I want to be with you."

He confessed, as soon as the words escaped his mind and into the atmosphere around you, he couldn't stop.

"[Name], you're too good to me. Each second I'm near you, I swear you've changed something fundamental in me. Even though it feels like I can't breathe, I've never felt more alive in those moments."

He looked up to face you, your eyes wide and gaping at him. His blonde hair messily fell down the side of his face as he looked up at you-- just you.

He grabbed your hands in his, raising your knuckles up to his lips, letting his warm breath sooth the cold that nipped at your fingers.

Even with the fireworks booming off in the distant areas. you were the only thing he focused on. You consumed all of his senses.

"I want to be yours this year." He said, his voice a mere whisper in the grand scheme of things.

But you weren't the type to look at a wide picture. Those small details, each individual brush stroke mattered to you. The sincerity of those words took you off guard.

His eyes were locked onto your face, his heart thrumming in his chest. Then you moved.

Your fingers slipped from his palm, cupping the sides of his face instead. The cold still clung to the tips of your fingers, but he didn't mind. He realized what was going to happen.

You leaned in, and so did he. Your lips slotting together in a mix of warmth and chill. He wasn't prepared for this, and he thought you weren't either.

Expecting the unexpected is a part of life though.

So even as your lips parted he swore he could still feel them on his, the warmth lingering.

"Happy new years." You said, your chest heaving with each breath you took.

Lyney was still in the past, hung up on the feeling of you.

"W-wait," He covered his mouth and nose with his hands, the tips of his fingers pressed against each other.

"You look flustered." You hummed, the circles of your cheeks risen in a smile.

"A-ah.. yeah." He only said in response.

Lyney was confident, and charismatic. When it came to you, he poured his confidence into his actions, his words left behind. He was charismatic, his words, although delayed, carried such sincerity. He acts complex.

"Could I kiss you?"

But he is a simple person.

[dropthedemiurge]

On the topic of linguistic shenanigans - I spent this New Year at a party full of foreigners (based in Korea, 50% Koreans / 50% others). We had people from 6 countries speaking in 3-4 language mix and having lots of fun.

The funny moment happened about 1 hour into the party when we were still learning about each other and introducing ourselves. There was a Chinese guy so we all were like 'oh, I remember how to say this and that in Chinese', and I just know 'hello, thank you'. I tried to say 'My name is...' in Chinese but I forgot how it ends so I accidentally said 'alai na..? oh wait, that's Thai'–

– AND IMMEDIATELY LIKE THREE GIRLS ZEROED IN ON ME xD The next sentence spoken to me was smth like 'are you in any case also a connoisseur of some Thai dramas?~ You know, there are some great Chinese, Japanese and Korean dramas, and Taiwanese ones too?' joking. And suddenly, in only one second, all those unfamiliar people from different countries found they share the same hobby watching BLs xD

(Chinese guy was confused tho why the small group of CIS* people suddenly heard some Thai, yelled something in Russian and English and broke down in a mutual laughing fit)) Later someone explained about BL dramas to him... in Korean lol)

*CIS countries, not identity xD

Then one of us joked that in any company we could all be summoned by one phrase "Raikantopeni...", said in a perfect GMM opening parody voice, and I choked on my sprats sandwich :D

Needless to say, we started our 2025 year with 'IMINA SKYNANI!', discussing watching Time of Fever in cinema and yelling 'I came for FirstKhao but OH MY GOD HAVE YOU SEEN FADEL?? HAVE YOU SEEN HIM??' while hugging each other. Yes, I saw those people for the first time in my life, for only like a couple of hours, yet I outed myself to all Russian-speaking people in the room almost immediately because saying 'alai na?' in Thai was so addictive jsdhflaadsfa

P.S. We made a group chat called 'BL Heaven' and decided to go to any cinema BL screenings in Korea together xD Hooray!

[moonmaiden1996]

Zoro as a romantic partner- My thoughts

Alright, hear me out.

Zoro, the stoic, sword-wielding badass of One Piece, doesn’t show the slightest interest in romance—at least not in any of the arcs I’ve read or watched. He’s far too focused on his goals, his loyalty to Luffy, and his never-ending quest to become the greatest swordsman in the world. But... what if?

I’ve been thinking about what kind of partner Zoro might have, and honestly, the idea that keeps popping into my head is less “typical romance” and more... Tatsu from The Way of the Househusband. If you’re unfamiliar, Tatsu is an infamous and feared yakuza boss, nicknamed "The Immortal Dragon," who (after literally defeating all his enemies) leaves the crime world to become a devoted househusband to the woman who once cared for his wounds.

Now, while Zoro definitely wouldn’t go full Sanji mode (because, let’s be real, Zoro cooking is a kitchen fire waiting to happen), there’s something about that protector-turned-househusband energy that feels surprisingly fitting.

Let’s pause for a second on the Sanji comparison. Sanji is all about charm, flirtation, and over-the-top devotion to every woman he meets. He’s a master chef who pours his heart into crafting meals and showering people with compliments. Zoro, on the other hand, would never lower himself to something he might see as “cooking duty.” It’s just not his style.

But here’s the twist: if someone did something genuinely kind for Zoro—like how Miku cared for Tatsu in The Way of the Househusband when he gets injured—I feel like Zoro would be smitten (or at least, as smitten as Zoro can get). He’d show his appreciation in his own gruff way, and his feelings would manifest through actions rather than words.

Zoro’s approach would be much more subtle, quiet, and honestly, a little rough around the edges—more of a “guard dog” than a “gentleman chef.” He’s the type of guy who lets you sleep on him, beats up Sanji to make sure your favorite meal gets cooked, and stares down anyone foolish enough to think they have a shot at you. It’s that unspoken but undeniable protection that makes the idea of Zoro as a partner so intriguing.

Zoro strikes me as the kind of person who wouldn’t even notice someone as a potential romantic partner unless they demonstrated qualities he deeply values—like loyalty, strength, or determination. He’s stubborn as hell, and most attempts at flirtation would probably fly right over his head. But the moment someone proved their worth to him in a way that resonates, those blinders would come off so fast, and suddenly... boom. Enter Zoro, househusband—but with a twist.

I see him as a fiercely protective presence—the ultimate guard dog for his partner. He’d be the type to wordlessly handle problems before they even reached his significant other, standing as an unshakable shield against the world. Whether it’s physical threats or emotional support, Zoro would embody dependability and unwavering commitment. And let’s not forget—if his partner is equally supportive of him, this man would be unstoppable.

In this hypothetical scenario, Zoro doesn’t lose his edge; instead, he channels his loyalty and protective instincts into a new kind of role. And honestly? That blend of strength, dedication, and quiet care makes for a dynamic that’s as compelling as it is unexpected.

What do you think? Could Zoro be the ultimate househusband in his own unique way? Or is he just too much of a lone wolf for any of this to work?

[aaksuitac]

[02:46] time, and a bomb.

wc: around 1k (wrote this in my phone… srry, idk exactly!)

cw: SPOILERS: SEASON 2, EPISODE 9. heavy topics mentioned (in metaphors, but still). suicide.

a/n: so… can’t say why i ended up with this sad fucker of a post (also first post of the year omg), but after scrolling down ig with so much arcane in my feed, the ‘ekko saves jinx’ scene just kept on showing up and my brain turned on writing mode. and i loooove the line ‘always a dance with you’, i’ll write less depressing timebomb in the future.

she thinks maybe she should sniff, but not only it wouldn’t help, but she thinks it disgusting, almost as yucky as the stupid clog in her nose or the cheeky pain it provides. she can’t really breathe with her nose for that matter, so her mouth remains parted, her body limp, the only motion that happens not conscious, for she can’t control the way tears roll down her cheeks or how her breathing moves her chest with each light expansion of her lungs.

her ears are wet. that, she finds disgusting too, but as stated before, she can’t control the paths that tears carve and follow once they come out. and…. she could keep going, but she wouldn’t know how to keep on describing what is happening. she finds herself a bit lost on that regard.

who is she, again? she can’t fight back the need to sigh. on that regard, she’s lost, too. she loses, again —ironic, maybe—. she can’t stop losing, can she? the attempt to stand up is there, but, then again, why would she? she finds the pattern that the light above her head makes far more interesting. its broken nature resounds with her. or maybe not. maybe that’s not actually a word, but who cares. the light is still broken either way. and so is she.

she doesn’t have a name anymore. not one. which is stupid, because she has more than one name. but then again, she doesn’t. names don’t mean anything? wrong. when you name something, you name it so you can build up something on its place. its the way language is constructed. a table isn’t a table because it is named that way, but say table and you’ll only think of one particular object.

say powder. what comes to mind?

say jinx. what comes to mind?

the tears that have fallen stopped. no more tears come out. maybe she should indulge and grab the glass of water from the table that… —she may as well call that woman by her name, after all those years, but we’re not going to use it now. names never really helped her anyways— that… is there. but she would have to move.

and she has moved enough now. and somehow, after all that, she’s still. her head feels heavy —which is strange, considering the unfamiliar lack of blue weight— and the world is somehow spinning, even if she’s only stopped moving a while back. she wouldn’t know how to make it stop spinning. before, she didn’t know how to make it shut up, and somehow, now, there’s quiet.

she wonders if… if there was someone who had always listened to this type of quiet before —she knew there was (had been). but we are not going to say names. we don’t like names—. she hopes that she liked the quiet.

she found it strange. the quiet, that is. almost as unfamiliar as the hair around her. it was strange to think it wasn’t hers now. sure, it was, but not propperly. almost like a name. like her many nicknames, but mostly her names.

the streaks that the tears left are now dry. there’s a somewhat sticky feeling they left off, and her eyes are itchy. maybe she should take the glass of water from the table and drink it. maybe then she could keep on crying.

was crying going to help? she couldn’t tell. or, maybe she did. maybe it was easier thinking that she couldn’t possibly know just for the sake of crying. for the fact that then she could possibly stand up, chug the water, lay back down and keep on crying. even if her headache worsened because of it. maybe all that was easier than choosing to stand up and picking up the grenade next to it.

or maybe not. a leap of faith is all it takes. but for that, she has to move.

she doesn’t stand up yet. her tired brain thinks, what would she do —she as in herself, not those other names that roam around her head and used to speak up in volumes she couldn’t control—, and it’s a great question. one that she could crack the answer to, but she’s not going to, because she’s tired.

j—no, no names— is fucking tired. tired of everything. tired of the ways everyone speaks. tired of the sound of everyone’s voices, because she’s been around lots of people these days and she hates every single one of their voices. how they speak. their mannerisms. the only one she didn’t hate couldn’t speak— a fact not hard to fucking guess why, leaving other facts behind.

and she’s still tired. tired of how hard she kept on trying. tired of how she thought that for one fucking second, maybe she wasn’t tired. maybe she had been but she had just… stopped being tired. and now, she’s back to being tired, because nothing ever lasts forever. tired of how that fucking fat-handed idiot wants her to keep trying —again, no names—, but, maybe, the thing she’s tired of the most is of how tired she is.

she never wanted to be tired, did she? she tried not to be. others saw her grow tired and never acted out, did they?

his silhouettte flashes the back of her mind. he never got to see her this tired. not for long. just before he… he died. maybe then he deserved to be k… to die. he… he just died.

she hums in her head. dying. staying. not moving. are all those synonyms? perhaps. her eyes grow more itchy as she keeps on still. maybe if she stops moving for a while longer, she could just die, too.

she closes her eyes. maybe dying could be the last ever motion she has to do. maybe then she could stop the cycle of blood that has been shed thanks to her. the endless cycle of vengeance and death with no defendants that keep on falling limp and still wherever she crosses. yeah. if she doesn’t move anymore, maybe no one else will have to die.

she knows. she doesn’t think others are aware of said knowledge within her, but somehow she is. she knows a part of her knows. and she learned it the hard way. no one is ever truly safe, and she knows it. nothing ever happens without destiny’s hands meddling on it.

every action's an act of creation. she doesn’t know where she read that before, but if so, maybe then, she could, for a change, throw away her shot and stop. throw away her shot by aiming her last one directly at her reflection, not to break her mirror —not again—, but to… to break. to break… her. the act that is hold by two useless names she refuses to use, the act that somehow now holds both names and still has none, because this kind of one plus one was never meant to add up and equal two. and, now… to stop… stop altogether.

she hasn’t heard anything in a while, and maybe that is why she hears eveything with more clarity now. as if she isn’t inside of her own body, but merely dictating its every more from somewhere outside of it.

she doesn’t take the glass of water that sevika left a while back. whoever she is now, she picks the grenade. she’s going to do it. and the sentence isn’t to find someone to get her out of it or to encourage herself. it’s a mere sentence. a death sentence like it’s never been.

she hears. the ticking and clicking of the grenade in her hands. the weight that her steps cause on the metallic surface below her that makes it to creak, and how it echoes.

maybe the thought of that word is why, when her fingers graze the trigger, a voice she feels she hasn’t heard in so long —too long?— shows up unexpected.

“wait!”

ekko’s voice echoes. it’s a funny sentence, but she has no time.

she blinks away whatever his voice attempted to awaken from her insides, she forces herself to not look at him, but at the grenade. there’s a breath that she holds from whatever it was that remains awake because of his presence.

“get out of here, ekko.” she hasn’t spoken in so long, her voice feels like she maybe should’ve taken the glass of water. too late for that.

“i- i just wanna talk to you pow… jinx.”

those are the wrong names. its a stupid sentence. why would he call her powder after all this time. why would he, of all people, slip up like that, after the many, many times she corrected him?

maybe… maybe that’s why. maybe it’s because he knows… she isn’t none of those names anymore. maybe it’s because he’s always known. because it’s always been him.

her fingers keep gripping the grenade, and weirdly, she feels like the trigger has been pulled several times before.

“always a dance with you,” ekko pants.

the boy saviour. that is funny. maybe names suck, but she really is good with nicknames.

she never thought words could fix things. after all, one of the things she does is breaking, not mending.

guess now she owes him a dance.

~k.k. (☆) try out the little game below!

a/n 2: sad topics aside, to make this somewhat less depressing, game time! find the spiderman: into the spiderverse reference. not hardcore enough? find the hamilton reference. harder challenge? find the tears for fears reference. more, you say? find the reference to ekko’s ‘you ever want to just stay in one moment?’ line. dm me or send an ask if you want clues. if i get bored or you guys actually indulge maybe i’ll reblog this with the answers. and maybe make these games with my other posts, because it’s funny sneaking references. welp. have fun!

aaksuitac, january 2025 ©

[epickiya722]

I recently posted a fic inspired by that art piece Gege posted on Dec. 24 and chapter 265, so I had to go back and reread the chapter to even write said fic and all that. I also went back and reread the ask I answered and thought...

"Why did Sukuna go along with Yuji? Why did he fish with him, did archery with him, listen to Yuji...?"

As I stated in my answer to the ask, I do think it does come from wanting to be cautious in a situation that you're not sure how to get out of, yet.

One minute, he was fighting and the next he's sitting in some train station in his smaller, Yuji form while Yuji shows up lacking his recent battle scars.

Then while they stroll around, Yuji tells him "Hey, I just did it, I'm unsure myself".

So I would expect Sukuna to not attempt to do anything violent and until the bell rung when in an unfamiliar territory. Especially, when your opponent (Yuji) isn't being violent either.

There's also by this time, Sukuna had realized that he should see Yuji as a threat because he is a threat. Just moments before Yuji popped his DE, he followed after Sukuna in Angel's Jacob Ladder and shown barely any signs of even being affected and Sukuna caught that.

Wouldn't you also have your guard up around Yuji?

Now, while I, again, believe Sukuna was being cautious I also feel like... and maybe it's a little outrageous to say... that Sukuna might have wanted to feel... normal. Do something other than fighting and see if he enjoys it.

Okay, might sound a little unusual for him, but hear me out.

Sukuna made it clear he found humans weak, despite himself being human. (Well, born human... you know, you know!)

He casted out his humanity over the years and as he states to Yuji he doesn't feel anything.

By that, I do think he meant that. He doesn't feel anything human.

But come 265, maybe deep down he did want to feel what that was like again when the opportunity arose.

The thing about Sukuna is, he's actually a rather curious individual. He's observant and while he may come off impatient, he does take the time to actually listen. We see this plenty of times.

He'll ask questions, even.

In 265, I feel like that curious nature of his was shown. He may not have been asking questions, but he still played along to whatever was happening. Sukuna easily not participate in whatever activity and refused and while Yuji may taunt him about, he wouldn't force him.

A few chapters before, Sukuna recalls the time he and Yuji shared a body. Sharing that body with Yuji, Sukuna became witnessed to what Yuji felt. That would include emotions like remorse, sadness, defeat and so on.

Chapter 265, maybe Sukuna wanting to experience what it was like to be someone to enjoy something as simple as looking at a horse, but without having to share a body. That he wanted to see "can I feel something like joy over something like this without the influence of someone else"?

What was it like to be Yuji?

By the time Yuji got to talking about winter (hm), that's when Sukuna cuts him off. At that point, maybe as Yuji was reminiscing, Sukuna did feel something positive in doing all those activities but hated it. That what drives him to be impatient.

Something odd considering he has shown patience before. Earliest examples being way back in the beginning. And he shown such patience to Yuji. He actually waited to switch back with him.

So if Sukuna was patient during a situation such as that, why be impatient when Yuji is showing his happy memories?

Again, a guess, it's because he was feeling that happiness, too. And he chose to deny it. Continues to deny it even in death and it wasn't until after Sukuna admits defeat and decides to go for a different path with Uraume.

I think then Sukuna realized how right Yuji was about had Sukuna had a Wasuke in his life, things would have been better for him.

So when he chose to go a different path and does so with Uraume, what I saw was Sukuna choosing to live those moments of happiness he may have felt and hidden during 265. Furthermore, I see him as trying to be that Wasuke to Uraume, wanting them for once to be how Yuji was. Loved by someone who cared about him.

Why I say this? Because Yuji didn't just share happy memories. Most of it, was of his grandfather.

And let's say Sukuna didn't really enjoy any of those activities and truly didn't feel anything out of them. Let's say Sukuna still felt he was far too gone to allow himself to feel whimsy. What if, even still, he chose to go with Uraume to give them that chance to try to live a life as that? He may not have felt anything, but what if Uraume could?

While Sukuna is a bad person, he is still human. Part of being human is living a life that you choose. If you choose to be good or bad, it doesn't limit you to doing the opposite. You can be a good person and still do things considered bad just as being a bad person, you can still do good things. Sometimes, if you allow enough of the opposite in your life, your life with either go for worse or better.

Sukuna had gotten just enough good human conscience to go "I want a different path" while being selfless (usually seen as a good trait) and taking Uraume with him.

Anyways, I'm rambling here! Just had a thought.

[axel-maddox]

Axel watched Lacey, his gaze steady and calculating, yet there was an undeniable softness behind it. He saw the way her pretty eyes glimmered as she spoke, felt the tension between them, and he knew exactly what was happening. Lacey had always been a whirlwind, unpredictable and fierce, and right now, that same fire was burning brighter than ever. He’d always admired that about her—how she never hesitated, how she didn’t shy away from what she wanted, even when it was messy. But that mess? It wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with. He’d been tangled in it long enough to know the patterns, to understand the consequences. As her lips brushed against his neck, Axel couldn’t help but feel the pull. She had a way of drawing him in, a way of making him forget the world around them. Her words came with weight, her declaration genuine, even if it was something she didn’t fully understand yet.His hands tightened around her, pulling her closer as her breath hitched, and for a moment, the chaos faded, leaving just the two of them. But Axel knew better than to let himself fall too deeply. This wasn’t love yet, not in the way he had once hoped for. This was something else—something they both clung to, perhaps out of habit, perhaps because it was easier than confronting the truth. “I want you too,” Axel whispered, his voice low and laced with something darker, something more raw than he intended. With that, Axel got to work, aligning every part of his body with his best friends girlfriend knowing all of the consequences but going with the flow nevertheless.

lacey didn’t feel the same rush with sawyer anymore. they were the power couple, the ones everyone envied, but it all felt more like a performance than real love now. the spark was gone, and she couldn’t ignore it. still, lacey didn’t know how to handle things the easy way—messy was her default, not because she wanted it, but because she always ended up hurting people. "you’ll love me then," she smirked, her lips brushing against his neck in a teasing kiss as his hands pulled her closer. her breath caught when she felt him aligning himself, her eyes locking onto his. "i want this," she said, her voice steady but her heart racing. she didn’t know where the words came from, but she meant them. regret wasn’t a part of her vocabulary. "i want you, axel, more than anything."

[takeyourdailydoseofcyanide]

posting isn’t giving me any sort of sense of familiarity or stability in the foundation which makes sense given that everything has been replaced yet again but damn

[hoofpeet]

I'd probably have to read the printed version and web version back to back at some point to note all the differences but... ough

[theconceptofkidney]

Wei Wuxian wonders how he didn't notice before. It's true that he didn't know about these things back then, but couldn't he have noticed something was off? "Wei-xiong, I…" Huaisang fiddles with his fan. He makes as if to open it, then closes it. He looks to the table, to the window, to his fan. "I don't know." They hadn't seen each other face to face since Wuxian came back. He's had his suspicions, yes, but he hasn't been able to confirm anything. Could it be that Huaisang knows? "I…" He finally looks at him "I really don't know." He has no eyes.

-- From an early reconstruction of Wei Wuxian's thought record

[please-read-the-manga]

It's all good man, just offering a few caveats before I start:

1.) I never read and have very little interest in Itachi Shinden as it's a light novel (maybe that will change someday, though). That being said I think I (roughly) know about some of the elements you're hinting at (between Fugaku and Itachi) from the novel but not any specifics. I know some people hold them as absolute canon while others completely disregard them, etc. For me, I see them as somewhere in-between, but like I said I fully admit I'm unfamiliar with them. The original manga is where it is at with me.

2.) I literally say in the post/disclaimer that Fugaku is not infallible. This isn't a post to glaze him lol and I even critique how he handled Itachi outside of the moment shown AND criticize Madara as well. It's mostly intended as an examination comparing two perspectives that were striking to me (Fugaku's and Hashirama's) that, again, to me, appear contradictory in an intriguing way. If that means it shouldn't exist in the Itachi tag, I can always remove that so as to not bother his fans here (I just thought since he was mentioned I should tag it that way).

3.) I'm never going to grant that the Uchiha genocide was in anyway necessary or justified. Full stop. So, if there's some element of trying to get me to see 'why' it was done 1.) I already understand the varying character perspectives on it (namely those from Itachi and Danzo), but 2.) I will personally never view those as legitimate/justifiable. I feel very strongly over how events like these are portrayed in media. That being said, again... everything is complex. We can examine (as I'm open to do) the dimensions that exist within the clan politics we're shown in the manga as well as the actions of complicated/contradictory characters like Madara, I just draw the line at ever seeing genocide as a solution to those layered problems. The massacre of every single Uchiha (including civilians, children not named Sasuke, and those likely not even involved in the coup plans) is unjust and I will firmly stand by that. Sorry.

This comes before Hiruzen shoots down Danzo's claim that the 'Uchiha will not be dissuaded' as Hiruzen hasn't even tried diplomacy yet, nor does he get the chance. Danzo makes it clear that his decision to unjustly (I stand by that word) indiscriminately slaughter an entire group of people through Itachi is preemptive. Actions by the Uchiha have not been taken yet, diplomacy has not yet been pursued and Danzo ensures it never will once he presents Itachi with his horrific 'choices'.

Okay, so hopefully that clarifies a bit right off the bat, and I apologize for not being well-versed on Itachi Shinden - my analysis here is restricted to the manga.

(Hopefully this is the correct formatting for replies. This got... really long lol, so I'll cut it up here).

Criticising Fugaku for his terrible parenting is not the same as portraying him as a "demon of hatred and cruelty." It's not even a prevelent opinion in the fandom. Itachi gets way more hate, is demonised way more than Fugaku, even if Fugaku was the one who shaped him, abandoned him, and became one of the biggest reasons why the massacre even happened in the first place. The man could have stopped it all by paying more attention to Itachi after Shisui's death. But nope. He had in fact sent Shisui to spy on his own son.

I guess it's impossible to measure who gets more hate (or I wouldn't know how to do that anyway) but this write-up was never meant to be a comparison between Fugaku and Itachi? Other than their interactions with one another, that is. In my experience, I have more commonly seen portrays of Fugaku being this caricature of an evil villain who lives to ruin Sasuke's life... I actually think the fan works that present Fugaku as a more complex character with honest looks into his parenting difficulties are really refreshing.

Fugaku is awkward. That's something Mikoto outright states and that's something Sasuke acknowledges/agrees with enough to find comfort in following her pointing it out. He doesn't know the right thing to say all the time, but I absolutely do not think this negates his love for his sons.

When Itachi is being wrongly criticized by other clan members over the death of Shisui and his own commitment to the clan's cause, Fugaku defends Itachi and adds weight to Itachi's reasoning for his behavior.

Again, I'm not sure if Itachi Shinden negates these flashbacks, and we can maybe examine the fact they're from Sasuke's POV (these are Sasuke's memories and he was very obviously a child here), but I re-read them and see a father struggling to understand the conflict his son is navigating through but still standing by his child in a way that he can. We can say that it's 'not enough' but to me, here, I don't believe Fugaku is abandoning him. I know we can likely agree too, that too much responsibility was put onto to Itachi - he was far too young to be navigating politics at this level and being used not just as a pipeline from the clan to the village, but the reverse as well through Hiruzen, Danzon and the Elders' own machinations.

So, maybe we'll just have to agree to disagree that Itachi gets more hate, as you say. Really the only measure I could think of is that Fugaku is a MUCH smaller character compared to Itachi and his impact on general fan opinion may be a lot smaller as a result? But, in my opinion, Itachi frequently gets a lot of fan support and is a very popular character, to the extent many don't criticize his actions at all (though there is, of course, some good critical analysis out there). As a fan of certain characters like Madara (whew and isn't he an interesting mess lol) and Sasuke, who certainly have their fair share of awesome fans/positive reception, I know what it's like to see those negative opinions/write-ups slip through that I feel are major misinterpretations haha, and it can be so hard to ignore them sometimes lol. So I get it.

"Unjustly" even if it happened due to the bad decisions made by Fugaku himself, for years, throwing his son to the wolves, preparing him as a weapon so he would be useful for war against the village while having no idea of the future afterwards. Fugaku only realised he had been wrong and destroyed Itachi's life. If he had known this before, he wouldn't have thought of the coup as the only solution to their plight. And even if he had, he wouldn't have dragged his child into this mess to turn him into a killing machine. He was more excited about Itachi's Anbu mission than Sasuke's Academy.

I've kind of belabored this point already, but yes... unjustly. Placing the blame for his family's genocide solely on Fugaku is an interesting take. Again, maybe Itachi Shinden has some revelations I've never heard of, but I think we may be reaching with the 'no idea of the future afterwards' when we literally are not privy to any of those exact conversations. We just don't know (and there's so much we don't know). We don't know what the Uchiha had actually prepared in regards to the coup... how far along they were (though some characters with their own distinct biases have opinions on this, I'd argue we still don't objectively know). We never get a chance to see if diplomacy may have played out, but enough characters do speculate that the massacre may not have been so inevitable (Minato mentions the UCM being his fault for passing away, Itachi literally wonders before he is released from the edo tensei if Sasuke could have changed things, etc)... all that speculation, to me, reveals that it was never so black and white.

I do agree that Fugaku likely had many regrets. Again, he's a realistically flawed parent (to me) in what I observe in these panels. He's, as pointed out, incredibly awkward and when Itachi does point out to him how badly Sasuke wants his father at his attendance ceremony, he acquiesces. I feel the need to stress that I'm not really going out of my way to defend him here, but I am pointing out there are layers to his character that likely influence his actions (even if we are not told so explicitly)... he is the clan head, his clan is being discriminated against (and this has occurred for decades now), his clan is rightfully upset at this mistreatment, and it's all coming to a head. Further, as clan head, there is an expectation (right or wrong) that his heir will inherit his responsibilities and duties one day. I agree that's a lot to put onto a child (especially one who is also being hounded after by the village higher-ups for their own gain), but I do think it's worthwhile to remember that this is what Fugaku is dealing with...

I, personally, don't think he was setting out to ruin his son while laughing manically as he planned new ways to overwhelm Itachi and give him more crushing responsibilities lol - I jest a bit, sorry. If that were the case, I don't think he would encourage Itachi to stand by his convictions in the end, nor do I think he would defend his son to the clan even as said son lowkey showcased some alarming behavior (just to clarify here so nothing gets misconstrued, the POV here is that of other members of the clan who are already suspicious of him - it's not my opinion, we the reader know why Itachi is acting that way).

To dive in further, this scene, where Itachi refuses to explain his mission to his father and is going to take the mission in lieu of the clan meeting, is one where we see a very stern Fugaku who is exerting his authority in the parent-child relationship and reiterating what he expects of Itachi (this difficult balance between clan and village responsibilities when tensions are at an all-time high). It is negative, it is harsh. We still see him later, however, (as mentioned earlier) defending Itachi's decision not to attend and standing by his son when the other clan members confront him. Again, not an infallible guy, but hardly this 'evil' father he gets painted as.

Fugaku did not stand by Itachi's side. Not when it was needed. So this moment only serves to make a 12-year-old Itachi feel more guilty.

Here, I think you are referring to the aftermath of Shisui's suicide? As far as I know, I don't think there was anything specifically mentioned about Fugaku's response or absence of a response to the suicide, but I'll re-read Fugaku's manga panels and see if there's something to add here. If it gets addressed, I don't remember it being in the manga. But like I said, I'll check, I'm unfamiliar on this.

Not exactly sure why this is always used as a criticism towards Hashirama. Once you're a leader of the people, they're your responsibility. And if your family/friends cause any trouble and put the lives of thousands others you're responsible for on risk, you must choose. I don't remember Hashirama saying he'd kill a child, but that if it were his own child. Again, this is Shinobi world, and some kids can be more dangerous than the adults. Madara was involving innocent people in his mess. Hashirama had every right to protect the people who had put their faith in him.

In reference to this line:

It's never stated directly in these Hashirama flashbacks, but we eventually learn that Madara came back to the village with the Nine-Tails solely to challenge him with the (as we, the reader, know) hidden intent of harvesting some of Hashirama's DNA (biting his flesh) for his new 'dream' plan. Madara also doesn't deny it, though, when Hashirama asks if Madara intends to destroy everything they've built together. As much as I enjoy Madara, I have no delusions that he can be a horrendous communicator lol. He is capable of opening up just a bit, like when he shows Hashirama the secret tablet that no other outsider has ever been permitted to see (ie. a big deal) after his doubts are beginning to mount about the village and its future. He literally reveals his doubts and uncertainties, opening up, only to then immediately clam up again (very confusingly, to Hashirama) when Hashirama asks for more clarification. Ah, in some ways this is making me want to examine the two of them as a struggle between show-don't-tell and the reverse, where Madara seems to prefer grand, revealing gestures but Hashirama appreciates more direct words - but alas, that's a post idea for another day.

Now, I can agree with you reminding us that it's the shinobi world and we know they operate with different principles and values... but on the level of examining what I consider Fugaku's unconditional love and Hashirama's implication here (and I interpret that line as him implying he would absolutely take the same actions he's taking with Madara, even if it were his son/brother/etc doing it) my personal take on it and what I relate to more is Fugaku standing by his son and refusing to battle him. I think you may see that as Fugaku foisting more guilt onto Itachi (I also don't want to put words in your mouth though), but I read it more as Fugaku trying to impart one final lesson that is encouraging Itachi to be prepared now that he will walk this new path alone. Similarly, I couldn't fathom killing my own child even if I knew they were doing wrong - so my interpretation of Hashirama's words here are to view them as cruel and cold. That doesn't mean you wouldn't remove said child from being able to cause harm in some way (you absolutely should) but to kill them is a step I can't imagine taking. In such a circumstance (though I imagine I'd hopefully never be in one lol) I think I'd take Fugaku's approach.

All of that, at the end of the day, is pure personal opinion and perspective influenced by diverging values and life experiences. It's absolutely okay for others to disagree here, this post is merely my interpretation of what we have in the manga along with critique regarding fan portrayals that I believe fail to offer nuance to Fugaku/Hashirama regarding these perspectives. I haven't been around long enough in this tumblr space to know why it's 'always' used, but I'd be eager to see other interpretations/sentiments on it. That moment has always stayed with me.

100% Fugaku's fault. He wasn't supposed to use his son as a weapon. He should have talked to the Hokage instead of using Itachi. The oppression was wrong but Fugaku took his vulnerable child and exposed him to extreme violence. Leave aside the fact that he didn't even think of the consequences of the coup.

So, again, I'm a bit lost regarding the 'consequences of the coup' and which panels he mentions he's just going in blind, full-speed ahead everything else be damned? The truth is we never get to see (at least in the manga) if they were ready to ahead with the coup. Danzo, an incredibly biased voice, believes they could take out the Uchiha easily and preemptively. Perhaps they could, but we don't know because Danzo violated the Hiruzen's call for diplomacy, gave Itachi a ridiculous choice, set his own immediate timetable, and went for it anyway.

I really don't vibe with the implication that Fugaku is solely at-fault for his people's own genocide... especially with the oppression and discrimination they were facing. In the panels (and sadly we only really get Sasuke's, Itachi's, and a bit of Obito's POV on the night of the massacre - all of whom are likely, in some way, biased), I don't see anything where Danzo's preemptive rush against the clan was warranted. Planning is not doing - oh, it's still a crime in the eyes of the government, but we were never past the point of no return (ie. actual action) regarding this supposed coup.

Also, if we're granting more weight to the shinobi world and its structure (which I think makes sense, you're right) then we need to acknowledge that Itachi was always going to, unfortunately, take part in the system of violence. Kakashi is also extremely young when he is thrust into the shinobi world and bogged down with horrific responsibilities. The case of Itachi and Kakashi being far too young for the violence expected of them is actually revealing of how flawed Konoha is and how bastardized it became from Hashirama/Madara's initial dream. To them, Konoha was meant to be a place where their younger brothers wouldn't have to fight, where kids could be kids... yet more wars continued where child soldiers were demanded, children were tasked to contend with deadly engagements (including the state-sanctioned chunin exams), even in Boruto (lol) this shit is STILL not fixed. Throughout the story we repeatedly see that the village is a hypocritical mess built on a faulty foundation that constantly fuels the 'cycle of hatred' it claims to fight against. It's a broken state that creates tragedies like Itachi and Sasuke. It destroys people like Kakashi. Their world is a very cruel one.

Now, I think you're really going to dislike this comparison but I think it's interesting that this concept of 'Fugaku taking a vulnerable child and exposing him to extreme violence' in an effort to prepare him for the harshness of the world and make him 'stronger' is quite literally what Itachi tries to do to Sasuke. So, if we grant that Fugaku is also a product of this corrupt, violent state and he knows said state discriminates against people like him and we also task him with being both a clan head that must operate for the village (Chief of Police) and for his clan (the Uchiha who are being oppressed) while additionally traumatizing him with wars and baggage of his own (that we don't quite know the details of, but is implied) and then, after all that, ask him to be a 'good' father and raise his sons so they can survive in such a world... idk, it's a pretty tall order, right? And now let's go a step further, we then have Itachi who similarly mimics these difficult circumstances (bearing multiple, very heavy responsibilities to diverging entities), is also traumatized and mentally unwell, wants desperately to protect his younger brother out of love but doesn't really have a 'healthy' (or what we could consider healthy in our world) example to pull from beyond what he personally endured/experienced... we then finally come to the case of Sasuke who is forced to bear Itachi's torture that mentally and emotionally scars him for life.

We know that Itachi believes this was the right decision, that Sasuke had to become strong to survive and THIS is how Itachi understands survival. The torture that sought to change Sasuke from what he was at his core (an innocent, kind child) came from Itachi's perception of love and the tools/knowledge he had at his disposal within his limited circumstances (though if we can play with the idea that Fugaku could have found a way to stop the coup, maybe, I think we can also play with the idea that Itachi could have found a way to not violently torture Sasuke and utterly devastate his life). I've never said that Itachi isn't also traumatized and a victim of the shinobi system, he absolutely is, but in some ways I believe there is a cycle of violence being passed down that is framed (by the characters) as a way to 'prepare them for the reality of their world' and they do so out of a sense of love... and, in that, Itach is both a victim and a perpetrator of grave harm.

To us, the reader, this is all very nasty on every level. Again, I never said Fugaku was perfect (not by any means) and I don't think Itachi is evil or anything, I really like his scenes with Sasuke and the layers of tragedy they hold - I think they're all (Fugaku included) victims of the corrupt rot that runs through Konoha and began at its foundation.

Oy, but I've probably gone on too long now. I felt these points were worth clarifying. Apologies again for not being well-versed on Itachi-Shinden... if it really is so revealing, I wish those scenes you're alluding to had been included in the OG manga so we'd know about them!

I guess I'll grant that some of this may have been a bit of 'Fugaku defense squad' lol, but I am really just trying to help frame him based on what we see in the manga. This also isn't meant to dog on Itachi or Hashirama... they're both good, complicated characters in my opinion. Ultimately, I personally think Fugaku's final moments with Itachi are filled with compassion and what I view as unconditional love from a parent. Others might not see it that way and I think that's fine. As for Hashirama, I think weighing the state over your closest friends and own family is pretty damn cold and not something I agree with morally, but again... it's individual. This is how I take these scenes.

Hm, been contemplating these panels lately and thinking about which character is constantly demonized within the fandom/fan works involving them and which is frequently viewed as the ultimate loving and moral person...

And:

One is a man bearing the supposed 'Curse of Hatred' who loves his children so much that he is continuing to parent and offer unconditional love to his son even after said son has already participated in the brutal state-sanctioned genocide of their people/culture and is about to end his (and his wife's - who, btw, is on the same page as him) life.

The other is a man from the supposed 'Clan of Love' who boldly holds the conviction that he would cease his compassion towards even his own child if they stood against him and his dream (the village), regardless of the fact his dream (the village) is a corruptible entity that does not maintain personhood.

Interestingly, I think there is something to be said for the fact both Fugaku and Hashirama are also shown struggling to understand Itachi and Madara (respectively).

Fugaku is actually quite honest regarding his issues in relating to Itachi and while we're not always privy to all the conversations they've had about the state of the clan/sentiment of the Leaf village towards their people, it's clear that those discussions have been had. While the panels where we do see more explicit conversations taking place show Fugaku reiterating to Itachi that his role in ANBU is to serve as a pipeline between the clan/village (which could be argued as an unfair burden foisted onto a child, in my opinion) there are also moments that indicate Fugaku is willing to defer to Itachi (at least on some topics) when his son offers a contradictory viewpoint (like attendance at Sasuke's entrance ceremony, for example).

Side note... this also reminds me of the very short (unfortunately) interactions we see between Madara and his father, Tajima. Tajima clearly respects his son as well and defers to him when Madara insists that they not fight Hashirama and his family on the river - Tajima accepts this from his son without pause.

Alternatively, we also see Madara trying to explain his perspective to a skeptical Hashirama before he commits to taking more drastic actions. Madara is trying to articulate his frustrations with what is happening in the village/how it is progressing with regards to his clan and (even though we never really get Madara's own unfiltered perspective on this time period) we are shown instances of Madara's grievances holding water (ie. Tobirama advocating for Madara not to be made Hokage, but instead pushing randomly for a democratic system that never seems to actually be cemented or made precedent within the village afterwards but absolutely benefits Hashirama/the Senju in the short-run, Madara 'overhearing' Tobirama's continued bias against the Uchiha in private conversations between the brothers, Hashirama continuing to scold his brother -someone who had ample power within the system of governance since its inception- for his bias against the clan even when they're brought back via the edo tensei, etc). Hashirama tries to (weakly, in my opinion) defend the village status quo/way it is progressing and seems to want to better understand Madara, but isn't willing or is unable to go that extra mile for his friend - and, perhaps in some ways, Madara too was unwilling/unable to articulate himself in a more digestible way once their divergence of opinion on their shared village came to this new crux.

Ultimately, I just find it interesting that Fugaku, this character who is often portrayed by fans as a demon of hatred and cruelty, would (in reality) stand by his son even in his darkest hour, even as he is unjustly slaughtering their family, and continue to reaffirm that he is proud of Itachi/loves him - and this is directly counter to Hashirama who asserts he would absolutely kill anyone (including a child) that stood between him protecting that which he loves the most (the village).

And, of course, we also have this to chew on lol...

Sasuke explaining to edo Hashirama that Itachi inherited his 'Will of Fire' jingoism.

Mandatory disclaimer that Fugaku is not infallible and all the characters here (but Fugaku and Hashirama in particular) are their own people/the circumstances do vary (especially as one relationship is framed in the context of father-son and the other as two friends/peers)... I should also note that I still enjoy Hashirama as a character, I just think his flaws are often under-examined and that the hypocrisy inherent to the 'Will of Fire' philosophy/the Leaf Village (and by extension the shinobi world) is equally neglected especially when it comes to this fandom's love of tearing down the Uchiha to their worst traits/moments. But, man, something about these two panels and character portrayals in particular have just been eating at me the past few days, so I figured I'd try to work out some thoughts on them.

[journey-to-the-attic]

hmm not sure how to feel about obey me running the same pop quiz concurrently in both games

there's a weird disconnect - the new ui and sfx of nightbringer did a good job of giving that disjointed feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar, but given that the pop quiz seems to be taking place in the present that mc came from, the nightbringer ui just feels.... off in the wrong way

given that i've got more resources there i'll probably keep using the original game to play the pop quizzes, but since you can get devil points for s ranking a rhythm stage in nightbringer, seems like these events will be a good place to farm some!

(though in the first place i'd rather they finish the nightbringer story before adding supplementary content like this)