#this really did end up being one very very very long brain vomit

[justmystyles]

The Morning After

read my other work here!

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

*i say it's a plus size reader, but it is not something that i focus on explicitly in my fics, because your size should not define you. it will only come up if it comes into the story organically.*

word count: 2,583

trigger warning: vomiting

summary: the morning after Harry's 30th birthday, you're hungover and Harry reminds you of your drunken actions from the night before, leading to a conversation you never expected.

a/n: i missed Harry's birthday, but I got this idea for a morning after fic, so here we are. i've been writing a few things behind the scenes, and I know i've said a few times that I was going to try to come back, but this time i mean it. i'm working on a couple of one shots, and a new series that i'm very excited about, so hopefully you'll hear more from me soon!

tags: @abby8694 @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @blueraspberryreader @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @laurxn-robinson @lexiecamposv @likeapplejuicenpeach @lilfreakjez @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

You open your eyes and immediately groan in pain as they meet the sunlight shining into your bedroom. You quickly shut them and pull your pillow over your face. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t go too hard last night, but Harry kept wanting to do shots, and who were you to deny the birthday boy? 

It was your best friend, Harry’s 30th birthday party, and he spared no expense. The room was packed with his closest family and friends, including a long list of famous faces. There was loud music, dancing, tons of food, and of course, alcohol. As with most parties, Harry barely let you out of his sight, and any time a tray of shots went past him he’d grab one for each of you. You lost count after a while, and truthfully, you aren’t really sure how you ended up at home and in your bed. You assumed Harry had something to do with it. You rarely got drunk, but when you did Harry was always very protective and caring, even if he was two sheets to the wind himself. 

The ringing of your doorbell, followed by the incessant knocking at your door feel like a thousand nails being hammered into your head. You groan, but know it isn’t going to stop until you answer the door. You throw your legs over the side of your bed and sit still for a moment, working up the energy to stand and walk to the front door. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a full glass of water and a couple of aspirin, sitting on top of the note: 

For the lightweight in my life. 

xH

A small smile plays on your lips at the note, combined with the thoughtfulness of your best friend. You take the pills and drink the entire glass of water before standing and making your way to the front door. You are immediately met with Harry’s infuriatingly handsome face, a wide grin plastered across it as if last night never happened. 

“Took you long enough.” He says in a bright, teasing tone. You immediately bring your hand to your forehead, the voice that usually causes butterflies in your stomach piercing right through your brain. “Rough night?” He asks knowingly. 

You flip him off before stepping aside to let him in. “How can you possibly be this okay right now?” You ask in disbelief as you shuffle to the couch, collapsing onto your back and resting your arm across your eyes. “I’m not just okay, I’m great!” He lifts your feet up and sits on the couch, placing your legs down in his lap. “I’ve been up for hours, went on a nice run, got some shopping done. It’s been quite a productive day.” 

You pull the pillow out from under your head and throw it at him. He catches it with ease and chuckles at your meek sign of aggression. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few moments before you finally speak up. “I’m not going to be a fun hang today, just so you know.”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. “You never are, why would today be any different?” He jokes. You move your arm away from your eyes and look up at him, narrowing your gaze. 

He lets out a loud laugh and holds his hands up defensively. “Just kidding! You know you’re my favorite.” He leans over and boops your nose. A sign of affection the two of you often share. 

You smirk and shake your head as it falls back on the couch. “Did you have fun last night?” 

“So much fun, the party was amazing!” Harry beams. “I got to see so many people that I hadn’t seen in a while. But you know what my favorite part was?” 

You groan in reply, signaling for him to continue, your eyes closed to block the sunlight. 

He turns to look at your face, his expression and tone softening. “At the end of the night, when we were saying goodbye to everyone and you kissed me…”

It feels as though time stands still. The nausea and pain from the hangover immediately replaced by panic and shock. You sit up straight and look at him with a furrowed brow. “Kissed… like kissed kissed?” 

He grins and nods. “A proper kiss, tongue and everything.” 

Your face immediately turns a bright shade of crimson and your eyes go wide. You’d had more than friendly feelings for Harry for a while, but you were certain those feelings would never be returned. He always introduced you to his superstar, super skinny girlfriends, so you always felt your thick thighs and big stomach were far from his type. You’d much rather spend your life hiding your feelings and having him in your life as a friend than to tell him how you feel and end up losing him because those feelings weren’t returned. 

“Harry, I am so sorry… I was drunk… I don’t even remember it happening… I…” You panic and begin to ramble out an apology. 

“Hey hey hey,” he interrupts you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for. I was glad that you kissed me. It was nice, I felt… wanted.”

You scoff slightly. “You’re one of the most wanted men in the world, you don’t need a sloppy drunk kiss for that.”

“But I liked feeling wanted by you. You didn’t want Harry Styles, famous pop star. You wanted me, just regular Harry.” 

“Just regular Harry is my favorite person.” You say in a soft, caring tone. 

“I know he is, that’s why I enjoyed that kiss so much. And it got me wondering…” He trails off, thinking of the best way to bring up what he wants to say. “They often say people are their most honest selves when they’re drunk, so I was wondering if that kiss meant anything to you? Like if maybe you were thinking of me as more than just a friend…” 

Your hangover mixed with the anxiety of being called out for your secret feelings causes your nausea to return. You immediately start stuttering. “What? I… you’re my best friend! We aren’t… I don’t…”

Harry reaches out, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands. “Shhh, it’s okay. We’re always going to be best friends, I promise.” He assures you, his eyes staring deep into yours. “Do you want to know what I wished for last night when I blew out my candles?” 

You shake your head slowly, your mind racing and your stomach churning too much to actually be able to form words. 

“The same thing I’ve wished for every birthday since you came into my life. For you to see me as more than your best friend, for you to want me even half as much as I want you.” 

Your breath hitches at his words, you study his expression and see love, adoration, vulnerability in his eyes. Before you can respond, you feel the nausea taking over. You push out of Harry’s arms and run to the bathroom, You drop to your knees just in time to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. 

Harry is right behind you, kneeling down next to you, pulling your hair back with one hand, and rubbing your back in soothing circles with the other. “Shh, you’re okay Y/N, just let it out. You’ll feel so much better when it’s over.” 

When you’re finally finished throwing up you shift so that you;re sitting on the floor, your back resting against the wall. Harry grabs a washcloth and runs it under the water before bringing it to you and dabbing it on your forehead. “You know, you could have just said no. It doesn’t do great things for one’s self esteem to have a girl vomit the moment you declare your love for her.” He says with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. 

You let out a small, weak chuckle. “Harry, I…” You whisper. 

“It’s just a joke, love. Let’s not talk about it right now, let me just take care of you, yeah?” He says kindly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear as you nod in reply. “Good girl, now what do you need?” 

“Toothbrush…” 

He nods, and places a kiss on your forehead before standing up and getting your toothbrush, he puts a bead of toothpaste on it and kneels back down handing it to you. “Go easy, you don’t want to start anything back up.”

You look at him gratefully as you begin brushing your teeth. He watches on, as he strokes your hair to comfort you. 

“Is it weird that I think you look cute when you’re sick?” He asks, looking at you fondly. 

You let out a soft chuckle and shake your head as you continue to brush your teeth. 

His smile grows at the sound of your laugh. “I love that laugh, I’m glad I was able to get it out of you even when you’re feeling like this.” He’s silent for a moment before speaking up again. “I hate that you don’t feel good, but I love being able to take care of you. Especially when you’re so vulnerable like this, it shows how much you trust me, and that means everything to me.”

You look up at him as you brush your teeth, hoping your expression conveys all of the love and gratitude in your heart at that moment. You slowly stand up and make your way to the sink, where you spit and rinse. 

Harry is quick to get up and stand beside you, he takes in your blotchy complexion and messy hair, and it’s clear that you’ve still got a long way to go before you’re back to normal. “Still not feeling so great?”

You shake your head. “I told you I wasn’t going to be a good hang…”

Harry chuckles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m having a blast! C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.” He moves to put his arms around you as if he’s going to try to lift you.

“Harry, what are you doing?” You step back from his arms. 

“I’m carrying you to bed.” He says, confused. He thought it was pretty clear what he was doing. 

“I can walk, it’s fine. Nobody wins if you try to carry me.”

He furrows his brow and tilts his head. “What do you mean, nobody wins?”

You sigh, hating that you have to spell it out for him. “You’re not going to be able to lift me. You’re going to feel bad because you were wrong, and I won’t even be able to gloat about being right because I’ll feel bad about being fat.” 

“Hey,” Harry says sternly. “I told you never to say that about yourself.” You had always been self-deprecating, and Harry hated it. He wished you could see yourself the way he did, because he saw you as absolutely perfect and beautiful. 

You look down, embarrassed about the slip of the tongue. You had stopped saying it in front of Harry, but you hadn’t stopped believing it, so in your weakened state, you had let it slip my mistake. 

Harry slides a finger under your chin and lifts your gaze. “How about this? Let me try, if I can’t carry you to bed, I’ll clean up your whole apartment while you sleep. If I can, you have to cuddle in bed with me all day. Deal?” 

You roll your eyes and sigh, knowing he’s not going to let this go. “Fine.” 

Harry grins triumphantly and scoops you up with ease, carrying you bridal style down the hall and to your room, where he places you gently on the bed. He tucks you in before moving to the other side and slipping in next to you. “Told you so.” He says smugly. 

“Nobody’s ever been able to do that before.” You say in awe. 

He smiles and pulls you into him, laying your head on his chest. “I bet I can name three more things nobody else can do for you…” He kisses the top of your head. 

“Try me,” you mumble as you snuggle closer to him. 

“I can make you laugh when you’re at your worst, I can calm you down when you’re spiraling, and I can make you turn that adorable shade of red when I get flirty with you.” He chuckles. 

You sigh and nod your head against his chest, agreeing to all three statements. 

He squeezes you a little tighter, one hand coming up to stroke your hair. “And you do all those things for me. That’s why I think we’d be so amazing together. We bring out the best in each other, and provide comfort and support at our worst. I can’t think of anything more important in a relationship.” 

I hum thoughtfully, tears welling in my eyes at his words. He’s right, of course you’ve seen it all along, but the fact that he sees it too is overwhelming. I tilt my head and lock eyes with him. 

When he sees your watery eyes, his expression drops. “Oh, Y/N I’m sorry if I said too much. Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to, I promise. Just don’t cry, okay?” He reaches down to cup your cheek, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. 

You shake your head rapidly. “No no no, I just… I never thought I’d hear you say this kind of stuff to me. I agree with you completely.”

Harry’s breath hitches at your words, a wide grin spreads across his face. “Yeah?” You grin back and nod your head. “So you’d be willing to give us a shot… as more than friends?” 

“Definitely.” You say without hesitation. 

He smiles softly and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “I really want to kiss you, but I’m afraid you’ll throw up again, and my ego can’t take it.” He says lightheartedly. 

You giggle softly. “I get it. It’s okay, I feel too gross to kiss anyone right now anyway.” 

“What can I do for you right now?” 

“Um… I actually think I want to take a shower, but I can do that on my own.” 

Harry arches a brow and smirks slyly at you. “You sure I can’t help you?” 

You chuckle and slap his chest playfully. “Positive, you perv.”

“Fine, fine… how about this? While you shower, I’ll make you some breakfast, to help your tummy.” He runs his fingers through your hair, wanting nothing more than to take care of you. 

You smile and blush. “You don’t have to do that…”

“You’re my girl,” he pauses, letting the gravity of his words sink in, you both smile dreamily at each other. “It’s my job to take care of you.” 

“Your girl…” You sigh. 

He smiles as he stares down at your dreamy expression. “You alright?” 

“Yeah… actually, I’m suddenly feeling much better.” 

Harry chuckles, kissing you on the forehead. “Good, well you go shower and I’ll make you a nice breakfast, we’ll get you back to normal in no time.

You roll out of bed and make your way to the door. You throw one more glance over your shoulder, smiling softly at Harry. When your eyes meet, he blows you a kiss. In that moment, he can’t help but think that thirty could be his best year yet. 

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem! reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles headcanon #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles x fem!reader

[larkspurglove]

OH MY GODDD THE NEW TRAILBLAZE MISSION IT’S SO GOOD BUT ALSO NONE OF MY THOUGHTS ARE COHERENT AAAAA

Major spoilers for 2.1 ahead!!!!

So first off to the people that voted for Aventurine and Sunday in this poll how does it feel to be right?

ANYWAY THAT WHOLE ENDING WAS FUCKING INSANEEEE, Aventurine walking INTO the Nihility????? And he might not ever come back???? Acheron showing off the true extent of her emanator powers?????? Gallagher being the twist villain and also somehow in control of Something Unto Death???? What the fuck?!

My brain is a mess right now I’m just rotating all of the story in my brain and a hundred miles a minute. The next stuff is just going to be me word vomiting my reaction to stuff in a vaguely chronological order.

First off I LOVEEE how Aventurine-focused the Trailblaze mission was. I was kind of assuming it would be a 50/50 split between focusing on Acheron and focusing on Aventurine but it seems like they’re saving Acheron’s backstory for 2.2 or 2.3.

The little appearance of Boothill??? And how he immediately threatens violence?????? Just a silly guy I can’t wait for him in 2.2 I wanna see them fight. Also I wonder if Constance is making empty promises because it’s possible.

Back to Aventurine, DAMNNN I knew his backstory would be tragic but it’s even more gut wrenching than I expected. The reference in his achievements too??? ‘What do you want Sibyl?’ ‘I want to die.’ THE PROGRESSION FROM AVENTURINE STICKING WITH THIS UNTIL THE END WHERE EVEN THOUGH HE COULD POSSIBLY DIE FOR REAL YET HE DECIDES FO CONTINUE FORWARD BECAUSE EVEN IF WE’RE BORN TO DIE THERE’S A POINT IN LIVING LIFE AND PREPARING FOR THAT INEVITABILITY???? OH MY GOD.

Sunday’s also a scary dude. Maybe being an emanator does that to people but when he did that Harmony mindfuckery on Aventurine I was almost certain that he was going to die because of that. I was also SO pissed at Ratio for selling Aventurine out only to learn they were actually double crossing SUNDAY was insane. I’m glad he finally got to be angry about Robin’s death towards the end though, most of the downtime between 2.0 and 2.1 has been me wondering ‘man his sister just died why doesn’t he feel more distressed.’

Ngl I’m probably gonna dedicate a whole post to Aventurine in this update because 90% of the time I was playing the quest I was either thirsting over him, internally sobbing for him, thinking he was gonna die, or waiting to get back to his POV.

Gallagher is one hell of an enigma because Sunday implies that he’s made up of different ‘aspects’ of each Family member who’s died over however long the dreamscape deaths have been happening, yet he has a past with Siobhan and apparently knew Mikhail??? Like what the fuck????? How long has this been going on????

(Edit: so the use of ‘enigma’ was NOT a pun, when I played the trailblaze quest someone goofed up and forgot to add the line where Sunday calls Gallagher a follower of The Enigmata. Yeah that’s a pretty big lore drop to forget to add.)

I do wish it was foreshadowed slightly better though because the most we get is him being very vaguely sad about his past and also like two people going ‘who the hell is Gallagher.’

One thing I didn’t expect to happen was for a ‘Sam is Firefly’ reveal. Like I had seen the leaks before (not out of my own will sadly) and kind of expected for it to be a 2.2 reveal. Either way yayyyy Firefly is alive!!!

I’m sad that we didn’t really have an Acheron and Welt team up, or at least that we didn’t see more of it. It was kind of hyped up to be a whole B-plot but turned out to only be a few scenes. I’m not complaining because we get a little teeny bit of Welt characterisation but I’m still sad.

I like how Sparkle kind of just shows up to either be a nuisance or a conveniently timed piece to move the plot forward. It’s very fitting with being a Masked Fool.

There’s a lot more I want to scream about but it’s all Aventurine related and I’m gonna save it for its own dedicated post.

2.1 is so fucking good 2.2 and 2.3 better stick the landing.

#honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #Penacony #hsr spoilers #2.1 spoilers #Penacony spoilers #hsr gallagher #Gallagher hsr #sunday hsr #hsr sunday #Acheron hsr #hsr Acheron #boothill hsr #hsr boothill #firefly hsr #hsr firefly #sam hsr #hsr sam

[bippot]

Summary: Working with his wife usually comes easy to Spencer but when a woman identical to her is found dead, it becomes a little bit harder to deal with. Especially when she's determined to find the guy by whatever means she has at her disposal.

Criminal Minds, Dr Spencer Reid Masterlist - here

Additional Tags: Married Couple, Fluff and Smut, Kidnapping, Serial Killers, Canon-Typical Violence, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Brief weight gain mention, Pregnancy, Reader is a Member of the BAU (Criminal Minds), Protectiveness, Angst with a Happy Ending

In all her time of knowing him, Y/N had never seen Spencer be rageful. He was annoyed by small minded cops constantly. Any case that had anything to do with kids caused everyone to be on edge. And he had a sore spot whenever schizophrenia came up in conversation.

He was kind and gentle and frequently had a smile on his face whenever she needed a friendly face, but Y/N knew that deep down, there was a sadness lurking in his soul. He was a lonely man at his core so she tried her very best to make sure she always was there to listen whenever he wanted to rant and tell her facts and vomit word soup out in the open.

Sure, the fact that he was cute was a factor in Y/N's interest in her coworker's words. But it was his genuine need to use that big ol' brain of his to help other people out that really captured her attention. He had a big heart to go along with his big brain, that's why he was so special.

And why she fell in love with him.

"Sorry, one of the officers cornered me and forced me to endure a way too long conversation about bitcoin and now your coffee is getting cold," Y/N announced as she placed Spencer's drink on the desk in front of him. He immediately pulled his focus away from the papers he'd been staring at and shifted it to his wife, causing his entire being to go from slouching down in his chair to perking up in attention.

"How did you get away?" he asked her with a gleam in his eye.

Y/N sat down on the edge of the desk and shrugged. "His shift ended," she answered with a chuckle, taking a sip from her coffee and holding back a wince at how bitter it was.

Whilst she was making it, she had been faced with a decision - use up all the remaining sugar on Spencer's cup so he has it the way he likes or share the sugar between them both and have the one coffee she allowed herself to indulge in per day to taste better. Luckily, he didn't see her distaste for her coffee, or if did, he didn't mention it.

But she did notice when he made a face that she'd seen far too many times. His brows furrowed and crinkled his forehead. Y/N's hand brushed the back of his shoulder tenderly. "Migraine?"

"Just a headache right now."

"Do you want me to go get you anything?"

"No, no, I'm okay," he waved her off. "I'll be fine."

Bullshit. She knew him well enough to know that he was in more distress than he wanted to admit. She jumped off the desk, gave him a scratch right on the crown of his head, and moved to find her bag, rifling through it until she found what she was looking for with a satisfied, "Ah-ha!" Whatever Y/N had found was being shoved in Spencer's direction. He took it without looking, knowing exactly what it was from the crinkle and soft jingling sound that accompanied it, and popped the magnesium out of the packet and tipped a vitamin B gummy from the pot.

"Thank you, honey."

"It's my job to make sure my husband's brain doesn't explode," Y/N told him as he threw the gummy in his mouth. "You're welcome."

"I certainly am," Spencer replied with a cheeky grin, before taking a large gulp of his coffee. His wife rolled her eyes but couldn't resist smiling back.

By the time Y/N had finished her coffee, Hotch was calling for everyone to gather because there had been bodies found. The squad listened as Garcia gave them the update. Four bodies had been found, all of whom had very similar features. As he was watching the photos of the dead women pop up on the screen, Spencer's hand made it to his wife's back, curling her shirt into his fist. Y/N didn't seem to react. Not even when all of the team had looked at her as soon as they realised too.

The victim they'd deduced had been the first of this serial killer was a doppelganger of Y/N. The others looked similar but the first was almost identical to her. Same hair colour, same nose, same eyes, same smirk. There were a few obvious differences due to styling and body weight distribution but they could be sisters. Twins even. Well, at least Y/N knew what she'd look like after being strangled to death and dumped in a mass grave in the middle of nowhere. She never had wanted to know that. Now she did.

Whatever morbid curiosity she had, it had never got that detailed. Hotch knew that Y/N would be able to deal with this. However, he had no idea if Spencer would be. Judging by Reid's clenched jaw and the mortified look in his eyes, he wasn't dealing with being presented with an image of someone who looked like his wife dead in a ditch very well.

"I'll point out the elephant in the room," Y/N began before anyone could say it out loud. She gestured in the general direction of her face. "We could use this to our advantage."

Yeah, she'd been a decoy before and was prepared to do so again. Her situation was slightly different now though.

Spencer's head whipped up. A thousand million zillion alarm bells went off in his head, which was not very pleasant mixed with his headache. "Y/N..." he warned, his voice low and shaky.

"It's an option. That's all I'm saying."

"We'll try a more traditional approach at first, but it may be beneficial for us to keep Y/N out of the public eye just in case we need to go down that route," Hotch stated, which was met with some relief. Not much. Some. He turned fully towards Spencer. "Is that agreeable?"

Humming his agreement - though it didn't sound all that enthusiastic - Spencer was mostly quiet during their discussion about the unsub. The usual points were hit. The unsub is anti-social. He won’t look anyone in the eye. He’s not confident. He's a white male in the 30-45 range. He probably doesn't like his mummy. Spencer spoke up when he thought he had new insight that nobody else had brought up yet, but as soon as Hotch told everyone to get some sleep for the night, Spencer got the hell out of there.

Derek sighed. "Want me to cool him down?" He offered, bumping her in the shoulder with his own. Y/N shook her head and gave him a bump back.

"I will power through the silent treatment,"she told him, and he gave her a few seconds to change her mind before chuckling and stepping away.

Back in their hotel room, Spencer was in the shower when Y/N got back. He'd had a five minute head start and was not wasting that precious time, it seemed.

Officially, the FBI booked two rooms for the married couple as agents have their own rooms instead of sharing most of the time - unless the hotel is fully booked or they're in a romance novel and need to huddle for warmth - so whenever the squad touch down in a new city and settle in, there's a guarantee that one of the Reid's rooms are abandoned. It was a waste of company money.

Working together whilst married had been a weird thing in the beginning. There was a review of how effective Y/N and Reid were by the unit chief when they first declared themselves as a couple to HR, and then another conducted after their wedding. It was decided that there weren't any glaring problems with the two working together - they weren't half as flirty as Morgan and Garcia so maybe that helped them out a bit - so they were allowed to stay in the same unit. That report had said that Agent L/N's reckless nature often conflicted with Dr Reid's anxiousness. Which had been true enough. Sometimes those traits worked well together. Other times...

A pin drop could be heard as the couple got ready for bed. Y/N climbed into her side of the bed and Spencer into his. The room was dark and quiet, and in that silence, Spencer could hear the sound of his heart and that drum beat of terror, and it was almost as loud as a thunderstorm. Could she hear it too? Or was he just afraid that she could?.Both sat with their backs against the headboard, Y/N read her book quietly while Spencer stared into space and tried his best to ignore his wife. The silence stretched on and on, until finally, Spencer felt a hand on the back of his head and fingers softly stroking through his hair. He let out a sigh of relief.

Instantly, the drum in his head stopped. He pressed himself into her side, morphing his body to fit the contours of hers, and - without losing her spot on the page - she let her head tip downwards to give him a kiss on the crown of his head. It was a soft, brief peck and Spencer felt himself yearn for more. "Pay attention to me?" He whined.

An amused huff came from her nose and she placed her book on the bedside table so both hands were free to lavish him with so much petting and loving caresses that he began purring like a cat in no time.

"Better?"

"Much," he said, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of her warm fingers tracing patterns along his temples, his nose, his cheekbones. Her fingers moved to his chin and tilted it so she could give him a smooch, and Spencer thought he would melt at the pure sweetness of her lips on his.

"I love you," he said, and it felt so natural to say it. It felt so right.

"I know," she replied, sounding just as serious. "I love you too."

Spencer felt a shift in the atmosphere as the tension that had been there evaporated, leaving them to cuddle together and enjoy the rest of the night in each other's arms. Though the issue hadn't been solved, that was okay right now. They'd deal with that tomorrow or whenever it had to be dealt with. Not right now. Not before bed. They'd never gone to bed angry at each other and they weren't going to start today.

Despite seeing her dead doppelganger, Y/N fell asleep pretty quickly. Her husband was so warm at her side and the hotel pillow was so fluffy and comfortable that she was out like a light in no time. Spencer lay awake for a long time, his eyes staring at the ceiling, his thoughts racing as he traced a line from one of her hips to the other and back again over and over again, feeling the pouch of her stomach with the very tip of his finger, and his chest was tight with worry.

He didn't know why his mind kept going back to that photograph. Why would his brain choose to relive that? Did he want to torture himself that badly? Maybe if he stayed awake he would be able to protect her from anyone who even thought about hurting her. He'd catch this killer if it was the last thing he ever did.

"I can hear you thinking." His wife's sleepy voice interrupted his thoughts and Spencer let out a small groan. How long he'd been unravelling in his own brain, he had no idea, yet it was long enough for the hoarseness that she usually got after a nap to enter her voice. "Go to sleep, baby," she said. "You're going to be exhausted tomorrow."

"Can't."

"You can."

Y/N pulled his body so that he was fully on top of her and wrapped her arms around him. Spencer felt her start to move her hand up and down his spine in a gentle rhythm and her other hand cupped the back of his head, holding him close as she slowly rocked them side to side. She began to hum a tune, cradling him almost like he was a 6'2" big baby, and let him relax in her arms. It worked. It always did. Within minutes, he was snoring into her shoulder. He did that thing that men do when they suddenly spasm for no apparent reason because their body can't believe it's finally getting some down time, but eventually it evened out.

Once the early morning arrived, Y/N was beginning to stir. She awoke to the soft gentle presses of her husband's lips against the skin of her stomach, his head lifting up the bottom of her sleep shirt to plant a kiss on her belly. For the past month or so, she'd often woken up to him mumbling a hushed conversation to her abdomen. She'd pretended not to hear it and let him continue for as long as he wanted to, thoroughly enjoying his affection and the way it would send a shiver of pleasure straight through her body. And today was no different.

Only when it became clear that he wasn't planning on getting up anytime soon did she begin to move and acknowledge the fact that she was actually awake and aware. Massaging his shoulders, she cooed, "Morning handsome," and he mumbled something unintelligible as he buried his face in her stomach again, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there.

Reid was not a morning person. Not in the slightest. Y/N had learned very early on that the best way to force him to get up in the morning was to get herself up and he would mimic her. It usually worked like a charm. But this morning, he'd trapped her legs beneath his body and was keeping her hips pinned to the mattress with his. This man was heavy. He was gangly and lanky and looked like a twig but could feel like a tonne of bricks when he wanted to. And he was trying to keep her pinned down, which meant he wanted something.

"Let me up, you big brute," she teased as she wriggled her hips to try to get away from him. Spencer laughed at her attempt and she gave up the moment his big hands landed on her hips to keep them still. He lifted his head up, the smile on his face making his eyes crinkle.

"Morning beautiful."

"I take it you're not ready to get up for work just yet?" He shook his head as he ran his hand up and down her waist, keeping his eyes on hers. "You know we'll have to eventually, right?"

"I do. I also know I'm going to have to be pretty convincing to get you to stay." He pressed a kiss to her navel. "But."

One more kiss placed just under the previous one on her abdomen. "I am."

Another on her pelvis. "Willing."

Two more, one on each thigh, his palms pushing her legs apart to give him more space to settle in the gap. "To. Be."

Finally, he let his lips fall to her underwear-covered pubic bone in the barest whisper of a kiss, one that set off a small firestorm of desire that shot straight to her core. "Very, very convincing."

At the beginning of their relationship, they'd come up with the rule that they wouldn't give in to their desire whilst on the job. When they first got together, that was mostly a way to make them seem as unsuspecting as possible. Their coworkers were profilers for god sake! Even the slightest smudge of her lipstick on the corner of his mouth and Derek would be giving Spencer a patronising clap on the back and a "My man."

Now it was out in the open, it was mainly a professional courtesy. It would look awful if two FBI agents comforted a grieving family with mussed hair and incorrectly buttoned shirts. There were exceptions, though. And why not? They had plenty of time before they were expected to show up at work. They were in the privacy of their hotel room with the nearest member of their team (Emily) six rooms away. The rule could be morphed into a suggestion, and it's easier to ignore suggestions.

"Can I convince you?" He let his lips curl upwards at the corners as he gave her a kiss over her underwear with an exaggerated 'mwah'. He added on a desperate sigh of "Please?" to seal the deal.

"You can try."

"Well then, lie back and enjoy yourself, Mrs Reid," he responded cheekily, pulling her underwear down her thighs and off in the general direction of her suitcase that sat by the dresser.

With that, he got to it. He started by licking and nipping at the inside of her thighs, making sure to get up higher with each bite until his lips touched her clit and he flicked it with his tongue. Her head fell back as she arched into his mouth, giving him better access to do whatever the hell he wanted to her. His hands cupped her butt, keeping her pressed up against his mouth as he worked her into a frenzy.

"Mrs Reid, you are so beautiful."

Her eyes fluttered shut as she let herself go. The pressure of his mouth, his hands, his stubble. Her man could make her come in no time at all. The more he gave her, the more she wanted. And the more she wanted, the more he gave her. It was a lovely cycle that gave them both what they wanted.

The slow slide of his fingers moved under her shirt and up to her bare breasts. He teased her nipples into hard points, his touch sure and demanding, and just was needed to make her moan out his name. "Spencer, oh god, Spence."

Thanks to one particularly forceful suck on her clit, Y/N was grabbing at Spencer's curls, trying to hold him to her while he drove her towards the edge. But it wasn't enough just yet.

"Fingers too, baby."

"Where are your manners, honey?"

"Jesus fucking christ, are you serious?" She huffed and had planned to fully argue some more but gave up almost immediately. "Fine! Please finger me, my loving husband."

"That is more like it."

He kept his eyes locked on hers as he used two fingers to part her folds and slip them inside of her. She was wet and ready for him, and he made quick work of finding her G-spot, mumbling a little "Ah, there it is," when she got a smidge louder. He curled his fingers at the same pace as his tongue swirled around her clit. It was a rough and slow rhythm that made her writhe and squirm.

"Can feel these legs shaking. You close, pretty girl? You want me to keep going, don't you?"

"Uh-huh, keep going."

"Tell me. Say it. Say it all pretty like you always do."

So, she did. Her voice was all breathy and whiny as she got out the words he wanted to hear. "You're so good, gonna cum, gonna cum. So good to me."

Y/N felt her orgasm catch up with her, her muscles tensing up as she was taken over by the wave of pleasure. It swept over her in seconds, stealing her breath and leaving her weak in the knees. She dug her nails into Spencer's shoulders, curling her toes into the bed to keep herself grounded as she felt the aftershocks ripple through her.

"Good job, baby," she praised, grinning down at him. "What's next on the agenda this morning?"

Spencer's smile was so goofy - looking as if he drunk off the taste of her, and maybe he was - as he moved himself back up the bed to kiss her neck, his grin making it impossible for the kisses to be anything but a press of teeth against soft skin. He kissed up and up and up until he reached her ear, whispering, "I’m not done with you yet, honey. If you ask me nicely, I'll fuck you so good," against the shell.

Whenever Spencer swore, it was always surprising to her. And when he swore like that, it sounded more dirty than if a frequently swearing man had done it. As if his mouth was filled with those words but had been pushing them down and down - they'd been sitting there for a while, just brewing - and in the wait, had grown a mind of their own.

"C'mon, Spence, get your cock out and put it in me already. I wanna feel you, please?" she asked, exaggerating the 'please' so he couldn't call her rude again.

"Yeah, you want more?" he teased, squeezing her ass in his big palm.

"Damn right, I do."

"I'll get right to it then, my pretty baby."

As he nuzzled his face into her neck, kissing the skin there, let her head fall back on the pillow, let out a giggle when he bit at her jaw and pushed his head away, laughing even harder when he tried to playfully bite her fingers.

"Weirdo."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But you're married to me so that makes you Mrs Weirdo by default. You signed yourself up for all this, honey."

Tugging his boxers down, she gave him a light a slap on the ass, the sound of smack loud in the quiet of the room. "Married you just for the marital tax deduction," she joked, but she couldn't help but mischievously grin so he absolutely knew she was just messing around. Obviously she told him that she loved him lots yet he still struggled to comprehend that some days. So, she made sure whenever she teased him that he was fully aware that she didn't mean it.

"And I married you because I love you," he responded, far more sincerely than she had thought he would've, and positioned himself at her entrance, his cock jutting up against her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him in deep. "And I love making you feel good."

The slow, teasing pace of their foreplay was broken by his sudden, hard thrust as he entered her. It was so intense, and the way he held her hips pressed against his, grinding into her and pinning her to the bed with his weight, was so possessive and so deliberate that it left her breathless.

At first, it always took a moment - just a small one - where he rested his forehead on her shoulder and let them both adjust to the feeling of him inside her. But then, he was never one to rush, and he'd make sure they both felt entirely comfortable. And once they were, his hand gripped her ass cheek, and he pumped into her in a slow, steady rhythm. "I love fucking you, Y/N," he murmured, the words thick with feeling. "So goddamn perfect, you. I'm never letting you go."

It was a line he'd used on her a lot. I'm never letting you go. You are my world. My universe. My life. And I am yours, and you are mine. They were such simple statements but they said exactly what they needed to. Because she knew they were true.

Y/N wrapped her arms around his back, curling her body against his as he began to move, his thrusts getting more frantic and his kisses more desperate. Her fingernails dug into his back, and she arched her back in a desperate attempt to bring him closer, to feel him even deeper, to feel him harder. His breath was harsh, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs and pulling them closer to her chest as he fucked her.

"I love you so much, Y/N. You're my everything. You're my... my..." he trailed off, hitting a hard thrust into her. " You're my life. I can't believe I get to wake up every morning next to you. Let's quit our jobs and stay in bed forever, you and me. Just you and me. Don't you want that? Don't you want that more than anything?"

One thing is for certain, he'd go mad if he had no cases to figure out like a sinister rubix cube. But Y/N, well, she'd often thought about what her life would be like if she left the BAU behind. Profiling was in the very fabric of Spencer's DNA, and without his cases, he'd be lost.

"Forever in bed with you, baby? I'll take it."

"Uh-huh, you take it, honey," he mumbled into her skin, his hips hitting a spot that sent a shockwave of delight through her core. "You take it so good."

A whimper escaped her lips as he increased his tempo, his hips slamming against her in a way that made her feel cherished, like she was his only source of joy in their hectic, difficult life. Y/N arched her back, her orgasm building, her body tensing, every muscle tightening in anticipation. They were both so close, so desperate for each other, that Spencer used his one hand to keep his wife's ankle over his shoulder and the other was pushing her thigh as far open as her flexibility allowed to get as deep as he physically could inside of her. "Baby, I'm going to..." he managed to say, his voice strained, his breathing heavy.

Then, with a final thrust, he came. Not just the usual orgasmic feeling that came with a good fuck, but a burst of energy so strong it knocked the breath out of her and sent her tumbling over the edge of pleasure, falling into a blissful, fucked out headspace for the next however many minutes.

Spencer collapsed on top of her, every muscle in his body tingling. "That was..." he couldn't even believe it. "So good. I'm not sure I'll ever top that." He laughed, a full-body, carefree sound that was the best thing she'd ever heard. Y/N laughed, too, watching as he rolled off of her and onto his back, his hair falling in a ruffled, sexy mess around his face. It was impossible to resist running her fingers through his hair, the feeling of his thick, curly locks against her hand so comforting, so calming.

"We should shower."

"I thought you wanted to quit our jobs and stay in bed forever?" Y/N parroted his words back to him, rolling onto her side to face him.

"We smell of sex." He got out of bed and held his hands out to his wife to help her to her feet. "Come on, stinky."

By the time they were showered and dressed, none of their coworkers would know how Spencer had made her go briefly brain dead that very morning.

This case wasn't solved on their first visit. The unsub had either been tipped off or was closely following the investigation and went dormant for enough time that Hotch moved them on, which wasn't an unusual thing to happen. It was annoying, though.

There was some guy out there whose perfect victim was Y/N. Even as they got on with their lives and solved other cases, that fact remained in the back of Spencer's head. He couldn't forget it - mostly because he doesn't forget anything - but he knew that if he hadn't been born with this gift, that it would be the same. With this guy still out in the world, Y/N was in danger every time she went out in public. It was hard to breathe while he was thinking about that.

Two months later, the unsub killed again and the team was brought back. This time Spencer was determined to find him.

The same officer who'd lectured her about bitcoin once again cornered Y/N, but this time, she had her husband by her side. Previously, he'd been a little pushy but once Y/N had told him that she was in a relationship, he backed off. Now, he greeted her with, "I remember you being slimmer."

What? Did he think that was an acceptable way to say hello?

"Funny, I have an eidetic memory - that means I remember just about anything I deem important - and I don't remember you. Weird," Spencer shot back, his tone icy.

Instantly, the officer's jaw dropped. "I, um, I just - "

"We've been on the jet for the past few hours, mind giving us some space?" Spencer suggested and the officer flushed a bright red, backing off immediately. Y/N caught Spencer's eye and gave him a quick squeeze on the bicep to say thanks, and was rewarded with a wink that was far too flirty for a work environment.

Garcia gave them another rundown of the case, briefly going over what they had before and adding the new revelations at the end. The killer had fucked up. The most recent victim had bite marks on her shoulder so they had a very good insight at what the killer's teeth looked like. Whoever he was, he was missing his top canines and if they were to look into his mouth, there would be an obvious gap.

Part way through Garcia's rundown Spencer very subtly reached into his pocket, pulled out a granola bar and slid it towards his wife. She ate it with a smug little smile on her face.

"That's new," Emily pointed out. "There was no bite mark at the last crime scene."

"Biting as a form of attack is usually used as an act of self defence," Derek added.

Hotch let out a gruff noise, one that was toneless and no indicator of whether he thought that was a correct assumption or not. He had a talent for that - bland, unemotional responses that encourages more discussion without leaning the conversation one way or the other.

"That would only make sense if the marks were inflicted perimortem or pre-mortem, but judging by the lack of redness and blood splatter around the puncture of the skin, this bite was done post mortem," Spencer explained, gesturing with the tip of his pen at the area around the teeth marks.

"This guy has escalated to biting his victim's after he's killed them, why?" Y/N posed the question once she'd finished chewing and the room was silent for a second before Rossi spoke up.

"A killer I interviewed back in the early 90's did the same thing. For him, he believed he was absorbing the life essences from his victims, he was consuming what little of them remained when he bit them."

Emily let out a bitter scoff. "Even after taking their lives, it's still not enough for this guy. He needs to annihilate what's left of their soul."

"Maybe he thinks he's collecting souls for the afterlife like how Zodiac believed his victim's would become his slaves once he passed on?" Y/N thought out loud and the room went still, all of them thinking it simultaneously.

"Whatever the case, the guy is a freak," Derek stated, and they all nodded in agreement because yeah. He was a freak.

Just before they'd gone off into their own research teams, Hotch called put, "Y/N, would you mind holding back a few minutes? I need to speak with you," and although she knew she hadn't done anything to warrant a stern talking to, it still felt like being sent to the principal's office.

"I'll catch up with you in a sec, Spence."

Closing the door once Spencer was on the other side, Hotch sighed. "I know what your answer will be but I feel obligated to ask, do you want to give this one a miss?"

Y/N looked over at him and the corners of her mouth turned up just a little. "You think I'm going soft, Aaron?" She teased, and he grinned at her.

"I know Reid's been giving you an earful."

"He always does."

Something that sounded like a chuckle came from Hotch's throat but it died before it could fully form as his eyes caught the opened case file on the desk, the photo of Y/N's dead doppelganger paperclipped in the corner of the page. "And if we run out of options?"

"As long as you can guarantee that I can blame everything on you so Spencer doesn't stay mad at me for the next year, I'm still up for being a decoy," she clarified. "We've got to catch this guy."

"I will take the blame."

"You better."

Eventually, they found everything about the guy. Garcia cross referenced this with that and then that with this to find out the guy's name was Leyton Hart, his father died when he was young and his mother was an addict who he was still living with despite the fact he was raised mostly by his next door neighbour, a young girl that was only a few years older than him. This neighbour, who they became aware was once called Isla Wiley, was the first victim. She was Y/N's doppelganger.

Infuriatingly, the only thing they couldn't find was where the hell he was now. He wasn't at home, nor at the smart car customer help desk he worked at. They checked his credit cards, they tried calling his cell, they checked with his boss and his mum, nothing.

"You think he's left the area?" Derek asked.

"It's not impossible," Emily replied. "He went dormant for months once we'd caught his scent, he may be prepared to do it again."

Spencer began, "If we could draw him out -" and stopped as soon as his brain caught up with his mouth. He cleared his throat. "Ignore that."

Rossi could see the silent conversation Y/N and Hotch were having and decided that he'd be the bad guy in this scenario to save both of them from doing it. "No, that could work, Reid. And we have an asset to do so," David announced, readying himself for whatever was about to happen to happen.

"Y/N is not an asset, she is a person! And we can't risk a member of our team in the hopes of catching this guy! Her being on this case is risky enough as it is!"

Reid's chest was rising and falling faster as he tried to keep his temper in check. His vision was getting more red by the second. His fingers were drumming against the table. The blood was rushing to his ears. He felt sick.

"We are not risking my wife's safety to catch this guy!"

Y/N rested her hand over Spencer's, her middle finger tracing over his wedding ring. "This could be our best shot," she said quietly, and he knew at that exact moment that the subject had been brought up with her beforehand and she hadn't mentioned it to him.

He felt sicker than he'd ever felt in his life.

"I don't care!"

"Spencer," Y/N said sternly, her tone made it very clear she was warning him to stop and think about this before he said something he couldn't take back. She squeezed his fingers gently, her thumb rubbing along his knuckles before he whipped his hand away.

"God, I can't believe you're putting this before everything else."

"We could save a bunch more women. Think of the families, Spencer. We have a chance to give them some peace."

"What about my family? Do you really think I'm going to just -" He was shaking his head as he spoke, trying his best to find a way to reason with her, to convince her to stop. He knew he was failing. And because he was failing, he decided to take himself out of the situation before he said something drastic and lost his job. "You know what, good luck, honey. I'll be waiting for you if you come home."

And he walked out of the conference room, slamming the door behind him. Y/N rubbed at her eyes, taking a few deep breaths and letting out a groan. "Well, that went spectacularly," she mumbled, then rubbed her neck as she looked over at Hotch. "Sorry about that."

"He'll come around," Morgan said.

Prentiss agreed. "Eventually."

"If I had to guess, putting this bozo behind bars will speed that process up." Rossi reached across the desk and patted Y/N affectionately on the hand. "Trust me, I've been married enough times by now to know."

Raising an eyebrow, Hotch posed the question 'Are you still on board with this?' with just his face and only confirmed, "Let's start planning," when she nodded.

While the squad figured out the details, Y/N went in search of her husband. They may have differing opinions on what should go down but she still wanted to comfort him and make sure he was okay. She found him in the back seat of their hire car outside eating a sandwich, taking big aggressive bites, and staring off into the parking lot bush in front of the windscreen. He didn't even look up when he heard her open the door and sit in the seat on the other side of the car. He chewed, swallowed, and kept on looking.

Wordlessly, she slid across to the middle seat and let her head fall onto his shoulder. He didn't move, just kept on chewing, his Adam's apple bobbing as it swallowed the last of his food. After a while, he sighed and leaned back in the seat, resting his head on the headrest as he closed his eyes.

"I know you're worried, baby," she said softly, stroking his arm to get a little more of his attention. "But I can do it, and I will. I don't need you to protect me but I'm very touched that you did. Thank you for looking out for me."

"You're welcome," he replied bitterly. "I'd say you're all set to go then, yeah?"

"Babe..."

She smiled sadly, cradling his head in her palm. He'd been through a lot in his life, she knew that. She'd been there for a lot of it. A lot had gone on back when they were just pals. And even more had happened now they were something different. Going off the basis of his experiences, his concern was fully warranted.

"I'm so selfish. I care about you and I love you and I don't want anyone to touch a hair on your head. This guy... this guy shouldn't get to breathe the same air you do after what he's done." He opened his eyes and finally focused on her, the light of the setting sun illuminating his face in such a way that it made him look like a sad angel. "I can't lose you too, baby."

"If I don't, more women will die."

"If you die, my entire world ends," he choked out, his entire face contorted with misery. "It would be like the sun went out. As if I was a pontifex and my Goddess had been suddenly ripped from my hands, and there was nothing I could do about it."

Obviously, she couldn't guarantee her survival. They both knew that. Y/N closed her eyes and held her breath, trying not to cry as she felt him grip on her jacket, digging his fingers into her elbow as if to anchor her there. She couldn't bring herself to say anything though. She could hear the anguish in his voice, the horror of it, and it was all her fault for being born with the face she had.

The hand on her elbow moved down to find her hip as he pulled her closer into him, resting on her stomach when he was satisfied with the lack of space between them. She rested her head against his shoulder and let herself feel his pain.

"We'll get him," she whispered. "We'll catch this bastard. And we'll get through this."

Tilting her chin up, she caught his lips with hers in a gentle kiss and held on for just a moment before pulling back. "You had a club sandwich," she pointed out playfully, tasting what was left on his lips and feeling her smile broaden. "Making me kinda hungry."

"Let's go get you some lunch."

Before she had comprehended what he said, he was getting out and moving into the driver's seat. They left to get some food - getting in an order for what everyone else on the team wanted whilst they were there - and smoothed out their emotional spikes to settle into a more stable state to prepare for later on.

Then later came. Y/N had been dressed up in an outfit similar to one that Isla had been photographed in - a stripy shirt, denim dungaree and espadrilles - and told to phone the customer service desk for the smart car they'd given her for breakdown help. Once Leyton Hart, who'd managed to reroute the calls that were supposed to go to his work computer to his personal cell, had confirmed that he was on his way to the secluded patch of road Y/N had 'broken down' at, it was a waiting game.

Most of the team were not that far away, around 30 yards behind a thicket of trees. Far enough away to not be seen if he wasn't looking too hard and close enough that they'd be able to make it to help Y/N out in a minute if she needed it.

Sitting in the car, Y/N listened to the hum of the radio and let her legs dangle off the seat and out into the opened door, swinging them to the beat until Penelope warned her, "Incoming!" through comms and she stopped immediately. Y/N could feel him coming, sense him even though she couldn't see him just yet. "Here we go," Penny told the others, keeping her voice low and her eyes glued on the road ahead as his pickup truck came into view.

There was no mistaking the man in the truck. Y/N's gut twisted and she tasted bile in the back of her throat at the sight of him as he got out of the truck and strode towards her. She painted a smile on her face, greeting him with a friendly, "Hi, you are a lifesaver! This stupid car just -"

Before she could finish her sentence, he did something they never predicted he'd do and whacked her in the temple with a ratchet wrench. Y/N's body went limp and she slumped into Leyton's waiting arms as her vision went dark.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" was all Spencer could manage to get out of his mouth as he ran forward to reach her before she was placed in the back of the truck. Hotch raced after him and managed to tackle him to the grass before Leyton noticed them, which would compromise Y/N even further.

Spencer's worst fears were becoming a reality. A serial killer just drove off with the love of his life and his boss had prevented him from intervening.

However much time later, Y/N winced herself awake and looked blearily around. She had no idea how long she'd been out, but she knew for sure she was not in a good situation. She had a throbbing headache and her neck was sore from being arched over for what felt like hours. And she was on a very dirty and gross floor with one hand cuffed to a radiator. It was dark, which she thought was probably for the best for her headache, and cold. She was shivering as she tried to blink the blurriness out of her eyes and get her bearings.

For now, she was alone.

There was no telling how long she'd been out for. Minutes? Hours? A couple of them? It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that she was alive and that she had to get out of here..Grimacing against the pain, she rolled onto her side and pushed herself to a sitting position. The world tilted a bit and she grabbed the edge of the nearest wall to steady herself. The cuffs cut into her wrists and her ankles were getting achy. Overall, it wasn't a great time.

Then, the sound of a key in a lock and the door to the warehouse creaked open, light from the outside glinting dully off the metal floor. "Hello Isla," a deep voice said. "Didn't expect you to be awake."

Going along with this fantasy of his would probably be best. That would give the team time to find them. If there was one thing Penelope was good at was finding a needle in a haystack and, by the look of her surroundings, they were a small needle.

Wherever she was, it was so basic that nothing really stuck out. There was only the radiator she was attached to, a sturdy looking wooden chair, and a cardboard box with a children's book on the top. No windows, concrete floor, metal door, and an industrial overhead lamp that Leyton switched on with a flick of his wrist.

"I knew you'd come back to me," Leyton said, a gleam in his eye. "I knew you would if I gathered enough souls to bargain. You said we could watch cartoons when you came back, can we watch cartoons?"

"Of course we can," Y/N said with a grin. She struggled to ignore the aching in her neck and the twinge in her arms and legs as she spoke. "We can watch whatever you want to watch."

"Whatever?"

"Yeah. Whatever."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Leyton smiled, leaned his head in closer to hers, and whispered, "I'm so glad you're back." Y/N shivered and pushed away the sudden urge to puke, not only because his breath wasn't the best but this creep was so close to her face she could see his spit in his mouth. "You know, you're not going to leave me ever again, right?

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said softly.

Like a child, he jumped up and down on the spot. They'd classified this guy as an organised killer, a sophisticated guy that plans his kills and chooses his moments. But his current demeanour had proven otherwise. This guy was someone who had been stunted socially as a young teen and desperately needed this kind of affection and approval. Maybe he'd devolved.

"I'm sorry I hit you. I didn't want to."

"You did what you had to. I understand that," she lied. "You were protecting me."

"Yes! I was! I'm so glad you can see that now!"

Y/N coughed, hiding the way her face fell by itching her cheek with her shoulder as soon as he looked away from her. As soon as he heard her cough, all of a sudden, he scrambled onto the floor and plonked his head down in her lap. "There, there, Isla," he said, stroking her thigh. "I'm sorry for what I did. I'm so sorry."

Having a serial killer cuddle up to you was weird, to say the least.

"I f-forgive you," she stuttered, before looking down at him with shining eyes and hesitantly reaching her free hand towards his hair. His eyes widened and he leaned further into her hand as he waited for her to touch him. Her fingertips brushed against his thick hair as she caressed the top of his head.

They stayed in that position for more time than Y/N would care to admit.

There was a pang of something in her chest as she watched him nuzzle into her hand and close his eyes as if in bliss. She didn't have time to really feel any sort of pity for Leyton since the metal door suddenly burst open and Spencer came into view, his gun out in front of him.

"Step away," Spencer hissed as he came to a stop in front of her. His face was furious as he cocked his head to the side. "Keep your hands off her."

"But she's mine," Leyton said, a look of innocent bewilderment on his face that soon changed to mindless fury as he pulled himself free of her lap and charged at this random guy pointing a gun at him.

Instead of shooting the killer, Spencer chucked his weapon to the ground and swung at the guy, his fist connecting with Leyton's cheek and then getting another blow to his stomach as he doubled over. Spencer landed punch after punch after punch on the killer's face and body, and Leyton got a few good jabs in before he dropped like a sack of potatoes, blood gushing from his nose and mouth. Yet, Spencer still wasn't done. He was vicious. It was cruel.

And it was the most spiteful thing she'd ever see her husband do.

Derek rushed into the room with Emily hot on his heels. Morgan got Reid by the waist and yanked him away from the fight just as he got another shot in. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and backed away from Leyton, who was coughing and spitting up blood onto the concrete floor. Spencer gave a look of disgust as he stepped away from the twitching Leyton and came to a stop in front of Y/N. His chest heaved as he wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve, slumping to sit in front of her as he dropped to the ground.

"Hi honey," he said, leaning in and touching the bump on her forehead with his index finger. "You're bleeding."

"So are you."

"That was... that was..." He shook his head, not knowing how to describe the fight.

"It was," she replied. "I'm glad you won."

"Me too."

As Derek cuffed Leyton Hart, Emily was searching around for the keys to let Y/N out of her cuffs. The moment she was free, Y/N flung herself into her husband's arms and buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent and listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. "You didn't sleep," she commented, seeing the heavy bags under his eyes and noticing how strong the scent of coffee emanating from him was. He always smelt a little like coffee but this was, BANG, right in your face and kind of overwhelming.

"Couldn't."

The floor was a thick layer of grime and old blood covering it so Y/N guided Spencer to stand and pushed him out of the door. In the heat of the moment, he seemed to be fine with all the germs but once his adrenaline depleted itself, he would get very agitated about it. She knew that for certain.

Soon enough, Hotch sorted everything out and after a quick trip to the medic, the couple were allowed to retreat to their hotel room to clean up and rest. On her way past her boss, Hotch stopped her to ask if she was okay, how many days off would she like and, "Who knew Dr Reid could be that - what's the word? - defensive?"

"Leyton Hart put his wife and child on the line, that's a lot to defend, I guess."

"Get some rest, L/N."

"Aye aye, captain."

They got to the hotel room in no time, both in desperate need for a reprieve from other people.

"I'm sorry," Spencer said, his breath hitching as he spoke. "About everything. I just... I couldn't control myself. I don't know what happened."

"This is totally fucked up for me to say but you looked hot - totally scary and intense and, honestly, I could go through my life and be happy if I never saw that side of you again - but, yeah, kinda sexy," Y/N admitted, bending over to start the taps on the bath tub.

"Oh. I, uh, I don't know how to compartmentalise that."

"That's okay. I don't either."

After having a preliminary shower to get most of the dirt off before Y/N got in the bath, she sunk into the warm water, leaning her head back against the tile wall as she closed her eyes and let the stress of the day wash over her. She tried not to disturb Spencer who had decided that it was now his turn to take a shower. He would be scrubbing himself with antibacterial soap for the next few minutes so she could just lay back and listen to the odd sounds her husband would make every now and then as he scoured every inch of his skin with his silicone bath brush that he brought with them wherever they went.

If he was on a deserted island - first off: sand, ew - and he could bring one thing, he'd probably bring that brush. ...Or a flare gun.

When he was done, he wrapped a towel around his waist and knelt on the tiles next to the bathtub, looking at her as she lay there, soaking in the water.

"You okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

"We need to talk about this, you know?" he retorted, running his hand down the length of her arm and conjoining their hands. He perched his chin on the porcelain. "Did he hurt you?"

"No."

"Did he do anything that might've hurt the baby?"

"Not that I know of. We should make an appointment just to make sure."

Her thumb rubbed against his knuckles, hoping to ease some of the redness from his skin. "Let me kiss it all better, baby," she murmured, letting her lips fall to his bicep. Then to his forearm. The wrist. The palm. Then she turned his hand over so she could press gentle kisses to his busted knuckles. His fingers were long and slender and looked too delicate to hurt - or cause such damage - but they had, and now they were all busted up.

The few punches Leyton managed to get on him were mostly to the face. He had a black eye on the right and a red jaw on the other. Y/N was quick to cover those areas with love. Spencer watched her attentively, a million emotions and reactions dancing across his face as he tried to reconcile all the things he was feeling. But, for now, all he could do was accept whatever affection she thought he was worth.

He leaned forward and gently kissed her, tasting the faintest hint of blood on her lips, then he kissed her again, and again, and again, until she was drowning in the taste of him and had to break apart for a moment to breathe. When they finally came up for air, Y/N guided her husband's head to rest in the crook of her neck and shoulder, kissing his temple and running her fingers through his hair. They stayed like that, embracing in the bathroom, until the water grew cold and they moved their embrace to the couch.

Spencer pulled Y/N onto his lap, her knees digging into the crevice between couch cushions on either side of Spencer's hips as she settled in. He started by moving his hands up and down her back but couldn't resist the paternal urge to focus his attention on her stomach. His thumbs caressed the underside of her belly, sliding across the stretch of her bump.

For now, she'd been able to hide her pregnancy with baggier clothes but it was soon going to become apparent what was happening.

"I may have let it slip about little Reid to Hotch."

"Well, you're beginning to show and you've been very vocal about how hungry you always are in the office... I assume he already knew," Spencer reassured him, lightly trailing kisses down the side of Y/N's neck and pausing at her collarbone. "I'm sure he knew before we figured it out."

"I'm sure he did.”

She tilted his chin so he had to look into her eyes, smiling when he did so. "It's going to be okay, you know," she continued, eyes bright. "You're going to be a great dad, and we'll get through this." Spencer didn't respond but his eyes were so bright and full of love that she knew he heard her.

Y/N smiled wider, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned in and pressed her lips to her husband's. It was a long, slow, tender kiss that said everything it needed to.

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid

[thatfuckinjester]

So, you wrote a little thing with Phantom trying to fix his collar with quintessence, until he was empty.

And my brain went to the idea that if you can have not enough, you can also have too much. So, what if quintessence builds up, and ghouls have to use it or it starts to damage them? How would a Phantom that hasn't bonded with his pack even get a chance to use it?

Would it start with something psychosomatic? Would it grow like a tumor, pressing on his brain? Would it burn like acid in his stomach?

oh yes absolutely, i think that the quintessence just takes them back to where they always used it no matter what and i got a bit carried away while trying to write it-

also i hope you don't mind that i took it towards another "phantom believes that he's going to be sent back to the pit" thingy (i have so many timelines with it now HELP ME)

ALSO putting tw because i really got possessed while writing it and i don't want to trigger anyone so TW: neglected phantom, violence, bleeding, vomiting (blood), thinking badly of one's self, wounds.

phantom is a runt, but despite being a runt he's a pretty powerful ghoul, quints are usually really fucking powerful and phantom kind of reeks from his magick from how much he have.

he never truly had a pack too, for as long as he could remember he was alone, just trying to survive the pit.

do you think he ever yearns for a pack? for a sense of belonging? for being something, someone? for having someone to love him? to be accepted for him?

but maybe he will never get it, maybe he'll never be enough.

and it's not like he didn't try, because he did, he tried to be the best pack mate he could, but the pack weren't ready to accept him as one of them.

and the thing about quintessence ghouls is that in the pit they don't have a physical body, they're just their, which means that their quintessence is always at use.

on the topside it's very different.

not only does phantom have a physical body and he can't use his quintessence like he used too, the mask he was forced to wear almost 24/7 also restricted his magick, making it so he can't use it at all.

his only hope for a bit of release was the pack.

but the pack didn't like him, if he would get close to one of them they would growl, bear teeth and claws. and after the first time they drew blood (even though dewdrop said "oh, sorry" after, it still hurt) he knew to not get close enough to them.

or to event think about talking to them.

he couldn't heal the wound on his face with his quintessence, no one explained to him that it's okay, no one explained to him how.

and maybe if his quintessence wouldn't work on itself to heal him up, maybe he doesn't deserve to be healed, maybe phantom deserves to bleed, to hurt.

it started with a sharp throbbing through the wound.

the pain would wake phantom up in the middle of the night, clutching the left side of his face, standing on shaking legs as he hurried to fhe bathroom, gasping when he saw the wound bleeding.

he was too new to know that face wounds heal faster than most, and so he kept quiet.

that was around the time rumors started to run around about him going to be sent back, no one wanted a damaged ghoul.

his limbs started to feel heavy.

sometimes he just, couldn't.

not getting up, not doing chores, bearly being able to play.

and phantom couldn't stop thinking that maybe he truly was damaged. what other reasoning could be? he was just completely useless.

then the tour started, and phantom didn't know if he could make it to the end of it. and even if he did, he knew that he would just be sent back to the pit, so maybe it doesn't matter if he makes it out or not.

maybe he shouldn't fight to.

that's when it started to feel like something was crashing his stomach, and that's when the blood started.

the first time phantom vomited blood, he looked at the mirror with tears. maybe he should apologize to papa for it all, for papa waisting energy with his summoning for nothing.

he can't even be repaired. or at least he doesn't think so. it won't be worth it to try.

at the first hotel night they had phantom could have cried from happiness, he didn't care that swiss cussed him out for having to share a room together, his body was aching, his head hurting and his face wound still throbbing and occasionally bleeding.

he just wanted to rest.

and of course he couldn't even get that one thing.

he woke suddenly, panic running through his whole body and his hand flying to his left eye, clutching the side of his face as much as he could as he ran towards the bathroom.

he swears that his headache could kill him.

when he took away his hand, his left eye still shut closed, the wound looked okay, a bit irritated but okay nonetheless, it actually looked like the wound finally closed.

and then phantom opened his left eye and the panic came back so fast like a slap to the face.

he couldn't see. his eye just wouldn't work. he tried to blink, to roll it. it was hopeless but phantom hopped that maybe it would bring his vision back to his eye.

it didn't.

phantom stayed up all night, driving himself mad while trying to get his eye to work again. when the morning came and he gave up, he didn't tell anyone. it would just make them want to send him back to the pit faster.

all phantom ever wanted was a pack, and that's what it brought him.

and maybe, it just would be better if he would be sent back to the pit.

somehow he made it to the end of the tour, somehow he survived.

phantom truly didn't expected that to happen.

and then he locked himself in his room. he didn't have the energy to get up, to talk, to change clothes, to do anything. and it's not like someone looked for him, they would when it was time to send him back to the pit, and he would even welcome it with a smile at this point, anything is better than the pain that's running through his core at any given moment.

he wanted to ask papa if it would hurt to be sent back as much as it hurt when he was pulled out, but phantom don't believe that there's any kind of pain that is greater than what he feels right now.

aurora and a few others would pass by his door, knocking on it and asking him to open it. phantom just didn't had the energy to even answer them, the pain was in every cell of his physical body.

and then it all came to an end.

it started as a tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers, before it became a burning pain.

it's funny how pain can make you lose your grip on reality, or maybe phantom wasn't hallucinating when he looked at his hands and saw them fading away slowly.

he wanted to scream for help, it was painful. so painful that he wished for the old pain again.

it lasted all night long, phantom losing bits of himself by the burning pain. maybe he's just a star that's burning out.

and at least the moon was full that night so phantom's light wouldn't be noticable, not that he believed that he was a big enough of a star to shine that brightly.

phantom was just laying on the floor as he slowly dissolved back into stardust, back to the pit.

and just when it seemed like the sun will never rise again, like the night would last forever (and maybe it did, maybe his suffering is meant to be as long as forever) the blinding light of the rising sun split through the sky and phantom's face started to disappear.

maybe they wouldn't have to send him back to the pit after all, maybe he can do it for them.

the last of him disappeared just when the door to his room broke open.

phantom never had the chance to be a part of a pack and just when the pack did want him, his quintessence took him away from what hurt him again.

he'll never get to be a part of a pack.

#jester rumbling #ghost #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #phantom #phantom ghoul #phantom ghost #phantom believing that he's being sent back to the pit

[tigertofu]

ok i've been chipping away at this Thing for a long time and i think it's finally ready to be vomitted out into the internet. without further ado, here is my

Stupid-Long List of Trevor Headcanons

divided into chronological sections !

((the NSFW shit is hiding at the bottom))

CW's for: mentions of drugs/alcohol, addiction, cannibalism, violence, gross sex stuff. typical Trevor things

and heres a gif of him cuz ig thats the tumblr thing to do idk i never made one of these lists b4 :x

the past

• he's a scorpio and the reason he has a scorpion tat on his hand is bc he's like. very mildly into horoscopes. he was born some time in november

• he doesn't have a middle name cuz his mom didn't give enough of a shit to give him one

• despite playing hockey and golf as a kid, he was never really that into the sports themselves. he only did hockey because he saw it as a way to beat up other children and not get reprimanded for it, and he did both in the hopes of being good enough at something to earn his mother's praise for once (it did not work :()

• hates his dad bc of how he treated his mom and is glad he abandoned him at that shopping mall when he was a kid

• he (w/ Brad's help) would play "pranks" on (aka BULLY) poor Lester during the north yankton days. some fav pastimes included (but were not limited to): pantsing him, hiding his walking cane, and replacing his asthma medication with laughing gas

• was highkey jealous of how easy Michael could get girls during the north yankton days. when he actually was able to convince a girl to come back home with him, he would make sure to be loud as hell about it so that Mike would know he wasn't the only one getting chicks

• all of his hand tats and a lot of his other tats were done in prison, even tho he was only in for like 6 months

• prison was a mixed bag for him. on one hand, anal. on the other, having to restrain himself from arguments and physical altercations so he could get out early on good behavior

• went thru a breakdancing phase in the 90's (i THINK this one might be canon. idk. could've sworn i've heard him try to tell Lamar this in an attempt to impress him. pls feel free to prove me wrong or right)

• one of the scars on his eyebrows is actually the result of getting a fresh eyebrow piercing ripped tf out during a barfight in the 00's. prob for the best that it was cuz we all know that shit wouldve ended up getting infected and rejecting out of his face anyways

• he moved to Sandy Shores not just because it's nice and isolated, but because it was the place most opposite of north yankton he could think of. never any snow. he absolutely fucking hates cold weather and snow because it reminds him of a certain bank heist that happened in '04

• between Ron, Chef, and Wade, Chef was the first one he met after moving to Sandy Shores. they used to cook meth together in a trailer out in the desert (another one that i THINK is canon but im not sure idk. it all blurs together, idk whats canon and whats not anymore, my brain is too rotted from spinning Trevor around in it like the world's most dried out little shriveled husk of a rotisserie chicken for the past three years, the fog is coming, yk how it is)

• he acquired Liquor Ace the same way he "acquired" the Vanilla Unicorn. the previous owner just mysteriously disappeared one day. nobody in Sandy Shores cared tho once word got around that the new owner was gonna start cooking crystal in the upstairs and selling it

• yk how in the game he said that his heart momentarily stopped once cuz he put an axe thru a power cable? he did that cuz the power had gone out in the middle of him watching an Impotent Rage episode he hadn't seen yet. for some reason (was prob very high and very angry) he thought that he could bring the power back by hitting the sparking wire with an axe. it didnt work. he smelled like overcooked bacon for a week afterwards. he enjoyed that part tho

the present

• he makes Ron cut his hair with a pair of rusty kitchen scissors when he needs a trim. he used to go to the nice barber lady in Sandy Shores but got banned after loudly moaning about how good her nails felt on his scalp once

• once smoked an entire cigarette in one long inhale. Wade witnessed this and found it extremely impressive

• he'll eat pretty much anything but he especially likes foods with strong flavors. salty, sour, super sweet, spicy, etc cuz his taste buds are SHOT from the years of smoking/drug abuse. he abuses condiments, especially hot sauce

• thinks that any restaurant that doesn't have a drive-thru is a "fancy" restaurant

• LOVES candy cuz the meth has given him a major sweet tooth, but prefers anything with chocolate over fruity/gummy candies

• has a weird fascination with eating raw meat.....of any kind. except for sushi. he thinks sushi is "fancy prissy city people food"

• also has a weird fascination with making stews/soups similar to the eyelid one that he tries to feed Michael in that one cutscene. it's the only type of food he knows how to cook. may be a comfort thing for him because microwaving a bowl of canned soup was the most effort his mother ever put into making a meal for him when he was a kid. and she did it like, twice, maybe. he for sure remembers both times very clearly tho and considers them to be some of his fondest memories

• will go for days without eating anything solid before finally sitting down and consuming enough food to feed a family of 5. sometimes he just like. forgets that eating is necessary for survival

• can open beer bottles with his teeth. between that and the meth habit, its an absolute miracle he still has all his teeth

• go-to pizza order is a large meat lover's. he tries to make vaguely sexual passes about "loving large meat" at the poor pizza delivery guys every time he orders delivery. does not tip, but will say shit like "hey, if you come inside i've got a little tip for ya" while the delivery guy quickly vacates the premises

• honestly? i think there is a good 50/50 chance on whether or not he is ACTUALLY a cannibal. maybe he posters as one cuz he likes the reactions it incites, maybe he genuinely enjoys the psychosexual intimacy of consuming the flesh of another human being........ who knows !! not knowing is half the fun :)

• ok ok hear me out u know that stupid tiktok sound that was going around a couple years ago that goes "hi my name is carmen winstead -- HAAAAAHHHGGCHH" ??? look it up if u don't cuz that's what his snoring sounds like. the fucking "HAAAAAHHHGGCHH"

• once he's asleep he is out like a fucking light. guy could sleep thru nuclear war

• is not opposed to drinking hand sanitizer when out of other sources of alcohol. it tastes just like the shitty moonshine Ron makes in his backyard anyways and gets him even drunker so why not !

• hates horror films bc they make him angry. at least, any of the ones where somebody survives at the end. thinks the murderers in them are stupid. starts yelling shit at the TV like "HE'S GETTING AWAY YOU STUPID FUCK,, WHAT ARE YOU DOING !!!!"

• believes baby pink and orange are "his colors"

• will sit on his sofa or bed and try to shoot any cockroaches scurrying around his place with a pistol for funsies when bored sometimes

• enjoys playing darts at the Yellow Jack with anyone who'll play him but absolutely fucking sucks at it cuz of his shaky hands. accidentally threw a dart into another bar patron's head once. will rage and insist his opponent cheated when he loses. will then get physical if anyone tries to tell him its impossible to cheat at darts. is much less of a sore loser when playing with Mike, Frank, or Lamar tho he will still grumble about losing for up to hours on end afterwards

• is an illegal immigrant bc he never became a US citizen. does not own an actual ID, but has several fakes lying around, all with fake birth dates and fake names that are wildly varying levels of believable

• will absolutely flip his fucking lid if Wade comes around him while wearing Juggalo face paint

• speaking of Wade. yk how he has a shitty tattoo of his own name on his arm? (at least i think he does. i tried looking to see if he does and i couldnt tell so now im unsure if thats just yet another detail that my brain completely made up or smth that i actually saw). ANYWAYS, Trevor gave it to him (stick n poke. it was a longggg process but Wade didnt mind too much cuz he was high at the time and consented to it beforehands anyways) when Trevor first "took him in" cuz he kept forgetting his name and got tired of referring to him as "Hey, you" (which Wade did not respond to most of the time anyways)

• is an ugly crier. like, a butt-ugly crier. snot, drooling, wailing, red face, the whole nine yards and he is loud as hell about it too

• loves back rubs cuz ofc he does he's an old man. often makes Ron or Wade give him massages

• his boomer-ass super-zoomed-in LifeInvader profile pic was taken by Ron. it took them a dozen tries before they got it

nsfw

• he sucks at eating out.........kinda? but what he lacks in precision and consistency he makes up for with sheer (sloppy. slobbery) passion. and endurance. can stay down there (and will, if you let him) for hours

• is not much better at blowing. "accidentally" uses too much teeth every time

• ~4 inches. MAYBE 4.5. good girth tho. not cut

• has a thing for chubby/thicc ppl

• is a biter and won't ask before biting so uhh watch out ! part of the reason for the above is bc there's more to bite

• loooooves loves loves to suck on things. fingers, necks, tits, dicks, anything. also looooooves having it reciprocated. particularly likes shoving his fingers in your mouth

• loves to involve mouths as much as possible. spitting/being spat on, the aforementioned biting as well as being bitten, eating food off of your body or having food eaten off of him, the type of makeout sessions that involve shoving each other's tongues down each other's throats.. anything that involves mouths and/or the motions of eating drives him fucking wild

• will beg you even when not explicitly told to when he's not feeling dominant. will beg and beg and beg and beg and it's hot but can also quickly become incredibly annoying

• but he LOVES to be annoying on purpose too. via the begging, or by teasing/edging, mocking, etc. loves to get a rise out of you and loves the attention (even if negative.. ESPECIALLY if negative) it gets him

• occasionally cries after sex. will expect you to hold him while he does. will start to angry cry and say you don't actually love him if you refuse

• now ik this one is nothing groundbreaking and seems to already be the general consensus amongst the Trevor enjoyers but im gonna say it anyways. he def has a thing for public/semi-public sex. be careful about sitting next to him while in any public space. he WILL try to touch on you and it WILL be in a way that makes it obvious to everyone in the immediate vicinity what's going on. does he do it on purpose as an exhibition thing? maybe...... does he genuinely think he's being slick about it? also maybe. if ur with him, expect to be banned from multiple establishments

• lowkey has a breeding kink in the sense that he loves to finish inside (not just bc it feels nice but also bc of the intimacy of it) and thinks that pregnant women are hot as hell

• is most likely infertile due to the years of meth use tho

• loves to both overstimulate and be overstimulated. just bc you've both climaxed doesnt mean he wont keep going for god-knows-how-long

..................andd that's all she (i) wrote. ty for reading !! i've got more shit to say about Trevor cuz ofc i do but this is already like 2k words so if u wanna hear my headcanons on anything specific at all,, pls do throw it in my ask box ! <33

#trevor philips #trevor philips headcanons #gta v #trevor philips/reader #trevor philipsxreader #gtav #gta 5 #gta5 #gtav headcanons #gta headcanons #headcanons

[smallfrenchstudyblr]

Justice as spectacle in Fontaine, or a too long word vomit from a tired PhD in Law gushing over Genshin 4.0

Alternative title: “Justice must be seen to be done”, a visual playbook by Genshin 4.0

Intro: This is a valid use of a PhD in law, actually.

I made the mistake of playing the 4.0 update of Genshin while I was finalizing my PhD in law and politics, and the result was my brain refuse to think about anything else than judicial performativity and the use judicial spectacle in Fontaine. So time to make good use of 9 years of University by dissecting why I absolutely love how Fontaine’s justice system is presented. It was initially much longer and covering why justice as a spectacle is not necessarily an issue or sign of a disfunctionning legal system,  then what exactly about the Fontainian justice system is actually fucked up, but it got too long so I’m keeping that for the indeterminate future. So the pitch of this thing is: Mihoyo is basically providing us with an animated First Person POV game version of legal ethnographic works on justice and the courthouse, and it is really cool.

And since I am a nerd with both too much time to read and to play, we are making this a proper academic, with literature and all, because listen to me, LEGAL ACADEMICA IS COOL, ACTUALLY, and law and literature at large is a genuine field of study that we, as a society, need to talk about more.

[also there is non-zero chance that I edit this brainrot and submit it for publication at some point]

Warning: I am basing this on 4.0, up to and including Act IV Chapter II (hence no discussion of the prison system) and if Mihoyo thwarts the whole thing with 4.1  [oops I am late so now 4.2, since 4.1 did not thwart it] then let’s do what we do when new results contradict existing theories in academia and just collectively agree to ignore it.

TL;DR: Someone at Mihoyo read Simonett’s 1966 essay on The Trial as One of the Performing Arts [Here, just read it, it is fascinating] and decided to make it everyone’s problem

Part 0: if this was not Tumblr.com I would make a recap explaining broadly what Genshin and Fontaine are but since you are reading this I’m going to assume you already know the context.

Part 1: Ok so how does the Fontanian Justice system work, exactly?

Alright, so each area of Teyvat has 1) one core theme/value and 2)a threat to that core theme/value.

Mondstadt has Freedom and people living in fear of a dragon.

Liyue has Contracts/order and the pandemonium of having Rex Lapis killed.

Inazuma has Eternity and being virtually frozen in time.

Sumeru has Knowledge and being entirely manipulated by the Akademia.

Fontaine has Justice and… Justice being parodied into a spectacle?

WRONG.

Because the spectacle of justice, especially the way it is done in Fontaine, is not antithetic to Justice itself. Spectacle is part and parcel of Justice and of any courthouse. Sure, all the dials are turned to 11 and y’know, it is legit called an Opera, but that is more the writers being a bit on the nose and adding drama for the player. The spectacle of Justice, itself, is not that far off from reality. And, hot take but bear with me: it is not (necessarily) a problem.

Ok, let’s dive into what we know of the justice system in Fontaine.

Broadly speaking, we have seen the criminal justice system, and it is an accusatorial, or adversarial model. It’s the US-style criminal procedure: you have a defendant trying to prove that they didn’t do it your honor, and a prosecutor proving that they totally did it your honor. To avoid this becoming a fistfight, you have a strict procedure to follow outside but especially inside the Court, and in the end, a neutral third party decides on the outcome or the trial.

Ok, now let’s zoom on a few things, and why the theatrics of them are actually very common.

Furina, our cringefail darling, is the prosecutor. And they get a lot of stuff right regarding the role of the prosecutor! She decides whether or not to prosecute, based on the information that she has, and whether she likes her odds or not. Fittingly since she is the Archon, the prosecutor in a trial represents the State, the interest of the State (the judge ! does ! not!). It makes sense that Furina, the ruler (theoretically) would be prosecutor and not judge. Moreover, and as we see plenty of times during the trials, Prosecutor Furina is not concerned with the victim, and not even necessarily with the truth; the prosecutor wants to know how likely they are to obtain a conviction in the end. Her job is to be convincing enough to establish a legal truth.

Neuvillette, for his part, sometimes look terribly powerless… but friends, that is what a Judge sitting during a criminal case often is. The first part of his job is to find sufficient information for the prosecution to decide whether or not to prosecute; he is supposed to be entirely neutral at this stage. He kickstarted the investigation straight after the death of Cowell, and was also the one starting investigation on Vaughn right after Lyney is proved innocent. He gathers enough evidence, hands them over to Furina and asks “So? Are you game or do you want to leave that alone?”

And once the prosecutor has decided to move forward with prosecuting, his job is to make the procedure move along, take some decisions based on new information, ensure all respect the rules (hence Childe’s immediate smackdown when he starts to act out a bit too much at the end. My man is here to make sure the rules are enforced and that also applies to Snezhnayan gremlins). In the liminal space of the courthouse, he is the supreme authority… over the procedure. He can tell anyone, including Furina, to stfu k thx. He starts and stops the trial. He allows witnesses to be heard or not.

And the last party involved at this point is the defense, usually the Traveler and any adorable twink we befriended that day [good for you, Traveler, good for you]. They present evidence, they have to be convincing, it’s basically Ace Attorney, we know that part.

Part 2: Mihoyo makes it clear that we are all actors in the Courtroom

Ok, first moment of pause.

Even though these are the most basic parts of a criminal trial, they are ALREADY steeped in drama and theatrics, both IRL and in Fontaine.

First off, Furina plays a prosecutor, Neuvillette plays a judge and the Traveller plays the lawyer.

No but really: they play their role in the Courthouse.

The game painstakingly presents Furina for the first time not as a prosecutor in a courthouse but as a cringefail princess. When we see her initially welcoming the Traveller, going “Fight Me” at them in the streets of Fontaine, she is not a prosecutor, she is just Furina the cringefail princess.  We meet Furina as Furina, and later on only, we see her with her Prosecutor face. Furina is not a prosecutor, outside of the Courthouse.

I don’t even have to explain how much Traveler plays lawyer. We are, and I cannot stress it enough, NOT lawyers (yes, even you who developed an unhealthy obsession with Ace Attorney before Genshin). The developers even took the time to develop an entire new gameplay to really, really highlight that is a behavior that the Traveler can only have in the Courthouse. Traveler is not a lawyer outside of the courthouse.

Neuvillette is a bit of a special case. We do meet him for the first time in the Courthouse, as a Judge. But once again, the moment we meet him outside of the courthouse, he is much more approachable, definitely not the same persona as when he bitchslapped my problematic Harbinger into the Meropides prison [we are so going to write something about the Meropides prison once I have played enough 4.1 my friends – update post 4.1: ok Mihoyo that was weak commentary on the privatization of prison and prison labour but I’ll take it]. Neuvillette is probably the one that is the most associated with his courthouse persona, but there is still this gap between Neuvillette-Judge and Neuvillette-reflecting-in-the-end-of-Chapter-II.

So everyone is just themselves in their daily life, but there is something about a Courthouse that turns people into their judicial role. That’s what we call the liminality of the courthouse (Hadar, 1999). And it exists IRL, in a way shockingly close to what we see in the Opera Epiclese.

Magistrates, whether prosecutors or judges, do not act in their own names, they have a role to play. Someone woke up that morning, had breakfast, swore at the neighbour who did not park properly again, spilled some coffee on their documents again ffs, stumbled a bit on the little steps leading to the courthouse, and then, they put on their costume and started to play the role of the judge. As someone who has been in what can only be referred to as “backstage”  of a court , and entered the courthouse with the magistrates, I cannot stress enough how drastic the shift in person is the moment a magistrate steps into the space of the trial room.  

From there on, they are a Role. Furina, like any prosecutor, is not a prosecutor, until they are The Prosecutor, and then they are not themselves anymore, in the enclosed space of the courthouse. Have you ever seen a lawyer talk in their daily life the way to talk in a courthouse? No. Someone is just some person, until their put on the robe and their Lawyer Face and start their Lawyer Movement and Lawyer Tone. Traveler cannot go all OBJECTION when they have a disagreement with a random shopkeeper in Teyvat. The game doesn’t even give you the option – because you are not lawyer, unless you are in the court. None actually plays a lawyer, unless they are in the courthouse.

And an adversarial model encourages this. You have character, but for it to be a play, or an opera, you need a narrative (murder, ok, that will kickstart a narrative) and you need dramatic tension. Drama is created by the opposition of two characters having opposite goals, confronting each other. Simonett, a former Minessotta Supreme Court Judge, has a fascinating article called “The Trial as One of the Performing Art”, which really ecapsulates how an adversarial system is built on this drama:

‘The trial has a protagonist, and antagnonist, a proscenium and an audience, a story to be told and a problem to be resolved, all usually in three acts”.

More than an inquisitory model (hello, fellow continental Europeans), parties are encouraged to bounce off each other, take initiative, undermine and interact with each other. US courthouse TV shows loooove that, and Genshin absolutely leaned into that. The potential for drama was so strong and intrinsic to the story that For the first time, we got to play a character that was not even with the traveler: Traveler was off investigating, and we played Navia in the courthouse, because the sheer drama of being in the courthouse is too good for the game to pass.

Do you see it yet? Here is more. A judicial role is a role. IRL, a lot of it is emphasized by the robes -the - sometimes complete with wigs and accessories- that judges and magistrates must wear before entering the space of the courthouse. You put them on like you put on a costume -defendant, prosecution, judge and even audience alike (Cabatingan, 2018), there is a ritual of preparing for the performance of a trial the way you prepare for a play. Genshin characters cannot change their clothes [give us a proper fancy-af-judge-robe for Neuvilette Mihoyo you COWARDS], so the game does all it can to realllllyy show you a separation between the judicial role and the actor playing I in the courthouse.

Part 3: Game designers said yes this an Opera and a Courthouse because these are the same thing and they are right

[The urge to include Foucault in this section, but I do not have Discipline and Punish with me rn, rip]

Ok, ok, why not. But what about the stuff that is not in your random courthouse, like a damn AUDIENCE and the fact that it takes place in an actual OPERA ?

Aight, we gotta dive a bit deeper into two things: the role of audience in the judicial spectacular, and studies on legal architecture/judicial space. I told you legal research was cool.

Let’s start with the most obvious one: architecture.

The architecture of Courthouse is actually really important for the delivery of justice. The building embodies the task itself, and targets evert single person that interacts with the building in any way? It matters specifically because we take it for granted, that this this is just a building, that there cannot be more to it. Or: “Law in its everydayness, banks on the usage of visual means of representation, for they seem to lack artifice, and thus enjoy high persuasiveness” (Kumar, 2017, also this is a study on the architecture of the Indian Supreme court and it is so good). But thi is, of course, on purpose.

My friends, your local courthouse looks like an opera. Recently, I went to a play which was entirely a trial, and they barely had to do anything to set-up the scene because… the opera looks like a courthouse, and vice versa. Fontaine’s Opera Epiclese is this on steroid, and also actually used for entertainment like the magic shows, but its architecture and structure are so close to a proper courthouse that once you see it you cannot unsee it. Not matter how different they might look from each other, all, ALL courtroom have the same setup:

Judges on an elevated position compared to all other parties : Neuvillette absolutely kills it here [my man is placed so high up I was close to writing something about the religiosity of justice.]

Prosecution and accused on two opposite sides, virtually separated by the judge, even putting the defendant in their own little liminal space in the liminal space (Zoettl, 2016, Mulcahy, 2007)

Audience space and trial space clearly separated, with interdiction for the audience to enter the trial space

Audience space allowing to clearly see all angles of the trial space

The architecture of courthouse is strikingly similar to that of an opera’s, both in its spatial organization and its grandiose. The entire building is an opera, not just the ground of the stage. You even have a lobby, the space right in the Opera but not the courtroom, which is very similar to the space where people mingle during the interlude at the Opera – the social settings were many legal negotiations happen (Hansen, 2008)

[Fun fact: I am pretty sure the design of the audience space of the Opera Epiclese was inspired by two Parisian Opera houses: the Théâtre de la Comédie Française et the Théâtre du Châtelet. The stage itself is almost more church-like ; I am curious if anyone knows what the inspiration for the “outside building” actually was, for the Opera Epiclese?]

Eltringham (2012) has some really cool writings about the architecture, and people interact with the structure of courts (in his case, the International Criminal for Rwanda) and how all these features contribute to making the courthouse this liminal space where people can play their role, whether they realise it or not.

But, Almost-doctor, I hear you say, what about the spectacle ?! The audience enjoying the show ?!

Ah, yes. The audience. Just as with an Opera, the audience and the actors enter through differentiated means (the “segregation of circulatory systems”), all with their own point of access to the stage or the seats, and never the two shall meet. It is so important to a court system that you will find this feature highlighted by the architects that renovated the Bordeaux Courthouse and the US courthouse design and planning guide [These are just fun and striking illustration I stumbled on while writing this, you can find dozens of others from any given country]. These differentiated access path help reinforce the liminality of the courthouse not just for the actors, but for us, the audience as well.

You could even agree, with Garapon, that the audience itself is “playing” the audience, in the Courthouse (go read Garapon’s 2004 book, if you read French, it’s so good I swear and like it fueled 90% of whatever this word vomit is)). You are not really yourself, you have new, liminal role of spectator. A trial has a “need for a public”, even a silent one. “'Performance always intends an audience”, for Kapferere. and we can indeed talk about a Performance of Justice, when talking about how justice unfolds in the courthouse, especially in a criminal trial (Sausdal and Lohne, 2021).

The audience is an inherent part of the spectacle of justice – because is there a spectacle if there I no audience? If comedians perform a play with no audience, did it really happen? In the words of our own European Court of Human Rights (I am quoting the ECtHR on Tumblr.com, what is life): “Justice must not only be done, but must also be seen to be done” (Delcourt v Belgium, 1970). For Garfinkel “Legal rituals ... depend on the outside witness to confer on them not only recognition but validity” (Garfinkel, 1956);

Or, to put it more eloquently: “The need for the presence of a validating public at trials is enshrined in many constitutions and built into the very fabric of court complexes throughout the world. (…) Tthe court as a whole requires its reflection in the bodies of validating witnesses in order that this created place will bring sufficient gravity to itself.” (Eltringham 2012).

If a courthouse was just about the truth, or the parties involved reaching an agreement on what the truth is, there would be no need for the theatrics. We could handle a trial in a meeting group like problem-solving session in any run-of-the-mill company. Put everyone around the table, have a moderator, have a decider. That actually exist, it’s called arbitration, and you may have never heard of it despite the absolutely enormous amount of money that are involved (we are talking literal Billions of dollars every year, here), because the whole point is that it is discrete and confidential. But that is not how trials are, anywhere. It does exist though. It is called private arbitration, a form of private justice that focuses on problem-solving, expediency and secrecy, often because my friends, it involves big names and big money.

But justice? My friend, it needs to be a spectacle. It needs an Opera. Because this is how it gains sociological legitimacy, and it needs sociological legitimacy to function. By having an audience, it gains transparency and accountability.

Conclusion: teaser on why the spectacle of justice is not necessarily always totally bad, but also I am too tired to fully argue that.

Now, you might that it’s a bad idea. That what Genshin is doing is denouncing this inherently spectacular aspect of Justice, that there is something inherently wrong in justice being public and publicized for the gain of legitimacy, and sure, spectacular justice can become a parody of justice or a manipulation of justice and this has happened many times in history. And yes, you could go for that (although show trials have typically been at the service of an authoritarian regime in a transition phase, rising or declining, and target political opponents, which we do not see in Fontaine) but… I have another take for you.

Justice being a spectacle is not…  inherently bad. 

Hear me out. Making justice into a spectacle does not have to affect its outcome. The presence of a public does not change the course of a play.

Spectacular justice brings elements of entertainment such as narrative fulfillment and catharsis. That is clearly what Fontainians want: a satisfying end to the story, the truth exposed. Justice as a spectacle help people make sense of their reality, comfort them in knowing that justice does prevail. That the guilty do not go scott-free, that the good guys win, that justice is transparent, that prosecutor need to be able to build a good story to prosecute, and there is no good story is there is not someone who caused harm, and a victim that deserves justice. And, from the information we have so far, this does not seem to lead to miscarriages of justices, or a generally biased justice system. But frankly this is too long already and I just wanted to show that the depiction of the Spectacular in everyday justice is actually present everywhere IRL, and Genshin is just providing a really handy illustration, at this point of the story.

The Fontanian system is fucked, don’t get me wrong, but that’s not about the spectacular on its own. Long story short since it be worth its own word-vomit-style essay, it’s because the jury has been replaced by ChatGPT and there is no civil court, only a criminal court, k bye.

#I have no idea what this is it just would not leave my brain until it was written #genshin impact #tagging genshin bc it is the most relevant #law and literature #Usual followers feel free to ignore #Genshin people: this is NOT my usual content #might fuck around and turn it into something publishable at some point #this is probably still full of typo but I am not proof reading a word vomit that goes on this hellsite

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Drabble request (feel free to say no :) )

(Comic) due to the after events of the book, Ambrosius is in the hospital and feels horrible, physically and mentally, and the treatments they are giving him are making him sick and very anxious, so he asks ballister to visit him in hospital, and plays the whole “hopeless romantic” so that he stays and Ambrosius feels better, but ballister can see right through it, and doesn’t want to admit it, but he visits him anyways.

Yippieee!!! Loved this request as I'm working on a longer Ambrosius Hospital Fic rn \(^^)/

I currently still have one req still in the works because I'm struggling to get it started, but it is on it's way! Anyway I hope you enjoy this drabble :,)

-

Ambrosius groaned softly. He had no idea how long he'd been here. The doctors said it had been four days, but he didn't really believe that. The painkillers and heavy antibiotics– and maybe also the brain injury– made time melt together. All he ever really looked forward to were visits from Ballister. Ballister had visited him often when he was still hospitalized, but he was discharged at some point. 

Not like he had any reason to visit Ambrosius. Fuck. Everything was such dogshit. The Institution, the thing he dedicated his whole life to, was gone. The King to whom he swore allegiance was dead. Not that any of that mattered, he'd already been demoted to a grunt rank in the Institution because he fucked up at doing the only thing he was supposed to be good at. 

Nobody respected him. Nobody liked him. Certainly nobody loved him. And on top of that, he felt nothing but pain and nausea and confusion all the time. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to vomit, but he did it often. The antibiotics were tearing his guts apart. The beta blockers made him even more weak and exhausted than he was already. The painkillers disoriented him and didn't even seem to do much, and also worked together with the anticonvulsants to make him sick as a dog. He couldn't help but wish that Ballister had just left him in that facility to be disintegrated instantly.

Why did Ballister save him if he wasn't even gonna be here? Was it just to punish him? What was going to happen to him after all this? With no job, unable to walk, unable to see out of one eye, no home, he'd end up back on the streets. He was terrified and woke up crying constantly. He wanted his Ballister here. He wanted Ballister to hold his hand and kiss his forehead and tell him everything would be okay. As if he had any claim to Ballister at all. 

Eventually he couldn't take it anymore, and he weakly dialed the number in his phone.

–

Ballister had been a wreck ever since he was discharged. He felt guilty about Nimona and Ambrosius and the town and everything. He wanted to be there for Ambrosius, who at this point was all he had left, but in addition to the pain and mixed feelings he suffered whenever he was around, he feared his presence didn't even help. Whenever he sat with Ambrosius, the man looked so guilty and miserable he couldn't meet his eyes. Making Ambrosius feel like shit about himself certainly wouldn't aid in his recovery. Plus, being in hospitals was more than a little triggering for him. He didn't like to see the pain from the worst day of his life reflecting off Ambrosius's face.

But standing around this empty warehouse, without Nimona's snark or laughter, barely felt like anything either.

He jumped when his phone rang with Ambrosius's number. “Hello?” 

“Hiii…” the voice on the other end was weak. “I've missed you, darling.” 

Ballister cleared his throat. “Ambrosius, you should be resting.” 

“How can I possibly rest without you here? I'm sick and in dreadful shape, and the object of my affection isn't even here to distract me with his handsome face.” 

Blushing, Ballister looked down. More guilt, fun. Obviously he was high as a kite while also being at rock bottom. It was obvious what he was doing. He was playing it like he was being cute and flirty, but he was groveling. He was prone on the floor groveling for Ballister’s attention. For him to be there, to hold his hand.

“My darling, if only I could hear your voice and see your face, I certainly would feel better. If you're not busy, that is.” 

Ballister snorted. He never could resist Ambrosius's begging. 

He arrived at the hospital an hour later, and he swore a blue light flickered behind Ambrosius's eye when he saw him. “You came!” He smiled as broadly as he could without ripping the stitches in his cheek. 

“Of course, I couldn't leave my… my beloved gentleman caller all by himself, could I?” He smiled and took his hand. Ambrosius squeezed it.

“I'm happy you're here.” His voice was exhausted. His face said so many things his mouth couldn't.

Ballister stroked his hair. “I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to be afraid.”

“If I go to sleep, will you stay? Will you hold my hand until I wake up?” 

A lump caught in Ballister's throat. “Of course I will.”

#nimona #ambrosius goldenloin #goldenheart #nimona graphic novel #ballister blackheart #ballister x ambrosius #nimona fanfic #blackloin #fic request

[wrathofrats]

idk if you reblogging means your open for me to prompt you but if i can would you mind doing "im not going to hurt you" with swissdew? if not you can just ignore this!! <3

Hiii omg it absolutely did thank you

This is technically a sequel to this , but can be read alone. It’ll still hurt

(Very very small emetophobia warning. Around like 2 lines just mentioning it at the end but nothing graphic)

Hope you enjoy!!

Swiss quickly ushered phantom out of the room.

Dew couldn’t catch his breath. Hot heavy tears flooded down his face as he struggled to regain his composure.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he didn’t have aether, it wasn’t fair that Swiss now cared about phantom more, it wasn’t fair that Swiss made phantom leave as if he was some dangerous animal who was out of control.

The look in Swiss’s eye only made him breathe heavier, cry harder.

He stared at him like he was afraid, like he had never seen dew break like this. He looked like he didn’t even trust dew enough to be alone with him, let alone have him near the newer ghoul.

Dews not a monster. Emotional, volatile at times, maybe harsh with his words. But violent? Did Swiss truly think he was capable of that?

Dew unclenches his fists and takes a deep breath.

“I’m not going to hurt you” his voice cracks, high and unsteady.

Swiss’s face softens at the words. It’s a crashing realization of what’s just transpired. A realization that not only had he attempted to magic away dews feelings, that he’s treated him like he doesn’t even know him, like they haven’t been in each others pack for longer than either can even remember.

A realization that over all the bad things he’s done, he’s just been a bad friend.

“I’d never hurt you” dew chokes out after a long moment of silence.

“I- I know im-“ the words don’t come. He doesn’t have an excuse.

“I’d never hurt phantom”

“I know dew im sorry-“

“Did you really think I would?” His sobs are barely coherent. A plead with Swiss to give him a reason. To tell him he didn’t actually think he would do anything.

“No. No I know you’d never hurt anyone of us” a tear falls down Swiss cheek.

He still racks his brain for an excuse. Not even just for protecting phantom, but trying to use spells to get rid of dews feelings. It’s a gross idea. One that he never really thought more into until this very second. The idea of not even asking why dew would break down at the sight of him helping phantom, just immediately trying to fix it, get rid of it. The issue falls deep. He knows that. He misses aether too. But he could never miss aether in the way he knows dew does, and it’s then he comes to his one hundredth realization of the day that he’s been practically neglecting dew also.

His chest hurts. He doesn’t have words. He can’t apologize for his actions, not anymore.

Aether is gone and instead of being a shoulder for dew to cry on, he’s abandoned him in favor of someone new.

Swiss gets a bad taste in his mouth. He feels sick, has the sudden urge to vomit. He’s been staring at dew far too long with nothing to say.

“Swiss please say something”

“I’m sorry” Swiss’s mouth waters with the words. Like the feeling you get before you throw up. Like the words were poisoned and made him sick to even say.

“Please leave”

Dew expected something more. A better excuse. He doesn’t know why he did though.

Swiss leaves at his request. They both feel sick.

#ouchie #I love making Swissdew upset idk why #I could write about those two forever #the band ghost #ghost #fanfic #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #swiss ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #wrath writes

[secretobsessionstuff]

Sick Micah at formal event

Inspired by THIS post, and here's a little snapshot of it:

A and B are in an extremely formal situation where they are required to stand for long periods of time.

A has been running a pretty nasty fever since the night before, but they both HAVE to be there (think of a social event that will impact their whole career, so they really have no choice but to go).

----------------------

Sometimes Micah felt sick over the idea of being an adult. The very concept of taxes made him want to puke. And as life would have it, the one night when he was excited about being grown and taking on new responsibilities was the night when he felt like puking for real. This wasn’t the psychosomatic queasiness that came from paying his bills; it was the type of queasiness that came from a bug in his digestive track. 

He'd been up all night with Alexi. His lovely, perfect boyfriend had sat with him on the bathroom floor while he vomited and dry heaved for hours. Now, that same lovely, perfect boyfriend stood with him at the thirtieth anniversary for Phoenix Fire Press. That was the publishing company that was going to publish Micah’s very first novel. This evening was a big deal, not just because it was a milestone for the medium company, but because they were opening their business to new potential shareholders. Micah had been given an invitation to attend the event in hopes that he would invest in his future at the publishing company. 

The one downside was that the talk of owning shares and how that whole process worked came at the end of the evening. First, they had to celebrate the many new authors who had joined them in the past year, Micah included. 

The night dragged on for quite some time. Micah couldn’t say how long because his sense of reality was altered by the heat in his brain. He saw mirages everywhere he looked, like blurry lines of text or the sweet promise of his bed. He must have caught his head from rolling off his shoulders a million times. 

“Oh, good, you’re still conscious,” Alexi said as he came back to Micah, holding glasses of water. “I thought I’d come back and find you on the floor.” 

Micah could not remember what sarcasm even was, therefore, he did not return the jest. “Lexi, how long have we been here?” 

Alexi almost—almost—spilled the water all over himself when he turned his wrist to check his watch. But he caught himself in time, placing the glasses down on a ledge before seeing that they’d been at the event for a little over an hour. He told Micah this who simply groaned. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” Alexi gently rubbed his thumb over Micah’s flushed cheek. His skin was hotter than phoenix fire. “The fever reducers aren’t working, eh?” 

“No,” Micah grumbled as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. None of the meds he took were helping. The nausea hadn’t lessened and neither had he aches in his body. He was just a blob of pain and useless medication that floated thickly through his bloodstream. 

They’d gotten to the event late (on account of Micah needing to retch emptily on the side of the road), meaning there was only standing room available. All the tables had been taken. It seemed the Press hadn’t bet on this many people showing up. But they were a reputable company that would only go up; it was no wonder that many people were interested in owning shares. Micah had been ecstatic about the idea of investing in something that he was passionate about. He loved the publishers, and editors, and marketing team at Phoenix Fire Press. He wanted to grow with them. He wanted to recreate himself with this opportunity. This was an adult opportunity that he was ready to take on. 

But all he wanted was to curl up in his bed and cry. He didn’t feel very adult in that moment, with his aching tummy. 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, trying to remain upright and sooth the aches from standing so long. The balance needed to do this was not there, and twice and had to catch himself before he fell. His vision darkened at the edges with each attempt. Micah put his hand over his eyes and moaned. 

“Micah, you’re shaking,” Alexi whispered from behind him. 

“I can’t do this any longer.” His voice wobbled with emotion. 

Suddenly Micah felt Alexi’s hands on his waist. He let himself be pulled back against his boyfriend’s chest. It was strong and secure; he could so easily let go of the tension in his shoulder if he…could…just…

“It’s okay. Lean on me,” Alexi whispered in his ear. His breath was warm on Micah’s neck. The poor sick boy shivered despite the heat that Alexi felt radiating off his back. He swore he could see the air make lazy waves around them. 

Micah didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped his shoulders, let his head fall back against Alexi’s chest just under his chin, and allowed himself to be enveloped in his boyfriend’s embrace. Some tension sloughed off his muscles. His eye closed immediately, and the sound of the event became a distant white noise.

But before he gave in entirely, he craned his neck to get Alexi’s attention. A kiss on his temple let him know that he had it. “Give me a nudge when they start talking about the shareholders.” 

“I will.” Alexi’s lips fluttered softly over his temple. “Just relax. I’ve got you.” 

Alexi was pleased with the heavy weight that settled in his arms. It meant that his boyfriend got a small rest, even if it wasn’t of the best quality. He wouldn’t feel much better until he could lie down for real, close his eyes, and forget about the world. But this was a start. 

While Micah drooped, his fever rose. It burned in his face, turning his cheeks into red roses. Little blooms of heat sprouted beneath his eyes. Alexi worried that Micah would burn up into ashes, and that he wouldn’t rise again. He’d been so sick all last night and throughout the day. He was surprised that Micah had enough fluid left in his body to turn his eyes glassy, what with all the sweating and vomiting and diarrhea. This bug was testing him, but he knew that Micah would pull through. 

But just then, Micah didn’t have the energy to keep pushing. Alexi could feel his boyfriend slipping in and out of consciousness. He shifted and repositioned himself so that he could keep Micah from slouching or crumpling to the floor. 

They went on like this for another twenty minutes, until the MC announced that the company was moving into a new stage. Interested parties were encouraged to listen and consider becoming new shareholders. The press had received three impressive grants which allowed for development and expansion. They wanted all their clients and peers to consider taking a chance on the business. Together they would grow exponentially over the next thirty years. There was much talk about rebirth and protentional and fiery passion. Of course, a bunch of literarily nerds would lean heavily into the metaphor. 

Speaking of leaning heavily, Alexi nudged his boyfriend awake. “Honey, this is it. We’re almost done.” 

“Is it time?” 

“It is.” 

Alexi helped Micah to stand up straight on his own. They stood now face to face. Micah’s face was sweaty and flushed, but also ready to wear a mask of health. Micah blinked hard, rolled his shoulder to wake up his sore muscles, and kept his head high. Alexi only saw the smallest knit in his eyebrow because he knew of the many emotions that ran through his boyfriend’s mind. 

“Micah, I know you’re nervous about the future, but I also know this is right. You’re going to grow as a writer and as member of this team. It’s scary starting something new, but I’ll be with you for the whole thing.”

Micah sighed and closed his eyes. “Thank you for supporting my decisions. It feels easier with you here.”

Alexi kissed him on the nose. “Go on. I’ll be here when you get back, unless of course you want me to come?” 

“No, I want to start this on my own. I’ll tell you all about it later.” 

“Sure.” Alexi had a pretty good hunch that later meant much later. 

And his hunch turned out to be right, because his boyfriend returned nearly an hour later, frazzled by the social interaction and exhausted from the ache in his bones. He shuffled his feet on the floor, looking like a zombie who had no business being in a nice suit at a fancy meeting. 

Well, the meeting was over, and judging by Micah’s expression of relief, it went as well as it could have. Things were in motion now and their shared financial future was tied to a company that Micah was proud to work with. 

The light in the halls dimmed and brightened in time with the beating of Micah’s sluggish heartbeat. As he walked back to his boyfriend, happy about leaving soon, the beating in his chest got stronger and faster. He felt sweat prickle the back of his neck and nausea bubble in his stomach. As soon as he was within arm’s reach of his boyfriend, he let the veneer of health crack and slip from his face, a grimace of pain and discomfort contorting his features.

Alexi hugged Micah to his chest. “Oh, baby, you’re so sick. Can you make it to the car?” 

Micah shook his head and mumbled into Alexi’s neck. “I’m gonna throw up.” 

With the gurgling growing louder in Micah’s tummy, he felt himself being pulled to the washroom. As expected at the end of a big event, the washrooms were flooded with people milling around. Micah moaned and covered his mouth with his hand. 

“Come on, this way,” Alexi said quickly, pulling his boyfriend along.

They hoped over a thick velvet rope that was meant to block guests from going to the second floor. Screw the fancy obnoxious rope with its condescending sign; Alexi wasn’t about to let Micah embarrass himself in front of the people he just attached his future to. 

The second floor was closer to heaven than any skyrise because it was peacefully quiet and the washroom was unlocked, Halleluiah! Without another soul around, Micah was able to get sick in peace. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and retched up bile and blue Gatorade. It was all he’d been able to force down his throat before the start of the event. The yellow and blue fluids coming up from his stomach made for an odd sight in the toilet, not that Micah had his eyes open to appreciate the science of colour. 

“There you go, baby.” Alexi rubbed his boyfriend’s burning hot back. “You did so well tonight.” 

“Did I miss it?” Micah slurred out with saliva dripping from his lips. 

“Miss what?” 

“The share thingy.” A yes, the most adult sentence Micah had said the entire night. “It’s gonna start soon I think.” 

“No, no love. You didn’t miss anything. Everything is okay.” Alexi ran his hands worriedly over the sweat stains that dripped down Micah’s spine. Even through the blazer, his fever was raging. “You’ve got to take this off, Micah. Your temperature is soaring.” 

“What if someone comes in?” Micah said after spitting a glob of spit into the toilet. 

“No one will. I’ll watch the door, if that’ll make you feel better,” Alexi promised, already slipping Micah’s arm out of his sleeve. He got the blazer off and started to unbutton his dress shirt before Micah put his hands over his. “What is it, babe? I’ve got to bring your fever down.” 

“Your hands are cold.” Micah shivered. “I’m freezing.” 

“I know.” He kissed the side of Micah’s fiery head. “It’s just your fever playing tricks. Trust me. I’m going to get you through this.” 

Micah was too tired to put up a fight. He let Alexi undress him from the waist up. He shed his layers like feathers that burned in a fire. Though he was sick and miserable now, tomorrow he would rise from his sleep, ready to start a new day as a new man, or at least a marginally healthier man. In any case, the future was bright and waiting. 

#emeto #emetophilia #sickfic #my ocs #vomiting #emetophile #emeto fiction #emeto fic #vomit kink #emetophiliac #stomach flu #stomach bug #upset stomach #puke without plot #puke with plot :) #puke #fever fic #fever #delirium fic #delirium #micah #Alexi #puke kink #puke fic

[romanitas]

look at me go, it hasn't even been a month! we're back with (i think) the penultimate part of the spy au !! thanks to @perseannabeth who helped me figure out some plot points literally irl for the final stretch. there's always been a vague plan for the end, hopefully it lives up! also again available on ao3 if tumblr formatting screws up.

-

Annabeth hasn’t seen Percy for four and a half weeks. She’s been off the Jupiter Industries case for just as long, what with Luke Castellan’s involvement; they’re currently restructuring the plan forward. She’s not used to boredom, but she’s not sure she could consider it full boredom when her brain will not stop churning. She’s aware it’s usually a stomach churning, but no, in this case, her mind is on the go in a thousand different directions. She doesn’t feel nauseous or sick - just overwhelmed mentally, which as far as she’s concerned is one of the worst kinds. She’d rather be vomiting.

She’s back at her apartment - her real one. It’s nearly as empty as the fake one. She doesn’t keep a lot of things around, not wanting too many distractions on top of the fact that she feels like she spends very little time actually in it. The most personalization is an owl throw pillow with a matching blanket on the couch and a few architectural prints across her walls. It feels emptier than it ever has, and she cruelly imagines what it might be like if Percy came here. She really, really needs to stop thinking about him, but it feels impossible, because if she’s not thinking about him, she starts to think about Luke. And that’s worse.

She faceplants directly into the owl blanket with a groan and lays there, ignoring the wafting smell of her Korean BBQ takeout sitting on the countertop. This has been her life each day for the last week: different dishes but a very familiar static and face full of fluff, followed by dejectedly eating lukewarm food. And then she just gets mad at herself for being such a sad sack. She’s Annabeth fucking Chase. What the hell did Percy Jackson do to her?

Reyna checks in periodically. She sends minute updates, but not enough for Annabeth to start doing her own poking and prodding. Frank stops by a few times to make sure she’s eating, and she does welcome his company in an absent way. He brings some of the best takeout, but he knows all her favorites. He carries the conversation in directions that serve the best distractions.

“You should use this time to get out,” he says one day, dragging some naan through the rest of his curry. When Annabeth stares at him, he clarifies. “I mean, maybe think of it like a vacation? You never take a vacation. Do things you’ve always wanted to.”

She grumpily shoves her own naan into her mouth to avoid answering him. But maybe he has a point. Maybe she does need to leave the house more often, if only to refresh herself. To get back on her feet. It’s only a matter of time before they give her a new assignment, and she refuses to fall into distractions again next time.

She takes herself out. She ventures further than a ten block radius and tries a new Pho place she’s been wanting to check out. She looks up a current run of temporary exhibitions around the city, buys tickets for three of them. She makes a reservation for herself at one of the museum restaurants, uncaring that it’s definitely overpriced and she can get a burger down the block for half the cost. She is utterly determined to give herself a good, clean, solid break from her time with Percy, so she’s prepared for the next chapter. Whatever it brings.

Naturally, it’s at one of the exhibitions that she runs into Sally Jackson.

Annabeth isn’t sure she could have been caught more off guard by Luke. She turns the corner and nearly runs into the woman, but her instincts make her sidestep at the last second. She’s not fast enough to avoid eye contact, because Sally moves at the same time, an apology on her lips.

“I’m so sorry - Annabeth?”

Why is this her life? Annabeth freezes, and she can feel the guilt rain down on her like a tsunami. She’s very rarely caught off guard like this, but this warm, wonderful woman unnerves her in an unexpected way. She just assumed she would never see her again, another casualty of her break with Percy.

Despite it all, Sally offers her a small, tentative smile. “Hi,” she says, tone infused with that very same warmth Annabeth knows she doesn’t deserve.

She swallows. “Hi,” she replies, weakly.

Sally reaches out to give her arm a gentle squeeze, and Annabeth nearly combusts on the spot. But the older woman can sense her discomfort, because she pulls her hand away just as quickly and sighs. “Will you get a coffee with me?”

Every single part of her is telling her to say no; every rational, logical piece of her being knows this is a bad idea, but there’s a quiet desperation that wins out against her better judgment, and Annabeth nods mutely. Sally smiles again, then walks them both towards the museum cafe. She orders Annabeth’s coffee exactly the way she likes it and orders herself a chai latte. By the time they sit down at the table, Annabeth’s nerves are shot, so she just wraps her hands around the cup and takes a sip, burning her tongue immediately. She winces, and Sally offers her a napkin.

“Percy told me you broke up.”

Annabeth almost laughs, hollowly. There’s no way he would have told her anything - Percy might have been royally pissed at her, but he’s also not cruel, and she knows he wouldn’t jeopardize her by spilling all the beans to his mother. He also wouldn’t want to put his mom in danger. Instead, her shoulders sink, and all she can do is nod once.

“He didn’t really tell me why,” Sally continues, wringing her hands around her own cup. She gets a thoughtful wrinkle in her forehead that looks so much like her son Annabeth almost flinches. “He said it wasn’t his place to share your history, but he did tell me you lied about a lot.”

She doesn’t know if hearing that from Sally is worse than her whole exchange with Percy a month ago. She doesn’t say anything, but her lack of answer is its own confirmation.

“My son is everything to me,” she says, and Annabeth prepares to be reamed out. Why wouldn’t she be? She just broke this woman’s son’s heart, and they’re two of the kindest, best people she’s ever met. “And I have never seen him so miserable.”

It’s not yelling, but it might be worse for real this time. Which is why the next thing Sally says is the most surprising part of all.

“I think he misses you.”

Annabeth’s head whips up so fast, and she says the first thing since her awkward greeting, which isn’t much more articulate. “What?”

It’s Sally’s turn to be quiet, again looking thoughtful as she finally takes a sip of her own drink. “I’m only telling you this because I know he was happy with you. Happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. And I know what he’s like now. I’m not going to ask you what happened. I know you hurt him, deeply, and I know maybe it’s not my place to sit here with you and tell you all of this. I know maybe things have been damaged too greatly. I know it’s his life, not mine. But what I want to ask you anyway is if you want to fix it, and if you still love my son.”

Annabeth’s eyes well up. She can’t answer this one with a nod. It’s everything she’s been trying to push away, the impossibilities of Percy chasing her down more harshly than Luke in the alleyway. “I love him,” she admits, and saying it aloud to someone else nearly knocks the wind out of her. “But I don’t know if I can fix it. I really, really hurt him, and there are parts of it that feel too broken.”

She shouldn’t be sharing this with Percy Jackson’s mother, but there isn’t another person who’s spoken to her about Percy specifically like this. A person who prioritizes Percy the way he should be, no matter what her own stupid heart and head are doing. Frank worries about her, but she’s the one who needs to grovel, and Sally will always, always put her son first.

Sally takes another sip, watching her carefully over the brim. She’s never felt more scrutinized in her life, and she’s a goddamn spy. Annabeth’s been alone for a very long time, and those months with Percy and his friends and his family were the closest she felt like a real, normal person in a long time. But she isn’t normal. She can’t just slip into a real architect’s life and become a new Annabeth Chase.

“Are you willing to try?”

She’s taken aback by the question and the way it connects to her thoughts, and she’s sure the surprise is on her face. “I don’t think he wants me to. It should be his choice, not mine.”

Sally hums. “Will you give me your address?”

“He’s not going to come to my house.”

“It’s for me. Not him. I won’t give it to him.”

She hesitates. She’s unlisted for a reason, her residence deeply under wraps. She still gets mail, of course, and it’s not like she lives there most of the year. But then she stubbornly takes the receipt from the drinks, scribbles the P.O. box on the back before she can second guess herself, and slides it back over. “Can you memorize it and burn it?” she says teasingly, trying not to feel ashamed of joking about it.

Sally slides it into her pocket. “I’m giving you a chance now, because I love my son and I want his happiness more than anything else, but I can see you're in just as terrible a state as he is. I wanted to see for myself, after I realized it was you.” She lifts her drink again, and Annabeth’s not sure if the pause for dramatic effect is intentional or not. “This is not forgiveness. It’s not my place to give it. This is me having a conversation with you, because you’re a very smart, put together woman who has spent a significant amount of time with Percy.”

Annabeth doesn’t feel very put together at the moment, but she’s hardly going to interject.

“And above everything, Percy is my son.”

It’s not a threat, but it almost feels like one. In lieu of another response, Annabeth takes a cowardly sip of her coffee.

“Thank you, for having coffee with me,” Sally says, and it sounds like a goodbye. Like this might be the last thing they ever say to each other. They sit in silence for a few more minutes, finishing their drinks, and it’s Sally who leaves first. She climbs to her feet in a cool movement and adjusts her bag before giving Annabeth a nod, then walks away from the table.

Annabeth sits there for another thirty minutes, though what she spends it thinking about, she doesn’t really remember.

-

Three days later Annabeth receives a package in the mail, with Sally’s return address. She holds the box in her hands and doesn’t really know how to process it. She sets it on the kitchen island and stares at it, afraid of opening it for stupid reasons. Watching it out of the corner of her eye, she heats up a box of frozen mac and cheese, then reaches for a steak knife to slice open the packing tape as the microwave beeps.

Inside she finds a dozen chocolate chip cookies, wrapped up neatly in a transparent blue bag. Underneath them is an envelope, which she nervously lifts and carefully opens. There’s a note inside, and what looks like two tickets to - to an aquarium. Not just any aquarium, the one where she met Percy - or rather, where she orchestrated her meeting of Percy. Puzzled and sad all at once, she reads the note in Sally’s loopy writing.

Annabeth,

I bought these for you both a month ago. I’m giving them to you alone now as a final gift from me to you, and I hope you use them. Use the time to think about everything. Don’t try to return them.

Perhaps one day we’ll see each other again. Take care.

Sally

#percabeth #annabeth chase #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #i still don't know what the kids are using for tags anymore #it used to be just the first five would show up??? but i don't think it's like that anymore????? #tomato writes #spy auing

[kalliyen]

Hii I saw your scaramouche streamer and I really liked it! Can I request a kazuha streamer fluff?

My No. 1 ❤️

Pairing: Streamer!Kaedehara Kazuha x GN!Reader

Featuring: Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao & Shikanoin Heizou

Genre: Modern AU, Mutual pinning (their both down bad frfr), Extremely fluffy

Summary: being a big fan of one of your classmates who happens to be a streamer (and your crush) appears to have both its up’s and downs

Reader’s Pronouns: They/Them

Warning: probably cringe dude i haven’t written in so long

Disclaimer: ⚠️ ONLY A WORK OF FICTION!

When you found out your favorite streamer would be your classmate for your classic literature class in high school, you were both nervous and ecstatic.

Of course, you didn’t tell the man himself you were a big fan of his face work, but it didn’t matter.

You decided to get close to him cause why the heck not, am I right? Kazuha seemed like a very sweet guy in his streams so that must correlate into real life, no?

Well it did. And soon after you found yourself falling for the man more and more, not that you didn’t have a crush on him already watching his streams, you already admired him then but the infatuation just seemed to grow the by the minute.

Kazuha felt the same about you, he thought you were a very charming, attractive and helpful person. He wanted to make a move, but didn’t know how cause his friend, Xiao, a fellow streamer, insists that he has ‘Zero rizz’, which his fans beg to differ.

How was he going to ask you out?

Apparently in Kazuha’s big smooth brain, asking his chat was a good idea on how to get the person he likes.

If only he knew he already had you wrapped around his finger.

Without fail, you were watching the stream, because heaven forbid you miss one, it would actually crush your soul not to look at his beautiful face. (though you stare at him in class, he pretends not to noice but def does, shhh)

You have to admit, you were feeling a bit jealous who could this mystery person he’s been pinning on be, but you thought it be best not to pry into his private life like a good viewer.

One chatter decided to ask Kazuha to described what they look like to them, and Kazuha was more than happy to indulge his fans.

“Well…they have [e/c] eyes that I could get lost into for hours, soft hands that I brushed into once and swear I wanted to hold them forever, and a smile that just melts my heart….” he says with a dreamy sigh at the end.

His chat audibly cringes at how love sick he’s being right now, and even his friends Heizou and Xiao who were with him audibly made faces in disgust.

“What a loser, get outta here lover boy!” Heizou said with a grimace, while Xiao was still making faces of disgust, going as far as doing a fake vomit.

You could only smile to yourself, sure your felt your heart strings tug a bit but you were happy that Kazuha was happy. And that’s all that mattered to you.

Kazuha rolled his eyes which landed on his chat, and he read one message that said “You should probably tell them how you feel, you never know if they like you back until you try!”

He softly smiled and the chatter, thankful that they gave actual advice and not just mocked him into an oblivion.

Who could that faithful chatter be?

Kazuha decided to shoot his shot the next day, that’s how you know he meant business.

He planned it all out in his head last night, how he was gonna romantically tell you his feelings after classes, walk you home and maybe, if he’s lucky, a kiss or two will get involved.

Apparently that day, luck was not on his side. Or so he thought.

The whole day you were extremely busy, even in the classes you shared together you barely had the chance to talk to him, much less had the chance to romantically confess to you.

Truth is, you purposely kept yourself busy, looking at him just made your heart ache, you know that you had no business in his private life, but you couldn’t help but feel a little tug at your heart when you know the person he’s been pinning over couldn’t be you.

Eventually, Kazuha got tired of this cat and mouse game and decided to tell you head on how you made him feel. Whether you were busy or not.

Apparently he thought the time to confess with you was when you were both alone, in the classroom….cleaning.

You tried to get your work finished and over with so you don’t have to stay in his presence any longer, but he just found ways to keep you there with him.

You finally acknowledged his presence when he wouldn’t stop bumping his broom with yours.

“What is it Kazuha? I’m trying to finish my work here.” You say, a little irked at the man.

Now or never, Kazuha thought.

“Y/N, I want to tell you how i feel about you, specifically…You make me feel things i’ve never felt before, and you make my stomach erupt into a bunch of butterflies. What i’m trying to say is that…I really like you, and your personality…would you,,,,like to go out with me sometime?”

You stood there, stunned, he? liked you? you were the one he was talking about in his stream?

Kazuha took your silence as a bad sign and apologized, head tilted down in disappointment. You were quick to cup his cheeks and assure him that you like him as well, you were just surprised is all.

“Surprised? Why would you be surprised?” He asked confusedly blinking up at you through his long lashes.

“I didn’t expect the person you were taking about in your stream yesterday was me…” You said a sheepish look on your face.

That definitely caught the man’s attention, immediately looking up at you, face getting even redder if that was possible.

“Y-you, watch my streams?” “Yeah I really enjoy them! I guess I’m your No. 1 fan huh?”

“My No.1 fan huh…I like the sound of that..” He says, cupping your cheeks this time, confidence seeping into him.

He gave you a peck on the cheek, a peck on the forehead, and then a peck on the lips.

He was glad he took that chatters advice and shoot his shot.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x you #genshin angst #genshin crack #genshin imagines #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #genshin kazuha #kaedehara kazuha x reader

[garf-lover96]

my long ass elaborate ranking of Will Wood's (and The Tapeworms') albums!! (Everything is a Lot ranking list)

for the purpose of making this i've been listening to this whole album like non stop for the past week. i even made my parents listen to it with me (my mom liked it and said that she'd go to see the songs live if she could!). it was actually pretty difficult to rank all of them but i think the top 3 will remain unchanged forever, they're some of my all time favorites from will wood!! the way i'll do this i think is i'll write down all the things i like about a particular song, maybe a favorite lyric and a favorite moment or something. or just some general rambling. also i split Everything is a Lot into Everything is a Lot and Destroy to Enjoy, like in the remastered album!

———

1. Skeleton Appreciation Day in Vestal, NY (Bones)

first time i heard this song was over a year ago so i can't tell what my exact first impression was but it did almost immediately become my favorite song ever. I LOVE IT SO MUCH IT'S INSANE. also fun fact, memberoflottiescult really likes this song!

my main thing with this song is that it sounds like?? you know, bones?? it sounds like skeletons. the melody is like something a skeleton would've come up with. i can't explain it but it is hearable. best song ever

2. 6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro / Con)

it was one of the first will's songs i've ever liked on spotify. ughhhh the energy, the general mashing of the piano and it sounding like it's about to fall apart any second lol!! the high ass notes. perfect, so perfect. i was listening to this song while purchasing a meter long plush goose. the song is like a brother to me

my favorite part is the spoken "am i being detained? am i under arrest? read me my rights please! I WANT MY PHONECALL" it's uhfhdfhkf. showstopping

3. White Knuckle Jerk (Where Do You Get Off?)

it took me exactly one (1) full listen to this one to absolutely fall in love with it, holy fuck. one of the best things i've ever heard. every time it's on i have to loop it a few times

my favorite parts are the "i wonder how i woke up in the middle of my surgery and i watched them botch my heart. only the second worst thing that i could've thought was 'this won't have to end if it doesn't start'" and "i'll never know what it's like to love you" because ummm???? the emotion in his voice omfg, i love it when this happens. it's so perfect (reminds me of julian devorak..........)

4. Lygerside Daydream

had me hooked after the first listen as well. i love the melody and i love how the lyrics are written here. i, too, want to blow the seeds of dandelions and wish for nothing more. such a sweet sound. one of my favorites as well. nice to daydream to, ha!!!

5. Front Street

idk how to explain this but the pace of the song, like the way the lyrics are sung is so satisfying. just the sentence structure and stuff.. uhhh i really don't know how to describe this, but i love it a whole lot. the piano melody here is amazing as well it so???? I DON'T FUCKING KNOW it's just good

6. The First Step

so nice to sing along to!!! "and i hope i don't choke on my vomit tonight" and "take my anxiety and my sobriety, i'll kill two birds with one stoner. so if you see me please, take my keys i don't wanna be an organ donor" are my favorite parts:3 so satisfyingly said

7. Chemical Overreaction / Compound Fracture

one of my first ones too i'm pretty sure. the chorus really pulled me in. fast and fun. i think i showed it to my godfather once. the spanish part scratches my brain so good

8. Cover This Song (A Little Bit Mine)

very nice to sing along to as well. i love the melody on the very first verse. i love the part with the piano solo so much

9. Everything is a Lot

i love the melody sooooooo much, "all the moments you've lost, all the money it cost" part is my favorite. shouldn't be overlooked!!!!!

10. Red Moon

i had to come around to it a bit but i actually love it. love the "the constellations form infinite paisleys in the sky" part, such a nice sound. satisfying lyrics in general

11. Thermodynamic Lawyer Esq. G.F.D.

nice to listen to when i want to have something screaming into my ears. loooove the fact that liar liar was sampled in the beginning, i really like that movie. i used to be obsessed with jim carrey also. i binged pretty much all of his movies as a little lad

12. Jimmy Mushrooms' Last Drink: Bedtime in Wayne, NJ

the kalimba kind of bothered me initially but i got used to it. i enjoy the melody. don't have much to say about it

13. ¡Aikido! (Neurotic / Erotic)

it's not horrible by any means, it just kind of doesn't do it for me. i usually skip it

14. Destroy to Enjoy

satisfying rhymes, i prefer not to listen to construction work as a past time

———

this took so long to put together, i kept forgetting about it or rearranging it...

#garf lover96 yaps #will wood #everything is a lot #will wood and the tapeworms

[aosatosugu]

random !nsfw! satosugu headcanons in my brain

Geto

- one word: edging

- either a sex god or incredibly inexperienced no in between

- his arch goes crazy he could probably be a yoga instructor in his spare time or join the circus he can also dislocate and relocate his joints at will he's a bit of a freak and also uh a bit of a cat (he vibrates when he purrs)

- if a guy was a siren but was also kind of vanilla ???

- he does have some freaky curses and shit but I feel like he's simple most of the time. only satoru gets him hard

- insane bussy

- he enjoys spreading himself apart for satoru but also enjoys breaking his back

- choking

- extremely sweet and indulgent dom that can switch up very fast / power bottom ? idk gay sex

- imo he takes longer to like show his horniness since he has more self composure but if you know him well you can tell his mood

- moans with a bit of grunting

- REALLY good at dirty talk (see edging)

- he honestly prefers to take it slow in the bedroom maybe even painfully so and he's also self conscious about his body but satoru pretty much worships him

- his blush is very cute and charming and he has this indulgent smile that makes satoru pee himself or cum or cry or die

- physically he's very strong and has strong stamina and his force is good he can go a long time usually without losing self control and can control his ejaculation for a good while. eventually bottoms out and becomes a vulnerable mess

- Master of head

-When he tops he talks quietly and very sweetly and when he bottoms he's pretty loud but not as loud as gojo

Gojo

- Didn't think he would enjoy bottoming as much as he does

- Still tops, because boy pussy is too tempting

- He doesn't look feral like he did in shibuya necessarily but he definitely looks.. high.. Or more like he's in a drunken stupor. His eyes are half closed and he's flushed up to his ears and he's just a disgusting pile of mush . Sentimental vomit

- Certain parts of him are very sensitive like his thighs and he will whimper if they are touched however. He like usually grunts from the bottom of his stomach first and then becomes a whimperer. Throw some moans in later

-Not as flexible as Geto ; he will end up bedridden for a couple days sometimes

- Will physically die if he is not always looking at/touching Geto in some way. Like he always needs to have his hand on his ass or something

- He is strong too with high endurance but if he is touched in a specific way or is pushed past a certain point he will make a mess of himself

- Fan of overstimulation, likes being sucked off while he's wearing a butt plug or something like that

- Geto is better at giving head than him but he still tries.. Sometimes he chokes a little on Suguru’s pierced cock but he soldiers on

- He's like lowkey kind of silent or really mushy when he's on top and when he's bottom he's yelling so loud the neighbors called the cops

#satosugu #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gege akutami

[sickficideas]

no promises || kunizai sickfic

ao3! 7.4k, mild nsfw/emeto themes - please refer to this link for warnings/tags! request for @potatopersonal on ao3!!

"Is Atsushi -"

"We've got it under control, Dazai. I need you to take this, you're the only one in any real danger here and you know that," Yosano tells him in that scolding mother voice of hers that often reminds him that she's the older one.

She's holding a cup of activated charcoal, something that he's dreadfully familiar with. He's taken it against his will and of his own accord on many occasions through his time with the Port Mafia, and he thinks even once or twice at the Armed Detective Agency, but this time he's not the culprit of his own demise.

He realizes that Yosano isn't going to give in and that she's really asking him to take it right here, right now - so he does like she's asked of him and somehow manages to down the entire cup without a pause.

It always makes him vomit. Every single time, without fail. The texture is so awful, and on top of that, he thinks his body has developed some sort of gag reflex specifically for this substance because he's taken it so many times against his will.

He and Atsushi were both poisoned downstairs at the cafe just about a half hour ago, he thinks. They only noticed because Atsushi started to feel incredibly unwell. Dazai doesn't know if he didn't get hit as hard because he's been poisoned before, or if Atsushi had much more of the poison than he did - either way, he's much more concerned about him.

This has happened before, this exact scenario, back when Dazai was a Port Mafia Executive. He and Akutagawa were both poisoned in the same way, their drinks being spiked. Dazai's health back then was much worse and it took him a lot longer to recover, but Akutagawa was unconscious for two weeks. Dazai thought he would never wake up. He remembers Gin asking him if he was going to die. He can still remember tears in her eyes that he'd never seen before or since then.

He can't believe he's let this happen twice. Why was he so careless?

"Yosano, he's - is he unconscious?" Dazai hardly manages to choke out before he feels the charcoal push its way back up his esophagus. Yosano's well prepared, of course, with a bedpan under his chin just seconds before a gag forces everything to splatter into the pan. He sucks in a breath and groans.

"He's conscious, and I need you to stay with me, too," Yosano says. Dazai can feel himself getting seriously lightheaded, and obviously it's bad enough for Yosano to notice, too. "I need you to take more of it, I'm sorry."

Dazai doesn't know if he can stay conscious. He can see the black creeping into his peripheral and he knows that's a sign that he's losing the battle. He lets Yosano do what she needs to do and he helps her as much as he can in his half-conscious state. He's really trying to fight it. Yosano forces more of the active charcoal down his throat and it bubbles back up in no time at all. Dazai's not even sure where the vomit ended up this time.

“Put me out of my misery,” he chokes out.

“I can’t do that, Dazai, I’m a licensed physician,” she reminds him for the hundredth time. Mori sure didn’t have a problem trying to help him die, but he didn’t care much about the law. He starts wondering if Mori even had a license at all, but his brain starts to fog up, and his eyes unfocus.

He can hear her saying his name. She sounds desperate, but his body is starting to go numb, and he can't respond. He can't fight it anymore.

At least, if he dies, it won't be painful.

But Atsushi -

…

Kunikida hasn't been this stressed in a long time. He's very aware that his presence stresses Yosano out so he's kept himself out of the infirmary and he's been sitting on a stray chair across from the couch. He's trying to stay calm, but he's deeply concerned for Dazai. Yosano reported that he started seizing, which is a bad sign.

Atsushi is sitting on the couch across from Kunikida, his expression looking just as solemn. He's still hooked up to an IV at Yosano's request with how dehydrated he is. He's only just now started to improve after hours of dealing with a raging fever and vomiting - Yosano thinks that his ability is slowly starting to mend his body and allowing the symptoms to subside, with the help of her own ability. She told him to stay out of the infirmary because she had a feeling the smell of the antiseptic was making him feel worse, with his heightened senses.

Dazai doesn't have anything to help him out. No ability to heal himself, and no possibility of Yosano interfering, so they're not even sure if he should be improving at this point.

"Kunikida?" Atsushi starts. His voice sounds hoarse. He coughs a few times to clear his throat.

"He'll be fine. Don't worry. He's always fine," Kunikida tells him, already knowing what he's going to say. He straightens up. "I want you to go home as soon as Kyoka gets here. You need to rest and I know you won't be doing that here."

"But I don't want to go," Atsushi murmurs. His voice sounds wobbly. He's been crying on and off for hours, Kunikida wouldn't be surprised if he started again now, but he's trying to keep him in good spirits.

"I get it, Atsushi. Trust me," he sighs. He pushes his glasses up to the top of his head and rubs at his eyes. "But you need to look after yourself too."

"Will you tell me if something happens?" Atsushi asks quietly.

"Of course I will."

Thankfully, it's not long until Kyoka is back from the medical supply errand she was asked to run for Yosano. She's incredibly worried about Atsushi, it's obvious even for someone who rarely shows strong emotion. He cries into her shoulder for a while, and she lets him. He's so drained, mentally and physically, that no one tries to cheer him up. Kunikida almost hopes that the tears will tire him out and help him sleep.

They all wish Atsushi well before the two of them leave, and not long after, Yosano makes an appearance back in the office, gathering concerned looks from everyone inside. Fukuzawa has appeared, too.

"He's not improving the way I'd like him to," Yosano says quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm keeping a close eye on him, but if he needs supplemental care I'll have to send him to a hospital."

Kunikida wastes no time in slipping inside the infirmary to see him as Yosano addresses the rest of the staff. He's at the one closest to the door. Kunikida's heart drops when he sees him.

Dazai's frame looks incredibly small and fragile in the cot like this. It's so rare to see him in such a state. Kunikida would have thought this is the kind of thing Dazai would never ever fall victim to, but he supposes every human lets their guard down. Even superhumans like Dazai.

Kunikida isn't sure if he's unconscious or not, but either way, he's in pain. Kunikida can see it in the way his face is all twisted up, the sweat collecting at his hairline. He wants to do something.

He sits down on the cot right beside his and sighs.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" Kunikida sighs.

An hour or so passes, and Kunikida spends his time completely still at Dazai's bedside, trying to stay out of Yosano's way. Ranpo comes back from a job with the Yokohama police and quickly assures them that the attack on Dazai and Atsushi was an angry client of theirs. Ranpo knows who it is, and he's already on the case - and before long, he leaves to catch him, with Kenji in tow to apprehend him by physical means.

Kunikida was starting to worry it had something to do with Dazai's past at the Port Mafia. That would open a whole new can of worms. This is easy, something they can handle with no issue.

"One of my friends up in Tokyo is a poison specialist. I'll take the sample there and he'll help me create an antidote for him without using any abilities, that way it’ll work on him…" Yosano murmurs. Kunikida heard her mention she already tried ability-based antidotes she’s acquired, just in case there were somehow enough degrees of separation for it to work, but with no luck.

Yosano tells him this with a briefcase in hand and her lab coat, something she doesn't wear as often nowadays, letting him know that she's leaving now.

Yosano gives him a list of ranges for his vital signs to look out for, and any symptoms that could appear that would require a hospital visit.

"Shouldn't you stay with him instead?" Kunikida asks nervously, looking up at her. He's not sure about this. Dazai doesn't seem to be doing well at all, for the only doctor on their staff to leave him. God, his stomach is starting to hurt from the stress. “What if he has another seizure?”

"I trust you. If you think he needs to go to the hospital at any point, do that. Don't ask me first," Yosano says. "I know you'll do what's best for him. He hasn’t seized in at least an hour, so I think that’s over with for now.”

Kunikida bites his lip. He hopes she's right.

…

It’s almost eight o’clock in the evening now, and Dazai has been unconscious since the first time he had a seizure.

He’s stable. His vital signs haven’t changed, he hasn’t had any seizures, and Kunikida has checked in with Yosano a few times. She expects him to wake up soon. Kunikida started working himself up, horrified that Dazai has slipped into some sort of coma, but Yosano doesn’t seem to think that’s a possibility.

“Kenji caught the culprit. He’s been placed in a holding cell until they can prove his guilt,” Ranpo says as he hands Kunikida the report. He’s stopped by to hand it off to Kunikida. Kenji has already gone home.

“They didn’t take your word for it?” Kunikida asks, half joking as he thumbs through the pages. Ranpo doesn’t do a very good job at filling these out, so Kunikida usually has to fix most of it for him.

“The guy’s a cop, of course. So they’re protecting him,” Ranpo grumbles, mildly annoyed. “Sounds like he was after Dazai specifically. Couldn’t give me a solid reason, but I know he’s been a client before. He knows something about Dazai’s…previous job. I’m sure.”

Kunikida bites his lip. As long as the guy is behind bars.

“How is he?” Ranpo asks. “Stable?”

“Yeah. Yosano isn’t too worried about him getting worse too quickly,” Kunikida mumbles, “but he’s not getting better.”

“Be careful with him. You know how he gets around Yosano when he’s not in his right mind,” Ranpo warns, and that’s the last thing he says to him before he waves him off and leaves the Agency.

Kunikida finds himself standing at that front door, staring at the report cover, thinking about what Ranpo said. It’s only happened once - Yosano was trying to treat Dazai after he collapsed from a high fever, but he wouldn’t let Yosano touch him. It was the most hysteric that Kunikida has ever seen him. They weren’t sure what was going on, but obviously, Yosano specifically reminded him of someone from his past.

He's pulled out of his thoughts for a moment when he hears something fall.

He tosses the report on his desk and almost sprints over to where the sound came from, certain Dazai is the source of it. He turns into the infirmary and Dazai is crumpled on the floor, turned into himself, arms shaking and breath hitching. The fluid stand is on the floor beside him.

"Dazai, what the hell?" Kunikida starts, carefully kneeling down beside him. He reaches out to touch his cheek. His skin hot to the touch. Kunikida knew he was running a fever, but this seems much worse than before. He curses under his breath.

"Where is…where…" Dazai murmurs. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he tries to force himself off the floor. His arms are hardly support his weight. He’s shivering, Kunikida thinks, but he’s not sure if it’s from the fever, or from fear. His eyes meet Kunikida’s once he’s at level with him, but his expression doesn’t change.

"You shouldn't have gotten up, what are you doing?" Kunikida chides nervously. Dazai can't answer, and he pulls himself out of Kunikida’s way fast enough to vomit on the tile floor instead of his vest.

Kunikida curses to himself. It's just a splatter of bile and activated charcoal, it looks like, but he doesn't know if it's good that he's still throwing up like this. Dazai’s breath hitches and he gags again, this time, only spitting up saliva.

Kunikida reaches forward to touch him, to offer him a comforting hand or something, but the second he does, Dazai whips his head around with eyes wider than he's ever seen them.

He looks scared. Why on earth would he be scared? He didn’t look like this a minute ago, but Kunikida quickly recognizes this as the look from the time Ranpo referenced earlier.

Dazai scrambles to get away from him, he rips the IV that was somehow still attached out of his arm and somehow manages to stand himself up, but one wrong move has him crumpled on the floor again, right after his head made contact with the metal framing of the cot he was using for support. Kunikida is trying to keep his cool. He's only seen Dazai like this once before, he doesn't know what to do. Does he need to call an ambulance? Should he call Yosano?

"Dazai," Kunikida says, biting his lip to keep his cool. He stands up to get on the other side of him. He needs to get him back in bed, but the moment he touches his arm, Dazai flinches so hard that Kunikida is almost worried he'll hurt himself. He's sure he hears him whimper. God, his heart aches. 

"Don't," Dazai mumbles. He's shaking, and his voice shakes with him as he turns his head away. Kunikida doesn't know what's gotten into him. He wonders if his fever has gotten so high that he's hallucinating.

"Dazai, it's Kunikida," he tells him quietly, tightening his grip on his arm. He needs him back to reality.

Miraculously, Dazai stops trying to get away.

Kunikida doesn't waste any time. He scoops him up into his arms and carries him back to the cot he was in earlier. He tries to lay him down, but Dazai's gripping onto his shirt, refusing to let go.

Kunikida takes his head and tucks it under his chin. He lets out a shaky breath. If Dazai wasn’t so out of it, he’d give him a talking-to about how much he scared him.

"Where…" he murmurs into Kunikida’s chest, still holding on.

"You're in the infirmary," Kunikida tells him. He almost wonders how Ranpo could have guessed this would happen, but of course it did. "At the Armed Detective Agency."

He feels him relax in his hold, just enough to let Kunikida worry a little less.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m sorry,” Kunikida says quietly, holding him a little closer. He can’t imagine waking up in a hospital cot by himself like that, in the dark infirmary. No wonder he was so freaked out, especially with that fever - Kunikida has concerns that Dazai’s fear just now was more deeply rooted in something else entirely, something that Kunikida will likely never be able to get him to admit.

Kunikida holds him like that for a while and Dazai starts to breathe normally. He’s not shaking as much, but he feels him shiver every now and then, and after long enough, Dazai barely manages to pull out of Kunikida’s hold to gag, and bring up more activated charcoal onto the bed sheets. He coughs a few times, but nothing else comes up.

Kunikida sighs. Of course, he can’t help it. Thankfully there’s plenty of other cots in here, so Kunikida decides he’ll move him to the next one. “Can I pick you up again?” Kunikida asks.

Dazai’s frame melts back into Kunikida’s hold to tell him yes with a whimper, and Kunikida scoops him up to lay him down on the other cot. This is probably better anyway, fresh cool sheets ought to do him some good.

Kunikida takes a comforter from a different cot to lay over Dazai, and he’s realized too late that his arm is still bleeding from where he pulled out the IV - not much, but enough to leave marks. He rummages through the supply drawers beside the cot to grab some gauze and wrap to wrap it up, at least, and as he carefully pulls it around Dazai’s arm, he sees his head tilt in his direction.

"Is Atsushi okay?" he asks, almost sounding out of breath at the effort it took him to say it. Kunikida is beyond relieved to hear him speaking coherently.

"He's fine, Dazai. He's home with Kyoka and she'll let us know if anything goes wrong," Kunikida assures as he closes the wrap. "Worry about yourself, for once."

Dazai doesn't seem like he's going to take that into consideration even remotely. Atsushi at least listened to reason.

Kunikida needs to place another IV for fluids. He’s been vomiting so much that there’s simply not another option - he highly doubts he can get him to drink any water. The problem is that Dazai hates needles, at least when anyone else is using them on him in this kind of setting. Kunikida has seen him refuse fluids at hospitals before because of it. Kunikida isn’t sure if it’s just a general dislike or if it stems from trauma, since Dazai is whiney about most things, but he’s afraid of making things worse right now.

“I have to put another IV in,” Kunikida tells him, a hand wrapped around his wrist where he just wrapped up his arm.

“No,” Dazai whines, childishly turning his head away.

“I have to, Dazai. You’re still throwing up, you’re dehydrated,” Kunikida tells him. “And I know you won’t be able to keep water down.”

Dazai doesn’t turn his head back, but he makes no effort in trying to pull his arm away, either. He thinks he realizes he can’t avoid it.

“Is it okay if I take some of your bandages off?” Kunikida asks.

“Use the top of my hand,” Dazai murmurs, his head still turned away from Kunikida.

Kunikida stands up to gather what he needs - he’s done this enough times to know how to on his own, thankfully. While he’s up he decides to wet a cloth for Dazai’s forehead, hoping that will help distract him.

He brushes Dazai’s hair out of his face, and his dark eyes peer up at him with emotions that Kunikida can’t quite read. His hairline is damp from sweat. He lays his hand over his forehead again and frowns before he lays the washcloth over his burning forehead, and he shivers, but relaxes just a bit once he gets used to the feeling.

He pulls up a chair on the other side of the cot and turns on the lamp to get started. “Can you make a fist for me?”

Dazai obliges. His head turns up and his eyes are glued to the ceiling, looking for something else to focus on. Kunikida takes note of how his breaths quicken, just a bit. Kunikida needs to distract him.

"You seem familiar with this situation. Am I correct?" Kunikida asks. Kunikida was at the cafe with them when it happened. Dazai shouted for someone to get Yosano as soon as Atsushi said he felt nauseous because it was far too soon after he complained of the taste of the tea. Dazai had his fingers down the poor kid’s throat to get him to vomit before Kunikida could even piece together what was happening. He’s been wondering if this happened to him before.

"Mhm," Dazai mumbles after taking in a sharp breath.

"So this has happened to you before," Kunikida says.

"Mhm," Dazai nods. At first, Kunikida thinks he's just going to drop it, because even though Kunikida knows about Dazai's past now, he's still not any more open to sharing the details. "Almost…this exact scenario. With me, and…my subordinate."

"Yeah? Someone spiked your drinks?" Kunikida asks, making sure he has good placement before he uses the needle.

"Mhm," Dazai mumbles. "My subordinate was…he was unconscious for two…three? Two weeks, I think."

Kunikida wasn't aware he had any direct subordinates, but he supposes it makes sense, given Dazai's rank as an executive. It's so strange how he's never mentioned anything even remotely alluding to their existence. He uses that brief moment to stick Dazai, and he flinches, but manages to keep his arm still enough to not pull anything out. “Good. Good job, that part’s over.”

“I hate those things,” Dazai murmurs feverishly. His breaths have gotten a bit faster now, and Kunikida makes a mental note to remind himself he still has to get him hooked up to the monitoring machines again.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Kunikida says gently as he starts to dress Dazai’s hand. He wants to comfort him, somehow, but he thinks the best thing to do for someone like Dazai is a distraction. "How long ago did it happen? Long time ago?”

Somehow, turning the conversation back around to the previous topic has worked a bit. Dazai focuses back on that. "Yeah, must've been…sixteen, I think."

"You had subordinates at sixteen?" Kunikida huffs, looking up at him for a brief moment. "How old were they?"

"He was…fourteen, I think," he breathes out. Kunikida bites his lip. He knew that the mafia recruited a lot of their members very young, after all, Kyoka stands to show that.

"You recruited him?" Kunikida says. It’s hard to imagine. Kunikida almost wonders if he’s joking, but he doesn’t have the energy for that right now. "A fourteen-year-old."

"I did," Dazai admits.

"Still alive?" Kunikida asks.

"Mhm. You've met him," Dazai says turning his head back towards him. Kunikida reaches forward with his free hand to readjust the washcloth on his head, as it’s started to slip.

Well, now Kunikida's intrigued. He keeps eye contact. "Who? That redhead?"

Dazai scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Hell no."

"Then who?"

"C'mon, guess,” Dazai says, Apparently, he’s gathered enough energy to mess him with. Kunikida will take it, it’s a good sign.

"I have no clue, Dazai. Tell me," Kunikida huffs, exasperated. He turns his attention back to dressing the IV catheter on Dazai’s hand, which he’s almost finished with. "I don't even know that many Port Mafia dogs by name. Akutagawa is the only one I can think of."

Dazai tilts his head to the side with a cheeky grin. The washcloth starts to slide down his face.

"You're kidding,” Kunikida blinks, reaching back up to fix it. “Stop moving so much.”

"Not kidding."

"You've known him the whole time?" Kunikida exclaims. He feels like he should be angry, but somehow it makes sense. Dazai always seemed a little too eager to brush off any mention of the so-called Hellhound of the Port Mafia. Kunikida thinks he even recalls Dazai slipping up and mentioning a detail about him that none of the rest of them knew, but that memory was lost to him until now.

"I couldn't tell you I knew him. That'd give me away," Dazai shrugs, this time, seemingly making an effort to keep his head still.

"Your information would've been helpful, though," Kunikida grumbles, attaching the line to Dazai’s hand to get the fluids going.

"You knew everything you needed to know. He's a Port Mafia attack dog and he'll kill anything he sees," Dazai says incredibly casually.

"And you've known him since he was fourteen, huh?" Kunikida asks, sitting back in the chair as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Dazai's expression changes, but it's an emotion that Kunikida doesn't quite recognize. "Mhm."

Kunikida can't really fathom any of this. A sixteen-year-old Dazai with a fourteen-year-old Akutagawa is just something his brain can't even picture - both of them younger than even Atsushi is now. Dazai having any connection to someone as cold-blooded as Akutagawa doesn't make any sense to him.

When he looks over at Dazai again, his eyes are lost. He's somewhere else. Kunikida doesn't know what life was like for him in the Port Mafia, but it can't have been good. He was already a major alcoholic by the time he joined the Detective Agency, and Kunikida still remembers the shiver that ran up his spine when he saw how thin he was under his clothes. He still doesn't eat meals regularly out of habit, it's something that Kunikida almost has to force on him, but he’s gotten much better about it.

Whatever happened to him damaged him much more than anything Kunikida could ever hope to fix on his own.

"Are you okay?" Kunikida asks him.

Dazai lifts his head with wide eyes like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. "Huh? Oh, yeah."

“Let me get your temperature,” Kunikida says, taking the thermometer from the drawer out of the case. He sticks it under Dazai’s tongue for a few seconds and it ends up reading 102.3. That’s not horrible, but it isn’t good, either.

He looks back in Dazai’s direction to find that look in his eyes again, but this time, some of the color has started to drain from his face, and he notices him swallow thickly.

"You look nauseous," Kunikida comments.

"Uh-huh," Dazai mumbles. He burps into a closed fist and groans. "Need the pan."

Kunikida feels awful for him. Yosano couldn't give him a thing for his nausea because vomiting would actually help his specific situation according to what Yosano gathered, so he's probably been feeling horribly nauseous this entire time. Kunikida doesn’t see a bedpan in the drawer so he takes the trash bin and holds it under Dazai’s chin as he tries to sit himself up with a whine.

He spits into it, saliva getting caught on the sides as he huffs out breaths. He lays a hand over his stomach and groans. “Ugh…”

"Empty?" Kunikida asks. He can’t imagine he has much left in his stomach.

"No," Dazai breathes out, to Kunikida’s surprise, "won't come up."

Kunikida sighs. Of course. "Want me to help you?"

"Please," Dazai whines. He burps, and it sounds wet, but all that drips from his lips is saliva. "I suck at doing it myself, I… hrruk -"

A gag that brings up nothing, and Kunikida realizes he really will need help.

He's done this before. He's probably a pro at preventing overdoses because of Dazai, but this here isn't a life-or-death situation, at least.

He doesn't bother with gloves because he knows he'll wash his hands regardless, and he slips a hand past Dazai's saliva-coated lips, his other hand on the back of Dazai's neck to make sure he doesn't jolt back when his hand gets back far enough.

His mouth is warm, the insides of his cheeks are so soft. He’s trying to ignore the thought, but Dazai looks hot like this. His eyes red and tired, lips wet and almost swollen, cheeks flushed. Kunikida feels something he shouldn't in that moment, and he gets far enough back without realizing, and hot vomit spills over his hand without much warning.

It's not much. It's water and charcoal and bits of whatever is left in his stomach from lunch dripping down Kunikida’s hand and into the bin. Dazai whines and spits the bits left in his mouth into the bin. He breathes heavily over it and Kunikida haphazardly covers his hand in a layer of paper towels to avoid dripping Dazai’s stomach contents onto the floor on his way over to the sink, but he stays for a moment to make sure Dazai’s okay.

“Hurts,” Dazai groans. He burps over the bin, but of course, nothing comes up. He lays back but he holds onto the bin.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Kunikida sighs. He wishes he could do more to help him. “Will you be okay by yourself for a second?”

“Uh-huh,” Dazai murmurs, leaning back and pressing his hand against his stomach.

Kunikida remembers there’s a splatter of puke on the floor and on the cot Dazai was previously resting on that he needs to clean, but right now, he’s not keen on leaving Dazai out of his sight for too long. He washes his hands a bit longer than he needs to, and looks over his shoulder to check on Dazai one too many times - he hears him burp and gag a few times, but once Kunikida is on the way back to him, he’s laid back all the way, eyes screwed shut and breaths heavy.

Kunikida places the bin back on the floor as he sits in the chair again. He looks over the fluid stand and Dazai’s hand to make sure everything is still properly attached before he leans forward to flip over the washcloth on his warm forehead. “I’ll check with Yosano to see if there’s anything I can give you for that fever.”

“I just want my stomach to stop hurting,” Dazai whines, but he really sounds like he’s in pain.

“I know, Dazai,” Kunikida sighs, Yosano already told him that will have to wait until he gets an antidote. “Maybe we -”

“Can you…can you check on Atsushi for me?” Dazai asks, forcing his eyes open to look over at Kunikida. Kunikida finds it a bit out of nowhere. “Please.”

“I can do that,” Kunikida says. He hasn’t heard from Kyoka. Junichiro texted Kunikida a while ago to let him know he and Naomi would check in with the two of them occasionally to make sure they were doing okay, but that was all. He pulls out his phone and dials Kyoka’s number.

“Hello?” she answers nervously.

“Don’t worry. I’m just calling to make sure everything’s okay,” Kunikida says. He lowers his phone and puts it on speaker for Dazai to hear. “How’s Atsushi doing?”

“Kunikida? Is that you?” It’s Junichiro’s voice. He hears some shuffling, and suddenly Junichiro’s voice is much clearer. “Kyoka had to knock him out a little bit ago. He couldn’t sleep ‘cause he was so anxious. He was making himself sick.”

Kunikida’s shoulders sink. “Anxious about what?”

“He’s worried about Dazai,” Junichiro says a little more quietly, and Kunikida watches Dazai tense up in his peripheral. “We kept telling him he’d be okay. And you said you’d call if something went wrong, but…we had to use the last resort.”

Kunikida bites his lip as Dazai turns his head away.

“But I think it was good for him. He’s been sleeping well since then, maybe we should’ve knocked him out sooner,” Junichiro half-jokes. “Is Dazai doing okay? We’re worried too.”

“He’s doing fine,” Kunikida tells them. He doesn’t want to lie and say he’s better, but telling them how he’s really feeling will only worry them more. “Nobody needs to worry. We have everything under control and they’ll both be good as new once Yosano gets ahold of that antidote.”

They exchange a few more words before Junichiro tells him they should get to sleep too, and Kunikida realizes he’s probably in the same boat as Atsushi - he won’t be able to sleep in favor of worrying about Dazai, but he can’t sleep even if he wanted to. He has to make sure he stays stable until Yosano gets back.

Once he hangs up, Kunikida reaches to lay a hand over Dazai’s arm, but the way he’s breathing - so calmly - tells Kunikida that he’s fallen asleep. Kunikida almost has to wonder if he was getting himself that worked up over Atsushi in his fevered brain.

Kunikida gets him hooked back up to all of the necessary monitors while Dazai drifts off into a deeper sleep, and he changes the washcloth on his forehead, too. He looks so much more relaxed. His eyes aren’t screwed shut so tightly. He looks like he might actually get some good rest.

Kunikida presses a kiss up to his forehead before he changes the washcloth, and he sits back in the chair beside Dazai’s cot as he cracks open the report and gets back to work.

…

The rest of the night went by more smoothly than Kunikida could have asked for. He’s usually not a fan of pulling all-nighters like that, but he got caught up on the work he missed through yesterday’s situation. And even better, Dazai slept through the night.

“I have to pee,” Dazai mumbles as soon as he wakes up. The staff have started to file back into the building, Kunikida can hear it from across the hall, and the light has started to spill through the windows back into the infirmary.

Kunikida sits beside him on the cot to help him up, making sure Dazai doesn’t have any room to do another sprint across the infirmary like last night. He’s looking better, but he’s downright exhausted, shown in the dark circles under his eyes. It’s still obvious he doesn’t feel good.

“You won’t carry me?” Dazai pouts.

“Do you need me to? Or do you want me to carry you?” Kunikida huffs as he snakes an arm around his waist to help him up on his feet. His legs are still a bit wobbly, but he gets his footing, and uses the fluid stand pole for support.

“Want, need? What’s the difference?” Dazai complains with a dramatic sigh. He can tell he’s feeling better with how absurd he’s acting, but his fever is still there, Kunikida can feel it on his skin. “I want you. It’s that kinda sexier than saying I need you?”

Kunikida keeps a hand on his back as he leads him over to the restroom. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hehe. Love you too,” Dazai jokes.

Kunikida makes sure he doesn’t need help going to the bathroom before he closes the door, and he busies himself with changing the sweat-dampened sheets on Dazai’s cot while he waits.

He’s surprised to see Atsushi standing in the doorway, looking horrified to see the cot empty.

“Relax, he’s just in the bathroom,” Kunikida says, dropping what he’s doing to meet Atsushi at the entrance, but the deep concern doesn’t leave his eyes. “What are you doing here, Atsushi?”

"Is he still not doing well?" Atsushi murmurs nervously.

"He's improved," Kunikida assures him with a hand on his shoulder, "You look much better. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Atsushi tells him. Kunikida won't take his word for it, he's not usually very honest about this kind of thing. He looks better than he did yesterday, but he can tell just by looking at him that he's nauseous with anxiety, just like Junichiro described last night. He takes note of the way he's breathing through his mouth instead of his nose to avoid the antiseptic smell.

"Don't worry about him so much. He's survived worse, hasn't he?" Kunikida reminds him with a chiding sigh, regardless of the fact that he's just as concerned. He can't pass those feelings on to Atsushi, especially knowing they had to knock him out last night to get him to sleep.

"I guess so," Atsushi murmurs.

"Who told you to come in today? You should still be resting," Kunikida tells him. He knows Atsushi came of his own accord. He’s here much earlier than detectives usually need to be - he probably snuck out.

"Um…well, no one, I just…I just wanted to make sure he wasn't…" Atsushi mumbles.

"I'll call you if something's the matter. Go back home, no one needs you sitting around here with how you’re feeling," he sighs, landing a hand on Atsushi’s back and walking outside of the infirmary with him.

Atsushi doesn't seem to be paying attention entirely, and Kunikida almost starts to scold him for not listening before he realizes that he's lost a lot of color in his face, enough to make him think he's about to throw up. Atsushi is much more aware of it than Kunikida, obviously and he bolts for the trash bin right inside of the infirmary to retch and gag once or twice before vomit spills past his lips. He’s shaking, breathing hard and clearly anxious, but thankfully, he seems to have only needed to vomit once. Even so, he coughs and forces a burp or two just to make sure.

He crouches down in front of the bin and leans his head against it, still visibly shaking. He's not in nearly as rough shape as he was yesterday regarding this. Atsushi doesn't seem to mind other people throwing up at all, but if it's himself, he almost makes himself even more sick with anxiety. Yesterday he was too out of it to really take in what was happening, but now he's fully lucid.

"I guess - this whole thing is a, uh…a good way to get - get over this," Atsushi stammers between shaky breaths, of course, still trying to keep a positive attitude. Kunikida can hear his breathing patterns start to get erratic with panic, and he hears him attempt to swallow back a gag.

"I'll be right back. Stay here,” he tells him after patting his back and heading back for the Agency Office, where Junichiro has since appeared with his sister.

"Tanizaki, can you take Atsushi home?" Kunikida asks. Normally he wouldn't bother a detective with a task like this, but he'd rather Atsushi be with someone familiar while he's feeling so anxious.

"Did he show up? With how he’s feeling?" Tanizaki asks, concern already washing over his face as he gets up from his desk. Kunikida assumes he and Naomi went home after Atsushi fell asleep. "He's still sick?"

"I think part of it might be nerves now. I don't need him hanging around and worrying about Dazai," Kunikida says, and Junichiro follows him back out into the hallway.

Atsushi is sitting against the doorframe with his knees pulled up tight against his chest and his head on his knees, mumbling something to himself.

"Hey, Atsushi, let's get you downstairs, yeah? You should go home and take days off when you can get them," Junichiro tells him gently as he crouches beside him. Atsushi seems to have given up on his image entirely as he leans into Junichiro. The latter's brow twists with concern and he brings him into a hug, and Kunikida quickly realizes that Atsushi’s crying. "I know. You'll both be okay soon. I'll see if Yosano can get you something to settle your stomach when she gets back, okay?"

"Kay," he mumbles into Junichiro's shoulder.

"Good. I know you hate it, but you're doing a good job," Junichiro tells him in a gentle voice that Kunikida doesn't think he'd be able to pull off. He ruffles his hair fondly. "You know how seasick I get, right? You're handling this way better than I do."

"I am…?" Atsushi murmurs, lifting his head just a bit.

"For sure."

Junichiro is much better at this than Kunikida is in general.

Kunikida waves both of them off as Junichiro leads him back to the elevator, continuing to talk to him gently, and Kunikida shakes off his concern for Atsushi as he notices his shoulders relax before they disappear behind the elevator doors.

Kunikida walks back into the infirmary and stops in the doorway to find Dazai peeking out of the bathroom like he’s checking if the coast is clear.

"What'd you do to that kid to make him worry so much, huh?" Kunikida sighs.

"Beats me," Dazai half-chuckles, clutching onto the IV pole as he walks out of the bathroom, looking less wobbly than before, but Kunikida still meets him to walk him back to his cot. Kunikida can see the hint of concern in his eyes, but Dazai doesn’t show it for long. "He went home?"

"He did," says.

"Hope he won’t be that upset when I finally end it all,” Dazai says, singing the words at the end.

“Well, he will, and so will everyone else, so go ahead and cancel your plans now,” Kunikida grumbles when they make it to the cot. He’s bewildered by Dazai’s audacity to say things like that sometimes, but he thinks he’s so disconnected from the reality of it that he just doesn’t understand. “You’re still dizzy.”

He observes that when he lowers him back down to the cot and Dazai’s head bobs a bit, just before he lays him back down. He’s not so pale anymore, thankfully.

“‘S not a big deal,” Dazai says. His head sinks back into the pillow, and he’s relaxed, Kunikida thinks. He’s not as tense as usual.

"Yosano should be back soon," Kunikida tells him. “She texted me earlier.”

"Mm," Dazai hums as his eyes start to fall shut again.

Kunikida lays a hand over Dazai's cheek. He's still warm, but he thinks his fever has gone down a bit. He’s hoping he’ll get the clear to get Dazai to eat something once Yosano is back. Kunikida probably needs to grab breakfast for himself, too.

"What'd I do to you?" Dazai suddenly asks with a dry, one-note laugh, just as soon as Kunikida takes his hand back.

Kunikida feels his ears get hot. "What do you mean?"

"You're more worried than Atsushi is," Dazai tells him with a little chuckle, thoroughly amused. "And you know how hard it is to kill me."

"I'm not worried," Kunikida scoffs. “Just making sure you don’t die. Do you know how annoying that paperwork would be? I have to pick up enough of your slack as it is.”

“Sure, Kunikida, whatever you say,” Dazai giggles to himself, “You love me. You took such good care of me and you’re so worried about me you can barely stand it.”

“Fine,” Kunikida grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. His face is red beyond belief, he’s sure.

“Say it back!” Dazai whines.

“You didn’t say you love me!” Kunikida shouts back at him with a groan. “How do you think this works, you idiot?!”

“But I do,” Dazai claims. His eyes soften, but there’s still a hint of that cheeky grin left on his lips. “I love you, Kunikida.”

He almost sounds sincere. “Fine. Fine, I love you too.”

Dazai looks incredibly accomplished, meanwhile, Kunikida wishes he could duck his head underwater. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Go back to sleep. You’re so annoying,” Kunikida grumbles, “you’re sure not acting like you were poisoned yesterday.”

“Aw, that’s mean, Kunikida. I still don’t feel good,” Dazai whines, and even though he’s just using it as leverage, Kunikida feels guilty, because it’s obvious he doesn’t feel good. “Will you lay with me?”

“Not a chance, Dazai. I’m not risking falling asleep and Yosano walking in,” Kunikida grumbles, rubbing his eyes as he slides his glass up on top of his head. His lack of sleep is starting to catch up with him.

“Aww, please? You’re tired. And I need comfort. It’s a win-win,” Dazai explains, but Kunikida shakes his head at him.

“I can comfort you from here,” Kunikida tells him. He takes his hand and squeezes it a little tighter than normal. He’s so thankful Dazai’s doing better. He’s not sure what he would have done if he took a turn for the worse. “I’ll lay with you tonight when we go home.”

“Your place?” Dazai asks.

“Pretty sure yours is a mess,” Kunikida confirms. He reaches forward to brush his fingers through Dazai’s soft curls, still damp with sweat at the roots. Dazai lets his eyes fall shut. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Mmm…no promises,” Dazai says quietly, and Kunikida squeezes his hand one more time as a reminder. Dazai may not be able to make that promise, but Kunikida will be there with him every time. He leans forward to press a kiss on his warm, flushed cheek.

And of course, despite his efforts to avoid getting caught, he hears Yosano’s voice, already giggling.

“Kunikida?”

#hehehehehe #this one was so fun #also sorry i had to throw in some atsushi angst i like making him suffer for some reason #my poor baby #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #atsushi #dazai #kunikida #junichiro #kunizai #kunikidazai #kunidazai #why they have so many ship names #sickfic #illness #fever #emeto #emetophilia #emetophobia #vomiting #nausea #poison #poisoning #medical trauma #hospital themes #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction

[save-the-villainous-cat]

could I request whump/kidnapping with a prince instead of heroes and villains?

“…did you really think I am interested in political negotiations? With you?” The protagonist circled the clueless prince who was about to make a snarky comment. “You’re not worth my time. Not for the time I invest in politics, at least.”

“I…” He looked at the glass in his hands and with that, the very dark substance he had assumed to be wine. One sip was enough to tell him that this was anything but. However, his brain couldn’t catch up and his thoughts couldn’t figure out how he’d become the victim of an ambush this quickly.

You’re being irrational, his advisors had told him this morning. He had laughed about that lazily.

“Gods…” The insides of his body turned cruelly and he felt the urge to vomit. Sweat broke out on his skin and his pulse decreased to a worrying low. He couldn’t breathe, at least of all think. He wanted to grab the protagonist but failed miserably, falling to the ground as he wheezed.

He didn’t even have enough energy to cry. There was just pain. Pain that blurred his vision and blinded him until he threw up.

“Oleander. I doubt you out of all people would know that. You care more about what you’re wearing than about what they’re growing in your garden.” The prince looked up at the protagonist with bloodshot eyes, one of the little blood capillaries in his eyes had already burst as he had thrown up onto the floor. But all the protagonist did was smile. “Yes, oleander from your gardens, not mine.”

A nasty headache developed and the prince lost enough perception of his surroundings to think he wasn’t even in the protagonist’s castle anymore.

“Little piece of advice?” the protagonist asked. They grabbed the prince’s hair from behind and pulled him up, ignoring the cry that escaped him. “Do not send my messenger’s head back to me.”

They pulled harder on the prince’s hair. He wanted to throw up again. Everything spun around him. Insanity took over and he was quite sure that death was the only way out of this.

“Especially not when I invited you. My wife doesn’t appreciate violence.”

They let the prince fall onto the ground, resulting in his face smashing into the wood. He didn’t have enough time to catch himself. But the crack and more of the excruciating pain knocked the air out of his lungs.

“You want war, kid? I can give you war.” The protagonist’s boot landed on one of the prince’s fingers. Just gently hovering.

“…please—” At this point, the prince could barely speak. He had made a stupid mistake, that he realised now and he was afraid he would pay for it with his life.

“But you don’t really know what war is, do you?” The protagonist balanced his weight and ended up crushing the prince’s finger. The following scream was horrifying and could be heard throughout the entire castle. “You don’t know what it’s like to fight for the ones you love. To see them die because of you.”

The protagonist went on to the next finger and broke it with ease but this time, the prince only wept quietly. It was too overwhelming, too much to perceive. He had been a fool. A child.

“Do me a favour. Try to think next time,” they said. At the end, they called the guards to give the prince the antidote. That didn’t stop them from poisoning the prince over and over again, how many times they wanted with as much poison as they could find.

And that would go on, for as long as the prince was their hostage.

#your honour i love hurting this man I am sorry 🥲 #plot twist the daughter/son of the protagonist falls in love with the prince 🤭 #writing snippet #kingdoms and royalty #prince #protagonist #request #an answer for an ask #whump #lalalalalala okokokokok

[best-wishes]

Don’t Look Back - Part 1: Original Run

CW: Major Character Death, blood and gore, interrogation, drowning, mourning

On the night between the 7th and 8th of June 1589, Hob Gadling got drunk like he never had been in Sir Robert Gadlen's life. In any of the three successive Robert Gadlen's lives, to be exact. Unlike any other previous night of debauchery, though, he did on excellent wine. He had ordered more than twice the amount he needed to get wasted, since he had assumed his patron would drink his share, but no, he had spurned Hob, preferring to spend the night with stupid talentless Will Shaxberd. What did the little punk have that Hob did not? He wasn't even good at writing! At least Hob knew better than to inflict his verses onto anyone.

The twentieth pasty was as delicious as the first one, though Hob had vomited some of them at one point. He felt full and drunk, and mysteriously still empty and enraged. He waved to the waitress to get more wine, and he saw hesitation in her eyes. He probably looked more drunk than he really was. Who cared? He was paying a small fortune for tonight's banquet, they could keep their judgments and serve him.

When he stumbled back to his room, it was after a difficult time of climbing the stairs and finding the right door. He fuddled with the doorknob and cursed the man who had made it, as if his ebriety wasn't the reason he struggled to open it. He finally managed to open it, entered the darkened room, and battled with the mechanism again to lock the door one handed, as his other hand was holding the candle. Then he turned toward the bed and froze.

There was someone in the room. A stranger was lounging on Hob's bed. At first, Hob's drunken brain told him it was a cardinal. They were dressed entirely in red. Then, the other part of Hob's brain caught up, suggesting maybe a cardinal wouldn't wear such suggestive garments. The dress was in a style that Hob had never seen, following closely the shape of the body in a way that was very close to indecent. Though the skirt fell down to the ankles, on each side a long slit went up to the waist, revealing the naked skin of the narrow hips. If the dress was definitely feminine, the body wearing it was a lot more ambiguous, with a flat chest and narrow waist.

"Hello, Hob Gadling," the stranger said.

They were smiling, though it looked more like a cat baring their teeth in front of a mouse.

"How…I am Sir Robert Gadlen. This must be a mistake. Please leave my room immediately."

They chuckled, and made no move.

"I know who you are, Hob Gadling. I've been watching you for centuries. Such a will to live, I couldn't resist."

Hob remained silent. The adrenaline rushing through his body was sobering him up fast. This person, whoever they were, knew about his secret. They were immortal as well. What did they want? Were they here because Hob's other patron had left?

"I know everything about your deal with my sibling, meeting him once a century to tell him about your pitiful human life. But he couldn't even sit and listen, could he? He was always shallow and selfish, only interested more in stories than in the people telling them or living them."

Sibling? Hob was dealing with a being not only immortal, then, but powerful enough to grant immortality… or take it away? He knew enough Greek and Roman mythology to fear being taken between a godly sibling rivalry. These stories never ended well for humans.

"What do you want?" he asked, finding a bit of courage in the ebriety that was leaving him.

"What do I want? That's not the question, is it? The question is what you want. Or rather, what will you want, you see. You wanted to save your only friend, you were ready to give up everything for him. How could I not deliver, when you wanted like that?"

What the hell was this? It was madness. Who were they talking about? Who was Hob's only friend that needed saving?

He was about to ask, but was interrupted. The stranger had gotten up from the bed, and was slowly walking to Hob. Instinctively, Hob backed off step by step until he hit the door. The door that he had locked earlier, not knowing the danger was already inside. Not that a lock would stop a god.

"Unlike my brother, I know how to show appreciation."

The mysterious being drew their hand back, as if preparing a blow. Hob steeled himself, unable to move under the gaze of the two golden eyes.

The blow never came. Instead, the hand passed right through his skin into his chest like a knife in water. It was not painful, though it was incredibly disturbing. The slender fingers moved underneath Hob's ribs and closed around his beating heart. Hob could feel them constrict it with each beat.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Oh, no, Hob Gadling. I'm going to make you live. I'm going to give you every chance to get what you will. Enjoy."

There was something in their other hand. Hob had very little chance to see what it was before it disappeared into his chest. It had looked like the clock dials of the new German clocks, but bizarrely crooked and twisted. Then the cold metal came into direct contact with his beating heart, and Hob lost every thought and word.

The stranger had come closer, their cheek against Hob's and their mouth close to his ear. The position was intimate, but less than having both their hands burrowed inside his ribcage.

Painfully slowly, they pushed the metal apparatus into his heart until Hob felt like the two were, impossibly, occupying the same space. Hob's heart stopped, and Hob felt like it had imploded inside his chest. The cold seized him entirely, and he lost consciousness.

 ---

Hob Gadling died for the first time on the eleventh of November 1621, drowned in a lake.

He’d always thought he’d die by the sword, or most likely shitting himself to death in a ditch, somewhere along his life as a bandit. He had no shortage of possible causes of death, from tavern brawls to pitched battles, from dysentery to pox, from infected wounds to bad head injury. He’d been almost surprised to survive at all, to dodge death again and again with the most insane of luck. Almost, because he had defied Death, once, drunk as a skunk. He had claimed to everyone who would hear that Death was stupid and he would have no part of it. And somehow, Death had heard him, because from that day, Hob had survived every war, every epidemics, every accident thrown his way, until decades slowly turned to century and Hob’s hair remained obstinately brown.

Hob had even met Death twice again. Once in 1489, as agreed one hundred years before when they had struck their deal, and once in 1589, as they renewed their deal. Hob had told them, when the pain had become too unbearable. Described Death’s cold beauty, the thin black and white shape of a man with eyes too deep and smile too sharp. He’d told them Death was no Devil, they had said so. Yes, he made a bargain to gain immortality. No it didn’t involve the lives of his wife and son. He didn’t really know what it involved, except that he had to live forever and speak to Death once every hundred years. After days of never ending pain, and no sign of him dying, he’d told them everything he could think of.

That’s how Hob Gadling ended up chained and attached to a wooden perch, one cold morning of November. Big Humphrey, who was the miller’s son and the strongest man in the neighbourhood, was sitting in a rowboat on the lake and holding the perch above the water, ready to dunk Hob until he was either dead and innocent, or alive and guilty. What they would do, if he emerged alive and guilty, Hob did not dare imagine. Sitting next to Humphrey was Edward, the prosecutor, the man who’d relentlessly murmured question after question in Hob’s ear as Hob cried in pain. Hob didn’t think there was a thing in the world he hated and feared more than his deceptively soft voice, encouraging Hob to damn himself while he transcribed. The same soft voice sounded surreal in the fog, as it ordered Hob to be dunk into the water.

Hob protested. It was a mistake. His mouth was instantly filled with murky water, burning his lungs. Hob tried to cough, only to inhale more of it. The water was icy cold, seizing his muscles as he thrashed to escape his restraints. Hob could not die. It was impossible. He had a deal with Death. How long would it take, for the priest, to deem it enough? Every moment of it was agony.

It didn’t matter. Hob couldn’t die. He would have no part in it. He was over two hundred years old. He felt at peace. He would not die, because it was impossible. He only had to wait. He stopped himself from trying to breathe. He didn’t need to breathe. He was calm.

He was wrong.

#the sandman #fanfiction #centennial husbands #centennial husbands Big Bang 2024 #don't look back