#send help i have scabs everywhere

[fiftiesbbydolldress]

god forbid a girl have a hobby (picking at my skin)

[enpr-ss]

Oh yeah Seiran totally can’t guard you he has a normal job and also is too lowly ranked. And he’s just right there behind another tree.

Oh Kouyuu. The family that schemes together stays together.

Shouka was probably just like Ryuuki internally. 2 steps from murdering Official Wa.

Omg the consort speech was inspired by what she feels Seiran does for her….. and Seiran feels similarly! He stays winning. Rip Ruuuki lol. After all that talk about him doing what Seiran cannot. Romantic tragicomedy. Incredible no notes. And of course Ryuuki wants to beat up those punks, but the timing of the cutscene is suspicious fan service.

Well I wouldn’t say he didn’t make a move throughout that year but yeah excellent advice from Shuuei. It depends on her and him.

I cannot believe they didn’t address the gender doom situation.

Well I get why the anime showed Kouchou sending Shuurei away to avoid her bumping into the Sa official and to keep the tension but surely there was a more subtle way of doing so. Or at least explaining and hinting at complicated politics. But oh well this works too. Because informants and spies are everywhere.

Kouyuu is going to have a heart attack from his narrative foil and cycle of hero worship from Hakumei. The 3 cups and bao are such a cute thing to do. Must be Reishin or Kijin.

CLAN AND MINISTRY POLITICS!!!! Shuurei has a lot of catching up to do.

And giving the royal crest to Seiran? I’m sure he’s having all sorts of normal emotions about this.

Huh is Shuuei spymaster and military general? Interesting division of labor. What’s Kouyuu’s secondary role then? Ah so he’s the interior political maneuverer. And shadow emperor lol.

Eigetsu 🤝 Shuurei: I want lots of money in order to accomplish my goals of helping people. But money.

LOYALTY AND DEVOTION AND PAYBACK!!!! Yes!!!!

There better be a good explanation for why Yougetsu went all creepy like that.

No makeup but she didn’t cry in battle!!! Messaged received about the makeup.

Well I wouldn’t say that she was adequately and equally warned at the beginning but you know she will learn after this. And yeah this post mortem is so much more mature and layered than the previous time shit happened. Truly a way to show how the relationship has progressed. And Shuurei’s remembrance of what promised time means! The mixture of career and romantic priorities. Also was wrangling Seiran into the military really necessary? Or just character growth beyond being Shouka’s foundling? RIP KOUYUU THE MOST BELEAGUERED BUREAUCRAT OF ALL TIME.

If the Hong Clan really was that powerful then wtf was Shouka, Shoukun, and Shuurei doing all quiet like??? Incredible. Also Ran clan scab?? Surely that wouldn’t go well, even if they could actually do it. Inexperienced emperor. Luckily Shuuei knows better.

Omg Official Wa that’s just idiot ball.

I NEED WORLDBUILDING YUKINO SAI!!!! WHAT ARE EACH CLANS IN CHARGE OF??? Wine distribution? Merchantile work? Actually all Civil Affairs??

Huh so Kijin and Reishin had evidence of Official Wa’s corruption this entire time but used Shuurei and Eigetsu to get him out? Ryuuki and Shuuei still have some catching up to do.

ah so a double bluff? he’s the figurehead leader but actually Kurou is. But people now think it’s the other way around. Incredible.

KOUCHOU WITH THE PIVOTAL WORDS OF WOMANHOOD AND MAKE UP AND LIVING IN A MALE-DOMINATED SOCIETY!!!! YES!!!!!!

Also Seiran is so obviously brother and family / support coded that any Seiran/Shuurei accusers look silly (if they even mean it haha). Although Kurou’s intentions about Kouyuu and Shuurei are well, I can’t tell if it’s because of the plot, the nod to patriarchal society, or also a form of fanservice.

REISHIN IS SUCH A PETTY ASSHOLE THIS IS SO FUNNY. WHAT A MENACE. I’m starting to feel a bit of pity for Official Ro. Also is that his wife???

Yep the social and political undertones of the hazing start to come to together. Yes!!!

WAIT THE SECRET SUPPLIER OF SWEETS AND TEA WAS OFFICIAL RO NOT KIJIN???? Where’s his TV trope entry??? Also who’s the third with Reishin and Kijin?? And Reishin being a tsundere drama queen from youth makes so much sense honestly. LOOOOL THE THREAT OF PROMOTING HIM AND MAKING HIM HIS HOUSEHOLD STEWARD. payback for the stables I imagine. I wonder why Official Ro has to be at court for the inquiry. An actual promotion? Or getting rid of the hazing tradition but in a good way? Hmmmm. Reishin is absolutely enjoying this entire saga.

Oh come on “bandits” in the city?? Oh come on stealing the paltry stipends of initiates? “This development is what you would expect from some second-rate fiction novel” LOOOOOOOL THE META! THE LAMPSHADING. OH COME ON THEYRE REFERENCING THE FOUR GREAT BEAUTIES AND WANG ZHAOJUN IN PARTICULAR? Loooool. All the court being like noooo the gay love will entrance me and doom us alll! My poor wife!!! And the panic when the notoriously gay emperor might fall back on his old habits. Peak humor. “Don’t peek” everyone’s going to peek and inadvertently join the Hong labor strike.

Oh the townspeople were like that huh? And now they’re all free to beat up the hired hands because they’re on strike anyways. Incredible. No notes. And what a good way to get Hakumei involved.

THE HEADWRENCH LOL. Gotta get Advisor So and Shou involved because it’s actually a Big Deal and Real Consequences. LOL “TESTIMONY” Pour one out for Yuri Kei. Is that his name? Ugh I’m going to have to go back and check.

REISHIN WAITING FOR THE PERFECT ENTRANCE!!! WHAT A DIVA. MAKING OBVIOUS THREATS AND FLAUNTING LIKE THAT. Wait the Hong clan is that widespread? Huh. “Like me, my clan is extremely difficult to control when angered and is exceptionally vindictive” GO OFF KING. The amber wide eyes of non blinking for intimidation really reminds me of Azula. KOUYUU ARE YOU FINALLY GETTING IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD!!! REISHIN IS DECLARING HIS AFFECTION AND LOYALTY IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE COURT LOL. TODAY IS THE HONG FAMILY AFFAIRS DAY! Rip Eigetsu he’s really just there for the ride. AND THEN HE LITERALLY SNATCHED THE WIG!!!!! THIS WAS WRITTEN BEFORE THE SLANG OMG. ICONIC KING. HOW WAS THE CHILDISH HUMILIATION ACTUALLY A PLOT POINT???? Yukino Sai your mind. Reishin’s the face of a taller elder brother using his height to bully his younger underlings. A satisfied smug snake.

Hakumei is so proud to be useless at fighting.

Huh the previous emperor was the one who instituted meritocracy and the gaokao? Aw man I understand why the inquiry was glossed over but come on I want 2 hours of badass literary rhetoric and philosophy and calculations. Also hell yeah Individual over tokenism of women!!! Feminist fantasy indeed. And her bold career dreams certainly do pose an interesting conundrum to Ryuuki’s feelings yes?

Liveblogging my thoughts about Saiunkoku Monogatari because I have relatively low investment into this story but I know it’s worth it! Heard about it through the Wikipedia entry for apothecary diaries lol.

Okay my expectations weren’t that high and I knew what the general plot and spoilers were going in, and the first episode seemed a bit tropey with obvious plot hooks and character intro narration.

BUT THE SECOND EPISODE CAME IN SWINGING!!! Just subverted my expectations! The emperor isn’t that bad; just inexperienced! And I deeply relate to needing another person to be with me and go through tough things with me that I have been putting off even though I’m nominally capable of them. And she did it with 0 judgement, so much compassion, and a true desire to learn and help!

Also making him do customer service as a pretty boy as his first foray out of the palace IS PEAK HUMOR AND REVENGE LOOOOL.

That trauma dump backstory… holy shit it got real. And I’m disappointed in myself in assuming that Seiran’s angle was to imply a love triangle and not because of the extremely strong familial bonds between him and Shuurei that I literally just spent 2 episodes on, and was the topic of the prior scene. I too have terrible biases rip. He feels for her because of how that terrible time fucked them both up, and having to bare all that just to get the emperor interested in being a good ruler! Regardless of whether there’s a love triangle or not, it shows how important as family they are to each other!!!

Li Kouyuu’s barely suppressed rage towards the emperor on the first visit is also PEAK COMEDY. I feel that SO HARD. The face of a someone who isn’t allowed to beat up their manager.

Ryuuki just needed a study group and friends!! Too bad he literally needed to be assigned one by the elders rip.

Also it’s not like Ryuki actually confirmed that he’s gay, and Shuurei’s whole spiel about supporting him to help the nation as opposed to using this opportunity to become an official (two misconceptions that the wiki / tvtropes left me with, which is on me for having 0 context and assuming things rip) removed a lot of reservations and disappointment about this story for me.

Shuurei’s whole spiel actually!! Ryuuki’s not responsible for the happiness of everyone! People have a choice in their own happiness no matter where they are! But obviously position and power determines a lot too. And sometimes life just happens. BUT MAN MADE PROBLEMS AND SYSTEMS CAN JUST BE UNDONE BY MEN TOO!!!! “You’ll just have to do your best. In exchange, I intend to do my best with you.” Two different meanings! Struggling alongside him, and also making the best of this stupid emperor husband lol. She literally hits all the emotional points of being a life partner, of being a safe space to be vulnerable and imperfect!!! and even lampshades that she’s not an official! She’s not here to be a mother, in childbearing or in nagging!!! Literally understands what being a consort means and is determined to live it out!!!! What a speech!!!! I love it!!! This was the moment that really turned around my expectations of the story.

Also them being like 16 and 19 makes me much more tolerant of their dumb antics lol.

And everyone knew about Ryuuki not being Ran Shuuei this whole time and used it to their advantage lol.

Also dress being a part of job uniform, from military and civil servants all the way to the emperor and the consort!!! Yes!!!!

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

Okay so me and @ vie-138 & @ inhuman-horrors have talked abut blink being a Pyro!

@buncha-angry-kids-with-no-money and @lyssiebiird have got me on Jack, blink, skittery are besties causing trouble train.

Spot protective train

I need your thoughts on who and for how long has been to the refuge cuz I have thoughts!!

hi anon I fell asleep so sorry about that ANYWAYS HCS

pyro blink is so fun actually. constantly nicking lighters, running his fingers through the flames so all the littles think he’s fireproof. burning all the unsold newspapers at the end of the day one by one and making a whole comical ritual out of it to cheer up anyone who sold badly. he experiments constantly with what will and won’t burn, wee plasters everywhere and definitely patched clothes that are a teeny bit singed around the edges. that comforting smoke smell hanging off him (that’s nicer than race’s cigar smell)

bastard trio yes. jack comes up with all the little schemes and plots and is usually the one to bat his eyes and get them out of it with his sweet talking. blink is very good at getting where he shouldn’t be or having what he shouldn’t have and has perfected his innocent face. skittery is the sentry, kicking his feet and minding his own business while sending everyone in the exact wrong direction when they ask where the others are

spot is SO protective in a very quiet way. while jack is a loud, obvious protective, spot is subtle about it. littles getting shit from older kids? wordless look from across the room until they’re left alone. someone’s struggling to sell? they’ll magically find an extra coin or two, hotshot or mack around to help. scaring off scabs and making sure more food goes to those who need it most. spot’s protectiveness is shown entirely through actions and never in a way that draws attention to it but all the brooklyn newsies know it’s there. spot acts like they don’t give a damn but god help you if you mess with one of their newsies

ohhhh anon my refuge thoughts are something. so many of the newsies have been there for one stretch of time or another. sometimes weeks, others months but most of them know what it looks like inside. as for specific characters my thoughts of as follows:

oscar and morris - from 7 and 5 respectively to when they were both 12 (morris having been there two years longer). they were handed over as opposed to sentenced/caught in any way and have a lot of built up anger about it. they knew/saw a lot of newsies while they were there but don’t really made that connection

jack - constantly in and out for short stretches throughout his whole life. the longest was when he was 12 for over a year, the shortest only a fortnight at 14. he hasn’t been since he was 15 by the time canon rolls around because he’s sure going in there again would kill him, and is more determined than he’s ever been to avoid it. he got smarter after he escaped and realised the newsies needed him, so basically wised up

crutchie/y - only once and he won’t talk about it at all, trying to put on a brave face for the others so they don’t worry about him. it was the most difficult two weeks of his life, and he truly believed for a little while that he would die in there

finch - a very short stretch when he was 11 after running away. his parents reclaimed him before he scarpered again but made very sure to avoid it this time around, living on the streets/in parks instead

albert - has never been in himself, but visits the windows on a regular basis because of benji (uksies) at risk of being caught. it gets harder and harder for him too, as security increases with every escape but he’s determined

race - three months when he was 15. tried to escape but fractured his leg and suffered immensely for it, so even if it was a relatively short stretch it it definitely hurt him mentally

skittery - he was very young, only 4 with a group of kids to look out for him. when they left (he doesn’t know why) he was left on his own and struggled a lot to survive. was let out along with a few other less troublesome littles due to severe overcrowding when he was 9

[the-madrigals-bitch]

Can I request som triplets stuff? Like Bruno and Pepa having a discussion about how they hate their gifts but quickly stopping once they see Julieta since they know their sister does so much already and they don't wanna burden her with their problems

Ughh I love the triplets more than I love myself 😭 so this was so much fun to write! Thank you for your request ♡

Also, thanks from the bottom of my heart to everyone who read my Bruno Madrigal x reader imagine. I was absolutely floored and estatic I cried, just a little bit when I saw the responses it got!

Burden

Madrigal triplets

Words: 2.5k

Prompt: Pepa and Bruno discuss hating their gifts

Pretty angsty, but pretty wholesome

--

Bruno was already home when Pepa entered their Casita soaked from head to toe and exhausted from all the crop watering crying she'd done that day. She had just managed to get rid of the bothersome cloud that seemed to follow her everywhere when she noticed the purple bruises and scratches that covered her brothers face and arms.

"Brunito, what happened to you?!" she questioned, rushing over and cupping his face to inspect his wounds closer. Some of them were more gnarly than the others, but one thing was for sure, they were fresh. The scratches hadn't even scabbed over yet and the bruises were an angry purplish-red, the dark grey cloud reappeared over Pepa's head as she glared at her brother.

"Esteban and his friends wanted me to see their futures," he mumbled, not meeting his older sisters angry eyes. "They punched me when I said no...and they kept punching me when I didn't see what they wanted."

Pepa's cloud rumbled and it poured down rain at his confession, she was all too familiar with her little brother coming home distraught because someone was upset with him over visions he couldn't control, but never had it ended in violence. The longer she thought about it the angrier she got and the angrier she got the more her storm grew.

"Pepa!" Bruno yelled to his sister when her wind started blowing chairs around the kitchen with a hideous screech. "Pepa you need to calm down!" the boy covered his ears as the thunder roared for a second time.

"I can't!" she cried, the fear of the very storm she'd created only causing it to grow in intensity. Her hands instinctively came up to stroke her braid in a futile attempt to calm herself.

Bruno watched in horrified and helpless as his sister slipped further and further into her episode, he hated that she was losing it right in front of him and he couldn't do anything to help her. Then he had an idea, he launched himself out of his chair, taking his sister by the wrist and running up to his room.

"Bruno, where are we going?!" The weather wielding girl exclaimed, storm raging impossibly harder when he didn't respond. She felt terrible, she didn't mean to get as worked up as she did, she never did, she just couldn't get a grip on this stupid gift that she'd been cursed with. When her youngest sibling opened his door and pulled her inside he gave her a thumbs up before yelling to her,

"You don't have to hold back in here! Let it out Pepa!"

Her eyes softened and the rain let up for just a second before she shattered, dropping to her knees and letting out the loudest, most heartbreakingly frustrated scream either of them had ever heard. The sand her wind picked up created a dome around the pair that resembled Bruno's vision ritual almost perfectly. The redhead raged unrestrained for minutes on end, the storm she conjured unlike any her brother had ever seen before, clearly a direct result of the years of pent up emotions his sister kept buried deep down inside. A final crack of lighting hit the sand beside Bruno, sending him flying to one side, and Pepa collapsed. She stood mere seconds later and panicked once she'd spotted her brother laid in the sand, fulgurite now where he'd once stood.

"No, no, no!" Pepa screamed, running over to her brothers body. "Bruno!" she collapsed beside him, hands flying up to cover her mouth when she saw the burns on his legs. "I'm sorry Bruno! I didn't mean to." Tears streamed down her face as she threw her head back to scream, "JULIE-"

She was muffled by her brother suddenly rising and clamping his hand over her mouth,

"I'm okay! Don't call Julieta!" he exclaimed.

"Don't call her?! Look at your legs Bruno! You need to treat the burns," she scolded her brother the second his hand left her mouth.

"I will! I have one stashed in my vision cave and I'll get it later! Just... please she already has so much on her plate Pepita, the last thing she should have to worry about is us."

She frowned, nodding in agreement with her brother. Their eldest sister took on far too much for a girl of just 11 years old. She woke up before the sun rose every morning to prepare dozens and dozens of arepas for anyone in Encanto who might need healing. Some people even came to their house at ungodly hours of the night with ailments to be healed, forcing the little girl to wake up and prepare more food. Julieta tried to hide just how tired she from her younger siblings, but Bruno and Pepa knew her better than anyone, they could see the exhaustion in her eyes.

"It isn't fair," Bruno grumbled, voice shaking. "You come home everyday with red puffy eyes Pepa, Julieta never genuinely smiles anymore, we hardly ever spend time together because we're always so tired. Everyone in town hates me, I can't go a day without someone screaming at me for something I don't even want to do! The other kids don't want to play with me because they think I'm a freak and when I do find someone who doesn't hate me it isn't long before their parents scream at me to get away from them," he was freely sobbing now. "Sometimes Mom looks at me like she wishes I'd never been born and she's right! I wish I'd never been born, I hate this stupid gift."

Pepa's eyes glazed over, but she wanted to be strong for her little brother, so she swallowed the lump in her throat and scooted closer to him. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him down to rest on her shoulder, her fingers stroking the hairs on the back of his head.

"You know mama doesn't feel that way Brunito," she spoke softly, trying to soothe her brother. "She loves you, we all do and if I ever hear you say anything like that again I'll slap you so hard that you don't remember your name. You are the best worst little brother anyone could ever ask for and if they can't see that then they can come mierda because-"

"You don't have to pretend like you're not sad just to make me feel better Pepa," Bruno cut her off, causing her eyes to widen as she asked how he knew.  

She felt like an idiot when he pointed up at the drizzling cloud above her head, her fists clenched when it quickly upgraded to a sprinkle. She couldn't even comfort her brother without her gift getting in the way.

"Pepa, uhm, my hair, your fist," he tried to explain, but Pepa was in her own world.

"Do you know how hard it is for your emotions to be on display for the world to see all the time?" she spoke after a moment that felt like ages. "I make myself sad everyday just to keep the town happy. Mama yells at me every time she sees a cloud above my head that she thinks shouldn't be there. My emotions haven't been my own to feel since the day this gift was given to me. I'm only allowed to feel if and when the community needs me too and when they don't, all I'm supposed to feel is happy." Another long pause as she tried to stop herself from crying. "But I'm not happy Bruno."

"Pepa..." he frowned, the hair still trapped in his sisters tight fist forgotten as she spoke.

"I have so much pent up rage and sadness inside, but when I let myself feel it, I hurt people," the rain became heavier as she began to cry. "Look what happened to you because of me," the weather wielding girl looked down at the blistering skin on his legs. "Everyone says that we've been blessed with these amazing powers, but what kind of blessing hurts this much? You hate your gift? Well I'm right beside you because I hate mine too, I'd give anything to be a normal kid again. I'd give anything for all of us to just be regular kids again."

Bruno wrapped his older sister into a tight hug and the siblings sobbed into each others shoulders under the cold rain for what felt like forever,

"Pepa? Brunito? Where are you?" the voice of their oldest sister called. The sound of a Pepa's door closing and the knowledge that she'd be checking his room next sent them into a mad dash to fix themselves. They couldn't let her see them in the state they were in, it would only make her worry, and everyone knew that Julieta Madrigal didn't need anything else to worry about.

"Ow! Pepa my hair!" Bruno cried in pain as his sister jumped to her feet, bringing him up with her, as she still hadn't realized the vice grip she held his hair in.

"Sorry!" the redhead apologized as she let go of his tresses, causing him to fall back onto the sand. "Sorry again."

The middle child stroked her braid frantically, desperately trying to rid herself of the pesky cloud that plagued her existence. For once it worked, the cloud dissipated and the pair plastered the biggest smiles possible on their faces right as Julieta walked in. They had pulled it off. Almost.

"Brunito your face! What happened to your face!? And your leg!"

Oh right. The arepa.

"We we're fighting!" "I fell!" The two younger siblings spoke in unison.

"We we're fighting...because I fell," Bruno spoke, giving his sister a wide innocent smile.

"And your leg?"

"I struck him with lightning!" Pepa confessed, speaking so loudly that she had to stop and adjust her own volume.

"And why would you do that?" the raven haired girl questioned further.

"Because he fell," she answered, mirroring the expression on her brothers face.

Julieta's eyes flickered between the pair suspiciously it was obvious they were lying, but Julieta didn't usually get to come home this early, so she opted not to waste the little time they had to be rambunctious kids by interrogating them. Instead she walked right up to her siblings, stuffed an arepa in her brothers mouth, and wrapped her arms around both of them. The two siblings exchanged confused glances, but soon melted into their older sisters loving embrace.

"Now, do you want to stand here hugging all day or do you want to go play?" the apron clad child asked.

The Madrigal triplets exchanged excited glances before dashing out of their house and into town, eager to be normal kids for just a few hours.

EXTRA

(I couldn't help myself lol)

"I know that you didn't scratch and bruise up Brunito's face," Julieta confronted her younger sister once they'd come back home. "And I know that you know who did."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the redhead feigned ignorance, earning a glare from her sister.

"Pepa." Julieta challenged. "You better tell me."

"I can't Juli, I told Bruno I wouldn't."

"Fine," the older of the two sisters spoke, a devious smirk taking over her features. "Then I'll just tell Felix what it means when you get misty."

Pepa's jaw dropped at her sister's uncharacteristically evil statement,  "You wouldn't."

Julieta didn't respond, she merely slipped her shoes on and walked out the front door. She was bluffing, she had to be bluffing...right? She would never do that to her little sister....right?Pepa tried to stand her ground, but when Julieta didn't come back inside minutes later, she sprinted out the front door after her sister. It didn't take long to find her though, she stood right outside the front door, smiling triumphantly.

"I knew you'd make the right choice Pepita," she praised, pinching at her little sister's cheeks. "Now show me who did that to him."

The pair of sisters walked to the soccer field, immediately spotting Esteban and his group of miscreants.

"Hey!" Julieta yelled as they approached.  "Did you beat up my brother?'

The obnoxious boy smirked, "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Either way your brothers a freak who likes to hand out bad visions, he had it coming."

"He is not a freak, malcriado, but if you promise to come home with me and apologize, I'll forget you said that."

"Hear that guys? Julieta Madrigal is trying to take me home with her," Esteban teased, eliciting laughs from his group of friends. "I'll definitely go home with you chula, but not to apologize to that abomination you call family," he stood, closing the gap between them and grabbing the older Madrigal sisters wrist, pulling her towards himself.

"Don't touch her!" Pepa yelled, a dark cloud complete with thunder and lighting materializing over her head as she pushed the boy off of her sister.

"You must be the irrelevant sister, perra is it?" He and his friends erupted with laughter again and that was the last straw.

Pepa leaped onto the boy, tackling him to the ground and punching him anywhere she could.

"Don't punch you punch ever punch talk about my siblings like that again, you ass! punch punch punch."

"Get off of me you freak! Dont just stand there idiots! Get this crazy bitch off of me!" He commanded his friends, struggling to fight the angry redhead off.

Pepa didn't say a word as they approached, she just looked up at them with a face that would haunt their nightmares, lighting striking right in front of them. They ran off screaming as Pepa continued her assault on their friend, but eventually Julieta stepped in and pulled her sister off of the boy.

"Enough Pepa," she said calmly. "Are you alright Esteban?" She asked the boy, extending a hand out to him, much to Pepa's horror.

"Of course I am," he scoffed once he'd got back onto his feet. "As if I'd ever let a girl beat me up."

"I just did imbecil," she mumbled, arms crossed in front of her chest.

"We could still work this out civilly if you apologize. To both Pepa and Bruno, " Julieta tried to compromise.

"After what your crazy ass sister just did to me? Fat fucking chance."

"Fine," the oldest Madrigal child spoke, eerily calm. "Then you leave me no choice."

"What are you talk-" he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before the Julieta's fist connected with his jaw, sending him backwards and onto his back.

He laid there, eyes closed, Julieta had knocked him out cold with just one punch. Pepa looked to her sister, a prideful grin plastered onto her face, despite the fear she felt towards her older sibling. The raven haired girl fixed her hair before pulling an arepa from her apron pocket and dropping it into the dirt beside him. She then turned to Pepa, took her by the hand, and walked back home.

Needless to say, those boys never messed with their little brother again.

--

Ending it with two badass sisters who get back their brothers bullies just felt right. I hope you enjoyed reading! Have a good day/night! ♡

[carpsurprise]

Do you have any headcannons on what the bachelors we like getting their first tattoos, (if they get any at all) please and thankyou! 💞❣

yupyup!! sorry it took a while hehe but thank u for sending a req in!! <3

alex:

-omg i can def see him with them and not having them. def something on his bicep/shoulder area he just screams that energy. definitely on the fence about him having them. my gut says they stereotypical tribal shoulder to chest piece but i like alex enough to not torture him </3

-i think he had no problem getting the tattoo in terms of pain and was talkative w/ the artist!! depending on the tat artist he might have even been a bit TOO obnoxious but overall i think he was still and easy to work with!!

-haley had to keep reminding him to aftercare it though. alex kept forgetting and haley knows better than to leave him to his own devices. that thing would be infected/peeling/scabbing just bc i think alex would be too focused on how cool it looks

elliott:

-mmmm i am leaning more towards no… but if he does…. TWO. at most. but sleeve elliott may also be a beautiful thought in my head. i can’t decide oh god, but im sure he talked his tattoo artists EAR off while getting done. half as a way to distract himself physically and mentally bc im sure he regretted it the second the tattoo gun hit his skin (until after and he got used to it on his body hehe)

-but v simple!! def something symbolic but even like those really cool moth tattoos?? i don’t put it past him. cow or deer skull? w/ horns? mmm i love it. def something like that with something like a book quote elsewhere! like hmmmm the quote on his inner shin and the other whatever on his ribs or so?

-i don’t think he’d have any on his arms tho!! aside from sleeve hc i just threw out sdlkfdlk but like in general!! the writing would be smth like that would peek out when he wears his high waters <3

harvey:

-ok gonna ride on no tattoos realistically but tattoos and harvey is also a good thought. but yeah i'm gonna teeter to no tat harvey.

-i think the pain would be a good deterrent, even if it wouldn’t actually be that bad for him. although he is a doctor i DO also think he is a weenie. like if he had seen someone bleeding from a tattoo… why put urself in that position on purpose?

-but with that being said if someone is going to get a tattoo he will help them take care of it when it's healing. he’s got all the aquaphor in the world. he just wants to make sure it’s clean and kept good. 

sam:

-i don’t think he’s TATTED up but i def think he's got a good 7-8 kinda spread out everywhere. some on his arms, legs, chest/ribs. some of them have some meaning to him or music… others were just for fun!!

-ummm patchwork style tattoos! and i think he’d def want more just bc they’re such a good way to express urself!! the first one and the second one gave jodi a heart attack but after that it just turned into an exhale through the nose

-i think for his first tattoo he was kinda jittery and definitely trying not to jerk around but the pain was not something he had expected. it wasn’t unbearable but for how long? yeouch. but after that he was like hmmm this is not so bad. definitely didn’t eat beforehand though. he makes that mistake everytime

sebastian:

-mmmm definitely Up There. i think he is the stick and poke KING like he has a million all from abigail. i think the fanon is abby is doing art school online and i stick towards tattoo artistry for her!! but def when they were younger i think seb had no issue being a test run for her

-but i think him and sam have a similar tattoo style!! i think he’d stick with stylized stuff like skulls w/ cigarettes, horror themed, maybe a frog in there… just like generally spooky stuff. spider webs...

-with him and coding i think he’d make a good bit more than sam and can afford a lot more!! like sam i am sure he’d also be v laidback and have no issues getting tattooed. even his first one (i bet he travelled to get it done underage), it was like nothing to him!!

shane:

-ok controversial take: sleeve shane. or shane with like a leg COVERED. like i think the man is tatted up. once again, like seb, probably not too bad getting his first tattoo. i feel like shane’s first tattoo was probably on a super painful spot

-like. he went into it like yeah it won’t be too bad getting it on a super painful spot and then. god. did he regret that. like full intricate tattoo on a bone… it’s not fun. his leg may have jerked once. and ofc he felt bad when the artist was like :/ don’t do that

-mmm i think most of those tattoos are from friends in college or at parties/bars!! a lot of non-sober ideas and tats on him. some of them make him said to think about… like friends from college he no longer talks to etc!!! but also like… some make him happy tho!! good memories

[streetlight11]

Stay With Me

Summary: She suffered from a trauma after she witnessed the death of her parents at a young age. Luckily, she had a best friend who was there for her ever since that tragic incident. Both of them had feelings for each other deep down but never told anyone. One unfortunate night, when a fresh accident happened right in front of their eyes, her trauma came seeping back in but he was there to comfort her. She could never imagine her life without him.

Theme: College au, childhood friends to lovers

Warning: mentions of accidents, blood, death

Genre: Fluff, sad 

WC: 2.6k

Pairing: Ji Changmin x Reader

a/n: just a heads up, the words in italics are flashbacks :)

~12 years ago~

“Mom, dad! Please wake up! Please!” Y/N said, crawling towards her parents who were sprawled on the road with bloody cuts and scabs everywhere on their body.

A bystander called the ambulance while some of them helped carry her parents off to the sidewalk. Not long after, the ambulance came but they didn’t manage to rescue her dad in time. He passed away from the hard impact. Her mom managed to be transferred into the vehicle.

But she didn’t make it halfway through.

She was left all alone as the paramedics comforted her, telling her to breathe. She was only 11. Hence, the reason why she was traumatized by that incident.

It was a bright Wednesday morning, she had just finished getting ready to leave her apartment to head to campus. She wore a simple white shirt tucked into her high waist plaid skirt with a pair of Nike sneakers. She made it to campus with her backpack hanging off one side of her shoulder while she carried a few books in her hand to avoid putting heavy weight in her backpack.

She was just making her way down the hall, her Bluetooth earplugs were in her ears. She was listening to her music when somebody tapped her shoulder. She turned around to see a guy from her Psychology class. If she remembered correctly, his name was Jisung.

“Hey, I think you dropped this.” He said, handing her the keychain from her bag.

She took the charm from him not forgetting to thank him before flashing him a smile. Jisung did the same. Taking slow steps backwards until she finally turned back around to continue walking. He rushed back to his friends, only for them to nudge his side teasingly.

“Dude! She smiled at you! That’s a good start.” Hyunjin said.

“Yeah, try talking to her next time. She’ll definitely talk to you more.” Minho said, making Jisung stare at her descending back.

“Maybe I will…” Jisung thought to himself and soon went off to class.

A few hours later, Y/N was just leaving school when a familiar jock from the soccer team stops dead in her tracks, making her halt in her tracks.

“Hey, I have free tickets to see the new movie this weekend. Wanna go together?” Juyeon asked.

“I already made plans. Sorry.” She rejected him nicely before proceeding to walk around him to leave. She was just making her way to her car when someone blocked her door by holding it down. She looked up, ready to curse whoever it was but her words got stuck when she met the eyes of her best friend.

“I was this close to cursing your ass, Changmin.” Y/N said scrunching her nose. She made a pinching gesture with her fingers to show him she was running out of patience. 

Changmin laughed when he leaned against her driver seat door, only to look down at her with a wide smile. “Are you free this weekend?” He asked.

“Mm, probably.”

“But you just told Juyeon you had plans.” Changmin began to smirk.

“You know I give white lies to those guys who try to take me on dates.”

“But you don’t turn me down when I ask you out?”

“That’s because you’re my best friend.”

“Ouch, am I being friend zoned already?” Changmin faked a sad frown.

“Wha- What are you talking about? Of course not.”

“Ugh! Y/N…”

“Changmin…” His frown was soon turned into a bright smile, leaning forward to playfully boop her nose with his own. She couldn’t help but giggle when he did that.

“Should we go out this weekend?” He asked.

“Where to?”

“We can check out that new haunted house for this year’s Halloween.”

“You just want to see me suffer don’t you?”

“Maybe just a little.”

“You ass.” Changmin giggled before pushing himself off her car, only for her to slap his torso playfully.

“I’ll text you once I’m home. Be careful.” She said while Changmin began to walk towards his sports bike across the parking lot. While all of this was happening, someone witnessed this from one of the bikes parked in the lot.

It was Jisung.

That weekend, Changmin came over to her apartment to fetch her but he was an hour early. Hence, the reason why he was now just casually sitting in her bed while he picked out her outfit. After what felt like forever, he finally chose for her a simple denim skinny ripped jeans, a black sleeveless fitting top and a khaki green bomber jacket.

As for the shoes, she chose to wear a simple pair of converse high tops. Changmin was just sitting in her living room while she got dressed, only for him to receive a call from Juyeon, who happened to also be his friend.

“Hey Min! Wanna hang out today?”

“Sorry Ju, I have plans today.”

“Aww man. Who are you meeting?”

Changmin was so close to saying her name when he stopped himself abruptly. “Uhh, s-someone…”

“Ooh! Are you going on a date?”

“H-Huh? No, absolutely not. She’s just a friend.”

“Don’t take too long brother, or else someone might just steal her away.” Juyeon said. Changmin could literally hear his friend smile on the other line. Just then, Changmin heard her bedroom door unlock so he quickly said goodbye to his friend.

“Alright man, I gotta go. Bye.”

“Bye bro, good luck.” Juyeon teased before proceeding to hang up, making Changmin shake his head slightly. 

The both of them soon left only for them to take Changmin’s bike instead of her car since it’s slightly easier to find a parking spot later. They went to get a light dinner first before heading to the theme park that was decked out with scary decorations and they even had new haunted houses for this year’s Halloween season.

The two of them were just walking around with the crowd. People were diligently running away from killer clowns and also scary looking masked actors.

She flinched quite a few times as she often grabbed his arm for comfort.

Just when she was talking to Changmin, a killer clown came charging right at her. She flinched, immediately grabbing Changmin’s shirt to bury herself in his chest. He couldn’t help but laugh, wrapping his arms around her body while the clown tried to scare her by putting the chainsaw right beside her ear.

Changmin could feel his heart race in his chest as she rested her arms firmly on his torso.

“Is he gone?” She whispered, terrifyingly.

“Yeah.”

Y/N carefully opened one eye, peaking past her shoulder, only to come face to face with the scary clown, making her let out a soft squeak. She pushed the clown away by his shoulders.

“Leave me alone!” She whined while Changmin was still hugging her. The clown laughed menacingly at her. Starting up his chainsaw again, making her flinch.

“Ugh! You little-” She almost cursed out of annoyance but the clown ran away to scare other people.

“I think you scared him more than he scared you.” Changmin teased while laughing at her.

“Oh shut up.” 

She said with a sad pout on her face in which he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter. They were now entering a queue to go to one of the new haunted houses when a familiar voice called out her name from behind her. She turned around, only to see Jisung with his friends, approaching the queue they were in. 

She soon found herself smiling and waving at him who mimicked her expression the minute he came to a stop behind her in line.

“Is this your first house?” Jisung asked, shaking her head saying it was already her forth. Just then, Jisung’s eyes travelled towards Changmin who was standing beside her. Who then turned to see who Y/N was talking to. Changmin gave him a soft smile, making Jisung return the gesture.

“Ahh, I’m sorry to disrupt anything. I’ll leave you with your boyfriend.” Jisung said only to awkwardly smile at her, about to turn back around. That’s when Changmin spoke up to clear things up.

“Uhh, it’s fine, she’s-” But she seemed to cut him off.

“It’s okay, my boyfriend’s fine with it.”

With that, Changmin froze as Jisung’s eyes kept going back and forth between Y/N and Changmin. Y/N continued talking to Jisung but she sneakily played with Changmin’s fingers, making his heart race in his chest.

At this point, Jisung wasn’t jealous, nor was he upset that he didn’t get a chance to bring her out on a date because he feels that she is much better off with Changmin. After they were finished with that house, they gathered at the exit, only for Y/N to smile at Jisung and his friends.

“That was scary, I almost slapped someone in there.” Hyunjin confessed, making them all laugh.

“I wouldn’t wanna be that someone.” Jisung said.

Y/N laughed, turning to Jisung and rested her hand on his arm for a few seconds while she spoke.

“Alright, I’ll leave you guys to enjoy the rest of the night. See you in school.” She said, making the guys bid their goodbyes and soon walked the other way. After they left, she knew exactly what Changmin was gonna talk about so she quickly changed the topic by pointing to a snack cart and dragged Changmin to it.

They spent the next few hours with her screaming and whining while he laughs at her for being scared every time.

It was getting late and she was already tired so he decided to send her home. On their way back, they were at a cross junction when he removed his hands from the handlebar only to lean back into a sitting posture. They were both quiet as she rested her hands on his back, carefully sliding them around his waist.

Changmin found himself smiling at nobody. He glanced over his shoulder a little to look at her through his full face helmet. However, that cute moment was soon interrupted when a loud tyre screeching sound was heard from the other side of the junction.

Both of them whipped their head over to the left, that’s when they saw a lorry crashing into a car that soon overturned from the impact.

She gasped when she saw the driver of the car weakly crawled out of the overturned vehicle, his head and hands were bleeding. The lights turned green but Changmin quickly swerved towards the right to stop by the side to get down and help.

A few other passer-by's stopped their vehicles only for them to rush over to the scene.

The lorry driver got off, he even tried to run away drunkenly but some bystanders managed to chase him down. Changmin gently led the car driver to the side while a lady called the ambulance.

Just then, the man pointed shakily to the car as he said.

“M-My… My w-wife… P-Ple-Please h-help he-her.”

With that, Y/N and two more bystanders rushed to the car and they saw the woman hanging upside down from her seat. Her seatbelt was still intact but her head was bleeding. Red crimson blood dripping down her arms and head.

This alone made Y/N’s breath start to get choppy. She made slow steps backwards. Changmin turned around just in time to see her collapse to the ground in a state of shock, sitting there motionless. He rushed to her, cupping her face worriedly.

“Y/N? Y/N, are you okay?” Changmin asked but he knew her mind wasn’t there currently.

With that being said, Changmin carefully lifted her up to bring her towards the sidewalk. He sat beside her with one arm around her waist while the other gently caressing her head comfortingly.

After the ambulance came, Y/N was still shaking in his arms when they watched the paramedics bring both the victims into the vehicle.

Changmin turned to Y/N and softly whispered.

“Are you okay? Let’s get you home. Come on.” He said gently to her. She stood up but her knees were weak from the trauma.

Changmin sends her home safely and he even offered to accompany her for a while before heading home. However, instead of her wanting to shower straight away, she pulled him down on the couch as they sat there side by side quietly for a bit.

“It triggered your past didn’t it?” He asked cautiously, making her nod.

Changmin sighed because he already knew what it was. With that being said, he pulled her into a hug with her willingly accepting it without a single doubt. She buried her face into his neck as he gently caressed her back soothingly.

The room fell silent and all they could hear was their calm breathing. Just then, Changmin pulled away slightly, only to press a firm kiss against her temple. Her heart stopped beating for a millisecond, feeling her whole body freeze. Changmin smiled softly while he drew lazy patterns into her back, that’s when she spoke up.

“Can you stay with me? Please? I’m scared… I already lost the people I love so much. I don’t want to lose anyone else. Especially you.” She whispered softly against his shoulder. He heard every single word clearly.

With that being said, he carefully pulled her away from him. He stared into her glossy eyes that were filled with tears, threatening to roll down her cheeks. He gently cups her face as he wipes her fallen tears with his thumbs. Changmin couldn’t bear to see her heartbroken, it pained him to see her like this. So the only way to make her happy again is to fulfil her wishes, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“I’ll stay with you. I promise I’ll never leave you.” He said, reassuring her as he stared deep into her eyes.

She could almost feel her heart escaping her chest as she gently held onto his wrists. Changmin smiles at her softly, wiping her tears with his sweater sleeves. She leans into his hand and he couldn’t help but smile at her.

Just then, he felt like it was something he needed to do. He wanted to seal his promise. With that being said, Changmin leaned in, only to kiss her on the lips softly. Her heart stops beating momentarily as she felt like she was on cloud9.

Her anxiety and trauma from the accident earlier was already gone. Instead, it got replaced by adrenaline and love. She slides her hands up his chest, running her fingers through his hair. Changmin smiled against her lips only to deepen the kiss further. Changmin tugged on her waist, pulling her onto his lap.

She cups his neck while his hands are resting on her thighs making her shy. She pulled away, only for her to say softly.

“The actual reason why I always turn those guys down is because I was hoping you’d ask me out on a proper date. But I guess we could call today our first date.” She said, making him chuckle as he licked her bottom lip and kissed her but soon pulled away.

“No it doesn’t. Let’s go on a real date. I’ll properly ask you out this time.” Changmin confessed, making her giggle. He captured her in a kiss, making her melt against his touch.

Changmin spent the night with her. He showered her with so much love, filling in the amount that she has been missing out all throughout her childhood. 

She couldn’t ask for a much better friend and partner. She woke up the next morning to him playing with her hair in bed as she was snuggled against his warm, cosy chest. He gave her good morning kisses and did that for the rest of the day, making her laugh. She definitely wouldn’t want to lose anybody else that’s in her life. Especially not Changmin.

[thatshiscigar]

Graveyard

JJ Maybank x Reader

Request by Anon: would you be open to doing a really angsty jj fic (maybe like what happens after s1 ends?) to graveyard by halsey

Warnings: drugs, alcohol, swearing, mention of death, grieving, drunk driving

Word Count: 2.5k+

Masterlist

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[GIF CREDS TO OWNER]

“Did you find them?”

“No.”

“So they got away.”

“We, uh, we lost them. I’m sorry.”

“You lost them? What do you mean you lost them? Like, like they’re gone? What are you talking about?”

“They took an open boat into a tropical depression, Pope.”

“So they’re dead?”

“We don’t know.”

“You drove them straight through the storm, man. Are you kidding me?! Come here man! I’m gonna kill you!”

“JJ, stop!”

“He didn’t kill anyone, and you know it!”

“We’re still looking for them, alright?”

-

You knew nothing was ever going to be the same after that night. There was no way any of you guys were going to be okay for a long time. The Pogues didn’t know how to be around each other anymore without their leader, so you all just went your separate ways for a bit. You knew Kie and Pope were going to be okay, they had their family to lean on. But JJ, he had no one looking out for him anymore. He was going to be fighting this alone. It made you sick to your stomach.

You left JJ alone for about a week, as to not overbear him, but also so that you could heal. You knew it was going to take more time than that to fully move on, but it was the least you could do for yourself before worrying about JJ.

You drove to the Chateau, knowing that’s where he would be, with tears streaming down your face, all the good memories you had there playing out in your mind. All the parties, sleepovers, mornings on the marsh making your chest heavy with sobs. You didn’t realize how hard you were crying till you pulled up to shack. You parked and took some tissues you had stored in the glove box out and wiped your eyes and nose. You took a minute to collect your thoughts, wanting to put on a brave face for JJ.

When you walked through the door, the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat overwhelmed your senses, making you slightly gag. There were cigarettes, blunts and bottles littered everywhere, and broken glass scattered on the floor in the kitchen. You quietly moved through the house, calling his name softly, getting anxious when you got no response. You checked every room, and he was no where to be found. You decided to call his phone, but you cursed when you heard his ringtone coming from the spare room. You paced in the hallway, not sure of what to do. There was no way JJ was sober right now, not with all the evidence laying around. He was never good in emotion situations either. The combination of the two could only ensure extreme emotions, either sadness or anger.

You had no idea where he could be right now. The only other option was his dad’s house, and there was no way he was going to go back there after standing up to him like that. At least not for a while.

You decided you would wait up for him. You would stay in the Chateau till he got back. You needed to make sure he knew he had someone to lean on. You couldn’t just let him drink and smoke himself out of grieving.

You sat down on the couch to try and organize your thoughts. Your eyes filled with tears once again as you looked over the shack. Too many memories were wrapped in these walls. You walked up to the dresser and picked up a photo. It was a picture of you, John B, and JJ at your sixth grade graduation. You guys were so young and naïve, no worries about what life would bring you as you got older. No worries about which one of you would be gone by the time you were 17. You sat back down on the couch, clutching the frame. Your mind wanted you to cry again, but your body wouldn’t let you. You had nothing left in you. You were numb.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when the front door swung open, revealing a much disheveled JJ, holding a bag full of liquor bottles. You stood up from the couch as he stared at you, almost in awe.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he croaked, tears welling in his eyes. He rushed towards the kitchen, trying to put distance between the two of you. You heard the glass crack under his boots. He was still wearing the same clothes as he did that day.

“JJ,” you breathlessly, glad to finally have the boy in your sights. He turned his back to you, his hands leaning on the counter in front of him. You heard his breath get heavy, his back rising up and down. He slammed his fists down.

“You shouldn’t be here!” He yelled, making you jump.

“Why not?” You questioned softly.

“What?” He whipped around.

“Why shouldn’t I be here, JJ?” You slowly started to walk towards the kitchen. He looked at you with a hard face, tears falling. His anger was being taken over by his sadness. You parked yourself in front of him, still waiting for an answer.

“Just go, Y/N,” he mumbled. You slowly moved to wrap your arms around his torso. You rested your head on his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. He didn’t hug you back.

-

It had been a few days since you started to stay at the Chateau with JJ, and he had only dig himself deeper. You tried to help, but he just brushed you off. He didn’t even want your touch anymore. He shrugged off your hands, and moved away from your hugs, locking himself in the spare room he had claimed as his.

One of the only things you could do to keep yourself occupied was clean up. You started by sweeping up the glass JJ had added to the decor, then you picked up the bottles littered everywhere, not all of them from JJ. Some were still leftover from the weeks before. You had been sleeping on the pullout, so you threw those sheets and blankets into the washer, along with some of your clothes. While the washer was running, you decided to do some Iight dusting. You picked up the feather duster and used a light hand on the many picture frames and the wall decor, ridding them of their impurities. During your cleaning, you came across a picture of John B and JJ. They couldn’t have been older than eight years old. They were precious. Their messy hair, dirty faces, and scabbed knees made you wonder what trouble or adventure they had gotten themselves into that day.

You heard JJ’s door open, and looked up from the photo. You locked eyes with him only for a second, before he hurried into the bathroom. The washer had only been running for a few minutes, so you decided to go get his sheets and throw them in there with yours. It had been who knows how long since they were washed. The smell of weed hit you in the face as soon as you stepped in his room. You were stripping his bed when he walked in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked harshly.

“I’m washing your sheets,” you replied. You hurried a bit, his sharp tone not helping you feel any comfort.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he grumbled.

“I’m just trying to do something nice, JJ.” You finished getting the sheets off his bed, coming face to face with him.

“You want to do something nice, Y/N?” He asked rhetorically.

“Leave.” You pushed past him, going to the washer. He followed you out. You stopped the current cycle, put in his sheets, and started a new one.

“Why are you even still here?” He asked through a bitter laugh.

“Because I care about you.” You answered blankly as you shut the washer, making eye contact with him. It caught him off guard. His eyes widened in fear. Someone was caring about him? Hell no. He wasn’t going to let you get close, then have you leave. He’s been through this too many times before to fall for it again.

“Whatever,” he scoffed as he went back into his room, slamming the door behind him. You leaned against the washer for a moment, rubbing your temples, and pinching the bridge of your nose. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, it was a text from Kiara. She asked if you wanted to meet at The Wreck for lunch. You texted back, saying you would be there in about ten minutes. You grabbed your wallet and headed for the door. You felt it nagging at you, so you decided to go knock on JJ’s door, letting him know.

“JJ,” you said as you lightly rapped at his door.

“I’m not going,” he projected back, just loud enough for you to hear. Kie had texted him as well.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself. You walked out the door and got into your car, igniting the engine and making your way to The Wreck.

“Hey, Y/N,” Kie said, welcoming you into the restaurant. She pulled you into a hug, a tight one. It was much needed after all JJ was putting you through. She held onto your hand as she guided you to the table, Pope already sitting there. He got up once he saw you, giving you a hug as well. You guys sat down and caught up, enjoying your time together. It felt weird, but you all needed it. After much talking, eating, and little crying, Kie spoke up

“I tried to contact JJ,” she started.

“But he just left he on read.” You realized they didn’t know about your situation for the last couple days.

“Yeah, um, I’ve been staying at the Chateau with him for the past few days, and uh, he’s a mess,” you said, you eyes set on the table in front of you.

“I mean, he won’t eat, he just drinks and smokes, he locks himself in his room, and he’s like, extremely hostile.”

“Y/N,” Kie soothed. She reached across the table to grab your hand.

“You could’ve told us, we could’ve helped.” Her voice was soft, something you’d been missing over the last few days.

“He doesn’t even want me there, I didn’t want to drag you guys into it as well. I’m just there to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” You offered a small smile, hoping they’d understand. They returned your smile, nodding to each other.

“Yeah, totally,” Pope said, offering condolences.

After a while, you all decided it was time time to go. You got a box of food to take home to JJ, not wanting him to drink his dinner tonight. You thanked Kie and hugged her goodbye, then hugged Pope.

“Take care of him, yeah?” He whispered to you.

“Yeah, I will,” you whispered back, tightening your embrace. You extended your goodbyes from the door as you walked out, heading back to your car.

-

You arrived at the shack, and were half way to the door when you heard a motor roaring down the road. You turned to the sound, and saw JJ pulling up on his motor bike. He parked and swung his leg over, stumbling as he did so. He struggled to regain his balance. Your eyes went wide. You dropped the bag containing his food on the ground.

“Are you drunk right now!?” You yelled, stomping up to him. He whipped his head towards you, not noticing you before.

“JJ Maybank, were you drunk driving!?” You were furious at him.

“So? What if I was?” He scoffed, his words slurring. His breath reeked of alcohol, and you heard more bottles clinking in his backpack.

“You know what,” you started as he walked away from you.

“I’m not gonna let you do this anymore.” He turned back to you.

“Not gonna let me do what?” He boomed, raising his hands defensively.

“I’m not gonna let you shut me out and drink yourself to death, JJ! You can’t keep doing this to yourself, and if you hate me for stopping you, I don’t give a shit! I mean, you could’ve died!” You motioned to his bike, his face softening at the action.

“And I can’t lose you too.”

Your words broke JJ. He finally realized what he was doing to you. He felt selfish for making you take care of him, when he should’ve been there for you too. You both lost John B, not just him.

He took off his backpack, and dropped it on the ground. He’s doing it, you thought. You felt tears well up, from frustration, sadness, relief, or anger, you couldn’t tell.

You gasped for air, sobs wracking through your body, your body finally catching up to your mind in your emotional needs. JJ walked up to you, tears streaming down his face as well. You couldn’t felt but feel a little fear as he stalked up to you, but all your worries melted when he opened his arms, his bottom lip quivering. You quickly took him in, your heads resting on each other’s shoulders as you both sobbed, letting everything out.

“I’m sorry,” JJ bawled. He grabbed at the back of your shirt, making little balls into his fists. He held you tighter as he cried.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you kept repeating, to yourself and to JJ. You were falling apart, but you wanted to stay strong. JJ needed you for a long time, and he was finally letting you in. You weren’t gonna do anything to jeopardize it, even if it meant putting off your emotions.

After a while of crying into each other, you both were both exhausted, but neither of you wanted to let go.

“Y’know, we’re gonna do this together,” JJ stated.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not gonna let you shut me out either,” he started.

“I know you haven’t been... dealing with this, and all, you’ve been to busy putting up with my bullshit.” He pulled back to look at you.

“I’m here for you too, you’re not just here for me.” You smiled at his kind words. You missed this side of JJ. The sweet, caring, “Let me take care of you” side.

“We gotta make it a team effort, y’know?” He put his head back into your shoulder, his hands trailing up and down your sides.

“Yeah, a team effort.”

Grieving was an uphill battle for the both of you. There were hard days at first, but good days overpowered the bad days as time went on. Sure, bad days came out of nowhere sometimes, but you knew how to take care of each other. You guys reconnected with Pope and Kie again, enjoying every seemingly fleeting minute with them. You saw them almost everyday, whether it was surfing, going to the pier, or anything else you guys used to do. Though it would be hard, you all would have to get along without John B in your lives. Your little family was broken, but it was healing, one day at a time.

Taglist: @supremestarkey @lovelymaybankk @blueeyedbesson @whormotional @classywaves @sexytholland @danaerekat @em753 @babyhoneystvles @angelic-boca @milked-down-coffee @dolanfivsosxox @sunwardsss @leekah @family-buisnes

[honey-dewey]

Scarborough Fair

Pairing: Max Phillips/Centaur Reader

Word Count: 2,463

Warnings: Reader was stabbed in the leg, but there’s no long description of injury. One use of (F/N)

When Max went hunting, the last thing he expected to find was an injured centaur. And yet, it happened. Of course, Max, with his heart of gold, decided to rescue and rehabilitate the centaur. I’m sure he can’t fuck that up, right?

The night was young, a perfect full moon suspended behind light cloud cover and a nice breeze cooling the overly warm summer day. Max wandered aimlessly, hands in his pockets as he strolled through a hiking path, searching halfheartedly for a meal. At this point, he’d take what he could get, his stomach growling slightly as he thought about the cotton-y feeling in his mouth. He needed to eat. 

A rustling in the distance alerted him, causing him to look up. Faint speaking, maybe two voices, piqued his interest. He tuned his ears in that direction, trying to pick up distinct words. 

Before he could, the smell hit him. The powerful tang of horse blood sent his senses haywire, and he honed in on the smell, slowly heading down the path towards the meal, his intent to hear the voices completely forgotten

As he drew closer, the talking got more distinct, until he slowed, almost stopping completely to listen to the voice singing. It snapped him out of his crazed hunting, the bloodlust fading as he listened. 

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.”

Max stopped, frozen between two trees on the border of a clearing, lush with ferns and other greenery. Settled next to a log, emitting the smell of blood, was a centaur, singing the enchanting song. 

“Remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine.” 

Still frozen, Max watched the centaur whip around to face a squirrel who had rustled the undergrowth, the singing fading with a fearful squeak. He tried to slip away, noiseless, but the centaur caught him, wide eyes turning to trap him where he was. 

Max cleared his throat, trying to take the edge off the nerves building in his stomach. “Are you okay?”

The centaur flinched away, a yelp of pain escaping them. Max took a step forward, causing the centaur to move back, dragging a clearly injured leg. 

“I just want to help,” Max promised, holding his hands out, near his shoulders so they knew he was unarmed. “Your leg, what happened?” 

The centaur eyed him nervously before slowly extending their injured leg. Max smiled, kneeling down and slowly tracing across the wound, a stab mark. It was deep, but hadn’t been made with anything horribly large. Maybe a pocket knife? Whatever it was, Max could smell the metal, so it hadn’t been wood. He looked around, trying to find something to stop the active bleeding. 

“Do you have any fabric?” He asked, looking at the centaur.

They nodded, digging around in a small leather bag on their hip and handing him a roll of linen. Max took the roll, slowly wrapping it tightly across the wound. 

“Done!” He said, sitting back and smiling. “Are you gonna be okay?” 

The centaur nodded, using a nearby tree to wobble to their hooves, immediately falling back down when they put pressure on their injured leg. 

“Okay maybe not,” Max mumbled. “C’mon, you can crash with me for a bit. Better than staying out here.” 

“No!” 

Max stopped. “Darling, if you stay here, I guarantee the next vampire to come around is going to use you as an easy meal. We don’t want that, do we?” 

The centaur bristled, shoulders rising in defense. “And what makes you think you can protect me?” 

Max smiled, leaning down and bearing his fangs. “Trust me. No one’s gonna fuck with me.” 

———

The walk to the vampire’s apartment was slow. You couldn’t go fast, and you absolutely refused to touch him, snarling whenever he got too close. He definitely wasn’t scared of you, but he did snap away whenever you growled. 

Eventually, he broke the silence. “So. Got a name?” 

You snorted, feeling the horrible stab of pain when you put your back left leg down. “Yeah. You?” 

“Max Phillips.” 

You were quiet for a minute. “I’m (F/N).” 

Max smiled. “Nice to meet you.” 

And the two of you sunk into silence once more. 

By the time the sun had risen, you were in Max’s townhouse. 

“Sorry,” he said, showing you the small bedroom on the ground floor. “It’s all I have that isn’t up a set of stairs.” 

You shook your head, falling into the mattress shoved against the wall and sighing deeply. “It’s fine.” 

Max nodded. “I’ll be back.” 

He left you alone, which was a mercy. You immediately took off your shawl, using it as a blanket, the knitted green yarn warming you to your core. 

After that, you were determined to finish healing yourself. You’d been under too much stress in the forest, the conditions poor for attempting to heal yourself. 

Unwrapping the stab wound in your leg, you piled the linen under the leg so as not to stain Max’s mattress. The blood had stopped flowing, but still oozed faster than you would’ve liked. 

“Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather, blazing in scarlet battalions. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.” 

Your leg started to itch, the golden magic flowing off your hands and surrounding your wound, knitting you back together. It was slower than you’d like, but was truly better than nothing at this point. 

“Generals order their soldiers to kill. And gather it all in a bunch of heather, a cause they've long ago forgotten. Then she'll be a true love of mine.” 

You began to waver, forcing the magic out as exhaustion caught up to you. You stopped, staring at the still oozing injury. It didn’t hurt as much, so you’d definitely healed the worst of it, but it likely wasn’t enough to get you up and walking as well as you needed to. 

“You done?” 

Jumping, you turned to face Max, who was holding a white box and a mass of folded fabric. 

“I said I’d be back,” Max pointed out, kneeling beside the mattress and opening the box. Inside was a cluster of human medical equipment, and Max grabbed gauze, a roll of fabric bandages, gloves, and a small canister of something. “You did good here. But I still want to treat it the old fashioned way.” 

You watched him put the gloves on, wary as he grabbed the canister. He’d taken his suit jacket off, leaving him in a rumpled button up and slacks. 

“This’ll sting,” he warned, positioning the canister. Before you could ask what he was doing, a cold fire spread up your leg, and you swore loudly, smacking Max in the process. 

“Ow!” He yelled, falling backwards from the force of your smack. “What was that for?” 

You tucked your leg up to your belly, protecting it from any more of Max’s assaults. “That hurt!” 

“Yeah!” Max sat back up, cradling his face. “I warned you it would!” 

Still keeping your leg protected, you eyed Max. “What’s in the canister?” 

Max held it out. “It’s a disinfectant. I just wanted to take the precaution. Magic is good and all, but it’s no match for infection.” 

You hesitantly gave him your leg again, bracing for the sting. It came and went, Max working diligently as he pressed gauze into your injury and began to methodically wrap a fabric bandage around your leg. When he was done, you tucked your leg back up under you, huffing softly. “How long will it take to heal?” 

“With how much magic you’ve got and how good I am at playing doctor?” Max asked, packing the medical kit back up and pulling his gloves off. “I’d say a week.” 

“A week?” You asked, looking around the bedroom. “I can’t be here for a week!” 

Max snorted. “Suck it up. And put those on, it gets cold down here.” 

He left, and you huffed at his retreating back. Lifting the pile of folded clothes, you sniffed them hesitantly. An old hoodie and a soft blanket. You draped the blanket over your lower half, sniffing the hoodie and eventually giving in. 

The hoodie was big on you, providing warmth that the blanket and your shawl didn’t. Settling down into the mattress, you let the adrenaline of the night wear off and carry you into a fitful sleep for most of the day. 

The next few days with Max were tolerable. He wasn’t as terrible as you assumed, always providing you with appropriate food and drink. He was knowledgeable about your injury, changing the gauze every evening and thankfully not using the spray disinfectant again. Instead, he used warm water and soap, sometimes adding a disinfectant cream that didn’t sting. 

By the time your leg had begun to finally scab and your magic was back in full, it had been four days. Max insisted on keeping you until the week was up, which made you mad until you realized he was waiting to see if your leg was hurt beyond the obvious stab. 

On day five, you complained about feeling dirty. 

“I promise I’ve washed the blankets,” Max said, settling down on the edge of the mattress with a black water bottle. He never ate, but insisted on sitting with you while you did. Stabbing a bite of your own food, you rolled your eyes. 

“I haven’t cleaned myself in a week,” you pointed out. “Do you have a hose?” 

Max shook his head. “I’ve got something better.” 

Something better turned out to be a shower. An actual shower that fit all of you and Max. He smiled, turning the hot water on and watching your face as you realized what was happening. 

The hot water dissolved every problem you’d been having, from the muscle aches to the greasy feeling. You shifted on your hooves, enjoying the water. You flicked your tail, sending a spray of water everywhere and splashing Max right in the face. 

“Oh it is on!” He shouted, happily reaching around you for the shower head. 

You laughed, grabbing the shower head before he could and turning it on him, thoroughly soaking Max. 

He wiped his eyes, shoving hair out of his face and grinning. “Give me that.” 

The pair of you wrestled for the shower head, you winning on sheer size alone. Holding it triumphantly above your head, you declared yourself the victor before handing Max the shower head. 

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said, taking the shower head and beginning to slowly soak your body. 

From there, you two managed to tag team wash you down, you taking the top half and him taking the bottom. He was careful around your injury, but the bleeding had stopped days ago, and all he did was take care in not dislodging your scab. Soap pooled around his bare feet, slowly soaking into the hem of his sweatpants. You did your best to scrub around the chest wrappings you wore, and you knew you’d have to set them out to dry at some point. 

Max stepped out of the shower once you were sufficiently washed, allowing you to shake the worst of the water off and step out onto a towel on the floor. Max gave you a towel and him a towel, and just like with the soap, you teamed up to get you as dry as possible. 

After that, it was dinner time. You settled in the actual kitchen, kneeling at the table while Max drank from his black water bottle. “When can I go home?” 

Max sighed. “You’ve made excellent progress. But,” 

“I don’t have any infection!” You insisted strongly. “I don’t feel weak or sick or anything! So what is it?” 

Max swirled his water bottle around, resting his cheek on his hand. “I dunno. I like having you around.” 

That caused you to stop, a strange guilt making your food taste sour. “What?” 

“I get lonely,” Max mumbled, not looking at you. “Really lonely. Having you around, it made me feel good.” 

You shuffled. “Max. I wouldn’t leave forever. I just miss my family.” 

Max perked up. “Really?” 

“Yeah!” You smiled, reaching across the table to take his cold hands. “I’ll take you home with me tomorrow and give you my phone number. Then you can visit whenever you get lonely.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

The next morning, you prepared to go home, wrapping your shawl across your shoulders and repacking your small bag. Max tossed on a jacket, pulling the hood up to protect him from the sun. 

“Think you’ll be good to carry me?” He asked, nervously standing beside you. 

You nodded, patting the blanket you’d tossed over your back. “Hop on.” 

He did, slowly adjusting to sitting on your back.

“Ready?” You asked, looking over your shoulder. 

Max gripped the hoodie you were still wearing. “Ready.” 

You took off, the wind in your hair an exhilarating feeling as you raced towards home. 

Meanwhile, on your back, Max was not having as much fun as you. His hold on the hoodie only got stronger as you galloped, and when you finally slowed to a steady trot, his face was flushed red, which you didn’t even know was possible 

“We’re home,” you said eagerly, looking around.

The ranch was far away from prying eyes, with ample land and plenty of accommodations for you and your family. A few of your family members were out in the front yard, and when they saw you, they immediately came running. 

“Where were you?” Your mother worried, grabbing your face and examining it. “What happened?” She stopped, seeing Max on your back. “Who’s he.” 

You ignored the venom in her voice and helped Max off your back. “This is Max. He saved me when a member of the Timberwolves stabbed me in the leg.” 

Your mom’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a vampire.” 

“He is,” you agreed. “But he saved my life.” 

Max shuffled awkwardly on his feet. You stepped back, so you were standing next to him. “You should probably get going Max.” 

“Right,” he said sadly. “I’ve got work tomorrow.” 

You smiled, taking a pen from your pouch and scribbling your phone number on his hand. “Call me, okay?” 

Max grinned, examining the number. “Sure thing.” 

As promised, that night, your phone rang, you scooping it up and eagerly accepting the call. “Hello?” 

“Hey.” Max’s smooth voice filled the other end of the phone, causing you to smile. “How’re you?” 

“Fine,” you said, settling on your bed. “Missing my favorite bloodsucker.” 

Max chuckled. “And I’m missing my favorite pony. How about a riding date, just you and me, hm?” 

You smiled. “Sounds lovely. I’m sure you’re an excellent rider Mr. Phillips.” 

“I’m not so sure,” Max said with a certain silkiness to his voice. “Maybe you could give me some pointers.” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, rolling over to stare at the moon and grin like a lovesick fool. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll see you this weekend, I’m sure of it.”

[ibeatfor]

evolution

3/24/21

I live by the mountains

And it wasn't even by design. It just so happened that this small little place within my budget was by the foothills of the Angeles National Forest.

It was not even a year ago when a picture of me and my then husband J was immortalized in the local newspaper as we stood arm in arm watching the fire fighting being conducted on the fire raging in our "backyard".

I remember seeing the flames atop the mountains and within a hair's breadth, witnessing in awe and horror as it raced down the spine of the mountain. I think subconsciously I knew we weren't in any real danger as it hadn't crossed the street but I think I must've tugged on Inyo's leash to get him further away from the fire, as if the few inches would've made a difference. It's human instinct to withdraw from a perceived threat. His resistance pulled me out of my head and back to reality. We were (relatively) safe, why not check it out along with the bystanders and news crew that had already begun to gather? It's also human instinct to observe -it's why we inevitably rubberneck despite swearing we won't be the one to hold up traffic like that car in front of us. So we went to check it out with the crowd, 6 feet apart of course. Arm slung across each other, mine around his waist and his casually over my shoulder, we stood there watching helicopter after helicopter dump water on the patches of flames. It was this image that the photographer captured. I recall the mountains looking beat up, barren and forlorn after the fire was put out. The black scars from the ordeal showing up starkly against the blue skies made me feel bad for my beloved mountains, how they must have suffered.

Never could I imagine that months later I would be standing in the same spot alone. This time, it would just be my own two arms clasped about my small heaving self, as if to futilely hold back the overwhelming grief, feeling much the same way I imagined my mountains to look back then-beaten up and scarred.

---

So now, some more months later, as I'm out on my daily walk, I'm struck dumb by the patches of greenery that's peeping up from the mountain face. They're scattered and patchy, awkward like a teenager who isn't sure how much space to take up, but they're green and they're there nonetheless. They grow bravely and defiantly, the scars of their ordeal scabbed over by slow growth. Fundamentally I know they didn't just spring up overnight, they've been budding since the fire was put out but it still catches me by surprise. I know this but I can't help but feel taken aback because as often as I've walked this loop, I never noticed it until recently.

I flinch as I reread my past journal entries, notably the one on January 12th. Not because it’s embarrassingly raw (it is) but because it wasn't too long ago that that memory, was my reality. While I may still instinctually recoil from the memory, I can see that I've kept pace with my mountains. They've been the metronome beating steadily in the background and living by them (by lucky happenstance), I didn't realize they were also keeping me on beat, outwardly reflecting our progress in a gradual, delightful blooming of life and healing, healing and life.

When I see the dare-to-be hopeful patches of greenery bathed in the early evening sunlight, it's human, or rather, Theresa instincts to turn my face towards the warmth of the sun, to soak in its life endowing light myself.

---

3/1/21

Red cross, ActiveSGV let- I paused in the midst of compiling my mental to do list. It felt like a lifetime ago when it was all I could do to perform the bare functions of existence. Did I get out of bed before noon? Yes? Good. Did I get out of bed without breaking down? Yes? Now that was a win. Those were hard days. And while I can get out of bed before noon and without crying more reliably now, it wasn’t so long ago that I can look back without flinching at the difficulty of the memory. The possibility of relapsing, of going back to that place, is always there. But when you feel like your life as you’ve known it is being upended, you count even the small victories. I process my observation of my mid-thought with wonder. The idea that I now tentatively have enough emotional and mental bandwidth to even consider doing something else aside from making it through the day without breaking down sends a small thrill down my spine. Now that was the win of the month!

--

2/19/21

We’re creatures of habits. So when it’s a habit you’ve known for years, it’s disorientating to shake things up. This past weekend was my first road trip with R and it was enjoyable, despite my initial dread over embarking on a long journey on a Friday of a long weekend (the irony hasn’t escaped me). While it was a great first road trip together, it was also…kind of weird. Even broaching the idea of taking the trip in the first place and then planning it felt strange. I didn’t know how to navigate through these uncharted waters because I’m so used to road tripping with J. We expected to adventure on long weekends because we had established that expectations years ago. It never crossed my mind that we wouldn’t go somewhere on a long weekend.

So while I enjoyed every moment of my first road trip with R, I admit J was on my mind more often than I’d like. It was as if I was leading little Theresa forward by the hand but she kept glancing back at the past, reminiscing on how I used to do x, y, and z with J. The contrast between then and now often induced feelings of loss, longing, and heightened the sense that something was amiss, like I was going against the natural order of things. From past experience, I knew that there was only one place these devious thoughts will lead me to if I left them unchecked. So before we went down that rabbit hole, I’d give her hand as much of a reassuring squeeze as I can muster and doggedly plod on with her in tow -partially because there’s nothing else to be done at this point but mostly because I want to move forward. I can’t say with much degree of certainty that things will be better ahead, but I’d like to (have to) believe they will be.

Initially I tried to convince her not to look back and to keep her eyes always ahead and when that failed, I tried bargaining with her to not look back as often. Eventually, I relented. I allowed myself to look back as often as I needed to and that offered some relief, I was able to free myself from the guilt and the need to always keep my eyes forward.

Learning grace is part of fighting the good fight and that weekend was a prime learning opportunity. I allowed myself to look back and gave myself permission to feel everything -the discomfort from what feels like a physical wrenching of myself out of a comfortable habit and familiarity, the longing for the familiarity, the excitement of the newness, and hell, the plain strangeness of the newness. I’m learning there is space and that it’s okay to hold contradictory feelings. After all, when I’m not an Olympic medalists in mental gymnastics, I’m really a plant with more complicated emotions.

---

1/12/21

Sadness accompanies me everywhere. She trails me.

The death of a dream is always heartbreaking.

Some times I gasp aloud from the pain.

It's not your heart that aches, not for me at least. The pain is a dull, slowly pulsing pain that's nestled right underneath my heart.

I stay in the house until I can't and then I walk, heading north, until I can't. On 1/12/21, I make it as far as the northern grass patch before I have to sit down.

The sun sets as quickly, the sky flares up as quickly as I'm overcome by the pain

I wonder if I appear drunk, crunching leaves and walking until I double over.

Idk who I'm glancing around for but at this point I wouldn't mind a hug from just about anyone.

---

1/1/2021

Rustle, click, thud

I settle in the car with a rustle of clothing and plug in my phone to charge with a smart click. As the phone snaps onto the magnetic phone holder with a light thud, that’s when it usually starts. At night in cold Ole Faithful the rustle, click, thud are the sounds of my thoughts preparing to play themselves out, like the din of middle school orchestra students warming up to play. I used to dread it in the beginning, the thud signaled the arrival of unbearable sadness. Unbearable sadness was like a sharpshooter that always hit the swollen sac of sadness nestled in the hollow behind my breastbone dead on every time. The burst sac would release a mixture of pain that would flood throughout my body to the tips of all my extremities, reaching every nook and cranny. Oftentimes, I’d barely make it down the street before I’d outwardly uttered an unbidden sob and hunch over the wheel in what felt like physical pain, clutching it with all my might, the tears streaming down my face.

But now that the sadness is a little older, and maybe my tears haven softened up its heart, unbearable sadness is now just sadness and sadness stands outside the passenger door waiting patiently -but ever so ominously- for me to invite it inside. I know better than to keep it waiting so it is with slight resignation that I nod my permission and it settles in and buckles up, a faithful companion on my ride home from my nighttime forays. When I come from my mom’s house which is noisy on quiet days, being alone in Ole Faithful with my silent companion makes the silence even louder.

Rustle, click, thud. Tonight, I feel out my thoughts as they parade themselves individually to me and slowly realize that they don’t all elicit as strong of a reaction as they have before. It’s as if my reaction was ammunition and as I became less volatile, the sadness, in turn, became less violent and all consuming -it just sits there. I ease Ole Faithful onto the road and begin my journey home. While I used to dread sadness’s presence, now we sit in companionable silence. I know it’ll be around for the ride for a while.

[becca-e-barnes]

sorry all my days are running together since the bite and i can’t remember if it was this morning i sent an update or what so i’m sorry if this is the 2nd one today.

but it’s gotten worse. it’s spreading the pain through my nervous system making it where i can feel it all over my body everywhere all at once. and i’ve already had a back injury so it’s like it’s worse there bc my back’s nerves have already been slightly damaged from being thrown into a cement wall (middle school was rough i had a lot of bullies) and it’s literally throbbing. and girl when the pain spread to my 🐱 i almost lost it. the line that was coming from my nipple to my shoulder is very noticeably thicker. and i feel lumps and knots formed under the breast. and i think i see a welt. and it looks so gross bc it’s so wet but like what liquid is that? i’ve literally lost all appetite for food it’s so gross.

but it’s like when the pain is in my boob it concentrates on the nipple and the doctor says it’s bc of all the nerve endings in my boob. but it’s excruciating pain everywhere and it turns on like a dial. pain, more pain, and omg i’m getting murdered pain. i may need to go to the hospital if it gets worse. and i’m really paranoid of the venom like what if it’s gets bad enough to kill me? and it has formed another scab but now it’s so weak it won’t stay on. and it hurts to wear a shirt let alone a bra which makes it where i can’t leave the house bc how can i go braless with my DDs lmao. and it’s looking like i won’t be at work tomorrow either and it’s the last day of the week and i feel so bad bc it’s my first job and they already give me a hard time and now i’ll be missed a whole work week (weekend). but i just can’t stop crying. it feels like someone planted tiny little bombs in all of my nerves. i’m so scared bc it’s gotten so much worse so fast. and what if the spider that bit me is still alive? i tore my room apart and sprayed like crazy i hope it works.

but i just need someone to tell this to so i don’t lose my mind to the pain. any advice on easing nerve pain? not jumping off a cliff? anything helps! and also ily.

-ranting/spider-bite titty anon 😒

You’re getting the worst time right now omg, I’m so sorry to hear the pain has gotten worse! Sending you so much love 💗

I had a few asks last night that were directed to you so in summary, people were saying to make sure you leave the scab alone if you can, you’re doing more damage by pulling it off (I know you said this new scab isn’t very secure but hopefully it stays on!)

People also said to go to urgent care if you get worse so please do think about that if things get worse than they are now.

And I’m sure you don’t need to worry about the venom being strong enough to kill you, I’d imagine there’s maybe some kind of infection now that’s causing more pain than the actual venom itself

Don’t you even worry about work!! You’re allowed to be unwell! Take those sick days when you need them! (I’ve never taken a sick day, I used to go into work, totally destroyed by tonsillitis and what extra thanks did I get?? So take the days when you need them!)

But just try to make sure you’re taking painkillers! (If you take them) and try to keep yourself comfortable and distracted! If you need to go to the hospital l, make sure you go 💗 and try to sleep as much as you can to let your body rest!

[is-it-art-tho]

Summary: Dick Grayson is having a hard time and Bruce is there to help.

Dick dragged himself into his apartment, shedding his coat, keys, and shoes on his stiff beeline to the bathroom. In the shower, he dangled his head under the stream, the heat cranked until it nearly burned, and willed the muscles in his back and shoulders to relax, his heart and breathing to slow.

When he got out, his phone was about to vibrate off the edge of the sink, the screen packed with a flurry of unread messages that were still coming in. A quick glance at the names was enough for him to know what they all said, or have a pretty good guess, at least. Barbara, Tim, Damian. He ignored them all, shutting it off and leaving it behind as he wandered into his bedroom, leaving small puddles on the hardwood in his wake.

He pulled on a faded cross-country hoodie and joggers in the dark, and the clothes clung to his wet skin as he tossed a hesitant glance toward his bed.

The type of exhaustion he felt now was the type that clings to bones, that no amount of sleep can touch. Which was just as well, since sleep had not been kind to him these past few days.

At times it was elusive, leaving Dick watching for hours as his curtains faded from navy blue to pale gray with the sunrise. Other times it was a violent, painful thing that forced him upright in bed, gasping and disoriented, his room smelling eerily of burnt furniture and ash, and his ears echoing with screams and sirens. 

He had no way of knowing what type of night this would be, but he was in no rush to find out.

Pushing damp hair out of his eyes, he headed for the kitchen instead. He wasn’t hungry or even really thirsty, but his hands went for his standard late-night fair all the same. He filled the coffeemaker with water and flipped it on, letting the machine’s quiet whirr fill the silence as he grabbed a bowl from the counter and filled it with cereal.

Typically, he would go through this process on autopilot, his mind on a million other things, but tonight his movements were careful and intentional in a way that took all of his concentration to maintain. He had the overwhelming urge to run or break something, to do anything other than sit quietly in a room and stare at food he had no intention to touch, and he knew himself well enough to know that if he wasn’t careful right now, he would find himself back in his bedroom exchanging his pajamas for the black and blue suit tucked in the back of his closet and hitting the streets. But after the events earlier tonight, he knew that was probably the last place he should be right now.

The coffee machine beeped, and Dick moved the full mug out of the way as he muttered to the open air, “Want one?”

The presence he’d felt across the room stirred, and he glanced over his shoulder in time to see the silhouette by the window step further into the living room.

“You won’t be able to sleep.”

“It’s decaf.” Dick’s voice was flat. Without waiting for either acceptance or rejection of the offer, he added more water to the machine, packed in new grounds, and prepared another cup. He watched the dark liquid fill the mug as footsteps behind him crossed from the carpeted living room to the kitchen tile, followed by the gentle scrape of a chair.

When he turned back around, Bruce was sitting, waiting for him. He wasn’t in the cape and cowl, instead still dressed as he had been back at the manor a few hours earlier – a dark mock turtleneck and gray slacks. Dick wondered idly if Bruce had come through the window dressed this way or if he’d simply picked the lock at the door. Either option felt incredibly incongruous with the clean ensemble. If he hadn’t felt so off, he might’ve laughed.

Dick took the seat across from him, and Bruce’s eyes tracked his movements carefully. The younger man was suddenly hyperaware of the bruises and scabs forming along the knuckles of his right hand, left purposely unattended, and the way his fingers were twitching restlessly.

“How is he?” Dick asked after a few long minutes of silence.

“His lip stopped bleeding after a while,” Bruce explained calmly. “He stopped cursing a while after that.”

The dull pain in Dick’s knuckles flared with the memory of Jason’s jaw, hard and sharp like he had punched a brick wall. He was fairly certain he’d fractured a bone or two in his hand – the punch had been sloppy, overly emotional – but he’d decided to let the ache sit there, heavy and throbbing without the temper of a painkiller.

“It was my fault,” Dick conceded. “I didn’t… I overreacted. I must’ve had a little too much to drink or something.” He hadn’t actually had anything to drink at all, but it felt like the easiest excuse in the moment. “I’ll apologize the next time I see him.”

Again, there was silence as Bruce, apparently unsatisfied with this response, simply waited. It was the same tactic Dick had watched him use during interrogations, but in those situations usually someone was dangling a few stories off the ground and the silence was ominous. Here, there was none of that foreboding air. Just an empty sort of waiting.

“It won’t happen again,” Dick added drily. He wasn’t entirely sure this was true. Even now he wished he could be hitting something, something hard enough to tear the skin on his knuckles and send painful reverberations up his arms and into his shoulders. He wanted to hurt. He wanted a pain sharp enough to pull his attention away from the gaping chasm in the center of his chest.

Almost reflexively, he clenched his injured hand into a tight fist and relished the quick agony.

“What I’m trying to understand is why it happened at all,” Bruce said.

“I told you I was just buzzed. It’s not a big deal.”

“You weren’t.” Bruce’s tone was matter of fact rather than accusatory. It felt like an accusation anyway.

Dick studied him with growing annoyance. “What were you keeping tabs on me or something?”

“I’ve seen you buzzed enough times to know what it looks like. You weren’t drunk, Dick. You were wired. On edge. You have been for a few days now.” Bruce rested his forearms on the table, leaning forward as if to get a better look at him.

Dick noted his leg bouncing under the table and stilled it. The sudden stillness made his entire body feel uncomfortable and he shifted awkwardly in his chair.

“I’m fine,” he said, a little too brusquely. “Just need to get some sleep.”

“Have you been having trouble with that lately?”

Dick’s teeth clanked together in his mouth. He rose to pour his untouched cereal into the garbage disposal and let the blades run longer than necessary to grind up the soggy flakes. When he turned it off, the sudden silence pressed against his ears like a physical weight.

“How are the Donovans?” Bruce asked.

The question was soft, so soft that Dick almost didn’t catch it. But he did, and the jittery, violent energy that had been crackling just beneath his skin vanished like air being sucked out of a balloon. He suddenly felt impossibly hollow, like the slightest breeze could topple him, and he welcomed the sharp pain that had exploded in his right hand as he gripped the edge of the sink. It served as another means of grounding him, anchoring him here.

“How?” Dick murmured.

“Barbara.”

Babs. Of course.

She was the only one Dick had told anything to, and even she had only gotten the barest threads of information. She knew only that there had been a housefire, that a child had died.

“You’ve been checking up on them at their new apartment.”

Dick didn’t even bother asking how Bruce could have possibly known this.

“I couldn’t find him,” he explained, staring, without seeing, at a small puddle of milk in the sink left over from the drained cereal. At the same time, he was trying to stop smelling smoke, to stop feeling the weight of a limp child in his arms and hearing a mother’s screams.

Behind him, Bruce did not move from his spot at the table; he did not speak. Dick was oddly grateful for this. For time.

“I looked everywhere, but I just couldn’t find him,” Dick continued, and his voice was flat again, empty like it was echoing out from a tomb. “When I did, it was too late. He was in a crawlspace behind his bed. He was eight. Kyle. Kyle Donovan.”

There was a long silence as Dick stood and trembled with tension, then finally Bruce said, “I’m sorry.”

Dick glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to find an even, almost disinterested stare and instead he found Bruce’s face a mask of empathy. Like most of Bruce’s expressions, this one wasn’t dramatic. His mouth wasn’t twisted into a frown and his cheeks weren’t glistening with tears, but it was there in his eyes.

And Dick knew that the empathy there was misguided, based on a false assumption that he was struggling to grapple with the loss, that he was mourning. How could he explain how wrong this was?

I’m not mourning. I’m nothing.

After Dick had emerged from the burning building with Kyle in his arms, he’d carefully, wordlessly set the limp boy on a gurney and watched EMTs dive into CPR that he knew wouldn’t work. Mrs. Donovan had been screaming, her shrieks battling with the wail of incoming fire engines, and he’d locked eyes with Mr. Donovan. The man’s soot-covered face had glowed in the light of the flames, and Dick had heard himself offer a too-stiff apology that the man was clearly too shaken to process. And he’d left then, disappearing easily into the shadows amidst the chaos, and arrived back in his apartment still reeking with the uniquely sharp scent of burnt carpeting and furniture and insulation.

And he’d stood in his living room in the dark and waited for something, anything to come. Some semblance of normal emotion, of feeling. He’d grasped for it desperately like a child trying to catch dandelion seeds on a windy day, but he’d come away with nothing. So, he’d showered and gone to bed still smelling of housefire and watched his curtains until morning. And with each passing day since then he’d grown more and more agitated with himself, with his lack of feeling, and eventually that frustration had transformed him into the short-fused terror he’d been all day, culminating in an unwarranted haymaker and a likely-broken hand.

This wasn’t the first time Dick had suspected that something was wrong with him. After his parents had been killed, adults had tiptoed around him for weeks, treated him like a volcano on the verge of eruption, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table. He’d realized afterwards that they had been waiting for him to breakdown, to dissolve into a weeping heap. It would have been an understandable reaction, especially for a kid, but the moment had never come.

Even at the funeral he hadn’t shed a single tear. Back then he’d been called “brave” and “strong.” He’d been congratulated for his composure and he’d taken some solace in that. Perhaps his reaction or lack thereof wasn’t a symptom of a deeper issue. Maybe it was a sign of his fortitude. He’d tucked those fears away then, content never to explore them again.

Then Kyle Donovan happened, and Dick once again felt utterly dead inside.

Empty. The internal silence that made him think of vast, barren spaces; of sand blowing across endless dunes and the cracked, frozen wasteland of the Arctic.

And this confirmed what he had quietly feared all along. That somehow, somewhere along the way something deep and vital inside of him had broken. As if a whole part of his brain – the one responsible for grief – had simply stopped working. Or perhaps it had shriveled slowly over time, unnoticed and choked by neglect like a plant left to wilt in a corner.

There was a time when Dick had thought himself lucky. After the things he’d lived through, he ought to be more damaged, but he’d managed to grow into a fairly well-adjusted member of society. He’d taken pride in that fact, relished it. Gotham had done its worst and he’d escaped unscathed.

To realize now that he’d been wrong, that Gotham had in fact crushed something precious inside of him, was a blow he wasn’t sure he could come back from.

So now as he stood in his kitchen thinking about a child he had failed to save, and struggling even to shed a tear, he found Bruce’s expression, his open but misguided display of empathy, to be like the twisting of a knife.

Suddenly Dick realized Bruce was speaking, a steady rumble in the quiet.

Dick blinked. “What?”

“I said you should sit down.”

Dick sat and stared at the old yellow table between them. It had a sort of retro, 70s aesthetic. The floral pattern in the decorative plastic covering was faded, the petals resembling abstract squiggles more than anything else.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked quietly. “These things happen and I just… I don’t feel them anymore. I don’t know if I ever did.” His voice hitched then, perhaps betraying his words, and suddenly his vision blurred with tears. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked again.

“We all process grief differently,” Bruce said. “It’s not a matter of right or wrong.”

“But what if I’m not processing it? Babs thinks I’m upset about the kid, I bet you did, too. But that’s the problem. I’m not upset – at least, not like I know I should be. I feel like a goddamn sociopath.” Dick balled his fists in his hair, his elbows braced on the table.

“It’s like I go through life most of the time and I feel normal. I get happy, I get annoyed, I get sad. But when major things happen, like someone dying, I just… I don’t know. It’s like I shut down. I’m just empty. Like I’m physically incapable of feeling beyond a certain point.”

Dick was really crying now, tears streaming down his face and dripping off the tip of his nose, but he didn’t know why because deep inside, his dominant feeling was still an absence of feeling. A painful, gaping abyss.

“Sometimes,” Dick whispered, “sometimes I think – I think I shouldn’t even be here. I should be in Arkham with the rest of the–”

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. Bruce had switched seats so that they were sitting almost side by side. Dick hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re not,” Bruce said, cutting him off. His voice was not hard, but stern, and he held Dick’s gaze as he spoke, his words crisp and intentional as if willing Dick to hear each syllable clearly. “You do not belong in Arkham. You are not broken.”

And suddenly the outburst that hadn’t come when Dick was orphaned or after the housefire, the one that he had begun to accept as being beyond the scope of his emotional capacity, crashed into him like a tidal wave. And decades of grief and pain rushed in to fill the void that had lived in the center of his being for far too long.

It filled him like a physical thing, pushing against the inside of his ribs and chest and threatening to burst through.

Dick dropped his face into his hands as a sob wrenched itself from his throat, as his body convulsed with the force of them. And in the darkness of his closed eyes, he saw it all in sharp relief – every moment he’d absorbed as a child and into adulthood, every crippling tragedy that he’d unconsciously chosen to repress, to crush into a manageable size and pitch into some far-flung corner of himself. Those moments – those pebbles of memory – towered over him now, forming an immense mountain of suffering that he now had to scale.

And he understood now, perhaps for the first time, why he had never done this before; why his subconscious – and maybe it wasn’t so subconscious, after all – had chosen to avoid this part of himself. It was because this was too much, far too much for any one person to climb and come out on the other side whole.

This, Dick was certain, truly would break him. What he had experienced in his life, the things he had seen, were the sort of uniquely awful things that demand to be left in dark corners and tucked into locked drawers, lest they take everything from you.

He was only vaguely aware of the strong, yet gentle arms wrapping around him, pulling him in and holding him as he tipped towards hyperventilation.

“I want you to breathe with me,” Bruce instructed. The older man took a few long slow breaths, waiting for Dick to match his rhythm. Dick’s head rose and fell against Bruce’s chest, and after a while it started to work. Dick felt himself calming, if only slightly.

“You are not broken,” Bruce said again, his chest rumbling against Dick’s ear. “And you’re not alone.”

And when Dick pulled back, he saw it in Bruce’s eyes. A profound and gut-wrenching understanding, their mutual experiences with tragedy and loss resonating on a frequency most are fortunate enough not to understand.

And he realized that Bruce had his own impossible mountain to scale and that he had been scaling it for most of his life. A slow, clumsy process that involved just as much time slipping backwards as it did inching back up. And as if for the first time, Dick noticed the deep grooves in Bruce’s face, the lines and old scars that he now suspected had just as much to do with Bruce’s inner battles as his external ones.

“I’m here,” Bruce promised. “I’m right here with you. I won’t let you go.”

And Dick knew what he meant. I won’t let you become like so many of the monsters we stop every night. I won’t let you disappear into the darkness.

“How do you keep going?” Dick asked, his eyes on the table. After a lengthy pause, he looked up.

Bruce’s gaze was distant as if he were genuinely searching for an adequate response and struggling to find one. Finally, he said, “You decide that the alternative is unacceptable.”

Dick considered this. It wasn’t a warm and fuzzy answer; things rarely were where Bruce was concerned. But even so, it fit somehow. It made sense to him.

He nodded then sighed, and the sigh turned into a yawn. Without thinking, he rubbed his eye with his bad hand and cursed quietly.

Bruce rose, retrieved an ice pack from the freezer, and returned to the table where he laid it gently over Dick’s knuckles. “I know I taught you to punch better than that,” he said.

Dick’s mouth twitched into a rueful grin. “I decked Jason in the middle of your dinner party and it’s my form you’re upset about?”

“It was sloppy. He should’ve been able to dodge it.” Bruce’s expression was even, but there was a joking lilt in his tone that Dick imagined most people would miss. Then, more seriously, “I want you to come back with me. Stay at the manor for a while.”

A few years ago, this might have sounded like an order, but now Dick could have sworn it sounded almost like a plea. Bruce’s gaze was fixed on the ice pack, his brows scrunched ever so slightly.

“Bruce,” Dick gasped, “are you inviting me to a sleepover?”

He was already feeling more like himself. Not necessarily better – to be honest, Dick was fairly certain he wouldn’t feel better for quite a while – but he could see a way out now that he hadn’t been able to see before, and it left him with a spark of hope.

Dick was satisfied by the long-suffering sigh he got in response.

“Isn’t Jason staying with you for a few days?” he continued. “He might not want me around much right now.”

“He’ll live.” Bruce rose and Dick followed suit, keeping the pack pressed into his hand.

“I’m more worried about myself,” Dick muttered. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask – how did you get in here? You didn’t climb in through the window dressed like that did you?”

Bruce tossed a devious grin over his shoulder but said nothing as he headed for the door.

“Wait, did you?” Dick asked, suddenly desperate. “Did you?”

[gxrcias-gothgf]

Ms. Artist (Spot Conlon X Reader)

Author's Note: This is the requested Spot x fiesty reader. I based it off of the 92 movie so hope you enjoy! Also I'm going to start doing a tag list so let me know if you want to be on it.

Warnings: violence

—

“It’s a trap! Jack! It’s a trap!” You heard Race yell as you stormed the distribution center. You snapped your head in the direction you heard your friend yelling from. There seemed to be dozens of police men or men with weapons surrounding you and your fellow newsies. 

You heard Skittery, who was beside you, mutter profanities. Bumlets, who was on the other side of you, just sighed and quickly tried to help the younger boys get to a safer area. You were quick to get your hands dirty. 

Fists and weapons were flying everywhere as you tried to fend off the men attacking you and the others around you. If you saw one of your friends struggling, you were quick to throw a punch or kick to whoever was near them. 

“It’s Brooklyn!” Mush’s voice rang through the air as you punched one of the bulls who had a hold of you. You looked at the fire escapes and smiled, sighing in relief. The Manhattan newsies were no longer alone in this fight. You let yourself take a few moments to rejoice to yourself. That was because you didn’t see Oscar Delancey behind you. The boy grabbed a hold of your shirt from the back and harshly tugged you closer to him.  

“You’re not going anywhere kid,” Oscar said as he released his hold on your shirt while simultaneously sending his fist to your face. You felt your lips begin to ache. At the same time your adrenaline started to increase. He managed to get a few more good hits on you before you were able to return the favor. 

You threw a rough punch back at Oscar causing his footing to falter before someone behind him pulled him in their direction. A sigh of relief escaped your lips and you rubbed your jaw. You took this opportunity to turn away and go back to helping out some of the other newsies. When Skittery got punched and fell backwards, you helped catch him. 

“You okay Skit?” You asked before he winked at you. The group of you holding him, pushed him back up and he knocked out the man who had punched him. 

The now large group of newsies overpowered the bulls and you were all left to rejoice in your small victory. You hugged the boys around you as everyone was yelling and celebrating. You turned to the person next to you and saw Spot standing there. 

“Delancey got you good huh?” He asked as he grabbed your face in his hand. You shoved his hand away and gave him a glare. 

“Don’t touch me,” you said wiping the blood away from your bottom lip. He gave you a quizzical look than you gave an eye roll to in return. You tried to walk around him but he stopped you by grabbing your shoulder and pulling you back. 

“Look I’m just trying to make sure you’re not too messed up,” Spot said in a frustrated tone. 

You scoffed in response before replying with, “I’ve been through worse.” It wasn't that you hated Spot. Quite the opposite actually. You just didn't like people acting like you needed to be taken care of when you were more than capable of taking care of yourself. 

“I’m sure you have. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t check up on you,” Spot rolled his eyes. You mockingly rolled your eyes back. Before either of you could continue arguing, Denton ushered you into frame for a picture. 

—

The next day you along with the rest of the Manhattan newsies and a few Brooklyn newsies sat in Tibby’s. You were sitting next to Kid Blink with Jack talking to you and the other few people at your table. You had made Les sit front of you so you could make a sketch of him. You had a collection of sketches you had done of every Manhattan newsie minus yourself. You now just needed to add Les and Davey to that collection. At the moment you just wanted to do a small rough draft so you could focus better on the final product. You had finished adding the last few details to the sketch when Denton had walked into the restaurant. 

“Good afternoon Denton,” you smiled softly, careful to not move your bottom lip too much. The cut you had received from Oscar was still scabbing over. 

“Afternoon Y/N,” Denton smiled back and handed you the newspaper that had been tucked under his arm. You looked down at it and gasped in shock. There on the front page was the picture Denton had taken the day before. In said picture you stood between Spot and Kid Blink, busted lip and all. You stood up from your seat and took a few steps to show Jack the paper. 

“That’s us,” you muttered as the boys started to surround you. You felt one of the boys leaning on your shoulder looking at the paper as well. Normally you would have shoved whoever it was away and say you aren’t an arm rest but you were too focused on the picture on the front page of the New York Sun. Whoever was leaning on you had gotten up after a moment and moved away from you. 

As the boys started going off on Skittery for being “glum and dumb” you went back to your sketch on the table. Only problem was you couldn’t find it. You looked to Kid Blink who was still in his seat and he pointed behind you. Spot stood there examining your art. He nodded his head and looked at you before handing it back. “You’re really good.”

“Take it easy. It’s a rough draft,” you said as you folded it up and put it in your pocket. 

“I’m just trying to admire your art Ms. Artist,” the boy shrugged with a half smile. You gave a small smile in return as the boys started becoming rowdy once again. They soon pulled you into it when Race threw his arm around your shoulder, pulling you over. 

“Ain’t she pretty? She’s the king of New York,” Race smiled at you. Spot nodded at you as Race spoke making you slightly flush pink. It was quickly forgotten as the boys went back to arguing over the newspaper. 

Throughout the rest of the time spent at Tibby’s you and Spot got to talking and just having a good time. After a large amount of convincing, you had agreed to sit with Spot, Jack, and Davey during the upcoming rally that you newsies were holding. 

—

The boys had just finished speaking at the rally and now Ms. Medda was performing for you all. You smiled as you sat, watching her perform. Spot had subtly put his arm around your shoulder as you were distracted by Medda’s singing. You noticed after a few moments and leaned into his side. He smiled at you and kissed your cheek gently before returning his gaze to the stage. 

—

I'm ending it there on happy note. Hope you enjoyed it!

[oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co]

The Spring of Burning Forests: Chapter 1 (Geraskier btw)

The first chapter is now on AO3

It involves: Geralt and Jaskier seeing each other for the first time since the mountain fiasco, a fragment of Jaskier’s witcher-inspired song, and some gruesome world-building. 

For a full summary see this post.

Big thanks to @goshdraws and @sdmcburney. And my outside-of-Tumblr support Kelly and Rita.

With a dedication to @variousnoises <3

Complete, updates every Sunday.

Here’s the first scene:

The first thing he heard was silence. There was not a single bird call, no beating wings taking flight, no animals rushing through the grass below his feet. Like in a moment before the storm, the leaves rustling above his head moved with the last gust of wind, then stopped, motionless. Geralt looked up and saw a bunch of crows on the branches above him, sitting perfectly still as if they were stuffed and mounted. He moved his weight from one foot to the other, looked around, and filled his lungs with humid air. It smelled of rain, of moss, of decaying pine tree trunks. But the final note was something else.

The sickly-sweet odour was faint at first, but it grew stronger by the minute. The air was thick and light scant. It was near dusk, and the rain was coming. It was only then that he noticed an old grave, so overgrown with ivy and sunk so deep into the ground it was barely visible, just a slight bump in the grass. That was when he realised where he was. He travelled too deep into the forest, just a few miles too far.

He swore under his breath, fully focused now, tense like a prowling animal.

The locals shuddered when describing the rising corpses, a gruesome consequence of the war, creeping up in numbers as the first victims met their end, arriving like a premonition of the horrors to come. Then they would mention the ghouls, hungry and howling, the sound of their claws tearing up flesh would send shivers up their spines. Their voices hushed when they asked for help, full of worry as if they expected the dead to listen.  

Something was different this time. It was a borderline imperceptible lick of fear which he felt as his hands turned cold. A peculiar, unpleasant warmth was building in his chest. He shivered. Standing as still as the world around him, he thought about all the times he faced death before. It was nothing new. Of course, it wasn’t. And yet it felt new somehow.

Suddenly, he noticed staying alive had somehow gained urgency in the recent months and shook his head with disdain realising the likely reason. He wouldn’t believe it possible if the change didn’t feel so obvious and vivid in the moment.  

Expecting the worst, Geralt was surprised to see a lone figure emerging from amongst the trees. It was shaky, moved slowly, dragging a broken leg behind. It was a man, thin, young when he died. His head was drenched in dry blood, strands of brown hair stuck together with black scabs, crumbling.  

‘Is there anybody here?’ the dead body asked, looking around, disoriented.

He spotted Geralt and approached him slowly, his broken lips forming a misshapen smile.

There was something familiar about him. The similarities made Geralt feel sick to his stomach. At the same time, the stories he heard were slowly aligning with what he saw.

‘Is your name Vladimir?’ Geralt was surprised by how normal this felt, simply asking.  

‘Yes.’ He lit up and his ribs moved faster underneath the torn clothes, flashes of white in the dark. ‘You know me?’

‘I’ve heard of you,’ Geralt responded while slowly moving away, creating a distance between them, and raising his sword a little, ready to strike if needed.

Vladimir’s eyesight was weak. All he could see was a man disappearing into the darkness.

‘Please, don’t leave.’ His voice was breaking as if he was in pain. ‘I’ve been wondering though these woods for so long. I walked… and walked. I’m so far from home.’ He moved a little closer and it took all of Geralt’s determination to stay still. ‘Nobody wants to talk to me here. And my family… They didn’t come looking for me, can you believe?’

‘I don’t think anyone survived.’

The man’s head was hanging low for a moment. His pupils looked like deep dark holes, eyes faded, the colour, whatever it originally was, turned hazy white-blue.

‘None of them came,’ he repeated with clear disappointment, his voice cracking and breathy. ‘Do you know why everybody looks so scared?’  

‘Do you remember what happened?’

‘My son, a brave little man. He’d fight so hard, even when not ready for it.’ Vladimir moved his hand in the air as if he was ruffling an invisible child’s hair. ‘I haven’t seen him for so long. He must have grown by now.’

Vladimir’s sense of time must have been distorted, unsurprisingly so. It couldn’t have been long since he was killed. Some of the skin on his face still looked fresh, one of his arms was relatively intact.

‘You shouldn’t look for your son,’ Geralt stated, moving back a little again, just about ready to strike.

‘Why not?’

Geralt didn’t respond.

‘Why not?’ Vladimir gasped for air as he asked and hesitated for a moment. ‘There’s this place where I stay,’ he shuddered as he spoke up again. ‘So cold. So damp. It always rains here.’ He looked up at Geralt again. ‘Aren’t you cold?’

‘It is cold.’

‘They tried to burn it when I was away once. Why would anybody do that?’

‘They…’ Geralt started but Vladimir didn’t let him finish.

‘There was this boy, so much like my son. He was playing near here. I was so happy to see him. I grabbed his hand. And he started screaming so…’ He seemed out of breath for a second. ‘He screamed so,’ he struggled to punch out the last word, ‘…loudly.’ He was increasingly upset, moving unsteadily, yet standing in place. ‘I told him I would never hurt him.’

‘Vladimir…’

‘Why does nobody believe me? Is it so hard to listen?’  

‘You’re killing their sons. That’s why they want to burn you.’

‘I’ve never killed anyone.’ Vladimir seemed nearly amused by the suggestion.

Tight, dry skin around his mouth stretched into a painful smile.

‘How could I?’ His question seemed genuine. ‘That’s quite a hurtful thing to say. Very hurtful.’ He stopped for a second as if trying to remember something. ‘Everybody is so cruel, so full of distrust.’ Vladimir’s voice was becoming increasingly angry and sad. ‘I’ve seen them. They arrived with no mercy. They didn’t care when I begged.’

He shook his head. A piece of his skin was hanging down, barely attached to his neck. It was rubbing against the dried blood on his shirt as he moved.

‘They were everywhere. They would consume people like a fire. I could see them raging though the night. Unstoppable.’ Vladimir shuddered at the memory. ‘Murdering everyone as if it was just something they do, nothing more.’ He looked around in a haze. ‘Would you kill a man… like that?’

He looked straight into Geralt’s eyes, strangely lucid all of a sudden.

Keep reading on AO3

[loghainmactir]

emergency commissions/donations

hi there, it’s ya boy

i know i’ve been posting on and off about booker’s (here’s the gremlin, for anyone who doesn’t know him) recovery from his biopsy, and how stressful learning that he’s got cancer and trying to find the money for the medications and surgeries he’s needed has been-- y’all are probably sick of it by now. but today peaked for me, and i really need help. so, story time:

a few days ago booker managed to lick away a scab on one of the three surgery sites on his tumor during the night, despite being covered with a long, thick shirt: when i found out, it looked as if it had pus underneath the skin. he hadn’t been licking at it during the day/when i was awake at all.

when we consulted the vet, we were essentially told that his tumor is trying to grow back from where they’d taken samples, and that this part (because he’d managed to disturb it twice at that point) was probably at risk of infection-- he’s on antibiotics now and will be for a week, but that cost me a heft $98.

smash cut to this morning. his shirt was still on and the scab HAD set, but he’d rolled up one of his sleeves and licked it away again. i bought him a cone of shame(tm), and figured that was that. cone on at nights, keep him from disturbing it today, and that’s that. he’d heal fine.

except that would be too easy, alister! he’d obviously rubbed his side against my bed or something, because his scab came completely off and he started bleeding everywhere. quick montage of me freaking out and disassociating, my grandmother screaming at me and an awkward drive with a 32.5 kilo anxious german shepherd who’s bleeding everywhere.

his leg’s bandaged now and he has a freesh shirt on. look, here he is! isn’t he a horrible little man?

i still need to take him back to the vet on tuesday, and next saturday we have to buy more of his pain medication because it’s running out. after paying off the current vet loan i have from the biopsy (thank fuck that’s a thing), rent and all these vet visits in-between, i literally only have $30 to my name right now and don’t get paid until the 19th. so, that’s great.

anyway, my point is, i’m asking for help finally because i’m at the end of my rope stress-wise. i can’t continue like this without it. i haven’t even bought groceries this week.

so here’s what i’m offering: i’m currently developing my own d&d adventure called Exquisite Corpse, and i’m 100% keen to draw more maps for folks interested. here’s some unedited WIP shots of the maps Exquisite Corpse in an imgur album. even though they’re currently rough, i’m still really proud of them!

i can do random maps based on themes/words or specific maps, if you have ideas. each one is hand-drawn and inked on grid paper, and then will be scanned and cleaned up via photoshop. each one will be about $30-50 AUD depending on size and complexity. if you’re interested in a ttrpg map like these, please send me a message on tumblr or through ashirleywriting@hotmail.com detailing what you’d like!

at this point in time i’m not taking photoshop/writing commissions, but if you’re not interested in a map and would like to help out regardless, please feel free to donate via paypal: https://www.paypal.me/AlisterShirley

anything and everything is appreciated! thank you for your time!

[minaa-munch]

of Cake and Cream - Team Flake Edition

Two layers of exquisite vanilla and peach sponge, coated with a generous amount of buttercream icing that consisted of crushed sakura and momo no hana petals. Candied petals adorned the top and the sides with an artistic flair, while soft, perfect swirls of buttercream bordered the edges. The cake on its own, was like an edible jewel put on a wooden stand. 

The swirl in the middle glistened with fresh strawberry puree that had been mixed with a tinge of caramel. It was still fresh, so one could see the pinpricks of strawberry seeds that had been left on purpose.

Obito wanted to poke it so badly. Charcoal hues kept straying towards it while their sensei spoke. 

“Rin and I need to make a quick trip to the Medical Corps for a report she submitted.” The blond was in his usual, blue uniformed attire, though without the hitaite. Besides him, Rin was winding a scarf around her shoulders. 

“We’ll be back soon.” Minato may as well have been talking solely to Kakashi, since the Uchiha was too busy ogling the treat that looked divine (and probably tasted just as well, seeing as how talented the Jōnin and Rin were in the kitchen). It was good enough, since Kakashi kept nodding like the solemn little shinobi he was while Obito hummed on periodic intervals to indicate that he was listening. 

Sorta. Maybe if he poked the tip of the swirly thingy—

“I’m counting on you.” He snapped to attention just as blue hues slid towards him, “Both of you. Make sure Kushina doesn’t come here. Stall her if you have to.” 

“Hai, sensei” The duo responded, with Obito raising two fingers in a salute for good measure, “You can count on me!” 

Satisfied, Minato turned to Rin, gesturing for her to follow. The Iryō nin smiled, but it slid off the minute his back was turned. Brown hues narrowed at her teammates in warning, which was probably more effective than their sensei’s words. 

I’m always watching you, neh?

Both boys immediately straightened - and promptly stayed that way until her lingering gaze had disappeared out the door. 

“About time they left.” Kakashi was the first to speak. Pale fingers rubbed an exposed part of his left arm; a wound had scabbed over recently and it was annoyingly itchy. Rin had given him some ointment to deal with it, but it wasn’t that cumbersome. Besides, it would take more than a scrape to put him out of commission. 

At the moment though, he didn’t know what bothered him more - the fact that he had yet to hear about his Jōnin promotion or that he had been assigned a C rank mission with the sole crybaby of the team. He was perfectly capable of protecting his sensei’s loud girlfriend’s birthday surprise.

Speaking of - dark hues flickered to the Uchiha, slapping his hand from where he was about to poke one of the perfect cream swirls. “Sensei said not to touch anything, baka.”  

But it looks so…fluffy. “What are you, my grandma?” Obito grumbled, rubbing his slightly pink fingers. Trust the Hatake to act like an old lady, since he projected a particularly grumpy old man half the time. 

Ah but who was he kidding? Most of the old people he knew (which were a lot) were nice and polite. Kakashi was, simply put, a jerk. “Ne, you think sensei and Kushina nee will get married?” There was a curious tilt in his tone, before his attention was once again captured by the delicate, rosy swirls decorating the top layer, “I mean..I hear we’re almost at war anyways.”

“Sensei can’t be that stupid.” his friend’s reply was instantaneous, and not without a barely hidden scoff, “He’s a Jōnin and a Hokage candidate…that loud girlfriend of his will only hinder his performance as a shinobi.”

“Ano…don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”

“Well, there’s a reason why you’re still a Chunin and I’m practically a Jōnin.”

Jerk. “You’re not a Jōnin yet, Bakashi.” Obito snapped, one finger successfully managing to swipe just a sliver of icing which was promptly deposited on the unsuspecting Hatake’s face, “Besides, doubt you’ll be a Jōnin with reflexes like that.”

“Oi, you weren’t supposed to touch that” Kakashi hissed, rubbing the offending wetness away with the back of his palm before grey hues narrowed a fraction at his idiot teammate, “this is a mission, baka. Would it kill you to follow the rules for once?” 

“I was careful” Came an all-too sunny reply, though the tell tale icing on his own cheek suggested otherwise, “Besides, its your fault.”

“Is not”

“Is too”

Arguing more was pointless - especially where the Uchiha was concerned. Instead, Kakashi decided on his patented glower which was met with a splatter of cream, courtesy one twirling wooden spoon between said Uchiha’s fingers – who was currently laughing his behind off. Normally, it wouldn’t be enough to faze the Hatake - his opponents had laughed at him before, primarily because of how small he was. Kakashi never failed to make them eat dirt later. 

But this was Obito and he was an idiot who knew just the right buttons to push. Pale digits curled into fists as a peach flush tinged his features (he was not pouting). Grey hues caught a bowl of leftover cream and it didn’t take him long to scoop a generous amount and send it careening towards Obito.

The splatter was satisfying, and clearly, an invitation for war. Needless to say, by the time their relatively chipper teammate returned, the kitchen was in shambles (polite term). A fine layer of cream coated most of the counter and splattered the shoddy kitchen appliances. A stick of butter had found its way in a pot of coffee, whereas the leftover strawberries formed a sticky mess on the floor; and a particularly sloppy mush of fruit and leftover icing in which the Hatake was rubbing Obito’s goggled face in.

The cake, surprisingly, had been left intact, which was a good thing seeing as how Rin had been contemplating turning her teammates into cake batter if they ruined their (her and sensei’s, of course) hard work. The Iryō nin could only watch from the doorway as the two boys clawed at each other. Resisting the urge to sigh like the all suffering adult she was, the Nohara instead cleared her throat, soft features already set in a frown, “What are you two doing?” 

Freeze (though Obito still managed to pull Kakashi’s bangs in a final, feeble gesture). “I-its not what it looks like, Rin chan.” Obito stammered from where his cheek was pressed against the sticky tile. Arms flailing, he tried to push the Hatake off and failed, “Ah mou! Its his fault!”

Kakashi practically bristled (it was less intimidating because of the squished strawberry oozing down his forehead) and in one smooth movement, had the Uchiha’s arm twisted in a classic lock behind his back, “A good shinobi doesn’t lie, baka.”

“Get off you freaky little gremlin!” Obito’s fingers spasmed uselessly in his hold and Rin couldn’t help but thank the fates that she had convinced their sensei to make a detour to the supermarket for a few ingredients. He would be so disappointed.

Speaking of– “Guys, quit it already. Sensei will be back any minute.” The Nohara unwound the scarf from around her shoulders before gingerly stepping inside. Normally, Rin was the more careful of the three, though the floor was sticky and cream had somehow managed to get everywhere. 

Unfortunately for her, she wasn’t aware of the entirety of ‘everywhere’ - no sooner had she stepped in did her foot slip on a splatter of broken egg and sugar. Arms flailing, the poor Iryō nin stumbled, hands finding little purchase against the slippery counter before crashing against her teammates with a soft whump. 

“Ow”

“Rin chan, are you okay? Get off her Bakashi!”

“I’m not on her, idiot.” Kakashi hissed through the flush decorating his face (or could be the leftover strawberry, it was hard to tell). The poor Hatake was smaller than the other two, and had conveniently been sandwiched between them - and if that wasn’t mortifying enough for a Jōnin, he didn’t know what was.

Well…almost Jōnin. Either way – pale digits pushed her off (though not before elbowing the loud idiot by accident) before he clambered off his filthy teammate’s back. Grey hues narrowed at the dirty tiles before flickering to Rin, just as the girl caught the table’s ledge, causing it - and the pastry - to tip precariously. Kakashi opened his mouth to warn her, but the cake tumbled before his words did.

Maa…what a waste.

The resounding crash, along with her squeal, was loud enough to make him cringe. By that point, Obito had gotten up with a hand on his abused cheek, dark orbs set in a patented Uchiha deadpan before the noise prompted him to turn. 

And…well, quake like a little scuttle bug because Rin looked murderous (and kind of cute - but mostly murderous) with the bottom half of their hard earned labor awkwardly squashed against the top of her head. If their circumstances had been any different, he would have compared it to a fancy old lady’s hat, you know, the kind with feathers on it?  

Except this one was edible and the owner’s eyes were welling up with tears – angry tears, mind you - but tears, nevertheless. “Ano…” The Uchiha swallowed as Rin wordlessly, yet carefully, removed the cake from her head, mindful of the ruined bottom half, “It…looks better this way?” He added, creeping slowly yet surely behind his younger teammate. 

Wrong answer, if the murderous gaze directed their way was any indication. Both boys blanched, and Obito had the good sense to whimper as the Nohara launched herself at them with a barely concealed snarl. Cue a pandemonium which involved more sticks of butter, broken egg shells and what was left of the cream and icing - amidst Obito’s yelling of course. The cake, their collective pride and joy, was lost in the fray; its top half stuck to the ceiling while the other half found itself splattered around the walls in haste.

There may have been a stray, poorly attempted wind jutsu thrown in for good measure, which would certainly explain why an egg shell flew out the window with the speed of a kunai, only to land against the ground like a sad, lonesome martyr. It just so happened that a certain Namikaze had been making his way back by the time it had chosen to sacrifice itself, and had almost stepped on it by accident. Blue hues blinked at it curiously, almost slowly, before following its trajectory which…

Wait, was that his kitchen window? Minato flickered to the Hiraishin seal he had placed in his living room without a second thought. Depositing the bags on the floor, he quickly dashed towards the kitchen, fingers already pulling out one of his signature kunai because they were on the brink of war as it were. Not that he sensed any alien chakra signatures, but one could never be too careful. 

Besides, his kids were in there. Kunai raised in his usual stance, Minato paused at the door, expecting an Iwa rogue–

Only to find three pre-teens locked in a battle to the death with – a whisk? Rin had her arms around her struggling teammates - okay, maybe that was just Obito. Kakashi hung in her grip, as if resigned to his fate with a deadpan that could rival Fugaku’s. All three of them were splattered with an assortment of cream and squished fruit, and— Kami, what had happened to his kitchen?! He could barely discern the cream from the walls and the numerous splatters of broken eggs and sugar. Some of it had found its way on the ceiling too, if the steady drip of something over the door frame was anything to go by. 

All in all, a war torn mess. It would have been impressive if he wasn’t so horrified.  

The cake was nowhere to be found; though it was safe to assume that its splattered remains decorated the walls with the rest of his wayward ingredients. If he had been a lesser shinobi, he would have turned towards the heavens and asked why - why. 

But, as it turns out, he was a Jōnin sensei and had conveniently lost his ability to delve on his emotions, let alone express them as well as certain others (coughKushinamaybeInoichicough). So instead of repeatedly bashing his head against the nearest wall like a part of him wanted to, he did what any responsible sensei would - allow a sliver of his chakra, tinged with the barest of killing intent, to announce his presence.

It worked like a charm. Rin and Obito froze (Kakashi merely grunted), as the three watched their sensei step into the kitchen, sandals making an odd crunch (probably another egg shell) as he did. Minato’s gaze never left theirs as he approached, his narrowed hues a clear indication of his displeasure.

He wasn’t…that angry. Truth to be told, making another cake was hardly cumbersome work – what bothered him was the fact that he had given them one job. It didn’t even matter who was at fault; their teamwork was clearly amiss. Blond brows furrowed at the thought, and he stopped a few steps shy of the still tangled trio, “What have you got to say for yourselves?” 

Pause. At least they had the decency to look embarrassed - Rin in particular, looked like she was on the verge of tears and Minato couldn’t help but feel some of his annoyance ebb away. The Nohara was a seldom acknowledged soft spot, primarily because she was the most well behaved of the three. 

“A-ano…sensei” Obito spluttered, prompting the man to pause. The poor Uchiha barely had time to flounder a hand towards the ceiling before the creamy layer of what had been the cake lost its hold with a soft squelch.

And fell. Right on their sensei; Konoha’s Kiiroi Senkō, current Hokage candidate in opposition to Orochimaru of the Densetsu Sanin.

“…”

To the pastry’s credit, it was probably the only projectile the Yellow Flash had been unable to dodge and would probably go down in history as such. Buttercream frosting, along with what could be considered flecks of vanilla sponge, decorated blond hair and blue, clothed shoulders. The Namikaze raised a solitary palm just as a particularly creamy glop of ruined cake slid down his fringe, splattering against tan digits almost like a work of abstract art. 

Meep. Rin’s arms around their shoulders tightened just as icy blue hues met their own and Obito forgot how to breathe. 

“You three.” 

Said three collectively squeaked. 

EPILOGUE: 

In the end, the three were made to clean the kitchen - with their sensei eventually joining them out of sheer guilt (he couldn’t stay mad at them for more than seven minutes - today was a new record at the ten minute mark). Kushina found out, of course, and made enough pastry related jokes to put everyone at ease. 

Except Kakashi. He didn’t want to admit that her jokes were actually funny. 

With Kushina’s birthday surprise thoroughly ruined; they had to go to Ichiraku’s to celebrate. Needless to say, Minato’s wallet (apart from one legendary cake that will forever be remembered) suffered the most that day. 

@konohagakurekakashi @strawberry-medic

[rvkswitzerland]

Illness, Continued

From Vicki --

Unfortunately, it seems that this ear thing isn’t going to go away quickly on it’s own. From what I’ve read, recovery can take anywhere from a few weeks to months to not at all, which is frustrating. At the start of this, I was hoping that I’d just wake up one morning and be back to normal - no dizziness, right half of my face moving, eye blinking, ear free from crusts - but as with anything, it seems that it will take time. Like a scab healing, injuries doesn’t go from bleeding everywhere to new skin overnight, and I think I need to give myself the same time and patience that I’d give a cut on my leg.

That being said, it SUCKS not being able to help around the house, to leave, to meet with students, teach classes, see colleagues, or even eat in the Esssaal. Because I’m so dizzy and it’s so snowy outside, it’s definitely not possible at this time to do things outside of the house, which has left me in bed (by my choice) for a week as of yesterday.  All of this time has given me lots of time to think, reflect, and be grateful for the way this all played out. Here’s my current gratitude list:

 - Ryan - this man has seriously done EVERYTHING to keep our house, students, and family afloat during this insane time. In addition to managing the kids, he also picks up food for us, runs the library, runs the house, and is also teaching several courses and creating an Andacht for this Sunday, which will be shown to the school community on the topic of library use/misinformation/”fake news”. He’s been adamant that I shouldn’t feel sorry for not being able to help and has put no pressure on me, despite what I am certain is IMMENSE pressure on him.

- The Ecole Community, for making it so easy to be absent and being so willing to step in and help.

- Our new bed, which we bought at the start of Christmas break

- Food coming every day from the dining hall instead of having to cook

- Al being a loving (but stinky) sickness companion

- That I already had a doctor in Switzerland before this happened. Just the week before the ear pain started, I finally got insurance sorted and went to the doctor for a prescription refill. Because of that, it wasn’t as scary to go when my ear started hurting.

- The school nurse - Though she technically only works for the students, our school nurse is such a massive champion. When I woke up and my face was paralyzed, I asked Ryan to call her out of sheer desperation.  She came immediately, then called a doctor down in the valley (incidentally who works at the office where I’d just gone). The doctor lives up on the Hasliberg, and came to our apartment to examine me and give her advice about what I should do. It was Sunday, so my choices were to wait until Monday or go to the ER. Because of that, treatment was started earlier and hopefully recovery time will be shorter as my nerves heal.

- The doctors I’ve seen - Apparently, this Ramsay Hunt thing that I have is pretty rare and often misdiagnosed, and I’m so thankful to the doctors I saw who quickly identified it and got me on antiviral and steroid medications.

- Our car, which carried me to and from appointments. I can’t imagine worrying about that in the school van or on public transit!

- Our friends and family, for checking in and offering lots of Netflix suggestions

- That this happened after break - selfishly - because it would have been horrible to spend Christmas and NYE like this. At least Ryan and I were able to spend some time together relaxing between terms

- That this term in short - 9 weeks from tomorrow, students will be leaving for the break before summer term. Last term was 15 weeks and felt like an eternity - the fact that this one is shorter helps the days of sitting around waiting for my face to move a little more manageable. 

- That I can finally drink from a water bottle! My right bottom lip is strong enough now to form a seal around the top of the bottle. Before that, I had to hold my lips closed around the lid!

- Finally, for the tiny twinge of movement I see in the right-hand corner of my mouth. It’s microscopic, but I can feel the muscle in the corner of my mouth trying to pull up my lip, and if I look closely (and maybe squint a little), I can see the little corner trying. I’m hoping that, once the rash in my ear goes away, the dizziness will stop and I can be at least a little more productive.

Happy Tuesday, friends! Send healing thoughts!