#where they'd abandon their kids

[fortune-maiden]

Drabble prompt: 37 for Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan! I read so many of your fics about them and now I'm hooked...

Thank you so much!! So happy to hook more people onto this duo <3333

I ended up writing two drabbles here haha. The first one is in the same verse as these other drabbles where sqx has a kid and pm is a doting uncle

“But what if he doesn’t like me?” Shi Qingxuan made another loop around the room. “What if he runs off and gets hurt? What if something weird latches onto him?” Pei Ming’s eyes followed him on yet another loop. Any more and he was sure there’d be a hole through the floor. “Qingxuan,” he began. He didn’t have advice, but he could confidently say there wasn’t anything weird out there he wouldn’t be able to beat up. Before he could say anything though, Shi Qingxuan suddenly stopped. “Is this… how my brother felt?” Pei Ming snorted. “Always. Welcome to fatherhood.”

and the second one is just silliness

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Pei Ming started to say, although in truth it was exactly what it looked like. “This happens all the time.” That didn’t make it any better, in Shi Qingxuan’s humble opinion. Her lips curled into a smirk at the sight of the swaddled baby in the general’s arms. “He’s not even mine!” “Isn’t he? That’s what I’m here to figure out.” Sometimes Shi Qingxuan rather liked the cases the Emperor gave her. She intended to investigate the baby abandoned in the Ming’guang temple thoroughly. “If you’re wrong, I’m saying it first: Welcome to fatherhood.”

sqx is investigating as a neutral party, which is to say jw either doesn't know what neutral means or just enjoys chaos. or both.

[phoenixcatch7]

Loz fandom stop being angsty and give the daydreaming kids on big fun adventures with a cool glowing sword some actual whimsy and joy challenge

[princesstarfire1234]

God reminded of the fact that Earthspark season 2 is kind of mid compared to one, especially in the themes department :((

Elaboration in pic since this person explained it better than I could:

But then brain was like... man, yknow what could've possibly helped solved both of these problems? Scavengers...

I AM insane yes but ALSO CONSIDER ONCE MORE TF FANDOM:

Earthspark Scavengers being well-meaning Decepticons that AREN'T actively trying to kill literal children and INSTEAD find/create a Chaos Terran by accident, grow very attached to them, and end up taking care of them... (affectionately dubbed Connie maybe, idk, could be any kid but I do like Connie, she's silly)

(PS: read tags idk i think I rambled too much in there and now I'm too lazy to move all of it up on the actual text post)

[kariachi]

Midnight Rant #5 billion and 12 on Charmcaster and Kevin- That woman's fucking AF premiere.

Because we have Kevin, very obviously in a very bad place. He's being retraumatized, his girl's cut back hard on spending time with him with no explanation, our boy is going through it. And then he makes a friend, according to WoG over the course of a few months, in a grown woman. And it's great, it's fine, and then she starts macking on him. And then she plants a kiss on him despite him shutting her down. And while doing that she literally takes control of his damn mind, just fucking harpoons that poor boy's bodily autonomy, forces him to turn against his loved ones. All because she never actually gave any sort of shit about him and from the very start was using him to get to and hurt his girl. This relationship that he thought was forming for months was all a ruse, her using him and then abusing him. And this is

So painful for poor Gwen. Can you believe that Kevin didn't have faith that her pulling back with no explanation meant she was working hard to fix him, after the whole three-odd months they'd been together? And to have Charmcaster come back starting problems. Oh poor Gwen, everyone is so mean to her.

And it's not just in the fucking show, it's in the fandom as well, this idea that the shit Kevin goes through matters in how it affects Gwen and not in how it would have to affect him. Just, that had to be such a fucking painful if not straight up traumatizing event. Charm fucked with his goddamn mind. She made him think she cared about him only to hurt him.

Congrats, Charm, I'd say you were only a few steps below Servantis but he at least let the kids have a degree of autonomy and wasn't on screen macking on them. Slow clap, you're even keel.

Just, I sometimes remember that we have a whole episode surrounding Kevin, already openly in an awful headspace, being groomed and straight up mindcontrolled, and the big take-away is how much the situation hurt Gwen and how bad a boyfriend he is for not reading her damn mind. And it drives me up the fucking wall.

Especially when you remember that he spends that season in his underwear, I'm sorry but the parallels to the treatment of imperfect SA victims write their damn selves.

And when you also keep in mind that when Mike is pulling the 'charm them and thrall them' bit it's treated, by the show and fandom, as him being an irredeemable predator and his victims have every right to hate him forever and wish horrible things on him, but Charm gets to have the 'oh poor Charmcaster' treatment and Kevin's thinking she can go fuck herself is treated as a flaw in his character by the show and ignored by fandom.

Because in the end the disparity comes from the same place as the repeated physically abusive acts Gwen commits against Kevin, as Looma's threats being treated as humor, as Gwen's thinking they're romantic being treated as humor- plain old misogyny. Mind the misogyny isn't all of it, but the age old belief that this sort of shit committed by women against men isn't a concern, and in fact may even be treated as ridiculous, because women are too weak to hurt men plays a big role. Doesn't matter if it's a grown woman grooming a mentally ill teenager or a teenage girl shoving her boyfriend into freefall- she's just a girl so of course what she's doing isn't actually dangerous or harmful, because women aren't capable enough for such things. Which then plays into the age old sexist bullshit that men are simply too strong and rough to be hurt, and to be hurt by a girl especially- physically, mentally, however- is funny because it means they're weak.

And that's not even getting into the 'a guy is always eager' bullshittery.

Just, for the love of fucking christ...

[oh-no-its-bird]

Sakumo being a super popular borderline sex symbol in his era will never stop being my favorite hc, I need to see more of it

All the people his age and younger had a crush on him. It was just a Thing(tm) where 9 times out of 10, a Konoha shinobi's first crush was probably Sakumo. Even other villages young shinobi hung up his bingo book picture above their bunk and dreamed of both killing him, being killed by him (in a hot way), having a battlefield fling with him, and more. There was blackmarket fanfiction. He was incredibly popular among civilians all over fire country. Some popular romance novels had love interests very blatantly based off him.

Even before they were on a team together, Obito and Rin both had a silly kid crush on Kakashi's dad (Obito more than Rin) and he was aware of it. This did not help make him like them any more. (By the time hearing smthn positive ab his dad would have made Kakashi softer, they'd both gotten better at hiding the crush, so to Kakashi it looked like they'd gotten over Sakumo.) Even Minato had a bit of a thing for him, not really but like— strong, popular, feard and very friendly ninja who is now paying him some attention (bc hes his kids teacher) he's not immune. Kushina understands, she is also not immune. (Kakashi is going to throw a fucking fit)

Even after his failed mission, when his reputation crashes and burns within the village, he still can't completely shake his admirers— they possibly just get more disrespectful ab the attraction when it mixes with the hate. (Which tbh could make for an interesting discussion all on its own)

Kakashi is haunted by his father's insane popularity for decades after his death. He does his very best to ignore the lingering evidence of people being insane ab his father.

One day he realizes one of his favorite romance novels has a romance interest based off Sakumo and has a break down ab it and can never read the series again.

When raiding an old abandoned enemy camp w Team Ro, he finds an old, autographed photo of his dad covered in lipstick marks in the communal bathroom. He chooses to ignore it but it's quickly spotted by his teammates, who do not know who Sakumk is, and v quickly begin to remark on the poster, who this mysterious Konoha nin is, and ahaha damn he is kinda good looking, huh? (Kakashi wants to DIE)

Shisui ends up taking the poster back to Konoha with them and hangs it up in the ANBU communal quarters where it is VERY quickly recognized. And also some of the people in that room recognize it so quick bc they also used to own a similar poster. (Kakashi wants to DIE someone PLEASE kill him now)

Its only when he's given team 7 that he finally thinks he's escaped the legacy of his father as Konoha's Most Sexiest Shinobi. Only for Naruto, when being trained by Jiriyah, to find his drafts for Icha Icha very clearly inspired by his dad. Which he can never publish for multiple reasons (lingering respect for Sakumo. Also for Kakashi, who is his biggest fan and would probably never look at him again.)

Naruto somehow accidentally brings this up with Kakashi who like. Has war flashbacks and immediatley stands up and walks away as Jiryah scrambles to try to explain himself and Tsunade looks on in scorn (she will approach him later to carefully ask for the drafts while trying to seem like she's not really asking for them bc she's too proud to admit it)

Naruto and Sakura discover Kakashi-sensei's dad was a sex symbol. I don't even know how they'd react but like. Oh my god. Oh my god you guys.

Funniest option would be they accidentally revive his popularity a little bit by being so loud ab it they like, remind people ab him. + introduce another generation to the idea of him

Kakashi is crouched on the floor with his face in his hands. When will he be freed from this hell.

Sasuke does not escape tho, he goes to sound and finds a picture of Sensei's dad in Orochimaru's office (???????)

This is such a shitty sketch but the vision:

Itachi, who learned who Sakumo was from that poster thing, goes on to find a photo of him in ""Madara's"" belongings and gets super weirded out but ultimately doesn't. Super care. But also. Like. What. What.

After Itachi finds the photo, which Obito genuinley forgot he fucking had and keeps in part just bc its like one of the only belongings that remained from his Konoha days, he shoves it somewhere in Kamui to forget about.

But then in the Obito vs Kakashi Kamui fight, it fucking flutters down in the middle of the fight and Obito fucking dies of humiliation as Kakashi realizes he will truly Never Escape and that this reality is his own personal hell

Uhh endgame Kakashi becomes Hokage and accidentally retreads his father's path in becoming the new Konoha Sexy Man. Which simultaneously crushes him (he will never escape) and fills him with delight (he will now be able to impart the pain of having your father figure be lusted after by all ur friends and acquaintances onto his students)

[astrobiscuits]

Chiron persona chart obs

WARNING: BRIEF MENTIONS OF ED, S*ICIDE, S*XUAL AB*SE. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND NOT TO READ THIS POST IF YOU'RE VERY SENSITIVE thank you

Stelliums show us where our main trauma or wound lies:

Stellium in Aries/1st house - body image issues/body dysmorphia, hating ones face and wanting to change it at all cost, being so focused on ones trauma that it results in excessive independence

Stellium in Taurus/2nd house - self worth issues, hating ones voice and/or being made fun of for how ones voice sounds, excessive shopping due to fear of having nothing, having stash of cash hidden everywhere in the house due to being scared of getting robbed

Stellium in Gemini/3rd house - being too scared to speak to others, hating the way you express yourself, being an overachiever at school due to fear of being seen as "stupid", fear of being run over by a bicycle or a car

Stellium in Cancer/4rd house - family problems (divorced parents, one of the parents is out of the picture for whatever reason, family members dealing with addictions, family abuse), issues when it comes to comforting yourself in times of crisis, HEAVY abandonment issues

Stellium in Leo/5th house - had to grow up too fast instead of enjoying childhood, fear of not being "the perfect parent", fear of not making it in the industry (for those pursing creative careers or following their passions), issues regarding getting pregnant and delivering a child, fear of being burned by the sun or by fire

Stellium in Virog/6th house - fear of contacting an incurable disease, issues regarding eating disorders, trauma regarding messy spaces, which results in OCD

Stellium in Libra/7th house - issues caused by getting cheated in a relationship, fear of trusting someone in a one-on-one connection, trauma resulted from business affairs which have gone wrong

Stellium in Scoprio/8th house - fear of death, issues caused by sexual trauma/sexual abuse, grooming, stalking, human trafficking, mysterious disappearances, divorce, taxes, loans

Stellium in Sagittarius/9th house - fear of not being able to experience everything one has always wanted, issues caused by not living to ones full potential, fear of travelling too far away, religious trauma

Stellium in Capricorn/10th house - fear of being forgotten and not standing out, issues regarding not looking & acting in a professional manner when needed, fear of not being promoted in ones career, the trauma is very visible to the public

Stellium in Aquarius/11th house - fear of not fitting in a crowd or a friend group, issues regarding being part of LGBTQ+ or a subculture often dismissed (POC, people with disabilities, orphanage kids, emos), trauma related to the country's government and (possible) implications in war, fear of dying in a natural disaster (earthquake, tsunami, volcano), fear of dying by electrocution or in an airplane crash

Stellium in Pisces/12th house - fear of being admitted to a prison, asylum or nursing home, having frequent thoughts of unaliving onself, fear of drowning, fear of what happens after death, fear of being misunderstood or made fun of for hearing voices and seeing things which aren't real

Moon shows us how we process our trauma and wounds:

Moon in Aries/1st house : screams, throws things around (maybe also breaks a few things), if anyone reminds them of their wounds/traumas, they'd literally break that person's neck; they might recklessly drive, play with fire or drink excessively out of anger

Moon in Taurus/2nd house : resorts to retail therapy, cooks their favourite meals, gets some comfy pillow and blankets and watches their favourite show; they're slow to heal their wounds, but they manage to do so

Moon in Gemini/3rd house : overanalyzes what happened to the point that they've thought of every scenario possible, (if they have more than one wound/trauma) switches between wounds, is usually open about their wounds and traumas with siblings and acquaintances

Moon in Cancer/4th house : cries 24/7, acts distant with people who are not close to them and defensive with those who want to talk about their feelings; they tend to have very, very unhealthy coping mechanisms (aka they resort to self-harm)

Moon in Leo/5th house : transforms their pain & wounds into a form of art - whether it's through dancing, painting, singing, acting, photography, videography; sometimes they might not recognize how much their past affects them, especially around others, they boast about how "it wasn't that bad" even though they're clearly affected by what happened

Moon in Virgo/6th house : focuses on the details, what they could have done better and what they didn't, easily becomes anxious, cleaning the house becomes a form of therapy for them; in case of physical wounds, they document themselves very well (sometimes they are even able to heal themselves, since this Moon sign in Chiron persona chart has a sort of 6th sense about medicinal procedures)

Moon in Libra/7th house : their s/o knows every pain, wound and traumas they've ever experienced, analyzes the past in a logical manner and tries to find a healthy coping mechanism, without hurting anyone else in the process; listens to sad, romantic songs

Moon in Scorpio/8th house : if someone else is guilty for their wounds/traumas, they're going to plot revenge and execute their plan in a discreet manner; often jealous, they might pursue fwb connections to stop thinking about their pain; the ones who manage to deal with their past in a healthy manner become a completely different person in the process

Moon in Sagittarius/9th house : dealing with their wounds/traumas opens a new world for them, they end up adopting a new set of beliefs as a coping mechanism, travelling to another country to get some space from their surroundings helps them heal

Moon in Capricorn/10th house : replays the past over and over again, they numb their emotions, if asked about their wounds/traumas, they answer very stoic; they also tend to be more realistic and don't like to tell themselves lies or hear lies about their trauma

Moon in Aquarius/11th house : resorts to technology to cope with the pain, is usually open about their wounds and traumas with their friends or on social media, but not with family; they might try some unusual coping mechanisms

Moon in Pisces/12th house : they isolate themselves from everyone in order to cope with the pain, meditation and breathing techniques are their to-go methods of calming their anxiety down; if they don't manage to cope in a healthy way, they dissociate and go through a depersonalization process or an addiction takes over them (drinking, smoking, they overuse medication etc.)

Jupiter shows us where we're blessed, but fail to see. The stronger the modality, the more obvious it is to other people.

♃ Jupiter in fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius) and/or fixed houses (2nd house, 5th house, 8th house, 11th house) are extremely blessed and everyone is able to notice, but the native.

♃ Jupiter in cardinal signs (Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn) and/or cardinal houses (1st house, 4th house, 7th house, 11th house) are blessed, but only a specific category of people notice it.

♃ Jupiter in mutable signs (Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces) and/or mutable houses (3rd house, 6th house, 9th house, 12th house) are still blessed, but the effect is hardly noticeable to anyone.

Those with:

Grand Trine/Kite/Yod (Finger of God)

Sun, Jupiter, North Node and ruler of the chart conjuncting MC and/or placed in 10th/11th house (minimum 2 placements)

Stellium in 10th house/11th house

-> have got amazing healing abilites and often end up pursuing careers where they help & heal society (usually as doctors, therapists, spiritual advisors, social workers, advocates who actually make a difference, etc.) They usually become famous for their healing gifts.

Other small considerations:

Ascendant shows us how we are perceived at first glance when we are dealing with pain

IC shows us how we are perceived by our family (or in a safe, secluded place) when we are dealing with pain

DSC shows us how we are perceived by our partner or best friend when we are dealing with pain

MC shows us how we are perceived in public (or in our career) when we are dealing with pain

North Node shows us our salvation (where we need to focus on in order to heal)

🕊 Sun trine Moon & Sun sextile Moon individuals have an easier time healing their traumas and wounds

🕊 Sun opposite Saturn & Sun square Saturn individuals feel the need to rebel from their father/grandparents, norms that have been imposed on them, old customs & traditions, institutions/government, in order to heal themselves

[reiderwriter]

Okay but, flirty reader majority pointed at Reid, and the scene where he has to get hosed down and says "I'mma bout to get naked, I don't think you wanna see that" and reader's just like raising her hand and says "don't worry I'll stay". And after she walks out to go to the hospital and sees everyone and with an open mouth and wide eyes just goes " woah" cause big dick energy

A/N: Hi, thank you so much for your request! I've been a bit sick lately, so I haven't had a chance to write much, but this was fun and quick to write! I might do a part 2 with the actual smut in the future, so if that's something people would want let me know in the comments!!

Warnings: suggestive content, public dirty talk?

“I really want to see that.” 

You heard the words but weren't sure where they'd come from for the longest time. It had been a confusing morning, with a high alert for anthrax and your coworker trapping himself inside a contaminated lab to save you from dying a presumably very painful death, you couldn't be blamed for not realizing that you'd said the words in question. 

He'd meant the words sarcastically, of course, and they'd warned Morgan off immediately with a chuckle and a “You better survive this, kid,” but you'd stood rooted to the earth until he'd repeated them again. 

“Y/N, they're going to strip me down. You don't want to see that.” 

“I really do, though.” Your eyes unabashedly trailed down the contours of his body, soaked from the hoses currently decontaminating him. You could've sworn that he was moving in slow motion as his hand pushed back his hair and cleared his face of water. 

If there weren't this many CDC agents around, you'd have likely joined him in his impromptu shower to feel your way along the lines of his clothing, checking to see what was outline and what was the thick layers of shirt and pants that unfortunately still obstructed your view. 

Another minute of you ogling him went by before your eyes finally returned to anywhere near his, and you realized that your desire for the man could no longer pass for camaraderie. 

“You better not die, Spencer. Not before I can enjoy the meal I'm about to sample.” 

His doctors were either ignoring the conversation completely or were busy focusing on other things, and luckily, they didn't react to your words. Other than to take Spencer's temperature one more time when he flushed bright red, and stared at you slack-jawed. 

“We're going to have to speed this along, Doctor Reid. Please start unbuttoning your shirt,” one of the hazmatted men said to him, but his eyes were fixed on you. 

“Yes, please do, Spencer. It's for your own good. And mine.” 

You expected him to blush and fawn again, but his day had been as long and confusing as your own, so you were unsurprised when he looked you directly in the eye and began unbuttoning his shirt. You watched his descent, and your breath faltered, seeing the water drip down his bare skin now. 

“I'm not sure which of us is wetter right now,” you tried to joke in earnest, but you felt a sharp jolt of lust in your gut as soon as his hands reached his belt. 

“Y/N, you need to leave now. Before you make this any harder for everyone here.” The innuendo in his words were clear, but you were thankful again for the considerate and/or oblivious doctors either side of him bagging up his discarded shirt and jacket. 

“Only if you promise I can make your life as hard as I want to when you're in the clear.” You smiled again, hoping the full force of your lust would reach him. Spencer was always oblivious to genuine flirtation, you'd observed enough women throwing themselves on him (had discouraged a few too many with a hand on his arm and a finger playing with the abandoned curls at the back of his neck, too) to know that for sure. 

You needed to make your need for him explicit. 

“I mean it, Spencer. I really mean it.” 

His eyes locked with yours for the last time ad you made to turn around, doing your best to convince him without becoming distractedly horny. 

“I know. I'll see you at the hospital.” 

“At the hospital? Risky, I like it.” You winked and turned away, leaving him calling back after you as you walked over to the car Derek had pulled around the front of the property. 

“Wait, not the hospital! Those beds aren’t comfortable. Y/N! Y/N, really!” 

You giggled as you sat down in the car, but you bubbled with anticipation still. 

[heartfullofleeches]

[brief mentions of non-consensual touching]

I kinda wanna flesh out yan cheater and "cheater" reader more. Fuel up the angst. I'm thinking high school sweethearts who promised to be each other's first as they went off to college. Yan sees the whole thing with reader with another person and goes to a friend for comfort. The friend sees this as an opportunity to tear the two apart as Yan was previously going to join their band instead of a straight shot to college. A few drinks down they're kissing the first person who makes eye contact with them at the party, forgetting all about their woes and promises - and skipping town without closure or a proper goodbye to their lover.

Couple years down the line and they're now a big shot - carrying little resemblance of the person they once were. Shows sold out in every venue and a different fan on their lap every night. They all have some feature that reminds Yan of their former flame which they muddle over to the very day their paths cross again.

Their latest tour leads them to a familiar place. A town where nothing ever happened and everything stayed the same. They learn their ex is still working hard for their degree and takes night shifts at a nearby gas station. The tension is thick from the moment they walk in. They didn't even want to be there, but it was the only station in close proximity. What do you even say to someone who's caused so much heart break after all this time?

"That'll be 21.10... Cash or credit?"

That's it.... After everything you put them through. After all those nights they spent crying over you - and craving your warmth in their bed. The future that you pictured together. The life you dream of in each other's arms. You tarnished what little hope they had - and that's all you could say to them...

"A "how've you been?" would've been nice...."

"I have nothing to say to the person who abandoned me. Can't even say that much since you hardly remind me of them."

Really classy from the one who caused this mess in the first place.

"Don't act like you're free of any guilt in this... I saw you with them that day... You seemed a lot more cozy with that stranger than you ever did with me."

"Stranger, what are you...." Your eyes dart around the room as the gears in your head click. Pulling out your phone, you fight back tears as you show them a picture of that stranger. "Is this who you're talking about?...."

Please say no....

They scoff. "So you do know who I'm talking about. You still together or did you run off with someone else same as you did me?"

The sadness and pain just... vanishes. All these years, you thought you had been the problem. Made to many promises. Loved then too much or too little. From what it seemed like now - they were the one who never loved you enough.

"That's my cousin....."

They didn't hear you - they couldn't. Couldnt acknowledge that maybe...

"What?"

"That's my fucking cousin, asshole."

Everything they ever believed was the painstaking truth - was a only a cruel misunderstanding.

"We hadn't seen each other's since we were kids. Their mom had just died... I tried calling you when I got home, but you weren't there. Did you seriously think I cheated on you? And you just ran away?..."

"I....you...." Were their everything. When they saw you that night the pressure of every problem weighting down on them finally snapped. They couldn't think rationally at that time - if only if they'd put the faith in you they always prided themself in having.

"You coward...." You throw their change across the counter, adding issult to injury as you point for the door.

"Get out of my store. Get out of my life."

"Y/n, wait..please."

"I said... GET OUT!"

The foundation of their new self crumbles. After your alleged betrayal they rebuilt themselves from the ground up as an overconfident, self serving individual, but like everything else to this point - it was all a lie. There were always those days they wondered "what if". What if they had stayed. What if they had tried to fix what had broken in your relationship. Knowing the truth, those fantasies return with vengeance. The truth would've came sooner and the wounds to mend would have been lesser. You'd talk over the miscommunication and they'd apologize fully by taking you out to your favorite restaurant. You'd start school together the upcoming fall. You'd kiss and make love and enjoy fleeting youth as one. There'd always be rough patches, but in the end you always had each other.

That's how things should have been.

They spiral - crawling to the closest bar to relinquish their pain the only way they knew how beyond finding someone new to bed. The thought of sleeping with anyone that wasn't you made them nearly lose the alcohol poisoning their system. Had you been dating since then? Had you given yourself to someone? Did they make you feel loved and saved - just as they should've

By the end of the night they wound up too drunk to even stand on their own feet. The bartender asked for a number to call to have someone pick them up. They gave the only number they could remember after all these years - and intoxicated.

The drive to their hotel room is quiet. You had nothing to say while they had the world - but none of it was anything you wanted to hear. You just wanted this night to be over so you could go back to forgetting they ever existed.

You help them into their room and give them some water from the sink. Despite everything they've done, you didn't have the heart to leave them like they did you.

"Drink. You need to flush out your system. You'll probably have a headache in the morning, but that's none of my concern."

".....how many people have you slept with, Y/n?"

You place the cup on the nightstand. "This isn't the type of conversation we should have right now."

"Have you been with anyone - or are you still waiting for that special person? I've done a lot of shit I'm not proud of, but at least they've given me experience. I can make your first the best. I can make love to you better than anyone. I already know you better than they do...."

Their hands creep around your waist, hugging your midsection same as they use to on school nights when their parents forbade guests - and you crawled through their window anyway. They always held you like you meant the universe to them. You still do.

Their lips gloss over your exposed stomach as your shirt crawls upwards, heavy tears staining your skin. "Just one night. That's all I need to prove myself to you. We were made for each other. Let's forget about the past for one night and pick up where we left off. A promise is still a promise - even if it's broken.

Their fingers dip below your waistband. You immediately shove them off you and to the floor. "Are you fucking insane?! You can't forget something like what you put me through. I've been so afraid of connecting with anyone because I'm scared they'd just run off like you did. I'm finally becoming me again- and I won't let you take that back from me. Don't call me."

The door slams as you storm out - reverberations their sole companion in their misery. This is the same thing they did to you. They deserve to be alone, to suffer - but they can't. It'll kill them. They can't live without you...and soon enough you won't be to live without them. You're soulmates, meant to be. They have power now - influence. They can support you however you need-

And destory everything that gets in the way of your happy ending.

[jinxekkotimebomb]

Personally Nana is a manga i feel you need an understanding of sapphic women's struggles to be able to read through the context and intention of the characters and their issues. Primarily the two Nana's.

Nana Osaki has a discomfort around the idea of traditional feminine roles and what's 'expected' from her as a woman. The main reason she feels her relationship with Ren doesn't and won't work long term is he's fixated on wanting to have children with her.

However for Nana this'd get in the way of her desired career as a singer and also her future. She deems becoming a housewife and having to provide only for a man as 'the worst fate imaginable'. This is the main reason for conflict with her relationship with Ren.

While Ren isn't abusive in the same way as Takumi he does force Nana into doing things she doesn't feel comfortable with nor want to do. It's because of this that her relationship with Ren is so toxic for the both of them.

On Hachi's side, most of her issues seem to revolve around a clear case of comphet and struggling with her feelings for the women in her life. Hachi desires what Nana least desires (becoming married, having kids etc.) however romance with men is painful and isolating for her.

Hachi's first relationship being with Asano, where she was groomed while she was still a minor ruined her perception of how relationships should be. She only started dating Shouji after he guilt trips her into a relationship (and sex).

Hachi constantly states wanting a friendship with Shouji and how much it means to her however she starts dating because everyone around her acts like she's leading him on. So she dates him, then Shouji gets mad she doesn't act how HE wants her to act.

Shouji literally cheats on Hachi with Sachiko because she wouldn't just sleep with him all the time whenever he wanted. Hachi wasn't 'submissive' enough, Sachiko was.

Then on Hachi's part her 'liking' of Takumi was only in a way of how girls idolise a celebrity. There's no genuineness behind this because there's a fictional distance between you and them. Once Hachi actually meets Takumi she notices there's something wrong.

Hachi only got with Takumi because she was feeling abandoned and left behind by Nana who started focusing more on her career. Her entire relationship with Takumi is a cycle of abuse on making her think she needs him while he's aware she doesn't actually love him.

Takumi doesn't love Hachi, he only loves the amount of control he has over her. He literally treats her like his dog and both Nana and Hachi are aware of this. However it's not easy to break out of an abusive relationship just because you're aware.

Especially since with Takumi Hachi is able to have a child, which is something she's wanted since she was young. Obviously she doesn't love Takumi but on her mind, someone who never had a clear idea or desire for the future. It's the only thing she can do.

Especially since from her pov 'Nana doesn't need me anymore'. I'm not saying everyone needs to read the characters in a sapphic pov but none of the relationships they end up in are healthy for either of them, they both have men forcing their desires onto them.

Nana and Hachi's love for one another is the focus of the series and if it ever continued they'd definitely develop their relationship further. There's a sense of freedom in their love for one another that they can't get with men.

To conclude, Hachi has clear symptoms of comphet and she is likely a lesbian but struggles with seeing her feelings as valid. Where on Nana's side she can't achieve what she wants to achieve in life if she's dating a man because they'll always have different life desires.

[remlionheart]

you're the thoughts that can't be tamed

and i'm trying to be sane

⋆˙⟡♡ MDNI. whewww. the people demanded more high / toxic!megumi and the people got more high / toxic!megumi. tw for angst, daddy issues, drug use, smut. 4.3k words. all characters aged up 21+. ๋࣭ ⭑ life held no promises - it was a fact that you and megumi were made well aware from a very early age. from sleeping under blanket forts as kids to sneaking through windows as teenagers, he'd always been your one constant in a sea of variables. but what happens when the tides become strong enough to pull him away too? ๋࣭ ⭑ this was fucking emotional to write, not gonna lie. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ⋆˙⟡♡

‎𓆩🖤𓆪

“No one else has what we have.”

Those were Megumi's favorite words to say to you.

On the nights where both of your dads would take off together, deciding that they were done being responsible for the two of you for a few days, you would hide under blankets in his room and laugh at the things that only 9-year-old you would understand.

You'd keep yourselves occupied with video games and books and dive so far into each other’s imaginations that you'd completely forget about the world around you.

It was all late-night summer air, swinging in your backyard for hours, and the way that you two were somehow able to turn something as damning as parental abandonment into adventure.

As teenagers, reality became harder to sugarcoat but there was still that same unfettered energy between both of you that made it doable.

At 14, you'd sit on the edge of his bed during the wintertime, drinking beer that you'd stolen from Toji's stash and exchange secrets in-between drunken kisses that neither one of you would be brave enough to acknowledge the next day.

You'd walk to school together with matching tired eyes and unkempt hair and he would tell people to fuck off when they’d ask you why you'd been wearing the same hoodie for a week straight.

He'd sneak through your bedroom window on the nights that your house didn’t feel safe just to lay with you, running light fingers through your hair while sharing a set of tangled headphones to drown out the sound of your parents arguing.

The things that he couldn’t tell his other friends, the things that he couldn’t tell his family, the things that he could barely tell himself – he'd tell you.

You were two halves of two very broken homes. Rigid and unstable when apart but perfectly balanced when together. From spending practically every weekend together to essentially raising one another since none of the adults in either of your lives had any interest in doing so – he was right:

No one else had what you had.

‎𓆩🖤𓆪

Nobara's ceiling fan creaked steadily above you as you stared back at it, trying but failing to swallow down your emotions.

You rolled over, careful not to wake her as you reached for your phone to see the time "3:33" displayed across the screen. With a heavy sigh, you unplugged it from the charger and crept out of bed, keeping your movements light as you made your way into the living room.

You wrapped one of her knit blankets around your shoulders, sinking down onto the couch like you'd done so many times over the last few weeks you'd been staying here. There were bags under your eyes that you were convinced would never go away. Tear stains on your cheeks that felt like they'd been permanently adopted by your skin.

Thinking about Megumi was nothing new, it was the unfamiliar pain that came along with it that you couldn't quite adjust to. The way your chest tightened and your insides burned with each memory that surfaced. What used to be the most comfortable part of your brain was now the one place you were desperate to stay away from.

"So you're leaving then?"

You'd replayed the last conversation you'd had with him so many times, it still felt like you were in his room most days. A ghost that wandered the halls, hopelessly waiting for him to come back no matter how much time passed.

You had struggled to look back at him that night, his pupils dilated from the Oxy he had taken. There was something so unnerving about being so close to him and so far away from him at the same time. How physically, he was within arm's reach, but mentally, there might as well have been galaxies separating you.

Your voice betrayed you, shaking as you fought to keep your resolve. "That's what you want, right? For me to leave?"

He was silent, his worn-down demeanor saying more than his voice was capable of at the time. You watched his hand twitch at his side as if his own body was attempting to fight against his sentiment. "Just go."

You stared at him, forcing yourself to take in his pale face and hollowed out blue eyes. You'd seen the whole thing. The entire progression of the boy who used to build blanket forts with you to protect you from the outside world to the boy who'd taken your virginity on a rainy September night when you were 15 because "you both deserved to know what it felt like to be loved" to the vacant 22-year-old who was standing in front of you with nothing left to offer to you or himself.

You'd been there for every day and every moment that had led the two of you down that one pivotal breaking point, but you still couldn't fathom it. You didn't have it in you to fight with him. Didn't have it in you to push back or yell or fall apart in front of him like you both thought you would.

Instead, you did something much more damning: you mirrored him. Leaving him with an empty, "Okay." as you closed the door to his apartment and disappeared back to your car, realizing that his words still reigned true, only they held a new meaning - no one else had what you had, not even you.

You nestled into the couch, using your phone to put the same song on repeat as you tried to close your eyes again. Out of all the grievances you'd experienced throughout your life, you had never considered until recently how much harder it was to mourn the living than it was to mourn the dead.

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi had barely slept in the last three days. His thoughts were blurred by hazy white pills and scattered flashbacks of the things he should've never said to you and worst of all...

The way your face used to light up when you'd wake up next to him and what a jarring contrast it was to have his eyes flutter open to an empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand instead.

"I feel awake when I'm with you."

He'd said it to you one morning when you'd both just woken up, his fingers running lazy circles over the top of your shoulder, his arms still wrapped protectively around you from the previous night's sleep.

"I'm listening." You hummed, propping your head up to meet his blue eyes in quiet encouragement.

He wasn't always the best with his words - you both knew that, but he still tried as he kept his fingertips featherlight against your skin. "I'm always so tired, but... not when I'm with you."

He remembered the way your pupils bloomed while he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, letting himself say the things he'd usually be too afraid to admit. "I... feel like the only time life really makes sense is when we're like this, you know...? When we're both half asleep tangled up in each other."

You cried, your hands finding the back of his neck as your lips met his in a gentle mid-morning daze.

It was the first time you'd said it - it poured out in between breaths and tears, opening up like a floodgate once it began: "I love you." you whispered against his lips. "I love you." You repeated while you pulled him on top of you. "I love you." as he slid your shirt above your shoulders. "I love you." only, it was his voice this time fanning across the nape of your neck. "I love you." he exhaled again, carefully sliding into you. "I love you." you moaned, your eyes completely fixated on him as he thrusted harder.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..."

The nostalgia was so intense it rang through his ears, his stomach churning violently. No matter how much he tried to bury you, you were still everywhere. Stuck to the walls. Stitched in his blankets. Embedded into his skin.

Panic swelled in his chest, his hand shaking as he dug the cellophane baggy out of his hoodie pocket and promptly shoved two oval-shaped pills into his mouth. 

"That's what you want, right? For me to leave?"

The answer wasn't yes because he didn't love you, the answer was yes because he did love you. Because after all that you'd been forced to deal with between your dad and his, the last thing you needed was for another man you trusted to let you down the way he was.

"Just go."

It wasn't that he wanted you to, it was that you needed to.

𓆩🖤𓆪

"You're not responsible for him." Nobara said as she handed you a cup of coffee, taking a seat next to you on the couch. "You realize that, don't you?"

Despite her rough edges when it came to men, she was truly the gentlest friend you had. She was patient. Kind. Non-judgmental. She listened to your feelings no matter how repetitive or morbid they may have been. There really weren't enough 'thank you's when it came to how much she'd been there for you over the last few weeks.

You dropped the blanket from your shoulders and took a sip, struggling to look back at her. "I know, I just -" you faltered, your eyes still locked onto the steam rolling off of your mug. "I just hope he's okay..."

It was the longest you'd gone without seeing him and no matter how many times she'd tried to remind you that you couldn't hold yourself accountable for his well being, you still felt an odd sense of responsibility for him. It was a feeling that you'd held onto for so long, you weren't sure how you were supposed to even separate yourself from it now.

Nobara let out a stifled breath, shooting you a pointed look as she took her own sip. "Has he ever been okay?"

The question was damning enough to bring your attention to hers, your breath hitching in your throat as you looked back at her.

"Look, I know you love him." Her hand was on your shoulder, her eyes softening a bit. "But you can't save him."

Flashbacks of an 11-year-old, chubby-cheeked version of him smashed through your mind. The way the warmth of his hand contrasted the coldness of your feet as he helped sneak you in through the sliding back door. You apologized to him for having to risk getting him in trouble just to let you in, but you couldn't be at your house for another minute. Even at his young age, he looked so perplexed by your guilt, shaking his head as his eyebrows furrowed. "If you're ever in trouble, I'll always come get you."

There was such an indescribable amount of safety laced into that one sentence alone.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

Nobara's grip tightened on your shoulder, gently trying to pull you back to reality, but his words were suddenly everywhere. His promise echoing on an unwanted loop as you sat your mug down on her coffee table and grabbed your phone.

Even with the falling out you'd had, he never stopped sharing his location with you. It wasn't an invitation back into his life by any means, but it was proof that his sentiment from all those years ago still held merit. That no matter what happened, he'd always know where to find you and you'd always know where to find him too.

Her expression was serious as she watched you, trying to find a tactful way to say what she needed. "I can't stop you." She finally exhaled, "And you know that I'll never tell you what to do, but..." It was that same sense of comfort you'd felt as a child, only this time it came in the form of protective brown eyes. "Remember that you're important too, okay? You matter just as much as he does."

Your body stilled, your stare lingering as you nodded back at her. A wave of the same fear you'd felt that night on his back porch swept over you again. "I know." You said softly. "We both matter. That's why I have to at least try."

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi stood under the warmth of his shower, letting steam fill the room as water beaded off of his pale skin. His eyes were heavy, his stomach struggling to keep up with the deficient mix of painkillers and nothingness he'd been offering it the last few days.

He was tired - physically, mentally, spiritually.

Absolutely drained in every sense of the word.

He let the water pour over him until it began to run cold, his hand finally reaching for the dial when he was certain there wasn't a drop of heat left for him. He reached for a towel, haphazardly running it through his hair before wrapping it around his waist. The bloodshot stare of his reflection was haunting, a painful familiarity laced into the tidal wave irises looking back at him.

"One day you'll understand." It was something that he had heard more times than he could count growing up. "One day you'll fuckin' get it." Megumi had always written it off as a jaded excuse from the man who'd raised him. A despondent explanation for his father's shitty behavior in place of an apology. But as he stood in front of the medicine cabinet in his empty apartment, he realized that for the first time maybe it wasn't an excuse for his father's neglect. Maybe it had been something much worse: a warning.

His fist slammed into the mirror without a second thought, an impulsive blur of blood and shattered glass flying past his face as he watched his hollowed-out reflection fracture and drop to the ground in tiny, severed pieces.

"Megumi...?"

Any fleeting amount of relief that he'd gained from the impact was instantly stolen by the softness of your voice.

His head snapped up, the bathroom door cracked open just enough for your eyes to lock with his.

He'd heard as a kid that the only time angels were visible to human beings is when they were needed the most. He didn't believe it back then, but it was the only explanation he could find to explain seeing you in his hallway.

He blinked back at you slowly, his gaze drifting from his battered knuckles to the blood staining the wall in front of him, to the floor that was covered in glass shards.

You didn't hesitate. Didn't pause to ask for an explanation. Didn't flinch at the scene you'd walked into. You just stood there, observing him in quiet understanding.

Time felt like it had come to a grinding halt as he watched you extend a hand out to him with all of the patience in the world. You were goodness incarnated and he was so undeserving.

"Let me help you."

𓆩🖤𓆪

His grasp was warm, his cut up fingers tangling cautiously into yours as you helped pull him away from the wreckage.

He followed behind you, letting you guide him back to his room where you promptly began cleaning and bandaging his injuries. It was almost nostalgic to be sitting with him like this again. Memories of middle school and the way he'd plop himself down on the edge of your bed after his most recent fight surfaced through your mind as you tended to his wounds.

You were almost done, lifting his wrist up to double-check your work when his hand broke free from yours. His thumb suddenly finding the underside of your chin to tilt your face up to his. It was the first time all night that you'd been able to look into him rather than just at him.

"You have a pretty big gash on your middle finger, but -" your voice was barely audible, completely overruled by the way he was staring at you. "It should be okay..." you swallowed, struggling to hold onto the calmness that you'd fought so hard to maintain thus far. "Where's your vacuum? I'll grab it real quick and –"

"Why're you here?"

Your mouth opened and then closed again, the wheels in your head viciously turning as your eyes searched his. There was an extensive list of reasons as to why you were here. A never-ending list, really. And he knew that just as well as you did.

You looked over him carefully, drawing in a shallow breath before pulling away from his hand. "A promise is a promise, right?"

His pupils widened, a glint of what almost resembled anger flickering across his face. "You've gotta let that go, you're smarter than that."

It was enough to snap your attention back to him, resentment settling heavily into the pit of your stomach. "Yeah well, unlike you, when I said 'always', I meant always - not 'always' until it got too hard. Or 'always' until I'm done. I meant fucking always, Megumi."

He leaned in closer to you, his tone every bit as sharp as his expression. The heat from his body was suddenly noticeable as it filled the small space between you. "God, you're dense sometimes. You really don't get it, do you? I didn't tell you to leave because things 'got too hard' or because I was 'done'." His stare was piercing, his face only centimeters away from yours. "I told you to leave because no one deserves to treat you like this. No one deserves to hurt you. No one, not even me. I don't get some pass just because of a promise we made as kids."

The scorned rebuttal you had lined up abruptly died on your tongue by his last sentence. The air felt stagnant and far too thick to breathe. Tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill the longer you looked at him, but you fought with everything you had to keep them at bay.

"I guess we're both facing the same problem then." Your tone was light despite the crippling weight your words held. "Because no one deserves to hurt you like this either, not even you."

It felt like every late-night conversation, every right and wrong decision, every major life lesson that had played out between the two of you had only been practice for this one grave moment.

You watched the first small crack form in his concrete demeanor as you rested your hand on the back of his neck. Could almost hear the second one splinter down when his fingers traced along your jawline, catching tears you didn't even realize had fallen. Could practically feel the reverb of how shattering the third fracture was as he leaned in and attentively parted your lips with his tongue.

"I think the only time life makes sense is when we're like this."

You pulled him in closer, letting the past and present blur together through gentle, desperate touches. His grasp tightened around your waist, neither one of you able to stop what you'd started. You'd kissed him so many times before, groveled for him in so many different ways, but you weren't sure that you'd ever known this type of fervency for anyone or anything else in your life.

His hands were calloused, damaged but still tender as they ran through your hair, pulling your head back slightly. His mouth drifted to the side of your neck, the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. "I love you." It was so faint that you weren't sure if he had actually said it or if it was just another part of your past coming back to haunt the both of you.

He hovered over you, gradually leaning you back into the mattress as the towel wrapped around his waist fell to the floor. You followed his lead, letting him delicately slip your t-shirt up over your head. Your heart stuttered in your chest, watching his eyes roam over you as he unbuttoned your shorts.

There was something so intimidating and overwhelmingly comforting about how well he knew you. Every freckle. Every scar. Every blemish. There wasn't a single part of your body that he hadn't familiarized himself with over the years.

His fingertips traced easily over the inside of your thigh, his eyes locked intently with yours. "You're sure this is what you want?"

His movements were calculated as he drew up towards your center, keeping his touch featherlight and his voice low. "You could have anyone else you wanted, you know that? Probably even have a pretty normal life without me.”

You shook your head at him, trying not to squirm as he slid a slender finger into you. "Just you." you whispered.

His thumb brushed against your clit with just the right amount of pressure while he added another finger. "I'm hard to love." He reminded you, his eyes glazing over as he watched your hips thrust up towards him.

"D - don't care." you moaned, trying to keep your focus despite the way he was picking up the pace, plunging innn and outttt of you, only going deeper with each time you tried to speak. "I... don't - oh, f...fuck."

"You don't what, baby?" Your walls were wrapped around him so tight, swallowing him hopelessly as you writhed beneath him. You opened your mouth again, but your thoughts were all but stolen from you as he slammed into you, rendering you a whimpering mess. "Words." he demanded.

You were trying so hard to keep it together, trying so hard not to soak him, but your release and emotions were all threatening to flood out at once the harder he went. You were grabbing onto him, clenching around his fingers as they continued their relentless assault on you.

"I don't want easy," it was almost one word with how breathlessly it came out. "I don't want easy –" you repeated, your body needily bucking up towards him again. "I want you. I'll always want you." you were finally at your breaking point, drenching him as he looked down at you with feral adoration. "Fuck Megumi, please."

He withdrew from you, his composure a bit more feverish as he leaned in to kiss you. It was hard, urgent.

"Bend over for me." He said against your lips.

He helped you roll over, grabbing your thighs to lift you into position while you arched your back for him and buried your face into the softness of his comforter. The absence of his fingers was short-lived, his tip suddenly prodding at your entrance.

He went in slow, watching you carefully as he held onto your hips for support and pulled you onto him. His pace was determined by your breathing. You were taking him so well, your body practically melting under his touch as he entered you, but he wanted every confirmation he could get that you really were in this as much as he was.

"I love you." you panted, tilting your head to look up at him over your shoulder. "I love you." you said again, feeling the hesitation from him finally start to dissipate.

His grip dug into your sides, each thrust rougher than the last. "Say it again." He nodded.

But you could barely get the first word out before he buried himself into you, taking away every last bit of resolve you had left. He leaned over so that his body was locking yours in place, his breath trailing across your shoulder as you shook underneath him, heady little whines filling the space between you.

His hand wrapped delicately around your throat while his voice picked up where yours had left off. "I love you." he exhaled.

Your eyes widened when they caught his. There was something so irrevocably binding about the way he was looking at you, it almost felt like an agreement. A soul tie. A meeting between angels and mortals. A promise where "always" really meant always.

"I love you." You whispered, not breaking away from his stare as his pace quickened. His thrusts were unyielding, his body becoming just as needy as yours while your nails dug desperately into his sheets. "I love you." you let out again, your walls nearly smothering him. "I love you." you whined, feeling yourself clench and spasm around him. "I love you." He groaned, holding you in place as he filled you - his cum mixing with yours, sealing the unspoken contract you’d both created.

"I love you. I love you. I love you..."

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi was careful not to wake you the next morning. He slipped out from under your grasp with all the caution he possessed as he got to his feet, throwing a pair of boxers on and sliding a black hoodie over his head.

He grabbed the empty bottles that were littering his nightstand before closing the door to his bedroom and heading to the kitchen. It was the first time he'd woken up sober in roughly 3 weeks. The clarity that came along with it was almost too much to handle as he looked over the state of his apartment. The piles of dishes. The destroyed bathroom mirror. The blood stains on the floor of the hallway.

It all told a story, painted an entirely too vivid picture of his own self destruction. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie, finding a cellophane baggy filled with the last 4 Oxys he had.

He took a breath, looking over them. Knowing that they were the one thing that could make everything feel so much more bearable and all it would take was one quick swallow. "God damnit..." He sighed.

Your footsteps were too light for him to hear as you crept around the corner, watching him dump the contents of the baggy into the kitchen sink.

He hastily turned on the water, fighting the urge to fish them out as he let them disappear down the drain. Today might hurt. Tomorrow might hurt. But as he turned around and caught your eye, he quickly realized that they weren't the only thing that could make everything better, they were far from it…

"Need some help?"

No matter how out of control life got, he would always have one advantage: No one else had what he had.

𓆩🖤𓆪

[alchemistc]

Y'all were so insistent that I keep going with the Eddie Fixes It By Making It Worse post breakup fic.

This is officially a three-parter. Sorry. Or you're welcome.

You can read part one here

We have to make out in front of Tommy.

Buck's in the ice cream aisle, reminding himself that he has given himself three more days of moping and ignoring his diet before he gets his ass in gear and starts to live a life again. The Halo Top is mocking him, jeering and heckling as he goes for the Blue Ribbon. Mint chocolate, because Buck always loved it and he can almost forget the mock fight he'd had with Tommy three months in when he told Buck he refused to allow toothpaste flavored treats into his home, and how they'd barely gotten back to his place without a public indecency citation.

He stares at the text until his eyes cross.

What, he sends back, and slowly, cautiously, returns the pint of ice cream to its spot in the cooler. Maybe he should lay off the sugar. He's had enough.

Trust me

It comes in almost immediately and Buck tries to rewind, tries to figure out what any of this means, what the context is, why he's getting an actual Trust Me Bro from his best friend.

You've already met your last and it's not me comes crashing back to the forefront of his mind. He's had a full 36 hours to forget it, and he had been nearly there, nearly ready to chalk it up to Tommy trying to make him angry. Which he's been doing a really fucking excellent job of, lately. Almost like he knows all the buttons to push. Like Buck had given him the owners manual.

Tommy had meant Eddie? How could Eddie have possibly come to that conclusion? What the hell was he doing sending Buck half across town to the market for snacks when -

Buck judges the distance from this market to Eddie's. Then to Tommy's.

"Oh you mother -."

A woman squeaks by with her kid in the cart seat and glares.

---

Are you at Tommy's right now

No question marks. This is an accusation. Buck's thankful there are no perishables in his cart as he abandons it in the lane and hikes it towards the door. It's a dick move, and Buck feels, a little spitefully, like if anyone remembers him they'll remember him from the times he and Tommy giggled and play-fought down the aisles, so they'll think of Tommy when they think of the cart left behind. Resent him for it, maybe.

Not like Tommy isn't particularly good at just leaving things behind.

Yeah. Join me.

Buck breaks through the doors and feels a little woozy. This might be a panic attack. His chest fucking hurts.

🖕just get my stuff and meet me at yours. tell Tommy we burned all his shit

Eddie is an asshole. I'm not gonna LIE to the man. Also he definitely doesn't have an Evan box ready to go, so take what you will from that

Buck's still in that vicious cycle where he goes from angry to upset to sad in record time, no barriers in between, where every bruise feels like it's healing too fast so he keeps pressing in just to watch the color muddle. He hates this.

It'd be a Buck box, Buck texts back, just to release some of the pressure behind his temples, and he pulls in a few deep breaths before he jogs for the Jeep. He's gonna go home. Throw on the DVD copy of Sleepless In Seattle Tommy left behind and then maybe once that's done he'll throw the damn thing in a blender.

Are you coming or not?

Buck turns the ignition and peels out in a direction that won't lead to his own home, or the things Buck has been too much of a mopey bastard to pack up and return to their owner. At a red light two miles down the road, he shares his location.

Eddie sends back an ominous Hope you brushed your teeth today.

---

Eddie gets the door and it sucks just as much as if Tommy had. They barely ever spent time at Tommy's, and Buck can see it now for the boundary it was. When they had, though, their time had been split pretty evenly between Buck picking him up for a date, and Eddie wanting to leave the quiet echo of his own house to hang with them - a car on a lift and beers shared between them, Buck watching the pull of muscle beneath Tommy's shorts as he took Eddie down to the mat, Tommy's fingers drifting through the short curls at the back of Bucks head while Eddie yelled about triple-doubles and chatted with Tommy about how impossible coverage was for some guy named Joker.

Buck has never actually figured out who that guy was. Eddie hated the Mavericks and he hated the Lakers but Eddie also complained about the guy so much he definitely wasn't a Clipper.

Eddie gets him by the forearm when Buck shows clear signs of regretting this. Drags him through the front door before Buck can fully execute his spin and stomp back to the Jeep.

Tommy's next door neighbor had waved at him from her yard where she was doing something new with her display of bird sculptures, and Buck hadn't had the heart to do anything but raise his hand back.

It's less than ten seconds before Eddie is steering him down the hall, into the living room. It's cozy in here. Lived in. Mismatched furniture that somehow fits, a blanket thrown over the side of the couch, dark wood tables and light wood flooring and lamps that look like they came from an estate sale up in the Hills. A huge ass TV set above the mantle of a gas fireplace that Buck never even had the opportunity to see working before... Before.

Tommy is a shadow coming out of the kitchen, and Buck can't help but be a little pleased that he looks as crappy as Buck feels.

---

Eddie claps his hands together before either of them can get a word in. "Okay. Here's the thing. You're both dumbasses and there's a lot of shit that you guys gotta figure out on your own. But apparently you," he points at Tommy with the lip of a beer bottle. Corona. Tommy hates the stuff, and Buck is reminded once again how dearly Eddie loves him, "need empirical evidence that there's no deeply repressed sexual tension between Buck and I. So."

"You're insane," Tommy says, and Buck feels like snapping at him. He's probably right. This is an insane thing to do. Eddie ambushed his ex and then ambushed Buck in the frozen treats aisle and now he wants to kiss Buck to prove a point? What??

Eddie ignores it. Turns to Buck. "How do you wanna do this?"

And now would be the time, actually. Now would be the time to cut the thread, make it clean, break it for good. Only despite his protest, Tommy is staring between them and his expression looks almost... hungry. Frightened, at the same time. Oh. Oh.

He really had thought...?

Eddie's a fucking idiot. Buck doesn't want to kiss him. He's squared with the fact that he definitely had a crush when they first met and he's definitely been attracted to Eddie and just not realized it but he doesn't want Eddie. He doesn't want a life with Eddie, not like that. He doesn't- He isn't -

He loves Eddie more than almost every other person on the planet, but he's not in love with him.

Buck squares his shoulders. Nods. "Yeah, okay," and then he's taking three strides to meet Eddie at the coffee table.

---

"Oh come on, are you serious?"

Buck ignores the exclamation from the peanut gallery. Tries to figure out where to put his hands. He's never really noticed the height difference before. It's barely anything - a couple inches at most - but it feels like he's looming, this close. Which is stupid. He's been this close to Eddie a million times.

Eddie bends his knees to set the beer down. Darts his gaze back up to Buck.

Buck's seen him pull this move before, and has to bite down the urge to cackle because those big brown cow eyes have charmed women up and down California and probably plenty of Texas too but the only time Buck's ever seen them look genuine was when he was looking at Shannon.

He's got a good face. Angular in all the right places, expressive in a way a lot of men try to hide. Good eyelashes, clear skin.

Eddie gets a thumb in one of Buck's belt loops and tugs.

It's a good move. It's a move that has inspired Buck to sink to his knees on more than one occasion with the right men. Man. Just the one man.

He desperately bites back a giggle when the front of their thighs brush and Buck feels nothing more than the heat coming off Eddie.

Eddie's flushed, just a little, like he's well aware how ridiculous this all is, but he's got his I'm So Fucking Serious face on and there is a part of Buck, something fucked up and broken and wrong, that wonders how Tommy would feel to see it. To know that Buck is out there in the world kissing people who aren't Tommy. It's not like he'd ended things because he didn't care for Buck, because he wasn't attracted to him. It's gotta sting, right?

Buck gets a hand on Eddie's waist, just above his hip bone. He's never actually paid attention to how much more slim Eddie is, before, how big Buck's hands feel against him.

The night Tommy had first kissed him, Buck had spent an indeterminate length of time replaying every second of the interaction. The lead up, the frank honesty, the way Buck's entire body had followed the flow of Tommy's. Heart racing, body thrumming: when Tommy had ducked his head, when he'd laughed, when he'd opened up his body language and dropped a tiny morsel of his heart, Buck had felt himself drawn in.

The lips that had caught his had set him alight.

Eddie shifts his weight and blinks up at him and for half a second Buck wants this to be a good kiss - earth shattering, life changing. He wants to feel it. Wants it to be better than every kiss he and Tommy ever shared.

The pointer and middle finger he uses to tilt Eddie's chin up are petty as hell.

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Letters and Paper goods are easy to store, and therefore, easy to hide. Danny has drama to monger though.

Tim Drake becomes a ward of Bruce Wayne at the same time the Drake Corporation is crumbling, and his father's health is declining. Dana, his father's physical therapist turned new wife, isn't optimistic these days, and Tim can read the writing on the wall.

Times have changed and Bruce and Dick are treating him with kid gloves. Jason Todd is alive again, been there suffered that. Young Just-Us has proven yet again to be his true family... But Bruce 'welcomes' him home the second the fake uncle is sniffed out.

So, Tim rationalizes, If Drake Corp is going down, then so shall the reason he spent his childhood abandoned. The many, many archeology digs his parents left him for over the years and their many, many stolen historical pieces. Tim is ready and able to get rid of them all.

He first returns the artifacts that have obvious origins to the people with whom they belong. Then it starts to get a little hazy as to where each item stolen is from. The paper goods are the hardest to place.

Years later, Tim has almost completely emptied his parent's old home of their stolen goods. By now, he runs a fortune 500 company and is working as Red Robin. Going through the last of the archives means going through the very last objects his parents ever preferred over his company, and he can't wait to be rid of them.

A glowing green envelope however... this one he feels compelled to keep. He hadn't known it back when he started this project- but somehow his Parents had found objects drenched in the essence of the Lazarus Pits. And it wasn't just one letter, it was dozens and dozens.

Tim Drake knew it would be risky to move them, but he needed to get these letters to an ex-league member to understand what the language of the dead was trying to proclaim.

_____

Danny hates a fetch quest but apparently Ghost Writer is having a bad day. It starts with Danny running by the guys library to have a chat when all of a sudden, the question of certain... ghost relations... came up. Danny is always more than thrilled to hear about how the various ancient-as-in-old ghosts interacted with the Ancients-as-in-yikes ghosts.

Ghost Writer finally admitted to the monarch in training that if he wanted to know so badly, that he could track down Clockworks old letters. They'd been scattered well before Ghost Writer could properly work on the ghost archives (read: was still alive), and it wasn't until he'd long worked on the library that such affairs were noted as missing.

The potential for gossip was just too good! A call home to Sam, Tuck and Jazz to let them know he was on an adventure, and then Danny flew off with little more than some hints by GW and an annoyed nod of cryptic agreement by CW.

Danny goes about wondering Gotham as himself, not yet seeing the need to be Phantom, when he runs into the very guy he was looking for.

"Hey- you don't happen to have a shit ton of letters written in the language of the dead do you?" Danny smiles as innocently as possible as he watches all seven stages of grief play out on the guy's face. Then something changes and Danny can tell that this guy is like, scary competent.

"I do, however, I was double crossed and a shit ton of assassins are on their way to try and take them."

"Uh... Bummer for them I guess? I'll just take them and go- I don't even really need to keep them if you want em back-"

"Assassins. They won't exactly leave empty handed."

"Huh. Well... Wanna come with? These are supposed to have some pretty juicy drama in them." Danny awkwardly places a hand on the back of his neck.

A knife being thrown in their direction was enough to get this guy to make a decision.

"Let's go spill some tea then."

Danny grins as he pulls the guy through a rapidly drawn portal, ignoring the wide eyes he makes. Turns out his name is Tim, and walking him through afterlife drama is the best- how does he know so many dead assassins??? One of these letters is about a guy who took Tim's spleen??

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay on the topic of crack treated seriously crossover isekai with mdzs, I've been batting about the daycare attendant from fnaf getting reborn into... Someone.

My first thought was obviously wwx, cuz main character, excellent wild card. I considered lxc, all smiley with a heavy heart and too much responsibility trying to care for everyone even as it ruins him. I considered NHS or jgy for that manic rodent customer service energy, I considered xy for his demonic cultivation and intensity, even jyl if you really wanted to lean into the crack energy, and also Moon snapping would be Excellent crouching tiger energy.

I also considered jc.

The thing about the robot DA, if you don't know,

Half is Sun, a frustrated, overworked, sarcastic mf dealing with his alter ai going insane and trying to kill/kidnap the kids they protect. He's anxiety riddled, pithy to adults, a bit of a control freak trying to scrabble together a semblance of balance in a steadily collapsing situation while trying to maintain himself while being terminally neglected. His sanity is hanging by a thread.

Its alternate, Moon, appears whenever it's naptime - ie, when the lights go out. Moon is an uncanny security guard of the pizza plex (imagine a giant themed mall slash party venue that fails basically every osha compliance) that acrobatically hunts down anything that moves when the other animatronics (basically tortured androids let's be real) are in recharge. Moon is corrupted by a semi computer semi haunted magic virus that makes him evil. Sun is left the responsibility of keeping it locked up in his head by never, ever, resting, or by being in the dark.

By the end of the games, sun and moon, the DA, is a shell of his former self. Despite being a multi million investment as a highly marketed, one of a kind animatronic with a worryingly lifelike ai (or two), the DA is abandoned by its creators and left to rot in the slowly crumbling ruins of the daycare, along with the half destroyed and monstrous forms of its fellow animatronics who aimlessly, sightlessly roam the halls. Sun is huddled in the last beam of light from a jacked generator, and when that finally dies moon is reduced to little more than a manmade beast in the dark as they too slowly run out of power, their powerful battery long stolen and grafted into someone else. Their kingdom boarded up and half destroyed, their own private apocalypse they cannot escape, the DA begs the next person he sees for a total reboot. The combined personality, eclipse, is a gentle and naive thing unable to perceive the reality of its situation. Until it runs out of power, it will be placid and calm, lost in its illusion of the past. It is, essentially, requested euthanasia. It's the kindest send off anything else in the pizza plex gets.

So, a snarky, bitchy guy with huge abandonment issues sick of trying to corral unruly kids without reward, constantly overlooked and frankly neglected in favour of the more successful and popular siblings, with deep rooted trauma about losing his core, too much responsibility and no support, desperately trying to keep himself from lashing out and causing irreparable damage and kinda failing? Who just wants to play stupid games and stop having to shoulder everything himself? Fiercely protective of children but also not immune to pettiness?

Yeah, at that point it's not even a question. Let's give jc an identity disorder and a crippling fear of water.

[janiehellion]

𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝚸𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Winter has always been a season of bitter memories for you—cold nights, a frozen soul, and scars that still bleed into the snow. Until Daryl Dixon shows up, dragging a plastic Christmas tree with him—and the warmth that'll melt the ice around your heart.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Hurt ⋮ Comfort ⋮ Trauma ⋮ Childhood Neglect & Abandonment ⋮ Emotional & Physical Abuse ⋮ Fluff ⋮ Angst

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 7.227 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S9E16 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: GenderNeutral!Reader

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: A work around the themes of loneliness, healing, and Christmas. The holidays aren’t always full of joy and warmth, and sometimes they bring up the memories we’d rather forget.

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

Outside, Alexandria was covered in snow, untouched and pure, like the world had decided to play pretend for a day.

Everything looked peaceful.

You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, though it wasn't the cold creeping through the windows that made you shiver. It was the kind of silent pain that settled in during the quiet moments, the one that came when the world slowed down enough for your mind to wander where you didn't want it to go.

It was beautiful in a way that felt cruel—mocking, almost. The kind of beauty that reminded you of what the world used to be, back before the dead started walking and the winters turned colder in more ways than one. And you didn't know when it started—the feeling that something inside you was broken beyond repair.

That you could never be whole.

Your eyes looked at the group arriving outside. They were wearing whatever winter clothes they'd managed to scavenge over the years—puffy jackets, old scarves, patched gloves.

Judith ran through the snow as Lydia chased her, trying to hit her with a snowball. RJ crouched behind Michonne, who had her hands on her hips, pretending to scold him while he piled snowballs together for an attack. Carol stood nearby, her arms crossed, but with the kind of smile that said she was about to join. And then there was Daryl.

God, Daryl.

He was back. He was safe. That was supposed to be enough to make you smile too. But, even now, as you watched him, your thoughts wandered elsewhere.

You had always been happy to see him come back home after a long trip, but this time, something felt different. He'd been gone for what felt like forever—taking the people from the fallen Kingdom to the Hilltop, making sure they were safe. And usually, you'd be waiting by the gates, running into his arms, even more so because of how much you secretly loved him.

And now he stood out there like he belonged to that snow-covered world.

He had a snowball in one hand, and the second you saw the way he laughed, you knew someone was about to get hit by it. Sure enough, he threw it across the street, hitting RJ, but the grin on his face said he wasn't angry.

You realized how you'd never seen him like this—laughing, actually laughing, as RJ made a surprise attack on him and managed to hit him back. Daryl stumbled back dramatically, pretending to be wounded, before throwing himself into the snow with a groan that made the kids and everyone else laugh in pure joy.

Daryl didn't get moments like this often. Hell, none of you did. Watching him like this felt like being let in on a secret he didn't even realize he was sharing. For a moment, it was enough to warm you.

But then it wasn't.

The smile faded as the memories came back, uninvited as always. Snow had never been a source of joy for you. It had been the weather too many winters where the cold wasn't just outside but inside, too. Inside your home, inside your family, inside the way they'd looked at you—or didn't.

No, snow never brought good memories for you. Winter meant cold floors and lonely nights, shivering under thin blankets that never quite kept the frost out. It meant sitting by a broken heater in the living room, praying the old thing wouldn't quit on you while you were freezing near the Christmas tree your grandma had decorated with so much love.

She'd tried; bless her heart. She'd tried so much. Your grandma had done everything she could for you, but she'd been sick, and she wasn't getting better. She was all you had, and she loved you even though you had always felt like a mistake, the failed abortion and black sheep, in your family. The scapegoat.

You let out a deep and slow breath, trying to shove the memories back where they belonged—some dark corner of your mind where you didn't have to feel them anymore. But the pain was still there, as it always was, like a scar that never quite healed.

"Get it together," you mumbled to yourself, trying not to sob. "That was a long time ago. Doesn't matter now. Not anymore."

But then there were them.

Your aunt had moved in not long after your grandma started showing signs of dementia, bringing her two mean, hateful kids with her. Cousins around the same age as you who looked at you like you were shit and treated you even worse than that. And Christmas? Christmas was just another excuse for them to make you feel like a burden and to bully you.

It was the time when you had to sit far enough away that it was clear you weren't part of the celebration and were unwanted. Wrapping paper on the floor all around you, your hands busy cleaning up while everyone else laughed, opening the gifts you didn't even dare hope were for you, and feeling the emptiness in your heart when your treats disappeared before you could even touch them.

You could still remember sitting by the beautiful Christmas tree, watching them rip into the presents. You didn't get to open yours the same way, either—no, your aunt made sure of that. She'd hand you the gifts with your name on them like it was some kind of joke, then make sure her kids could take them away before you even had time to blink.

"Why don't you let your cousins play with it, huh?" She'd say, not even trying to hide the hate in her voice. "They don't have much, you know."

And the food? God, the food. You'd sit there, stomach growling, watching the plates on the table full of ham, mashed potatoes, and so much more—more than enough for everyone. But somehow, when it was your turn to eat, the plates were already empty. Or worse, someone would take yours right out of your hands.

"You don't need that," one of your cousins would say, shoving a stolen cookie into his mouth or spitting on it while you sat there, not wanting to cry in front of them and make your grandma feel bad for you. "Let me eat it. You're too fat already, so…"

They'd talked about how your grandma was a fool for keeping you around, for "wasting good food on a mouth that didn't deserve to eat." And later came the sounds of plates breaking, footsteps stomping closer to your dark room where you'd curled up on the bed, too afraid to even breathe and too scared to move at all.

You remembered the way your cousins would come into your room as they whispered the things they knew would make you cry.

"Why don't you run away? No one here wants you anyway."

"You're not a part of our family; you don't even look related. Bet you're adopted."

"She only kept you 'cause she felt bad that you're the child of her dead daughter. Bet she wishes she didn't. It's your fault, after all."

And the worst—oh God, the worst—was when they'd smirk and say, "She's gonna die soon, you know? Then it'll just be us. And you'll be all alone."

You'd bite your tongue until it bled, refusing to let them see the tears they wanted to see. But when you were alone—when the house was finally quiet at night, when the cold was the only thing around you, keeping you company—you'd cry so hard your whole body hurt, muffling the sounds into your pillow so no one would hear. Because if they heard, they'd use it against you.

And then there were the nights when the lights didn't come back on. When the power went out and the heater stopped, you sat in the dark, curled up in a ball, listening to the wind howl through slightly broken windows. Nights when you were so cold that you wondered—not for the first time—if it would be better to just... stop trying.

You used to dream about what it would be like to disappear. To leave that house, that family, that life. Not to run away—no, running wasn't enough. You wanted to vanish, to sink into the snow and let it bury you, let the frost take you somewhere they couldn't follow. Somewhere quiet.

But you never did. You'd tried. You just never let yourself. Because every time you thought about really giving up, you'd remember her—the way your grandma's trembling hands would tuck the blanket tighter around you in the middle of the night, only to kiss the top of your head and stroke your cheek while watching you hug the teddy bear she'd bought you with the bit of money she'd left of her pension.

You remembered how your grandma also tried to fight for you when she could. Still, she was too weak, and your aunt always knew how to manipulate her. Her own mother.

You bit your lip hard as the memories came back like old scars tearing themselves open again. Your hand tightened on the blanket around you, your knuckles turning white as you remembered how much you'd hated the teddy bear at first, thinking it was given to you out of pity back then. "That fucking Teddy. I never knew why I hated it… until I didn't anymore," you whispered, though the words felt meaningless. "No! It's over. Done. They're all gone. Dead. Doesn't matter anymore."

But it did matter. It always did. And it still does. No matter how much you told yourself and how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise. It all mattered.

Your eyes moved back to the window, back to Daryl. For a man who didn't seem to think much of himself, he sure had a way of making people feel safe, of making them smile—even when he wasn't trying.

He had just been tackled by Lydia, who laughed as she tried to shove snow down the back of his poncho. He was pretending to be mad, but the way his hands ruffled her hair when she let go made it clear he didn't mean it.

You couldn't help but wonder if Daryl had ever had something like that growing up—if he'd had anyone to laugh with during the winters, anyone to pull him away from his own painful memories. Or if he'd just kept it all hidden the way you did.

You sighed, your breath fogging up the glass of the window as you watched the snowflakes fall softly to the ground. "You're a real idiot," you said to yourself. "Standing here like this when he's out there laughing and being happy."

Still, you didn't move. Not yet. Something about watching him felt safer than stepping out there like the glass between you and the fun was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

And here you were, still inside, while he was out there living. It wasn't fair to him—not when he'd done so much to keep you safe, to remind you that life could still have moments like this. Moments of joy, no matter how small.

You sighed, taking a step back. "Guess I'll just keep watching for now," you whispered to no one in particular. "He looks so damn happy out there. Don't wanna fuck that up."

But as much as you tried to convince yourself, you couldn't shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—he'd notice you were missing from the fun. He always noticed, didn't he?

But maybe he could be part of what could heal if you let him in.

He had to know, right? That you were more than just the person who waited for him to come back and make sure he was safe, too? That, sometimes, the waiting felt like suffocating, like you were caught in your memories that didn't belong to you anymore?

He was always there for you. You knew that. He had shown up when you needed him most, and yet, here you were, watching him laugh with the others, longing for something more.

But what would more look like?

You didn't have the answer yet.

The laughter outside just felt like it belonged to another world—something distant and innocent, something you couldn't quite enjoy without bringing all your memories with you. That was the problem, wasn't it? You didn't want to drag anyone else into your past, least of all him.

Especially not him.

He deserved this—the joy, the playfulness. He deserved to feel like things weren't so damn hard all the time.

But you also couldn't tear your eyes away.

Daryl looked up as RJ yelled something you couldn't quite make out while he dodged another snowball, quick as ever, and then his eyes looked away for just a second—enough to catch you staring out of the window. You gulped. Hard. You froze like you'd been caught doing something you weren't supposed to, something bad, even though all you'd done was watch.

And then he smiled.

Daryl bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and packed it into a ball. You saw the smile on his face turn into a smirk right before his arm moved forward, sending the snowball flying right toward the house.

It hit the window, leaving a wet trail that started to drip down the glass. You blinked, startled, and the kids outside burst into laughter. Judith tapped Michonne's arm, pointing at the window like it was the funniest thing she'd seen all day.

You wanted to be annoyed—you felt as if you should've been annoyed—but instead, a little laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

And Daryl noticed.

His smirk turned into a soft smile, but the way his brow furrowed just slightly told you he'd picked up on more than you wanted him to. He knew something was wrong. And something told you he wasn't about to let it go.

"No… Don't ruin it for him," you said again, trying to convince yourself to stay put. He was happy out there. That should've been enough.

Of course, you wanted to be near him, but not to annoy him with unnecessary sadness. You were still thinking when you noticed him stand up, brushing snow off himself as he took a quick look over his shoulder. Then he said something to the kids and the others before turning away. Judith pouted, clearly wanting him to stay, but he shook his head.

And then? Then he walked toward the house.

Shit... He'd noticed. He knew.

You turned away from the window, your heart racing as the sound of his boots crunching through the snow grew louder. Part of you wanted to run upstairs and hide in any room until he gave up, but you just stood there, unable to move.

The front door opened, letting in the cold air from outside that made you shiver, and you heard him stomp the snow off his boots before he took them off by the door.

"Thought I saw ya by the window. What're ya doin' standin' here all by yerself?"

You didn't turn around to face him; you didn't trust yourself to look him in the eye just yet. "Just… watching," you mumbled quietly, looking down to the floor.

Daryl didn't believe you. You could feel him staring at you, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong. "Nah, ya look like hell," he said bluntly, but it wasn't mean—it was just Daryl.

You snorted in return, shaking your head. "Thanks, I guess."

"What's goin' on?" He asked, more gently this time, taking a few steps toward you.

"It's nothing, Daryl. Come on… The kids are still out there, waiting for you."

He didn't call you out on it, but you could feel his frustration. He hated when you shut him out, but he also knew better than to push too hard. Instead, he just stood there now, waiting.

And it made you want to cry.

No, Daryl never pressed you further or forced answers you weren't ready to give. He just let out a quiet grunt after a while, the kind that could mean anything from 'fine' to 'I'll be right back,' before he turned and headed toward another room.

In an instant, everything felt emptier without him. You figured he was giving you space—something he did better than most people in Alexandria—but when you heard the sound of another door opening and closing again, your brow furrowed.

You didn't do anything until you heard Daryl clear his throat behind you, and when you finally looked at him, the sight stopped you dead.

There he stood, looking more awkward than you'd ever seen him, holding the most hideous and rather small plastic Christmas tree you'd ever laid eyes on. It was lopsided, with lots of fake needles missing from the branches, and the base looked like it'd been duct-taped back together at some point. In his other hand was a beat-up old box with the words 'Our Holiday Decorations' written across the side with a marker that looked faded by now.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

He moved uncomfortably, his eyes looking from you to the ridiculous tree and back again. "Found it a while back," he said in a way that suggested he was already regretting the decision to bring it out and show it to you. "Thought... maybe we could, uh... fix it up. Or somethin'. Like, y'know?"

You blinked, completely confused yet surprised. "Daryl, what in the world…"

"It ain't much," he said quickly, cutting you off like he was bracing for you to hate it. "Jus' somethin' I found. Figured it might…" He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes now looking anywhere but at you. "Y'know... help. Dunno."

You didn't realize your hands were trembling until you had to tighten your grip on the blanket once more to keep them steady. "You… Daryl, why did you do this? What did you do this for? That—"

He shrugged, almost a little too unbothered for your liking, and cut you off again. "Ain't nothin'. Jus' thought ya might, uh… like it. Yeah. No one else 'round here does. Can't blame 'em. Looks ridiculous, don't it?"

He set the box with the decorations down on the coffee table and started looking through it. Inside was random stuff, like ornaments, most of them having a crack. A string of lights that no longer worked with a few burnt-out and broken bulbs. A garland that looked like it had been pieced together from three others or more. It was a complete mess.

Daryl then held up a dusty angel topper and a star topper as well, the gold paint peeling off the wings from the angel. "Ain't pretty either, but it'll do," he said, turning them over in his hands.

Your heart ached. It was too much—too sweet, too thoughtful, too Daryl. You wiped the edge of the blanket over your face quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, but of course, he did.

"What's wrong?" His voice softened, and when you looked up, he was watching you in a way that always made you feel like he could see straight through you. "Don't like it?"

You shook your head, trying to laugh it off. "It's just… I didn't expect this, you know? I don't—" Your voice cracked, and you hated how pathetic it made you sound. "I don't deserve this, I suppose."

Daryl frowned, his eyes narrowing like you'd just said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "That's bullshit."

You turned away, biting your lip, trying to keep the memories hidden, but it was like trying to hold back a storm. It wasn't just the tree—it was Daryl standing there, trying so hard to give you something you couldn't ask for, even if you wanted to.

"I just…" You swallowed hard, your voice shaking. "Christmas was never good for me. I—" You stopped, stumbling over your own words, but Daryl didn't say anything. He just waited, patient as always.

You took a deep breath, staring at the ugly little tree like it might help you. "I never told you anything about my past, even though you've asked me about it for years by now, I know. It's just… Okay, you really want to know? Do you want to listen? To hear it? Fine."

You walked over to the window again, preparing yourself. "My parents died when I was a baby. I don't even remember them. I just know my mom was beaten by my dad, which led to her death in the end, and my dad then killed himself. Of course, I've been told all my life it was because of me. That it was all my fault. I grew up with my grandma, but she was sick—really sick. She tried, but she couldn't keep up after Grandpa died, and only a bit later, my mother, too. My aunt moved in to ‘help,' but she just... made everything worse."

Your hands clenched into fists, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as the memories came back in full force. "She hated me. I don't know why, but she did. She only wanted my grandma's money. The bit that was left of it. And every Christmas, she'd make sure I knew I wasn't part of the family. The presents weren't for me—they were for her kids. If I got anything, it was trash. Like, literal trash. The wrapping paper and such…"

You swallowed hard. "I wasn't allowed to sit with them under the tree. They'd make me clean up the wrapping paper while they opened their gifts. And one year…" You hesitated, the memory hurting like a fresh wound. "One year, my aunt backed her car over my foot outside the house. On purpose. Said I was in her way when we wanted to drive to church."

You hugged yourself, fingers pressing into your arms like you could stop the pain. "I heard the engine before I felt it. And then…" You closed your eyes like it was happening all over again. "I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even scream. I just stood there while she rolled the window down and said I should’ve gotten out of the way."

Meanwhile, Daryl's muscles in his arms flexed, his hands turning into fists at his sides, but he didn't interrupt.

"I spent the rest of that Christmas in my bedroom," you whispered further as you continued. "Well, it was more of a storage room for them to use from time to time, really. One of my cousins sometimes hid rotten food in it and all. But when I sneaked out in pain to get something to eat, all the food was gone. They didn't save me anything. Nothing at all. My grandma thought I'd eaten already. I lied and said yes, that I was staying home on purpose in case Santa might still be around. I haven't told her what her own daughter did. I didn't want to worry her. Didn't want to see her cry. I wanted her to be happy, to see and have a happy family, or… what was left of it."

Daryl was still quiet. You had no idea what he was thinking, but you didn’t want to know. Not right now.

Your shoulders shook, and you hated yourself for breaking down, but it was too late to stop it. "I hated Christmas from then on. Hated winter. The snow. It just… It always felt cold, no matter how many blankets I had. I never felt… wanted. It's ridiculous, I know! It's embarrassing! It's... bullshit! God, I don't even know why I'm telling you all this, even though it's only a tiny part of my past."

You turned to look at Daryl, and the anger in his eyes wasn't for you—it was for them, for every single person who had ever hurt you. "'S still yer past. And it ain’t yer fault."

It was too late. The words had already left you, and now, there was no going back.

"But it is," you said softly, almost to yourself. "Because maybe it’s just... me."

"It ain't. They're gone," he said quietly, reaching out to grab your arm. "They can't hurt ya no more. And I ain't them," he added, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "I ain't gonna let ya feel like that ever again. Gonna make sure of that."

You couldn't stop yourself from laughing all of a sudden—loud and unhinged like it was the only thing left in you to do as you jerked your arm away from his touch. "You don't know shit, Daryl," you spat out, shaking your head as you backed away. "You think just because you showed up and listened to me, everything's gonna change? That everything's gonna be okay?"

Your voice trembled, but you didn't care. You were already gone—lost in the shame, the rage that had been deep inside you for so long. You didn't even look at him anymore when you spoke. You couldn't.

"Nothing's gonna change. Nothing, okay?" The tears burned like acid behind your eyes, but you were done holding them back. "You think you can fix this? Me? You think you're just gonna come in here and make everything feel better?" You then rushed toward him, fists in the air. "It's too fucking late for that!"

Your hands hit his chest, not hard enough to hurt him, but it was enough. Enough to make your anger feel real. You hit him again and again, your rage turning desperate. "You don't get it! You can't fix shit! You can't! I don't want your fucking pity, Daryl!"

You shoved him backward, your breath coming out ragged and fast. "What the hell do you think you're even doing? Trying to save me from myself?"

Daryl didn't back away from you. He didn't even move when your fists hit him. Instead, he huffed, and he reached for your wrists, pinning them back down to your sides.

"Let go of me, Daryl!" You fought against him, trying to push him away, but he was too strong. "Just leave me be!"

"Damn it, jus' stop," he growled. "Stop pushin' me away like ya always did. Like ya still do!"

But his words didn't stop you. You kept trying to get free and to escape. "No! And I don't care, Daryl! I don't! Just forget about it! Forget about what I said!"

His eyes closed, and you felt him tense up. But instead of letting go, instead of pushing you away like everyone else had, something inside of him just... snapped. And in an instant, he pulled you into his arms.

You didn't fight. You couldn't. You just let yourself go. You relaxed into him, your hands holding onto his shirt after his arms wrapped around you. The tears hurt your eyes, wet and painful, like a fire that was trying to burn you alive from the inside out.

Daryl didn't speak for a long time. You couldn't even look at him. You couldn't look at anything. You just needed to breathe—just needed to stop feeling like you were suffocating and turning into ashes while being trapped inside your skin.

After some time, Daryl finally spoke, his voice sounding like he was struggling to keep it together himself. "I get it," he mumbled, one of his hands rubbing up and down your back slowly. "I get it more than ya know. I ain't never been fixed. Ain't never been saved. Hell, I'm still fuckin' broken myself, too."

You shook your head, sniffling, but you didn't pull away. His words hit you like a punch to the gut—his words were a truth you couldn't deny. He'd been through his own hell, his own darkness. And you knew. He'd told you. Out of every person he could've trusted enough, he'd always chosen you.

But when you finally pulled back, he handed you a small, wrapped package from his jacket pocket without any explanation and no hesitation either. "And actually…" He continued and held it up. "Got this for ya."

He opened it with slightly trembling hands, your breath stopping when you saw the small, handmade bracelet inside. Each charm was different—a tiny feather, a little carved dog, a tree, and an arrow.

Pieces of him, pieces of you.

"It ain't much," he said again, but the way he looked at you said it meant everything as he handed you the bracelet.

You stared down at it in your hands, your heart racing, the tears in your eyes making the little charms blurry as you looked at them and turned the bracelet over, your fingers trembling. "What…? Daryl, no…"

He moved a bit awkwardly in front of you, his eyes moving from you to the floor like he wasn't sure where to look. "Ain't nothin' too fancy," he grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "Jus' figured... y'know. Thought ya might like it more if ya won't like the tree."

"Like it?" Your voice cracked, and you laughed a little, though it came out choked and shaky. "It's, it's... I just—" You swallowed hard, your heart aching from how much you wanted to say. "I don't… I don't deserve this."

Daryl's head snapped up at that, his eyes narrowing fast. "Cut that shit out," he sighed, though there was no anger in his voice. "Ain't 'bout what ya think ya deserve. S' yours."

Your hands trembled as you turned the bracelet over once more, and Daryl then started to point at each charm of the bracelet.

"This one," he then said, pointing to the tiny feather, "s'posed to be a dove's feather, maybe. Thought it could mean somethin' like peace."

"Peace? Feathers are just what's left after the bird is gone. Blown away like it never mattered," you scoffed in defiance, not wanting to believe him.

But he simply moved on to the next charm, the little dog. "That one's a dog. Reminded me of… well, Dog. Y'know, always loyal. Ain't goin' anywhere."

"Loyal," you grumbled. "Or just waiting. Waiting for its owner, who might not come back."

Daryl took a quick look at you but continued. "The tree... ain't jus' 'bout trees out there. It's... I dunno, 'bout strong roots. Growin'. Even when it's hard."

You huffed. "Roots keep you stuck, too, don’t they? No choice but to stay wherever the hell you are. Rooted too deep to move, even when you want to."

Daryl's lips parted slightly, and he sighed, maybe in frustration, maybe in understanding. Still, he pressed forward. By now, your hands were shaking so much you could barely hold the bracelet steady. His eyes looked at your face, noticing the tears still, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

"And the arrow," he said. "That's for strength. 'Cause ya pull it back, and then it flies farther than ya think. Thought… maybe ya'd remember that. Every time ya see it. Goin' forward."

You laughed through your tears. "Or it misses. It misses and ends up somewhere you didn’t mean it to."

"Or maybe," Daryl answered in an instant, "it hits exactly where it needs to."

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. The bracelet. The care. It was too much, and yet it wasn't enough to make you believe you deserved it.

"Daryl," you choked out, "I really can't… I don't…" You couldn't finish, and suddenly, you were holding the bracelet to your heart as though letting it go might tear you apart in an instant.

But you didn’t even realize you were falling—not until you felt his arms around you. Strong and impossibly gentle, they caught you before you could hit the ground. For a second, maybe two, the world stood still. It felt as if your tears froze, and the only thing holding you to reality was the real presence of him.

His hands held you like you might fall apart if he let go, pulling you closer, closer still. You didn’t even have time to stop him, not that you could. Your legs started to tremble, and for a moment, you thought this was it—this was when you’d finally break.

But he didn’t let you.

Instead, Daryl moved with you like he’d done it a hundred, maybe a thousand, times before. Over and over again. Slowly—so, so slowly—he sank onto his knees on the cold floor with you.

The cry that tore through you wasn’t quiet or controlled—it was loud and ugly, ripping its way through your heart like it might kill you. But Daryl didn’t move. He didn’t pull away.

His hold only tightened. Like he could block out the world, the pain, the memories—all of it—just by holding on. Neither of you moved. You were frozen in that moment—held not just by him, but by the truth that this—this—was the first time in forever you had let yourself fall.

But you weren’t just falling.

You were being caught.

Time felt like it had stopped.

Daryl's fingers soon fumbled with the bracelet as he put it around your wrist without giving you time to protest. "Hold still. I gotcha," he grumbled. "This damn thing's harder than skinnin' a squirrel."

You snorted a laugh through the tears in return. "Why? Is that something you still do often?"

"More'n ya'd think," he answered, finally managing to fasten it. "There. Ain't gonna fall off or nothin'."

You stared at it—the small, simple charms. The tiny feather. The dog. The tree. The arrow. Each one a piece of… him.

"But," you whispered, looking up at him. "I... I don't have anything for you in return. I have nothing to give you."

"Bullshit," he said, sitting back on his heels. "Ya think I don't see it jus' 'cause yer the one who can't see it? What ya give me?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on the spot as he reached up, his hand hushing you.

"Stop. Don't wanna hear that shit, alright?" He pulled his hand back. "Ya give me peace."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. "Peace? Daryl, I don't even know what the hell I'm doing half the time! You—you hold everything together, and I just—"

"But yer holdin' me together..." His voice cracked, and you froze. He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable, but he still didn't move as you pushed your head against his shoulder.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, wrapped in Daryl’s arms, but your breathing had finally slowed, and you sniffled, your fingers loosening their grip on him.

"Ya good for now?"

You nodded against his shoulder, though your answer felt pitiful at best. "Yeah... I think so." You wiped at your face quickly, too embarrassed to even look at him.

"Alright, then." He shifted slightly, giving you room to pull back, but one hand stayed on your arm. "C'mon. That tree ain't gonna decorate itself."

You blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic. "The tree?" You sniffled again, your voice cracking, and Daryl grunted in response.

"Yeah. Figured if it’s gonna stand there lookin' like shit, might as well give it somethin' worth fallin' over for."

"It already looks like it wants to fall over just from existing, Daryl. Or from dying."

"Exactly." He leaned back on his heels. "Means we gotta hurry ‘fore it gives up."

"It already has… The tree's ugly as hell."

"'S what I told ya," he agreed, smirking at you. "But so are ya when ya cry. Guess it fits."

Your jaw dropped, and you smacked his arm with force. "You're such an ass, Daryl Dixon!"

"Yeah, yeah," he answered, reaching over to grab the box with the decorations. "And that thing's lookin' like a wet noodle from here."

Before you could choke out another tearful laugh, Daryl moved his head toward the tree again. "C'mon now," he said. "Tree's waitin'."

And it was waiting, alright—waiting to collapse at any second. When the two of you knelt in front of the "tree"—if a bunch of plastic could even be called that—it looked worse than you remembered when he had brought it in.

You couldn't help it—you laughed again. "Daryl, it is looking like a tiny crime scene."

He snorted, reaching for an ornament inside the box. "Hey, don't judge it. Yer bein' small as hell, too."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe. But I'm pretty sure it's leaning like it's had too much to drink. It's looking very… rustic."

"Rustic my ass," he grumbled, with that same smirk on his face. "Ya better help me clean up the crime scene now."

And you did.

You put the ornament on the tree, and slowly but surely, the tree started to look... well, not good. But better. Sort of. The garland was still sagging, and the broken lights didn't work, but by the time you reached the top, you found yourself smiling—really smiling—for the first time in what felt like ages.

When you reached for the toppers, you paused, turning the angel one over in your hands. The peeling gold wings and torn-off face should've made it ridiculous, but somehow, it felt right.

You looked at Daryl, and without saying a word, you carefully placed the angel at the very top before you turned back to him.

And that's when a branch gave out, dropping half the garland to the floor with a sad-sounding plop.

"Tree's fightin' back," Daryl pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "Guess it don't like the angel."

You just grinned in response. "Maybe it's protesting how ugly it is. This thing looks like it wants to be put out of its misery, after all."

He smiled, leaning closer so his shoulder touched yours. "Could be worse. Coulda put Dog on top."

And you were laughing again, so hard it hurt.

It was the kind of laugh that came out of nowhere, loud and uncontrollable, leaving your stomach in pain. You hadn't laughed like this in… God, who even knew how long? Maybe forever. And as ridiculous as it felt to be laughing over a plastic Christmas tree, it was exactly what you needed.

Your eyes looked back to Daryl, who was by now grinning a little—just enough that you could tell he was enjoying himself in his quiet, own kind of way.

But he caught you looking and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, but your heart was doing that annoying thing where it felt as if it dropped straight down to your feet. You blamed the stupid tree—or the stupid bracelet—or maybe the stupid way he'd pieced a part of you together without asking for anything from you in return.

"Bullshit," Daryl said, squinting at you like he was trying to guess the answer. "Yer makin' that face again."

"What face?"

"The one where yer thinkin' too much." He shook his head, returning his attention to the tree before continuing. "Overthinkin'."

He wasn't wrong. Thinking too much was exactly your problem. Overthinking... Like how you were suddenly very aware of how close he was, or how the warmth of him was feeling so comfortable as he tried to put a piece of garland back onto the tree.

You thought about how he had simply shown up after returning to Alexandria, dragging a plastic disaster of a Christmas tree into your life, not because he had to—but because he wanted to. He'd done it for you. For you.

"Daryl," you said softly after a while, and he turned to look at you, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"Yeah?"

You opened your mouth, but the words felt stuck. How the hell were you supposed to explain this? How were you supposed to tell him that he'd somehow managed to give you something you hadn't felt in years? That for the first time in forever, you didn't feel like you were completely alone? That, right now, you were feeling anything but the loneliness that has been eating you up for years?

And so, instead of answering, you did the only thing that felt right. You didn't overthink.

You let yourself feel it—the warmth of him being so close, every quiet moment he’d chosen to be here with you. You stared at the bracelet on your wrist, the tiny charms... Each one was what you hadn’t let yourself believe in for so long.

Your heart raced as your eyes looked up to meet his. There was no pity there, no hesitation—just the quiet way he looked at you like you were something worth standing still for.

It scared you how much you wanted to trust it. To trust him.

You took a deep, trembling breath, your hand stopping midair like it couldn’t decide if it was brave enough to reach for him. And then, without thinking—without overthinking—you closed the space between you.

You kissed him. Hard.

It wasn’t smooth—your noses bumped against each other, and his stubble scratched against your skin. But it was real. Your hands held onto the front of his shirt, grabbing it like you were afraid to let go. Afraid to fall.

Daryl froze for a second, and you nearly pulled back, terrified you’d made a huge mistake. But then his hands were on you, pulling you closer, and the desperation in the way he kissed you back pushed away every fear and every doubt you’d ever had.

He kissed you like he needed this as much as you did.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, Daryl’s forehead rested against yours.

"’Bout time."

You blinked at him, still trying to catch up with what had just happened. "About time?" Your voice cracked, halfway between a laugh and wanting to argue again. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean now?"

"Means I been waitin’." His voice was rather quiet—like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Before you could reply, the tree behind you made way for another pathetic sound, the angel topper tilting dangerously to one side like it had finally given up.

Daryl stared at it, rolling his eyes. "Guess the tree’s still waitin’, too."

You snorted, the sound half-choked by the laughter that came out of you. "Waiting for what? A funeral?"

"Nah." He pulled you closer, putting his arm around you. "'S waitin' for more duct tape, probably."

You buried your face against Daryl's shoulder, unable to stop your laughter. The plastic tree was still ugly, still barely holding itself together. But somehow, it looked like the most beautiful and small Christmas tree in the world.

For the first time in years, it felt like Christmas. Like a winter that didn't feel so cold anymore.

It felt like home.

This—this moment, this feeling, this man who somehow saw you when you couldn't even see yourself—was home.

And maybe—just maybe—it was perfect.

Imperfectly perfect.

This is one of those stories where I asked myself, ‘What am I putting my readers through today?’ and spun the wheel of seasonal sadness.

On a more serious note, this story is deeply personal to me, so I’d really appreciate thoughtful feedback if you choose to leave a comment.

Writing it meant a lot to me, and I hope it resonates with those who read it. Those who've ever found themselves searching for warmth in the cold.

The song below is a recommendation that just ties to this story.

[stressfulsloth]

I've seen a couple of takes about Disco Elysium being copaganda going around recently, and beyond the fact that DE is relentlessly critical of the police force in general and makes explicit reference to the failures of the system that allow the officers in game to abuse their power, I also think it's important to note that there very literally is an in-world version of copaganda that the writers of the game use to parody that romanticised view of the brutality of policing. The RCM at their inception were structurally inspired by in-world copaganda- their culture, their "fashions, even weapon preferences, borrow heavily from classic Vespertine cop shows." Every investigation is it's own little drama, every officer imagining themselves to be the bad-ass hero of their own crime serial. Detectives name their cases like they're naming episodes of a TV series in a "robust but literary system"; a title that "draws inspiration from snoop fiction and Vespertine cop show staples". They give themselves nicknames to sound like cool, suave fictional officers- Ace, Dick Mullen, etc.- from the cool, suave world of copaganda.

The legend of the RCM's inception, the "point of contention" over its uncertain origins, is even an extention of that; the whole organisation is shrouded in this self-fictionalising mythos that allows for distance that in turn obfuscates much of its violence to the officers that participate in it. They get to convince themselves that they're not abusing their power; they're the hero of the story! The dichotomy of "good guy" taking out the "baddies," a manifestation of the libertarian fantasy of the "good guy with a gun" who does what it takes, just like in Annette's detective novels, and at the same time who rails against oversight bodies like Internal Affairs/'the rat squad' because due process slows down the immediate satisfaction of Swift Justice, despite Internal Affairs existing to protect the citizens from overreach on behalf of the police. "Wanton brutality" from police in their real world is a cold bitter reality but Dick Mullen was "made to crack skulls," "bend the rules and solve cases no one else can," and which version of that story is more comforting to the overworked, underfunded officers of the RCM?

The level of fantasy and detachment required for the cops to still see themselves as the good guys after everything that they do in the line of duty mimics The Pigs and her breakdown too; she parallels Harry so clearly. Both "did right by the kids" in the past, hoping for a better future- Marianne (The Pigs) by looking out for Titus and the Hardy boys when they were young, Harry in his role as a gym teacher. Both abandoned and left behind by the system that the RCM uphold- a brutal capitalist landscape with no safety nets. Both turning the source of their trauma into a costume, a performance, a shield, shaped by "radio waves and cop shows." The Pigs uses RCM items scavenged from the Esperance where they'd been thrown away, while Harry uses the Dick Mullen hat that Annette gives him but both are essentially in costume.

Harry identifies himself with the fictional detective as a kind of wish fulfilment; Dick Mullen is "wicked smart." He doesn't fuck up his cases and when he's sad it's not pathetic; it's effortlessly cool brooding and everyone sympathises. Everyone loves him. His violence- "skull crack[ing]"- is justified because he's a "good guy" enacting that violence against the victims of police brutality sorry "bad guys". He doesn't ever face repercussions; "Dick Mullen won't be sent to the clink for the sake of some legal niceties!" So if Harry is Dick Mullen then his failures, his breakdown, they're all just a part of being a "bad-ass, on-the-edge disco cop." He's not wrong, he's a hero! This idealised fictionalised idea of the police force, this "new, sadly better, reality" that both Harry and The Pigs cling to is "escapist stuff," "receed[ing] into a ludicrous fantasy world," so far removed from the brutal material reality that they're in.

My point is, idk. Disco Elysium is so far from being copaganda. It is a multi-million word long dissection of it, of the purpose of policing, of state sanctioned violence and its interaction with capital and the fallout experienced within the wider community as well as the trauma cycle created for individual officers. A dissection of how copaganda interacts with RCM culture and perception, and by extension how we interact with irl perceptions of police through that lens.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎThe Greater Good౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: kidnapping, implied sexual assault, weight loss, abandonment pairing: fem reader x billy the kid summary: you broke billy's heart when you left him, but there's more to the story than he thought author’s note: welcome back to angst hehehe Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Muscles aching, limbs hardly able to hold him up, Billy breathed in. The air around the home you shared had to be different than whatever else he was breathing elsewhere. Even the mere idea of your presence settled ease over his joints, a calm raining on him.

He let his horse graze, wandering up the walk. Wildflowers sprouted from the grass leading up to the cabin, blooming in that pretty blue color you loved. Bending, he snapped a few of their stems, imagining how they'd look when he tucked them into your hair. His beautiful girl.

Usually he wouldn't arrive home until the sun was well gone from the sky, but he'd managed an early leave today. When it was just him, he had no reason to come home, let alone when he didn't yet feel like sleeping. You added a purpose to his life, a reason to look at the clock.

Love had been a weakness in his past, something to rid himself of. He'd lived many years avoiding it at all costs, certain being loved by him was the worst debt to ever owe. Bad things happened to the ones he loved. Death, sickness. He saw what love did to his mother when his father met an untimely end.

Any notions flew with you. You and your doe eyes and soft words, showing him that love didn't need to be a fight, a struggle. No, your love was soft. Kind. It was patient, careful and sweet. Everything you were, manifested in a feeling. He'd married you as soon as he could, determined to have you for any semblance of forever.

From the moment he learned of the baby, he was smitten, more than he previously thought possible. The back of his mind told him that the more his love grew, the more dangerous it became, but he brushed it away. For all the good in his world, the bad couldn't possibly measure up.

He'd doted on you hand and foot when you were pregnant, conscious of every ache and pain and change in your body. And when Kat finally came, the joy only multiplied. Your daughter was a spitting image of you, but you insisted her hair was like his. Dark and curly and unruly, a head full of it.

Though there were moments he swore were pure magic, the hardship of new parenthood had painted the past month. Kat was up nearly every hour at night crying over one thing or another, and she hadn't taken to eating the way you had hoped. You had been struggling with her during the day for the past couple of weeks, collapsing in tears at the end of the day and whispering that you didn't know what to do. Billy tried to be supportive as well as he could, taking Kat so you could have a rest, trying to navigate nursing with you.

That was what he was hoping to do tonight. Take the baby off your hands for a little while, maybe coax her to sleep and fix dinner. It'd been so long since you'd had some time just the two of you, since he'd really been able to take care of you. These fantasies drifted through Billy's mind as he arrived at the doorstep.

Pausing, his brow scrunched into a furrow when he picked up on the sound of crying. Billy's footsteps became urgent, and he pushed the door open, the crying getting louder. Removing his hat and hanging it on the hook, he called your name once as he opened the door to the bedroom. You were nowhere to be found.

"Hey, baby," he muttered, tossing the flowers on the dresser and moving toward Kat. She was lying on her back in her cradle, little arms flailing as he reached down for her. Once she was on his chest, her crying began to slow, and he settled a palm on her back, rubbing it gently. "There we go. It's okay, kitty Kat." He kissed her head, taking in a deep breath of her baby smell. "Where's mama, huh?" You were usually so quick to snatch Kat up to be soothed, even if it didn't always work. "Is mama outside?"

He wandered over to the window, peering outside while swaying Kat carefully, trying to lure her back to sleep. You weren't in the back, and he knew for certain you weren't out front.

A dreadful feeling began to settle in his stomach. He walked back into the kitchen as fast as he dared with the baby in his arms, calling your name once more. You wouldn't leave Kat alone like this, especially not when she was crying. He searched the tiny space as if you'd pop up from one of the cabinets or rise from beneath the floorboards.

His heart was beginning to race. Billy said your name again, but it was a whisper. Panic was seizing his heart, squeezing every last bit of light out of it. Frantic, his eyes darted around the room, landing on something resting on the table.

A familiar gold wedding band with a single flower engraved in the top.

Something sank into his chest, spreading like a poison all through his body. There was a tidal wave of confusion washing over his body as he thought back to the last time he'd seen you. This morning, when you'd been woken by Kat.

You'd taken her out of her cradle, pulled your nightdress down to feed her. He remembered bits and pieces. How you'd watched your daughter eat, the softest of smiles playing at your lips. The sun had barely started to come up, light sneaking through the part between the curtains. You were angelic, stunningly beautiful in a way that would have him in worship for the rest of his days.

He'd left you sleepy eyed, lying back down with Kat resting soundly on your chest, with a kiss to your forehead and a promise he'd be back soon. It had been hard to tear away.

And now you were gone.

This wasn't a break in. There was no sign of struggle. No, you'd taken the time to leave the ring right where he'd see it. Even though he knew he wouldn't find it, he went to the front window in search of your horse. Gone.

Emptiness was coursing through his veins in place of blood. Unwittingly, he clasped Kat closer, chasing the air flying out of his lungs. She wiggled, one of her little hands flying to his cheek. The touch brought him back to earth, and he wearily looked around, trying to find a way out of the fog he'd been thrust into.

Gone. You couldn't be gone. No, you wouldn't leave him like this, abandon the life you'd both worked so hard to build. You wouldn't leave Kat.

It was an internal battle. You wouldn't leave him. But the wedding ring was undeniable proof.

Had you been unhappy? Billy's regret swamped his insides, and all he could think of was everything he should have done. You'd been struggling with Kat and he'd known it. He should have worked fewer days, should have held you tighter and told you more often how much he loved you. The way he loved you filled oceans and transcended expression, but he should have tried. To keep you, he would always try.

Dazed, he looked down at Kat, but all he could see was you. Closing his eyes, Billy sank to the ground, back against the wall. He wanted to weep, wanted to run off in every direction until he found you. The way he was feeling, he'd search every corner of the earth until you were found. His instinct was to fight it, to undo what was already done.

His tired eyes opened, catching again on your wedding band, sitting there like an omen. This was the first time he'd seen it apart from your hand in years. Even when you were only engaged, you wore it proudly, a symbol on your finger that announced you were his.

Kat stirred against his chest, and he willed himself to stand, mindlessly taking her back to the bedroom. When he tried to put her back into her cradle, she began to cry, and so he ended up lying back in bed with her, still in his work clothes.

Your side still smelled like you. Tears sprung to his eyes, but he blinked them away quickly, forcing himself to look back at Kat. Her breathing was steady, and he kept a hand on her back, hoping she'd sleep for longer now that he was here. The sun was setting now- he could tell by the way the shadows were facing now. He'd been lying here longer than he thought.

Staring up at the ceiling, Billy felt himself transition into numbness. He tried to imagine tomorrow or the day after, coming up blank. The idea of having to do this by himself was daunting. Not just raising his daughter. Living. Billy shut his eyes, exhaustion swallowing him whole. He'd gone through every emotion possible thinking about you for the past while, but one stood still, nibbling at the edges of his heart.

He missed you.

Pulling off his work gloves, Billy wiped the sweat from his brow and tipped his hat up to squint into the horizon. The sun was still above the horizon, meaning he'd finished right on time. He shoved the gloves into his belt, whistling as he gathered the rest of his tools to take back to the barn.

The property he worked on wasn't rough, but it was just challenging enough to keep him busy. But even if it'd been a ranch on impossible earth, he'd have kept at the job. The pay was good, and the owner was a fair man. Due to the quality of Billy's work, he was able to negotiate the schedule. The rancher had children of his own, and he had a sympathetic ear for Billy's struggle raising a daughter on his own.

He'd known that day he came home that you weren't coming back. The next few months solidified it. Now, at just past a year since the day, you were merely a memory. Something that lingered like a ghost, though he couldn't see it fully.

If it hadn't been for Kat, Billy knew he'd have gone off the deep end. He distracted himself from his grief by throwing himself into loving her. Every second with his baby girl was a gift, and he constantly marveled at everything she was.

She still had trouble getting to sleep, but once she did, she was out for the entire night. He'd stood her up, holding her hands so she could take her first steps. Her first word was 'mama', which had broken his heart, but her second was 'daddy'. She looked like you more and more each day.

This wasn't the life he'd imagined when he held her for the first time. But it was his. Him and Kat against the world.

Setting his tools in their proper place, Billy's mind wandered to tonight. Kat was up at the house, being watched by the rancher's kind wife. He'd swing by and pick her up and ride on home to make dinner. Then maybe they'd go for a walk to the wildflower field. Kat loved to watch the butterflies.

Climbing the steps to the porch, he tipped his hat up when he saw the rancher sitting on the front rocking chair. He was holding a folded piece of paper in his hand, jaw set.

Billy greeted him, removing his hat. "Sir. Is everything alright?"

The man nodded, straightening in his chair. "Yes. Kat's okay. But..." There was a beat of silence, and then he stood up, holding out the paper. "This is for you."

Brow furrowing, Billy took it, confused. Was he in trouble? Had someone come to collect the bounty on his head that had expired years ago? Unfolding the paper, he had the start of his life when he saw the familiar handwriting.

Without taking in a word, his head snapped up, frantic eyes meeting the rancher's. "It's-"

"She approached me in town," he said grimly. "Is it-?"

Billy nodded, forcing himself to look down again. Every emotion possible drenched his heart as he began to take in each word.

Billy,

I know anything I say won't be enough, but I'd be more than grateful if you let me try to explain. I'm staying in the boarding house in town if you want to meet me there.

I'm sorry.

It wasn't real. Billy felt weak as he lowered the letter. There wasn't any way it was true. After a year of nothing, you'd come back to town for whatever reason and put his heart in the worst possible twist.

Heart pounding, Billy stuffed the letter into his pocket, adjusting his hat and looking back up at the rancher. "D'ya mind keepin' Kat-"

"Go ahead, son," the man insisted, clapping him on the shoulder. "My wife would keep her all day and night if she could. Just come on back when you can."

Billy's thank you was flustered and rushed as he hurried down the steps, bounding toward his horse. The adrenaline made the ride rushed, and he was in his head the whole time.

The idea that you were so close in proximity was eating at him. You hadn't left his mind for the entire time you'd been gone, and if it weren't for Kat he'd have convinced himself you weren't real. The memories were hazy, and he'd shoved them all aside up until now. The last time he saw you played over and over, the spark of your eyes nearly real to him.

He asked for you at the front, your name feeling strange and familiar all at once on his tongue. Gliding up to the room, Billy froze at the door, knuckles poised to knock. His heart was pounding, and suddenly he was regretting not going home to change first. He was still in his sweaty work clothes and probably smelled like a horse.

Taking a deep breath in, Billy knocked to the tune of his wrenching heart. Nerves bit him like mosquitos, and a part of him was still convinced that none of this was real at all. It couldn't be you behind that door. No, it must be some imposter, and the rancher had given the wrong man the note. Billy had decided to turn around and get back to Kat when the door swung open.

There wasn't any reaction to have other than stunned.

He'd been expecting you to look better than ever. After all, he thought you'd run away so you would be happy. But the sight that greeted him was anything but that.

The bruise on your cheek caught his eye first. Then a bigger one on your collarbone. Your dress was ripped in several places, and upon further inspection, it was one he recognized. You looked exhausted, and your hair was much longer and completely tangled. And he noticed with a pang how much weight you'd lost. Billy was willing to bet that if he pulled off your dress he'd be able to see every one of your ribs.

"Billy," you said softly. Oh, your voice. It was like finally hearing a song you'd been humming under your breath for weeks.

He could only get out a broken, "Baby-" before you took his arm and pulled him into the room, shutting the door.

Billy stumbled back, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He barely had the sense to remove his hat. A million new questions replaced the ones he'd wanted to ask before. But when you sat on the bed and he followed suit, all he could manage was, " Where have you been?"

You took in a breath, your voice calm. "Billy, I know this is a shock. I know you have things you want to ask and I have things I want to ask you too." When you brought a hand to your unbruised cheek, he saw a long scar across your fingers. "Can I tell you what happened first? And then you can ask anything you want."

When he nodded, you swallowed thickly. "Thank you." He hated the way you spoke. It was so far from the way he remembered you, as if all the life had been drained out.

You folded your arms around yourself. "I was with Kat the whole morning. She was being so good for me." The tiniest little smile appeared on your face, but it was marked by your sad eyes. "I'd finally gotten her to sleep and she was smiling in her sleep. It was so sweet." It was obvious this was something you'd thought about a lot.

"She still does that," he said quietly, and you nodded, biting the side of your cheek.

"Kat," you croaked, brushing a tear away. "Oh-" Now Billy was confused. Was this guilt? Was he about to hear about some epiphany you'd had?

"I heard a horse outside," you continued, your voice wavering the slightest bit. He could hear you trying to stay calm. "I thought it was you. I thought you'd forgotten something or come home early." You looked straight into his eyes, breaths growing shaky. "He came in and started yelling. He was asking where you were and I told him I didn't know. He woke Kat." The last part was said in a whisper.

Billy could only stare at you. This wasn't going the way he had thought it would.

"He pointed his gun at her," you said, and the flash in your eyes told him you were reliving it. "And he t-told me that if I didn't come with him he'd...he'd..." your lower lip wobbled, a telltale sign that you were about to cry.

Billy's old instincts with you were falling short. The inside of him was yelling at him to comfort you, to close the gap between you, but he couldn't. It was as if his body was glued to itself. And his eyes were stuck on you.

"Your ring," he managed. "You left your ring."

"So you wouldn't come after me." You turned away, refusing to meet his eyes anymore. "I knew he was taking me as bait, but maybe if you thought I'd left you..."

A hand covered his eyes, and he bent his head, dropping his hat. The past was reworking itself before his eyes, the truth throwing him into something he never thought he'd see. You were here, somehow, and there wasn't any doubt in his mind about the truth of your words.

For a year he'd tried to make everything make sense. How he could have possibly missed the signs when you were the only language he knew how to read, how you could have given up when things were hard with Kat when you'd never once given up on him. But knowing now what he knew, every wall and excuse he'd built cracked and crumbled.

Lifting his head, he found you looking at him again, the very picture of exhaustion. When he sat up, you winced, and his heart broke all over again.

"I couldn't risk you or Kat," you whispered, nails digging into your own wrist. "It would be better for you to hate me than be killed because of me."

"They held you all this time?" He finally managed to speak, voice scratchy. "Where?"

"Up north. There's a mine in the mountains." You traced the scar on your fingers. "They would have left me for dead after a month or so if they hadn't found another use for me."

"Another use-?" You lifted your eyes to him and he knew.

Billy stood up, pacing the length of the room and trying to get his thoughts in order. You remained on the bed, and he swore you'd never looked quite so small.

He'd expected to be angry. It had felt like a trick, the idea of you coming back so close to the day he'd lost you. The only anger he felt was not directed at the woman he'd been trying not to miss for a year. It was at the monster who'd taken you from him, made you feel like you had to choose between your life and his. He was angry you'd been scared; angry you'd been made to suffer. Closing his eyes, he stopped, standing still as it buried him alive.

"Billy," you said quietly. When he didn't turn around, you came to him, footsteps soft. He only opened his eyes when he felt your hands on his cheeks, soft despite all you'd been through.

Your eyes were haunting. He could see the lifetime of pain lingering, as if it had always been there. Billy lifted his hand, touching your scarred fingers. He kept his fingers light, watching your expression. You sighed, body seeming to slump, and that was when he pulled you into his arms.

The instant your head found his chest, he breathed out, nose dropping to your hair. It was a nostalgic trip. Billy felt his other half meld into him, become his once more. His girl. His love. As much as he hadn't wanted to admit it, the love he had for you had flickered like a dying candle, hidden away but still there.

"You're hurt," he whispered, and you shook your head.

"This is nothing." Billy fisted the shoulder of your dress, as if he could bring you closer. Your voice was muffled by his chest. "It was worse before. I'm okay."

"No." Billy shook his head, pulling back to look at you, but keeping his hands at your sides. "How did you get out?"

"They left me for dead," you confessed softly. "They took the horses. But as soon as they were gone, I started running. I don't even know how long it took me to get down here, but I remembered that town was straight south."

He imagined you sleeping shivering in the cold, living off the meager plants you were forced to eat, no gun to protect you. All this to get back to him.

"I would understand if you hated me," you said, looking up into his eyes. "That's what I wanted you to do. But I had to tell you the truth. And I'll leave tomorrow and never come back now that I've-"

"No." Billy cut you off, cupping your cheek. He looked you over again, the feel of you grounding him. "I don't...I couldn't..." he took in a shaky breath. "I don't hate you and I don't want you to leave."

You were nearly trembling. Billy sat back on the bed, pulling you down with him. He smoothed your hair behind your ears, and you leaned into his touch. "You were protectin' us." He thumbed your bruise lightly, heart aching when you closed your eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't come after you. I should've-" Tears were rising in his throat. "I wish I'd have tried to find you."

"He would have hurt you," you sniffled, breathing in and holding his wrist. "You and Kat were safe. That's all I care about."

"But he hurt you." Billy's tone was sharp, and when you flinched he softened it. "I ought to find him and make sure he pays. Treating a woman like that. My girl-" He cut himself off when he saw the first tear on your cheek, and you were back in his arms when the second fell. His nose found your hair once more. "You came back to me."

"There'll never be a time when I don't try to come back to you," you mumbled into his chest. Billy kissed the top of your head, overwhelmed by the feeling of having you again. His wife, his love, practically back from the dead.

You'd pushed through every horror to find him again. What rattled him was that you'd thought there was a chance he'd turn you away after learning what had really happened. And yet you'd found him anyways. Any doubts he'd had about your love for him faded into nothingness, his hidden flame becoming a wildfire.

"I love you," he whispered into your hair. "I never stopped loving you."

"I love you." You clung to his shoulders, as if you'd been holding back before. "It killed me to make you believe that I didn't."

He leaned down to kiss your forehead, your cheek, your nose, realizing everything he'd missed all at once. You held yourself to him, breathing in and out slowly, reclaiming the safety he so badly wanted to give you again.

"Is Kat okay?" you murmured, eyes shut as he smoothed your hair, rubbing his thumb over that special spot you loved.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he said softly, stroking your back. "She's good. Misses her mama, though."

You hummed sadly, holding his wrist tighter. "I've missed her."

"We'll see her soon," he promised, shifting to lean back, holding you to his chest still. "Just let me have you a little longer."

Holding you was a haze of remembering. Whatever woman he'd been imagining since the day you were taken couldn't be less real to him. There was only you, the girl he'd always known, the girl he'd fallen in love with. Everything that had happened only heightened his protection.

"You're allowed to be even a little bit mad at me," you said softly, body snug against his.

Billy's eyes were shut, his arm wound around your waist. He felt at peace, finally back where he was happiest. Your head on his shoulder, your hand held to his chest between his fingers. He was stroking your scar again.

He didn't bother to open his eyes. "I'm not." Billy let his hand at your waist fall to the covers, tugging the end to wrap around your body. "Not even a little bit."

"Maybe you should be." He cracked one eye open. You were angelic in his arms, even with the bruises and scrapes marring you. If he had it his way you'd be put in a bubble of sunshine and wildflowers and love for the rest of your life.

Billy leaned down to kiss your hair. "No. How could I?" He lightly scratched your back, shifting you to be a little more comfortable on his chest.

"I left you," you said softly.

"You protected our daughter," he corrected, stroking your hair. "If I was gonna be mad about anything it'd be about you not giving me the chance to come find you." Billy nosed your temple, lips pressing there. "I could've saved you baby." He touched the bruise on your cheek again, blood starting to boil as he thought of everything you'd been subjected to while he was home trying to forget.

You shook your head, resting your head back on his chest. "It's all over now, Billy. It's okay."

It wasn't okay. He wanted to protest, bring up the proof of your hurt, both within and outside. But you looked so tired, and he knew there'd be plenty of time to dissect it all later. There wasn't any way he was letting you out of his sight again.

So he nodded, smoothing the folded covers over you again. The conversation was far from over, but he wanted you to get some rest more than he wanted to argue. When you closed your eyes, he smiled softly.

Billy wasn't so naive to think that having you back would fix everything. He knew you were hurting, the road to recovery long and winding. But you were strong. You had found your way home and you were all his again, safe and loved in the shelter of his arms. He'd reunite you with Kat in the morning.

Little steps. He'd thought he'd lost you until an hour ago.

Right now, this was enough.