#which is a left over from a different set i posted recently

[starlost-mochi-x]

lonely st. ✧ chapter viii : the breaking point

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: y/n has a bad panic attack, mentions of ed, y/n has trouble eating, felix and his mom, mentions of throwing up, medication, and racing thoughts

a/n: this chapter is really long i can't lie. i got carried away *laughs in obsessed, traumatized writer*

series masterlist | skz masterlist

"Oh, it's so warm in here," Hyunjin groaned, flopping into a chair. Y/n took a seat next to him cautiously, settling down warily and glancing around the store.

Bbokari's was exactly as Felix had said; a convenience store lined with rows and rows of snacks, household items, hygiene products, and even pet food. Not that it was uncommon, but sometimes it still threw Y/n to realise that people actually owned pets. Since she'd never had one of her own, she found herself wondering what owning an animal really entailed.

It can't be much different from taking care of Jisung, she reasoned idly.

The store lights overhead were golden, casting a warm glow over the four teens. The store was bigger than it had initially looked from the outside, with the main part of it being taken up by the shop items. A wall fridge ran along the left side of the store, filled with frozen products and treats, as well as a small, separated section for antibiotics and over-the-counter medications.

There was a small staircase up the back, lining the wall and leading up to what Y/n assumed to be Felix's house on the upper level. A countertop sat in front of it, where there were several automatic checkouts and a manual cashier box. Currently, no one was manning the cashier station.

She looked around from where she was currently sitting; this part of the store was set out like a little cafe; mismatched chairs and tables sat upon the polished, recently-cleaned wooden floors, sectioned off from the shiny linoleum of the convenience aisles.

There was a high bench with tall stools and a large window that ran the length of the wall, giving Y/n a view out into the street beyond. She could see little flowers and plants bobbing their heads and leaves against the glass, moving in the cold, post-storm wind.

On the opposite side from the window, there was another wall and a long wooden countertop, on which sat several microwaves, a kettle, a coffee maker, and a small cupboard containing tea and coffee additions. Y/n noticed there was also a large biscuit jar with a little scribbled drawing of a chicken on the glass, with 'FELIX' written underneath it.

She settled back in her chair; Felix had gone upstairs to fetch something, and had told them to wait downstairs. Jisung and Hyunjin were busy fighting over the last chip from the bag they'd nicked from Felix's lunchbox, and Y/n sat quietly and observed them, not having much else to do apart from survey her surroundings.

She turned just as Felix came down the staircase, weaving amongst the shelves before standing in front of them, breathless.

"Sorry, I had to go check where my mom was. She's out the back but she'll be in soon, so we can go upstairs."

The boys moved to get up, Jisung snatching the chip from between Hyunjin's lips, and followed Felix. Y/n did the same, weaving through the shelves and standing beside him in the middle of the snack aisle. Felix turned back to her as Jisung and Hyunjin began taking food from the shelves, clearly comfortable with their surroundings.

"Take whatever you want," he smiled at her kindly. "You don't have to pay because it's your first time here."

Y/n waved her hands, stuttering. "N-no, it's okay, I'll pay."

Felix opened his mouth to protest before a gentle, warm hand found its way onto her shoulder. Turning, she locked eyes with a taller, older woman with kindly eyes and dark hair tied up in a loose, messy knot. She smiled down at Y/n and it was immediately reminiscent of Felix's easygoing, casual grin, albeit tinged with a motherly kindness.

"Please, feel free to take whatever you like. No need to pay," she said, her voice soft and hospitable. "I insist."

Y/n's head buzzed. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting when Felix had said his mom, but it hadn't been this. She was so nice, and- normal.

"H-hi," she stuttered up at the woman, feeling like a small, lost child in the presence of this motherly figure.

Felix stepped up beside her, placing a gentle hand on Y/n's upper back. "Mom, this is Y/n. She's my new friend."

The woman nodded kindly at Y/n, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a warm smile. "Nice to meet you, Y/n. Please, call me Auntie. Everyone does."

"Okay," Y/n whispered, feeling suddenly warm at Felix's choice of phrasing. New friend.

The older woman smiled, nodding. She glanced behind the two of them to Hyunjin and Jisung, who were busy fighting yet again, this time over a packet of ramen buldak noodles.

Someone called out something from a door in the corner near the fridges, which Y/n assumed led out to the back supply area.

"Auntie, someone's calling for you," Jisung shouted cheerfully, his hands still tangled around Hyunjin's as they fought for the ramen packet.

She laughed, ruffling Felix's hair. "Thank you, Jisung. I need to go now, but have fun, Y/n. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

She leaned down to Y/n and patted her shoulder, giving her a conspiratorial wink. "Maybe you can teach my son some manners while you're here."

"Mom," Felix protested, fighting a laugh. His mother brushed past him with a laugh even softer and went out the door, shutting it behind herself.

Felix took Y/n's shoulders and turned her towards the shelves, stocked with a variety of tasty snacks and colourful packets.

"Go on," he said encouragingly, before turning to wrestle the ramen packet out of Jisung and Hyunjin's hands.

With Felix's attention off of her, Y/n gulped, frozen in the middle of the aisle. The packaged foods seemed to taunt her with their cutesy cartoon characters and colourful patterns, and their shiny plastic coverings and packages made her eyes hurt as they shone against the golden lights hanging overhead.

She began to feel a bit sick.

Felix and his mother had insisted she take something without the need to pay for it, which meant she had to eat something. In front of Felix and his friends. And he would certainly pinpoint that something was off if she insisted she wasn't hungry. Not for the first time did she half-heartedly curse his unusually perceptive nature.

She swallowed a thick wad of saliva, trying to quell the growing grumbling in her stomach. Sucking her stomach in a little, she exhaled with some difficulty, feeling like she'd been punched hard in the gut all of a sudden.

Trying to suck air into her lungs, but feeling winded, she looked around, eyes darting increasingly quickly around the room. She looked everywhere but she couldn't see at all, unable to focus on anything but the growing buzzing sensation spreading up her neck, settling into the crevices of her hands and ankles.

She suddenly felt wobbly on her feet and her hand moved to fidget frantically with the strap of her bag, unfocused and shaky.

Hyunjin and Jisung were still whining and arguing loud enough that Y/n's frantic, uneven breathing couldn't be heard over the din. She stood, mouth parted, unable to do anything but stare at the shelf and hyperventilate, feeling absolutely stupid and pathetic.

Felix finally managed to disengage the now-crushed ramen packet from the boys' laser-tight grip and shoved them both down the aisle, scolding them lightly. Both of them disappeared around the corner to the fridges, bickering lightly about some nonsense.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Felix deposited the colourful packet back onto its rightful place on the shelf before turning around. His eyes widened at the sight of his friend. He gazed at her in mild confusion, not understanding.

"Y/n?" He asked hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

Felix's panic grew as Y/n shook her head shakily, unable to speak. He looked around for something that might help her calm down, finding nothing but wanting nothing more than to help his friend.

Jisung's had panic attacks before, he told himself firmly, composing himself. He always said that anything cold helps to ground him. Or physical contact... But I might scare her if I touch her suddenly. Should I go get Mom? Or would that make it worse?

Hyunjin, who had come round the corner again, presumably to complain about Jisung, noticed Felix standing motionless next to a hyperventilating Y/n, his hands out, unsure and worried.

"Y/n," he whispered, his mind going blank. Dropping his bag onto the floor, Hyunjin rushed down the aisle, moving to stand next to Felix. He placed a gentle hand on Y/n's arm, her body turning slightly to seek out his touch like a drawing magnetic force.

He enveloped her in a firm, warm hug, letting his chin rest on the top of his head, him having always been taller than her. Felix touched Hyunjin's shoulder and padded down the aisle, his mind set on distracting Jisung so Hyunjin and Y/n could have some privacy.

"It's okay," Hyunjin whispered to her, feeling her hands ball in the fabric of his blazer. "Don't worry."

"I'm sorry," she gasped into him, her voice faraway and timid, broken through with heaving pants.

Hyunjin shook his head, eyes closing as he stroked her hair in a reassuring, constant pattern. "Don't be sorry. It's okay. Can you take a deep breath?"

Y/n leaned back slightly and took in a shaking, hesitant draw-in of breath, Hyunjin encouragingly patting her back.

"There you go," he cooed at her, fighting the urge to kiss the top of her head.

'I'm sorry," she whispered again.

"Don't be. What happened, hmm?"

Y/n bit her lip, face still buried in Hyunjin's chest. He was so warm, and he smelled good. In the quietest voice, so small she was sure he wouldn't hear, she spoke.

"I can't eat," she said helplessly. "It's so difficult and my mind won't stop-"

Hyunjin peered down at her, glancing over his shoulder as Jisung and Felix went up the stairs. Felix shot him a subtle wink and Hyunjin nodded, turning his attention back to Y/n.

"That's okay. Have you eaten today?"

Silence.

Hyunjin sighed. "Let's get you something small to eat, okay?"

"No," Y/n protested fearfully, stomach churning.

"Just a little bit, hmm? Maybe you should rest first. Should I walk you home?"

"No," Y/n repeated instantly. She clutched tighter at him, her face burying further into his chest. "No, no, I can't go, I-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he quieted her gently. "Let's go upstairs to the others and you can just rest, okay? They won't say anything, I promise."

Y/n's voice was sad and subdued as she replied. "I ruin everything, Hyunjinnie."

Hyunjin's heart constricted and he tilted her chin up at him, feeling affection course through his veins at her vulnerable expression. "You don't ruin anything, Y/n. I need you to know that. And I'm proud of you."

She sniffed. "But I didn't do anything."

"I'm still proud."

"Okay," she said quietly.

"Can you walk?" He asked her gently. She shook her head, taking an experimental step.

She could walk, but she felt that any sort of effort-draining movement like walking or going up the stairs would probably make her disintegrate into little Y/n-shaped pieces on the linoleum. And if she was being honest, she didn't really feel like letting go of Hyunjin. She expected him to step back and tell her that she would be fine, and that she could walk up the stairs herself. Either that, or if he was feeling kind, he would take her arm and guide her up the stairs.

What she hadn't expected was Hyunjin looping an arm around the backs of her knees and putting the other around her shoulders before lifting her bridal-style from the ground with little to no effort at all.

"Hyunjin," she squeaked, clutching his shoulder, deathly afraid of falling.

He just chuckled and began walking up the stairs, holding her close to his torso. Y/n looked up at him, feeling the buzzing in her hands and feet subside as it was replaced with Hyunjin's warmth, bleeding into her body and caressing her skin through her uniform.

She leant her head cautiously on his shoulder, and Hyunjin was glad her head was laid on the right side of his torso, so she wouldn't be able to feel his heart practically beating out of his chest.

He set her down at the top of the stairs, pushing her gently into the large, open-plan living room. There was a small countertop sectioning off a kitchenette in the far corner, and two doors led into what Y/n assumed to be Felix's and his mother's separate rooms. There was a door on the opposite side that presumably led to a bathroom.

Ahead of them, Jisung and Felix sat on a plush couch facing a TV on a long, low cabinet, and sunlight spilled in great amounts through the mid-to-ceiling length window next to it.

There was a smaller, low table in front of the couch and Jisung was eagerly leaning on it as he pressed the buttons on his controller, apparently playing some sort of game with Felix on the TV. There was a fluffy, creamy, well-worn rug under the coffee table, matching the colour of the walls.

All of the furniture was cream, beige, or a light shade of brown, save for the mismatched cushions on the couch, making the room seem as bright, comforting, and cheery as Felix's warm smile.

Jisung groaned as his character took damage, sagging back onto the foot of the couch. He looked across and gestured Hyunjin and Y/n over.

"Wanna play?" He asked, offering the controller to Y/n.

She shook her head, suddenly exhausted, and Jisung nodded understandingly, turning back to the TV. Felix smiled empathetically at her over his shoulder, nodding his head at her in a silent question.

Y/n nodded back and a grateful smile ghosted her features as Felix moved to turn the video game's volume down. Hyunjin took a snack from the haphazard assortment on the coffee table and passed a little packet of sweets to Y/n, collapsing comfortably onto the couch.

She took the packet and sank down onto the cushions next to him. letting out a soft groan as it enveloped her body. Closing her eyes, and glancing across at Hyunjin, who was apparently busy watching Jisung play on his controller, she hesitantly took a sweet and put it in her mouth, letting the tangy flavour burst on her tongue.

A momentary surge of energy filled her and she moved to take her blazer off, leaning into the cushions. Her shoulder brushed Hyunjin's and he turned to her, his voice low and reassuring so only she could hear.

"You okay?"

She nodded, unable to stop her eyes from drooping. Hyunjin let out a soft chuckle and pulled her gently closer, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder. His heart jolted in his chest, though he'd been the one to initiate the contact.

The butterflies in Y/n's stomach slowly settled down to rest as her eyes sank shut with exhaustion.

Hyunjin sleepily opened his eyes.

The sunlight filtering into the room had dimmed slightly, taking on a warm, rosy glow, the kind that came with a late, slightly cloudy afternoon. He relished its warmth for a few moments before looking around the room.

He was alone; where Jisung had been sitting with Felix, playing a video game on the TV, there was only a small patch of ruffled, creamy rug to show that he'd ever sat there. Felix himself was nowhere to be seen; he was most likely downstairs, helping out his mom with the store.

Hyunjin moved to stretch an arm over his head, suddenly feeling a great weight on his chest. He was draped over the plush, comfortable couch, long legs bent as he slouched against the arm. His head was cushioned against a pillow which he recognised to be Felix's. He must have put it there after he'd fallen asleep.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking down to see why he felt so weighed down. His heart jolted suddenly and began to attempt to escape his ribcage altogether.

Y/n was fast asleep against his chest.

Hyunjin gulped before laying his head back against the pillow, shuffling slightly under her as he readjusted. He hoped she wouldn't be woken by the banging of his heart inside his chest.

Gathering his wilting courage, he looked down at her; Y/n's face was as serene as he'd ever seen it, untroubled and at peace, with the relaxed expression that came when one slept.

Her hand was resting against his lower torso, fingers tangled into the fabric of his sweater vest. He realised his blazer was draped over her; Felix must have put it there, or Jisung. He didn't remember taking it off himself.

He wondered for a second what she might look like wearing his blazer; would the sleeves be too long for her? Would it hang past down her hips, or would the scent of his cologne weaved into the fabric mix with her body spray?

Hyunjin shook his head, feeling a little dizzy. He considered attempting to move her off of him, but decided against it; she needed to rest. And he had no intention of ruining the quiet, serene moment he'd somehow found himself in.

His hand shook as he lightly traced the curve of her head, feeling the soft, fluffy strands of her hair brush against his fingertips. His heart thudded so loud he could hear it in the quietness of the room, and he brought his hand up to his face, rubbing it tiredly against his cheek. His elbow accidentally bumped her head in the process and he froze, wondering if he'd woken her. He hadn't.

Phew.

Hyunjin let his head fall back onto Felix's pillow, mind wandering. Was it weird that he liked having her close like this? Or was it crossing the line? They were friends, after all...

And besides, she'd just had a panic attack. It wasn't wrong of him to stay close to her and comfort her. That was what she needed; comfort, and affection. All he was doing was taking care of her.

He let his lips part, a soft exhale puffing out of them. Letting his hand rest gingerly on her back, he drew absentminded patterns on the fabric of his blazer. Y/n shifted a little and Hyunjin's head snapped up to look at her, before settling back down with a sigh of relief.

Was it wrong to be this comfortable around her? Surely, as friends, it was fine. He wasn't doing anything wrong. It was normal.

This is normal, he told himself firmly. It's like if Jisung fell asleep on top of me. Which he has. But just because she's a girl, it doesn't mean it has to be any different.

He jumped a little as his phone buzzed. Checking quickly to see if he'd jostled Y/n, he pulled it out from the pocket of his blazer. It was a notification from one of the sports websites he followed.

Noticing a message alert, he distractedly checked his texts, forgetting about the sports site. There was one new message, which had been sent over half an hour ago.

He clicked on it.

sung 🎧: did you get home good? i did

That's right, he remembered. Jisung left early, and alongside Felix, the boys had made it their tradition to check if the others had got home safe. Suddenly, Hyunjin felt bad for not replying. He typed quickly, hoping he was still online.

hyun 🤡: sorry, i fell asleep. i'm still at felix's.

Jisung replied characteristically quickly; a knowing smile graced Hyunjin's elegant features. Jisung was always quick to respond to texts.

sung 🎧: ahh i see sung 🎧: i thought you got murdered sung 🎧: i was hoping to get your inheritance 😔

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, typing back.

hyun 🤡: how kind of you hyun 🤡: also, change my damn contact hyun 🤡: you're the clown here, not me *'sung 🎧' changed 'hyun 🤡' to 'hyun bun 🍑'* hyun bun 🍑: jisung, ew! sung 🎧: i can't lie man sung 🎧: all those squats at basketball practice did you good

Hyunjin groaned, cheeks scarlet, and turned his phone off, tossing it onto the creamy rug below the couch, where it fell face-down, unharmed.

Resting his hand behind his head, he tilted slightly so he was looking up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes. He could rest for a little longer. Not that he was able to get up; Y/n was still fast asleep, and he was losing feeling in his legs, which felt all staticky, but he didn't mind.

His mind wandered back to his previous train of thought; was it wrong for him to be holding her like this? She needed the comfort, and Hyunjin didn't realise it until he stopped and really thought about it, but he needed the comfort too.

When was the last time he'd been held for this long?

Rather, when was the last time he'd felt so loved? So seen?

Sure, he loved Jisung and Felix, and his family and everyone else who held a shred of meaning to him, but with Y/n, it felt different. Like his whole life, he'd been standing behind a steamed-up mirror, where people had only been able to see him distantly, and now Y/n had wiped away the condensation and seen him for who he was. Who he really was. And it scared him.

What if she didn't like him for who he really was? She'd been quieter around him lately; maybe it was a sign that she wished to pull away, that she didn't want to be friends with him anymore... Just the thought made his heart constrict. He couldn't lose her. She meant so much to him now, with her quiet but interesting nature, her amazing sketches and creative talents, her cool collection of keychains and pins and badges...

And he felt safe around her, like he could tell her anything and she would just listen. Without judging or making fun of him. He was sure, if she extended a hand, he'd take it without a singular shred of doubt in his mind. Even if he didn't know where she was leading him, he knew it would be somewhere warm, somewhere safe, somewhere where he was totally, unequivocally loved.

And it wasn't just that, either; Y/n understood him. More than he had initially realised, she'd been picking up on his body language, on his little habits.

Just the other day he'd seen her in the gym, tossing a basketball around the court by herself. And he'd wanted to join her so badly, but a part of him feared that if he got too close, Y/n would walk away. She would leave the same way she feared he would do to her.

Like a tug of war, you could never win until the other person gave in. And Hyunjin wanted it so badly. He wanted to tug on the rope and pull her closer and closer, and he wanted her to want it.

He wanted her to feel loved by him, but if he pulled too harshly, she would fall. And Hyunjin knew that if she fell, everything he'd worked so hard to build would all come crashing down on him like a colossal tidal wave, washing away any evidence of what was and what could have been.

Was it possible to become closer than they already were? Or was he already pushing it? It was the last thing he wanted, after he'd toiled so hard to bring her close, was to be the reason to push her away. He was grateful for the fact that she wasn't as wary around him as she had been, but he wanted more.

Was it wrong to want more?

Or was it too risky? He didn't know how much longer he could stay in this stalemate, torn between pulling back and pushing further. What if he became the reason she went over the edge? What did he want so badly, anyway? Was it her attention? Her affection?

No, he reasoned. She's given me both of those things before and I never wanted more of it like I do now. It's something else.

But what? What did he want so badly? Did he want her all to himself? Or was that just him being jealous? But why would he be jealous in the first place? Surely, if you loved someone, it wasn't possible to be jealous of them in the first place, since they were already yours-

Wait, loved?

Hyunjin's heart dropped out of his ribcage and plummeted until it reached somewhere around his knees.

He didn't love her, right? Surely not. He hadn't even known her for a long time. Usually you were supposed to be close friends with someone for a long, long time before you liked them... That was the only way it worked.

Love, Hyunjin concluded to himself, was only something that could be achieved through years of close friendship. And then the famed symptoms would kick in; feeling nervous around the person, increased heartrate in their presence, dreaming about them, not being able to think straight when they did something like brush your shoulder or walk home with you or fall asleep in your arms-

Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling a lot hotter than he had a minute before. The realisation slapped him in the face, as if someone had slapped him hard across both his cheekbones and punched him in the gut for good measure.

He was in love.

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[ahollowgrave]

[pathologicalreid]

hysteria | s.r.

in which the BAU is called into a case in rural Appalachia when bodies start showing up in an abandoned insane asylum

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (horror?) content warnings: hanging (staged suicide), enucleation, established relationship, ghosts, insane asylum, rope burn, premonition in dreams, death, pov switches, "the green ribbon", lobotomies, abduction, corporeal vs spirit form, CPR, hospitals, painkillers, first aid word count: 8.8k a/n: hey guys i am literally not one to beg for interaction but like if you could send an ask or gimme a reblog if you liked this it would probably make my day. this fic is just an excuse for me to tell ghost stories! and just like that, margotober is over. man, it sure would be a shame if i had something planned for november!

night one

“This is a joke, right?” You asked, eyeing the rest of the team as they observed the property before you. The dilapidated building that stood in front of you was previously completely abandoned, and now you weren’t entirely sure if the yellow police line was new or if the tattered plastic was a result of a crime of the past.

It looked like one of the haunted houses that Spencer would drag you to, one with a much too high budget that would leave you feeling like you needed to scrub cobwebs from your skin. You were waiting for the sheriff to make his way up the hill that the asylum was perched on, the BAU had made it up in SUVs, but the locals elected to hoof it.

Tugging the sleeves of your FBI jacket over your hands, you tapped your heel impatiently and observed the scenery. The fall foliage was in peak season, orange and red leaves fluttered in the wind, falling from the trees until they hit the ground. To the left was the town, small and hidden within a river valley, and to the right was a field of gravestones. Each life lost in the asylum whittled down to a number, hundreds of weathered rocks marked where a body was buried. Even after all of your years with the BAU, the sight still made you sick to your stomach.

The death count on this property had gone up by twelve recently, a group of college kids had found the first body hanging from the staircase, and it seemed like a semi-routine suicide until the local cops did a full sweep of the building and found eleven other bodies, each hanging in a different room.

It wasn’t until the medical examiner looked at them that they realized they were out of their depth, the oldest of the bodies had been dead before they were hung, which told you that hanging the bodies was the intention of the killer and he was beginning to perfect his M.O. Even more than that, the last two bodies had been enucleated post-mortem.

Being grateful for the method by which a person had their eyeballs destroyed wasn’t an emotion you felt frequently, and it was an odd thing to admit to yourself as you consciously blinked.

Over the curve of the hill, you watched as a couple of locals made their appearance, each of them equipped with a flashlight. The sun was beginning to set. Emily had made the executive decision that this case couldn’t wait until morning, so you took off in the middle of the day. Glancing over your shoulder, you found Spencer’s eyes and he gave you one of his patented half-smiles before you looked back at the foreboding building.

The structure had electrical issues, leading to lights flickering all over the crumbling brick walls. The flashes were starting to play tricks on your eyes because you would’ve sworn that you saw a woman in one of the windows, in a long white dress as she looked down at you and your team.

“You must be the BAU,” the sheriff greeted once he was close enough to your group, he waved before huffing impatiently. “Sheriff Shawn Greenbaum, this here is Deputy Conrad Perkins,” he introduced himself and the man with him. You studied them, trying to gauge information about them based on appearance alone.

Emily nodded, reaching her hand out for him to shake and introducing herself before making the rounds with the rest of the team. “Agents Simmons and Lewis are already at the station getting settled, but the rest of us are interested in getting in the building and taking a look around.”

Greenbaum placed both of his hands on his hips before clearing his throat, “That’s not a problem at all. We’ve got a lock up on those front doors to try and keep people out, we’re hoping it’ll put a halt on any more crime.”

Kicking mud off of your boot, you and JJ shared a dubious look. In your line of work, where there’s a will there’s a way—a padlock would do very little to help keep your killer out of the asylum. Even so, you all followed the sheriff as he produced a key from his belt, leading the way to the front doors. They were made of rotting wood. If someone really wanted to get past the lock, they could probably kick them in.

The smell hit you before you stepped foot inside the building, the stench of mildew wafting through the air made you crinkle your nose as you closely followed JJ into the building. A gentle touch to the small of your back told you that Spencer was behind you, each of you shuffling in single file behind the sheriff.

“The first body was found hanging over there,” the deputy, Perkins pointed straight ahead toward the winding staircase. You studied the peeling wallpaper and looked at the faded signs above the different hallways, barely able to make out the words tuberculosis and adolescent as you strolled through the main lobby.

Since they’d initially assumed it was a suicide, the body had been taken down, so even though you had twelve bodies to start your profile with, you didn’t have a fresh crime scene anywhere. In fact, you’d wager a guess and say there’s nothing fresh about this building.

Cringing as you walked over a pile of wet paper, you listened to Emily as she gave everyone jobs, “Reid and I will keep talking to the sheriff, Rossi and JJ, why don’t the two of you check out this wing here with the deputy, and Luke and Y/N can take the upstairs.”

You looked up and found Luke, following him to the staircase and ducking under the noose to go up the stairs, hesitant to use the handrail as you made your way to the second floor, knowing there was plenty of building for the two of you to explore. Pulling your flashlight from your belt for additional lighting, the sight in front of you was worse than what you had seen downstairs. “Watch your step,” you said absentmindedly, bypassing a bucket filled with what you sincerely hoped was water.

“When was this place built again?” Luke asked you, knowing you had done preliminary research with Spencer on the jet. He produced his own light, slipping his cell phone from his pocket and using the flashlight function.

You checked the ceiling, wondering where the beams were and if any bodies had been found in the hallways, “The 1860s,” you responded, keeping your voice soft so you didn’t disturb anything in the building—living or otherwise. You found yourself wanting to walk to the window you had seen that woman in earlier.

Alvez made a disgusted noise at something, and you refrained from looking back at it, knowing you likely didn’t want to know. “And what patients did they predominantly treat?”

Fiddling with the door handle, you nudged the door open with your knee, coughing at the puff of dust that met you on the other side. “They started with a little bit of everything. The elderly, children, adolescents, epileptics, TB patients,” you listed off. “We even found records of people accused of ‘excessive self-satisfaction,’” you continued, finding the window in question. The only thing you found was the same flickering sconce you had seen from the outside.

“Self-satisfaction?” Luke repeated the phrase curiously.

You tapped the sconce with the end of your flashlight, getting it to stop flickering before you clarified, “Masturbation.”

Expectedly, Luke chuckled lightly at your answer, “How exactly would one quantify excessive masturbation?”

Raising your eyebrows, you studied a strange mark on the cement floor, “I assure you; I have no clue.” You turned around, expecting to see Luke right in front of you. “Luke?” You called out his name, confused when you didn’t see him in your line of sight, you flashed your light around the room, wondering if he had found something. “Ah!” You yelped when a hand touched your shoulder, causing you to drop your flashlight.

Luke cackled from his place behind a bookshelf, “It’s gonna be a long case if you’re that tightly wound the entire time.”

You swatted at him with the sleeves of your jacket, “Asshole,” you muttered, taking the practical joke mostly in stride.

“Y/N?” Spencer called from the first floor. Your voice must have carried down the stairs, or they heard the flashlight fall to the ground.

Glaring at Luke, you shouted back, “I’m fine!” You crouched to pick up your flashlight, blowing dust off of it before you tightened your grip around it, “Grow up, Alvez.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, so what did they do after they took in a little bit of everyone?”

You hummed, stepping back out into the hallway, and looking into what you assumed were offices—most of the patients would’ve lived on the first floor. “They started to focus on patients with mental disorders in the 1970s. Around the same time that medicine in psychiatry started to make advancements,” you kicked at a piece of cloth on the ground. “It closed down in the early nineties when people finally started acknowledging that things like lobotomies and electroshock are inhumane.”

Luke picked the next room, wiggling the doorknob before he used his shoulder to push the door open, “Woah.”

Stepping in behind him, you saw what he was looking at. Along the wall was a mural of sorts, a landscape that featured a caricature of the sun. Next to it, the words ‘let the sun shine in’ were scrawled in black paint.The colors were eerily vibrant for the age of the building, “Well that’s…” You let your voice trail off, looking at the size of the furniture in the room and ascertaining that it was likely designed as a treatment space for children.

“Do you hear that?” Luke asked, shining his flashlight around the room and looking for the source of the noise.

Fortunately, you weren’t that gullible, “Yeah, right.” You scoffed, turning back and seeing Spencer at the top of the staircase, “Hey,” you said, tilting your head to the side curiously.

He smiled at you softly, “Hey, it looks like it’s about to rain, so Emily’s having all of us head back to the precinct. We can look at the M.E. reports knowing what we know now about the crime scene.”

You nodded, looking into the room to find Luke, still shining his phone in every corner, “Luke, it’s probably just a rat or a tree branch tapping on the side of the building.”

Luke’s eyebrows were pinched together in concern, but he followed your footsteps into the hallway, falling to the back of the group as the three of you walked downstairs, meeting the rest of the team in front of the asylum.

“It’s kind of weird,” you said mostly to yourself, though you were entirely aware of the people who were surrounding you.

Spencer hummed curiously, making sure the sheriff wasn’t watching before he adjusted the collar of your jacket, “What’s weird?” He asked, mimicking the soft tone of your voice.

You looked back at the window where the light had started flickering again, “How all of these people were forced into the asylum by their loved ones, and now the word has an entirely different meaning.”

Holding your mug in both hands, you listened carefully to the crackling fire in the lobby of the hotel. Matt stood up from where he was sitting so that Spencer could sit next to you, and you absentmindedly slung your legs over his lap, thinking about the case. More specifically, you were thinking about the scene.

Spencer set a hand on your pajama-covered thigh, using his other hand to hold his book open as you listened to the other noises in the lobby. There was a storm going on outside, and a certain level of unease blanketed the team, leading to a convening in the hotel. Emily and Tara were going over case files, Matt and JJ were on the phone with their families, Rossi was playing Tetris on his phone, Luke was on the phone with someone, and you were just observing.

Eventually, Luke spoke up to everyone, “Hey guys, listen to this,” he said, holding his phone out and clicking the speakerphone button, “Okay, go ahead Garcia.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement at the revelation that he was on the phone with Penelope, but you were still grateful to hear her voice coming through the speaker.

“I hope you’re all cozy by the fire because I have found a story about your crime scene that will chill you to your bones,” she prefaced, and you smiled slightly at her embellishments. “Catherine Pence was admitted to the Barnham Asylum for the Mentally Ill in 1978 at the age of 53. She lived a totally normal and insignificant life until she was 50 years old and her mother passed away, at which point, the people in Catherine’s life said she started to behave strangely.”

Snapping his book closed, Spencer set the novel in your lap before pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “Strangely, how?”

Penelope cleared her throat, “I’m glad you asked, Dr. Reid. She was convinced that her mother was still with her. In fact, she would frequently be confused when other people told her that they couldn’t see her mom. Eventually, she started showing other concerning symptoms, so her husband brought her to Barnham.”

You frowned, sharing a glance with JJ, who had hung up the phone, “What kinds of other symptoms?”

“The file I got my hands on specifically cites paranoid thoughts, but that’s not even the spookiest part,” she continued. “When the doctors did their first examination of Catherine, they decided that whatever she was dealing with wouldn’t be amenable to any sort of treatment. She was a very calm patient who periodically had conversations with her dead mother and voiced paranoid thoughts, but they put her in Block D.”

Block D was the section of the hospital set aside for patients in need of around-the-clock care, which seemed a bit extreme for Catherine.

There was a clicking on Penelope’s end of the call before she resumed, “Anyway, Block D had sixteen rooms and there was always some form of supervision, usually a nurse. All of the doors were locked and there were bars on the window, so it was impossible to get anywhere without someone noticing, or so you would think.”

You settled further into the couch cushions, and Spencer instinctively squeezed your thigh.

“On December 1st, 1978, when the nurse went into Catherine’s room with her breakfast tray, she found the room in absolute tatters. I mean, the bedding was shredded, there was broken glass, everything was scattered around the room, and Catherine was missing.” Penelope said, emphasizing the last word.

Luke, who had previously seemed bored by the story, leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees, “What happened to her?”

Penelope hummed, knowing she had sucked everyone into the story, “The search started immediately. You don’t just have someone escape an inescapable room and move on with your day. The windows, walls, and floor in Block D were completely intact and there was no sign of tampering with the door. No one could figure out how she got out, much less where she was.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to speak before she continued, “Catherine’s nurse said that she was unusually moody and had been for weeks. She completely stopped speaking and showed no reactions when people spoke to her and it was apparently very sudden, but that didn’t really provide any insight into where she could be. The staff searched the surrounding area thoroughly, but there were no leads. Eventually, they notified her relatives and the residents of the town in case she had somehow gotten out of the hospital.”

Then, on January 12th, 1979, a group of men that the asylum hired to do repair work on the second floor found that there was a door locked from the inside.” Garcia cleared her throat before resuming the story, “They also discovered an unpleasant smell emanating from the room, and when they finally got into the room, there was Catherine Pence.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, simply just imagining the smell of the room.

“Her clothes were removed and neatly folded next to her and her arms were crossed over her chest, one below the other,” Penelope continued. “Mysteriously, when her body was removed and taken to the morgue, there was a trace left on the concrete floor that corresponded exactly to the figure of Catherine. No matter how many times or what they’ve tried, they can’t get the mark out of the concrete.”

Your blood ran cold at the memory of the strange shape you’d seen in the asylum, “What?”

Penelope hummed, “The medical examiner considered hypothermia as a potential cause of death, but apparently that winter was unseasonably warm, so he settled on a heart attack.”

“Did they ever consider homicide?” Rossi asked, attempting to seem uninterested.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the call, “Yes, they did, but they never found anything else to support that theory. At that point, the room Catherine was found in hadn’t been opened since 1976 when it was used to contain patients with a contagious infectious disease. Since then, the room remained locked.” You could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she divulged the final detail, “Residents of the town say that, sometimes, you can hear cries for help coming from the building. There are even reports of Catherine’s ghost being seen in the window of the room where she died, she just stands there and stares out the window.”

Everyone sat around in silence for a moment before Luke grabbed the phone off of the coffee table, “Yeah, alright, thanks, Garcia.”

“Sleep well, my pretties,” she crooned through the phone before the call ended.

You felt heavy as if there had been a weight placed on your chest, and in an attempt to rectify it, you handed Spencer his book, “I’m headed to bed.”

He looked up at you curiously, eyes studying yours before he nodded, “Alright, I’ll be up in a little while,” he assured you.

Your body carried you to the hotel room, using the key to unlock the door and somehow making it to the bed even after your mind had completely turned itself off. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered waking up.

As you sat up in bed, you were having trouble holding your head up, finding that you couldn’t turn your neck to see if Spencer had made it to bed. More than that, the room was pitch black when the two of you usually leave the bathroom light on in hotels. Opening your mouth, no words came out.

Small puffs of air escaped your lips, but nothing else came out. You couldn’t move your hands to your neck—you couldn’t move at all. You wanted to call out for Spencer, and even though no sound came out of your mouth, you saw him before you.

Your eyes widened at his sudden appearance, suspiciously illuminated in the otherwise dark room.

Tantalizingly slowly, his hand reached out for you, touching the skin of your neck with his fingertips before pulling. It felt like he was pulling at a thread, and all you could do was watch as his hand came back with a piece of twine pinched between his fingers and your disembodied head fell to the floor.

You gasped for air, holding your hand to your chest and panting, unable to figure out how to get air into your lungs when you so desperately needed it. There were other hands on you, gently placed on your hip and upper back, the latter rubbing small circles as you choked on nothing but air.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, continuing his ministrations on your back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he comforted you, trying to get you to even out your breathing.

Carefully, his hand reached up to your neck, sweeping hair behind your shoulder, but as soon as you felt his hand on the side of your neck, you flinched away from him, nearly toppling off of the double bed.

He pulled you back as gently as he could, “Y/N,” he said, his voice stern this time as he turned to flick the lamp on. “What happened?”

You shook your head, appreciating how secure it felt to the rest of your body, before pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “It was just a nightmare,” you answered, the sound of your own voice felt disconnected from your body.

“You don’t usually call out my name in your nightmares,” Spencer observed softly, trying to get you to open up more to him, “And you’ve definitely never pulled away from me like that.”

He was right, you had your general recurring nightmares—mostly work related—but you’ve never had anything like this before. You didn’t know how to explain it to him, because how would you explain to your rational, genius boyfriend that you thought you were seeing ghosts?

night two

You felt his eyes on you, Spencer’s big, brown eyes were boring right into yours as you looked at the foreboding structure in front of you. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been watching the stained-glass window, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the ghost to come back.

Sighing, you leaned back in the passenger seat of the car, thinking about the now-cold coffee that you had sitting in the cup holder and wondering if it would be worth the caffeine if it meant you had to pee in the woods at some point in the night.

“You should’ve stayed at the hotel tonight,” Spencer said, his eyes still focused on you.

You pursed your lips, watching the light flicker in the window, “We have a job to do.” That should’ve been enough for him, it had to be enough for you, knowing that at the end of the day, this was just a case and you’d be going home once you found whoever was doing this.

Finally turning his head, Spencer huffed in frustration as he faced the front door of the asylum. “I know you didn’t get back to sleep last night, so you have to be exhausted now,” he told you.

It was nearly midnight now, and you indeed hadn’t gone back to sleep after waking up at two in the morning, but you still agreed to a stakeout when Emily suggested it. Spencer called you out on it then, similarly to what he was doing now, and you were sure he had something to do with you being paired up together. If you ever found out he had voiced a concern about you to Emily, you were going to have issues.

The cool glow of the waning gibbous moon reflected off of the building, the effect only building the eerie feeling in your stomach, winding itself up like a ball of yarn.

With the morning came another body, and it became clear to Emily and the locals that the camera surveillance that had been set up along the perimeter wasn’t doing anything to bring you closer to closing the case. So, she had you and Spencer sitting in a car at the front entrance, each of you armed and on high alert, no matter what your boyfriend thought.

On the other side of the building, Luke and Tara were in another vehicle, keeping an eye on a back entrance that had the potential to be an access point for the UnSub.

Keeping an eye on your window, you squinted as if you could somehow summon Catherine Pence’s ghost. You wished you’d been paired up with Luke again, who at least had seen the mark on the floor, but instead, you had Spencer, who had meddled with your work out of concern for you.

You sighed, reminding yourself that he only did it out of concern for you, wondering how to approach the issue when an all-too-familiar figure appeared in that second-floor window, “Do you see that?” You blurted the question before you could even think about what you were saying.

Instinctively, Spencer placed a hand on his weapon while looking through the windshield of the car, “See what?”

You furrowed your brows, pointing as plainly as you possibly could to the second-floor window where you saw the woman, “On the second floor. Off to the right,” you said desperately, wanting him to see it, wanting him to believe you. “Don’t you see her?”

Spencer’s hand dropped as his gaze went from the building and back to you, “Honey.” You tried to ignore the emotion-filled tone that he gave you, flooding the pet name with an apt amount of concern.

Sitting back in the car seat, “Never mind, I didn’t—” you cut yourself off, “I just thought I saw something.” You tried to play it off, crossing your ankles one over the other and shifting in the seat, trying to keep your ass from going numb.

His eyes were still trained on you, and you tried to ignore him even as he locked the passenger door from the inside. The car remained absolutely silent until you heard a voice come in from the radio, “This is the Death Star calling for the Bat Mobile, over.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of Luke’s voice, “Don’t call this car the Bat Mobile,” you told Spencer as he lifted the radio to his mouth.

“This is the Bat Mobile, we can hear you loud and clear Death Star, over,” Spencer responded, grinning at the way you groaned in response. The poltergeist of it all nearly forgotten for just a moment.

Placing your head in your hands in frustration as you waited for Luke’s response, Spencer reached over and smoothed your hair back, the gesture feeling oddly domestic for a stakeout. Maybe that was why Emily never paired the two of you together. “Yeah, we aren’t seeing anything out here, are you clear on your end?”

Spencer’s ministrations on your hair faltered for just a moment before he answered, “No, we haven’t seen anything.”

“Tara just got off the phone with Emily, they got the lab results back on those tools we found by the latest victim,” he informed you, “The blood on it was a match.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line and shared a look with Spencer. Part of you was grateful to finally feel like you’d made some semblance of progress with the case, but the other part of you felt physically ill knowing that the latest victim had been enucleated using an orbitoclast. Her eyes and sockets were pulverized by a lobotomy pick, and it almost made you feel like you needed a word stronger than sadist.

“Did the medical examiner say the injuries matched the patterns of the other two enucleated victims?” Spencer asked into the radio, holding it close to his mouth as he spoke.

There was a pause before Luke responded, “Uh, kind of.”

You frowned, “What do you mean ‘kind of?’”

Another pause, “The M.E. concluded that the wound patterns are the same on the three latest victims, but the injuries on the most recent one were inflicted antemortem,” Luke explained.

Your eyes widened as the weight of Luke’s words joined the pit in your stomach, her eyes had been pulverized while she was still alive. The M.E.’s conclusion matched the one you had proposed when you saw the blood spatter this morning. You held your breath to stop a sound of disgust from escaping your lips, but you knew Spencer saw it on your face.

“Thanks for the update,” Spencer said, turning down the volume on the radio slightly before setting it on the dashboard.

Swallowing thickly, you placed both of your hands in your lap, studying them as if you’ve never seen them before, “Have you ever gotten the feeling that a case isn’t going to end well?”

You caught him while he was about to take a sip of his coffee, his movement paused for a moment before he took a swig anyway, setting the cup in the cup holder and nodding, “Yeah,” he answered, his voice raspy before he cleared his throat, “I have.”

Running your tongue over your molars, you raised your eyebrows at him in curiosity, “What usually happens?”

Spencer sighed, going back to facing the asylum before he held his hand out for you to take, you obliged, setting your intertwined fingers on the center console. “The case usually doesn’t end well,” he admitted.

“When are you going to tell me what your nightmare was about?” Spencer asked, squeezing your hand as he made conversation, trying to keep the two of you awake through the night.

Leaning your head back, you looked through the sunroof of the car, thrilled to see the sun beginning to rise over the tiny town. “I don’t think it really matters, it was just a bad dream,” you told him, clearly aware of why it mattered.

You even knew why it mattered to him. You’d never pushed him away like that before, but as soon as his hand had gone near your neck, you’d completely lost control of your body. “Look, I know I don’t believe in dream analysis—”

“Oh,” you scoffed, cutting him off. “Yes, you do,” you corrected him, “You do this all the time, you talk about dream analysis, and you claim that you don’t believe in it but then you actually get into it, and you admit that you just don’t like what Freud has to say about it. Then you’ll list everyone who has discredited him before you tell me ‘Jung still has his merits.’”

Spencer was quiet, and you immediately regretted your interjection.

Sighing, you wished you could melt into the passenger seat of the car, “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t think that analyzing my dream right now will do any good, but I just… I’m sorry.”

He was still silent.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you turned your body as best you could in the vehicle, “Do you believe in the afterlife?”

That got his attention. Spencer turned his head to you, concern etched into his face, “Why are you asking me this?”

You couldn’t tell him. You’d break his heart if you told him that throughout the duration of this case, you’d developed a pit in your stomach and started having dreams about dying. “In my dream, it was like… like I was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move my head. I couldn’t speak or anything and when I thought about calling for you, you appeared.” You sniffled slightly, “You reached out for my neck and your hand came back with a piece of twine, and then my head fell to the ground—completely detached from my body.”

The lack of judgment in his expression was what finally triggered the first tear to fall from your eye, but you didn’t wipe it away. Spencer moved his hand and deftly wiped at your tears with his fingertips, cupping your face in his hands, “You’re not going to die.”

“Spence,” you said, your voice strained by emotion.

He shook his head gently, “Nope, not as long as I’m around. You’re not going to die on this case.”

Your chest ached as your eyes studied his, “Okay.”

“But,” he continued, “I want you to take a step back on this one. No more volunteering for stakeouts, no wandering to the second floor of the asylum, and no listening to any more of Penelope’s ghost stories.”

Nodding, you silently agreed to his conditions, holding out your pinky and waiting for him to present his. Interlocking your small fingers, you each kissed your hands, and you took a deep breath. “What do you think we’re looking at, Spence? Is it another witch hunt?”

Names and faces of people like Leland Duncan and James Heathridge flashed in your memory, but if there was an overlap there, you haven’t seen it.

You didn’t feel like the BAU had a very good track record in Appalachia, Shane Wyland and the still unnamed ‘Mountain Man’ were proof enough of that, but you hoped that Wyland was long dead by now, and these crimes were too organized for the Mountain Man.

“I don’t know, baby,” Spencer admitted, and you knew that it hurt him to say that to you, especially now.

Looking out the window, your eyes caught on Luke and Tara as they made their way over to your car. Spencer unlocked the doors as you hurriedly wiped beneath your eyes, trying to hide any evidence of your upset before reconvening with the team.

Luke waggled his eyebrows at the two of you, “Good morning, how was your night?”

Groaning, you stretched out your neck, “Ultimately uneventful,” you told him, knowing that if anything of real interest had happened, Luke and Tara would’ve been the first people you notified.

“Prentiss asked us if we’d do a quick sweep of the inside before heading back to the precinct,” Tara said, jutting her chin in the direction of the building.

You and Spencer shared a look, but now that you were grouped within your team, you felt comfortable enough to slip your hand in his as the four of you approached the building. Squeezing his hand, your eyes flickered up to the second-story window, and seeing nothing, you stepped into the building.

The smell hit you. The strong tang of blood mixed with that of isopropyl alcohol burned at your nostrils as Tara swore at the sight in front of all of you. A body hanging from the stairwell, eyes completely destroyed, and while the body was covered in blood, the floor was completely void of any red.

“She’s cleaning up,” you observed, stepping closer to Spencer and looking at the streak marks that a rag had made on the floor.

Luke raised his eyebrows, “She?” He asked, confused about the sudden change in pronouns while Tara immediately went to call Emily.

Spencer nodded, agreeing with you as the three of you watched the body turn in the glow of the sunrise, “A man wouldn’t care about the mess he’s leaving behind.”

This revelation left you more confused than anything, you had no idea how anyone could lift that much dead weight, night after night. “Oh,” you breathed, blood draining from your face as you looked up at Spencer and Luke. “We were watching the building all night,” you reminded them. “We never saw anyone enter, but we never saw them leave.”

night three

“Alright,” Emily started, fully equipped in her Kevlar, she looked around the entryway of the asylum, “Rossi and Tara will keep an eye out front in case anyone tries to make a run for it. Reid and JJ will take the tunnels beneath the west wing, Simmons and I will take the east wing, Alvez and Sheriff Greenbaum will head north, and Y/N and Deputy Perkins will stay here in the foyer in case anyone calls for backup.”

In the dark building, Spencer gave your hand a squeeze before everyone turned on their flashlights. “Let’s end this,” Rossi said, earning a hum of agreement as everyone split off into their respective directions.

You wished Emily had done you the kindness of letting you be paired with Spencer again, but twice in the span of a single case was seemingly too much to ask for. “You ever seen something like this?” Deputy Perkins asked you, shuffling his feet across the floor.

Shaking your head, your eyes focused on where the newest body had been found that morning. The body was cleared out and the cause of death was blunt force trauma, but once the realization that the killer had been in the building the entire time settled in, the team got to work on figuring out some of the logistics.

That was when the sheriff brought up the possibility of the killer using a long-abandoned tunnel system. The town had assumed they caved in years ago, but a bit of sleuthing had revealed that there were still a select number of tunnels for her to use.

As long as I stay in the foyer, you reminded yourself, no wandering.

The stench of isopropyl alcohol still floated through the air; it had likely sept into the porous flooring that had been underneath the body. You made note of the flickering lights in the surrounding area, making sure not to get any of them mixed up as you rested a hand on your firearm.

“Did you hear that?” Deputy Perkins asked you, looking up the stairs and shining his flashlight on them, trying to see if he could find anything in the eerie abyss of darkness.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head in response, “No,” you told him, looking to the left and right of you, wondering if one of the pairs that had been sent off was returning. You hadn’t heard anything coming from the upstairs.

He hummed, taking a step closer to the staircase and setting off alarm bells in your head, “I’m sure I heard a shuffling coming from upstairs.” The pit in your stomach reformed as he planted a foot on the staircase and waved you over, “Come on, we should check it out.”

You hesitated, “We’re supposed to be here if someone needs backup,” you reminded him, nearly pleading with him not to abandon his post.

Perkins shrugged at you before taking another step. “I’m going to check it out, and there’s safety in numbers,” he countered before ascending the steps, making it to the first landing before your feet finally moved.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you followed him up the stairs, taking careful steps so that they didn’t creak beneath you. You reached the second-floor seconds after him, but you shone your flashlight around without any sign of him, beaming the light into the familiar room, “Deputy Perkins?”

You stepped into the room, placing a hand on your firearm as you tapped on the flickering sconce again and looked behind you. Your breathing hitched at the sight of the deputy in front of you, he was crumpled to the floor, his legs folded unnaturally, and there was a lobotomy pick that went straight through his head.

Next to him stood a woman, her clothes were tattered and stained with blood, and she came at you, shoving you to the ground and leaving your gun and flashlight scattered on the hardwood. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of you, and you got yourself out from under her while she frantically searched for a missing piece of the puzzle.

She’d used her pick to take out the deputy, leaving her with nothing to gouge your eyes out. You weren’t sure if you should feel grateful as you rolled over and grabbed the closest thing you could, wrapping your fingers around your flashlight and swinging it aimlessly against your attacker.

“No!” She screamed a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound rang out as you hit her on the side with your law enforcement issue flashlight. The object slipped out of your fingers as you sat up and tried to reorient yourself with your surroundings, you couldn’t see your gun, searching for it as she flung your flashlight back at you, the edge of it catching on your forehead as you fell back.

The UnSub straddled your waist, keeping a firm hold on your throat as she held the pick to your eye, having pulled it from the deputy’s head so that she could complete her ritual, “Don’t,” you gasped, “Think—” your voice broke off as vomit rose in your throat. “Think of the mess,” you told her. “You used all the rubbing alcohol,” you reminded her, pleading with her not to take your eyes.

She was seething, very nearly foaming at the mouth above you as instead of stabbing you with the pick, she used the butt of it to crack against your skull. “You took my friends!” She raged, referring to the people that she had murdered, she was collecting them to keep her company.

“No,” you wheezed, shaking your head even through the blinding pain, “I set them free,” you challenged her, resigning yourself to an untimely demise and crying out when she sat you up.

You tried to claw at her, a weak attempt at saving your own life that received a laugh from the UnSub, an almost childlike giggle. “You can be my friend,” she offered, grabbing an already prepared rope from the floor and looping it around your neck before she slung it around an exposed beam, creating a makeshift rig and pulling on it.

Immediately, your hands flew to your neck, trying to stop the rope from suffocating you completely, and it worked for a little while before your feet lifted off of the ground.

After that, you were gone, left standing off to the side as you watched your body hang from the ceiling while the UnSub who would always remain an UnSub to you watched, cackling as she did so. She cackled up until the moment JJ put a bullet in her brain, the sudden death of your attacker leaving your body to drop to the hardwood floor, the hit softened by Spencer and Emily as they caught.

Tossing the rope to the side, Spencer laid you out on the floor and ducked his head to your chest, listening for breathing sounds. He was listening for anything, any sign of life at all.

There was nothing, so he put his hands on your corporeal form’s chest and started CPR, pushing down on your chest in steady motions.

You knelt down to him, watching tears fall from his face as JJ did her best to keep your airway open and Emily frantically radioed for an ambulance, continuously repeating that Y/N is down.

Assuming your hand would go right through him, you placed a hand on Spencer’s back, surprised to find that he was still solid to you. In a sort of daze, you watched him as he tried to save your life, repeating the same three words over and over again, “Come on, baby.” The mantra continued, tears falling onto your shirt.

You felt like you were on fire as if your body was physically burning while you watched life-saving measures be performed on yourself, “Oh, Spencer,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry,” you said to no one but yourself, knowing that he couldn’t hear you.

Looking to your side, you saw her again. The spirit form of Catherine Pence was watching you die in real-time, and you took a shuddering breath as she knelt next to you, expecting her to impart some sort of spiritual wisdom onto you.

Instead, she placed one of her ethereal hands on the back of your head and slammed both of your forms together. The entire world went dark after that, but you could still hear everything going on, searing pain ran through your entire body, from a throbbing in your ankle to an ache in your ribs to a pulsing in your head, but there was no more pressure on your chest.

“Is she…?” You heard JJ’s voice first, and as badly as you wanted to open your eyes, you just couldn’t gather the strength to do so.

There was heavy breathing and a soft weight on your shoulder, two fingers pressed into the pulse point on your wrist, “She’s breathing. She’s alive,” Spencer answered, out of breath. “Oh, my angel.”

A low groan was the only thing you could muster up.

Spencer shushed you, keeping his head on your shoulder and his fingers on your wrist, “It’s okay, don’t try to talk,” he cooed. “You’re going to be okay, the paramedics are here,” he lifted his head then. “I just want to stay with her.”

aftermath

It was far too bright for you, and the low keening sound that you expelled from your throat was the only way you could think to express that feeling. Whoever was in the room with you understood, turning the brightness down for you, earning a hum of approval from you.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible as he tried to keep his voice as low as possible.

The universe was taking pity on you, you knew it because you couldn’t feel any pain, which either meant you had finally kicked it or the hospital you were in had given you painkillers.

Your eyes felt like they were stuck together, the way that they get when you wake up from a perfect nap, and it took a surprising amount of energy to part your lips, expelling a deep breath out of your mouth. The action led to a pinching pain in your chest, causing your breathing to hitch, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Spencer said, though you couldn’t imagine what he was apologizing for. “Can you open your eyes? How are you feeling?”

A grunt was all he received in response, the single noise begging him to slow down. Your eyes opened just slightly, looking at him through slivers as he smiled softly at you. His eyes were red and there was a box of Kleenex on the table next to him, accompanied by his phone and a cup of water.

He sighed in relief once he noticed that your eyes were opening, “Hey,” he repeated, “You look good,” he lied to you.

You rolled your eyes at him and his smile only grew, “Hi,” you croaked, your throat swollen and dry as you tried to reorient yourself. You were in a hospital, but the view outside of your window was of a city, not the tiny town that you had just been in.

Noticing your confusion, Spencer reached out to adjust your nasal cannula, “They transported you to a hospital in a city. The local hospital just didn’t have the capacity to treat you,” he explained. “I’ve been with you,” he reassured you, “The entire time.”

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, but he waved you off instantly.

Spencer grabbed the Styrofoam water cup from your bedside table and held it to you, bending the straw so that you could get some water.

Noting his silence, you tilted your head to the side, ignoring the way your brain felt like it had been scrambled, “Are you okay?”

He pursed his lips while setting the cup back down, “I just remember thinking about how I promised you that you weren’t going to die.”

The antiseptic air made you cringe, your body becoming more and more conscious as time went on, “I wandered,” you reminded him, making sure he knew that you broke your promise first.

“That wasn’t your idea,” Spencer challenged, knowing you well enough to say that without having experienced it himself. His fingers nimbly adjusted the blanket on your hospital bed, “You followed the deputy upstairs, it wasn’t your choice.”

In your current state, Spencer wouldn’t let you take any of the responsibility for what had happened in the asylum and even though you knew the answer, you asked him anyway, “Is she dead?”

Nodding softly, he took your hand in his, “She’s dead, and someday I’ll let you know her name and read the rest of the case, but today is not that day.” He skimmed his thumb over your knuckles, each of them cracked and bloodied from your fight with the UnSub.

You sighed in relief, a single tear receding into your hairline as you closed your eyes again, “How long have I been sleeping?” You asked, squinting over at your patient care whiteboard.

“Two days,” Spencer answered gently, dragging his fingers up and down your forearm, “You were tired, and your body had a lot of healing to do. It still does,” he added the last part, not wanting you to claim being healed. “Everyone’s still here, waiting for you to be discharged,” he continued, “I should message Emily, actually.”

“And Penelope,” you added, knowing she’d rather hear it directly from him than through Emily.

Spencer chuckled lightly, a sound that was as curative as any medicine you could be given, “I’m sure she’ll be waiting for us at the tarmac in Quantico.”

A small smile sprouted on your face, “She’ll be the one landing the plane,” you laughed slightly, interrupted by a fit of coughing. You placed a hand on your chest and winced, inhaling sharply before trying to breathe through the pain.

“What do you need?” He asked you carefully, setting his phone back down after sending his texts.

You shook your head, “Nothin’, just you.”

It was an action that would’ve previously earned a few stares from the team, and at least one wolf whistle from Luke, you and Spencer slipping into the galley together and closing the curtain behind you. Now it was simply the easiest place for you to get some semblance of privacy as Spencer snipped at the old bandaged around your neck.

Your hair was secured atop your head, keeping it out of the ointment as Spencer used his fingertips to carefully cover the rope burn that had been left around your neck. “Does it hurt?” He asked, eyes focused on his canvas while coating the hollow of your throat.

Shaking your head minutely, you closed your eyes, “No,” you told him, a slight rasp still peeking through your tone.

He hummed in response, giving you a small smile as he went back to the tube, putting more ointment on his fingers, “Liar.”

Opening your eyes again, you looked up at him as your face warmed, “Only a little bit,” you altered your answer. At this point, the worst part about the burn was that the nurses recommended keeping it covered, and Spencer was taking his job as caretaker very seriously.

He checked his phone for something before going back to his prior actions, “I think it’s getting better,” he observed, furrowing his brows as he wiped excess ointment from his fingers.

You took his word for it, having been avoiding looking in a mirror at all costs. Seeing the bruises all over your body was more than enough for you. You flinched when someone else slipped into your oasis, Emily shut the curtain behind her, holding out a pack of non-adhesive Telfa pads for Spencer to use on your neck.

“Hey,” you said nervously, wondering if she had another purpose or if she was simply bringing you some first-aid.

Emily smiled nervously; her eyes studied the marks on your throat as Spencer covered them. You expected her to speak, but she just watched in complete silence.

Raising your eyebrows, you looked from her to Spencer, and back to her again. “You should see the other guy,” you joked, earning the slightest smile from the both of them.

“I just wanted to let you know that however much time you decide to take off, it’s yours,” she offered to you, watching as Spencer unwrapped another packet of gauze.

You hummed, “I’m really alright, Em,” you assured her, more than comfortable with the automatic six weeks that you were granted by the bureau. It was the standard set for all agents unless there was an extenuating circumstance that prevented them from returning to work.

Emily’s nervous smile returned, “It wasn’t a suggestion,” she informed you, letting you know that she was more or less forcing you to take the extended time off.

Peering at your boyfriend, you frowned, “You put her up to this.”

Spencer shook his head, “I didn’t. Stop moving so much,” he urged you, trying to stretch the number of Telfa pads he had before he had the chance to go to a pharmacy.

“He didn’t,” Emily iterated, “But he could’ve, and I still wouldn’t tell you,” she added. “We’ll talk more—both of you. For now, I don’t want to see you around the BAU for a while.”

You sighed when she left the galley, Spencer finished his last placement before stepping back. “How do I look?” You asked him, keeping your question mostly rhetorical.

His smile was so gentle that it cracked at your resolve, “Good.”

Looking up at him doubtfully, you leaned against the counter, “You’re a really bad liar.”

“Hey,” he said, carefully wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest the unmarred side of your head on his chest, “You look alive, and that’s good enough for me.”

[hedgehog-moss]

Ant lovers, this is not the post for you, I'm sorry.

I have a big anthill in the worst location, between my house and the greenhouse, so that the ants are invading me on two different fronts! Over the past two months or so I've tried a lot of methods to make the ants feel unwelcome, from the humane Earth Mother approach to more aggressive ones, but nothing worked. Flooding them with water. Then boiling water. Dish soap. Vinegar. Diatomaceous earth, which usually solves just about every problem. The ants did not care. I tried asking, then suggesting, then bargaining, then insisting, then threatening, then

Sorry, ants. You should have taken my threats seriously.

I meant to wait until everything was fully consumed before extinguishing the fire, but then I realised I was out of dog food (when you buy one of these 20kg bags of kibble you always feel like it'll never run out and then it does in the most unexpected and untimely manner, every time). I had time to pop by the store before it closed, and by this point the fire was just a few embers left at the bottom of the tragic moon crater that used to be a magnificent ant palace. You can see my chickens keeping an eye on it from above:

I fully trust my chickens but still, before I left I went to tell the carpenter working in my barn today that I've been burning an anthill, the fire is almost out but could he glance out the window every now and then while I'm in town, and maybe go and throw a bucket of water if he sees my house engulfed in flames? I'm just going on a quick, half-hour errand.

He agreed, so I left.

I ran into the librarian at the grocery shop, who of course invited me over for a cup of tea. It's genuinely impossible to say no to such offers—I mean, you say no and then you end up at the librarian's house having tea anyway. You'd think the possibility of my house and llamas going up in flames if I don't go home to monitor the embers would be a foolproof excuse to get out of a tea invitation, but there are no excuses. The librarian wanted me to taste the giant cookie she baked and she wanted to talk about something stupid our president said or did recently and I had no choice but to follow her.

But it's okay, the carpenter and the hens are on top of the situation!

Still, I felt antsy (sorry) as I sat in the librarian's kitchen and watched her feed Pandolf cookie crumbs. (She had some crumbs set aside for her own dog, but her dog is tiny and scared of Pandolf so she remained at the other end of the kitchen, intensely interested in the unattainable cookie crumbs, mentally willing Pandolf to disappear from her kitchen, vibrating with despair, the picture of anguish.)

I tried to use Pandolf as a pretext to cut my visit short, but I had zero cooperation from my traitor dog. "We've been gone a while, he probably needs to pee!"

The librarian asked me about the carpentry stuff going on in my barn right now and I didn't want to start a whole new conversation which would inevitably lead to half a dozen anecdotes about construction work, when I'd already had such trouble wrapping up the let's-trash-talk-Macron conversation (it's not that I don't want to trash talk Macron. But my house was burning, maybe.)

I tried to point out again that my house was probably ashes by now and the librarian said serenely, "Well, your carpenter will feel obligated to hurry up and finish the job much faster if you have no house anymore and must move into the barn."

I agreed that there's an upside to everything, but still. I had to go.

Just as I was leaving the librarian's house, I saw the carpenter's car entering town. I waved at him and he stopped and opened the window and told me everything was going well, and I said, "And the fire? It must be out by now."

"What fire?"

He had absolutely not checked the fire. (He was standing next to a noisy machine when I made my request so it's possible he didn't hear me well and figured I was checking on his work and just went "Yeah, all good!") (I'm trying to be fair)

And yes, okay, it was just a few embers at the bottom of a pit with heavy, wet winter earth all around, but I'm a pessimist so I threw Pandolf into my car and drove home at full speed. For some reason what I pictured during this quick, worried drive home was ant payback. A long line of determined ants stretching from their ravaged anthill to my house, each one of them carrying a tiny burning twig. I don't think two chickens would be enough to suppress that.

When I reached my dirt road, I couldn't see my house from afar but could see a plume of smoke in the middle of the woods. It looked pretty small, but still, I was relieved when I got closer and found that the smoke rose from the exact location of the anthill and nowhere else.

I'd taken precautions, like wetting the earth around the pit and choosing a day when some rain was expected in the evening, but a lot of forces conspired to ensure the embers were left unattended, from a forgetful (or confused) carpenter to Pandolf's love of cookie crumbs and the librarian's inescapable friendliness. (She whatsapped me to ask if my house was on fire and I said (jokingly) no, but no thanks to you!! And she was a bit contrite and said, it's Macron :( we spent too long on this topic... And I said no I know, of course I blame Macron and she sent me a handshake emoji)

The ants were not in an avenging mood btw, they were teeming around the crater looking quite defeated, it made me sad. (But I hope they're defeated.) I didn't throw my bucket of water over it straight away because I was a bit fascinated by the inside of the anthill, from up close it looked like the Mines of Moria.

I crouched down next to the ants and we wordlessly watched the last embers slowly die as night fell over the pasture. It was very atmospheric until Pirlouit started braying with absolute fury because it was almost dark and his evening hay was still nowhere to be seen.

[immortalmrwavell]

Sam’s Choice - The Blue Box

(Original story posted November 22nd 2021) This story has been Updated!

Make sure to read ➡️ The Prologue ⬅️ first!

Sam’s gaze darted between the three boxes. Weirdly this felt like one of the biggest choices of his life. Simply picking a box. And yet it probably was since his life could take a very different turn depending on which box he chooses .

It took some time for him to finally come to a decision. Wavell was surprisingly patient though, sitting back in an armchair as he watched Sam struggle. But eventually after taking a long deep breath, he grabbed one of the three boxes. “This one.” he said as held up none other than the *blue* box.

“Alrighty then. Blue it is.” Looking satisfied, Wavell snapped his finger with a glow once more causing the remaining two boxes to vanish in a puff of smoke. “Now. Usually I tend to stick around for the next part… but I think I’ll give you some privacy for this. Besides, I can always use my *magic crystal ball* to rewatch what's about to happen.” Wavell laughed, waving his hands about.

Despite that, Sam couldn’t tell if Wavell was being serious about that or not. He only gulped as Wavell returned to his ghostly form before disappearing through the walls of the hotel. Finally leaving Sam alone with the blue box.

He sat back down on the bed, resting the box on his lap before gently gripping the underside of the lid. There was a pounding sensation in his chest that felt like a mix of both excitement and anxiety as he slowly but surely pulled off the lid.

He had to be honest, what he found inside wasn’t what he was expecting. Sitting in the box was a very large pair of white Nike trainers. They were definitely used judging by the scuff marks and flecks of dirt but they weren’t old either. And to go with each trainer, both seemed to have a white gym sock stuffed inside them..

Immediately Sam could tell they’d been very recently worn. The dirt on the trainers seemed fresh but the main tell was the powerful smell. The moment he opened the lid, Sam could already smell the sweaty stench emanating from the trainers and burning into his nose. Most would be repulsed and yet somehow he found himself drawn to it?…

He tugged one of the gym socks free from the trainers. It was dirty and drenched in sweat. Whoever had been wearing them must’ve been working hard. The smell was so strong and pungent that Sam just couldn’t help himself. Slowly but surely brought the sock up to his nose. His heart started beating faster until finally he pressed the damp sock against his nose. It was intoxicating. Hypnotic even. So much so that he began to lose himself in it. Nose buried deep into the fabric of the sweaty gym sock for god knows how long before he finally came back to his senses with a huge boner. It was then that it hit him. Soon enough he’d be the owner of that manly smell.

There was only one thing left to do.

Sam pulled off his own socks and set them to one side. Then proceeding to take the gym sock he’d just been sniffing feverishly and pulling it over his left foot. It hung a tad bit loose but that was expected since the man who owned the socks seemingly had pretty massive feet. He didn’t want to waste anymore time though as he pulled out the second sock, making sure to give it a long deep sniff before tugging that one over his right foot as well. After which Sam couldn’t help wiggling his toes a little, relishing in the dampness of the socks.

Now that he had the socks on however, it was as though a powerful urge put on the huge trainers overtook Sam’s mind. Naturally couldn’t stop himself from giving the trainers a quick sniff first though. Of course they smelt incredibly pungent and just as intoxicating as the socks. If not more! The way the sweaty masculine aroma they embodied permeated his sense felt like a spell of pure desire was overtaking him. He needed the smell so badly! Butas much as Sam wanted to shove his nose inside the trainers and sniff them for hours on end, he wanted to transform and make the scent his own even more.

He took the left trainer first, bringing it down sliding his foot inside with ease. The trainers were so many sizes larger than his feet that he didn’t even have to undo the laces. Sam wasted no time in pulling on the right trainer to match. Afterwards he stood up from the bed and looked down at his new footwear. He couldn’t help but feel at least a little silly with how oversized the trainers were on him, leaving so much free space. He wriggled his toes inside, allowing a pleasurable shiver to run up his spine as he began to feel musky sweat from the socks blending once again with stench that’d been etched into the inside of the trainers. His cock pulsing excitedly as his own feet absorbed the sweaty smell.

And then finally it started.

A tornado of magic began to surge and spin around Sam, blurring his vision of the hotel room. Before he had time to panic or do anything however, he doubled over in discomfort and rising tension as the most bizarre sensation overtook his body. Sam squeezed his eyes shut as the feeling flooded every nerve. He could feel something changing within him. His body was transforming itself dramatically but he could hardly open his eyes to see what was happening. A confusing mixture of pain and pleasure took over as everything about his appearance changed in order to transform him into a perfect visage of the man that once wore those big smelly trainers. Even his clothes seemed to change!

After what felt like an eternity, the transformation began slow as it reached completion. The whirlwind of magical energy started to dissipate just as Sam opened his eyes. Immediately he could tell he was no longer in the hotel. As the magic vanished completely, Sam could see that he was now in a small room that looked sort of like a messy office.

Looking around he quickly noticed two computer desks but immediately he could tell this wasn’t an ordinary office simply due to how the room was also filled with sports gear. There were bags full of footballs and rugby balls lying around along with an air pump for if any of them went flat. A bunch of mismatched trainers and football cleats lying near the door alongside a box that had ‘spare kit’ written on it. Boxes full of rackets of baseball bats along with the matching balls to go along with them. The walls were covered in all sorts of gym and sports related posters and awards. There was even a shelf with a couple trophies on it. He also didn’t fail to notice the underlying post workout stench mixed with men’s deodorant filling the room. If Sam didn’t know any better he’d say he was in a coach’s office. Suddenly the trainers he was wearing made complete sense.

Speaking of Sam suddenly realised something. The trainers no longer felt loose. In fact his feet now felt as though they fit snugly inside them. Filling out the damp interior of the huge scruffy trainers perfectly as if his feet had been molded to them. That wasn’t all however. As Sam looked down at himself he was quick to see that not only was he now wearing a new short sleeved t-shirt and shorts but also that his entire damn body had changed! He’d felt it happening but seeing it with his bare eyes was mind boggling!

The first thing Sam focused on was his chest… he actually had pecs!? Granted they weren’t enormous like the bodybuilders you see online. They were modest and built naturally from a life of sport and activity. He couldn’t help grabbing at them through the blue shirt he now found himself wearing, kneading them with a curious lust before eventually moving his hands down his torso.

Sam lifted up his shift a little, allowing one hand to rub a hand across the light fuzz that now adorned his stomach. Fuzz that no doubt led up towards and covered his chest judging by what he’d felt moments ago. Manly body hair, yet another thing he didn’t have before.

At this point his heart rate began to accelerate and the reality of the situation began to settle in. Any small doubts he may have had before were squashed. This was real. Immediately his gaze slithered even further down his body and towards his crotch. He remembered that changing as well as he transformed. He didn’t even need to see it. He could already tell simply by the heavier weight between his legs that it was longer and fatter with a huge pair of nuts to match. He was both anxious and excited to whip it out and see what his new cock looked like. Yet, just as he was about to pull back the waistband on his new gym shorts, Sam caught sight of his legs.

“Holy fuuuuuuuuckk.” Sam blurted out as he saw how thick and powerful his legs looked, simultaneously surprising himself with how deep and manly his voice sounded. “Woah… my voice… I sound like a real fuckin man.” Sam mumbled to himself in wonder as he rubbed his throat, quickly taking note of his new thick and full beard as he did. Prompting him to then run his hands up towards his face and over his new scruffy beard and rough masculine features. All feeling completely foreign to him yet so right at the same time.

Turning his attention back to his legs, Sam couldn’t help but marvel at how huge his calves looked. They were shaped like thick diamonds and would probably be just as hard if he flexed them. Not to mention his juicy thighs too. Sam found himself tugging up his new shorts a little to get a better look at them as well and before long found himself bending down just so he could run his hands over them. Admiring his new quads, hams and calves while also relishing in the layer of manly body hair that coated them too. He couldn’t help squeezing and groping his calves for a moment as well just as he had with his pecs.

While he was down there he couldn’t help glancing at his trainers as well. Being bent down like this meant he could already smell them faintly. The very trainers that made all this possible. He couldn’t help wriggling his feet slightly, delighting in his large they felt now as those damp sweaty gym socks and trainers hugged his feet perfectly. *His* gym socks and trainers.

As his hands glided slowly back up his legs, he couldn’t help but let them wander to his backside. After feeling up his legs, he was desperate to know what he was working with back there as well. Thankfully he was more than satisfied as his hands grasped at two incredibly well sculpted globes of thick muscle filling out the back of his shorts. “Oh godddd…” He moaned in a deep baritone. “I get a fat cock *and* a fat ass??” He groaned while squeezing and kneading his fat bubbly ass cheeks some more. “I *definitely* made the right choice.” He added with a dumb grin.

At last though, once Sam was finally able to stop groping his own ass, his attention finally returned to the now very evident bulge in his shorts. It’d been difficult to ignore while he felt his legs and ass. His new thick cock had swelled up to its full rock hard size in all the excitement Sam was feeling and now it was straining painfully against his shorts in the form of a huge tent. At last Sam gave in, tugging on the waistband for both his shorts and boxer briefs before pulling them down just enough for his cock to spring out aggressively.

The way it bucked and pulsed caused Sam’s mouth to hang agape for a moment. It was as though he was mesmerised by the mere sight of his new thick cock, eyes fixated on it as though it were a hypnotic pendulum. Before long he found himself gripping it tightly, relishing in its girth. Then, just as he’d begun to pump his cock an intense sensation shot through his groin and up towards his brain. Suddenly a voice began ringing through his head. Wavell’s voice.

“Shoot and release your former self. Absorb this identity and become the man you were always meant to be. Shoot and release. Shoot and release!” Those words continued to echo through Sam’s mind. Forcing him to jerk faster and faster. He was hardly in control of himself. He just needed to jerk off! He needed to shoot and release!

The sensation was almost beyond pleasure. It felt so good that Sam couldn’t hold on any longer as he felt his cock and balls tense. After that all Sam could do was let out a long deep manly roar that filled the small office as he uncontrollably shot huge rope after rope of thick creamy man seed onto the desk in front of him. Letting go of who he was before and allowing everything to finally slot into place.

As his dick continued pulsing while still dripping with cum, Sam was suddenly hit with a wave of new memories belonging to the man who’s identity he’d now stolen. His new name now was Jonathan Richards, or Jon for short, and his assumption from earlier turned out to be correct. He was indeed a coach, a high school coach at that. He gained memories about all his new colleagues, family members, friends, students and his new self of course.

It was in the flurry of memories that Sam also realised that Jon was a straight man! He even had a wife! For a moment he was worried that he’d have to live out the rest of his life as a straight man as he could feel all of Jon’s personality traits beginning to weld themselves into his mind. But thankfully he remained as gay as ever. He should’ve known a guy like Wavell would never let that happen. Perfect. From now on this juicy dick would only be fucking juicy man butt’s. Speaking off he’d need to get his own virgin bubble ass fucked as well! It was far too thick and perfect to go to waste.

That’s when Sam suddenly remembered about the fate of the real Jon. His soul should still be trapped inside his own trainers! Sam looked down at huge trainers clinging to his feet with a wide grin. He took a seat at one of the desks before untying his laces and pulling off one of the two trainers, delighted to see his now massive foot slide out of it. The moment his foot was free, clad in one of the same sweaty gym socks he’d been sniffing feverishly back at the hotel, the air around him filled with that pungent musk he loved so much. And now it belonged to him!

Sam brought the trainer up to eye level and smirked cockily. “Thanks for this hot fucking body Jon. I’m gonna love every moment of your life from now on. Don’t worry though, I’ll be sure to wear you as often as possible so you get to watch me do it. Watch as I blend in with your colleges. Watch as I effortlessly coach your students. Watch as I leave your wife after she walks in on me fucking another dude. Hopefully while I’m getting this fat hairy ass plowed into.” He gave the possessed shoe a sinister grin.

Just then without warning, Sam stuck his nose inside the trainer and gave it a long deep sniff before pulling back with a gasp. “Damn these huge feet have stunk you up real nice havent they? Better get used to it.” He taunted while stretching his feet inside to the other shoe which he assumed Jon was also inhabiting. “I’m sure it won’t be hard to find some guys who are gonna love huffing my musky scent out of you though.” He laughed in an almost evil tone before reaching down and stuffing his foot back inside the trainer.

With that Sam checked the time. It wouldn’t be long now before the other two coaches come back from their lessons. That in mind he quickly got to work cleaning up the sticky mess he’d made all over what now happened to be his desk. But after that he couldn’t wait to start blending in as the new Jon from now on.

Meanwhile the real Jon was helpless. He couldn’t do a thing as he’d be forced to smell his own sweaty foot musk almost everyday while watching this imposter live out his life! He hoped that someone would notice. That someone would see that this doppelgänger wearing him wasn’t *actually* him. Hopefully someone would be able to fix this! But as days passed it became clear that nobody could tell the difference.

Over time Jon’s will would start to weaken as he was forced to sniff his imposter's musk and absorb his sweat constantly. The very sweat and musk that was once his. Now being used against him as it broke down his resolve to the point where he started to wonder if this man that’d taken over his life really was the real Jon after all. Maybe he really was just a dumb pair of smelly trainers that was supposed to serve his master. Who was he to have any real thoughts of his own? His only purpose was to be a good pair of trainers.

It wouldn’t be long before he’d witness the new Jon starting to hook up with other men he’d met online and even one or two of his male colleagues. Fucking them with his huge cock and then acting all slutty and showing off his fat bubble ass whenever he wanted them to breed his hole. It should’ve been torture. But the soul that inhabited the trainers had accepted his new role now given in completely to his former musk. He wasn’t Jon anymore. Jon was his master. He no longer cared about his body or how the new Jon was completely and utterly gay. He did however love it when his master got some horny guy to start shoving their nose inside him.

———

“Well, it seems like he was more than satisfied with that body.” Wavell muttered to himself when he eventually checked in on Sam. Or rather Jon as he preferred to be called now. He’d given it some time and was glad to see just how well things seemed to be going for the former psychic medium.

At it turned out, he walked in on Jon getting his fat gym coach ass fucked by a huge burly bear of a man. Despite Jon’s large stature, this bearish brute still seemed to dwarf him in size as he pinned Jon down and drilled into his hole. From what Wavell could tell, this man was another teacher at the school Jon worked at. He skimmed through the bear’s memories and apparently he’d been craving Jon’s ass for years now but had held off since Jon was straight. Only now that wasn’t the case anymore and his dream was coming true at last by finally having the chance to slam into that hot hairy bubble butt on Jon’s.

Wavell then turned his gaze to the pair of trainers sitting across the room. Perfectly positioned so that they could see the entire scene unfold. How very cheeky of Jon.

It was then that the door to the bedroom burst open and in came Jon’s wife! At first her expression was furious, probably having assumed Jon was sleeping with another woman. But her expression quickly turned to shock as she saw another massive man on top of her husband, slamming down into him.

Wavell couldn’t help but chuckle at the drama of it all as the wife ran out of the bedroom as fast as her legs would take her. Likely being too shocked to even process what she’d seen. Meanwhile Jon told the bear to keep going and that he’d deal with his wife after his ass had been stuffed with cum.

After that the warlock was free to sit back and relax as the two men got back into the rhythm. All the while he couldn’t help but wonder how Jon was going to handle the situation with his wife and whether he was going to stick with his bearish colleague after this or find some other dudes to fuck. He was definitely going to stick around for awhile to see how all this unfolded.

[lebbys-world]

Secrets, Soba, & Smiles

Todoroki x gn!reader; teenagers in love, fluff, reader gets caught off guard a bit

notes: thanks for all the love on my last post :) im glad that so many people enjoyed my writing !! the kitchen scene is very artem from tot coded, which makes sense bc ive been obsessed with that game recently. anyways, hope you enjoy !! <3

You peered down the hall, checking to make sure it was clear, before walking towards the elevator.

The soft hum of the door opening led you to walk inside, pressing the button for the fifth floor.

You looked down at your phone to check the time, quickly noticing you’d received a follow up text from your boyfriend.

Before leaving your dorm, you had sent him a message letting him know you were about to be on your way up. 

You smiled to yourself as the elevator made its way up the floors, shooting him back a quick reply.

More often than not, you found yourselves having these late-night dorm dates as a means to compensate for the lack of public relationship.

Throughout the school day, you two were just seen as close friends, allowing any suspicions to just be laughed off. After all, there was no sense in blatantly lying about your relationship to your friends.

But if you both feigned ignorance, it managed to keep their suspicions at bay. 

With all earnest, you weren't necessarily trying keeping your relationship with the icy-hot boy a secret from your peers.

You never had concern for them finding out - albeit the barrage of questions and attention may be a bit overwhelming.

If anything, the concern you had was for the general public finding out that two rising heroes had feelings for one another.

You feared the worst case scenario: a villain using your adoration for each other as a weapon.

Maybe you were overreacting, but the nightmare situation it was, you wanted to prevent it in any way you could. So, as a safeguard, the both of you had agreed to just keep things to yourself.

This agreement worked well anyways, as you and Todoroki settled into the awkward ins-and-outs of first time teenage love.

So, yes, for now, things were okay being a sort of ‘secret’.

It was a secret for you two to share.

You were his, and he was yours.

The elevator door opened once more as you reached the fifth floor, stepping out into a familiar, yet different, hallway.

You made your way to your boyfriend’s room, before giving a gentle knock on the door.

Soon enough, the doorknob turned, the door creaked open, and heterochronic eyes met your own. 

You laughed to yourself before commenting, “well, I made it here in one piece.”

He gave you a soft smile back, “yeah, you did.”

That was the smile that always managed to killed you.

A smile that you never saw him quite show to anyone but you.

The way his lips turned in adoration, a genuine love and joy meeting his face. His eyes would crease with that smile, and, every time, without fault, you’d melt at that smile.

It was a smile that felt like it was only for you.

Interrupting your star-struck daze, Todoroki tilted his head.

“I meant to tell you before you got here, but I still wanted to grab some snacks from the common room.”

You stood up straight, pulling yourself back together.

“Oh, I could’ve just picked them up on the way.”

“It’s not a problem; I’ll just go now. You can set your stuff down. I'll be back shortly."

He started walking past you to begin his quick mission, when you followed on his heels. 

“I’ll come with you! Two people are better than one!”

He paused, gave a nod of appreciation, and the two of you carried on towards the main floor.

The short trip there was spent debating what snacks would be best for this late night excursion, with you insisting that your favorite food was the only way to go.

By the time you'd made it to the kitchen, Todoroki had been pleading his case for soba - per usual.

“Look,” he said, now pointing to a something sat on the shelf of the pantry. “They still have some left over. We could probably make two servings.”

He met your eyes with diligence, looking like a young child begging for a toy at the store.

As much as your favorite snack was calling your name, you thought to yourself that maybe some cold soba would be nice as well. 

“Fine, but I’m making the sauce.” You sighed, accepting his pleas. I mean, how could you not when he had given you such a cute look?

He smiled, his invisible tail practically wagging as he pulled out a pot and began to fill it with water. 

Nearby, you opened up the fridge and pulled out a few ingredients to start making into a light sauce.

You swiftly put on an apron, and started mixing things together before feeling complete with your makeshift recipe.

You took a spoon and dipped it in, giving it a taste. Having it meet your own liking, you called your boyfriend over, making sure it would suit his taste as well.

Continuing to stir, you thought to yourself how something about this unplanned cooking trip had just felt so right

It was almost as if you two were a married couple, working on making dinner together after a long day of work.

The idea made you blush.

Deep inside, these calm nights were the kind you hoped the future would bring many more of.

You were about to turn around and call to him again when you were suddenly met with two arms wrapped around your waist.

You let out a small gasp of surprise as Todoroki took the spoon from your hand, following through on your request and trying the dipping sauce you had made.

He hummed a tone of satisfaction and let his head rest atop your shoulder. 

“It’s really good, Y/N. Thank you, for your help.”

At that moment, you thanked God that your boyfriend couldn't see your overwhelmingly red face.

You doubt you would’ve even been flustered if Todoroki wouldn’t have pulled that hugging-you-from-behind cliché.

I mean, heck, he probably didn't even realize he was doing something that even could catch you so off guard.

Your boyfriend probably just thought he was hugging you, sharing his adoration for your cooking and determination.

And here you were, heart going overdrive all over his simple motions.

Having felt your heart rate spike, he let go after a moment, returning back to the care of draining the pot of soba. 

You took a moment and collected yourself a bit, finally giving a delayed reply:

“Yeah, anytime, Sho. It’s what I’m here for.”

He looked at you again, turning his gaze away from the sink, and gave you that melting smile of his.

That smile that makes you feel like everything in the world is okay, even if just in this moment.

Somehow that smile managed to calm your panicked heart, reminding you to take this all one step at a time.

You returned his smile with your own. A smile of your own that you hoped he admired just as much as you did his.

“…”

“...SHOTO, THE SOBA-”

all fictional works are for entertainment purposes only. all rights to characters, media, references, and other third party materials belong to their respective owners. do not repurpose, modify, copy, or repost my work to other sites without permission. © @lebbys-world 2024.

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[bet-on-me-13]

David Cain had a backup plan

(I know I literally just made a "Villains backup plan" Post yesterday with Trigon, but I also thought of this)

So! David Cain needed insurance, his Weapon was perfect so far but it didn't hurt to have a backup plan.

He took some of his Weapons DNA and stored it for later Use. When the Weapon escaped, and it became clear that he would not be able to capture it again, he turned to his Backup Plan.

He took the DNA and struck a Deal with a relatively new Villain going by Plasmius. Plasmius would get the DNA to test his Cloning Technology, and in return David would get the Clone once the tests were done.

The Deal was set, and Plasmius asked for 1 Year to complete the Cloning Process and Deliver.

But it seems that Plasmius had other plans.

Instead he took the DNA and incorporated it into the Structure of his own Weapon. An Unstable Clone known as Danielle that he planned to use against his Nemesis, Phantom. Unfortunately for him, his Plans failed and the Clone turned against him, escaping into the world.

Which left Vlad in a bit of a pickle, when 6 months later the Assasin he had made a deal with returned looking for his Weapon. The news did not go over well...

Now, David Cain is on the search for his Second Weapon, and while it may take a while to find it, he knows he will not fail this time.

...

Ellie is having the time of her life! She had escaped from under Vlad's thumb over 2 years ago, and was still exploring the world! Fulfilling her Obsession of Exploration while also reveling in her own Freedom.

She hadn't aged, and probably wouldn't for another 10 years if Frostbite's estimates were right, but she was making it work well enough.

Unfortunately she had recently noticed some shady guys tracking her whenever she stopped in a City, so she couldn't stay for as long anymore, but that was fine.

It was probably just more Fruitloops set on her by Vlad, she had taken care of enough of those guys. It would be easy!

...

6 Months later and she was not fine.

The Fruitloops following her had turned out to he working for an entirely different Fruitloop, who was actually a serious threat. He had gotten his hands on Ecto Weaponry, and was using it to try to capture her.

She wanted to go find Danny, but it turns out he had moved in with Jazz in a different city the moment he turned 17. He just never got the chance to inform her because she had lost her phone back when this whole thing started. He had left a message with Sam and Tucker though.

She thinks they mentioned it being called Gotham, so maybe she can find them there?

[yumeka-sxf]

It's been a few months since my last merch haul post, so time for another one! As usual, acrylic stands are my main purchases, with the below set being one of the rarest I've found 💖

The reason these are so rare is because I couldn't get them from my usual places on Amiami and Mercari JP. They're from a company called Ultrizon and are currently only sold in China. I saw them advertised on Twitter from a shop in Thailand and decided to reach out on the off chance that the shop would ship to the US. And much to my pleasant surprise, the shop, Chibishiba, replied and said that they would ship to me 😃 I was a bit concerned because they seemed to be just a small "mom and pop" shop, with only Twitter DMs as their form of communication and they kept track of everyone's orders in a google sheet. But I looked around on their social media and they seemed legit, so I placed an order (a few other fanatics I know on Discord did as well!) And thankfully, they were totally legit! They ordered the items from China, then once they shipped to Thailand, they then shipped to me in the US! Only took a few weeks 😁

Here's some more photos because they're so lovely~ For some reason the two Twiyor sets make me think of a scenario where they're going to a dance or other fancy event together (the left ones), but then something happens and they have to switch to "action mode" to stop a villain, save Anya, etc (the right ones).

Bond looks so adorable in his suit~ Also the one of Anya on the left is her totally thinking "Papa and Mama are so cool 🤩"

Even though I typically only buy merch with the Forgers, Yuri, Damian, and Franky were also part of this set. Lol, when I made the below photo of the three of them, I laughed because it looks like they're posing for a photo, with only Damian having fun…Yuri's like "whatever" and Franky's like "how long will this take, I have a date!" 😂

Besides the Ultrizon acrylics, the other ones I was most looking forward to getting were these chibi ones from the cruise arc (two different sets)

Between all of these, I now have acrylics of the Forgers' full wardrobe from the cruise arc 😅 My favorites are suit Yor, "I won't stop fighting" Yor, and Fun Dad Loid!

I really liked these Twiyor acrylics from the recent Tsukuba collab. It's like they're going on a hiking date ❤️

I also got these chibi "famous scene" acrylics from the Waku Waku Park event.

I've been trying so hard to get the complete set of these big acrylics for a few months now...I managed to find Loid and Anya, but no one is selling Yor 😭 (or Bond). I won't stop looking though!

As for non-acrylic figures, I've been looking forward to getting this Yor & Anya figure for over a year! It was actually one of the first SxF items I preordered, way back in November of 2022! Considering they had the colored prototype available way back then, I'm surprised it wasn't officially released until March of 2024. But worth the wait ❤️

For Code White's release, I got the set of Luminasta figures (all three for a good price on eBay).

Also chibi Loid & Yor~ I know there's a ton of chibi Loid and Yor figures out there, but I really liked these for some reason.

Last month I went back to Kura Sushi for the last merch from their recent collab: this nice shirt~ You were able to get it if your bill was at least $70, which isn't hard to do if you bring a friend with you and you both eat a bunch of sushi! (well, he did most of the eating, lol). I'm planning to wear it for the first time at Anime Expo in July 😁

They also had this little Anya dessert.

And miscellaneous items I recently got were these pretty picture cards that I plan to make scans of.

The McDonald's collab booklet, the season 2 complete set box, and the Loid & Anya cloth poster that came with the box. I also plan to make scans of these!

A mug from the Tobu Zoo collab.

And lastly, some new decals for my car! I found this set at Walmart of all places, lol. Found room for them among my other decals.

Since I bought so many new acrylics and figures lately, I had to do a major reorganization of my display shelves. But I'll save those photos for another post~

[boxturret]

Voya-Nui: An Overview

Hello,

This will be somewhat similar to my 1/10th scale Mata Nui posts, discussing the floating island of Voya-Nui based upon recently revealed information, mainly dealing with its size and role in the initial story.

Warning, this post is embarrassingly long.

Any who have the misfortune of knowing me know I have a rather selective view of what constitutes Bionicle. Essentially I consider Bionicle to have run from 1998 to mid 2002. As a kid I was a die hard fan until 06, where a combination of the marketing and the sets just not being very good caused me to gradually lose interest until I just got one set in 07 and never again bought a Bionicle.

All this preamble is to say that for the longest time I never really knew all that much about Voya-Nui, apart from it being the namesake of a terrible game. Later on, as I got back in to the hobby I heard rumors, dark, twisted rumors. They spoke of a stick making the island fly underwater through a hole, that the island itself was ejected from the body of the robot and left a Voya-Nui sized hole in a continent. Just the ravings of a mad man, so I threw it in the bin along with everything in Bionicle after the Toa go in to the Bohrok hives in 02 and moved on with my life.

Fast forward to now, and Christian Faber starts releasing some development materials through a humanoid water fowl, and this very interesting image is among what's released

This image made everything click for me and I fell in love with Voya-Nui as a concept.

But I think before revealing the original intent, its important to explain the "canon" sequence of events surrounding the so called "Island of Doom"

ISLAND OF DOOM, A PRIMER

Okay so there's a big robot sleeping in an ocean, one day its heart pops and a chunk of land that was on top of the heart breaks out of its chest and starts floating in the ocean. The island, I must add, survived this event, as the hole it left is the same shape and size as the final island.

Now the island floats around for a bit, the volcanic crater on it eventually builds up a large land mass in the middle of the bay, the people on it (yes there were people on the island when it got ejected, and they survived the event) decide that this is the best place to build a city.

It turns out that wasn't the best place to build a city as the new land mass breaks off and somehow anchors it to the sea floor.

Eventually some guys show up and break the anchor cord and the island, inexplicably, sinks down under the water, and manages to go right back in to the hole it made and everything returns to normal.

In some blog post it was explained that there was a magic wand that fixed everything that was used at the same moment.

This is the canonical sequence of events.

More like island of dumb¹.

THE ORIGINAL CONCEPTS

Okay now that all that unpleasantness is out of the way, we can start with the actually interesting things.

There are so many details to cover here, I think the best way to organise them would be to present everything roughly chronologically.

The scenario is the same, a massive robot crash lands in a large ocean, its completely under the water outside of its face, upon which the larger island of Mata Nui forms.

From the beginning its very different, there's no large landmass over the heart (in fact the very idea of the robot itself being full of various domes with islands in them is very suspect but this post is already long enough). The heart is a reactor, and consists of a massive spherical cavity in the chest. Something occurs and the heart pops open, a small panel or valve on the perimeter of the reactor core's wall bursts out of the chest of the robot. Through this hole sea water begins to flood in-this is important!

The ejected panel floats, and some sort of system within it cools it down, causing the sea water to freeze, essentially turning it in to a massive iceberg. There's also mentions of it being magnetic, the final island is described as looking somewhat like a magnet run over a factory floor. It probably also attracted debris from the sea bed as it floated through the seas. As you can see in that diagram the core is filled with massive long cables and the island eventually gets anchored by a long cable, so that's possibly where that came from!

Over years the island grows and grows as it floats around the oceans, being buffeted around by the currents. Eventually part of it becomes unstable and breaks off, sinking to the ocean floor, and since a large cable was attached to both pieces, it anchors the island in place.

Now we get to the crucial part. In the canon depiction of events the most baffling thing is why does breaking the anchor rope make it sink? Now we come back to this image:

When the panel popped out it left a hole. Water is pouring back in to the hole, forming a giant whirlpool. The robot is so massive that even after all these years of constant flooding the cavity on the inside is still not even half full. Voya-Nui was caught in the whirlpool's strong currents when the island broke up. This impromptu anchor stopped it just as it was about be pulled in! Then the super strong currents from the whirlpool gave it the distinctive curved shape.

So now we know why destroying the cable holding it in place causes the floating island to sink: once untethered its free to be pulled in to the whirlpool! The island that formed around the panel would break off and the panel would basically be a giant plug and stop the flow of water flooding in to the reactor.

Figuring this all out was such a revelation, taking one of the most nonsensical sequences of events in the series and transforming it in to this completely logical scenario which, from the point of view of the characters involved, is still quite mysterious and oblique, but when looked at from the perspective of repairing this giant robot it makes perfect sense.

And we were robbed. Imagine the Mata Nui rising sequence of animations starting off with a whole island being pulled in to a whirlpool.

THE CORE

This is getting a bit beyond the main focus of the island, but I just want to talk about the core itself because there were a few interesting tidbits there as well. Its a very evocative setting which I feel suffered greatly and few of the interesting parts were conveyed well in the story.

The water streaming through the hole is described as having some sort of light emitting reaction to the part of the reactor its hitting, lighting the whole chamber. Steam from the reaction swirls upwards and vaporised materials from the heat of the reaction collect on the roof, forming massive stalactites that eventually fall, creating this jagged forest of stone needles within the massive pool of water, water which's temperature varies depending on how close it is to the reaction.

Really seems a shame that in the final story it was simplified down to "sky" and "swamp". Just imagine, this forest of stone, shrouded in fog, lit by this flickering unearthly light emanating from the centre. You have the added aspect of once Voya-Nui has returned to its rightful place the water fall would cease, leading to the light dwindling until the whole area is pitch black.

MISCELLANEOUS OTHER NOTES

One major feature of the island that was missing from the earlier ice and rock version is the massive lava crater, supposedly from the mask of life². I had been toying with the idea that the volcano formed the rest of the island around the panel, but with how much larger the island was it just didn't make sense, so the ice and magnetism really helped out there!

Its said that the ice formed as some sort of self defence mechanism, like an organ freezing itself to preserve itself in an emergency. Personally though I have this little idea that the panel was actually something like the cooling system for the reactor, and without it the reactor was going to over heat, but luckily it was kept just cool enough by the falling water. The cooling system, being linked somehow to the main robot, detects that the reactor was over heating and starts working over time to cool it, leading to it freezing the surrounding ocean and making itself in to a massive iceberg, but as it wasn't connected to the robot's core and nothing it did had any effect, it ends up overheating itself, causing the pool of lava on the top. But that's just a little fan idea.

Another one I have is that the island, when it was floating freely, may have passed next to Mata Nui, close enough to be sailed too, at some point far in the past. Explaining how there would be inhabitants on it despite it getting shot out of the robot like a bullet.

Also it would be remiss of me to not mention that even though the canon depiction of events makes no sense, the whirlpool is briefly seen in the 100% ending of the torture device Bionicle Heroes.

But this is much smaller, and seems to only have just opened up in the bay. Rather than being something to do with the hole it made it seems this is more about how the mask they were seeking went underwater.

SCALE!

Time to talk sizes!³

This drawing is especially useful here, as it shows all 3 major objects in question all relative to each other. Yes Voya-Nui is there, its the tiny little dot on the bottom right. So I simply took the height maps for Voya-Nui, used them to make a quick little model in the same fashion as my Mata Nui, and brought in my old GSR model. I scaled them all to the Mata Nui from my last posts, and guess what! It all lines up perfectly.

The Voya-Nui Model is the exact right size it should be, according to this map:

And what was more impressive, was that the GSR turned out to be pretty much bang on with this even older concept art:

Scaling the GSR was a more bit awkward, as the final design is more gangly compared to this drawing, but lining up the torsos worked really well!

And now let us visit the 1/10th scale Mata Nui and meet Geroge. A new island has floated up off Ta-Wahi beach and he want's to explore a bit!

Excuse the monochrome island, the height maps I'm using are actually quite different from the final island.

There is a height map more accurate to the final island, but that one didn't have an underside. The little islets in the bay were also neat.

The large lava lake in the centre is roughly 250 metres across. Its nothing compared to Mata Nui's caldera, but its still very huge when you get down to the ground level.

The panel that forms the centre of the island is massive as well.

Approximately 550m wide, and 900m tall. Just think of the massive reactor core this thing popped out of!

Seeing it separate from the island really puts it in perspective.

Imagine this thing shooting out of the robot's chest like a bullet.

I'll just quickly mention, earlier on I posted that map of all the internal islands. If you use the size of metru nui on there you can scale Voya-Nui appropriately, and you end up with this.

Its less a small panel popping out of the heart and more the scene from Alien at this point.

CONCLUSION

This has been quite a rambly post, but there was just so much information to cover. I left out a lot of details. This whole thing just makes me very excited, sorry.

I just think its such a beautifully elegant scenario that really adds a lot to the setting and story, rather than just having yet another new island, but this time the island is mean. I find it quite interesting how everything would have sorted itself out, if not for the island breaking in half. There's no Machiavellian plots, no scheming, no betrayal, just an unfortunate occurrence that makes a bad situation worse, and everyone has to work to fix it. It was utterly butchered in the final story. It makes me quite sad for what could have been. Just picture it, this floating island getting pulled towards a massive whirlpool, the outer island breaking off as it spirals deep down underwater until this long, tarnished metal plug is revealed to have been at the centre. With a huge impact it closes up the hole, fitting back perfectly where it came from, managing to avert the disaster of the flood waters growing ever higher inside the core of this robot.

But in any case, really the important take away is, Voya-Nui is just a rip off of Noah's Island when you get down to it.

I'll leave you with a photograph of George waving hello to his large friend.

Have a nice day/night[delete whichever is inappropriate]!

¹-You know its true. ²-Not to be confused with the Mask o' Flight, the film staring a swarm of Tahnok. ³-Please note, I am using 1 kio = .1 km as per my previous posts, if this offends you simply multiply every number in this post by 43.75966487787¾⁴ ⁴-Yes even this one.

While I was working on this I made some more revelations about the core which will probably need its own post. ;_; This thing already took 3 days to make....

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I'm planning to draw/write a character who, due to an accident, got quite a bit of scarring on her face and lost an eye. Would they need a prosthetic eye? While searching, everything I found included a step of "And then you'll get fitted for your prosthetic eye", making it sound as if everyone who loses an eye needs to have one, but what would happen if someone didn't? Additionally, would there be a difference between never wearing one and wearing one at first, then stopping?

Hi, thank you for your ask!

Generally it's considered beneficial to have something replace the eye because without it the eyelids will droop and the socket will shrink. It also (more importantly) protects the tissue that's left from things that could potentially get inside, which could cause infection. As far as I was able to research, the former is mostly aesthetic (in adults/people who finished growing, which I'm assuming your character is) but the latter is very important.

However; it doesn't necessarily need to be a prosthetic ("glass") eye - they're the most common option, but eye patches and conformers all protect the socket from debris and stuff just fine (in fact any kind of sealed eyewear probably would). Prosthetics and conformers are medically roughly the same while eye patches do nothing to help the socket or eyelids keep their original shape. (I made a very long post about eye patches but TLDR, I think they're too often associated with frustrating stereotypes and tropes.)

Prosthetic eyes are unfortunately extremely expensive and need professional regular care that a lot of people can't afford, so not everyone can use them. Conformers (basically big, transparent contacts) are an alternative that some people might choose. You can't really see them when they're inside the socket. Here is a very interesting video about conformers and prosthetics by Clay Butler. I wrote a video description and transcript here because the original doesn't have them. It explains a lot of things in a very comprehensible way from a first-person perspective. If you want something that makes sense other than a prosthetic this could be a great thing to consider :) (smile)

If someone doesn't have anything to protect their socket, they risk infection and all the problems associated with it. So you technically could go fully bare, but it's less than ideal. I've also heard that the sensation of eyelid going over the eye socket is uncomfortable (because it's so bumpy) but I assume it depends on the person.

I believe that the difference between never wearing any protection and wearing-then-stopping would just be how fast the things I mentioned in the second paragraph would set in. So if your character recently stopped wearing a prosthetic or conformer, their general eye area would probably look more "normal" than if they never wore it at all.

Here's also the facial difference post that I always link for people making characters with facial scars, which might be helpful to you.

I hope this helps 🙂 (smile emoji)

mod Sasza

[simpjaes]

One of my fav enha writers elix8r on here just announced that they were leaving and it just made me so sad to see someone leave due to people not appreciating their work and it made me think of you and how you’re literally one of my only fav writers who haven’t left this site and I hope you never do cause ily so much and I was wondering how we could show you more appreciation for giving us amazing fics? Like I know you’re loved by so many people and get good numbers on notes but still like I don’t want to lose you too so lmk if there’s anything else we can do for you to make you know we appreciate everything you put out here 🥺

; - ; time for transparency, and a HUGE rant. But first, thank you so much, im so honored you said this to me <3

there are plenty of ways you can support me! For instance, i do have a patreon set up for eventual writing [which will still be posted here too for the most part], that won't happen until i have more time outside of school. I also do have cash app! Which i prefer over ko-fi because i don't like my personal information shown ;-; you can ask me for my cash app tho!

Other ways include simply telling me how my fics make you feel, or if you like them. You are never obligated to tip me money for what I write, and i will alwwwaaays want feedback and reblogs!

that being said: am i leaving tumblr?

I've been weighing my thoughts lately, and i've boiled it down that i really don't know how I feel about being here after I started writing four years ago. I don't like the way people feel entitled to access my life, and who I am. [remember that blog who posted my selfies, and other writer's selfies just so people could see it? without our consent? example number 2398749382, truly]

I don't like the cliques [even if we all end up in one whether intentional or not, some of you are just fucking mean], i don't like the moral police, i don't like the performative activism, i don't like the copying even if on a tiny level, i don't like how people treat me like a celebrity. I don't like how I can't monitor closely for underage people who should not ever be looking at my blog, let alone reading work that i did NOT write for them. the main thing though, really is the entitlement from people, and the blatant nasty intentions a lot of people have here, especially between writers.

It's unbearable sometimes.

Every day, i have to be talked out of deleting both of my blogs and writing elsewhere specifically for the freedom to stop walking on egg shells. Then again, some days, like today, i like it here.

So, while I was recently just waiting to absolutely disappear without a word here, today I feel good. Today, I feel like staying wouldn't be too awful.

I just want to make something clear to people while I'm talking about it. If i stay here, i will never care so deeply about fan fiction, or people's opinions on it outside of feedback on my work. I care about it as a creative process, and a skill to be learned, that's it. I do not care what other people read, i do not care what they write, i don't care who jerks off to what. I will never, fucking ever take fan fiction so seriously that I feel hatred towards another person. unless it involves minors/underage people, of course. that's entirely different for me personally. For the most part, i genuinely only care about what I'm doing and what i can do better.

If i stay, i need people to stop expecting me to be a spokesperson on literally anything and everything. I am a person who is genuinely struggling just to get out of bed. I am a person who is studying and doing home work more than I would be working if I had a full time job right now. I do not have time or energy to care deeply the way others do, and even if I did have that time and energy, i put it on things i love. Like writing my own fics and not giving a fuck about what anyone else is doing.

This blog is my space. It's my world. I'm sick of expectations for me to make it anything more than what it is: a goddamn kpop smut blog.

This website is excruciating to open sometimes. but on days like today, i really appreciate it and love it here.

I will stay for now, but don't be shocked if, in the future, i leave without even saying my goodbyes. I have things outside of this blog that matter to me, and I will never let myself feel unhappy doing something i love, that's more for me than any other person in this world who wants to scream their opinions.

**edit 11/20** and with the AI apocalypse apparently happening here, it really does feel like....bad to be here. i don't want people who don't write to put themselves on the same level as real writers. y'know, the ones who put love and effort into their work. It's very upsetting to see the amount of people who don't care if it's being used.

especially like....knowing those fics get hella interaction because it seems readers, even if they don't know it, seem to value false writing over very real writing. oof. anyway

as long as my writing stays fun and positive, i will be staying.

[seaadc]

sshshshshsh heyhey could i have some uhh aqua hoshino x streamer!reader

I feel like such a genius for thinking about this my third eye has been opened

status | aqua hoshino x streamer!fem!reader

a/n: THIS IS SUCH A UNIQUE REQUEST??!!!??? THANK U SM ANON!!

summary: aqua being madly infatuated with you ever since he had saw you streaming.

- “If the world was against us, then I’m against the world.”

You are definitely in for a treat, definitely.

Before Aqua had met you, he was not that quite.. expressive? He had a cold demeanor, You can call him stern, but not too quite.

When Aqua was silently working on the little short trailer of a video that the team he was working with in “Love now” was gonna post, He came across you in the internet.

You were streaming in youtube, Your hair looked good and it looks recently brushed. You were talking to your fans since you were popular— heck, you even knew Mem-cho! You were slightly more popular than her which caused you to have a lot of viewers.

The girl was talking about her life and desires, how she’d want to be an idol someday. Aqua narrowed his eyes at the screen, staring deep into your galactic eyes.. How mesmerizing. He wouldn’t admit that

You were acting all so bubbly and giddy, showing your viewers some stuff in your room. And, to be honest, Aqua enjoyed watching you. Or was he just tired? He was tired from editing the short clip, he just laid his head down the table and using his arms as support while he looked at the laptop, gazing into your eyes that wasn’t even staring into his own.

He then sighed and closed the laptop, standing up while he went outside to grab the juice Yuki was going to gave him.

Aqua went out, Mem-cho went inside and opened the laptop, checking if the video had gotten more popular but she was greeted by a familiar face.

“Oh! It’s [Name]!” The blondie muttered to herself, wondering what was the tab doing in the laptop.

“Huh.. Aqua left the room last.”

Aqua decided to take a stroll outside the building, not too far but not too near. He was walking down the sidewalks when he felt like he should get a snack. He went to the nearest store and went inside, the bell on top of the door ringing.

Aqua sighed to himself and grabbed some chips, To his surprise there was a girl next to him.

She looked up at the shelf and grabbed the same chips Aqua had got but a different flavor, The girl smiled brightly to herself and adjusted her cap.

Aqua looked at her, He was 2 inches taller than her if he could presume.. She looked oddly familiar.

“Miss… Uh.. Have I seen you somewhere?” Aqua asked softly, his eyes narrowing at the girl’s cap which was colored white.

The girl looked up at him, Aqua widening his eyes at the realization it was the streamer had come across earlier.

“Well that’s interesting. People can still recognize me?” You mumbled, sighing in disbelief while you headed over at the cashier and placed your chips down at the counter.

Aqua hummed and followed, right behind you while he waited in line. It was awkward.. The only sound you could hear was the cashier’s machine clacking and doing such beeps.

The girl turned and looked at Aqua, smiling warmly. “[Name], At your service.” She introduced, and left while the bell rang.

Aqua stared off into the door, following your figure until it has dissipated. He looked down at the chips and put it down the counter.. Somehow, He felt.. attached. He couldn’t explain why, It was definitely not the universe playing tricks on both of you… right?

Ever since Aqua met you in real life, He couldn’t stop. As in, He couldn’t stop checking your profile everyday to see if you have a new video or stream. Truth be told, He watched every single video you had made and streams. Even if they were past streams, He still persevered to watch it.

Aqua felt comfortable and satisfied whenever he would rewatch a video of yours when you won’t post due to lack of motivation, but he would always check. Everyday, Everynight.

One day as you set up your computer, You thought of the fair blonde guy you met at the shop. You smiled at the thought, knowing it was the same guy you supported in the show “Love now” and the upcoming Tokyo Revenger live action.

You started streaming and viewers rushed in the stream, waiting for other viewers to arrive while a certain username joined.

“AquaHoshino… Are you a fan or the guy himself?” You chuckled, the viewers commenting of how cute and adorable your smile is while the user you had mentioned didn’t reply.

Meanwhile, through the other screen, Aqua couldn’t contain himself when his tongue slipped out of your mouth. He kept staring at your face, He didn’t know why, but the word that fits to what he kept on doing for the past few months was definitely ‘Infatuation’.

Considering he was a doctor before, ‘course he knew what this thing was. But it took him quite a long time to accept that he was inlove with you. A streamer who makes money off it.

Aqua just entered Strawberry Productions since Miyako called for him, only to find out that you, yes you, had signed a contract. Turns out Mem-cho had invited you and both of you were conversing with eachother on the green couch.

Miyako smiled and walked up to Aqua. “We have a new member.” She spoke with a soothing voice. Aqua flinched when he saw you, You both held eye contact until you smiled.

Oh shit, That was the best thing he ever saw. (except Ai’s smile) His heart melted, feeling it race like a sports car. Aqua cleared his throat and turned away, trying to hide the redness creeping up to his face while Mem-cho merely giggled. “Your so charismatic, [Name]-chan.” Mem-cho teased to which Aqua sighed at, He left the area to not get embarrassed any further and went to his room, leaving a very confused [Name]. and he would probably sabotage things a bit because he doesnt want you to be an idol, being a streamer is already making you tired and he doesn’t want that.

And since then, You would always talk to him with the most giddy-est personality ever. He would reply in short answers but he enjoyed your company, he wasn’t going to say that straightforwardly to you but might as well include it.

He would enjoy the peaceful silence you both shared in benches, school cafeterias, living rooms, and so many more places!

Aqua would probably be clingy to you in private, He isn’t a fan of PDA but he would gladly let you if you would do the first move or if he’s.. ehem.. jealous.

He once saw you conversing too much with a male employee at the cinema counter since you asked to join him in the mall which he couldn’t decline at. Only to find out another person was going to spend all your time with him.

Aqua approached with the popcorn he had bought and gave one to you, glaring at the employee. You thanked him while he simply nodded.

He took your hand and intertwined it with his, which made your heart pounding like some sort of wildebeest in a stampede.

And you both enjoyed that day.

bonus:

Aqua had confessed, inside the store you both first met. The cashier looked very amused while imaginary stars appeared beside her.

“W-what..?“ You stuttered, blushing a pink hue at the sudden confession Aqua had made, since he just kind of.. said that so fast.

Aqua sighed with the tip of his ears were flaming red while his cheeks were red too. “I’m not repeating that.” He blurted out, looking away while he kept a blank expression though the color of his cheeks say otherwise.

Being his girlfriend made you realize how hard is life is, how he would risk anything just to get justice for his mother. Which he told you after a few not a few months of dating. He got comfortable around you and you would always be there to comfort him during his nightmares, And he would always be there for you whenever you get a hate comment that gets you really insecure.

To be honest, You would probably wake up one day and getting the news of the person who kept on hating on you suddenly so quiet… I wonder what your lovely red flag boyfriend did.

[booquip]

Hello! Sorry guys I broke my arm lol and it was my right arm too so writing was on the back burner for me. I even had to take a final with my left hand. But dw guysss I came back so alpha sigma skibidi 😜😜🐺🐺 I hope you enjoy whatever the heck of writing this is that I never posted because it felt stupid and doesn’t even make sense to me ☹️☹️ 

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!Reader x Suguru Geto

Synopsis: Takes place a bit after the star plasma incident (written in multiple POVS) (trigger warning(?) Scars and bloody injury.)

Word Count: 1,455

The scorching summer day slowly faded into an orange-purple hue welcoming the stars and saying goodbye to the sun. Something you’d usually notice but everything recently just looked dull. You found yourself ignoring it… Dismissing the moment under the guise of saying you’d see it the next day… something you’d been saying a lot recently.

You were walking to your dorm coming back battered from a mission. You didn’t even notice the blood stain on your arm or the aching pain from how deep the curse had punctured you. You’d been biting more than you could chew recently with missions and who were the higher-ups to deny a special grade actually wanting to do something? You needed the distraction… Your mind being miles away —well no more like stuck in time—hence why a grade two curse was able to almost get the jump on you.

You look down to the thin paper cut like scars on your hands tucking them under your sleeves it seemed to be a permanent karmic reminder of that day… When Gojo and Geto became Suguru and Satoru… But at what cost? A trauma bond? The loss of a promising young girl? The over exertion of all your techniques? The questioning of all your morals?

Goj—Satoru didn’t let anyone get behind him for a while. It’s subtle but you noticed it…. Or were you just projecting that hurt? Suguru being a different story all together.. it was a rare occurrence to see him anymore… You never know how much a presence is needed until it’s well…gone.

You let out a breath your eyes feeling heavy yet you weren’t sleepy this had been going on for a while since then… Instead of bee-lining for your dorm like usual in which you’d usually cross paths with Satoru who’d be talking to Shoko about whatever it was they would talk about, you were too tired to pay attention…

You walk straight to the student common area to make yourself some tea. You didn’t even notice Geto’s presence until you saw his figure in front of you in the dim lit kitchen area.. You just give him a slight bow of the head in greeting. In which his eyes rake over your form. His presence didn’t seem right… but then again nothing did these days.

You didn’t realize that you subconsciously made tea for two. Why had you done that? You set a cup in front of him. He gives you another once over almost like he was surprised. Then he does so again the moment you take a seat beside him.

He murmurs something, you make it out to be a thanks but it was hard to tell because he kept his gaze down his shoulders slouched as if he was carrying the weight of the world on them.

You notice the bags under his eyes ,the attire he’s wearing, the way his hair looks, his slouched shoulders… His once vibrant violet irises, that reminded you of purple Hydrangeas were now withering purple Hyacinths. Even like this he was still a breathtaking site. You were snapped out of your thoughts when he unexpectedly spoke a bit louder for you to hear this time, breaking the silence that would leave even a feather to be heard if it fell.

“You’re hurt.”

His voice had a rough coarse edge to it, yet hearing it after so long it could be mistaken as silk to you. How long had it really been since you heard him speak? You take one hand off the hot tea cup you were holding going across to touch the wound on your left shoulder. You graze over the wound staring down at the crimson on the pads of your middle and ring fingers. Now that he pointed it out it started to sting. “Oh it’s really noth—“

He cuts you off by taking your wounded arm and rolling your sleeve up. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you almost instinctively retract your arm the scars from the Star Plasma incident stoping at your elbows… he knew you over exerted your blood technique back then but not by how much. He clenched his jaw at the site rolling the fabric up further eying the fresh wound on your shoulder.

His hands were cold you thought to yourself. Cold but soft…You manage to say something before you could get lost in his touch—his movements… Even in this state he did everything with such grace… “It’s nothing… really it’ll heal on its o—“

Why were you always neglecting yourself? He found himself thinking.

His mind was everywhere but worrying about you seemed to be the only constant.

Even though the both of them weren’t speaking much he could tell Satoru was also worried about you with the way he conviently needed to go to the girls dorm to talk to Shoko every time he saw you walking back on campus from a mission.

Suguru knew he wasn’t one to talk about appearances at all considering he could barely muster the energy to do well… anything. Yet somehow he found himself drinking the tea you made him, he found himself actually enjoying it,savoring the taste on his tongue as much as he could. He hears your pitiful attempt to downplay the situation quickly shutting that down with a knowing look. He felt the ghost of a grin purse his lips…it was almost amusing to him how fast you had stopped yourself.

Your eyes widen a bit seeing even the undertone of a smile on his lips. How long were you missing no— craving his presence. His hands were cold yet even the slightest curl of his lips felt so warm. You clear your throat a bit when he grabs the first aid kit beginning to clean your wound wincing a bit at the stinging sensation.

“Don’t be such a big baby.”

Says someone with an airy tone that betrays hints of something you couldn’t quite catch. Worry? Sympathy? Pity? Concern? You didn’t know but something about it was as everything was these days …off.

You turn your head looking up at him. You were so lost in the moment with Suguru you hadn’t sensed Satoru’s presence behind you.

His arms were crossed leaning his back against the wall raking over your form, his eyes narrowing in on your wound. The scars from that day still sent a mess of anger surging through him. Why was that? Why did it pain him to see you hurt? Why did it pain him to see you so clearly neglecting yourself? Why were you so casual about it? More over why did he care? Why was he finding himself wanting to pamper you?

He glances at his best friend…if you could even call them that right now.. Satoru knew he was going through something but he was afraid. For the second time in his life he found himself afraid of something…What if everything crumbles the moment he points something out? Since when did he find himself feeling doubt? Why did it always have to be about you two?

Suguru doesn’t look up from your wound but his grip on your arm tightens ever so slightly as if he was…nervous of Gojo's presence. It had been so long since the three of you were together. The tension between the two was thick almost enough that it could be cut with a knife. You let out a light laugh your eyes crinkling a bit at the sides as you shake your head in response to Satoru’s words .

You hadn’t noticed the way both of their eyes widened ever so slightly. Geto looking up at Gojo, both of them silently communicating...something. You turned your attention back to Sugurus hands now wrapping a bandage around the wound on your shoulder. For some reason the tension seemed to visibly dissipate Suguru finally speaking, the ghost of a smile returning on his lips.

“Like you’re one to talk Satoru”

He says his voice still tired but now with hints of playfulness to it.

Satoru pauses for a brief almost unnoticeable moment before clutching his hand to his heart in a dramatic display of mock offense, letting out a gasp.

You smile a warm one this time looking down at your now patched up shoulder, Suguru’s touch still lingering.. Why did you find yourself always craving more of it? You realize you smiled more in this hour than you did in the last two weeks. Their bickering filled the room feeling so warm the atmosphere beginning settle into something so foreign yet so familiar at the same time.

Everything would definitely not go back to normal but you three… maybe... You three would be okay.

I don’t really know how to feel about this to be honest…. I find myself pulling my hair out when it comes to witting Gojo. Trying to write him in a way that isn’t over saturated in fannon because he’s just way more complex than that but still finding myself unsatisfied with the way i write him because it doesn’t feel canon (but then again nothing will be because its FANFICTION). Oh and don’t get me started on dialogue its like pulling teeth taking me half an hour to figure out if they would really say the most simple phrase or if they would really react in such a way. Sorry if this disappointed you guys anyway as always thanks so much for the love on my last posts!! Also thanks so much for reading! Constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated!!

I was tweaking my old writing and it spiraled into this long mess. I like to think that Suguru would be more assertive in situations where the reader is hurt just the silent type… Like he’s mad but quiet in his words but body language tells another story… while Satoru is similar but much more… aggressive... maybe? Like he would berate the reader loudly for not taking care of the wound tease her for being ‘weak’ but also patch it up best he could even though he doesn’t really know how to??? I don’t know mann I just be yapping 😭😭

Also sorry for any inaccuracies again you can totally nit pick me I love getting better at writing! (Not too much though I have a fear of rejection) due to well uhmm my broken arm… haha… I couldn’t catch up on JJK as well as I hoped… you’d think I’d be able to laze around but nooo… I had to be an actual person and do stuff 😒😒 so yeah just feel free to tell me if I made an error in any concept!

Taglist: (I'm not sure if this is the writing you guys wanted to be tagged in but let me know and i'll remove it but thanks for liking my writing enough to want be tagged!! Like seriously it makes me jump for joy🙆🏽‍♀️🙆🏽‍♀️ also i have no clue how to tag so if i did it wrong let me know and ill fix it) @colorful-happy-shit , @ami20019

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space. (1)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 3 ! (part 2)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation (please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it made you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkept facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped upon your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think I’m alright

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes. 

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing. 

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

[blizzardheart12]

Descendants 4 headcanon/theory || the Hook family

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I’ve been doing a lot of thinking ever since I first watched Rise of Red, and I mean a lot. In recent days, that old middle school mystery I used to ponder about who the Hook childrens’ mother is has come back to haunt me once again. So, after a lot of reliving my past Descendants obsession (and a fair amount of fanfic reading), I came up with this theory— it’s really just headcanons— about Harriet, Harry, CJ, and Red’s parentage. Let me know what you think! This is the first time I’ve actually posted something on Tumblr so we’ll see how this goes lol.

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Captain James Hook and Bridget, the Queen of Hearts

Harriet Hook’s mother is the Queen of Hearts. Harriet and her fraternal twin sister, Red (bear with me), were born shortly after the creation of the Isle of the Lost. During this time, James lived in Wonderland with Bridget and helped command her army while she ruled the kingdom, thus avoiding imprisonment on the Isle. James, who had a passion for traveling, often left to visit with his crew and other villainous friends there by permission of Auradon, which sparked jealousy in Bridget, unbeknownst to him.

When Auradon Kingdom informed the Kingdom of Wonderland that the doorway between their worlds would soon be sealed for good, a massive argument ensued between Bridget and James. James wanted to leave Wonderland and live on the Isle with his crew mates and friends, and he wanted Bridget and the twins to come with him. Bridget was adamant on keeping her throne, however, and she forbid James from setting foot outside of Wonderland. After some time, it became clear that their relationship was over, and Bridget could no longer stand keeping James imprisoned in her territory.

They made a heartfelt agreement that they would part ways, and James left to go live on the Isle, taking Harriet with him. This separation caused the Queen of Hearts to turn extremely bitter, and she never told Red about her sister or father. Because time passes at a slower rate in Wonderland than it does everywhere else, Red aged much more slowly than her sister, so much so that by the time she began to attend Auradon Prep, she was younger than CJ, the youngest of James’s children. Harriet began to age at a normal rate the second she and her father left for the Isle, and that day is often considered to be her birthday despite her having been alive for nearly two years in Auradon-time (she was physically only a few months old though). As a result, she is essentially two years older than her brother, Harry. Try not to think about it too hard.

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Captain James Hook and Sarah Sanderson

Harry and CJ Hook’s mother is Sarah Sanderson. James and Sarah never really had an official relationship, seeing as both quite enjoyed keeping up with their own long lists of love affairs during their time on the Isle. One would say that their blatant disloyalty to each other is what enabled them to get along as well as they did.

It was thought that Sarah maintained a relationship with James not only because he was attractive and a total flirt— not so different from her— but because he reminded her of Billy Butcherson when he was alive, or rather, a version of him from her dreams that boasted a much more unruly personality. Similarly, James found himself drawn to Sarah not just because of her beauty and flirtatiousness, but because she reminded him of Bridget, or rather, a version of her from his dreams where she was still sweet and playful and wasn’t totally blinded by her power.

It should also be mentioned that their relationship lasted a while because without access to magic, Sarah (and her sisters) couldn’t cause James any real harm as that is what usually happened with her unfortunate lovers.

Of the two, James was the better parent. He (mostly meaning his first mate Smee) took sole care of the children since their birth. He was coldest towards Harry yet somehow earned the most admiration from him despite not really warming up to his son until he grew past Peter Pan’s age. Sarah did show a bit of an uncharacteristic affection towards her children when she was with them, but ultimately her loyalty towards her sisters prevailed and she remained rather distant, only visiting with them before full moon rituals (when she didn’t forget, that is). It sounds cold, but she was one of the more caring parents on the Isle, and James was one of the best, personally teaching each of them important skills about survival, fencing, sailing, and literature (Harry never caught on to the reading thing, though, and James didn’t have the patience to make him sit still long enough to teach him).

Winnifred and Mary only knew of Harry’s existence. This is because Sarah is an awful liar and did not do a good job of hiding her pregnancy. Winnie was furious when she discovered this, but because there was no magic on the Isle, she couldn’t do much about it. When the baby turned out to be a boy, she began crafting a plan to get rid of him, but Sarah told this to James in secret and he had his crew steal back the child.

Sarah’s visits with James frequently became more prolonged after that, to the point where her spending months away at a time with him—expecting their daughter— hardly phased her two sisters (they thought unseriously of her and assumed she was off galavanting around with more lovers or searching for potion ingredients). They never found out about CJ and were pleased to see Sarah return not long after the baby was born.

Harry inherited his parents’ flirtatious (and slightly unhinged) nature. He has his father’s dark hair and his mother’s eyes. CJ has her mother’s blonde hair and her father’s eyes. Harry grew up not caring too much about maintaining a relationship with his mother because he felt offended that she always acted colder towards his sister, Harriet. He didn’t think it was fair that she be neglected of attention because she had a different mother— in his eyes, Sarah was Harriet’s mother as well. CJ, however, took a great interest in witchcraft as she got older and began to seek out Sarah’s company more and more with time.

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So, that was pretty much all of it. Hope you enjoyed reading! Ignore the badly edited photo I made, I just needed something relevant😭

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Dragon Jack Fantasy AU Headcanons

So, I know that Jack’s fursona is a snake, because he wants warm cuddles his sunshine won’t run away from, which is where we get naga Jack, but what if he was a different sort of mythical creature?

No, not an incubus, but you can check out my incubus headcanons here and here. I’m talking about a different fantastical creature that still has a few scaly features.

It’s the year of the dragon, and that got me thinking about a certain piece of absolutely gorgeous artwork my friend Mars made back in August, which in turn made me think, dragon Jack AU?

Dragon Jack AU.

Oh hell yeah, let’s get fantastical.

Credit for this beautiful artwork and fueling my inspiration goes to the marvelous Mars, who you can find over here on tumblr and on twitter. Please consider popping on by to leave a kind word or two. Trust me, you won’t regret looking at all of her jaw-droppingly stunning art!

Content warnings: There is going to be spice in these headcanons, and it’s going to get a bit kinky at times. I mean, we’re talking about Jack as a dragon getting frisky with his sunshine. Bad Dragon didn’t get its name for nothing after all. Oh and there’s also some dark themes like going insane from isolation, families being awful to one another, exploitation of workers, bullshit politics in a medieval inspired fantasy setting, deadly monsters attacking people, yandere obsession, that sort of thing.

Overall it’s going to be pretty lighthearted, especially in comparison to the super dark and angst-filled hurt/comfort story that I recently posted, so this post shouldn’t get more intense than the game itself.

The Cursed Prince

Let us begin this AU with the tale of Sunny Day Jack, a poor soul who was damned to be left alone and forgotten by all who knew him. In this case, that place he was left to be forgotten was a castle in the middle of a dark and twisted land, bound by a curse that not even the strength of a dragon can break.

Jack wasn’t always this way. Long ago, he was someone grand, a prince by the name of Joseph, though not in line for any sort of throne. He was the spare of the spare, the unwanted and unneeded family member who was a risk to the true heir to the crown. He had to learn how to be strong and cunning to survive the castle politics, while at the same time he was overlooked and ignored by all.

Initially, Joseph tried all he could to earn favor with his family, to be loved by them, but no one cared. Because his family didn’t care about him, and he had no “purpose” in existing except as an obstacle to the heir to the throne, others often ignored him as well to not risk showing favor and appearing to side with him against the current forerunners to the crown. Acting out and creating mischief that the royal family couldn’t ignore was the only way for Joseph to get people to pay attention to him.

Unfortunately, Joseph pushed his luck one too many times. He ignored a family member’s warning that it would be best if he lived as a dead rat, forgotten and unseen. An assassin struck in the guise of a tutor during one of his lessons. He barely escaped, but uncovered a terrible truth. The family he always hoped might someday truly see him and love him had been behind the assassination attempt. How many members of his family were involved in the plot, he never knew for sure, but their indifference and disdain for him left him with no one he could trust.

The unwanted prince was then forced to flee the kingdom, never to return. Joseph lived as a wanderer, hiding his identity. He changed his appearance as much as he could, even stealing a potion from a wizard once. Sadly, the potion he stole could only change his hair from brown to blue, but it was better than nothing, and he quickly grew fond of the look.

Yes, blue hair is something natural in this setting. This is a fantasy world where dragons and magic exist after all. We can have people with anime hair and eye colors. ;3

The unwanted prince learned the ways of the world firsthand and took many names as he drifted along like the wind. No longer a spoiled prince, he learned how to put on a smile, to placate people instead of antagonize them. He was still alone, forced to be a wanderer until he was far, far away from his homeland, but eventually he tried to set up roots. There, he took a humble job as a jester for a noble, hoping that maybe he could find a new life, one where he could be seen and loved.

Fortune smiled on Jack, as more and more people came to watch his shows, and he earned the stage name of Sunny Day Jack. His performances with silly jokes and stories with sound moral lessons delighted the children. Nobility took notice of him, and he started to make real connections and a real life for himself in this distant land. The lord ruling over the country even eventually took notice of him, a rich and powerful ruler that could afford to throw plenty of gold this entertaining jester’s way… provided he was always entertaining.

Sadly, his good fortune was not to last. Jack got too much attention from the nobility, and a traveler familiar with his homeland took notice of how eerily similar the jester looked to the lost prince.

Word eventually got back to those who saw Prince Joseph, however unwanted and overlooked he may have been, as a risk that could not be accepted. His popularity, however frivolous, made certain people of power nervous that perhaps one day he might return and lay claim to the throne of his homeland.

It was during a performance that the world came crashing down around Sunny Day Jack. The lord that favored him and helped him most with his fame and acclaim had betrayed him to his homeland in exchange for more riches. The trap was sprung as Jack stood before a crowd of hundreds, a sudden accusation ringing out that he was a notorious criminal who had done several heinous acts while the knights of the land came at him in force to arrest him. He barely managed to escape, though not unscathed, his new life destroyed and forever sullied to all who knew his name.

This time the pursuers were relentless. Jack wasn’t known here as a prince in this foreign land. There was no one who would show even a token loyalty to his royal blood and aid him. He was now a heinous criminal, wanted dead or alive, with none willing to give him shelter. There was no way for him to use his former name or royal bloodline to gain assistance, as Prince Joseph was long since declared dead.

Jack was a clever man, and a clever man who has nothing left to lose is capable of anything, including mutually assured destruction. His time as a jester wasn’t spent as a simple fool. Though he tried to be sincere when forging his friendships, truly wanting a life of happiness where he could be loved for who he was, he had tasted betrayal once, and it cost him everything but his life. Sadly, he was prepared should this happen again. He learned how to be charming, and he used his appealing and kind nature to learn secrets that might help him one day.

One of these secrets Jack learned was of magic treasure that the lord’s family guarded and exploited for generations. He also learned of a few secret passages in the lord’s castle, which helped him to elude his pursuers. With nearly all the knights put to the task to capture or kill the escaped criminal, this left the castle vault’s security unusually lax. It granted him an opportunity that could save him, or damn them all.

There in the vault was one of a set of golden cuffs, the symbol and pride of the lord’s family, and the very thing that allowed them to take dominion over the land generations ago and rule to this day. These cuffs were said to possess a magic too powerful for any one person to control, so no one dared to wield more than one at a time, but the truth was that if anyone was foolish enough to do so, they would unleash a terrible curse that would doom the land. This was why they were kept separately, for the safety of everyone.

These cuffs have their own history to them, as a fae was tricked into creating them, a bargain for power and a price not yet paid, which was the reason behind their curse. I could ramble on about ideas I have for how they came to be, but their backstory doesn’t really matter to Jack… yet.

Betrayed, branded a criminal, his hopes for a new life dashed to pieces, and everything spiraling out of control, Jack managed to break into the vault and steal the golden cuff hidden there. Before word of the theft could spread, Jack repaid the lord for his betrayal, launching a surprise attack and stealing the other cuff before it could be used by the lord to fight back against him.

With the power of both of the golden cuffs, Jack defeated all the knights that came for him, but the power he used went out of control as the curse took hold. The power was too much for a human’s body to contain, so it changed him into a fierce creature that was made of magic, a dragon.

The land around him changed as well, the natural ley lines of magic in the land exploding out in all directions and birthing all sorts of monsters from cracks in the earth. It was chaos, and those that could fled. It was a terrible night of horrors so great that survivors who witnessed the apocalyptic destruction dared not speak of it. Over time, the plants in this tainted land grew strange from the saturation of magic, and what few animals that braved to remain in this twisted land were changed as well. The land, once prosperous and full of smiles and laughter, became a dark and foreboding place where humans refused to linger long, for fear that they too would be cursed and forever changed.

Years passed, and with the survivors refusing to speak of what happened, all traces of what happened the night the kingdom fell were lost to history. The name of the country was lost as well. The place was only known as the dark woods now, named for its twisted features and the heavy clouds that covered the land and hid it from the sun. Speculation of its creation sprang up over the years, the details growing more fanciful from storyteller to storyteller until it became only myths. The closest to the truth was that the fae had regained the land and turned it wild, which, in a way, they had when a clever but desperate prince turned fool unleashed the fae’s curse that had long been kept at bay.

What happened to that foolish prince? The curse kept him bound to the heart of the land, making it nearly impossible for him to stray far from the castle where he unleashed the curse. The more he struggled to escape, the more ways the curse would manifest to bind him to the land, chains erupting from the ground to hold him, thorns of an unnatural, cold substance blotting out the sky, monsters birthing from the land to hold him back and inflict pain on him until he could no longer fight back.

Jack had become a powerful dragon, but his power came from the very curse that turned the land into his own personal hell. His body was warped, a scaled monster with wings and horns, terrifying to behold. Those who saw him would flee his presence, save for those that tried to slay the beast that legend has it is the heart of the curse.

The dragon of the dark woods, unnamed and feared by all, was known as the master of the dark woods, dangerous and cunning. Adventurers that dare risk going into the cursed land for its materials rich in magic are wary of the great and powerful beast. Its scales gleamed of fire, its eyes spoke of endless hunger, and its power was unmatched. None could hope to slay this beast, and all who tried all failed, for only the curse itself is more powerful than the beast it created.

Despite it all, Jack struggled to hold onto his humanity. He read every book in the castle, every scroll and scrap of paper, desperate to learn the way to undo this curse he unleashed. Naturally, this was difficult for him to do with giant claws, but unfortunately for the former prince, he had nothing but time to learn how to use his altered body.

As the world forgot about the lost prince, the sunny jester, and the awful day an entire kingdom fell along with the names of all three, Jack started to forget his humanity bit by bit. He didn’t learn how to break the curse, but he did learn of other magical artifacts that had been gathered in the castle long ago, including an enchanted belt that would allow him to change his form into whatever he pleased. He used it to become a “human,” but by that point he didn’t quite remember what he used to look like. The passing years eroded his memory of humanity, and he had gotten used to his imposing dragon body. The result was a form that was a mishmash of both, a humanoid man with scales, a tail, wings, claws on his hands and feet, pointed ears and fangs, with horns and blue hair.

Jack might have started to forget things over the years of solitude, but he was at least certain that he had blue hair when he was still human.

Funny enough, no matter how large or small Jack became thanks to the magic of the belt, the golden cuffs remained fastened to his wrists. The curse wouldn’t allow them to be removed, only warp in size and shape to match whatever form his body took. Even if he were to, say, transform into a copy of a different person to fool someone, his golden cuffs would give away the ruse.

When Jack learned how to transform back into a “human,” he went through the motions of being a human in his empty castle filled with riches that were all but useless to him. He wore clothes again, even learned how to alter the fancy clothes left behind to suit his tastes. He learned how to cook the strange plants and animals of this cursed land. He no longer had any need to eat due to the magic of the land sustaining his flesh, but food still tasted good, and there was some satisfaction to be had from creating something. He kept himself sane with what hobbies he could, learning new things, but he could never learn how he could free himself from his lonely hell.

The presence of adventurers into the heart of his land was both a blessing and a curse. It was rare that it happened, and in fact it was several years after the land changed that anyone dared to venture into the dark woods for fear of being cursed for doing so. It was years more before they found its master at the heart of the cursed land.

At first, Jack was elated. He tried his best to be friendly, overly so, desperate for company and help, but this was before he found the belt that made him at least passably human. It had been so long since he had been around another human that he hadn’t tried to speak, and with his draconic muzzle, all that came out were terrible growls and unholy noises. The adventurers that found him only saw a great horned beast with claws and fangs, another monster to slay for materials, riches, and acclaim.

Jack never wanted to kill anyone. He learned to fight when he had to, though he tried to avoid killing if he could. Unfortunately, when he unleashed the curse, people perished in the chaos, much to his dismay. Though he tried to approach these adventurers peacefully, he would not allow them to cause him further suffering. His power was so great that it was difficult to hold back, so the damage he could cause was severe. He would let those who fought him live if he could, allowing them to flee, but none saw this as a mercy. He became a nightmare spoken in hushed whispers, a challenge for adventurers to overcome, rather than a lost soul desperate to be free.

In a twisted way, over time Jack started to look forward to anyone brave enough to venture into the heart of the dark woods, even if the result was always violence. It was always a rare thing due to the intense danger of the dark woods. Certainly, they would always try to kill him, but at least he got to spend time with another human being! Being alone messes with a person’s mind, especially for such a long time. Humans are pack animals not meant for solitude.

Sometimes these adventurers would leave stuff behind, and Jack kept them. Dragons have an instinct to horde, and the castle is already filled with treasure. Plus they were reminders that humans were still out there and that someday, hopefully, he’d join them as one of them once again.

Jack tried his best to learn how to talk with his new body, to sound friendly instead of fierce. Unfortunately, oftentimes he found himself getting the opposite result, the words coming out of his muzzle sounding strange and uncanny, which only added to the nightmarish legend of the master of the dark woods.

Every encounter with Jack was a battle more fierce than the last, and the dragon’s legend only grew. His attempts to follow after the humans who fled from him led to the land itself stopping him, and others would be caught in the crossfire. To Jack, the humans that came to visit him were his only hope, and he would struggle harder against the curse to escape, to be with them. This made the curse fight back even harder in more brutal ways, summoning worse monsters. Soon the heart of the dark woods was known as a hellish place, where the land itself would turn against you if you tried to escape its brutal master that hunted you relentlessly.

Over the years, humans adapted, as they often do. Adventurers learned to stick with the outer fringes of the dark woods to harvest materials. It was the least dangerous, relatively speaking, and what could be gained deeper in was not worth the cost, especially if they strayed to the heart of the land where its terrible master lay in wait for any poor soul to enter.

It’s been a long, long time since Jack has seen another human, and he’s slowly going insane from solitude. He does what he can to distract himself or escape, trying desperately to hold onto his humanity, but it erodes bit by bit with each passing year. Even gaining the ability to transform into a “human” form hasn’t stopped his ever steady decline into madness. He fears that one day he might lose his humanity completely and become the mindless monster that those who fought him believed him to be.

Perhaps all that Jack and the dark woods need to heal is a little bit of sunshine.

Beyond the Dark Woods

Outside the fringes of the cursed land, time marched on. Years went by, rulers came and went, borders changed as land was annexed or reverted to wilderness. A lot can happen over the decades, especially in a fantasy world filled with magic, monsters, and mischievous fae.

How long Jack was trapped alone in the dark woods is a mystery. Maybe it’s 40 years, or perhaps a lot longer than that.

Regardless, the homeland that once had a lost prince named Joseph is still around, a relatively stable country all things considered. In fact, it had grown over the years thanks to annexing land from other countries that had been weakened by the results of the curse. Monsters often wandered out of the dark woods, putting nearby villages in danger and impressing the need for more adventurers to cull the monsters that threatened human life. What was once a kingdom had grown into an empire, growing prosperous with its many strong knights and adventurers, though like any place, it had its own share of problems.

But enough politics, let’s get into the other characters, shall we?

MC is a knight, as demonstrated by the lovely Thea in Mars’ art. Well… they aspire to be a knight anyway. Bullshit politics have kept them as a squire to a knight of higher nobility since they were a teenager. It’s been over 10 years already! How much longer do they have to wait to become a knight? They’re sick of having to polish and shine Barry’s armor, and if they have to scrub his codpiece one more time…

Yup, Barry is a knight in this AU, though only technically. Nobility sometimes get granted a knight title for some reason or another, usually as a token to honor them and/or their families. These nobles usually  were just knights in name only, parading around as if they’re this grand figure when other knights did the real battling. They can play the hero without ever actually having to go into battle and send squires to do the menial work for them.

In a sense, Barry is a rich man who bought a title because it was cool, and he makes a big show of it. It’s pretty much a vanity project, and a way to increase his clout to maybe move up in the ranks of nobility. He has MC announce his presence grandly, something just as over the top as the greeting to Yogurtopia. Perhaps something like… “Announcing the great, honorable, and very handsome and still very single and looking for a bride, Sir Barry of [insert surname here].” Or something like that, maybe with his noble title thrown in there for good measure. Maybe he could insist his squire plays a horn first…

Man, even with a proclamation heralding Barry wherever he goes, no one is interested in him. He hasn’t had a date in way too long. Maybe he needs his armor to be polished a little brighter.

While MC isn’t Barry’s only squire, they are the one often left doing the work, as other squires slack off or wind up getting elevated to knight despite being younger than MC is. It’s understandably really, really frustrating for MC. They come from a lesser noble house, just barely above a commoner, so they’re an easy mark for any higher ranked noble to rub the power difference in their face.

Really, it’s all enough to make MC consider quitting to become an adventurer. Sure, adventurers are basically mercenaries for hire at the guild and the jobs can be infrequent, and money can be hard to come by, but… Ah, who are they kidding? The squire job might suck, but at least they get the security of steady pay, regular meals, a place to sleep, mild prestige, and they don’t have to go camping in the woods for days on end hunting some specific monster or harvesting a certain number of rare herbs.

Besides, MC admires the knights (aside from Barry). Their best friend became a knight a few years ago, lucky dog. Still, Shaun didn’t rub it in their face like the pal he is. Shaun looks so regal in his shiny silvery armor, even having it adorned with pretty badass etchings and other decorations. There’s a very feline feeling to it as well, since cat daddy has to be cat knight in this AU. Hey, I don’t make the rules.

…Oh, wait. :3c

Anyway, the other knights can be pretty cool as well. There’s this one knight who has been friendly, though MC doesn’t know his name yet. The guy acts strangely shy when they’re around, which is confusing to them. They’re just a squire after all, not a cool knight in studded leather armor like him.

Poor Nick has a crush on MC in this universe too and is pretty tongue tied around them. MC might still be a squire, but there’s just something about them that lights up a room. Their spirit isn’t crushed despite the fact that they should’ve been a knight years ago. He envies how easily Sir Shaun can chat with them.

Of course, Shaun is in the same boat as Nick, in that he also has a crush on MC and can be pretty clumsy with how he tries to express it. Still, in spite of this, he would have tried to see if they could be something more if not for a certain scandal that happened.

The reason why MC is still a squire, or at least one of the biggest reasons, is because of rumors that they were the secret lover of Prince Ian, the current heir to the throne.

Of course, given that MC is barely above a commoner, the idea of them getting together with the crown prince is scandalous. They got to know each other as children, with MC serving as a page to play with the young prince. When the queen caught wind that the prince saw them as anything more than a playmate in their teen years, their relationship got exceedingly strained.

Ian is in love with MC, and they felt the same, at least at one point. All the time they spent together while growing up led to fondness, then sweet first love. Unfortunately, they knew early on how their different stations meant that the chances of them being together were almost non-existent. This led to a lot of mutual pining, moments where they were tempted to act on their feelings, and some secret encounters between the two.

In spite of the queen’s interference separating them, MC and Ian saw each other in secret as much as they could. They started a forbidden romance together, and the two of them convinced themselves that maybe, somehow, they could defy the odds.

But the weight of the crown hangs heavy on the head. As Ian was swept up in his duties and the time he would be crowned as king drew ever closer, he had less and less time to spend with MC. His mother’s interference certainly didn’t help, especially since she was trying to get him engaged to a high ranked noble woman to ensure that he would be able to sire the next generation of royalty.

While yes this fantasy world is far more open with gender expression and loving others regardless of gender, nobles tend to be uptight when it comes to making sure their bloodline and power continues. Plus Ian’s mom is still abusive and controlling of her son in this universe too, and she uses not only religion to bully Ian but politics and duty as well. As queen, she has a lot more power too, and a lot more flying monkeys to spy on her son and interfere.

In a way, it’s lucky that the queen hasn’t decided that MC is a threat that must be entirely eliminated at all costs. No assassination plots… yet. Mostly it’s interference and petty revenge by forcing MC to remain a squire instead of a knight. She could throw MC out, but then how can she occasionally be petty if MC never comes to the palace? MC might be Barry’s squire, but everyone follows the queen’s orders, and a narcissist needs attention and others to bow down to them.

Unfortunately, the queen’s schemes did succeed. Ian, in a moment of weakness, fell for the seductive charms of one of his potential fiancees. He felt awful for betraying MC, to the point that he had to see them despite the risk of his mother catching them, so that he could confess what he had done and beg for forgiveness.

MC’s heart was broken, but what was worse was that it became a huge scandal. Someone had seen Ian’s confession and begging, and soon word spread like wildfire. Now everyone knew that they had secretly been lovers and that the prince was begging a mere squire for forgiveness. Ian’s reputation took a hit, while MC’s outright tanked due to the scandal, and things became much harder for them, and people have been keeping their distance from the squire that dared think they could become a future king’s consort.

Since then, MC has kept their distance from Ian as much as possible, and Ian, reluctantly, has given them space, knowing that he’s messed everything up for them. But… when he’s king, not even his mother will be able to stop them from being together. When he’s king, he’ll be able to fix everything. He just has to do what he can to make sure that happens. Then he and MC can finally be together in the open, stations be damned! Then he can truly make amends and be forgiven for what he’s done.

Shaun was there to support MC with their broken heart. While his becoming a knight has put a bit of distance between them, as he has more duties to attend to, including being sent away on missions for the country, he makes sure to keep in touch and meet up with them as best he can. Anyone who dares to say a bad word about MC in front of him is getting this cat’s claws.

Nick is no stranger to scandals. He’s basically the most popular knight in the realm, with countless admirers. Perhaps they could offer MC a word or two on how to deal with so much unwanted attention and rumors rumbling in the background.

A Squire’s Quest

Now, how does Jack factor into MC’s life without a compelling VHS tape to tie them together? Well, the instigating factor in this universe is that a thief made off with an important treasure, and Barry the knight was tasked with retrieving it. As Barry’s squire, MC was compelled to come with him to assist, which usually meant doing 99% of the work if there were no other squires with them at the time with Barry taking all the credit. But don’t worry, he only does it because he knows they’ll do a good job at it, and it just shows that they’re one step closer to becoming a true knight!

After traveling quite a ways, tracking down the thief (with MC doing most of the work picking up the trail in the first place), the pair realize that the thief went into the infamous dark woods.

Well, that’s not good. Sure there are areas that have been explored for materials, but still… the cursed land is quite dangerous. Barry decided that the best way to divide the work is for MC to continue to follow the thief’s trail, as they were better at tracking, and he, being much better at supervising and dealing with people, would see if anyone nearby could get information about what the thief might have been after, maybe set up a trap that MC could chase the thief into.

MC had to seriously consider their life choices up until this point, but if they quit now, that meant kissing goodbye to the stability they had going for them. Also, it’d probably bring dishonor to their name, maybe damage their lineage permanently, and so on and so forth.

Well, if they quit to become an adventurer, they’d have to do stupid things like trek through the dark woods anyway. Besides, the thief already stole a national treasure, which meant they weren’t stupid enough to go hunting for the invincible dragon guarding the heart of the forest, right? Sure there’s rumors that maybe the dragon guards the greatest treasure of all, but no way the thief is that dumb. No one’s actually ever seen any real treasure, or have a consensus on what the supposed greatest treasure is actually supposed to be.

After a hard internal debate, MC ultimately decides to brave the dark woods, tracking the thief stealthily. They may only be a squire, but they would probably be the greatest knight in the kingdom if not for politics. Their exact combat style is up to interpretation and personal preference, but they’re no stranger to slaying powerful monsters. They’re also used to Barry giving them unreasonable demands like this one.

And, hey, at least they’re not mortifying themselves by singing Barry’s praises when he enters a room while they’re busy with this stupid quest. That’s got to count for something, right?

Right?

Yeeeahh, okay, MC is obviously just lying to themselves and they know it, but damned if they do, damned if they don’t. They swear to themselves that they’ll only go as far as the hunting expeditions usually travel into the forest. If the thief really is stupid enough to go to the dragon’s lair, MC will just circle back and just tell Barry that the dragon probably just killed the thief, or something. No way they’re going to risk getting eaten by an unstoppable dragon.

These thoughts are a small comfort  as MC follows the thief’s trail. Occasionally they have to fight magic-tainted plants or monsters. Their skill shines despite the dark gloom of cursed woods. They even get some nice materials they can sell for some extra cash. Maybe being an adventurer wouldn’t be too bad a gig after all…

Just then the loud noise breaks the eerie calm. Some sort of explosion. Magic? Fireworks? Regardless of what it was, it riled up something. That something is big, nasty, and charging right at them! In fact, it’s a lot of somethings! A pack of creatures got aggravated, and MC is forced to run!

Now, was this a natural occurrence? A bit of misfortune? Did the thief make a false trail to trick MC into going on ahead while they secretly doubled back and used a small explosion to make the monsters go nuts on MC while they used the commotion as a cover to make their escape?

Perhaps. Perhaps. MC certainly isn’t in a situation to figure out which of these possibilities it was at the moment though, as they’re too busy running for their life, inwardly cursing Barry, the queen, the thief, and anyone else that annoyed them lately. If they knew they would die today, they wouldn’t have held back last week when that one jerk stole their cinnamon roll. They would’ve at least had the satisfaction of telling them off for it!

Sarcasm and sass are a good way to cope, but MC knows full well the gravity of their situation. They quickly lose the trail back the way they came, forced to do battle with creatures that are in their path while avoiding being overwhelmed by being so outnumbered. It’s only through a mixture of skill and sheer dumb luck that they manage to survive.

And by dumb luck, I mean that they fell into a catacomb through a ruined ceiling that was keeping it hidden underground.

Well, shit. From bad to worse, right?

Nothing for it, MC is forced to find a way out of the catacombs, then somehow find a way to leave the dark woods without another group of monsters going aggro on them.

Piece of cake. Noooo problem. They just have to avoid the castle at the center of the dark woods that the dragon supposedly uses as its lair, and they’re fine. An old crypt with some undead ready to pop out is better than an unstoppable dragon. Right?

As you may have guessed, MC is, in fact, going in the direction of our lonely dragon prince. Is it just bad luck? Is it some sort of intuition or instinct drawing them to Jack? Are they bound together by fate? Is it some sort of spell Jack has cast that compels humans to seek him out because it’s been forever since a human came by, and he’s desperate for both company and freedom? Maybe some combination of these things or something else entirely. Who’s to say~? It’s up to interpretation/personal headcanon~

In any case, MC is very taken aback when they meet Jack face to face for the first time, as is Jack really. It’s been so long since he’s seen someone. A part of him wonders if MC is actually real. When they get defensive and try to figure out who or what he is, he does his best to placate them, even if they might have their weapon out and ready for battle.

Jack puts his best foot forward, being friendly and welcoming. He invites MC to his home. They look exhausted and like they’ve had a hard time. MC isn’t exactly trusting this at face value, being very guarded about the whole exchange despite how cheerful and friendly this man with wings and horns is being. He’s also getting dangerously close. Should they try to use their weapon to ward him off, like Thea might have done with her sword, Jack is skilled enough in combat by this point to easily redirect her sword with his claws.

Oops, that put Thea off balance. Don’t worry, her new pal Jack is quick to catch her before she takes a tumble.

“Careful, we wouldn’t want you getting hurt, would we?” Jack said, his tone playful.

Despite MC’s skills, they are hopelessly outmatched by Jack. He has far more experience with combat, and he has the insane powers that the curse granted him.

Of course, MC is pretty quick to put together that Jack is the invincible dragon that rules the dark woods, which means that they’re utterly screwed. Strangely enough, Jack isn’t really acting like the monster people whisper about. It’s almost enough to make MC wonder if they aren’t mistaken, but the dragon features and his overwhelming strength kind of gives it away. The fact that Jack brings MC back to his castle pretty much seals the deal.

So MC is stuck as a guest with Jack. The dark woods are too dangerous for humans to wander around alone, especially at the heart of the forest. He’s curious about MC and why they would take such a risk, very concerned by their recklessness. Why were they there?

It’s an awkward situation, but MC has no choice but to play along. How much they resist or comply depends on the MC. I figure Jack indulges even a very resistant MC due to how lonely he’s been. He can easily disarm any attempts to attack him or thwart them from getting away, so they pose no threat. He has all the time in the world to convince MC to lower their guard.

And Jack is just so… so nice. It’s hard not to find him charming. He seems so concerned about MC, and they’ve been having such a hard time with, well… everything. The castle, despite being old, has been maintained decently well. The rooms are decorated so nicely, filled with clothes for them to wear, and the food Jack makes is fantastic. Holy crap, his cooking is out of this world!

Really, the longer MC stays there, the more it seems like there’s nothing Jack can’t do, and their stay is kind of like a vacation in ways. Given how much time he’s had to teach himself new things, it’s no wonder he has become something of a jack-of-all-trades.

I make no apologies for that pun.

Here then comes the classic conundrum when it comes to Jack - does MC fall for his charms, or remain suspicious and hold him at arm’s length? They’ve been feeling pretty lonely and beaten down by life for a while now, and Jack seems almost too good to be true. It’s not like he’s keeping them captive, but they’re in the heart of the dark woods. Outside this castle are some of the worst, most dangerous monsters imaginable. Jack can protect MC if they stay there in the castle with him, but he can’t go very far from the castle, so he can’t help them leave the woods. That is why he’s keeping them from leaving the castle. You know, aside from not wanting to lose the only company he’s had in so many years.

Jack is right about the danger, unfortunately. Whether MC tries to slip away from the castle or just scopes out the surroundings via a window, they find that it’s surrounded by monsters far too dangerous for them to handle alone. There’s no way they could make it, and if they tried, they’d only survive thanks to Jack coming to their rescue.

Of course, Jack acknowledges that MC is powerful. He saw them try to attack him if he did, or he just can tell in simply because they made it all this way on their own. It’s just, well, there’s only so much anyone can do on their own. Sometimes we all need a friend to help us out.

If Jack could leave, then he could help MC leave too, but he’s stuck in the castle. He’s been there for such a long, long time.

Whether his tragic plight is enough to make MC sympathize is, of course, up to the individual. I do know my gal Alice is going to want to help him after hearing him out. Being trapped in this awful place by a curse is a fate she wouldn’t wish on anybody.

Not to mention helping Jack would help MC leave the dark woods. There’s no threat he can’t handle after all. They’d be getting their own personal dragon bodyguard.

Perhaps with a pair of fresh eyes and more knowledge of the state of the world, MC will have better luck figuring out how to free Jack from the curse. Maybe they’ll just play along to not upset their super powerful host so they can escape. It would certainly take time for MC to really trust Jack, even if he seems so friendly and kind… and, they have to admit, this place is lonely and very unsettling for anyone to stay in, even if Jack has tried his best to make it look nice. It’s certainly creepy to be alone here in the heart of the dark woods. The castle is better than the woods full of monsters, but still…

Anyway, the interactions between MC and Jack are up to the individual to decide. Romance the dragon, or flee from the dragon in the end. Being stuck together can bring a sort of fondness, and Jack falls in love. It makes him determined to never lose MC, ever, so he falls down the yandere path, which can lead to some pretty obsessive moments depending on the choices made.

As for the alternate love interests, after Ian receives word that MC disappeared in the dark woods, he sends knights on a quest to find and rescue them, despite the queen’s interference. This of course includes Shaun and Nick, who are the first to volunteer for the rescue mission. Despite the queen’s meddling, not wanting to waste manpower on a thorn in her side, Ian finally takes a stand against his mother for the sake of MC and their love, and the expedition is sent.

Unbeknownst to the knights, Ian sneaks along with them in disguise. He can’t just sit back and wait while MC is in danger. He can’t let them down a second time. He’ll prove to them, and himself, that he’s truly worthy of their love.

From there it’s trials and tribulations of the guys trying to rescue MC from the dragon… provided that MC still wants to be rescued by the time the guys reach the castle.

Really, in order for all of the love interests to spend time with MC and interact, perhaps Jack will be brought back with them somehow, like he found a loophole in the curse or a way to bind him to MC. That way, Jack can leave the forest, so long as it’s with MC, with the added bonus that he can’t stay too far away from his sunshine. It’d create something of a dynamic similar to the game, only in this case everyone can see Jack and learn that he’s an incredibly dangerous dragon that has the power to kill all of them if he so chooses. Not that he would ever! He’s MC’s best friend after all. He just wants to protect his sunshine.

Though chances are MC will want to hide the whole “dragon” thing if they decide to leave with Jack. Maybe coach him on how to better pass for a human. Best not to scare people, am I right?

Or this AU could just stick in the castle where MC chooses to either romance the dragon or flee the dragon. I know which one Alice is going to choose, regardless if they stay in the castle or go back to civilization.

On that note, let’s get to the part that I suspect you’ve all been really waiting for.

(S)laying the Dragon

With Jack being a mythical creature, that offers possibilities for a very kinky fun time. There’s his obvious features like his sharp teeth and claws, but there’s also those long pointy ears that are perfect for nibbling, and maybe offering a bit of emotional expression in the way they tilt. Then, of course, there’s the tail and wings, perfect to wrap around his sunshine. He’s got even more limbs to hold them close!

Now… dragon anatomy is pretty much whatever we want it to be. Bad Dragon has the name for a reason after all. Want dragons to have two dicks similar to snakes? Go for it. He could still have that while he’s in his “human” form too. In fact, with a belt that allows him to change his shape, he could alter himself in very fun ways. A funky fantasy dick with ridges and/or bumps? Perhaps some tentacles anybody?

I mean, Jack has been alone for a long, long time. He’s only had himself to entertain and experiment with. He might have some very kinky tricks that no one has ever tried before.

To be fair, the tail is probably prehensile, so it might be able to be used like a tentacle for sexy times. He might not even need a second dick to plug up all of MC’s holes at once.

Dragons tend to have long tongues, so french kissing Jack is going to be intense, especially if it’s forked too. Then of course there’s oral. Naturally, he’ll be careful with those sharp teeth of his. Well, unless MC is into something a little rougher. Jack doesn’t want to hurt his sunshine (humans are so fragile after all), but if they like a little pain, well, their good old pal Jack will oblige them!

In my personal fantasy headcanons, pointy ears and the base of wings and tails are sensitive erogenous zones. Nibble on Jack’s ears, please! Preen his wings and make him feel loved and cared for. Rub at the base of his tail, and he’ll get hard instantly.

The scales might be harder than armor, but they’re nice and smooth, and have a nice feel. Jack has some control on just how hard or soft his body is at a time due to the belt’s power. Unless otherwise requested, Jack is very gentle with his sunshine, worried about going too rough due to how easy it was for him to hurt others.

Of course… Jack is also so desperately lonely and horny. MC’s presence has been his only bright spot in so long, and he loves them so much. When they love him too… well, it was already so hard for him to hold himself back. It wouldn’t be that difficult to rile him up and make him start to lose control, struggling to hold back his power even as he tosses MC around and takes them.

Naturally, many of my personal sexy headcanons for Jack apply in this AU. This includes a breeding/seeding kink. It’s a bit more pronounced here. If MC has his child then they’ll never ever leave him after all, and they’ll be bound together forever and ever and ever. Even if a child is off the table, the act of breeding/seeding alone is enticing, making them beg him to take them and fill them up with his hot cum is something that he fantasizes about often.

Of course, Jack doesn’t simply want sex with MC, he wants to make love. They make him feel truly loved for the first time in forever. Did he ever feel so loved before? He wants to experience their love in every way he can, fill them up with it until he’s a part of them forever.

Jack won’t ever force his sunshine, no matter how desperate he is for their love or to make love. He’ll go crazy with need, but always hold himself back if they need him to. As long as they love him, he can take care of himself sexually like he always has. He’s just been so empty, alone, and unloved for so long. MC fills them up with love in a way that he can’t live without anymore.

Naturally, when the pair do start making love, Jack can’t get enough, and his stamina is insane. MC is without a doubt going to be the one passing out first after they’ve been fucked senseless with Jack thrusting inside them, babbling how much he loves them and how good they make him feel. The more they go on, the more feral for their love Jack becomes. He’s needed his sunshine so, so badly, and now that he has them and their love, he can’t live without them anymore.

Of course, with a dragon AU and a shapeshifting ability, you can get really creative. For one thing there’s his full dragon form, which would be a giant compared to MC. Size difference anyone? Plus the exact details of how Jack looks in his dragon form could offer interesting possibilities of its own.

Then of course there’s even more furry-related kinks like oviposition or stuff like that. It's not for me personally, but I can imagine Jack would be open to experimentation and indulging in MC’s kinks, even the more outrageous ones. After all, it’s all just more ways to show just how much he loves his sunshine~

You best believe Jack has a predplay kink in this universe. He can smell MC and track them down easily. If that doesn’t work, there’s all sorts of magic he’s learned over the years that can do the trick. Of course he doesn’t want to scare MC, but when it’s good fun, it can lead to a delightfully spicy time~

While I’m on the topic of Jack smelling MC, he is addicted to their scent. The smell of their pheromones easily riles him up, practically sending him into rut like an alpha from Omegaverse!

Naturally, since Jack is a dragon, he has a horde. The castle was loaded with treasure, and it is pretty and shiny. It looks nice all piled together, maybe even neatly decorated. No doubt he’ll want to make love to his sunshine atop a pile of shiny gold coins and jewels, though he’ll make sure that he’s on the bottom so they don’t get jabbed by the hard edges… unless they’d like that, of course.

Of course, the true treasure Jack is hoarding in his lair would be MC. Gold and jewels are nice, but they don’t hold a candle to the love of his sunshine~

Wow. I think this is the longest headcanon post I’ve ever made while sticking with neutral MCs for the most part. I think I’m long overdue to shamelessly self-indulge with my OTP. Let’s see how Alice’s choices will affect this AU and how events unfold, shall we?

Lady Alice of House Rose

Naturally, Alice can’t have the surname of King in a setting like this, so I’m going to use her middle name as the house name.

Fun fact, Rose is the middle name for Barbie and Coraline too!

Yes, that means Barbie’s full name is Barbara Anne Rose King.

Yes. Yes, that pun was indeed intentional.

No, I will not apologize. Her name was picked to be a pun in the first place after all. ;3

Anyway, back to Alice. Being the eldest child, she has the responsibility to elevate the status of her household. Not only are they barely nobility, but their finances aren’t in the best shape. She needs money to help her family, and the honor of being a knight in hopes of gaining a better title.

It’s a shame that the queen doesn’t care for Alice and she’s been stuck as a squire way longer than is reasonable.

Alice knew that it would be impossible for her to marry a prince like Ian, no matter how kind he was, or how close they were. She couldn’t avoid falling for him though. It made her more determined to earn a better title, to make something of herself and earn acclaim. Maybe if she became the greatest knight in the kingdom, maybe she can prove herself worthy of royal consort and be with Ian as his wife one day.

Alice busted her ass trying to be a knight despite all the rough training and being forced to work menial, often degrading tasks as a squire. The weapons she specializes in are the bow and magic, combining the two to devastating effect. She’s also very good at keeping quiet and being stealthy.

In this universe, Alice never had sex with Ian. Although this fantasy setting is more open about sex before marriage, the gap between her and Ian was so wide, she didn’t want to risk doing anything that might ruin their chances of being together. That’s why finding out he cheated broke her heart, regardless of them being physically intimate together. Worse, his outburst when he begged her for forgiveness made it sound like they had been sleeping together to those who overheard, and the rumors were very unkind to the two of them, Alice especially.

Ian cheating proved to Alice that she was only fooling herself that they could be together. Their worlds were too far apart. Ian was to be king someday and she… well, maybe she’ll reach the title of Baroness. Though Ian begged for forgiveness, and Alice gave it to him, she couldn’t go back to the way they were. Advice from Shaun and others helped her see that it was best for everyone involved that she simply remain as the loyal (future) knight and Prince Ian as only her liege.

Let’s skip ahead to the mission to catch the thief in the dark woods. Alice’s best means of combat is the stealth kill. She sneaks quietly, sets up magic traps, fires arrows when the enemy is unaware, and in general takes her time to take her enemy at her own advantage. She actually works pretty well as a solo fighter due to being so stealthy. Though she is good at hand to hand combat if need be, she prefers to strike before her enemy realizes she’s there, and she’s amazing at her skills. Why, if she put her mind to it, she could be a skilled assassin. (Or in another world, a sniper.)

The horde of monsters the thief set off to charge after Alice was almost her undoing. By the time she fell into the catacombs, she passed out from exhaustion, having drained her mana dry. She might have been doomed if a monster came upon her then, but fortunately the master of the dark woods found her in time.

Alice was pretty darn shocked to wake up in a surprisingly fluffy bed, with her armor removed. Not all of it fortunately. She had her modesty protected and her softer clothes still on, but the uncomfortable hard outer plates were removed so that she could sleep peacefully. Jack was apologetic about removing any part of her clothes without asking, even blushing about it, but he didn’t want her to be uncomfortable while she recovered.

Needless to say, Alice is wary of Jack at first, but he did save her life. She does piece together that he’s the dragon pretty quickly and is naturally wary, deciding that the best course of action is to rest up, heal, and carefully get information from the legendary master of the dark woods.

The rumors and legends are so varied, it’s hard to know what exactly is the truth. The dragon of the dark woods doesn’t even have a name, and some of the tales are clearly exaggerations. Since Jack is showing himself to be surprisingly friendly, and he saved Alice from certain death, she decided to trust him… at least enough to remain civil and learn more about him, the castle, and the dark woods.

After asking many questions and getting as much information as Jack can give her (though much of it is confusing due to how rusty he is with socializing), Alice agrees to help him find a way to break his curse. She’s taking a risk, but if she leaves the castle on her own, she’ll die. If she stays, she can keep an eye on Jack to see if he’s really as good and gentle as he presents himself to be. If she has to, she’ll find a way to escape without him if she gets the sense that he’s using her to escape the forest in order to conquer the world or something.

Being very good at sneaking, Alice does slip away to search around the castle for answers on her own as much as possible. However, Jack can’t stand the idea of losing track of her, and all it took was one time of losing track of her for him to leave a magic tracker on her discreetly so he can find her wherever she goes - for her own safety of course! He can’t stand to be far from her. He has to give her time to herself, since if he leaves her with no privacy she won’t trust him, but it’s so hard to stay away. He’s so lonely.

At first Jack’s feelings for Alice are platonic, just a lonely man in desperate need of friendship, but over the time they spend together, getting to know one another, he falls in love and falls hard. Alice, naturally, takes much longer to fall after her relationship with Ian fell apart. At first, Jack is someone she can’t quite trust because he’s a stranger, then she is cautious because he’s a powerful dragon with many unflattering legends about the monster that he is, then it’s concern for the power imbalance between them… but eventually she sees that he’s just a lonely, sweet dork who just wants a friend.

Of course, Alice won’t realize he wants much more than friendship until later. Jack doesn’t want to scare her away after all.

I don’t think Shaun, Nick, and Ian are just going to sit back and wait long to try and find her, but I want to give Alice and Jack plenty of alone time, so I’m going to go with the idea that when humans come deep into the heart of the woods, at first Jack is excited. More friends! Then he becomes fearful when he realizes they’re looking for Alice. They want to take his sunshine away. She’ll leave him, forever!

Well, that won’t do. Jack doesn’t want to hurt them, but he can just make it difficult to find the castle. Maybe use the power of the cursed land to rearrange the forest when the search party isn’t looking, mix them up so that they find themselves suddenly outside the woods. Jack might not be able to leave due to the curse, but he’s not known as master of the dark woods for nothing. He can wield the golden cuffs’ power however he likes, just he can never leave.

Jack just needs to divert them long enough that they give up and leave, or he can find a way to escape with his sunshine’s help. Alice knows many interesting spells, being very creative with magic in ways that he never thought of before, and she knows of things that he doesn’t due to coming from outside the woods. With her help, he is able to figure out a way to free himself from his imprisonment… provided that he remains close to his sunshine. It’s more of a change in the curse than an actual cure for it, but it’s a vast improvement! He can leave the dark woods! Finally! At long last! He can converse with more people! He can make friends! He won’t have to be left alone and forgotten in the dark anymore!

Of course, Alice helps Jack prepare to be around people by helping him refine his “human” form. People aren’t going to understand that the deadly dragon of the dark woods is really just a sweet marshmallow, practically a giant cuddly puppy in human-ish form! When Jack can master looking properly human, they can come up with a cover story that he was a wanderer that found her lost in the woods and helped her until she could get back home. It’s not a lie technically. He used to be a wanderer after all, and everything else is true. He’s been nothing but helpful to his sunshine~

So Alice has to hide the secret of her new dragon friend, who has made it his mission to win her heart. Jack is willing to wait for her to be ready to love him the way that he loves her, even if the wait drives him crazy, but he’s very territorial, not liking the way the other guys look at her. However, Alice does notice his more possessive behaviors even as he tries to remain subtle about them, and she makes sure to keep her new “pet” dragon on a tight leash. Jack is fine with that so long as it means he’ll stay close to his sunshine.

I’m going to say that the change to the curse to bind them together does cause an empathy connection because I really love empath magic. Plus, allowing the pair to feel each other’s emotions and even pleasure and pain is very intimate. When Alice realizes they now can sense each other’s pain as a result of what she did, Jack makes it clear that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe so that she won’t have to experience any pain. He’ll promises to protect her for the rest of his life.

Of course, such a declaration leaves Alice feeling rather flustered. ;3

Overall, it is a bit more of a slow burn than Sunshine in Hell, but eventually the two of them fall in love, much to the dismay of the rest of the male leads.

Naturally love will overcome the curse, because I am an absolute sucker for happy endings. Jack and Alice will find a way to break the curse and remain together so they can live happily ever after. And make love like rabbits hopped up on viagra.

No, I won’t apologize for that pun either.

It won’t come too easily, of course. There’s plenty of people who aren’t going to be keen to immediately trust Jack, and not just the male leads. He came from out of nowhere, with no known background. Alice’s family is certainly going to be concerned by the stranger that waltzed into her life after her heart was already broken by Ian, especially since by the time they meet Jack, she’s already shown signs of crushing on him. The family is going to need to make sure that this new guy is worth potential heartbreak.

Then of course there’s the whole political aspect of things. This country used to be the very kingdom that Joseph was chased out of many, many years ago. The lost prince is a story that could be uncovered to potentially explosive results.

Why, if Jack had the mind to, he could take back the throne and rule the kingdom that once chased him away… with his sunshine ruling by his side after all.

Will that happen with Alice? Maybe. Maybe she’ll actually become a queen after all, or maybe she’ll just live a simple life with Jack who doesn’t let on that he’s powerful enough to level the whole kingdom. After all, all he truly wants is to be loved, and Alice is sure to give Jack all the love he could ever ask for.

Perhaps that love will wind up with a lot of adorable half-dragon babies running around. Though they could be fully human if Jack does become a human after the curse breaks. I kind of like the idea that Jack is freed of the curse, but he is still a powerful dragon and can still use the belt to have fun with his shape. Plus baby dragons are the cutest and the idea of Jack and Alice’s kids being little dragons with tiny wings and cute pointy ears heals my soul.

…Holy crap this ramble went on for 26 pages. That’s over 11,000 words according to google doc! This must be my longest ramble yet, and that’s saying something! Well, I suppose that’s what happens when a dragon lover makes a dragon AU, haha. Fantasy has always been my jam, and I love playing with magical elements.

Anyway, I’m going to take that as a cue to wrap things up here for now. Let me know what you think about this AU and if you want to hear more about anything in particular. Also, let me know if this post inspires you to create anything of your own and please share it with me! I love it that we can inspire one another to create in this fandom, just like Mars’ lovely art inspired me. I hope I’ve given you a few new fun ideas to play with. Thanks for reading this far!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur