#they make me so happy and so sad at the same time

[eclipixels]

Okay so it’s a gojo fan fic. Basically gojo and yn were childhood friends, yn confessed to gojo. Gojo didn’t reciprocate the feelings and they slowly drifted apart. Years later gojo tries to find yn in every girl hes with but he never really captures her full essence in any of them. One day he sees yn again. (This part you can choose what happens ) (sad, happy, or bitter sweet ending, up to you)

-Gojo sees yn again at a park, but is holding a child and its not hers but he assumes so, dejected he goes to her congratulates her but he finds out its not hers and then they start dating happy ending

-Gojo goes to the doctor only to find out yn is the doctor

-Gojo finds out by a huge billboard that y

Found Again

Satoru Gojo x Reader

[3,015 words]

      You shifted in place, hands clasped in front of you as you tried your best to stay still. The temple was quiet, well, mostly. The adults droned on with their formalities, but you were far more interested in the boy across the room.

      He stood beside a woman who looked a lot like him, his white hair gleaming under the temple lights. His bright blue eyes rolled dramatically, and he let out a sigh, clearly bored out of his mind.

      A giggle bubbled out of you before you could stop it. Your mother shot you a sharp look, and you quickly pressed your lips together, mumbling a quiet apology. But it was too late, your mother’s gaze followed yours, her eyes widening slightly when she realized just who had caught your attention.

      The Gojo clan.

      Your mother’s face flushed. She waited until the service was done and just as she turned to make her way toward the boy’s mother, his mother was already walking toward her.

      “Oh, I apologize for my daughter,” your mother said quickly, bowing slightly. “She didn’t mean to, ”

      “No, no,” Gojo’s mother interrupted with a wave of her hand, looking equally flustered. “If anything, I should apologize! My son was being completely disrespectful.”

      The tension eased as the two women exchanged awkward smiles that soon melted into something more comfortable. They began talking, their voices growing softer as they stepped aside.

      You turned your attention back to the boy, who was now looking at you with curiosity.

      “So, what’s your name?” he asked, tilting his head.

      You straightened up, meeting his gaze. “Y/n. What about you?”

      “Gojo Satoru.” He grinned, rocking back on his heels. “But you can just call me the strongest.”

      You blinked before letting out another giggle. “You don’t look very strong.”

      His mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Hey! I am too!”

      You couldn’t stop smiling as you watched him puff up his chest, trying to look impressive. It was the first of many conversations.

      Gojo Satoru didn’t remember when you became a permanent fixture in his life. It just sort of happened. Like breathing, like blinking, like knowing the sky was blue, you were there.

      You had always been there. From the moment he met you at the temple as a kid, from the first time you teased him for calling himself the strongest, from when his world shifted beneath his feet the day his Six Eyes awakened. He didn’t know how to explain it, but even as everything around him changed, his responsibilities, his status, the weight that came with his name, you remained the same. A constant.

      At first, he thought nothing of it.

      When his parents pushed more expectations onto him, when the elders whispered about what he should be, when he felt the weight of his clan pressing down on his shoulders, there you were. Not in the way others were, not with reverence or awe, not like he was something untouchable. No, you rolled your eyes when he complained, laughed when he was being dramatic, and sat with him in comfortable silence when the world felt too loud.

      He never had to ask you to be there. You just were.

      Like the time he stayed up too late training, his body sore and aching, and you shoved a bottle of water into his hand before flopping down beside him. You didn’t say anything, didn’t lecture him about overworking himself like the adults did. You just leaned back, staring at the sky with him, and for the first time that day, he exhaled without feeling like it was a burden.

      Or when his reputation started to precede him, when people treated him differently, too much distance, too much fear, too much expectation, and you still treated him the same. When he cracked a joke, you groaned and called him annoying. When he acted cocky, you rolled your eyes but still indulged him. When he got caught up in his own head, you nudged him, pulling him back down before he could drift too far away.

      He never questioned it. Never wondered why it felt easier when you were around. Never thought about why he sought you out after long days or why he felt a little lighter when you laughed at his dumb jokes.

      It wasn’t something he examined.

      Because you had always been there. And as far as he was concerned, you always would be.

      Gojo Satoru didn’t think much about what he felt when it came to you. It wasn’t something he analyzed, not the way he did with techniques or battle strategies. You were just, you.

      You had always been there, fitting into his life so seamlessly that he never had to question it. When things got complicated, when the weight of his name pressed down harder, when the lines between duty and self blurred, you remained untouched by it. The one thing that didn’t shift with the rest of his world. He never had to wear a mask around you, never had to be Gojo Satoru, the strongest.

      You called him out when he was being an idiot, rolled your eyes when he got too full of himself, and sat with him when words weren’t needed. It was natural, the way you settled beside him without hesitation, the way he never had to ask you to.

      He liked that.

      He liked that you always knew when he needed space and when he didn’t actually mean it. That you could read him even when he refused to let anyone else try. That you never asked him for anything, not for his strength, not for his reputation, not for the things others seemed to expect from him.

      He didn’t realize how much he sought you out until he caught himself doing it. When a mission drained him, his first instinct was to find you. When he heard a dumb joke, he wanted to tell you first. When something irritated him, it only felt real once he ranted about it to you.

      There were times he caught himself staring, when you weren’t even doing anything special, just existing, just being. And he’d shake himself out of it, because why was he even thinking about it?

      It wasn’t something he examined because he had always known you. You had always been there. And whatever this was, the way he felt lighter when you were around, the way his world felt just a bit less suffocating with you in it, was just part of that.

      Right?

      And then, suddenly, you weren’t.

      You had confessed your feelings to him, laying your heart bare, pouring out every emotion you had buried for years. It had taken so much courage, so much strength, to be that vulnerable with him. But Gojo, Gojo had simply stared, his usual cocky smirk faltering into uncertainty.

      He hadn’t known what to say.

      He liked you, of course, he did. But love? Love was something foreign, something complicated. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of it, wasn’t sure if he should be capable of it. His life was too chaotic, too dangerous. And besides, wasn’t it better to keep things as they were? If he let himself love you, if he let himself need you, wouldn’t that only make it hurt more when he eventually lost you?

      So, he told you he didn’t feel the same.

      He thought he was doing the right thing. Thought he was saving you from inevitable heartbreak.

      But he hadn’t realized that this was the real heartbreak.

      He hadn’t realized how deeply his words would cut until he saw the way your eyes dimmed, the way your lips trembled as you forced a smile, nodding as if you understood.

      And after that, you began to pull away.

      It wasn’t immediate, but it was there.

      The way your texts became less frequent. The way you suddenly seemed too busy to hang out. The way you started standing a little further away from him, your laughter a little less bright.

      At first, he told himself it was temporary. That things would go back to normal soon.

      But then, one day, he called your name in the hallway, and you didn’t turn around.

      "You wanna hang out—oh." His voice had faltered when you walked past him, eyes forward, as if he didn’t exist.

      That was the moment it truly hit him.

      Just like that, you drifted apart.

      You went on with your life. You made new friends, built a life that didn’t revolve around him. And Gojo realized too late how much he missed you.

      At first, he pretended he didn’t care. He still had Geto and Shoko, still had his reputation as the strongest sorcerer. He drowned himself in missions, in work, in meaningless flings.

      But none of it filled the hollow ache in his chest. None of it could erase the absence of you.

      He found himself searching for you in other people. In the girls he took out on dates, in the strangers he passed on the streets. He looked for the way your eyes used to sparkle when you teased him, the way your lips curled when you held back a laugh.

      But no one ever quite measured up.

      "Another one?" Geto sighed one day, watching as Gojo turned down another woman. "You keep blowing them all off."

      Gojo leaned back, rubbing his temples. "You know how I am."

      Geto scoffed. "No, I don’t. Care to explain?"

      Gojo sighed, staring off into the distance. "They’re just… not her."

      Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? No matter how many people he met, no matter how many times he tried to move on, none of them were you.

      He had been a coward all along. He had been so afraid of losing you that he had pushed you away first. But now, he had lost you anyway and he didn’t know how to fix it.

      Years passed, but nothing changed. No matter how many people he met, no matter how many women he entertained, none of them were you. He could never quite find you in anyone else.

      And then, one night, as he walked through Tokyo, his breath caught in his throat.

      There you were.

      Your face, plastered across a massive billboard. Y/n L/n Renowned Doctor Makes Breakthrough in Technology.

      His heart pounded painfully in his chest as his gaze dropped to the park just below him. There, in the soft afternoon light, was you.

      And it wasn’t just a fleeting image. It was you, in real life. Flesh and blood.

      He froze, watching as you laughed, your laugh, the one he hadn’t heard in years, and spun a small child around, their joy echoing through the air. The way your hair flew in the wind, the way your eyes crinkled in pure happiness, it was all so familiar, and yet so alien.

      His stomach twisted painfully. Had you really moved on this much? Had you built a life without him? Had you found someone else, someone who could give you everything he never had the courage to offer? The thought hit him like a physical blow.

      Was that what you deserved all along?

      He swallowed hard, turning away before his emotions could get the best of him. There was no point in staying. He didn’t belong in that picture, in that moment. You were living a life without him, and maybe, just maybe, that was for the best.

      Dejected, he walked away, every step heavier than the last.

      That night, he drank. A lot.

      He didn’t care anymore. It was as if the alcohol could numb the sharp ache in his chest, the hollow emptiness that had settled there ever since you’d walked out of his life.

      The whiskey burned as it slid down his throat, blurring the edges of reality, drowning out the sound of his own thoughts.

      But even the alcohol couldn’t numb the truth. The truth that, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he missed you. And it hurt more than he was willing to admit.

      Because somewhere along the way, he had stopped trying to replace you with other people, and started regretting the fact that he had ever let you slip away in the first place.

      When Gojo woke up, his head pounded like a thousand drums, and his limbs felt like lead. But none of that mattered. Not when he opened his eyes and saw you standing over him.

      He blinked rapidly, convinced that he was still dreaming. You looked different, more mature, more radiant, yet it was unmistakably you. His you.

      "Finally awake, huh?" Geto’s voice broke through the fog in his mind, pulling him back to reality. "Found your dumbass passed out near a street. Figured I’d call you a doctor." He smirked, giving Gojo a teasing glance before stepping out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.

      Gojo swallowed thickly, forcing himself to sit up. The movement felt slow, disoriented, as if his body was protesting against the reality that had hit him so hard. He cleared his throat, looking at you. "Y/n."

      Your lips curved into a soft smile, and his heart skipped a beat. "Toru."

      It hit him like a freight train. You still called him that. A wave of nostalgia, regret, and something far deeper washed over him.

      "Uh..." Gojo rubbed the back of his neck, trying to steady himself, but all he could think about was how you were standing in front of him again, like no time had passed. "Been a while."

      "It has," you replied, your voice soft and warm, yet tinged with something unreadable.

      There was a long pause between you both. For a moment, it felt like the world had gone still, the years apart falling away in the space of a single, shared breath.

      "How have you been?" Gojo asked, his voice a little rough, a little dry. His gaze subconsciously flickered to your hands. No ring?

      You exhaled slowly, your eyes softening. "I’d be lying if I said good." You gave him a small, rueful smile.

      Gojo let out a weak laugh, feeling the weight of your words more than he was willing to admit. "Yeah. Me too."

      You stood there in silence, and Gojo’s mind raced, trying to find the right words, but nothing seemed to fit. Then, his heart nearly stopped as he remembered something. He couldn’t let it go. "I saw you at the park earlier," he admitted, his voice suddenly hesitant. He wasn’t sure if he sounded like a stalker, but he had to know.

      "Oh." Your smile softened as you looked at him. "I was babysitting my friend’s kid."

      Gojo exhaled, the tension in his chest loosening slightly. The knot of emotions that had been strangling him unraveled just a little. You weren’t with someone else. He didn’t know why that thought hurt so much. He’d known this moment would come, yet somehow, he still wasn’t prepared.

      You met his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like no time had passed at all. As if you were still the same people you’d been all those years ago. But then, something shifted in you. You laughed softly, and a tear slid down your cheek, catching the light.

      Gojo’s brows furrowed. "What?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, afraid of what you might say.

      You shook your head, wiping the tears away quickly, but your voice trembled when you spoke. "Nothing." You gave him a bittersweet smile. "It’s just... after all these years of convincing myself I got over you, I can’t believe that seeing you again made all that progress disappear. My heart is pounding in my chest like I’m seventeen again."

      The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. Gojo didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He just stood there, completely still, as if you’d knocked the air from his lungs. You still felt it too.

      For a long moment, neither of you moved. The silence hung between you like a fragile thread, each of you caught in the gravity of the moment. Finally, you broke the stillness with a small, shaky exhale.

      "I should go now," you said, stepping back. "I, uh, left some aspirin for you."

      And suddenly, Gojo felt like he was losing you all over again. He couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not after all these years.

      "Y/n—" His voice was raw as he called your name, desperation creeping into the syllables.

      You turned back to face him, but before you could say anything, Gojo moved without thinking. His heart was racing, the words trapped in his chest. He was this close to losing you again, and he couldn’t bear it.

      When you looked up, you found him standing inches away, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes locked onto yours. The proximity felt like electricity, charged with years of longing, regret, and something far deeper. His hands trembled as he reached out, fingers brushing your jaw as though you were something too delicate to touch, something he might break. But he couldn't stop.

      And then, before he could stop himself, his lips were on yours.

      The kiss was wild and chaotic, completely uncoordinated. There was no grace, no calm. Just the desperate need to reconnect, to bridge the gap that had stretched too far for too long. His eyes squeezed shut as he let your lips move against his, a beautiful mess of everything he'd been holding back for all these years. Every emotion, every thought he couldn't express came pouring out, desperate and untamed, but deep and genuine.

      You pulled back, breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "Toru?" Your voice was a whisper, shaky, unsure.

      His forehead rested against yours, and he closed his eyes, his own breath uneven. He’d never felt so alive, so terrified, so sure of anything in his life. He could barely steady his voice, but when he spoke, it was a vow.

      "I won’t lose you again," he whispered, his voice shaking.

[nateezfics]

so this is goodbye;

just going to be to the point here. i cannot call what i am on right now as a semi hiatus or even a hiatus at all, really. i don’t want to make this a bigger deal than necessary or repeat myself because i’ve already shared my thoughts on this matter here before, but to be blunt i have no desire of ever writing for this blog again. so really, i should say that i am not on a hiatus, but rather that i am genuinely saying goodbye to nateezfics. i don’t need to explain anything, but to be transparent, i have lost interest in ateez and kpop as a whole. it is sad to say; kpop has been a major part of my life the better part of the last seven years. i noticed this decline in interest months ago, but had held onto the hope that i would rekindle my interest and love for it again. but now i cannot deny it. being into ateez/kpop just doesn’t feel the same anymore…like something hasn’t felt quite right to me. there is no desire to write fanfiction for ateez/kpop anymore. i simply have moved on.

i will always cherish the memories, the people i’ve met, the mutuals and friends made. of course ateez/kpop will continue to be something i look back on with fondness. i will always remember the happiness it brought me over these years. it’s an odd feeling, considering how deeply involved and passionate i used to be, but such is life…some times you just outgrow things, and that’s okay!

in this time i have rekindled my love for anime. i have also continued to be passionate about playing genshin impact, and have even started writing fanfiction for it on @zhongtea. if you want to keep in touch with me as well as read my genshin fanfiction, you are more than welcome to follow me over there!

so…here it is. my last time signing into nateezfics. thank you to the almost eight thousand followers, thank you to the handful of moots, and thank you for all the fun and great memories! i may be leaving, but i will always be grateful for the time spent here. much love!

— nat ᡣ𐭩 ་༘࿐

[astrolook]

Synastry & Composite Observations from Clients

Astrology is a fantastic tool—it reveals the energy between two people, the potential of a relationship. But let’s be clear: good synastry does not mean lasting love, and a “perfect” composite chart doesn’t guarantee happiness. At the end of the day, charts don’t live our lives—we do.

Today, I’m sharing some synastry and composite chart observations from my clients—because astrology says 'meant to be,' but my clients said 'absolutely not.'

We love looking at celeb couple charts and going, ‘Ah yes, they’re together because of this Venus-Mars magic!’ or ‘Their composite Moon in the 7th seals the deal!’ But no—people are much more than their charts. Timing, attraction, emotional baggage, and plain old life all play a role. Some couples with dreamy synastry crash and burn, while others with absolute train-wreck charts somehow make it work for decades. Astrology is fun, but love? Love is beyond these things.

Client 1: Wanted to know whether the guy she's seeing is compatible with her. Synastry shown some conjunctions, both good and hard aspects and sexual intimacy as well. But looking at his natal chart , he had North Node in his 8th house of Taurus. I had a feeling that he is either bisexual or homosexual. Along with the explanation of all aspects and placements, I concluded that they do have sexual intimacy but his north node in his 8th house says something about his sexuality. Their composite chart had Virgo stellium in 10th house which had venus-moon-mars aspects. A week later she messaged me saying that guy (one of her friend's brother) is actually gay and not into women at all. When asked how she found out, she said he saw him making out with a guy he usually goes out with (as friends)and he apparently hid it from his family as they are deeply religious.

Client 2: Divorced in 1.5 years. Same career. After divorce, She came to me to know why their marriage didnt work out. Honestly their chart had so much potential. His saturn trined her ascendant. Composite Venus-Mars conjunction in 10th house. Her Gemini Sun falls on his 8th house gemini. Her north node in leo falls on his 10th house leo. Her venus-mercury falls on his 9th house cancer. Her mars on his 11th house virgo. His venus in gemini on her 10th house. her moon in his 5th house of pisces. Some saturn ,venus, mars aspects between them showing great potential. Had composite jupiter in 7th house. Composite Moon in 9th house. I told ever, admitted that, It really looks great on paper, both synastry and composite of theirs, showing sexual compatibility, frequently travelling together etc.

She told me finally that in their 1.5 years of married life, she can count how many times they were together. They do travel together for work and he even helped her career a bit. She concluded her intimacy with him in 2 words, "Dead Bedroom". They slept in different rooms. But seemed to be a marriage out of convenience rather than real love. He wasn't touchy at all. She came out depressed as she really thought they gonna last and had soulmate connection. But, nope. She finally told me after their divorce, he married someone else 3 months later and seemed to be enjoying his life and she felt betrayed as she wasted 6 months of dating and 1.5 years of married life. It is really sad and that client really stood to me. I couldn't sleep well that night.

Client 3: Divorced after 15 years together. They had a child too. Their synastry and Composite chart is what we call these days "soulmates". First of all, I do believe in soulmate stuff and all but wait. She is a cancer ascendant. He is a capricorn ascendant. Her virgo moon in his 9th house. His Taurus moon in her 11th house. Her 7th lord saturn is in his 9th house of virgo too. Her scorpio mars in 5th house was in his 11th house. Composite chart Stellium in 2nd house and North Node in 5th house. Looking at other placements and aspects on both synastry and composite, it does signaled long-term.

They ended their marriage after 15 years. She told me that he treated her like a doormat. Abusive and toxic too. So many placements and aspects could be considered a soulmate connection in this modern era. Fated or divine connection or whatever you wanna call it. It didn't work. She put up with him for the kid but 3 years before their divorce, he started having an affair with another woman who was also married and had kids like them. Behind her back. She finally ended it.

What I learned from this:

A good synastry chart doesn’t mean you’ll last. A perfect composite doesn’t mean you’ll be happy. At the end of the day, relationships require more than just “good astrology.” They require communication, aligned values, attraction, effort, and, oh yeah—mutual desire to actually be together.

So next time you see a 10/10 synastry and a good composite chart with someone, ask yourself: Do I even like them? Because if the answer is no, your stars can be as aligned as they want—it won’t make a difference.

And if you don’t believe me? Go check your synastry with people you don't like at all. You might be in for a rude (or hilarious) awakening. 😆

Want to know more about your life? DM me for a complete astrology reading and look at my pinned post for pricing.

I felt like I had to write about this today and hope you all like it. Lemme know how you felt too and share your synastry and composite experiences in the comments!

[athousandbyeol]

honesty.

i think the central theme of this week's episode is honesty.

faifa was honest about his sadness.

faifa didn't try to conceal it. his sadness was out in the open.

and wine saw it. he saw everything.

everyone knew but him. again. how could they? how could she?

"let's hug."

physical touch; i believe this is one of wine's love languages. and I believe this is something faifa truly treasures. an existing comfort wrapping him in a tight hug after another tiring day of enduring.

"i don't like when mom goes there. it makes me feel like when she brought me back here. like I'm being abandoned over and over."

faifa was afraid of that loneliness. he was fearful of that haunting feeling, that reality of his mother choosing everything but him—to leave him behind when she moved on and found her happiness.

"but everything's getting better. because you're always here to hug me."

faifa knew that wine would be there to embrace him—his happiness, sadness, all of him. faifa knew wine would be there. he wouldn't disappear.

and that was faifa being as honest as he could with wine in this moment of susceptibility—by saying that wine would stay.

"have you ever thought about how to move past these feelings?" "never."

and it's okay. it's okay to still be in this state of frustration and confusion and tiredness and hopelessness. it's okay to feel. because now, faifa wouldn't experience this alone—wine would be here. wine would shoulder those feelings when they overwhelmed him. wine would hug him tight and whisper those sweet words; all those nothings and everything.

because this sadness was no longer consuming—this sadness was no longer lonely.

faifa was honest with his disappointment.

maybe faifa didn't want to believe it. maybe he wanted to be ensured that he and wine were always on the same page. but how could he not have these thoughts when he knew how much p'tor had affected wine? how could he not be disappointed—when there was still a possibility that wine might not reciprocate his feelings?

because faifa was so used to giving and not receiving—he should've known better.

"i need to get ready for my performance." "do you want me to come with you?" "no, it's fine." "stay with your friends."

perhaps faifa didn't want wine to stay with toey and p'tor. perhaps he wanted wine to follow him. but faifa was never selfish. and faifa was never someone who would fight a losing battle. so he left. he left his love on the table—he left wine with someone who might take wine away from his life forever.

and he was alone again. he was isolated from the world again.

because this was where he believed he should belong—to nobody.

wine was honest with his fear.

the thought of losing faifa was terrifying.

to lose someone who made him realise that it was okay to be himself—it was okay to be into men—it was okay to take things slow and go with the flow—it was okay to move on from the past because the present was so beautiful and real and comforting and assuring and faifa.

it was lost chances and perished hopes and memories becoming too pretty to forget but too painful to remember. it was wine thinking tomorrow would never be the same because faifa wouldn't be there by his side—faifa wouldn't look at him with those eyes—faifa wouldn't exist in wine's life anymore because that was who faifa was—he was the air that wine breathe; invincible but felt. borrowed, never his.

and wine believed he was too late. and wine believed he was never honest.

"what's wrong?" "i'm just scared. scared that if you and tor reconnect, everything would be just a dream. scared that I'm actually not the one for you."

because faifa was never someone's first—he was never anyone's priority.

but wine showed him that he was. wine showed him that he was his only. so how could he not be scared of this possibility—of losing wine when he had become faifa's everything?

but faifa was. faifa was wine's only one.

"i hate that notebook. i hate counting down how many times we've done things together. i hate counting down for our story to slowly end. i leave it in my room on purpose. i keep it in a box on purpose so I can't see it. because you said it won't count if I didn't bring it. i don't want to have a meal with you just 10 times. i don't want—"

because wanting felt too much for wine and faifa to bear—wanting so much for something so little, this fragile thread connecting their hearts—no labels or names—felt too much for two people who had never wanted this openly—this honestly.

faifa and wine were honest about love.

"i get it now." "i'm sorry i didn't tell you honestly that I agreed to try your flirting tips not because I wanted to win someone else's heart, but because I wanted to be near you, phi faifa."

we love each other so much, don't we?

yes. more than anything in this world.

"i never understood why people fall in love until it happened to me. now I realise how much happiness it brings." "phi faifa..." "are you ready to have a meal with me a thousand times more, let me give you a ride everywhere in the world, and go running with me at the park for the rest of our lives?"

to have a future together, neither faifa nor wine has ever envisioned it to be this sweet. this fulfilling. this comforting. this healing. this beautiful.

"let's be a couple?" "let's be a couple."

i do.

i do.

and this was faifa and wine being honest with each other.

[lotuzies]

𖥔 diary entries in my VAMPIRE REALITY

── .✦ 14th july, 1899

dear diary

my mom got me this diary it's soooo pretty! she says it's nice to write my thoughts down so i can be more calm, i think she should do the same, she's always sad. anyways, i think mark just arrived, i can hear him talk down the stairs so i'm gonna go play with him now and i'll write about it after. bye!

p.s.: mark is my best friend >⩊<

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ 5O years old — 5humanyears

── .✦ 16th september, 1923 ִ

dear diary

it's been a few months since sophie was born, life has been different but i'm happy. it's funny that lucien thought i wouldn't be fond of the idea of having a half sister, but i absolutely love sophie. she's the most beautiful little girl ever and i'll do anything for her to grow up well. also, mom seems so much happier now, so that's good too.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ 74 years old — 7humanyears

── .✦ 1st august, 2024

dear diary

yesterday was the veil festival, and obviously it was great, as per usual. rina and michelle came over so we could get ready together (as the yearly ritual demands!) and after meeting up with the rest of the group we went to the forest to mess around. it was fun, even though i almost fell directly into the misty lake. also i met a boy. he was human, i could tell from the scent, and i think he was lost (i don't think a human would willingly go in the forest alone haha). he was handsome... shame i didn't get his name, maybe i'll see him next year at the next festival.

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ 175 years old — 17humanyears

── .✦ 8th august, 2024

dear diary

i went on a mission today, luckily i was partnered with mark to make my life easier. everything went well, he saved my ass two times because i was distracted. uncommon of me, i know, but you'd never guess who i saw during the mission! the human boy from the festival anddd he remembered me! got his name now, it's sunghoon. i gotta write it down to make sure i don't forget it in case i never see him ever again, but he said he wanted to meet me again, so i told him that if he knows how to get to virethia, it shouldn't be too hard to find me. i hope he understood i was inviting him here... he's really pretty. i'll see if he comes around tomorrow.

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ 175 years old — 17humanyears

[phmhani]

꒰펠릭스꒱ “trust me, you'll be fine..”

──── 𝒾nfo ────

𝒷est friend.ᐟfelix x gn.ᐟreader

:: best friends to ??? trope ; angst with a cliffhanger ending

warnings : 𝓏ero

──── 𝓃ote ────

hello ~ my first post (drinks or coffee) did pretty well, so i decided to make another piece today ! thank you for your support. did this one flop?

happy reading!

felix was your childhood best friend, with whom you attended classes, had lunch together, and explored the beach, spending all your time together.

but everything changed when felix auditioned for jype. he aspired to become an idol, but the thought of being without him was unbearable for you. the prospect of being alone in australia without your best friend made everything seem dull - school, bike rides, everything.

the day felix was leaving for seoul had arrived. you accompanied him to the airport, waiting with him for his flight. when it was time, felix gave you a tight hug, trying to hold back tears.

“trust me, you’ll be fine..”

he mumbled, his voice quivering. his hold on you was almost too tight, but you were too engrossed in your sadness to care.

“i won’t be,”

you replied, your voice too quivering,

“not without you.”

felix’s expression softened as he hears you say that. he took a deep breath, understanding your emotions because he felt the same.

he places his hands on your shoulders, looking you in the eyes.

“you will, trust me.”

felix comforted you softly, his words conveying confidence and reassurance, even though his own emotions were in turmoil.

he then noticed your persistent shaking of the head, a clear sign that you were not convinced by his words.

he squeezed your shoulders gently, trying to make you look at him. his voice was firm yet tender.

“you will be just fine.”

he took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. he wanted to comfort you, but he also knew that deep down, he was trying to convince himself too.

felix took one of your hands in his, holding it gently.

“hey, look at me,”

he whispered,

“i know you'll be okay. you’re so strong, you’ll get through this. and we’ll keep in touch, okay? we’ll text, video call, send pictures and updates. it’s not like we’re never going to see each other again.”

he tried to give you a small, reassuring smile, although it was tinged with sadness.

you couldn’t bear losing him. he was your best friend, and you had just realised your massive feelings for him not too long ago. you wanted to grow old with him, have a family and a cosy home, you knew he was the one.

but his ambition of being an idol was too strong to love you, even if he was completely head over heels for you.

seeing the tears in your eyes and hearing the sob escape your lips, felix’s heart ached even more. he squeezed your hand tighter.

he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, savoring the feel of your presence. then, he trembled softly in your ear,

“please, don’t cry. i can’t bear to see you like this.”

you tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was a silence-breaking sob. led by another. and another. you shed enough tears to fill up every ocean and area of water imaginable.

felix held you in his arms, feeling the dampness of your tears against his chest. he runs his hand gently through your hair, trying to soothe you.

“i know it's hard, but you have to believe me. you’ll be okay. i swear.”

he was fighting back his own tears, his heart feeling like it’s being twisted.

he tightened his grip on you, trying to keep his emotions in check. he took a trembling breath, his voice shaky as he spoke.

“promise me you’ll take care of yourself, okay?”

he leans his head against yours, closing his eyes.

“promise me you’ll eat properly, get enough sleep, and don’t put too much pressure on yourself. you mean so much to me, and i’ll worry about you from seoul if you don’t look after yourself.”

you nodded, trying so hard to stay strong for felix. if you opened your mouth just a bit, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to hold your tears back anymore.

he felt relieved as you nodded, acknowledging his words. he pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes full of concern and affection.

“good.”

he brushed away a few stray tears from your cheek with his thumb.

“and promise me one more thing,”

“promise me you’ll keep in touch. even if i get busy with training and debuting, i still want to hear from you. i want to know how you are, what you’re up to.”

he pauses for a moment, the weight of their separation already sinking in.

“and, uh...”

he hesitated, then continues, his voice quieter.

“promise me you won’t forget about me.”

you swallow back a desperate sob, and nodded,

“i promise.”

felix smiled weakly, his chest feeling a mix of relief and sadness. he hugged you again, this time tighter than before.

he whispers next to your ear,

“good. that’s good. i’ll be waiting for your messages.”

he hesitates for a moment, knowing that their time is running out. he doesn’t want to let you go, but the boarding announcement forces him to.

unexpectedly, felix kissed you gently on the lips, his lips lingering for a second before he pulled away. there was a mix of sadness and affection in his eyes as he takes a step back.

he struggled to find the words to say, knowing this is the last moment he’ll see you for a long time. he whispered softly,

“i’ll miss you.”

felix saw your expression, his heart clenching at the emotions in your eyes. he knew this is hard for you both, and the words get stuck in his throat.

he takes a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady.

“please, don’t say goodbye. just think it’s a … see you later.”

he gave you a small, sad smile, his eyes shining with unshed tears. he was holding back his own emotions, trying to be strong for your sake.

“i’ll text you when i land, okay?”

he took a step back, every movement feeling like a piece of his heart breaking.

“take care of yourself.”

you inhaled and exhaled, just as felix had taught you all those years ago. calm down, you said to yourself. you’ll see him at some point.. won’t you? you said, letting your confession rip out,

“i love you, lixie.”

felix’s expression softened, and a soft, sad smile tugged at his lips.

he felt a rush of emotions hearing you say those words he has been waiting to hear for so long. it’s a bittersweet moment, knowing that they’re parting ways, but he can’t deny the depth of his feelings for you.

“i love you too.”

[shinycrybaby]

put a veil and mourn for me - gojo satoru x reader

Genre/Tags: Angst, No Curses AU, one sided love

Warnings: Character death, Not proofread sorry :((

Word Count: 802 words

A/N: please don't come for me. will add satoru's pov soon. basically this is like a 2 part short fic :3c

also i wrote this during like,... a few days before my period saur... yeah my emotions were all over the place so i decided to put it all in a fic

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

For the longest time, you’ve been in love with Satoru. Ever since high school, the moment his bright eyes and warm smile met yours as he pointed to his seat back when you moved school, you knew you were hooked. He didn’t know you, yet he showed kindness and warmth, unlike some people you’ve met throughout your life.

Throughout high school, Satoru has been a constant in your life. He was there to be a shoulder to lean on when your other friends in the group weren’t available. He had shown you love and care without even asking for anything in return. Even until college, he made time and effort to hang out with you and the others, despite being in different universities.

But after an incident that took away his friend’s life, everything changed. No. His friend was alive. Suguru was alive. It’s just that he wasn’t the same as before. The woes of having his friend’s memories vanish into thin air had left him hanging, just like the very man himself. Satoru mourned for the loss of a life despite being that life being alive.

And for the most part, even after being one of his close friends, you couldn’t give him the peace of mind he wanted. He needed. You clawed your way from the pits of darkness just to give him the happiness he deserves, and yet you find that you can never make someone who mourns happy.

Even so, in the littlest of ways, you try your best to do the calmest to the most ridiculous things to do just to see at least a laugh from him. It’s small, but it’s enough.

Today was no better, but this time you opted to just watch the stars from the rooftop of your childhood home. Having been close to him since high school was enough to have him invite himself over to your place just to spend the night studying or  playing games, eating chips and then passing out.

Tonight, like any other time during your teens, you snuck through the window and climbed up to the roof through the ledge on your window and the low hanging branch of a tree conveniently beside your bedroom window, making for an easy leverage.

“You know we should have brought, like…drinks. Maybe my dad’s wine.” You spoke in a hushed tone before making yourself comfortable – although it’s hard – on the roof.

“We’re both lightweight. What are you talking about?” Satoru snickers in reply. Amusement is very much evident in the tone of his voice.

“You’re right. But wine tastes good. The sweet ones, I mean. The dry ones, though, I hate those.” You eyed the constellations above, trying to look for one as you two playfully talked.

“Yeah, I like sweets,” Satoru mutters back.

For a moment, there was only peaceful silence. On the one hand, it’s good. On the other hand, it wasn’t. With silence and darkness going hand in hand, it’s only natural to give birth to negating thoughts, ebbing their sharp claws in your mind. Suddenly hit with an overwhelming feeling of sadness, your eyes stung from the onslaught of tears piercing the corners of your eyes.

“It’s so deep and scary.” You whisper, breath catching in your throat.

Satoru turns to look at you, curious. “What is?”

“The sky. When it’s dark.” You observed the stars twinkling and the planets that shined steadily. “Crazy how everything is truly dark. Like the sun is but an illusion to keep humans calm and comforted. But you go into space, and you’ll just be met with total darkness. There’s light…but nothing to keep you grounded. Everything is miles and lightyears away.”

“You, okay?” He asked, now concerned.

“Yeah. Just midnight thoughts.”

Another silence and another tear slip past your eyes. He hasn’t been talking much since everything that has happened. You didn’t know what to do anymore, you’re running out of options to save him from drowning.

In a pained whisper that you so badly wish he doesn’t take note of, the words are uttered, “It’s really beautiful.” You smile sadly at the starry sky. “I want to shine like them too.”

“Yeah...” Satoru mutters in reply. You look back at him, there’s that unreadable expression on his face once more. The only thing recognizable was the distant look in his eyes. Almost like regret.

You avert your gaze from him once more, this time settling to close your eyes instead of welcoming a new kind of darkness, one devoid of light.

“It’s peaceful.” You hear him muttering and the shuffling of his clothes that made it sound like he was turning on his side.

You let silence override your senses, the only symphony in the night being the sound of breathing and the cacophony of the crickets’ chorus.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

A/N:

Yippie! I am so happy I am getting back on my writing groove :] it's not much but after the burn out I had for years during college, i'm just so happy to get back to writing whenever I feel like it. i'll probably open requests if i find a comfortable pace with writing, otherwise this is okay for me right now!

again, likes and reblogs as well as comments are very much appreciated!

© February 2025, shinycrybaby. All rights reserved. Reposting is prohibited.

[fanbasetwo]

Ꮺ . , SOHEE WITH HIS BIRTHDAY GIRL !!

NOTE FROM SENA , (this is a fic in a headcanon manner) def not my birthday today but here we go , MASTERLIST!!

i. THE BEGINNING OF A VIRTUAL LOVE STORY

You and Sohee met online through a mutual hobby group, bonding over late-night chats, silly memes, and a shared love for obscure indie bands.

You never thought anything serious would come of it, but before long, you were texting each other good morning and good night, sharing every little detail of your lives.

Sohee was shy but sweet, often confessing how much he wanted to meet you in person. “I wish I could hug you right now,” he’d text, accompanied by a photo of himself looking adorably soft in his oversized hoodie.

ii. ONLINE MOMENTS THAT BECAME SPECIAL

You both developed routines that kept the spark alive. Weekly video calls became sacred, even if Sohee sometimes got flustered and hid his face behind his hands when you complimented him.

During your virtual movie nights, he’d patiently sync up his screen with yours, ensuring you both hit play at the exact same time. “Don’t skip ahead!” he’d laugh if you got too excited.

On your rough days, he’d send you playlists he curated just for you. “This one’s for when you’re sad,” he explained once, sending a link with the note: ‘Track 5 reminds me of you.’

He once surprised you by sending a hand-written letter to your house. Inside was a Polaroid of him holding a sign that said, “You’re my favorite person.”

iii. THE CHALLENGES OF LONG-DISTANCE

Dating as teens made it tough to meet, especially with his busy trainee schedule and your own commitments. You’d often joke about flying to see him, but he’d nervously laugh, saying, “Maybe one day.”

Even when things got hard, you both stayed committed. “Five years isn’t that long,” he’d say during the harder nights. “I promise it’ll all be worth it.”

iv. YOUR BIRTHDAY BLUES

Now both 22 and independent, you’d been dating for five years without ever meeting in person. You often whined about wanting to see him, but Sohee always brushed it off, saying, “Not yet.”

On your birthday, you came home from work feeling miserable. Nobody at work remembered, and your boyfriend hadn’t texted all day, which was odd for him. You figured he must’ve been busy, but it still stung.

Opening the door to your house, you expected silence. Instead, you were greeted by cheers from your two best friends and your parents.

v. THE SURPRISE OF A LIFETIME

Your eyes landed on the cake first—small but beautifully decorated with your favorite colors. Then you noticed the figure standing beside it. Tall, with soft features and a shy smile you recognized instantly.

It was Sohee.

Your legs wobbled as your heart caught in your throat. “No way,” you whispered before running toward him. The moment his arms wrapped around you, you broke down, sobbing into his chest.

“You’re real,” you kept repeating, clutching him tightly. He laughed softly, resting his chin on your head. “Of course I’m real. Happy birthday, my love.”

vi. KEEPING IT PG-15

Your parents and friends looked on with fond smiles, so you had to keep the reunion as wholesome as possible. Still, Sohee’s hand lingered on your back, and you couldn’t stop staring at him in awe.

“You’re prettier in person,” you blurted out, earning a shy laugh as he scratched the back of his neck. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Your friends teased you endlessly, taking photos of the two of you while your parents served cake.

vii. PARENTAL APPROVAL

After your friends left, Sohee spent time talking to your parents. He was polite and respectful, answering their questions about his career and your relationship.

By the end of the conversation, your mom smiled warmly. “He’s a keeper,” she whispered to you, making your heart flutter.

viii. THE QUIET AFTER THE CHAOS

That night, Sohee ended up in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed as you playfully punched his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I was so mad!”

He caught your hand mid-punch, holding it gently. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” he said, looking at you with those soft, expressive eyes you’d only ever seen through a screen.

“Well, consider me surprised,” you mumbled, leaning against his shoulder.

ix. THE PERFECT END TO YOUR BDAY

You spent hours talking, laughing, and catching up in a way that felt completely new but also familiar.

Before he left to stay at a nearby hotel, he kissed your forehead, promising to make the next few days together unforgettable.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered one last time before stepping out, leaving you with a heart so full you thought it might burst.

x. FINALLY TOGETHER

That birthday marked the start of a new chapter in your relationship. No more screen barriers, no more longing from afar—just you and Sohee, finally together, making up for lost time.

join my taglist by sending an ask or commenting here <3

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[alikat7]

Leverage Redemption

I haven't gotten to the point where I actually love Leverage Redemption. I couldn't figure out what was putting me off it. I thought it was Harry and Breanna or Nate not being there. I don't like Breanna most of the time but she has her moments. Then I realized I was not too bothered by Harry, Eliot acts the same, and Sophie is a bit over the top with the cons but she always was. (her southern accent isn't that good - maybe because I'm from the south lol) But no, it's actually Parker that is putting me off. She is way too over-the-top weird. She was strange in the original show but it was more subtle and endearing. Now it's too loud and in your face. Which makes me very sad. Because she was the best character in the original show. I don't know if its the writing or if Beth is making the change. I think its the writing. Even in the first seasons, Parker wasn't this weird. And by the 5th season, she had calmed down a lot. Now they've cranked her up times ten.

I haven't decided if I like Maria and Eliot, but I think I do, mainly because I want him to fall in love and be happy. But the problem is - other than Parker and Hardison, I'm not sure any of the team can have a relationship while staying on the team. Nate and Sophie retired. Eliot is probably the one who has the most connections outside the team (he always mentions friends and service buddies) while Parker is all about the team so her and Hardison having a relationship while on the team makes sense. Eliot is already keeping Maria hidden from the team and he has to hide the team/his job from her so I don't know how it can last long term.

I keep watching because I really WANT to watch it. I loved the original so much.

_

[proceduralpassion]

Lol buckle up bc this is a lot lmao.

First off, Dwayne ATE that entrance.

And so glad that Roman seems to be allowing Jacob the space to prove that he’s trustworthy bc we know it’s going to be a long road to Roman not being skeptical of everyone in his vicinity, family or not. In the mean time, Roman being annoyed at how ferocious Jacob is was so funny to me, I don’t know why. Dude probably shouts/grunt loudly when he’s beating people and I just know Roman be rolling his eyes like “this nigga…” SN: Jacob being in the ambulance SENT me

No Solana in this chapter, but man her presence was FELT. I just KNOW it had to hurt for Roman to say that she was killed and wheww I was scared that he was gonna keep up the ruse that Sol was dead with Jimmy and Naomi.

Speaking of, I definitely get both Jimmy and Roman’s side. Roman did what was best for Solana and himself and Jimmy has the right to be upset that he thought his cousin and cousin-in-law were dead ON TOP of mourning his father, brother, and sister-in-law. Like that’s family and I feel like it’s very valid for a family member to be angry at having thought the man you consider a brother to be dead and having that not actually be the case. Like he’s too heartbroken to admit it out loud, but you know how deep the love Roman has for Jimmy/Jey has to run given that he didn’t tell him about how Rikishi was responsible for his parents’/siblings’ death?? Technically, we kinda know that they somehow make their way back to each other given Dreamland, but I have no preconceived notions that it’ll be an easy road…

And WOW, I never really considered how Roman might feel insecure about Jimmy and Jey’s relationship bc I’ve always seen the three as brothers fr. But given that Roman is technically a cousin and has lost all his siblings, it makes perfect sense..

I was an exile truther from the START, but I’m actually so happy that Jey survived bc I was getting scared. I know that Roman and maybe even Solana will hate him forever, but at least he’s alive for his kid’s sake and also for Jimmy’s. I know Jimmy x Jey won’t ever have the same relationship ever again but there’s gotta at least be some comfort that he didn’t die by his own stupidity (his ass betta not ever take a step back in gotham bc me and solana can’t save him after this 😭)

This might be an unpopular opinion, but Dulce should’ve gone with Roman!! 😭 Logically, it makes the most sense for her to be with Solana and I know it would’ve been Roman’s preference too, so I get it, but I was so sad when he came home to an empty house. And then having nightmares and panic attacks?! There’s no one he misses more than Solana, but I know he was missing his girl too 😟 I’m sure she would’ve made things at least a little better for him (or maybe worse bc she’d be a constant reminder of solana).

MATTEO AND AFIA ARE MOVING TO GOTHAM YEAAAAAAA BUDDYY (pebble-man too, can’t leave melon head out)

WAIT don’t kill Alicia off, these ninjas be having her so stressed and she don’t be doing nothing 😭

that ending?? BROOOOOOOOOO????

looking through your eyes + thirty eight | part one

authors note: see at end of chapter.

warnings: angst and graphic depictions of violence. gore. torture. not for the faint of heart.

story song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

***gif credit goes to @romanreigns ***

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

"We need Tribal Combat!"

"There's no time for that! We need a leader now!"

"We need to follow the order of command!"

"What command? Roman is dead! There is no order anymore!"

"This is why he should have been dethroned a lot sooner! He left us no heir!"

"The child wouldn't be old enough to rule anyway!"

Aleki runs a hand over his haggard face. In a matter of weeks, he feels like he's aged another ten years.

He's getting too old to be dealing with this shit, and that's exactly what all of this is. A bunch of shit.

"Tribal Combat is the way our ancestors would handle a situation like this," he finally speaks. The situation being the fact that for the first time in his lifetime, the Bloodline is without a leader.

Roman is dead.

Solo is dead.

Roman left no heir, thus there is no clear path moving forward for what should occur. The past two weeks since the former Tribal Cheif's murder has been nothing but chaotic to say the least. Aleki is far too prideful to admit it, but a part of him blames himself. He should have known better than to trust Rikishi to get the job done. Should have known that just like he did years prior with Jey, he'd fall short.

Should have known his plan was not without holes. Holes that have left them in the mess they're in now. Allies demanding to know who is in charge, threatening to sever partnerships with a syndicate that boasts no formal, official leader.

A mess.

"And just how do we determine who is eligible for combat?"

Someone, another annoying voice, inserts their question among the mumbled conversations.

Another Elder handles the answer, offering, "it could be open to anyone."

Sione sighs, saying more to himself than anyone in particular. "Nakoa's bloodline has ruled for generations."

"And now his bloodline is all dead," Aleki counters. Cold. His voice and expression are as cold as the ice in his veins. "His son in his stubbornness has damned us to this mess." He gestures around the room, anger growing as he mulls over the situation. "We should have never allowed him to rule for so—"

His pending rant is cut short by the arrival of another attendee, which instantly has him scowling for two reasons.

One, all attendees who were allowed for this audience are present and accounted for.

Two, the identify of said attendee has him pissed.

"Dwayne." His voice is clipped. "This is a closed—"

"I don't give a fuck," comes the dismissive response of the man nearly insufferable as his late, younger cousin. Dwayne saunters over to an occupied seat, easily grabbing the seat by the back, yanking it out and knocking the person to the ground. A smug smirk sits on his face as he plops down and props his big ass feet on the table. Dwayne lifts the sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to the top of his bald head. "Oh, don't stop on my account."

"This doesn't concern you," Sione dismisses.

"Come on." The 'n' drags on as he props his hands behind his head. "I'm still Bloodline, aren't I?"

"You were apart of Roman's Bloodline, and he's dead now, so you have no place here anymore." Someone, an attendee whose name Aleki would never bother to know, counters with a huff. "Plus, where the hell have you been the past few weeks?"

Dwayne shrugs. "Around."

"Around." Someone else mocks. "Our empire in on the brink of collapse, and you've just been around."

"It's like candy ass small dick over here said." Dwayne gestures with his thumb. "I'm unemployed."

The insulted man slams his fist on the table, shooting up, "you smug son of—"

Dwayne quickly silences him by pulling out his Glock G-19 and shooting him directly in the temple, his lifeless body instantly dropping to the floor. Gasps sound around the table, Aleki angrily calling for security.

"You need to leave now!" He hisses. Aleki glances toward the door, wondering why the hell security didn't come barging in at the sound of a literal gunshot.

"See, I would, but I don't answer to you anymore." Dwayne replies in a significantly more serious voice. Gone is the nonchalant "devil may care" attitude. His big body shifts as he moves both elbows onto the table, gun still in hand. "I only answer to the Tribal Chief."

Aleki hisses. "Roman is dead. There is no Tribal Chief."

Dwayne's growing smile can only be described as sinister and predatory. Knowing. "You sure about that?"

Seconds later, not even a full minute, the sound of grunts and thuds from outside the conference room. The Elders and other attendees looking around in confusion.

Except for Dwayne.

He just keeps smiling.

And an almost thunderous sound is accompanied by two more unexpected arrivals. One significantly more unexpected than the other.

Jacob Fatu's unhinged, crazed look of insanity is accompanied by his big body throwing down two dead guards, their heads awkwardly and sickly hanging from their lifeless bodies. Snapped. Their necks have been snapped.

But, that grotesque sight is severely outmatched and borderline underwhelming compared to the inconceivable sight of a dead man walking.

Roman's hair is down and wild, his murderous gaze steady and focused forward. Brass knuckles attached to a chain are secured to his right fist. The table of men are suddenly in shambles, falling over and working to put as much distance between themselves and the man everyone has believed dead.

Again, everyone except Dwayne.

Aleki can barely compute what's happening before him. So much so that there's no time to react, no time to think, just a tremendous of pain that courses through his aged body. Because one minute, he's in his chair at the head of the table, and the next he's on the floor, an enraged Roman having slapped the heavy metal chain against his body.

The old man cries out in agony as the chain is whipped once more, cutting into his skin and laying heavy onto his already brittle bones.

"Please!" He begs, allotted a brief respite as Roman redirects his focus onto Sione and the other Elders, each being mercilessly whipped with the chains.

Punishment.

He's punishing them.

"You wanna take me out!" Roman's infuriated voice slams against the walls the same way he starts to slam his fists against the broken, bloodied men who sought to see him six feet under. "It ain't ever fucking happening!" Roman lands a bone breaking kick to the neck of one of the elders, killing him instantly. The next is killed not directly by Roman but by proxy, as he screams for Jacob.

Jacob, who grabs his gun and shoots out a window, marches over, snatching the man up, dragging him to the window and not wasting a second of a minute to toss him out of said window.

Onlookers watch in horror as one by one, Roman kills them all in various brutal ways. Suffocation. Slit throats. Snapped necks. A brutal beating with the brass knuckles. Various, violent methods and manners in which each meet an untimely, grisly demise. But, the best is saved for last. Aleki. A thorn in Roman's fucking side since he was a boy.

The older man is barely clinging onto life when Roman easily snatches that life away with each slap of the heavy chain, the brass knuckles slammed onto his face until it's disfigured beyond recognition. And finally, the severing of life is achieved via the slicing of the large hunting knife across his throat.

Heaving, splattered with blood, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, nothing but adrenaline and unbounded rage soar through Roman. His lethal gaze falls on the room of people who've been forced to watch the gory bloodbath.

The faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

Good.

Dwayne whistles. "Well, if it isn't obvious, he's not dead."

Roman shoots his older cousin a glare. Dwayne simply shrugs while Roman tips the chair back over, kicking Aleki's body to the side, rolling the chair and sitting down.

And silence. A piece of lint could fall off the wrinkled shirt of the man sitting a few seats down from Roman, and it could still be heard.

Fear.

Fear fills the room and dances off the walls, surrounds the men who just witnessed a bloodbath unlike any.

And then, finally, a brave—or stupid—soul decides to take a risk. Take a chance. "You're….you're alive."

Roman's gaze easily flickers to the man whose wide, horrified gaze is focused on him, trembling finger pointing in his direction. "We—we thought—"

One nod toward Jacob, and the man is barely able to stammer out an "I'm" before his head is violently forced to the side, the sound of his neck snapping followed up with the loud thud sound of it dropping onto the table.

The men around him back and cower away, eager and desperate to escape the death that's already claimed their pathetic lives.

"I was betrayed." Is the first thing to leave his mouth, the word 'betrayal' leaving a bitter, disgusting aftertaste that has him craving more blood. Craving vengeance. "They tried to overthrow me. Tried to kill me, and they should have." Roman stabs the large knife into the table, almost certain he heard someone whimper, as if about to cry. As if they were already crying. "They should have because they killed my wife, and now there's no fucking place on this earth anyone can hide or escape my rage." Saying it aloud is more difficult than Roman anticipated. Playing along with this storyline where Solana is no longer among the living. The discomfort is only quelled by the constant reminder that she is okay. That she's safe and simply waiting for him to return to her after handling business.

And, that's exactly what he's going to do.

Roman digs the knife deeper into the wood. "When I'm done with everyone involved in this shit, the only thing anyone will be able to see is red, and that's the fucking blood I'm going to paint this whole fucking town with." Sitting back in the chair, Roman leaves the knife protruding from the table. "But, until then, I need you all to send them a message."

Another foolish, ignorant, naive soul decides to ask what will be the final thing to leave his mouth before he leaves this room. "Wh—what m-m-message, s-s-sir?"

And for the first time since his entrance, Roman offers something other than a menacing glare. He smiles, but there's nothing humorous about it. If anything, it's predatory.

"That I'm coming."

Similar to the onslaught Roman bestowed upon the now deceased Elders, it's quick and violent. Jacob and Dwayne work almost simultaneously, not killing, but maiming the men. Severed, bloodied pieces cut from bodies. Fingers, noses, ears. Nothing fatal. Just warning enough.

And, it's only when each men has been left with a mark, a sign of Roman's pending revenge, they're ushered and forced out the room. Jacob landing a particularly painful looking blow into the back of the last disfigured, partially dismembered man.

Rolling his shoulders, Roman doesn't even need to instruct them on what to do next. Dwayne is reaching for the laptop, ripping a shirt off one of the dead elders to use it to clean it of the blood. "Fucking disgusting," he hisses, throwing it down once its completed the job.

Roman's eyes cut to the clock on the wall. Right on time.

He's uncaring of his appearance, focused on one thing and only.

Blood.

Roman is out for blood.

As Dwayne works to get everything set up and synced to the large TV screen anchored onto the wall, Jacob stands off to the side, waiting, observing, protecting almost.

Roman would be lying if he said he wasn't skeptical when Solana first told him about Jacob.

Told him how he allegedly protected her and vowed his loyalty to Roman and Roman only, as he recognized Roman as the Tribal Chief.

The only Tribal Chief.

Told her how not everyone in the Bloodline was involved in the coup, and many were waiting for Roman to show up.

Truth be told, Roman is still trying to test that. Test Jacob. So far, he's proven useful, offering Dwayne and Matteo intel and information on those allegedly involved and those not involved.

He's a a hell of a body to have around, capable of the most violent desecration of people. Useful. He's useful, but only time will tell to what extent Roman can trust him.

Can trust anyone, really.

"It's ready," Dwayne announces. Roman breaks from his thoughts, rolling his shoulders once more, ignoring the throb. Solana would have his ass for all the physical exertion. But, it needs to be done.

The sooner Roman handles this, the sooner he can have her back home with him.

Right where she belongs.

Dwayne and Jacob move to take seats, both on opposite sides of the table but in view of the TV that also serves as a casting source. The television screen is then filled with the exact person Roman wants to see next.

"This is a fucking waste of time." Luca's irritated voice is heard, his irksome ass face focused on something beside him. It looks like he's signing something. "Without someone of Italian blood at the head of your table, we have no alli—"

He stops, finally turning to look at the screen, and if there was ever someone to be as pale as Casper the fucking ghost, it's Luca.

"Roman." He all but whispers.

The Tribal Chief remains stone face. "Luca." He tilts his head. "You look surprised."

The younger man stammers, eyes darting around, hardening slightly when he lands on Dwayne who offers a small, mocking wave.

He then narrows his focus back on Roman. Clearing his throat, trying to play off indifference, he straightens his tie. "We were told you were dead."

"Were you?" Luca makes a sound. "I suppose that would have made things a lot more easier for you, now wouldn't it?"

Luca glares. "Just what—"

"Don't fucking play with me," Roman growls. "Do you think I'm stupid? I know you've been trying usurp me. That you were behind that missing shipment. The hit that killed our men. That you sent my brother to spy on me. That you were working with them to kill me."

Roman refuses to name them. Refuses to have their names on his lips. They're not fucking worth it.

Luca, to the best of his limited abilities, tries to remain unbothered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

At that, Roman chuckles, smiling, looking down and nodding. "That's….that's good." Roman can give credit where it's due. Albeit a paltry amount. But, just as quickly as he was smiling, he's glaring. "But, here's the fucking problem, I'm better. I'm better than you. Better than anyone else in this fucking family. I've always been better, and I always will be better." Always. "And you know what else?" A beat. "I'm always three steps ahead."

Luca opens his mouth to respond, fire and fury dancing in his irises when commotion can be heard through the TV.

Roman smirks.

Luca looks to the side, once angered, now confused, and then disturbed.

Gunshots. It's the sound of gunshots.

He curses in Italian, barking orders at what's probably security.

Roman says nothing.

It makes no difference.

None whatsoever.

He just sits back in his chair, enjoying the sound of men crying out in pain, bodies dropping, bullets being emptied into now lifeless corpses.

Luca's clearly shitting bricks, perspiring, gun in his shaky hand. He calls out another order that's cut short by what sounds like the door being kicked open.

Gunshots ring once more, back to back, strategic and aimed.

Luca curses loudly, holding onto his shoulder where he's been shot.

And seconds later, the base of his neck is exposed as another figure stands behind him, forcing his head back, gun pressed to his temple.

Matteo

True to his character, Luca uses his dying words to curse at not only Roman but Matteo who stands with a smug expression, giving Roman only a simple nod of acknowledgment.

Roman smirks.

He sits back in his chair, voice calm and collected. A contrast to the mayhem just unleashed. "Luca." The man in question struggles and works to move out of Matteo's unrelenting grasp. "Take this free advice. If you're gonna go for the devil, you should go always go for the head, because if you miss." A quiet chuckle. "He sure won't."

A loud bang followed by blood and brain matter splattering the screen, partially obscuring the view of Luca's lifeless body slumped over.

Like a bug, Matteo shoves him away, taking the seat, seemingly unbothered by the blood that stains his clothes, hair, and skin.

"It's done."

"Good." Sitting forward, Roman's mind travels to the mental list curated. "Get on the first flight back here."

Matteo nods. "Will do." The connection ends, and Roman closes the laptop.

Looking around the room, he readies to order Dwayne to start seeing about replacements for the Elders council but ultimately decides against it.

It can wait.

He has bigger, important things to worry and focus on, like making his way down his infinite kill list.

The OTC is coming.

---------

There are many, many things on Roman's to-do list once he arrives back home. Many bloody, violent things. Lives to take, primarily.

But, while that remains near the top, there are other things that also require his attention. Things he'd moderately prefer to not have to do but things he needs to do.

It's what leads him a few days later standing outside of Jimmy and Naomi's house. One of his first of many stops during his "revival" tour of sorts.

But, the minute the door is ripped open, and Roman is standing face to face, directly across from Jimmy, a new influx of confusing emotions fill him. The same way they paint the face of his wide eyed cousin.

Roman can see the way Jimmy continues to grip the door so tightly that his knuckles whiten. "It's….it's true." Roman's jaw twitches as he briefly looks away. "You're…you're alive?"

"We need to talk," is Roman's response. He looks at Jimmy. "Can I come in?"

A delayed response is followed up with an almost distracted head nod as Roman makes his way inside of his cousin's home, a place he's been in countless times over his almost 40 years on this earth. But, this…..this has to be the first time where it's felt different. Felt off. Felt wrong.

"Where the hell have you been?" Jimmy breathes. Roman turns around to face him, seeing the shock and confusion melt away into a bowl of anger. "We thought you were dead, Roman. Almost everyone thinks you and Solana—" He stops himself, pausing, eyes widening slightly. "Wait, is she—"

A pause. Hesitation. The moment Roman wrecked his brain over and over again trying to navigate the best way to handle such a tricky, complicated, complex situation. Ultimately, Solana's words and recommended or requested approach taking front seat. "She's safe."

Once the words leave his mouth, there's a semblance of regret. Like, he wishes he had gone a different route. Almost like he wishes he'd continued to maintain the story being spread about the fate of his pregnant wife.

Jimmy places both hands behind his head, walking away just enough to blow out a big breath. "What the fuck, Roman?" He growls, walking back over and pointing upstairs. "You got any fucking idea how gutted Naomi and I been?" He scowls, the anger and relief clearly at odds. "Thinking you and Sol were—"

"I know what you thought," he interrupts, hating his own emotions being at war. "You thought what we needed everyone to think."

Jimmy swallows. "Even me?" Silence. He once again motions upstairs. "Even Naomi?"

Silence

He runs a hand over his face, and in that moment, Roman can see for the first time the toll all of this has taken on him. He looks drained. "Roman….I know….I know what happened was fucked up. I'm not denying that. But, to treat Naomi and I like this when we ain't even do nothing?" He shakes his head. "When I'm already having to mourn my brother and father—"

"The same people who tried to kill me?" Roman interrupts, his voice sharp and even. "The people who kidnapped and were going to kill my wife?"

"I know that, Uce—"

"Do you?" A pointed question, as anger starts to overpower everything else. "Cause you're acting like I did something fucking wrong—"

"You did!" Jimmy snaps. "You kept us in the fucking dark when we deserved to know the truth!"

"The same way you kept me in the dark?" Is Roman's almost quiet response. He sees the way Jimmy's anger twitches, how it's briefly interrupted by what Roman considers to be a valid point. "For years, your father was trying to get ya'll to challenge me, trying to turn you against me, and you never said anything. Never told me shit!"

"I told you, I didn't realize—"

"I don't give a fuck what you did or didn't realize. I had a right to know!" He needed to know. Roman needed to know that the same people he considered family, the closest thing he had left to a father figure, even with them never necessarily being super close, was plotting against him the entire time. "If you had just told me—"

"Then what? It would have changed something?" Jimmy shouts, also unwilling to back down like the man across from him. "Would have stopped all this from happening? Would change what happened—"

"I don't know!" A forced, short, angry response as the Tribal Chief turns away, running his hand over his face. This conversation is equally heavy as it is challenging. He wasn't stupid enough to expect anything about it to be easy, but Roman can't deny a small part of him hoped it would go….different. In what way, he's not entirely sure. Just something….not this.

"Uce, we can figure this out—"

Roman briefly turns to him. "Can we?"

And, when Jimmy doesn't respond immediately, doesn't respond at all, Roman realizes in one area of all of this shit, they're on the same page. They're both confused as to how to untangle this massive mess of betrayal, lies, and hurt. Because for Roman, it's not even the coup organized by the people he once considered family, it's the fact that he also has to come to grips with that same "family" was a part of the plan that cost Roman his entire immediate family.

Left him essentially alone.

In many ways, that's what hurts the most.

But, it's also something Roman has opted to not tell Jimmy. As much hatred the Tribal Chief holds toward Solo and Rikishi, he can still acknowledge that was Jimmy's brother and father. He won't complicate his cousin's grief.

Because Roman doesn't hate him.

Doesn't hate him at all.

He just can't trust him anymore, and he's not sure if and when that will change.

Which is why he settled on the decision he did. The decision he's ready to finally share.

"When Solana comes home, and she will come home, I don't want to see you."

Gaze focused on the wall art in Jimmy's living room, Roman doesn't need to be looking at his cousin to know he's floored. "W-what?"

He swallows, recalling the specific wording he decided on. "You're out of my inner circle. I'll have Dwayne find a position for you in the Bloodline when things settle—"

"Roman—"

"Solana can decide for herself what she wants her relationship with Naomi to be, but I don't want either of you at my house."

"You can't—"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want." Even if he's not entirely sure it's exactly what he wants. It's the best Roman can do under these circumstances.

All he can do.

That doesn't mean there's not the reappearance of that damn weight that's been on his chest ever since he had to leave Solana. Even before that, if he's being completely honest with himself.

"My decision is final, Jimmy." Because maybe sticking to the facts, or rather the stipulations Roman has decided to put in place until he can navigate a better solution might be helpful. Emotions are getting in the way of business.

Jimmy just looks at him, stares at him, unwilling or maybe even uncaring of how visible his many emotions are. "So, that's it?" Roman's jaw clenches. "After everything we been through, the good, the bad, the everything in between. Almost 40 years of friendship, of being family….." He swallows, emotion and vulnerability on full display. "You're like my brother, Roman—"

"But not a brother, right?" Silence. "That's why you didn't say anything."

It's a deeply rooted point of insecurity. One that Roman hasn't really allowed himself to think too much about since he was a kid. That feeling of being "not like them." Of feeling like he didn't necessarily "belong."

An outsider among his own blood.

"This isn't fair, and you know it," Jimmy finally responds. "You're punishing me, punishing Naomi, for something that we didn't even do."

Perhaps. The Tribal Chief won't entirely deny that. He knows he can be vindictive, and maybe some part of him does want to punish them in a way he can't the deceased. But, the vast majority of him only seeks to have a temporary solution in place to relieve him of all the other very many tasks on his plate.

And, the deep fucking truth of the matter is also something he won't allow himself to admit aloud but feels fully.

He needs Solana.

Roman needs his wife to help him sort through all of this. He needs her support. Her safety. Her sage wisdom and soft way of helping him navigate these things. So, until that can happen, this is what needs to happen.

Roman takes a deep breath. For as nice and big a home Jimmy and Naomi have, it's suddenly feels a lot more stuffy than he recalls. A lot less welcoming. His presence more…intruding than anything.

"I have to go." Both a truth and a lie. The day is practically just getting started, but time waits for the Tribal Chief. He could stay longer, could maybe talk things through with his cousin.

Problem is he doesn't want to.

Not right now.

Not for a while, most likely.

Roman is a bit unsure why he's some level of bothered by Jimmy not protesting his leave. It's what's best….

Right?

"You're going to do it, aren't you?" Roman's hand is halfway to touching the doorknob when he's hit with the question. The one he knew was coming but hoping wouldn't. The one that makes sense. "You're going to kill him."

His eyes shut.

Debated. Roman debated the hell out of and with himself to try to figure out how he would tackle that one. Of course, Jimmy would want to know that. Would want to know if another person will be added to the list of lost loved ones. Especially his brother.

Jey.

Roman also considered how to respond to this, how much he wanted to share, if he wanted to grant Jimmy some sense of peace with knowing the answer or grief with also knowing the answer.

Roman swallows once more.

And, he walks out the door.

-----------

The only way for Roman to decompress from his heavy conversation with Jimmy and all that will come from the decisions that have been made is to cope the best way he knows how.

Murder.

Roman needs to cross off another name from his hit list.

Two, precisely.

"Where the fuck are they?" Dwayne complains and swats away a pesky fly that seems to prefer to fly around and in his personal bubble. "Fucking hate the outdoors."

Matteo snickers. "So, you wouldn't accompany Afia, the kids and I on a camping trip?"

Dwayne just stares at him. "Do I look poor to you?"

Roman manages a chuckle and a thought of something else. About the sacrifice Matteo is also making by being here with him. Standing with him. He's also separated from his wife. From his children. Agreeing to no contact to help keep Solana being alive a secret.

Roman swallows.

He didn't really realize until just now how massive an ask that was.

And how Matteo never once hesitated to agree to join him.

The sound of a truck engine revving is a welcomed distraction and something that allows Roman to reorient his focus to the task at hand. Jaw clenched, he watches the ambulance come to an abrupt stop followed by the drivers door being flung open.

Jacob's large body drops down, his boots leaving imprints in the slightly muddy ground as he stomps to the back of the truck and snatches the door open.

Hate fills the Tribal Chief as he watches Jacob angrily and almost erratically yank the two hospital beds out the back, both participants crying out in pain as they tumble onto the ground.

But, the cries of pain from one ease into a sick, twisted, laugh.

Roman's stomp onto his neck effectively silences that laugh. Seth's brown eyes peer up into him, that deranged smile on his face causing Roman to lift his foot and stomp once more. Seth almost instantly coughs up blood.

However, it's wheezing from the rotund man on the ground a few feet away from the lunatic under him that snatches Roman's focus.

Carefully, slowly, he walks over, anger accompanying each step until he kicks Paul over, a loud howl leaving his former advisor's mouth.

Tears stream down his face that has a large bandage on the right cheek and other unhealed cuts around various areas. "Pl—please."

Roman growls. That damn word has easily become one of his least favorites.

Similar to Seth, Roman lands his boot down on the top of Paul's fat neck. As the man screams out in pain, Dwayne chuckles.

"I know that hurt."

It all must hurt, Roman realizes. Hurt tremendously. Good.

For the first time, he takes in the sight and state of the two men before him still in hospital gowns. Their legs and arms covered with bandages, peaks of red, burned skin peaking out, the lesser of their injuries minimal compared to the latter end of severe.

Severe…

Nothing will ever be severe enough for them.

Roman barks for a knife, and the minute he's handed one, he crouches down and begins cutting. Not just the bandage. The fresh, still healing skin graft underneath the bandages as well. The screams of pain are ear piercing and music to Roman's fucking ears.

Methodically, like a butcher mastering his craft, he cuts away, ignoring the blood and body matter that splatters and splashes his clothes, tossing the mangled, ruined patches of fleshto the side like trash to the can.

Around him, no one interferes, no one stops him, and no one damn sure responds to Paul's blubbering as he transitions between screaming, apologizing, and eventually begging for Roman to just kill him.

That last is definitely on the agenda. Just not yet.

Because, one he's done butchering victim one, he transitions to victim two. Seth. Seth's torture is the eerily the same, the maniacal laughing eventually melting into sobs of agony. But, he doesn't beg for death, doesn't beseech the Tribal Chief for mercy.

No, that doesn't come until Roman is handed the electric chainsaw.

It comes then. Screams and shouts of unimaginable pain as Roman saws off arms and legs, one by one, blood shooting and spurting out. Again, the man intent on making their last minutes on earth nothing but horrific, forever uncaring. It's satisfying in a demented sort of way, but Roman doesn't care.

They're getting exactly what they deserve.

Heaving and sweating from the exertion expended through the torture, Roman only stops when all that remains is exposed bone from where he cut off their arms below the elbows and their knees slightly above the knees.

He would have continued too, if not for the fact both men are starting to lose consciousness, and that won't do.

He wants them awake for as long as humanly fucking possible.

Especially for the grand finale.

Roman snaps, speaking to Jacob. "Douse em'."

An order that doesn't need to be repeated. As Roman lifts off his shirt that's caked in blood, pieces of bone, and human flesh, tossing it to the ground, Dwayne hands him a towel to dry off and remove some of the other unmentionables.

Jacob moves quickly and efficiently, pouring the gasoline all over what remains of Paul and Seth's carved up bodies. Drenches them.

And with a wicked smirk on his face, Matteo tops it off, tops them off with the cherry on top.

An accelerant.

He forces their mouths open, the sound of them gurgling and choking sounded out with a kick to the side of the head. It's effective, allowing him to empty the bottle that he tosses to the side.

"Done," he says, voice ice cold as he goes to stand beside Dwayne and Jacob. None of them showing even the slightest hint of disturbance. If anything, there's more of a pleased, satisfied aura.

Recognizing they've reached the end of the road, that the men are mere minutes away from unconsciousness—and death—Roman stalks over to them. Slowly. A predator enjoying the final moments of his prey's existence. Moments that must consist of pain beyond human comprehension.

He looks down, the sight grotesque and enough to evoke vomiting from anyone without a seasoned stomach, but Roman is anything but. The sight makes him smile. The putrid smell of exposed bone, organs, and extensive blood pleasing to him in every sense of the word.

A dark, quiet chuckle leaves his mouth. "So much for that spoiler."

Stepping back, his eyes dart between the both of them, studying and committing the grisly image to memory.

Gratifying, indeed.

And without much thought, he pulls out the matchbox, lighting two matches, each thrown onto the men.

Turning on his heel, Roman walks away, tuning out their screams of misery and suffering.

"Let's go." It's spoken to the three men with him as they head out of the forest and to their SUV's. Extracting his revenge on the two men grants Roman with a sense of relief. He's relieved to know those two fuckers no longer breathe, or will breathe, the same air as him.

But, as gory and sadistically satisfying as Paul and Seth's deaths are, it still doesn't dull or ease the mixed emotions that fill the Tribal Chief at the thought of his next task.

Arguably, one of the hardest he has to complete.

----------

There's one reason and one reason alone why Roman asks Matteo and Dwayne to be present for this.

One very valid, important reason that can't be ignored or pushed aside. It's not his preference though.

Not really.

This is so personal that it feels almost wrong to have other parties present, but Roman also knows himself. Knows that when he fully succumbs to that uncontrollable rage that dwells within him, he can't see or think beyond it. It totally and wholly consumes him. Controls him.

Thus….his need for a contingency plan.

Roman has his back toward the door that's flung open, the intensity causing nearby photos on the wall to shake. Roman sighs. As effective as Jacob can be, he's…..a lot.

The Tribal Chief turns around just in time to see one cousin throw down the man Roman also once considered cousin.

Considered family.

Considered to be a brother.

As prideful as he can be, Roman would never deny the fact that he could have done a better job with being less hard on the twins. Less…..him. But, the truth of the matter is that despite the frosty disposition and irritation that marred a lot of their interactions, no one but the three of them know what they've been through. The countless times they've had each other's back out in the field. Protecting and looking out for each other.

The times Roman looked out for Jey.

All those moments that have boiled down to and left them right where they are now.

Jey, on the floor before him, hands on the ground, his fiery gaze on the man he also once considered family.

And seeing it, seeing Jey be upset with him?

It pisses Roman the fuck off.

He walks toward his table and grabs the brass knuckles. Both pair.

"Get out." A command directed only toward Jacob who offers no protest, walking out the same way he came in, standing watch outside the door.

"Roman…"

Roman has completely tuned out the voice of either Dwayne or Matteo. He doesn't know nor does he care.

Roman lifts his foot, kicking Jey right in the face with so much force that his body jerks back violently.

"You son of a bitch," he growls, not wasting a second to pounce on top of him, aiming for his ribs first. Jey's' howl of pain drives his determination—and fury—and distracts the Capo from his own lingering pain. The injuries that have not yet fully healed, marginally due to the fact that Roman has done nothing but exert himself from the moment he landed back home.

He'd kept his promise and continued rehab, continued to follow the doctor's orders, but that was all in between carrying out violent, bloody, brutal punishments for every fucker who turned on him.

Including the one underneath him.

And thinking of Solana, thinking of how she's not here, not with him, it only deepens the color of red he sees.

It's all he sees.

The sound of Jey's ribs cracking and his fruitless efforts to push the enraged man off him only drive Roman to lift the man up and slam him against the nearest wall. Another brutal kick to his ribs. Roman doesn't care if every single one is broken.

He grabs Jey by the chin, squeezing, enjoying the way his face remains scrunched up in pain. "You broke up my Bloodline." Not the massive crime syndicate that Roman has spent the better half of his life improving and making it into the billion dollar empire that it is now. He's referring to the family component, the familial bond and connection they shared.

That Bloodline.

"My wife isn't here because of you, Jey. You understand?" Roman continues. A part of him wonders if anything, especially that, means anything to Jey. He's unsure if Jey knows that Solana is actually alive or if he even cares, because his wife is most certainly not.

And, it's that, Roman is sure, that fuels Jey's hatred. Has him, despite the brutal beating he's receiving, refusing to cower, to show any sign of fear. Just impenetrable defiance.

"I looked out for you, I spared your fucking life, saved your ass time and time again, and what do you do?" Another fresh wave of rage, as Roman slams Jey's head back against the wall, shouting, "you break up my fucking family!"

Again, double, maybe even multiple meanings, all with one heartbreaking conclusion.

It creates a brief fracture in Roman's anger, paves the way for a small glimpse of what lies underneath all of that fury that courses through his big body. "I would have never done this shit to you, Jey."

Because, he wouldn't. Because for all the bad things Roman is, how awful he could be, he would have never stooped so low. Would have never allowed whatever prideful feelings he was struggling with to lead him down a path that could only end in heartbreak. But, Jey did. His insecurities got the best of him, and it's cost him.

It's cost him dearly.

Because as far as Roman is concerned, Nicki's death is on him.

"So just…." Jey coughs up blood as Roman realizes at some point in his inner dialogue, he'd moved back to pounding Jey into the floor. "Just…do it." Roman stops and stares at him, his own chest heaving. "You wanna kill me…..fucking do it then, Uce. It's…it's what you want, ain't it?"

Bullshit.

Roman can see right through it, right through the paltry front he's trying to put up in the face of a true life or death situation. Stubborn as all outdoors, very much like himself, Roman knows that Jey loves his kids more than anything. He would never want to "leave" them.

Especially after what's happened.

He's calling Roman's bluff, and that pisses him to fuck off.

For more reasons than the man under him and the two before him can realize.

Roman closes his eyes.

"Please." It's the pleading nature of her voice as well as the borderline desperation in her eyes that has Roman struggling. Struggling with it all. "I know….I know what he did was wrong."

"It wasn't just wrong, Solana," he calmly counters. Roman is working hard to be mindful of his tone with her. The anger that dances and burning within is 100% not aimed or geared towards her. Whatsoever. "It was unforgivable."

She swallows. "I know." He shuts his eyes once more as she continues to gently massage his scalp with one hand, the other tracing his inked arm, carefully maneuvering the ridges of disfigured skin from his burn scars. "But, I'm not….I'm not asking you to forgive him, Ro."

"No," he murmurs, jaw flexing. "But, what you're asking is a lot fucking harder."

Solana moves closer, her hand traveling to his face. "Roman….his kids lost their mother." She licks her lips and shakes her head. "We both grew up without our mothers, and I know that your relationship with yours was…..complicated, but….mine wasn't and not having her…." Her eyes watering is something he can't avoid. Can't ignore. "No child deserves that, Roman, and you know it." His silence is all that she needs to continue. "Baby, I know I'm asking a lot from you, but….please don't kill him."

He's always said and "joked" about never being able to say no to her. But, this….this might be a first. "Solana…."

"Please, Roman." Her voice cracks as she leans up, her forehead against his, breathing. "For me."

Roman is returned to the scene before him, to the decision he'd made just this morning. A decision he's not sure how he'll handle moving forward, but it's one he's accepted as his final answer.

"I'm not going to kill you," he announces. Jey can't hide his surprise, and Roman would bet his cousin and brother mimic similar expressions.

He hadn't shared his decision with anyone until this very moment.

"And, the only fucking reason I'm not is because of the woman you almost got killed," he hisses. Jey continues to look dumbfounded. "But, you are fucking dead to me in every other sense of the word. You've got a fucking week for you and your kids out of the city. Your security access is revoked, your position with the Bloodline done. You are done."

Jey continues to look around, obviously struggling to process what's being said. Like, he hadn't expected Roman to actually kill him and yet still expected Roman to kill him.

"I never want to fucking hear or speak to you ever again, you understand me?" It's a watered down warning. It's all watered down, truly. Even the fact that Jey lays before him, potentially half dead, in need of medical assistance. It's not enough. Nothing will ever be enough, even if he took his cousin's life with his bare hands. And, Roman knows this.

Still, this has to be one of the hardest decisions he's ever made.

"But, if you ever fucking step foot in this town again, I don't care what Solana says, I'll fucking kill you. I swear it on Fetu's grave." A vow to carry out the act of vengeance, love, in all the irony, prevents him from completing.

It's solely Roman's love for Solana that stops him from killing Jey.

Nothing else.

Literally nothing else.

Roman's final declaration is accompanied by another stomp, this time to Jey's face, effectively knocking him out cold. Standing up and rolling his neck, Roman grimaces and grabs at his shoulder.

Way too much exertion. Not that it makes a difference.

Jey is just one of many he plans to visit today.

He looks over his shoulder, uncaring and unwilling to discuss what transpired. What's done is done.

Roman so casually, and coldly, walks over Jey's slumped, unconscious body and snatches his jacket off the hook behind the door. "Let's go."

Footsteps of the other two men follow him swinging the door open, Jacob standing at attention.

"Make sure he's gone by the time I'm back," Roman commands. What's done has been done, and while there's a tremendous amount of unspoken, unresolved issues between himself and the man he's just effectively banished indefinitely, it's not a task he's up for.

Not now.

Not ever.

Roman meant what he said.

Should Jey ever try to return to the city, Roman will absolutely kill him.

But, until then, he might as well already be dead.

Because he is to Roman.

---------

Following Roman's dramatic, bloody return from his supposed demise, he places the city on lock down.

No one enters, and no one leaves.

Armed guards, a mixture of verified Bloodline loyalists as well as soldiers from the Legado Del Fantasma, remain stationed at every entrance into the city, whether it be by land or harbor, to ensure that this order remains non-violated.

Roman intends for not a single fucker to escape his bloody vengeance.

And bloody, it most certainly is.

Nothing but unbridled rage courses through Roman's body as he spends the weeks making his way down his list eliminating target after target. Traitor after traitor. Life after life, taken.

Doors are kicked down, pieces of shit dragged out. Some granted quick death. Simple head shots that leave blood and brain matter splattered in the nearest vicinity. Some are tossed off of buildings, leaving their splattered remains for all to see. Some are used as examples. Their tortured, mangled remains tied up on display in the middle of the streets as both a reminder and a warning. A reminder of what happens to all who dare to cross Roman fucking Reigns, and a message to those who played in any role in the coup that he's coming, and he's coming for blood.

Roman has the city in a state of terror and fear. Families keeping their children in the house. Picking them up and dropping them off to school to avoid being caught in the cross hairs. A bit unnecessary, as despite Roman slipping back into that dark space that consumed him before Solana, his few morals remain the same. Women and children are off limits.

Neither of those groups are included in his hit list.

Everyone else though…..tough.

But, while the adrenaline that races through him fuels his revenge tour, that fuel of sorts easily melts away when he arrives home later in the evening. Arrives to an empty home. No sweet, delicious aroma of Solana's cooking to greet him. Or the pitter-patter of Dulce's feet as she races to the front door, eager to jump at and try to lick him but mostly just wanting to be petted and to have her belly rubbed. Being able to come up behind his wife, holding her, kissing her temple, taking in the feel of her body up against his.

Things he'd gotten used to.

Things he misses.

He misses a lot.

He misses her.

He thinks about her, about what she could be doing, about whatever pregnancy symptoms she could be experiencing, as he follows along via the app she'd installed on his phone. He checks daily, each time wondering about the swell of her stomach, imagining the excitement she must feel. Or, the sadness.

Because there is something undeniably sad about them not being able to experience this together. Something that was so important to her.

Important to him.

Being there with her to support her as she carries his children, their children, is important to him.

But….but, her safety comes first.

Their safety comes first.

Her absence is with him every fucking second of the day, though on the back-burner when the sun sits comfortably in the sky, and he has the distraction of his murderous rampage. But, when the sun is replaced with the moon, and he lays in that same bed where they've made love countless times, where she's laid on his chest, talking about her day. Where he's held and slept with her, rubbing her belly, allowing himself to feel genuinely happy for a long fucking time.

All of that is soured and dampened by the cruel reality. Solana is not there. Dulce is not there.

She's not with him. They're not with him, because of them.

And then the rages builds up all over again.

It's a vicious, cruel cycle. One that he can't escape. One that leads him to the place he wasn't expecting or planning to visit anytime soon.

Too difficult.

But, necessary.

"Not gonna lie…." Lita trails off, shifting in her seat. It's one of the few times he's noticed she's not almost casually lounged, legs tucked under her. She's sitting with both feet planted on the ground, a small frown on her face. "Believing you to be dead only for you to show up with quite the return….and now having you in front of me, I'm not quite sure where to start except to tell you that I'm so sorry about Solan—"

"She's not dead."

Silence.

Lita, for all her expertise and experience, can't hide her shocked expression. "What?"

Roman looks away. Just as he battled with whether or not to tell Jimmy the truth about Solana, he experienced the same battle regarding just how honest he wanted to be with Lita.

That's not to say he doesn't have a host of other issues he could probably, definitely, benefit from talking and working through with her.

Like the two panic attacks he's had since returning home.

Or, the several nightmares that have awoken him from the little sleep he has received. The nightmares that started when he was in the hospital in Mexico. The reason Solana refused to go home and leave him alone, staying and sleeping with him. Comforting him.

She's his comfort, and not having her has him six different shades of fucked up. On top of the pre-existing level of fucked up-ness he is on any given day.

If there was any doubt in his mind before just how codependent Roman is with his wife, this whole experience has successfully zapped it all away.

Still, that doesn't take away from the fact that Solana isn't here, and he's not okay, so he needs to find a way to get his shit together.

And, the woman before him is his best bet.

It didn't take much research and digging to realize Lita had no connection or involvement with the coup, thus eliminating her from the hit list. But, there's still this overwhelming importance of only keeping Solana's true status a secret from anyone who doesn't need to know.

And, while Roman wouldn't consider Lita someone who needs to know the truth, it would help him a hell of a lot considering the whole reason he's sitting before her.

Plus….while Roman isn't sure just what trust means to him anymore, he trusts that if she didn't know before, the bodies dumped in the streets, should be all the reminder of what happens to anyone who crosses Roman fucking Reigns.

"She's….she's in hiding. Safe." He clarifies, not willing to offer much more than that. "I'm not bringing her back home until I'm sure it's safe to do so."

"I see…." Lita trails off once more, slipping into her usual sitting position, legs tucked under her. For some reason, it makes Roman feel slightly more relaxed. "It all makes sense, then."

He eyes her. Skeptical. Cautious. "What do you mean?"

She takes a deep breath. "Roman, I don't….I don't fully understand how all the crime shit works, but I know and have heard enough to know that you were betrayed, Solana was kidnapped, and my guess would be that they tried to kill you both." He says and offers neither agreement or disagreement. "I can understand why you're so angry and why you've been on a murder spree, making the town look like something out of a horror movie, but it's….it's deeper than that." She tilts her head, assessing in a low voice. "It's even more personal, because she's not here….you don't have her with you, and that's….difficult, I'd gather."

He looks away once more, fist forming at his side. Roman's voice is also low and quiet, as he admits aloud for the first time, "I'm not….I'm not used to it." He swallows, pushing back the pride, knowing he needs to talk about this. To unload at least one thing on his plate. "I'm not used to….to being without her."

He doesn't really know how to function properly and normally without her. Just knows how to channel all of that frustration in his killing and torturing.

"I'm sure," Lita murmurs.

"I—" He struggles, the word a tremendous weight that weighs him down to the point of needing release. "I miss her."

Lita presses her lips together, voice sympathetic. "Are you….are you able to spe—"

"No," he interrupts, voice gruff. "We're no contact to ensure her location can't be tracked."

"I see." She's quiet for a few minutes, eventually and gingerly approaching all of the other shit Roman now has added to his collection of baggage. "I've also heard that….that you were betrayed from the inside. That it was….some of your family members."

"They were never my fucking family," he growls. Roman has shifted from that place of vulnerability to that stainless steel wall of defense. "And don't fucking call them that."

"My apologies." She nods, recognizing that the extent of his regression might be more than she realized. Understandable though. Completely understandable. "Can I ask you something?"

His hesitation is noticeable. "What?"

"With Solana gone for the time being, who do you have?"

It's a delayed response. The question requires contemplation.

"My cousins, Dwayne and Ava," he finally answers, and for the first time, in a long time, Roman allows himself to be honest about the very thing he's avoided for years. Tried to pretend wasn't a thing. But, it is. And, it's been more than proven in the past few weeks. "And Matteo….my brother."

This time, Lita expertly shields her surprise at yet another shocking confession. "Your brother?" He says nothing. Expected. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had a sibling still living."

Tense and partially uncomfortable, Roman nods. "It's….complicated."

"I bet," she murmurs. "Do you…do you want to talk about it?"

No. He doesn't want to talk about anything. What Roman wants to do is be with his pregnant wife. He wants to not have to deal with any of this shit. Wishes it never fucking happened in the first place, but it did, and now he's here trying to use a dollar store mop for a rainfall of issues.

But….

But, in this midst of this storm of epic proportions, there have been some glimpses of….something.

Like the fact that Roman can't and won't continue to deny something he's spent his whole life avoiding. Trying to avoid.

That he has a brother.

That despite all off the bitter feelings of resentment and jealousy toward the man that got the same short end of the stick that he did, Matteo has more than proven himself to be someone Roman can….can trust.

Such a difficult, virtually impossible thing considering what happened, the depth of the betrayal, but the truth of the matter is that Matteo and so many others showed up when Roman needed help the most.

Needed his brother.

It's why he's decided to stop denying the truth and maybe, just maybe, himself.

Roman shifts in his seat. "I've…I've realized that….I should…probably try to form some kind of relationship with him." Because, it's time. "It's what Solana thinks I should do, and….one of my aunt's dying wish that I….make things right with him."

"Sure." A pause. "But, what about you, Roman? What do you want?"

A lot of things. The biggest thing? His wife back home with him, so he could have her by his side as he works through all this shit. But, that's not an option. It's not an option, and he has to learn how to be without her for the time being.

Has to learn how to navigate the waters closest to him.

No matter how much he hates it.

"I—I—" He also hates this fucking stuttering and stammering. It's so unlike him. "I don't know how….how to go about that."

An almost embarrassing admission but a truth, nonetheless. Solana is good with these sorts of things. Not him.

Lita keeps a contained smile. Regression has certainly occurred but not, perhaps, as much as she initially believed. There's something there she intends to grab and hone in on as much as she can while still acknowledging his already complex treatment plan just got significantly more complicated.

"Well….." She starts, standing up and walking over to grab the infamous box of Giant Uno off her bookshelf. "Murder and mayhem, I don't know, but that…." Trailing off, she takes a seat, offering another small, patient smile. One step at a time. "—That I can certainly help you with."

----------

"Ya know," Ava starts, lifting her beer from her mouth after taking and swallowing a decent ass amount. "I'm a little offended none of you fuckers have invited me along for the kill tour."

Dwayne chuckles, the beer in his hand looking significantly smaller than it actually is due to his big ass overall size. "Didn't realize that was your thing, cuz."

"Psshhh." She makes a sound, leaning back in the chair, lifting her middle finger to the sky. "They came after our family. Of course, I want my pound of flesh."

Matteo's smile is small as he traces the mouth of his bottle. "Well, there still remains a few outliers we haven't caught."

Being reminded of that makes Roman scowl as he tightly squeezes the bottle in his hand.

Despite his shutting down the city, a few bitches were perhaps smart enough to get the hell out of dodge when they realized Solo was also dead. When they realized that while Roman had been "eliminated," not having the protection of the men who led the charge meant their fates were left up in the air.

So, they ran.

Not that it's made a difference. Roman has accompanied Dwayne on various trips to other states where the Bloodline has locations, where tips from traitors who were dumb enough to stick around and ended up singing like canaries from a little bit of torture. Or, if Roman doesn't accompany Dwayne for said trips, Matteo does.

They're smart enough to know it's not wise for all three to leave the city at once. Not when they're working to restore order and balance.

A process that's…..going, which is good, but it's still going, which is the problem.

It's been two weeks, and they're still not there. At that point where Roman can bring his wife home, and that….that's been rough, to say the least.

It helps to have the people around him, but even them combined together don't equate even half of the comfort and relief his wife provides him.

"Good," Ava replies, smiling craftily. "Save some for me, then." She then gasps, looking around the room. "Has big ears told you what we came up with for you know what?"

At that, Roman rolls his eyes, but he can't ignore the skip and leap of hope that dances within at the shift in topic and conversation.

"Hopefully, you did most of the thinking, cause Lord knows this man ain't got a romantic bone in his body," Dwayne scoffs, gesturing to Roman who only scowls in response.

"I'd argue there's maybe one there." Matteo shrugs. "Or, half of one."

Ava snorts. "More like a quarter." Roman flips her off, something she entirely ignores. "Anyway, so here's what we came up with…."

As Ava moves into specifics, excitement painting her face and accompanying her hand gestures as she almost illustrates what they, what Roman primarily, intends to do for his wife upon her return. A plan months in the making, marked and interrupted by several setbacks but something he's ultimately decided to follow through with.

Roman tunes them out to a certain extent, focused less on the conversation at hand and more the people.

In under a year, his life has taken such a turn. Many unexpected turns. He's gained and lost, lost and gained, gained some more, lost some more, and started all over. Overwhelming in a lot of regards, especially considering the latest chapter has easily been the most traumatic.

But, there's also something else he can't deny. Something he's been working on in therapy with Lita, that he'd love to be able to talk with Solana about, but something he can't really deny, nonetheless. Even if he wanted to.

He's gained such a loyal, strong inner circle. People who, if he continues upon the path of honesty, have always been there for him. It's just been him, Roman, who's kept that wall up.

The wall that, according to Lita, kept the "bad" people out but also kept the "good" people from getting in.

She wasn't wrong.

Roman has spent so many years pushing people away, only letting a select few close to him, and while a few of those select few have caused him an insurmountable of pain, hurt and trauma, there still remains the fact that he still has people he can trust.

He still has family.

Even more, Solana's several statements regarding as such return to the forefront of his mind.

"The girls deserve to have a big family who love and support them, Ro."

Solana was also right.

His family might look slightly different now, but they're still family.

"I—" He cuts in, interrupting the conversation among the three regarding that. Equally important but not as germane as what he wants to say. Needs to say, really. "I want to thank all of you."

"Hell hath fucking frozen over." Ava scoffs. "Did you just…..thank someone?" She smirks, crossing her arms, head tilted. "I didn't think you were capable of that shit. Not unless it's Solana."

Roman scowls, but he doesn't disagree. "Are you done?" She rolls her eyes and lifts her hands in a defensive manner, signifying her silence. Roman shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the three sets of eyes on him. "I know I….I'm not the fucking best with this shit, but I….I do appreciate the three of you. What you've done…..for me." He primarily looks between Dwayne and Matteo. "Especially you two….you saved my life." He swallowed. "I don't….I don't take that lightly."

"You better fucking not," Dwayne shakes his head, sipping some of his beer. "I don't risk my life for just anyone."

"And, you're not just anyone, Roman," Matteo adds, his tone more on the serious side. Sincere. "You're family."

"We're family," Ava corrects, looking among the men. "A dysfunctional ass family of killers and shit ton of trauma but family nonetheless."

Roman chuckles. "Yeah…." He clears his throat, carefully trying to balance vulnerability with some element of business. "Matteo…." His brother looks his way, eyebrow raised. "You said you trust Vinci, right?"

Vinci. The man who assisted Matteo in making his way back to Italy without the Administration finding out, allowing him the element of surprise needed to carry out his hits. A man who, according to Matteo, has worked hard for and with him for over a decade.

He offers no hesitation, just a nod of confirmation. "With my life." Skepticism is raised. "Why?"

A bit of a delayed response, because that damn trust thing. Roman isn't sure how he's supposed to trust anyone outside of the group of people who helped him ever again, and while this Vinci fucker isn't anyone he knows, Matteo does. Matteo is vouching for him, so that has to be enough.

For now.

"We'll need someone we know we can trust to handle business over there." At that, he and Dwayne share questioning expressions. "Because I need you two stateside with me."

Matteo is the first to respond, that skepticism still looming. "Yeah?"

Roman rolls his neck, explaining. "I….I need people around me I know I can trust." A survey of the gatherers. "And outside of Solana, I don't know anyone I trust more than the people in this room."

Ava sits forward, seeing her cousin's gaze on her. "Wait…." She lowers her beer, small smile growing on her face. "You're inviting me into your inner circle?"

Roman nods. "You may be a pain in the fucking ass majority of the time, but you're smart. Loyal. I know I can trust you, and I know you'd be a valuable asset."

"Hell yeah, I would." She agrees. "Some estrogen to tamper down all that testosterone would probably do you all some good."

Roman doesn't entirely disagree. He just continues to share the tentative plans he's been mentally mulling over since returning home. "I'm also….I'm considering including Escobar."

"Escobar?" Dwayne's look of skepticism sure. "Brotha, you sure you didn't hit that big ass head of yours at some point?" A sarcastic question, of course, but there's also a hint of truth. "You hate Escobar."

"Dumbo hates everyone. What else is new?"

Roman ignores Ava. Her being on his council will be….an adjustment, for sure. "I did, or I do, but….I can't deny what he did, and Lopez wants him to be the liaison between us and the Cartel, so it only makes sense to include him. In some things. Not all."

"Isn't he technically your in-law as well?"

"Don't remind me," Roman mutters, trying to wipe his brother's valid but irritating reminder from his mind.

"I hate to break it to you, Roman, but it seems Solana's maternal side of the family is….large." Matteo's comment doesn't help, but it's not meant to. Meant to remind The Tribal Chief that his future is most likely filled with forced interactions with….people. "It might benefit you to get used to….large family functions."

"Make sure that Stephanie girl is there."

Matteo frowns. "Did she not tell you, not so eloquently, might I add, to fuck off?"

"Sure did." Dwayne answers. Proudly, almost. "I'll wear her down."

"Oh my God." Ava rolls her eyes, standing up and heading to the kitchen. "I need another beer."

"I'll join you," Dwayne announces.

"Please don't," she objects. Not that it makes a difference as he says something about warming up a slice of pizza.

Their departure leaves Roman and Matteo alone. A blanket of silence befalls them. One that has Roman moving around in his seat, eager to down the rest of his beer. In the madness and chaos that's thrived and consumed his life in the wake of fixing everything, this evening of just….calm, of normalcy, is appreciated.

Needed, even.

"So…." Matteo starts, placing his beer down on the coffee table. "Your inner circle…"

The younger man nods, stroking his beard. "Well, there are openings now."

While Roman is dead serious, Matteo laughs quietly, shaking his head. "I bet there are."

For the Elder council as well, but that's also being taken care of. Another task Roman is overseeing with the help of his cousin and the man before him.

"Thank you, Roman." Matteo's voice has shifted to a serious, solemn tone. "I don't take the honor lightly. Especially after what's happened…."

Roman says nothing initially. Just nods as something unfamiliar and indescribable fills him. Emotion, maybe? Some form of it, perhaps. He just knows it's partially settled by the conversation he had with Lita about this.

One step at a time.

"You've earned it." Is the response he settles on. The latter portion of his response a bit difficult for him to share but a truth, nonetheless. "Besides, it might be kind of hard for us to work on this….brother shit, if you're on the other side of the world."

While it's not the first time Roman has referred to Matteo as his brother, it's certainly the first time he's verbalized it in an accepting manner.

Especially in front of Matteo whose small smile can only be described as one of relief.

And joy.

Happiness.

"I suppose you're right, fratello," he hums. "I suppose you're right…"

Fratello

Brother.

And for the first time, Matteo's use of the word doesn't anger Roman. Doesn't pick at a long-term, never healing, always open, fresh would.

It feels relieving.

Healing.

---------

Despite an evening of relaxation and camaraderie, the next day brings about more work. More shit to work through.

"So…." Matteo starts as the two walk into Bloodline Headquarters, Dwayne planning to meet them later in the day, tasked with carrying out a side quest for Roman. "Who are we killing today, fratellino?"

Little brother.

Again, no irritation. No vexation. Just….the calm.

"Depends on who pisses me the fuck off," Roman mutters, and the two brothers share a small laugh and chuckle that's almost instantly washed away from both the minute they walk into Roman's office to see someone already waiting, sitting in Roman's seat.

Roman's fist forms at his side. Alicia's days are fucking numbered.

"You got a minute to tell me who the fuck you are, and maybe I won't blow your brains out just yet."

The man smiles. Older. Very old. His face reveals that he's seen decades of this world past him by, his eyes filled with countless stories of mischief and mayhem. A smirk on his face accompanies him standing, revealing a height rivaling Roman and Matteo's. He comes to stand in front of Roman's desk, leaning back with his arms crossed over his slim build.

"Well, I'll be damned." His voice is thickly accented. Familiar. Italian. "Can't say I ever saw this shit coming."

Roman is ready to kill the old man and be done with it, but Matteo grabbing his arms stops him from adding to his never-ending kill count. Roman looks over to see Matteo's head turned slightly, studying, observing, but something else. Something unfamiliar. Alarmed. He looks alarmed.

Roman frowns. "What?"

But, Matteo says nothing. Not to his brother, at least.

"Nonno?"

And, at that, Roman's gaze shifts back and forth, quickly, between the two men.

His chest tightens, asking again, but for a completely different reason. "What?"

Gaze on the old man, Roman sees how he simply raises his chin, offering a nonverbal response. And confirmation.

Only then does Roman see it. The slight but now visible similarities between not only Matteo and this man, but himself and the man.

In all of them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Matteo speaks in Italian, his voice even, the former shock and confusion easing into a coldness that Roman often feels and see in himself.

"Well." The older man makes a sound, rolling his shoulders, face turned up in a brief grimace. "Given all that's happened the past few weeks, we realized it was time—"

"We?" Roman cuts in. It's the first thing he's said to the man he now recognizes the same way Matteo does.

His nonno.

Their grandfather.

This is their maternal grandfather.

"Hi, boys..."

Another voice speaks, but this time, this time there is no word to describe just what courses through either of the brothers as they turn around in almost perfect synchronization. Initially guarded and partially alarmed, that's punted away the minute their sight confirms what the auditory already knew.

Roman doesn't get disturbed often. If ever. It's not in his character. Matteo's neither.

But, it's a miracle that neither man stumbles back at the sight before them.

She stands in the doorway, an expensive, beautiful, intricately designed scarf over her head, tied under her chin. A wrap that slender fingers with disfigured looking skin slowly moves to undo, allowing it to crumple in her hands. She swallows, the lines on her face prominent as she frowns, her familiar light brown eyes bouncing between the two stunned men.

The weight on Roman's chest has grown to an unbearable amount, so much so that it prevents him from speaking. From thinking. From breathing, it feels like.

No, Matteo is the one that finds the wherewithal to speak the word Roman can't find in him to verbalize.

"Mom?"

------

welp. do ya'll agree with roman's decisions regarding jey and jimmy?

also, yes.....matteo and roman's mother is still alive.

reminder: next chapter is the last one.

[avastazyana]

insp

[neonteeth]

[ID: Digital drawing of two elven people; one is a white man with tanned skin and short, dark hair and the other is a black woman with dark skin and dark braided hair with golden cuffs and beads at the ends. The woman also has Mythal's vallaslin in white that extends to her throat and ears. The man is kissing the woman's throat while she tilts her head back and laughs, holding the side of his head with one hand. End ID.]

do u think they know that i'm obsessed w them.

[mxrtified777]

you guessed it! its a bug compilation

[ryemiffie]

Ughgungukshicnekfjekej.

Why have you done this to me :' (

Okay, okay, so.. Raph is an emotionally volatile teenager with anger problems, grappling with a sense of insufficiency and inferiority. He copes by being overly abrasive to the point that his siblings often avoid him. They love him, but don't like walking on eggshells.

The only one who clings to him regularly and without hesitation is his annoying little brother. Mikey has is own problems with feeling insufficient and inferior, but copes instead by being mindlessly friendly and avoidant of all negativity to the point of unhealthy escapism.

So there's... like... there's this special bond between them. They are by no means each other's therapist, but they have a slight effect in balancing each other out. Raph teases Mikey most, but is also most protective of him out of all his siblings.

And then at the end of season 2, when Raph thinks their father has been killed, he goes into a full fledged rage-filled emotional breakdown to the point that Michelangelo is afraid he'll hurt himself. When Mikey tries to snap him out of it Raph turns on him with his fist upraised, but Michelangelo doesn't even flinch??? He just wraps his arms around his brother's neck and tells him everything will be okay until he calms down and Raph does calm down! he buries his face into his little brother's shoulder and I just-

[bbuzz28]

Memories

Old man Fiddlestan, my beloved-and what's this? It could be semi-canon compliant :O ?!?! Woof- this is one of the saddest things I have ever written. I know some of you gremlins (affectionate) love that sort of thing, but I don't. I like really really don't. This is my comfort ship, so I don't even know where this came from other than trying to figure out how they *could* work in canon. Truthfully though, I prefer my Fiddlestan heavy on the comfort when it comes to the "hurt/comfort" genre. This is my only “angsty” (i.e. no immediate happy ending) Notes-app fics, so don't get used to this level of sad from me lol.

“Stan?” an oddly familiar voice called. Mr. Mystery, Stan Pines, glanced up from the flyers he was organizing and found that Old Man McGucket stood in the doorway of his front door. The last tour of the day had just left, it was dinnertime, and he was exhausted. Stan rolled his eyes as he unfurled his tie, wishing Soos was still there to escort the crazy old man off his property. No matter what he did, the old hillbilly always managed to find his way back to the Shack. “Sweet Moses McSuckit, what are you doing in here? Shoo, scat, or whateva will get rid of ya.” Hearing no movement, he looked at the man again and found he was standing erect. His blue eyes were the clearest he had seen them in no less than a decade.

          Wait, what did he call- oh. Oh no.

“Stan…ley? Did I…did I do somethin’ wrong?” the other man asked, his hands twisted in knots in front of him. Memories flashed through Stan’s mind; Ford falling through the portal, Fiddleford finding him passed out in the lab, working together to bring Ford home again…being together. Being happy. They had been happy, if just for a little while, hadn’t they?

Then there was the cult, and his discovery of the damn memory gun that had finally ruined everything they ever built. He took a hesitant step forward, a thousand thoughts roaring in his mind at once. “Fidds? Wha-what do you remember?” A bandaged hand snaked up and rubbed over the faded scar on the side of his head “I…don’t rightly know. Did we…I think we had a fight? I just woke up in the…in the dump. N’ I don’t have any shoes. Do ya know why my arm is in a cast?” Fiddleford looked so lost.

Stan knew in his heart that all of this was fleeting- “clarity” would hit Fiddleford every few years after he had finally wiped his mind of himself. Almost like his brain was trying to jumpstart itself back together. The first time they thought it was a miracle but…it didn’t last. It just started a trend that would follow them both for the next almost thirty years. Fiddleford would seemingly “wake up” and be lucid for a few weeks in the beginning, then eventually only a matter of days. It had been so long since the last time that Stan would wager, they only had maybe a few hours together if he was lucky.

The last time Fiddleford was himself…they had fought. Stanley thought he had figured the only way Fiddleford could stay; he needed to remember. Remember everything he had ever forgotten. At the time, Fiddleford had been unwilling to try. He didn’t think he could handle it; he knew he had forgotten what he had for a reason.

Stanley had gotten as close to begging as he ever had in his life since surviving Tijuanna, and when it had no effect…Stanley had told Fiddleford to leave and never come back. He had left that night, and by the next day he had faded away again. After a while, Stan thought his last words had been the final nail in the coffin that was Fiddleford’s mind. He carried that weight along with every other mistake he had ever made. But here he was. Fiddleford. His Fiddleford.

He took a deep breath before he opened his arms up. “Hey, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. I’m right here.” Fiddleford rushed through the doorway, melting into Stanley’s open arms. “I went away again, didn’t I?” Stan could feel Fiddleford’s tears soaking into his chest, his own whispering at the edges of his eyes. Yes, and you will leave again. You will leave me and I will be alone all over again, you fucking asshole. “Hey cowboy, didn’t I just say not t’ worry about any a’ that? You’re here now, n' that’s what matters. You’re…you’re home.” A haggard laugh vibrated through the smaller man’s chest into Stanley’s own. “I know I keep tellin’ ya, tellin’ me not t’ worry is like” “…tellin’ a fish t’ stop swimmin’; I know Fidds, I know.” Fuck was really the only conscious thought that went through his head as he held his one-time lover. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, again.

Fiddleford looked up, eyes wide and searching Stan’s face. “How long do ya think we have?” Stan shook his head, unwilling to lie even if it eventually wouldn’t matter because he wouldn’t remember. You’ve always been the only person I couldn’t lie to. “I dunno, it’s been…a while. Probably not very long.” Fiddleford closed his eyes before he said “I need ya t’ know somethin’, Stanley.” Stan started to shake his head. “Fidds, you don’t have t-” The look on the other man’s face shut Stan right up-he had always had that ability. Stan wished he didn’t miss it as much as he did. “I need ya to know that even when I’m not here…I miss you. The part of me that’s somewhere in here-” A weathered hand tapped the side of his head to emphasize his point “ misses you. I’m just so sorry, Stanley. Sorry that I’m a coward. I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough to be here all the time…but I’ll never stop tryin’. I’ll always try n’ come home to ya.”

Stan thought of the thousands of times he had chased Old Man McGucket, the neat little character that Stan had to compartmentalize his Fiddleford into when he wasn’t himself, out of the Shack. How many times he had found him curled up like a cat on the back porch. How every time they “met”, McGucket would say how nice Stan was or how good he felt to be around him “for some reason.” How many odds and ends McGucket would gift Stan from the dump for exhibits at the Mystery Shack with a large smile and nothing substantial behind his eyes.

It would be so much easier if he would stop trying to come back. Maybe the hole in Stan’s heart the size of the sweet, certifiably insane man would scab over. How many times had Stanley mourned him? How many times was he willing to hurt himself? They were now nearing their sixties, how long was he really willing to do this song and dance?

What’s one more time? he softly thought, his hand coming up to tenderly cup the grizzled face of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Mad scientist, friend, and unfortunately for them both…the love of his life.

“I miss you too, Fidds.”

[salmoninzeeweed]

You have so much to do..

And I have nothing ahead of me.

I'M SORRY